Part the First: Casual Attire

Draco was still scowling at the invitation when his mother entered the sunny solarium. She hummed softly when he hugged her to him and kissed the pooch of her belly. "Bad news?" She asked, ruffling his hair.

In answer, he flicked the missive up to her. She took it and sat across from him, crossing her legs until creamy skin escaped teal silk. Her spoon was magically stirring her coffee as she read. The resulting smirk was both inviting and wary. "Oh my," she breathed. "This does pose a rather awkward possibility."

"We aren't going." Draco straightened a cuff, assuring only a quarter inch was visible peeking from his suit jacket. He leveled his business gaze at her.

Her smirk switched sides, ready to war. "I think it would be in poor taste to refuse. After all, Mr. Potter most kindly accepted our invitation to my birthday -"

"Where he fucked you, mother. With me," Draco interrupted smoothly. He snapped the Daily Prophet open, hiding his face. "I think our presence at his engagement party would be..." He sputtered for a second. "...incredibly precarious."

A moment of silence. Then, slowly, his newspaper curled downward beneath her magic. He saw the tip of her wand and followed the tool up graceful arm to beautiful (if sardonic) face. "What?" He exclaimed.

"Lest you've forgotten," she began - and he knew that whatever she was about to say, she was going to be right. "You are the one who made us cogent confidantes to the Weasley clan. You re-built the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. You are the newest governor on the school's distinguished board."

He grimaced in pain, saw her point quite clearly, but had one of his own. "And you are the one who wanted to be doubly penetrated by Harry Potter and myself, mother." Her mouth snapped closed abruptly. "Lest you've forgotten?" He drawled. She looked down at her tea, blushing and a little chastised. "Hmmmm?" He urged.

She muttered something unintelligible. He leaned over the table. "What was that?"

"I said I've not forgotten!" She snapped.

"I should think not," he replied, completely self-satisfied. His gaze dropped to her gaping dressing gown - to the bare curve of breast exposed. "It was a memorable evening, after all."

The secretive smile that spread across her face was sweet, alluring and dangerous. "It was, indeed," she murmured.

Draco licked his lips and folded his crumpled Prophet. He sighed heavily. "You are right, though." His fingernails were suddenly very interesting. "It would seem peculiar for us to be absent after making ourselves so..."

"Conspicuous to the cause?" She offered.

"Mm." He grunted agreement. His face worked its consideration. "I suppose we should go."

"I think so," Narcissa said gently.

He perked up a bit. "Or we could just send our regards. And a truly obnoxious wedding gift. Like a...a boat! Or a really big bed?"

His eyes were truly hopeful and she couldn't contain a laugh at the bare desperation. "I think at least an appearance is in order, son."

He pouted, rested his chin on his hand. "Back to Grimmauld Place, then."

She nodded. "Yes."

He glanced up at her. "Let's stay away from that cemetery this time."

She nodded again. "Naturally."

"And we'll just...avoid Potter as much as possible."

More nodding. "Seems a sound strategy."

"And his future wife."

Vehement nodding. "Most definitely."

"Mum."

"Yes?"

"This is going to get complicated."

Her nose twitched. "Probably."

Draco plucked the elaborate invitation from her hands. Scanned it again. "What the devil does 'casual dress' mean, exactly?" She shrugged. "Do we have any casual attire?"

Narcissa blinked at the vaulted ceiling for a moment, thinking. "I believe I've a tea-length frock somewhere in cotton..."

Draco sat back in his seat and tossed the scroll to the table. "Bloody mess," he muttered. He looked at a loss. Narcissa looked sympathetic. She pasted on her most nurturing smile and reached across the table to pat his hand.

"It's a fortnight away, love. You shouldn't bother yourself over it."

Draco blinked. "A fortnight, Narcissa? Have you been reading one of those dreadful period novels?"

She didn't let his taunt deter her. "I'm trying to be a comforting mother, you insolent prat."

"Comforting?"

The pat on his hand turned to a caress. She watched his eyes fall to her chest, well aware her dressing gown was gaping even more so when she leant forward. "Comforting," she whispered.

"I have a meeting at the Ministry in an hour," he murmured.

"Comfort can take less than an hour." Her fingers played with his.

"Can it?" From under dark fringe, her eyes glimmered. She nodded. Draco's cock twitched with an idea. "And can it take place at the breakfast table?" Here, she hesitated. He knew why, and allayed her fears. "If the house elf has been assigned a deep clean in the west wing?"

Her brow arched and she rose impossibly slowly from her chair. "I suppose it can."

He grinned as she approached. "Excellent."

Peacocks scratched outside the cracked patio window. Occasionally, one of them unleashed its mournful cry, mate answering with her strange cluck. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy hardly noticed. In the sunny solarium, they mated in their own way; satin folds falling open, legs folding closed round slim hips snapping, gasps turned to sighs to cries to laughter, mouth on breast, arms over shoulders, back to table, mouth to mouth.

Draco was fourteen minutes late for his meeting.

Narcissa stood in the middle of her dressing room. She tapped a French manicured nail against straight, white teeth, considering the three outfits that hovered in midair upon their silk hangers. Casual, she thought. Right.

#1. Black pencil skirt and white sleeveless blouse. Rather mugglish, really. But Potter is a bit mugglish and the damn Granger girl will be gobsmacked if I show up in this. Smacking the Granger girl - in any way possible - was a deeply appealing thought. However, the blouse was quite sheer, and the Malfoy matron knew she had memories of a night of triply shared passion to avoid awakening in the future groom. So she flicked her wand, sending #1 back to its place on the rack.

#2. A wrap style dress in pleasant mauve cotton blend. Lovely color for spring. And very flattering on me. The gathers cinched her already trim waist and accentuated her hips. Her lips pursed. But. The neck does dip rather steeply. Not very conservative. Perhaps with a camisole beneath? The image of delicate lace or silk visible across her chest gave her further pause. Perhaps not. Her wand flicked. The dress flew. Back to the rack.

#3. Flaring skirt with button-up blouse. Simple black and white. Stiff collar. Short sleeves with equally stiff hems. Perfect. She stared at it. Lip curled. Gods, it's dreadful. So bloody matronly. When did I even acquire these clothes? She raised her wand, then hesitated. But I want to look matronly. Right? Not like the deviant maven who seduced her son's young associate...with her son.

"Oh, hell." She groused, running a hand down her face. Her wand flick sent the dress to a hook on her dressing screen. "I'm wearing it."

She hummed while she bathed, a soothing tune. Took her time in ablutions. In her cotton robe, she sat to her vanity. Very little make-up. Draw no unnecessary attention. Dab of powder. Sheer pink lip. Hint of sky blue over the eye. There. She kissed at the mirror. Very...nice.

Hair. She took a deep breath. It was too long now, in her opinion - falling over her breasts and down her back. Easily tangled. A mess of black and white that usually required a charm for brushing and an extreme amount of conditioning potion. But Draco adored it and grew vehement when she mentioned cutting it. So it stayed. Long as the day.

She sighed and touched her wand to her brush. The magical instrument made quick work of tangles, but air drying brought out her abundant natural curls. So she needed to be fast with her styling. Wrapped, she decided. And pinned. It would hide curls, and cut her readying time in half.

In fact, she was dressed quite quickly. Stepped into a pair of thick, three inch heels and turned to her mirror with a fresh, welcoming, close-lipped smile.

The smile fell immediately. "What have I done?" She asked aloud. Her reflection had no answer, and at that moment, her door opened.

Draco drew up short, stopped mid-address. "Mother, I - " He stared at her. Blinked rapidly a few times. "Good gods. What have you done?"

Frustration finally won out. "Oh, stop it!" She turned away from him and her own reflection. "I can't dress this way. I don't know how to look 'casual' and I can't seem to look like anything other than the harlot in blue velvet who lured two men twenty five years her junior to her bed!" She sat on the edge of said bed. "And that will not do. Not in this situation."

Draco covered a grin with his fingers, still appraising the woman he assumed was his mother. "You really were smashing in that blue velvet number."

"Draco."

"Narcissa." He knelt before her. "You can't help you're devastatingly beautiful. And no amount of..." He waved a hand at her attire. "...this is going to change that. You could show up wearing Molly Weasley's lounging dress and Potter would still remember how dead gorgeous you were the night he shared you with me." He reached for her hair and began releasing pins.

Soon curls spilled over her shoulders and Draco touched them softly. "Lovely," he murmured. "Now take this...this off. And let me pick for you."

"Draco - "

"Don't worry!" He interrupted. "I promise I won't put you back in the Aphrodite costume."

He stood and headed for her closet.

"And not that blue velvet frock, either!" She warned.

"Damn." He grumbled from inside. There was the swish of magic, clinking of hangers. Finally, "Ah." He emerged triumphant. "This."

"That?" Her eyebrows rose. He'd made a perfect - if surprising - choice. A white fitted cotton frock printed all over with small blue flowers. It was sleeveless, with a demure dip into cleavage. She took it from him. "That's...very good, son."

He leaned into her space, whispered in her ear. "Don't act so surprised. I like thinking about fucking you in it."

Of course he does. She brushed her lips over his cheek. "Well perhaps when we get home...?"

"Perhaps my arse." He rubbed a generous hardness against her hip. "I guarantee it."

She flushed, tightened at the very thought. "I'll dress, then. And we'll be off?"

"Right." Draco sat on the bed, leaned on his elbows leisurely. "Carry on."

She smirked, removing her robe. "And you? Shouldn't you finish dressing?"

"I am finished." He shrugged. "Casual."

Naked, holding frock to chest, she gaped scandalized. "You can't be serious!" She spoke over his laughter. "You've no shirt on! I mean, no proper shirt on. And where is your belt? You should at least tuck that in!"

"Mum!" He controlled his humor. "It's casual. There will be tons of half-bloods and muggle borns there and maybe even muggles. You know how these people are. We'll look fine." He plucked at the grey tee he wore. "Besides, it's quite comfortable. And I think the jacket dresses it up nicely." He knew this was killing her.

"It's just...incomplete, Draco." She tisked. Had to look away from him. "Let's just be brief in our visit. I think that will be the best solution."

"Brilliant." He was either referring to her suggestion, or her arse as she shimmied into her dress. Either way - brilliant.

She slipped on blue ballet flats and a navy jumper, then looked to her son and twirled. "Well?"

Draco licked his lips. "Amazing."

"I look like a muggle."

"I've seen some pretty amazing muggle women, mum."

She bristled. "Have you, now?"

"Well, only one or two," he amended quickly.

She sighed. "What time is it?"

"We're already fashionably late."

"Good." A quick nod. "Potter will be well distracted when we arrive." They descended the stairs, Narcissa's arm tucked inside Draco's. On the sunny manor stoop, they paused. "Draco?"

He looked down at her. Nervousness was charming on her pretty features. "Yes?"

"This is going to be complicated. Isn't it?"

He smirked. Pulled her closer to him. They apparated with a soft, practiced pop.

AN: Part the second coming soon - guaranteed to take your breath away. Happy birthday, soul freak.