There were very few times in his life Lucius Malfoy could recall during which he had been genuinely scared – truly, deeply terrified (and even fewer to which he would admit). This night would be one of them.
The battle that they had all known was coming, for which they had been preparing, seemingly endlessly, had broken out. He was tearing through the halls of Hogwarts for the first time in two decades, screaming for his son; dodging curses and jinxes purely on instinct. Narcissa was alongside him, clutching the hand that did not have an ironclad hold on his wand; both of their palms were slick with sweat and he nearly wept every time her grip slackened; but thus far she had not let go. He prayed to whatever deity he could think of that he and Narcissa could just get to Draco, feverishly blocking out thoughts of what state he might be in when they did.
Despite his insistent panic, Lucius's mind was oddly clear: he had only to find Draco, ensure no harm befell him or Narcissa, and get out. He had entirely forgotten his orders, lost track of Severus and Bellatrix and everyone else, rid himself of that fucking hood and mask he had been wearing for years. The dark, angry brand burning on the inside of his left arm held no meaning for him now; its sting did not touch him. He did not remotely care about Voldemort or his new world order anymore – Lucius knew that if when all this was over, the Dark Lord had won, he would find him, beyond a shadow of a doubt. But for the moment, Lucius could not fear for his own life, he had to find his son, make him safe. Until then, everything else ceased to matter.
It was Narcissa who spotted him, finally, after what felt like years. She cried his name, half a sob, and Draco whipped around, terrified, wand raised. His face lit in relief at the sight of his parents, twenty feet away, separated by dust and debris, a hundred duels and spells flying between them. The noise was deafening. And then they were upon him, a tangle of blonde hair and torn robes, all somehow pulling each other away from the thick of things: a blur of sweat, dirt, blood and hot tears; safe in each other's arms even as around them, chaos reigned.