Draco dipped his fingers into his father's nightstand mixture, causing the purple liquid to ooze and stick. He quickly withdrew, wiping them on his robe.
"Draco." It was Narcissa, whispering nervously to him. "Will you help me get your father up the stairs? I haven't had time to get a new house elf yet, and –"
Draco nodded hurriedly, trying to smile for her. "Of course, mother." She remained the one person he would do anything for.
He followed her down into the grand foyer, still uncomfortable in his own home. Something about the death eaters' presence lingered against the walls, making every shadow cling like a leech. He had never thought that his house was cold before, but now he thought he understood. Every last doorway and picture frame had remained untouched since the war – since they'd held hostages there - but it felt as if they were greatly scarred. He shook himself, uncertain as to why he felt this way.
"How is father?" Draco asked, keeping his voice casual and his volume low.
"Better," Narcissa answered, honestly. "His face is only slightly bruised, and although he's still limping…" She trailed off. "I'm not sure what will make him happier."
No trial, Draco thought bitterly. But no, they couldn't control that. Their money wasn't the same as power any longer, and neither were their ancestors.
"Isn't there magic you can use to get rid of that limp?" Draco asked. He couldn't help it, he sounded scornful. All of his life, there had been a magical ailment to everything. Why not now?
"None that I know of," Narcissa replied. "Draco." She turned to her son, smiling in spite of herself. Even after everything that had happened, he made her proud. "I am going to Nymphadora's funeral today. Would you like to come with me?"
Draco stared at her, sure that she must be lying or joking. She would never. Nymphadora was the foul stain on their family's blood, and he shuddered to think about her husband. Those are the words that she had said, that Bellatrix… He stopped himself there. Their old values didn't matter anymore, did they?
"Should I?" His voice peaked on a vague falsetto, silently begging his mother not to ask him to. He would certainly see Potter there, not to mention an assortment of other undesired people. It would be the first time, too. He had managed to avoid seeing anyone, save his parents, since the first day after. It was now eight days after, and he hoped to put it off for at least another three.
"No, I suppose not," she said, sighing. "Stay here with your father."
Draco stayed where he was, by the staircase, even as his mother went to get her coat. He would have to be alone with Lucius, then. He would have to answer his every need of medicine, his every call for weak tea. But it was better than facing reality, and so Draco shut his eyes and nodded. It was just a few hours, after all.
Narcissa returned to her son's side, staring at him for a long moment. Then, she surprised him by pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Oh Draco…" she murmured, touching his blonde hair with her fingertips. "You're a good son." She drew away, and Draco was alarmed to see that her eyes were filled with tears. She'd been crying a lot since the battle, although rarely over Draco. He swallowed and nodded, unsure of how to reply.
"I'll help you bring him upstairs, then I have to go," she said, wiping at her eyes.
Draco couldn't help it, he was dreading the next few hours. It wasn't that he and his father didn't get along, because they did, but it had become tricky. Lucius was stressed and worn out from battle, and even though Draco was grateful that his father had been trying to save his life, there was little to talk about. The war was over, their entire life and reputation shredded. And yet, there was also the fragile sense of relief. They didn't have to run now. Aside from the remaining fear of prison sentences, for both Draco and his father, they were free. And since stupid, noble Potter had marked them as "not dangerous", their trial might not be for a month or so. For the moment, Draco could breathe.
"Lucius." Narcissa went forward and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, making him smile as only she could do. She had been most affectionate since the battle, wanting to be sure that she kept Draco and Lucius close.
He glanced towards them, the scars and bruises around his eyes still jarring. Narcissa said that she'd tried magical treatments, but it left Draco to wonder how that could be possible. Didn't magic heal everything?
As soon as Narcissa let go, Lucius mouth was replaced in a grim line. "Time to go upstairs?" His silky voice was blotted with rasps and coughs, making it hard to understand at times. They hadn't been to St. Mungos yet, partially because Narcissa feared that they would be denied, and so they did not know his exact condition. They only knew that he had inhaled a lot of smoke, accepted a lot of torture, and had spent the battle being blindly cursed and hexed as he searched for his wife and son. He had seemed fine that night, relatively speaking, anyway, and then had taken ill the next morning. This still disturbed Draco, a slight bit, as he was left to wonder what exactly had happened. What had caused his father sickness, between midnight and the morning after?
"Yes," Narcissa said, placing her cool hands on Lucius's forehead. "Come, Draco and I will help you."
He obliged with a grimace, staggering over to let his family help him. It was a strange picture, Draco thought, the image of him leaning on the two of them. He was so incredibly proud and detached, that Draco rarely thought of him as leaning on anyone at all.
"Draco's going to stay with you, alright?" Narcissa whispered, her eyes always careful and patient.
Lucius gave a brief nod, unable to speak in the strain of getting upstairs. They had discussed it then, Draco realized with a start. He and Narcissa had mutually consented to the idea of her attending the funeral. It shocked Draco, really, as he thought that his father would never allow that. It compromised every single piece of their old life; and after all, hadn't they lost enough of that already?
But no matter… Draco silently helped his father to the bedroom, feeling how he got easier to transport every day. He'd stopped eating, more or less. It was a problem, although not one of immediate concern.
"I have to hurry," Narcissa said softly, to no one in particular. They had put Lucius on the bed, and placed his favorite puce throw blanket atop of him. "Goodbye." She gave them a kiss apiece, and then hurried out the bedroom door.
Draco stared after her, wondering. Was it possible that his parents were scheming? Sending Narcissa off to the funeral, having her pay her respects… She would gain their trust, no doubt. It might cut their trial short, or earn them their right to a hospital room. Draco gulped down some air, thinking quietly to himself. Were they sure that they wouldn't be given medicine, if they just went? They didn't know that they would be declined, did they? There was no way to be sure…
A hacking cough from the bed sent him jumping, and he turned back to his father. The coughing still disturbed him, a little bit. Lucius usually acted so manicured, that seeing him perform any candid actions always alarmed Draco.
"Is the temperature alright, father?" Draco asked. He had finally mastered the room-air spell, over the course of his year at Hogwarts.
"It's fine," Lucius said, nearly sounding impatient.
Draco took a good look at him, and the way his white-blonde hair clung to the pillows. He looked so old, so sick… Draco wasn't sure what had happened. Well no, he was sure. Lucius had been imprisoned, held to a leash by the Dark Lord, and then narrowly survived battle. That's what had happened. It would take a toll on anyone, and Draco couldn't help but feel proud of his father. Whatever anyone else may have said, Lucius was incontestably strong. And brave too, Draco thought fiercely. He wouldn't listen to that little voice, humming that Lucius was a coward. He was the finest man that Draco knew.
"Do you need anything?" Draco asked, hoping it wasn't anything in the kitchen. He wasn't any good at preparing tea or other drinks.
"No," Lucius said, with a sigh. "Shut the door when you leave, alright?"
"Alright," Draco said softly, slowly backing out of the room. "Try to get some sleep, father." He did as he was told, closing the door as he left. He shuddered, hating the widespread hallways of the manor. Maybe, if they were lucky, Narcissa would return from the funeral with good news.
A/N: There will be more on the Malfoys, of course, as well as chapters on all the other characters. Please tell me what you think!