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After a few moments of Lucius being stood in the middle of the dining hall, Narcissa's head was spinning; she simply didn't know what to do to handle the current situation. On one hand she wanted to send her, quite literally, filthy son to bed without eating but on the other hand she knew that he was just a confused seventeen year old boy. She knew that unless she resolved the situation quickly her husband was liable to either fly off the handle or become extremely depressed and at this moment in time she was unsure as to which was worse.

"Draco, please apologise to your father." She gave Draco a pointed look over the table and smiled somewhat sinisterly at her son. "Lucius, sit down our starter will be arriving at any moment and I'm sure you'd like to taste the wine." Narcissa smiled at her husband genuinely. She knew that he must be extremely upset by Draco's behaviour; Lucius always had been far too sensitive to their son's spite. She had always put it down to her husband growing up as an only child, he had never realised just how spiteful other children could be in the home.

Draco rolled his eyes before facing his father who was stood helplessly in the middle of the room. He seemed lost despite looking better than Draco had seen his since he had been locked in Azkaban. "Sorry, father." He spoke quietly but his voice was clear and audible. However, as his mother mentioned the wine that was sat on the table; Draco maliciously muttered "I bet he will." Smirking to himself that neither of his parents had heard his latest quip, Draco looked his mother in the eyes. "Mother, perhaps you might like to transfigure my robes, I hardly have time to get changed."

"If you insist." Narcissa drew her wand and transfigured Draco's dirty Quidditch robes into a beautiful dress suit, much like what Lucius was wearing. However, the suit was charcoal and the waistcoat and cravat tie were a contrasting royal blue.

Slowly, Lucius silently made his way over to the table, staring into Draco's eyes, almost daring his son to say something else to him. Taking his seat at the head of the table, the ornate chair scraped crudely along the heavy oak flooring beneath it as Lucius sat closer to the table. He was evidently not happy with his current situation. However, he remained silent as the elf invited him to taste the wine, merely just inclining his glass and dramatically swirling the red coloured liquid around the bowl of the wine glass before inhaling deeply and taking a moment to distinguish the wine's unique aromas. Either that or he was anticipating just how drunk he would get this evening on the very wine sat in front of him. Slowly, Lucius tipped the glass towards his lips and took a short sip of the wine, taking a moment to swirl the liquid around his palate, appreciating the fruity taste before swallowing and declaring the wine as being fit to drink.

The starter and main course passed without hardly any conversation and the atmosphere was still awkward. Lucius spent his time between eating sneering at his son and Draco was doing exactly the same towards his father. Narcissa could hardly hide the smirk on her face as she watched the father and son who looked so alike scowling at one and other. She could see both sides of the current issue. Much to her disappointment, Lucius had acted disgracefully since his return home. However, he had been through such a lot that Narcissa felt she hardly knew her husband anymore; he had gone from being a strong and dependable head of the family to being a needy drunk in only just over a year.

In the background a piece that Narcissa could hardly recognise was playing, she presumed it to be written in the impressionist period and it captured her imagination more so than music usually did. "Who composed this?" Narcissa enquired to her husband, the talented musician.

"Scriabin. It's his tenth piano sonata described as a sonata of insects. Can you hear them, dear? Dragonflies and honey bees and butterflies and blue bottles; beautiful colours flying around the flower gardens. There are no mosquitoes or flying ants or dung beetles or parasitic flies. Those things do not exist, not for the purpose of this piece." Lucius smiled whilst waiting for his dessert course to arrive, he was once again swirling the now half empty glass of wine in his hand and dramatically talking about the music that had been written by an interesting early twentieth century composer. "Scriabin, very interesting fellow. Russian. Reckoned to have had synesthesia. Although, it is now debated in academic circles. Now, Draco tell me what synesthesia is?" Lucius drawled. This was the first time since the previous incident that Lucius had spoken to his son since the incident earlier. Whilst awaiting his son's reply, Lucius began to direct the imaginary musician in his mind.

The wine glass had been moved into his left hand and his right hand was shaping the music, something akin to what a conductor of an orchestra would do. However, he was certainly not beating out time, he was shaping expression, adding expression to the pre-recorded piece in his own mind. Before he knew it, Lucius had placed the wine glass down onto the dark mahogany wood and was completely lost within the piece of music. To him, what seemed to his family as pointless arm waving was important. As far as Lucius was concerned he was in control, feeling almost drunk on power as he directed the imaginary musician in his own mind, as he imperiously carved his own take on the composer's intentions. Lucius could hear every extra crescendo, every extra mark of expression. The articulation and dynamics were Lucius' own, only the notes on the page now belonged to Scriabin. In Lucius' mind his was finally away of the evil lurking within, he was free; if only for a few seconds, before Draco harshly cut in.

"I don't care what syneswhatever is or what it means. Nor do I give a damn about Scriabin. Maybe if you bothered to actually be involved in things what matter instead of locking yourself away in that stupid piano room, you'd be in a better place, father." Draco spat before resuming his rant. "Grandfather always said you were a disappointment for your artistic temperament. In fact Grandfather told me all about you." Draco proceeded to sneer at his father and his voice took on a deep mocking tone as he recalled his grandfather's words. "'Lucius always has took things to extremes. I employed a music teacher to teach him a few pieces on the piano, you know to impress a few friends at the Ministry. Next thing the boy has aspirations to become some sort of concert pianist. Four hours a day, holed up in that room, yet Hogwarts hardly got a look in. Transfiguration - Dreadful, Charms - Poor, Care of Magical Creatures - Troll level I believe but never worry Headmaster, my son can play any Beethoven Sonata you wish', sound familiar?" Draco's sneering supercilious voice took over the room, he was boring his bright blue eyes into Lucius', as he spoke, mocking him. "You see father, I don't care whether F-Sharp and G-Flat are the same note in Western tonal music. I don't care about Bach's Toccata's and Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto. I don't give a damn about individuals too stupid to do anything else but put black dots onto white parchment and make noise out of things other than their mouths. If you'd put your effort into serving the Dark Lord rather than learning about Mr. Scriabin who is deluded to think he can see dragonflies and butterflies coming out of the lid of the piano, perhaps we wouldn't all be in the sorry state we are in now." By now Draco's voice had raised slightly, he was not shouting but was close to it. "And more fool you if you too hallucinate over some precisely placed dots and some keys pressed. You're even more crazy than I first thought. No wonder Grandfather tried to beat it out of you!"

Lucius sat silently shocked as he listened to Draco's rant. However, the entrancing music was still taking up a great deal of his mind as Draco whined and mocked him Lucius thought about the next phrase of music, blocking his son's taunts out of his mind. He knew the piece, he had even played it before. Although no matter how much he tried to block out Draco's insults they were still there. The son sat before him telling his own father that he was good for nothing, that he should have been a better servant to the Dark Lord. His own son reciting his own father's words; the man who Lucius had respected but feared in equal quantities and never quite made peace with even as a man. At that, Lucius didn't know whether to scream at his son or whether to find a quiet corner and cry, such was his conflict in emotion.

The busy music swirled; trills, turns ornament after ornament. Dragonflies, honey bees, butterflies and blue bottles all flying around a beautiful rose garden all collecting their sticky sweet nectar to take back to their families. Warm sunny day, nothing in the world to go wrong; a perfect day one may say. That was the scene Lucius saw as he listened to the music and then he looked towards his family, horrified.

They were not perfect, the world outside the music room was not perfect and even enclosed within those walls with only his music and piano, life was not perfect. Notes were missed, expression was not always correctly observed, chords were played wrong, a missed dynamic, a slip of just one finger made life imperfect. This alone made Lucius feel agitated, he was not always even in control of the things he loved the most; his family, his music, the influx of dirty blood in the Wizarding world. Did blood even matter anymore; there always had been intelligent Mudbloods and to Lucius it had never been a question of intelligence, it was more imperative that Muggles did not find out about their world lest they would hunt Witches and Wizards like they once had.

All manner of emotions were swirling within Lucius' mind, he was as mixed up as the many flavours in the red wine that he had been swirling before drinking earlier. Before he could control himself, Lucius himself began to wail "None of this is my fault. Do you think I asked to be blessed with an artistic temperament as you put it, Draco? I have a short fuse, a short temper if you will. I feel things that a rational scientific mind could never even dream of. The ecstasy of winning, the lust for power and the depressive wallow of failure are all very real to me. More real to me than to someone without an artistic bone in their body." Lucius' voice by now had become much more even, he had turning into Lucius Malfoy, the aristocratic diplomat "I have to control and manipulate things to be as I want them to be, I am compelled to just like I'm compelled to interpret carefully placed dots on parchment. Whilst I did not choose to be who I am, until recently I embraced it." Lucius' almost dreamlike voice changed into a sinister drawl as he began to address his son "You are no better, Draco for you are my son; my handsome and charming son who is more like me than he could possibly wish to be. My young son who cannot murder another human being because feelings of guilt would feed on his very soul. The son I want to protect from harm and guide away from danger, who doesn't really want me to be some heartless bastard but has misplaced anger towards me, which is understandable at your difficult age and in our difficult circumstances." Lucius reasoned Draco's behaviour and once again picked the wine glass up and began to swirl the contents before drinking the glass dry.

At this, Draco did not know what to say. He had expected his father to fly off the handle, to lose his temper and roar at his son to go to bed. Though the strange character analysis that his father had calmly talked of rang true with Draco, as much as he loathed to admit it.

He too suffered from the temper tantrums, the need to control, the thirst for power and the cowardice, if you could call not being able to murder another that. He knew that his father had not been a cold blooded killer either, that night on the Astronomy Tower, when his aunt had maliciously sneered that he 'hadn't got it in him, just like his father'. After that, Draco wanted to do it, he wanted to prove that not only was he worthy of his father's respect, he was beyond it. He wanted to prove that the son was better than the father and that Lucius was purely the warm up in comparison to him; Draco Malfoy. However, as much as he wanted to prove himself he could just not kill a helpless old man. Even if that helpless old man was the worst thing that had ever happened to Hogwarts, even if that man was nothing but a bumbling Griffindork, Draco Malfoy could not murder him. Just like his failure of a father; Draco was not a killer. At that he began to open up to his family about what the Dark Lord had spoken to him earlier in that day. "The Dark Lord wishes to train me, as a warrior. He said I could be the greatest, his most favoured, even above my aunt Bellatrix but I can't. I can't do it. I'm not a killer." Draco stuttered his last words and hot, fat tears were beginning to fall down his pale cheeks. "I'm sorry father, you're right about me. I'm sorry for the things I said. I'm sorry for what I just said. Grandfather also told me on his deathbed that he loved you more than the desert loves the rain but he struggled to understand you at times. He told me to tell you but I never did, not until now." Draco looked towards his father who had that lost look in his pale eyes. He quickly looked away, not wanting his father to see that he sympathised with him.

Many portraits by now were looking down on the family below. One such portrait was that of Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius' father who had brought him up from a young age following Lucius' mother's death. He was looking at his own son and slightly smiling, almost trying to will his son to be strong for his own family.

Lucius however, would have never noticed this for he was looking towards his own son, trying to fight the impending flood of tears. Blinking his pale blue-grey eyes Lucius took his son's hand in his own. "I don't want you to be a murderer. That way the devil cannot take your soul; you can still be pure and true. Draco, I'd rather die under the Dark Lord's regime than see you be taken as a prisoner by the devil himself, slowly consuming your body and soul with guilt and regret." As he spoke the words, Lucius regained a little of his composure, he was no longer fighting not to cry in front of his teenage son, he felt a little of his control back as he sanely spoke to Draco.

Narcissa, more than anybody understood just how much Lucius feared death; up until the Dark Lord had risen, Lucius had brewed and taken potions to extend his life by as many years as were magically possible. He hated every frown line and smile line that had began to appear on his perfect skin and she knew that her husband had real issues relating to aging and ultimately death. So, she knew that his heartfelt words to their son had been something that was really difficult for Lucius to say. "Draco, you must understand your father has been through a lot recently, he's perhaps not always himself but we'll get through this as a family and I can assure you that we will be alright. Anyway, you'll be back in Hogwarts soon enough; I trust you have been revising and not just been out playing Quidditch? Whilst your father may have received some awful OWL results, his NEWT's were exemplary." Narcissa smiled softly towards her son and took his hand in hers before wiping his tears away.

Rolling his eyes, Draco stared at his mother. He knew that his father's NEWT results were one of the best Hogwarts had seen in recent years; the very mention of it filled Draco with dread that he could not compare academically to the current Malfoy patriarch. "What about your NEWT's mother?" He was genuinely curious as to his mother's school marks as he had recently discovered she was very good with a wand but already knew that she was not the word smith that his father was.

"Well I got O's in Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Applications of the Dark Arts as it was called in those days. I also did Charms which I got Exceeds Expectations for. After school, your father and I got married and before I had you, I studied Transfiguration under Professor MacGonagall." Narcissa's sickly sweet smile remained as she felt amused seeing her son so shocked. She had loved most of the subjects Lucius had hated throughout school.

"I'm rubbish at Transfiguration." Draco whined "My last choice is between Transfiguration and History. I hate History; it's boring but it's easier than Transfiguration. I wish I was good at it, mum."

"Wand out. Look at the empty glass beside your father, think of something useful that it could become. Concentrate. Hard. Do not think about not being able to. Do not think about the latest gossip or Quidditch or anything but the item you need. Yes need, Draco not want. Say the incantation with a heavy swish of the wand. You are aiming for perfection first time. You aren't aiming to practise nor are you aiming for a draft you can improve upon." At this she looked towards Lucius, knowing that those had been his mistakes in the practical subjects. She knew he saw the process of magic much like he saw the process of playing the piano; playing a rough run through with mistakes was OK first time around as you could iron all your mistakes out with practise. No wonder he excelled in Potions.

"Scribbifors" Draco powerfully said the incantation whilst he mentally placed the antique cut crystal glass turning into the most beautiful peacock feathered quill. Before now he had managed to Transfigure items but only to the most basic of items. The last quill he had conjured had been very plain and grey. However, this time, to his astonishment the quill was a perfect, beautiful blue peacock feather – just as he had imagined in his mind. "Wow. I'm picking Transfiguration! This is so much cooler than History."

Upon admiring his son's work, Lucius smiled slightly; pleased that his boy had found a new skill and a new respect for his mother. Not once had he gave his son the impression that the boy's mother was not an intelligent witch but Draco had always come to him for everything and Lucius' own pride had stopped him from telling the young boy to speak to his mother about it. "History is a very important subject, Draco. The more we learn about our past, the better we can hope to make our future. May I remind you that I studied History and Politics under the supervision of our current Minister for Magic." Lucius smirked at his wife, if she was going to name drop one of the greatest living Conjurers that the Wizarding world had to offer, he was going to impress the impressionable teenager with tales of true greatness about people who held real power within the country.

"Sorry father but Transfiguration is far more useful than being able to debate about whether or not the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct is now outdated due to advancements in Potions." Draco smiled at his father who was one of very few students who could stand Binn's lectures and some even said Lucius Malfoy had actually enjoyed them.

"I beg to differ, Draco. Now, please turn my glass back to a glass." Lucius held the quill up with a mock look of annoyance flashing across his features.

Both Narcissa and Draco just laughed.t