They come home in the late hours of the night.
Their minds have been drilled to the core with questions. When and how but mostly why. They told them when and how, and who, and where. But the why escapes them. Even now.
Lucius remembers a time when he knew why. He was young, and bold, and ambitious. It was right. It was about keeping bloodlines pure and their families powerful. It was about bringing down a Ministry that was forcing its muggle-loving views on much more ancient traditions. It was about standing for a way of living, high above everyone else, standing for a world of unspoken rules that are part of them just like the pure blood in their veins. But by the end it isn't right anymore. It isn't about tradition, it isn't about pure bloodlines. It is about power and someone so obsessed with it that children became threats. And so he does not know why he has been standing on the other side. He cares not for admitting that his only reason was his weakness. Love. For his family. For his life. The thing his Master despised so, and that became his downfall. He could rule the world, but he could not win over a father's love or a mother's care. He did not understand these things and could not fight them because of his ignorance.
Draco remembers growing up in a world of traditions and privileges. A world where his name meant something powerful, not to be messed with, where his name would open doors for him everywhere he went, gather people around him, help him make friends. Sort of. The same name is now a cursed thing. His pure blood no longer matters. He knows exactly why, though. He wanted to make his Father proud. He wanted to keep his Mother safe. And when Delphini came into existence, he wanted to make sure she would have some good in her life, some light. He did not tell the Aurors that. The why concerned him and only him. It was also his weakness, or so his Master said. He cares for others. He loves them. He has a mark on his left forearm, a skull and a snake. They are gone from view now, but he knows they are there. He can feel them there, blaming him for not rising up to meet what was expected of him. His Father was not proud of his son and his Mother was not kept safe. Maybe he can keep that last promise. Maybe he is free to care for someone now, not afraid of being hexed for it. Not afraid of losing them.
They walk up to the living room doorway a few minutes later.
Lucius takes a glance at his sleeping wife. On the floor, next to all that is left of Him. And he wonders if the Dark Lord truly did not know of fatherly love and motherly care. Could He have learned about it from her? From both of them? Why is he here now, then? Beholding an orphaned child and a crumbling world, just like before? No, the mighty Lord Voldemort had that fault until the end. He did not know love, and so he had fallen, taking all of them down.
Draco takes a glance at his sleeping cousin. Not a care in the world, he thinks, and envies her for a second. Then he remembers that little girl is now an orphan. She will never know of her true Father, she will not remember him. She will not remember her Mother either, but they can show her pictures of Bellatrix. Of beautiful, young Bella, already dangerous but not quite so insane. He doesn't believe there are any pictures of her Father. He will search the house and make sure. The Wizarding War and the Dark Lord will be part of her subjects at Hogwarts, and of absolutely nothing else. He hopes.
Lucius beholds as his son cradles Delphini in his arms, and how she snuggles against him. Draco nods his leave and walks out. They cannot say a single world to each other. They would crumble into pieces right there, and Malfoys do not behave in such manner. Draco will suffer silently; he will take it out on his rooms, probably destroying all that surrounds him only to repair it all, silently, and come downstairs the next morning, pretending there was no noise, pretending nothing happened. His nurture allows him nothing but dignity. Proud and perfect. A Malfoy to a fault. His nature yearns for something else.
Once his son is out, Lucius falls to the ground. On his knees, like so many times before his Master. He lets his shoulders shake and his lips tremble. He is a broken Malfoy. A failure. In the morning, he will be together once more, but right now, his façade shatters. He doesn't know how long it has been when she comes to him. Awaken by his sorrow. Her blonde hair loose, over her shoulder. Tears in her eyes. She has lost so much, he realizes, and still she comforts me. She sits down next to him and he lays his head on her lap. They stay there for the rest of the night. Narcissa runs her fingers through his hair. Lucius holds on to her waist like he might drown.
At dawn, the pale light reminds them that Malfoys cannot be seen like this. Not even by their children. Narcissa suggests they go upstairs and retire to their rooms. Lucius holds her tighter, thanking her in gesture, for he can be broken a little while longer, he can let her heal him. He can put her pieces back together too, but not here. They rise.
They slowly disrobe themselves. They do not look at one another. Narcissa puts on her nightgown and climbs in bed. Lucius puts on his silk pajama pants and decides he doesn't care for the feeling of silk on his chest tonight. He climbs in bed with her. He cares for her heat against his skin. He kisses her lips and he is home, safe, whole. He is a castaway that just escaped the storm and she is his harbour. Her tears drift down his skin too and he holds her in a close embrace. She sobs for the first time since he came home from Azkaban. She is a flower blown in the wind and he is her shelter.