Day Three: We're Not in Wiltshire Anymore

They slept haphazardly on the bed. Waking up every few hours with a start. Waiting for the pounding on the doors to begin. Expecting another zombie to apparate in and try to kill them.

Draco dreamed of his father except his father was very much alive. They were in Draco's lavatory, arguing about something, but Draco couldn't remember what. He stabbed Lucius over and over, but the patriarch never bled - never faltered. Then Draco heard crying. He looked over to see his mother sitting on the floor, knees to her chest. She wasn't wearing any clothes. She looked up at him and he saw she was crying blood.

Draco awoke with a start, his clothes from the day before plastered to his body with sweat. His mouth tasted foul. He worked his dry tongue and felt his companion stir beside him. "Mum?"

"Mmmm." She moaned, pressed her face into his armpit and curled a bit more foetally against his side.

He made to sit up. She clung to him. "Mum." He extracted his arm. "We have to get out of here. There are probably more of them." She propped on her elbows, sleepy eyes unfocused. He saw dots of blood like freckles on her pale complexion and wiped at a speck. It was almost...cute.

"What time is it?" She whispered.

"I don't know. Early, I think." A crash from the corridor caught their attention, eyes flashing like deers'. "What was that?"

"Sounded like my Louis the Sixteenth urn." She scowled. "Is this really happening?"

Draco rubbed at his face. "I assume you're referring to the zombie apocalypse currently befalling our country and possibly the world? Not just your decorative ceramics?" He slung his legs over the side of the bed.

She was pouting. "It was porcelain."

Draco sighed. Reached out and rubbed at her back. "We should bathe, mum. Gather up some supplies and get out of here while we can."

"What supplies?" She asked, looking away when Draco began shedding his clothes.

"Potions," he said. "You know. Medicinal things. And maybe some food...if we can still access the kitchen." He paused in the door of the en suite. "You're the only one with a wand right now, mum. We need to stick close together."

She stood, checked that said wand was still tucked securely in her left sleeve. "Should I..." Her face worked oddly.

"Should you what?" He called from the lav. He started the bathwater running and dropped his trousers, intent on a quick wash-up.

"Should I stay with you, then?"

"Gah!" He whirled, surprised to see her standing in the doorway.

"Oh!" They blushed together, awkwardly turning away.

"Just - just wait by the door!" Draco tried to sound calm. "I'll be fast. And then, I'll wait there for you. Alright?"

She nodded, face averted as she dipped around the corner. "Alright."

He was true to his word, brisk in his ablutions. Soap for everything and a plunge to rinse. Only when he emerged from the bath did he realise his error.

Narcissa was pressed to the wall when he emerged. "Are you already - Oh, good goddess!"

"What?!" He looked at her hand covered face. "I don't have any clothes in here! I apologise!" He knew he made quite a sight in a too small towel, still dripping on her fine rugs. "For fuck's sake, witch. You're my mum!"

"Language, Draco!"

He groaned to the ceiling. "Even now..." He snatched her wand from her sleeve. "Go. It's your turn. I'll find something of father's to wear. Hurry." She scurried past him and soon he heard water flowing again.

Lucius' wardrobe was directly across from the en suite. Draco felt secure enough leaving her for just a moment, and was soon dragging his father's attire carelessly from drawer and hanger. "Merlin's meat," he muttered. "Did the man have a scrap of practical clothing?" Everything seemed to be velvet or satin with enormous buttons and elaborate clasps. He managed to find a cotton oxford and shrugged into it gratefully, looking into the built-in mirror.

He froze. The mirror gave him a perfect uninterrupted view into the lavatory, where his mother was sliding from the bathtub to the tile floor. She'd apparently forgotten to retrieve a towel, and crossed the threshold to a cupboard. Draco felt himself gaping, unable to look away.

Her hair was soaked, laying in one dark layer to the middle of her back. It dripped rivulets of water down, down over shapely, creamy buttocks, to soft svelte thighs. For a moment, her towel obscured his view, but the hypnosis was complete. When she wrapped the plush material around her back, she turned.

Can't be my mother, he thought. Full, perky breasts, nipples hardened slightly by the chill, and a taut if rounded tummy. He tried not to look - tried - but the mirror wouldn't cooperate, and he took in red-faced that hidden apex of her. His point of origin, trimmed and dark, beckoning...

Another crash sounded, this one closer, and Draco shook himself. He grabbed a pair of black trousers and stepped into them. When he turned, Narcissa was standing at the foot of her bed gripping a thick post, eyes wide with fear. Draco pulled her wand. "Dress," he instructed. "Quickly, mum!"

He could tell his urgency was wearing on her, and vowed to make some time for her later, to try to quell her anxieties. Truthfully, he wasn't certain how he was holding it together himself. He was buttoning his father's trousers and heading for the lav again when she stopped him. "Draco?"

"What?" She was still in her bloody towel, holding out a black quilted bag. He took it curiously. "What's this?"

"For the potions and such. It's charmed." She turned to her own wardrobe. "Why don't you gather them while I dress?"

He smirked. That's how I'm holding it together. For her. With her. "Alright, mum." Back in the lavatory, he flung open the potions cabinet, grabbing bottles without really checking them.

"Draco?" She called to him from her wardrobe. "Where will we go?"

"Someplace populated," he called back. "I was thinking London. Someplace where we might find other uninfected people. Resources and perhaps a place to hide."

"Won't there be just as many infected there? Or more?"

"Muggles perhaps. But at least they won't apparate in on us."

Narcissa walked out the wardrobe dressed in a simple black dress and low heeled boots. "I suppose you may have a point," she said as she tied her hair back. "We'll need food before we leave. Call the elf when you are done, Draco," she said as he dropped another potion into the bag.

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because," she said as she turned to walk back into the wardrobe. "I need to pack clothing. Who knows how long we'll be stuck there. I've seen the things those muggle women wear!"

"Yes, because the dead do care how you are dressed," Draco muttered as he pulled the drawstring shut.

"Soraya!"

A house elf in a faded black pillowcase appeared before Draco. "Yes, young master?" It squeaked. Its hands were red with what Draco assumed to be blood. The elf noticed Draco staring. "Soraya was trying to clean the mess in the corridor but wizards kept appearing and kept trying to attack Soraya. Soraya's been hiding in the cellar."

Draco looked at it with disgust. "Mother and I are going away for a time. Pack us food for the journey and be quick about it."

"Of course, young master." The elf responded with a shaky bow before apparating to the kitchens.

Draco stood and walked out of the lavatory. Dropping the bag of potions on the bed he walked back into Lucius' wardrobe. The longer he stared the more the collection of velvet and lace seemed to grow.

He sighed and walked out of the wardrobe and nearly tripped over the elf who had apparated in only moments before.

"Oh young master! Soraya is most very sorry!" It yelped.

"Bloody elf," he muttered as he picked up the bag of fallen food and set it next to the bag of potions.

Narcissa walked into the bedroom with a small suitcase in hand. "Are you ready, Draco?"

Draco shook his head. "I want my own clothes. I refuse to spend the end of the world looking like a ponce."

"How do you plan on getting to your rooms from here?" She asked. "The halls are swarming with the living dead." As if on cue there was another loud crash on the other side of the door.

"Give me your wand," he said. "I'll apparate into my wardrobe and come back for you."

Narcissa shook her head. "Absolutely not. You are not leaving me here without a wand. Furthermore we don't know if your rooms are safe."

Draco looked around the room and spotted the elf cowering in the corner. "Soraya, go to my rooms and bring me a few shirts, trousers, and an extra pair of shoes."

Soraya nodded. "Yes, young master. Soraya will be back very soon."

Narcissa and Draco sat in silence on the bed while they waited for the elf to return. Five minutes passed which slowly crept into ten. Still no sign of the elf.

"Soraya?" Narcissa called. They waited but the elf never appeared.

"Perhaps," Narcissa said softly, "you should take some of your father's clothing. We can charm the frilly bits off later." She didn't want to think about what may have happened to the elf.

Draco nodded. He felt numb as he walked into the wardrobe again. Not even my own room is safe any longer. He grabbed a bag from one of the shelves and mechanically began pulling trousers and shirts from the hangers. Shoving the clothing into the bag he pulled open one of the drawers at the neatly folded pants. He tentatively reached for a pair and held it up between two fingers. I'm not sure which is worse. Being completely pantsless or having to wear my father's. He added a few pairs to the bag in case of a dire emergency and walked back into the bedroom.

Draco saw Narcissa leaning against the window and staring out into the garden. His mind wandered to when he had seen her after her bath. Some sickness in me. He thought. But will it matter? When all is said and done, will we survive for it to matter?

She wiped her face. She was beautiful in the morning light. If we all die tomorrow, what would be the harm in fucking my mother? Who would be around to call it vile? He imagined hours without worry, hours without the threat of death chasing them, wherein they could be alone in their home. His father away as usual.

Hours wherein he could just try it... Touch her face, her shoulder. Read her reaction. Hours to feel the softness of her pale skin, to undress her, to learn the taste of her, the sounds she might make, the feel of her nails breaking the skin of his back.

A loud bang on the bedroom door interrupted Draco's thoughts. "I think we should go," he said, backing away from the door. Narcissa nodded wide eyed as she grabbed her suitcase and the potions bag. The pushed against the frame as Draco picked up the food bag and grabbed her arm as they disapparated.