Lucius sat in his study, listening to the familiar sounds of family heirlooms being hurled unceremoniously at the walls.

Crash!

There went another one - possibly a present from a Great Aunt or something... he rubbed his temples. It was one in the morning - far too late for this nonsense. He didn't even want to know what Draco was having a strop about this time. He had come raging in about an hour ago and had promptly barricaded himself in his room after kicking out the house elves. As far as Lucius was concerned, the whole charade was exhausting. He didn't even register the slim fingers brushing against his wrist, until his hand was gently pulled away.

"He's in a fine mood tonight," Andromeda commented. Her touch was gentle to his frayed nerves and he noted - as any worthy Slytherin would - that her thumb was absently rubbing his wrist, fluttering against the pulse point. It was... oddly soothing.

Crash!

"Did he say anything to you?" he asked her.

"Just something about never taking my advice again," she quipped dryly. "Which reminds me, I do recall telling you that Roland Blake was a terrible prospect to begin with."

"Ah. The secret weapon of all womankind. The infamous I told you so," Lucius drawled. "Narcissa was quite adept at that."

"I taught her well," Andromeda replied with a laugh, but she removed her hand from his all the same. He refused to acknowledge the pang of disappointment. Instead, he focused himself on the sounds of his son decimating what was left of his room.

"Perhaps I should just give up," he mused. "The boy is clearly... unstable. And certainly not ready for marriage."

"Lucius!" Andromeda protested at once. "Draco is certainly not unstable. He's just..."

"A raging pit of fathomless fury?" Lucius intoned.

The witch rolled her eyes. "I was going to say 'difficult'. He's young, Lucius. And stubborn and opinionated and proud. He needs someone who can manage him. Deal with him."

"What he needs is a leash and shock collar."

"Lucius Malfoy! That is my nephew you're talking about!" He almost chuckled at her look of indignation. Andromeda huffed, her thoughtful frown deepening. "Perhaps you should consider giving him some time. Instead of throwing random - and might I add - useless suitors at him who run for the hills the second things become a little rough."

He was about to respond that having a side table hurled at one's frontal cortex was hardly his definition of 'a little rough', when a familiar intruder barged in, interrupting them.

"Do you not have a home of your own?" Lucius demanded. "If memory serves your mother acquired a charming little chateau from her last husband. Might I suggest barging in there unannounced in the dead of the night?"

"Well!" Blaise sniffed disparagingly. "See if I do you any favours again."

Lucius raised an eyebrow and the younger man smirked, tossing some photographs on the table. "They were going to run them in tomorrow's Prophet," he explained. "I had to Confound a few people, but there you have it. You're welcome."

Lucius sifted through the photographs carefully, Andromeda leaning in to peer curiously as well. By the time they had finished, the older witch was wide eyed and apparently speechless. Even Lucius' schooled mask was somewhat strained.

"How did you come by these?" Andromeda asked carefully.

"I have an… understanding with the Prophet's Editor in Chief," Blaise smirked. "Gwen is most accommodating. Very, very accommodating actually…"

"Spare me the details of your latest fling, Zabini," Lucius intoned flatly. "And tell me what these are all about."

"Well, they sort of speak for themselves, don't they?" Blaise said cheerily, taking the pictures and flipping them on the table one by one. "There's Blake starting to act a little fresh with our young Draco - terrible fellow, by the way. He supports the Falmouth Falcons, can you imagine? Oh and there's our Draco in full form, responding with a somewhat questionable Cabernet. And then there's this one, my personal favourite…"

"Potter," Lucius cut in, his eyes roving the picture of the young man. It was definitely Potter. He had situated himself firmly between Draco and his attacker. His hand was around Blake's wrist, holding him back as he shielded Draco from what promised to be a brutal altercation. And, Lucius noted with keen interest, the boy looked furious. His profile was rigid, his eyes were flashing and his jaw was clenched. The picture moved and Potter flung Blake back easily. He looked… predatory.

"I told you he was your man," Blaise put in smugly. Lucius' lip curled up in a silent smirk. This was… promising.

"Indeed," he drawled. Very promising.

Andromeda raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Lucius? Just what are you plotting now?"

"Why nothing, my dear," Lucius answered smoothly. "It's just struck me that it's been a while since I took in a Quidditch match. Zabini, surely you can arrange something?"

"I'll be glad to," Blaise chuckled. Andromeda sighed and buried her face in a slim hand. This would not end well.

"Damn it, Heidi!" Oliver howled; dodging as an errant Cleansweep spun right across the goal post. "Watch where you're steering!"

"Piss off, Wood! You try getting this thing to fly straight!"

Harry dodged a Bludger with practiced ease but he couldn't bring himself to search for the Snitch. Practice was a disaster and just the sight of his ramshackle team was enough to send him spiralling into depression. It was horrible. The broomsticks were practically in splinters, the Beaters bats were falling apart and he was pretty sure that Bludger was drunk. It was spinning around in circles now, buzzing in a highly non-Bludger like fashion. It was too painful to watch.

"I'm taking five," he yelled to no one in particular and swooped down. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he hoisted up his broomstick and marched for the stands, slumping down in a chair and rubbing his eyes wearily. He hadn't had much sleep the past week. Between practice and his mind working overtime on a certain, snarky blond at every waking moment that wasn't practice, he was a wreck.

From where he was sitting, he had a fantastic view of a Chaser crash head first into a Beater who wasn't paying close attention. Harry slumped further in his seat.

"Interesting manoeuvre. Although my understanding of the sport is that teams are usually on the same side."

Harry nearly fell out of his seat as he whirled around in alarm. "You!" he sputtered. "What the hell are… how did you even get in here?!"

"I have my sources," Lucius Malfoy smirked at the scowling boy.

"I am going to murder Zabini," Harry growled.

"An admirable sentiment," Lucius drawled. "And one I identify strongly with on my best days."

Harry bit back the urge to run around in circles, screaming at the top of his lungs. If it had come to the point that he was having a semi amiable conversation with an ex Death Eater who had tried to off him on more than one occasion while his Quidditch Team merrily went about sabotaging themselves, life was suddenly very complicated. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked wearily.

"An hour out of your busy schedule," the older man answered, running an elegant hand down his robe, smoothening imaginary wrinkles. Harry sneered, apparently in no mood to cooperate. "It's about my son," Lucius cut in before he could refuse or storm off.

Harry stopped short and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I'm listening," he said slowly.

The older man smirked. "Walk with me, Mr. Potter. We have much to discuss."

Dun dun DUN!

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