Oh, hi! Chapter 3. The response to this has been freaking me out so far, in a good way, so keep those faves and follows coming. Short notes this time. Chapter 4 should be out tomorrow, and we'll get to the meat and potatoes of this story... sort of... man, now I'm hungry.

I don't own dis.

Lu,

Stopped at the baker's, may be detained momentarily. Be polite.

Cissy

They had been lucky, he and Cissy. They had been in love when they married. Their son was accomplished and alive, despite the past. Their divorce was amicable, and Gods above if he wasn't blessed to still be able to call his former wife a friend.

She had been a vivacious brunette, her wavy hair piled atop her head, a beauty in her stylish wedding robes and veil. Those petal soft lips he had caressed with his own masculine pair for over twenty years had been painted a deep, seductive berry that day. He recalled how the imagery of her suckling forbidden fruits in the garden had him half-hard before she had even reached the altar.

Lucius remembered how he filled with pride as her hair began to shift in colour, the blonde of his pure line meeting hers, signifying her pregnancy with his heir. Though her pregnancy had been difficult and fraught with problems, Draco was born only one week prematurely. They hadn't been able to conceive again, instead pouring their everything into raising their son.

'Draco wouldn't see it that way,' a traitorous voice whispered in his thoughts, the regrets of the past ten years weighing heavily upon his slumped shoulders. Fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose to stave off the sting behind his eyes, Lucius sniffed a bit and shook his head. Things may have gone poorly with his marriage, but he would be damned if he lost his son after doing the unspeakable to keep him alive to such inanity as preserving his own broken pride.

When his son had announced roughly five months prior he was sharing a flat with the muggleborn witch, the Malfoy patriarch had balked. Where Draco had accused him of blood prejudice, Lucius had returned that he had no issue with her heritage, only that it was improper for a man and woman to live together as such. Surprising even himself, he had meant it.

Then came the next reveal, Draco preferred men. This was less of a surprise, as Lucius had noticed his son making eyes at the family barrister's grandson when he was fifteen, passing it off at the time as healthy sexual curiosity. For all the ways in which their culture could be seen as archaic, the acceptance of same-sex and poly couples was plentiful and positive. With the old families, such marriages were seen as more pure because of the way in which magic worked to bring couples together, who were often described as 'soulmates' of a sort.

From there, his concerns were moot and Draco had moved within the week. It was only after the final box was being carried through the Floo did the feeling of an empty manor set in. Cissy had moved into one of the chateaux the year prior, and though he employed a sizeable number of elves, he found himself alone. No, not alone. Lonely. In the weeks following, regret gnawed at him. Thoughts of all the missed opportunities to express his pride, his love, and his respect for his son ate away at him.

Then owls started arriving. A simple invitation to tea had come first, and he had stared at it for hours before he even opened it, sure that it was for another 'Mr. L. Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire'. The next week brought a casual dinner request, and the one after, lunch, all in the same neat, feminine handwriting. When the most recent had arrived, Lucius had had no opportunity to ruminate upon all the reasons he shouldn't attend. Cissy, visiting for tea, had answered for him, and now, there he was, hoping he wouldn't be hexed as soon as he showed up.

With a look into the mirror of his cloak room, the Malfoy Head straightened his shoulders and robes. Narcissa had implored him to be polite, so polite he would be. He could only hope for a warmer welcome than a stunner to the chest.

The first thing Lucius Malfoy saw when entering the flat his son shared with the Granger girl was a rather nicely shaped arse. A warm welcome indeed, as the pert buttocks swayed and bounced in time with its owner's actions. Attached to that lovely specimen of derriere came a voice he well recognized.

"Your father is a smart man, Draco. He knows that what is right is not always easy better than most, making the tough decisions because they were right for your family. I respect him for that, and won't begrudge him his past if he can do the same for mine."

"As you say, Miss Granger."