A/N: The first batch of chapters of my original novel are now with my beta readers, which is very surreal and very scary! Thoughts and prayers are appreciated, because I'm very frightened of my email inbox right now B)

Lots of deep-diving into Lucius' mind here, because there's been shockingly little of that throughout this, really, and it's about damn time. He's the most difficult character in any of this to write, he has been since the beginning, I'm trying to do him justice.

Dinner went smoothly. Apparently growing content that this new figure would not lunge at him out of the blue, Caelum relaxed somewhat, sitting up in his chair and eating slowly, even if he'd yet to speak and mainly looked to his sister whenever he looked at anybody at the table. For her part, even Evelyn's confidence had its limits, and she seemed to have resolved to share in her brother's decision to eat quietly - although she made an open study of her grandfather as she did so, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

When she did speak, though, it wasn't to make more enquiries into Lucius' presence.

"Where are mummy and daddy?" she asked quietly "Will they be here soon?"

"Do you remember what I told you, Evie? That you and your brother will be sleeping here tonight?" Narcissa replied carefully.

"Yes, but when do they get here?" she frowned, her pale eyebrows knitting together "Are they not staying as well?"

Lucius made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded dangerously close to a scoff, and Narcissa fixed him with a sharp look which nipped that in the bud right away. She wouldn't risk this new stride forward because her husband could not hold his tongue - it was too important, and as much as she loathed of being cowed into silence for anybody, much less her daughter-in-law, she didn't doubt that there would be no second chance if it got back to her that gran and grandpa had been insulting mummy, and daddy by extension, over dinner.

And, the ancient war that had been waged between all of them aside, it would not be good for the children to hear even the slightest grumble about their mother from their grandparents. Her blood was their blood, and she could never regret them. She would have no deviation from this list of unspoken rules, not even from Lucius. He would not ruin this for her. Draco had made it obvious who he would choose if his hand was forced. Perhaps pandering to that was an indignity, but being kept away from her grandchildren would be an even worse one - and one she refused to suffer.

"No, darling, they aren't," she answered quietly.

"Why not?" the girl's voice raised in pitch, gaining a distinct note of distress.

Narcissa put her fork down, considering her answer carefully. She didn't think it prudent to tell them the details, but Draco and Marilyn were of that generation that thought children entitled to explanations regarding anything and everything that occurred, and so if she denied that anything at all was happening, she'd no doubt be made a liar when they disagreed.

"Your father is poorly at the moment, darling. He doesn't wish for you and your brother to catch it, so you're staying here while he gets better."

"But what about mummy?"

"Your mother is caring for him."

Another abandoned snort from Lucius. Evelyn's lower lip threatened to tremble, her dinner completely abandoned now that she realised this wasn't quite going to be the family-wide sleepover she'd envisioned.

The fact that she had envisioned such an outcome at all, though, was of some interest to Narcissa. Interest that only grew the more she considered it, in fact, for it suggested that she hadn't heard anything from her parents - either of her parents - to realise that such an assumption was laughable at best, even from a six year old. Yes, Evie was only six, so it wasn't completely out of the realms of possibility that there would be an occasional lapse in logic, Malfoy or no, but she was a clever girl. If her mother spent the amount of time that Narcissa had always assumed she did cursing her and her husband up and down, she wouldn't have asked such a question.

Draco always insisted that Marilyn, at worst, had a 'no comment' policy as far as the children's pureblood ancestors were concerned - and at one point he'd even alluded to the fact that the same sort of policy applied to their Muggle ancestors, too, and then gave away the fact that he instantly regretted that admission by swiftly changing the topic and pretending not to notice Narcissa's responding confusion. Narcissa, of course, had not believed him. Not on the first count, in any case. Of course he would say that, he was standing by his wife. It was one of the few aspects of their relationship that she could even bring herself to admire, most of all because it was reciprocated so fiercely by the wife he'd chosen.

If there was one complimentary thing she could say on that count, it was that few of the girlfriends he'd had before Marilyn came along would fight his duels quite so fiercely…even if her ability to fight was severely limited by nature. In any case, it appeared Draco's assertions might actually be true. Her surprise was side-lined when tears began to well in Evelyn's great blue eyes.

"Now, now," Narcissa slid from her chair swiftly and rounded the table, crouching down by her granddaughter "There's no need for that. We're going to have a lovely evening, aren't we? And then your mother will be here with Joanna in the morning to see you."

"She will?" Lucius asked sharply, and then saw how close she was to her limit with his snippiness if the softening of his voice when he continued was anything to go by "How? Given her…limitations with Magical travel?"

"The nanny is bringing her."

As she explained, Narcissa's attention was saved solely for her granddaughter, tucking her long hair behind her ear as she continued.

"But before that, we're going to have the best time, so they'll be very jealous when they arrive and hear of everything that they missed. After dinner, we'll get ready for bed-"

"At seven o'clock?" Lucius asked.

"Yes, grandpa, it's a sleepover," Narcissa gave an exaggerated scoff and eye-roll at him - and earned a sniffly giggle for her troubles, which was undoubtedly her aim "And we'll have the house-elves bring us some hot chocolate; the best stuff, the one we hide from our usual visitors - because they're all just rubbish, aren't they?"

Getting closer, she lowered her voice to hushed, conspiratorial tones - primarily to save Caelum any upset over what she was about to say.

"Then, once Caelum is in bed, we can go exploring. There must be some parts of the manor you haven't yet seen. Your father tells me you're a fantastic reader, you know? Would you like your grandfather to show you his study?"

At six years old, the fact that her bedtime was an hour or two later than her brother's was a point of great pride for the girl. Draco had warned Narcissa of that fact once she'd agreed to take the children for the night. Pressing her lips together, Evelyn turned her gaze to Lucius, her eyebrows upturned as though seeking his agreement to the proposed arrangement. He inclined his head, and fought the urge to smile in return when she beamed.

Satisfied, Narcissa straightened and returned to her chair.

"Remove anything unsuitable from reach while I get them changed," she said - cheerfully, so that the children mightn't realise she was discussing the fact that their grandfather likely owned all manner of cursed objects.

Wisely, Lucius did not argue. Mostly because she was correct, and he saw the necessity of such a move, too.

Bedtime was a trial all of its own. Unsettled by the manor after dark, Caelum woke at least once per hour through what appeared to be sheer force of will. Given that he was still overall unsure as to what his opinion of Lucius was, this left Narcissa to go and soothe him each time, and one such occasion happened to befall the time when it came to put Evelyn to bed - after she'd received her promised tour of the study, of course.

It had been decided that Evelyn would sleep in Draco's old room, seeing as she had adamantly insisted that she was much too grown up to sleep in the nursery with her brother. The nursery had stood in wait of this day since the girl's birth, and Lucius had watched fondly as Narcissa all but shook with excitement when it came time to carry her grandson inside and settle him down for the night. It was that excitement which kept any exasperation at bay when they heard him stir again down the hall, an amplifying spell having been placed on the room for that very purpose.

"I'll be back in a moment," Narcissa promised Evie.

The girl waited in the middle of a bed which seemed comically large for her, bright purple flower-emblazoned pyjamas standing in sharp contrast to the green covers that dwarfed her. They both watched as Narcissa swept from the room, Lucius likely looking much more lost than Evelyn did. He cast a glance towards the promised bedtime story, sitting forgotten on the covers - a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Yet another thing that had once belonged to Draco. He wondered faintly if he should read it to her himself. It was an idea he quickly abandoned - for it was impossible to say which of them would find that the most painful, but it would certainly be a close contest.

Turning his attention back to Evelyn, he had but a brief moment to contemplate how one went about making small-talk with a six year old before his heart was sinking in abject horror at what he saw. Though she was doing an admirable effort to fight it - especially considering just how young she was - her eyes were filled with tears, her lips were trembling despite how tightly she'd pressed them together, and her little fists were bundled in the covers.

It was understandable - exceedingly understandable, if Lucius could see so. He had just enough self-awareness to know he wasn't typically the understanding sort, after all. Ordinarily that was a point of pride. The girl was at the tail-end of quite a day, and it was only natural that all of the excitement and confusion would lead to fear and upset when things began to wind down. How often did he end a dinner party longing for his own bed?

"I want to go home," she announced quietly "I want mummy and daddy."

"Narcissa," Lucius called, trying to hide the faint note of panic in his voice.

He didn't succeed, but panic or no, he was not graced with a response. Either she was occupied with the boy, or she was sending a painfully clear message - this was his dilemma to face.

"I want to go home," Evelyn sniffled, making a heartbreakingly admirable attempt for one so young to fight the way her face threatened to crumple.

It was difficult to believe that this was the same girl who had so confidently conferred with him about what they might call one another just hours earlier.

"This was your father's room, you know," Lucius said "When he was a child."

He had no idea what prompted him to say it. Panic, perhaps. Or the fact that there was no facade to maintain here, as there was with everybody else - even his wife, that he had no desire to even think about such a thing, much less discuss it.

"It was?" she asked in a small voice.

The tears hadn't vanished from her eyes, but they were not yet falling. A victory. This was what Narcissa had done - presented a diversion.

"Yes. You've been here before, haven't you?" he asked "I'm surprised he hasn't shown you."

"This floor is provibited."

The explanation was paired with such a solemn tone that he didn't even have the heart to correct her.

"Ah, I see," he nodded with the same level of seriousness she'd offered.

On the occasion that Lucius was home when Draco brought them here - which was rare, because Narcissa was much more infuriated by his avoiding them in the house than she was when he conveniently had business elsewhere - this was the floor he'd come to for peace. The manor was so big that from here he might easily pretend nobody but he and his wife was here, and then he would emerge a good few hours later.

Narcissa always insisted to him that the Muggle never came along, that the children were perfectly well behaved, and even that she was certain Draco himself was disappointed that he was never present. Despite those assurances, while Lucius would never call his wife a liar, he knew how badly she desired some form of reconciliation. It had been the biggest source of strife in their marriage, and he'd often contemplated with some exasperation that a Muggle ballerina had managed to do what the Dark Lord had not, given that even his presence in their home during the war had brought he and his wife closer together. His wife and their son, too. But not his son and him.

And that was natural - or so he'd told himself. It was always the way with mothers and sons, was it not? Famously so, really. Apparently it was similar for fathers and daughters, but he had no daughters and so he could not know, but it was a running joke. Mothers embarrassed their sons by keeping them wrapped in all manner of protective charms, and daughters had their fathers wrapped around their wands before they even had their first from Ollivander's. It wasn't something he'd ever put much stock in - Narcissa was a fierce mother, and she'd have adored any children they had regardless of their sex - and when he did put stock in it, it was to reassure himself that all was well between he and his son.

There were lots of good excuses he found over the years to aid that reassurance. Fathers and sons were never as close as mothers and sons. Mothers were supposed to be doting and fathers were supposed to be fearsome. Taking a firm hand in his parenting was the best thing in the long run - it was providing Draco with the upbringing he'd need in order to carry the Malfoy name when he was grown, setting an example he could follow. He knew he loved him, it just wasn't the sort of thing that was said. What use was there in saying it? Lucius' own father had raised him much in the same way, and he was grateful for it now, in hindsight. Yet it was alarming how quickly all of those reasons paled into insignificance during the Battle of Hogwarts - when he'd only crossed back over to them once his mother called on him.

At first Lucius had assumed that the Muggle woman was retribution at worst and some bizarre form of reparations at best. Then stubbornness, when word got out and he refused to put an end to it - late onset rebellion. That theory lost credence with each day that went on, and was killed dead when Draco darted in front of the Killing Curse for the woman. The realisation itself was only worsened by how long it took to really sink in, and Lucius was left wondering how well he really knew his own son after all.

Narcissa's response had been slow, begrudging acceptance. For the sake of Draco, and then for the sake of Draco's children. Lucius' response had been to offer no response at all. First he needed time to gain control of his temper, then he refused to have anything to do with it at all. Then the years began to crawl by and it became something to deal with at a later point in time. Finally, it seemed that too much time had gone on to confront it now at all. Narcissa gave him updates - he never asked for them, his pride would not allow him, and he listened to them with an affected indifference that she never believed. She knew him too well for that.

The day to day of it had been alarmingly easy, too. They'd never been the sort of cloying, insipid family that spent every waking hour together. They all had their own lives and their own matters to attend to. He told himself that Draco's absence wasn't entirely unlike when he was away at school…so long as Lucius did not look at the papers that delighted in following the every move the 'new' Malfoy generation made, speak to any old 'friends' who were equally obsessed and thrived on the apparently downfall of their family, and generally buried his head in the sand as deep as it might go. Seeing him - now a man grown with children of his own - would only act as a reminder that things had changed. How much time had gone by.

It was denial. Pure and simple denial. And no amount of that would take the edge off of the fact that he did miss his son. The little girl peering up at him now rather added an edge to it. So he cast his attention to the room they were in.

The room was largely unchanged from how it was when Draco last slept in it. Not completely unchanged - it didn't stand, frozen in time like some sort of ghoulish monument…although it had done so for the first year or so after they'd learned the truth of whom he was spending his time with. Now it housed an orderly collection of memories - the walk in wardrobe housing an orderly collection of memories. A set of snake-emblazoned robes from his first year of Hogwarts (Narcissa kept them aside the moment the school year was over, the intention being to keep a set from his final year, too, but…that was not to be. Beside the school robes were his first set of dress robes, his first Slytherin Quidditch uniform, and other such garments from notable occasions. The shelf at the top was reserved for several old broomsticks, a handful of textbooks that contained handwritten annotations scrawled in the margins, and then photo albums, all neatly labelled and chronologically ordered.

"Come, would you like to have a look?"

That was all the prompting she needed to slip from the bed and pad barefoot to his side, peering up at the shelves with a furrowed brow. Her hand slipped into his as she did, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Lucius let it happen, too stunned to do much else.

"Now," he cleared his throat "What shall we start with? You wish to go to Hogwarts, yes? These were his school robes…"

The tears were gone, thank Merlin. But she kept holding onto his hand.

Some hours later, Narcissa slipped into their bedroom - barefoot, so the clicking of her heels in the hallway wouldn't wake the children. Lucius was already abed, bare-chested and hair in surprising disarray, lines around his eyes betraying his tiredness. It had been quite a day.

"Surely it didn't take you all of this time to put the boy back to bed?" Lucius asked.

"No - I peeked my head into Draco's room and found you giving Evie a tour. I didn't wish to interrupt, so I had a cup of tea in my greenhouse."

"Skiver," he said drily, earning a warm smile.

"You had things well under control from what I saw. I didn't want to spoil it by pushing in."

She was aware of his eyes fixed lazily on her as she went about her bedtime routine - muscle memory by now, really. Only once she slipped under the covers beside him, her robes floating their way into the laundry hamper and the candles in the room dimming themselves slightly as she did so, did he speak.

"We were halfway through the second photo album before she lost the battle against sleep around half an hour ago."

Narcissa glanced towards the ancient wooden clock fixed onto the wall at the other side of the room "Two hours past bedtime. How will Draco take finding out you've become a soft touch?"

"I'm not sure he'd believe it."

"It's common for grandparents - to be much stricter with their children than with their grandchildren."

Lucius' face was carefully impassive in response to that, which told Narcissa he felt anything but the lack of emotion he was trying to dearly to put on. It appeared he wasn't used to really considering himself to be a grandparent, and she could not blame him. For them, being a grandparent was supposed to be family Christmases, coming out parties and group holidays to France. Instead, it had taken them the better part of a decade to get one unsupervised visit. Narcissa curled up against him under the covers, wordlessly offering comfort.

Clearing his throat, he changed the subject - although his hand came up to thread his fingers through her hair.

"The boy is far too shy. It's not befitting a Malfoy."

"Caelum is three, Lucius. And he's not shy so much as he's…reserved. Introspective."

"An introspective three year old?" he snorted.

"You're only griping because he prefers me. And to try to hide just how impressed you are by Evie - and it isn't working, I'll add."

Although if she caught him genuinely playing favourites, she'd nip that right in the bud immediately.

"She read a paragraph of Hogwarts: A History in its entirety," Lucius said quietly "Just the one paragraph, mind you, and she struggled with a few of the words…but at that age? Promising. Surprisingly promising."

"She's clever - very clever. And kind. Amusing, too. The things she says at times. It's rare you see all three in a child. One, yes. Two? Perhaps. Seldom three."

"It's rare that you see three in an adult," Lucius responded drily.

"In this house, absolutely."

They shared tired smirks of amusement - because contrary to wider belief, they did hold some semblance of an ability to introspect. Occasionally.

"Why that book?" she questioned "I had one of the house-elves take out a box of Draco's old books from childhood. The ones we haven't already gifted to them. Surely they would have been more suitable?"

"She had no interest," he replied "We got onto the topic of Hogwarts. I asked which house she wished to be placed in."

"Slytherin," Narcissa said knowingly.

"Yes."

"It wouldn't be an easy path for her," she said.

Although a difficult path was the handiwork of her parents. They'd signed her up for it. And while anybody who sought to make it difficult would face the wrath of a fair number of people for it, it still made Narcissa no happier to envisage her granddaughter in a house full of people whose families would consider her very existence to be a sign of declining times.

"I'm not sure that would put her off."

He seemed to realise then that he was running the risk of being overly complimentary about his granddaughter - and while he was often at his most open here, when it was just the two of them in the dark before they fell asleep, he was still Lucius.

"She couldn't reach much of it, you see, but she seemed to enjoy the photographs, at least."

"She does. She could pore over them for hours - we started having to have our visits in the library over the last year or so, because if we didn't I'd never see her while she was here."

"The portrait gallery - she'd like that," he said, and then hastened to add "Tomorrow. Should she threaten the hysterics again. She gets that from her mother."

"She's no trouble, Lucius, and you know that. Draco was far from serene as a child," Narcissa breathed a laugh, and then realised startingly that she'd just defended Marilyn in a roundabout way "The portrait gallery, however, would be a bad idea."

"And why is that?"

"They ignore her. Turn their backs when she enters. Just as they've done with Draco ever since he brought he-Marilyn here for the first time. She wandered in there once when she was…oh, four, thereabouts. They all pulled that display, and we caught up to her not long after, found her inconsolable. Draco took her home rather quickly after that."

"Four is far too young to understand-"

"It frightened her, Lucius," Narcissa interrupted "Badly. It was a hard-won battle to get her back here at all for a long time after that. She didn't understand it - not the politics behind it, not the message it was supposed to send - but it did frighten her. Now, when she visits we ward the the portrait gallery so she cannot enter. All those in the portraits elsewhere in the house are sent from their frames and we pretend it's just a landscape. I'm not sure she even remembers it now. If she does, then hopefully she no longer will once she's old enough to realise exactly what was going on at the time, but I suppose we won't know until the time comes."

A few moments of silence dragged on with no response from Lucius at all. If she hadn't known better, she would have suspected that he'd fallen asleep. When she finally looked up at him, her eyes having long since adjusted to the dim light, she found his eyes downcast, his jaw set.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," he said - tone clipped.

Another moment passed, and then he sighed heavily, forcing any attitude from his voice before he spoke again "I'm tired, darling. We should sleep. If they're anything like Draco was at their age, they'll rise with the sun."

Narcissa accepted that - and the kiss that he leaned his head down to press to her lips. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, thrilled at the prospect of having more than one generation of Malfoys sleeping in their rightful place for the first time in a long time.

When Narcissa awoke the next morning, her bed was empty. That wasn't too unusual, Lucius never having really been one for lounging around in bed once awake. Then, with a smile that she was powerless to stop, she recalled that they were not alone in their home. She should get up. Evie was quickly worming her way into her grandfather's heart, but Caelum was slow to warm to anybody and Lucius could cut rather an intimidating figure. Even if the boy glued himself to him in the same way his sister had, though, she'd have rushed to get up. She needed to make the most of this time.

Sliding from the bed, she grabbed a housecoat of silver silk and slipped it on while the brush from her vanity rose and began to drag itself through her hair.

"Whisky," she said softly.

The house-elf appeared immediately "Yes, mistress?"

"Where is Mr Malfoy? Where are the children?"

"The portrait gallery, mistress."

Narcissa stilled. The brush dropped to the floor. Scrambling to pick it up, Whisky brushed off whatever imaginary fluff it might've picked up from the spotless floor and returned it to her vanity.

"The portrait gallery?" she repeated "Are you sure?"

"Yes, mistress. Master took them there before breakfast, and said Whisky should fetch him when mistress awoke so that you might all eat together."

Already striding from the room barefoot halfway through the explanation, Narcissa ignored the cold of the tiles against her feet - who had time for slippers in a time like this? What had he been thinking? Marilyn and the nanny could be here any moment, and if they arrived to find the children in hysterics - that not only Evie had been dragged back to the room that frightened her so, but that Caelum had now been similarly disturbed, it would start the exact sort of dramatics that she'd been bending over backwards to avoid. How could he be so foo-

She slowed to a stop when she finally reached the corridor which contained the portrait gallery. No crying emanated from inside - no whimpers, no sniffling. Not even a raised voice. While she could hear voices…there was not a trace of distress in them. She resumed her approach.

"When were you born?" Evie's voice asked lightly - practically giddy with excitement.

"Fifteen-thirty," came the clipped response.

Narcissa could hardly believe her ears - even in the wake of the delighted gasp that followed. She knew that voice. It was Lucius' - Lucius Malfoy the First.

"Did you ever meet anybody famous? Like…Like Marie Antoinette? Did she give you cake?"

Slowing to a stop in the doorway, Narcissa only allowed herself to believe this was really happening when she could see it with her own two eyes. Evie peered up at the portrait she interrogated, her brother by her side and eyeing it with only marginally less curiosity, his hand clutching his sister's. Lucius - the reigning Lucius, her husband - stood behind the two of them, his arms folded, watching the events with all of the disinterested sternness of a body guard.

"No," the portrait responded flatly.

The responses were so clipped, to-the-point, and unenthusiastic that it was as though they were being teased out at wand-point.

One look at her husband's face - and the look he was fixing the portraits with in turn - told her all she needed to know about the accuracy of that suspicion…and she beamed.

A/N: "Is it realistic that Evie would be scared by the portraits all turning their backs and ignoring her?" I ask myself, as if I wasn't terrified of anybody reciting the nursery rhyme Bear Hunt as a child. Ironic, really, considering the "we're not scared, we're not scared" line.

Lucius will definitely feature in more chapters here, and Caelum will get his redemption arc. This one was really difficult to write, but I hope it didn't show!