Birthright

They spent more time together that week than Draco had dared hope. But Draco could feel the winter vacation slipping away from him, running through his fingers like fine sand. He would be going back to school soon, and Lucius would be alone.

Lucius was still prone to sudden bouts of melancholy or inexplicable anger, but Draco was learning to weather them. His presence seemed to help the older wizard maintain an even keel; what would happen when he left?

One evening after dinner they were relaxing in the library. A roaring fire warmed the stone floors and Draco was going barefoot. He curled into a sofa with his homework and a tumbler of firewhiskey; Lucius had similarly settled down in the cushions with papers and a drink. From time to time Draco would ask his father for advice on his homework, and occasionally Lucius would query his son’s opinion on a clause in the new bill he was perusing. Finally, Draco finished his homework and put away his quill.

“Father?” he asked softly.

Lucius looked up. The firelight made his skin glow, and his eyes flashed. He was stunning. “Yes, my dragon?” His voice was quiet and mellifluous, rich and dark like aged liquor. He was a dashing villain dressed in black, full of pathos and mystery and nobility. Draco knew if he were standing his knees would be weak. He let his eyes linger over the smooth coral lips, which could twist into a sneer or quirk into a loving smile with ease.

“When I leave in two days…are you going to be all right?” Draco felt almost embarrassed to ask the question.

His father’s mouth pursed thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Draco. I believe so.”

Draco was grateful for his father’s honesty. “I’ll miss you.”

“And I you, little dragon.” Lucius smiled.

They were silent for a moment, each returning to his work. Then Lucius looked up and met Draco’s eyes. The contact seemed to sizzle. He started to say something, then changed his tack. “Oh, by the way…I submitted the necessary paperwork for you to become an aide.”

“Why, thank you, Father,” Draco said, surprised.

The night before Draco’s departure, he carefully packed the school things he’d brought home with him and set them on the oak table in the entryway. He turned back toward the great hall and saw Lucius coming down the stairs. “Are you ready?” his father asked.

Draco nodded. Lucius was dressed to the nines; he was taking Draco out to dinner at one of the best and most expensive restaurants in wizarddom. This was their usual ritual for the end of the winter holidays. It had long been a painful experience for Draco, stuck for two hours listening to his mother prattle incessantly and exchanging glances with his father. It had been worse still when Lucius was in Azkaban, leaving Draco alone with his mother. Now that Narcissa would not be joining them, Draco looked forward to a good meal and a stimulating conversation.

Lucius’ dress robes were wrought in velvet and silk, black and darkest burgundy with silver accents. He shrugged on his heavy black overcoat, slipped on his gloves, and picked up his cane. Then his eyes met Draco’s. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Draco picked up his own overcoat and gloves. He didn’t want to admit to his father just how strongly the winter formals affected him. Everything dignified in Lucius Malfoy was enhanced by them. Draco wrapped a cashmere scarf around his neck and put on his coat. “Shall we?”

They sat at their usual table; Lucius had the third chair whisked away. He ordered a bottle of wine and sat back. He knew the menu nearly by heart, as this establishment was a frequent bullet on the social agenda of the upper-class wizard. Draco perused the menu and Lucius watched him silently, idly noting various aspects of his son’s countenance. Draco frowned slightly when he was reading. A stray strand of straw-blond hair fell out of his loose ponytail and draped itself along his cheek. His eyelashes nearly obscured his downcast eyes. The light played on the crown of his head, casting a brilliant glow on his pale hair and putting his strong chin in shadow. Draco’s winter formals were black silk jacquard, and his robe was lined with emerald green satin. Subdued Slytherin crests dotted the lining. His waistcoat was silver and underneath he wore a black shirt with a high collar. The shirt was rich, glossy silk. Lucius knew he was going to enjoy taking it off later on.

“I am fortunate to have such a fine-looking young man as my son and heir,” he commented. Draco looked up from the menu; his lips were slightly parted and his tongue darted over them unconsciously. Lucius propped his chin on his hands.

“Thank you, Father.”

“And I am proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Draco glanced at the menu, made a decision, and set it down. “All of my best and worst traits come from you.”

“Worst?” Lucius’ lip quirked. “Are you insinuating I have faults?”

“Oh, no, sir.” Draco smiled. “Merely that the confidence of a Malfoy is seen by many as intolerable arrogance.” Lucius chuckled.

They discussed Draco’s studies and Lucius’ work in committee. The conversation drifted over to social interests, and on to horse breeding, and then eventually meandered around to Quidditch about the time coffee arrived. Lucius had played Keeper for the Slytherin House team when he was at Hogwarts. Although Draco had originally bought his way onto the team with his father’s influence and half a dozen new brooms, he had developed into a fairly talented Seeker. Draco knew his father would be at Hogwarts for the championship games; he followed the sport avidly. A gentleman’s sport, he always said, played by the masses.

Lucius signed the bill and stood. “Shall we take a walk before returning home?” he asked. Draco shrugged.

It was pitch-dark outside except in the pools of bluish light cast by the street lamps. Draco loved the stillness of it, and the cold air amplified that quiet. It stung his lungs slightly when he inhaled, and his breaths produced puffs of fog. They walked in silence for several minutes, each enjoying the calm and darkness. Lucius’ cane clicked softly with each step. Draco had long admired the beautiful and ancient tradition of the gentleman’s stick, but had recently noticed the practicality of it. In a pinch, a gentleman’s cane could be used as a weapon—Lucius’ had studs around the head and glinting silver fangs, besides the fact that a slender blade lay concealed inside the ebony shaft. Draco was far too young to carry such an item, and by the time he was old enough to muster the dignity it required the tradition would be well past dead.

A chilling breeze pushed past them, stirring their heavy black overcoats and Lucius’ hair. Draco shivered instinctively, though his garments were certainly warm enough. The wind stung his face. Lucius’ cheeks were slightly flushed with the chill.

“I suppose it’s really none of my business,” Lucius murmured against the breeze.

“Sir?” Draco looked at him. Lucius didn’t catch his eye.

“My dragon, I have never interfered in your social life…”

Draco felt a s cre creep up on him and tamped it down. His father was feeling nervous already. “It is not as you would imagine it, Father. My relationships are all a matter of convenience. It’s hardly uncommon amongst Slytherins. When one of us is feeling a bit anxious, he has only to do a little subtle advertising. I’ve taken all of the girls and most of the boys to bed.”

He waited for Lucius’ response; the older Malfoy’s lips tightened slightly. “Why Father, are you jealous?” he asked teasingly.

Lucius said nothing, and continued walking. Draco fell behind slightly. “You are of course welcome to take a lover while I’m at school,” he said softly.

“How little you know of my social circle,” Lucius chuckled sadly.

Draco caught up to him and touched his hand. Lucius stopped and turned. “If you ask it, I will deny them all for you.” Draco’s voice was impossibly soft, and Lucius almost didn’t hear him.

“I could not ask that of you.”

“Then I will do it freely. You are the greatest man I know, Lucius,” he said quietly. “I would be foolish to seek elsewhere.”

Lucius started to speak but halted himself. His eyes were still afraid. Draco glanced around them and leaned up to kiss him; their lips brushed open and then they parted just as quickly. The casualness of it struck Draco. He was completely comfortable with Lucius’ body. Lucius touched his lapel briefly and turned away, resuming his pace. Draco caught up and they walked on.