Comfortably Numb

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Chapter 2 - - Comfortably Numb

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At breakfast the following morning, Draco sighed as he took his usual seat at the head of the ten-person table. Narcissa sat opposite him at the other end of the table, and Lucius beside her. Before Lucius's imprisonment, he would read the Prophet during breakfast, barely speak a word to anyone. This morning, he seemed to want to know about everything that had happened during his absence.

After he had heard a full report of the grounds of Malfoy Manor from Narcissa, as well as a basic run-down on the wellbeing of their friends, Lucius turned to Draco and asked the question that had most likely been on his mind since...and probably before...his release.

"Have you been seeing anyone, Son?"

Draco tensed and readied himself for at the very least a verbal dispute. Hadn't they agreed just the night before to leave this subject in the past? However, when Draco looked at his father, he saw nothing more than curiosity in his eyes as he continued eating his kippers. There wasn't even a hint of the stern, harsh demands Lucius had made all those years ago.

Narcissa smiled at him then squeezed Lucius's arm.

"Not seriously," he replied tentatively.

"Are you seeing anyone at the present?" He took another bite. Still Draco could detect no malice in his words.

"No. I've been rather busy with the business. There's very little free time for socializing."

Lucius chuckled. "I spent many years running the company, Son. I know there is plenty of time for socializing."

"Things have been difficult since the end of the war, Father. There have been quite a few changes within the structure of the company ... I look forward to discussing everything with you when you return. Have you decided where you'll be going?"

"Oh, just about!" said Narcissa excitedly. "We will start in Italy, along the Riviera, and then travel to Spain. Every year they have a large market where witches and wizards come from all over the world to display their goods. The wizarding district of Madrid has to be expanded to nearly ten times its usual size to accommodate them all, but it's such a wonderful time."

"After Spain," continued Lucius, "we'll head to Paris. You know how your mother loves the Champs Elysées, and of course the Place de Magique."

Draco clenched his jaw but otherwise gave no indication of his inner thoughts. The trip would be expensive enough, and he had expected that his mother would make at least one shopping stop, but Paris likely meant a week of shopping. How his father spent a week going through shops, watching Narcissa try on clothes, giving useful feedback, was beyond him. And what a week! He was getting a headache already thinking about how much it would cost him, and not just in Galleons. At least he could find consolation in the fact that his father was no longer in prison.

"Sounds grand. What comes next?" he managed and then took another bite of his meal.

Narcissa launched into a detailed account of which shops she longed to revisit, friends she looked forward to seeing again. One thing Draco knew was that in Paris, his mother wasn't just the wife of a Death Eater. In fashionable Paris, such things barely registered. What mattered was the brand of her handbag or the name on the soles of her shoes. She loved to escape into that world and was able to through most of the war until the Dark Lord moved into her home. This would be her first trip to Paris with her husband since Voldemort's defeat, and she was looking forward to it very much.

At some point, Lucius interrupted and indicated that they weren't exactly sure where they would go next, but that they would let him know by letter once they'd decided.

Lucius and Narcissa continued talking about their trip, but something was tapping at the door of Draco's mind, begging for attention. The wisps of idea began to coalesce, finally forming a solid thought.

"Father," he said, interrupting his mother mid-sentence.

Lucius turned to him, a stern expression on his face. "Draco, surely by this age you've learned that it is extremely rude to interrupt."

"Yes, of course, it was an accident," he said flatly, still staring at his father intently.

"What did you feel was so important that it couldn't wait?" Lucius asked with a sigh, leaning back in his chair.

"We're having guests for dinner tonight, right?"

His parents nodded.

"It occurred to me that, on the day following your release from prison for your crimes as a Death Eater, it might not be such a great idea to invite your old chums to your home."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a glance. "Thank you for your concern, Draco," began Lucius, his tone patronizing. "These people were friends of ours first and foremost. Surely you would not have us abandon them, just so things appear more acceptable to the Ministry."

Heat rose into his cheeks. "No, of course not."

"It's just a small dinner party, to welcome your father home," said Narcissa kindly.

Draco was quiet for the remainder of breakfast, nodding occasionally, making the sporadic comment when appropriate, but his mind was still churning over business matters. Specifically, the ledgers in his office, which would finally be clear and safe; no more worrying over every little Knut, no more stress when Narcissa went shopping. He just hoped everything would balance to give his parents a worry-free holiday.

ooo

At promptly quarter of seven, the dinner guests began arriving. In the upper echelon of wizarding society, it was proper to arrive forty-five minutes prior to the time printed on the invitation and to bring a gift for the host. The forty-five minutes provided time for the Master of the house to greet all of his guests in a relaxed, leisurely manner.

In the Receiving Room, while stealthy house-elves served drinks and hors d'oeuvres, Lucius and Narcissa stood together, greeting guests upon their arrival.

Draco had held that role during the few small dinner parties his mother had given while his father was in prison. Now that his father was out of prison, he took up a secondary role, glad to be somewhat out of the spotlight, greeting each person who walked in after his parents had done so.

The Notts were the first to arrive. Theo's father, Bradford, had been a Death Eater, had fought against Potter and his friends at the Ministry of Magic, and after the war, had been sentenced to life in prison. Mrs. Athena Nott, goddess of beauty she was not, and Theodore were questioned but never charged with wrong-doing. Mrs. Nott enjoyed gardening, Mah Jong, and sleeping with her gardener, a tall, dark Italian who spoke very little English. She had him hired shortly after her husband's sentence was announced.

Theodore shook Draco's hand and gave him a strained smile. "Good to see you, mate," he said.

"Likewise. How is business?"

Theodore was in a position very similar to the one Draco had been in until the day before. His father was in Azkaban, and would be there for the rest of his life, unless something happened to spur his release. The Notts owned an antique shop that had been in existence in the wizarding world for over 300 years. Before his imprisonment, Bradford and Athena had traveled the world seeking items to sell while Theo's oldest brother, Robert, and older sister, Amelia, ran the shop. Now, Athena and Amelia went in search of wares while Theo ran the shop exclusively given the imprisonment of his father and the death of his brother during the war.

"Good, good," he replied, his eyes betraying his boredom with his current lot. Draco knew he would rather be treasure hunting himself or cultivating his talents in Transfiguration. "We just got a piece in that I think you would like to see, actually. It's an old clock from the 15th century. The face is made of stained glass, and the hands have gems at the end."

"It sounds amazing, I'll try to drop by this week."

"Bring your mum, she'll like some of the new platters we've got as well."

"My parents are going on holiday tomorrow, so she won't be able to join me. But I want to see that clock, and perhaps any new books you've got in."

Following the Notts were Rodolphus and Rabastan Lastrange. They'd managed to avoid capture following the last battle and had spent the last seven years in hiding. They'd had their fill of Azkaban and were willing to do anything to stay out. Still, they were quite accessible by owl post and never missed an invitation for a free meal. This night was no exception.

Draco hated when they visited, but Narcissa had insisted.

"They're family," she had said on the first occasion, just six months after the end of the war. "If it were possible, they could stay here, but with the frequent and random Ministry searches, that's simply impossible."

Draco had been amazed; he'd never thought he would ever be grateful to the Ministry for anything.

Draco's uncles by marriage behaved as they had on every prior visit. Rodolphus was morose and eternally downtrodden as he was greeted by Lucius and Narcissa. When they inquired about his well-being, he scoffed and muttered under his breath. He didn't linger for the usual exchange of pleasantries and barely looked at Draco when he shook his hand.

"Evening, Uncle," Draco said stiffly.

Again Rodolphus muttered, then headed straight for the liquor table and downed two glasses of bourbon. Narcissa had explained to Draco that Rodolphus had once been a charming and handsome man, but that the death of his beloved wife had broken his heart, leaving him shattered.

It was a family adage he had heard many times, irrevocably overused and rarely true. Draco knew it, Narcissa knew he knew it, but why she felt she had to use it with him, he never understood. Perhaps to honor the memory of her sister, whom she would never see as anyone but the girl she'd had tea parties with as a child.

Rabastan, who had always been slightly eccentric, had gone nearly mad in the last war. He always seemed to be teetering on the edge, sometimes so literally that Draco felt he was constantly swaying whenever they conversed to avoid his uncle falling over on him. Rabastan continually wrung his hands and never stood where he didn't have a clear shot at the nearest exit. He could be charming, but his gaunt face, stringy, unkempt hair and missing teeth tended to make people uneasy around him. Draco included himself in that group.

"Evenin', Draco, lad," he said, taking Draco's hand and shaking it forcibly.

"Uncle, thank you for coming."

Rabastan clapped him on the back with surprising force for such a thin man, and his left eye twitched rapidly for a moment, giving the appearance that he was winking. "Enough of that tripe. How ya been? Things keeping in shape for ya, my boy?"

Another side effect of Rabastan's near-insanity was that on occasion, he was difficult to understand. Draco simply did his best to answer the question he thought he had been asked.

"Things are quite well for me, thank you."

"Good to hear it. Any pretty lasses running around here for ya?" He glanced around the room, his head jerking erratically, as though expecting one or two to pop out from behind the sofas or the drapes.

Draco ground his teeth, then said, "No, afraid not."

Again, Rabastan clapped him painfully on the back. "Ah, well, find yaself a couple...nay, a few...and alternate. They seem happier that way."

Draco could only nod and wish with all his might that his uncle would move along and join Rodolphus, who was able to hold his glass steady now that he'd had a few drinks. They both gave Draco the creeps; he had met them for the first time when his Aunt Bellatrix brought them with her to speak to Narcissa over the summer following his fifth year. He hadn't cared for them then, and even less now.

Rodolphus had a very sinister, slightly crazed look in his eyes before Bellatrix's death that had frightened Draco considerably. After Bellatrix died, an empty, haunted look rode the derangement in his eyes.

Trailing in after the Lestrange brothers was the Goyle family. Gregory Goyle was probably the one person from his house at Hogwarts with whom Draco was still on decent terms. It hadn't always been that way. After the death of their friend, Crabbe, they hadn't spoken for three years. Then one night, Greg had knocked on Draco's door and said he had to talk, had to, before he went insane.

Draco had fixed him a shot of whisky and offered him a seat in the parlor. Greg had spilled his heart out that night, saying how stupid he'd been as a kid and how his life was in shambles because of it. He couldn't hold a job and most places didn't want to hire him in the first place. Money was always coming up short and he had borrowed so much he didn't think he would ever be able to get out from under it. Unlike most of the pureblooded families, the Goyles weren't rich. They had connections, which kept most of their friends happy, but money had always been tight.

Eventually, the subject turned to Crabbe, to the friend they'd both lost in the final battle.

"I saw myself when I looked at him that night, Draco. I could have been looking in a mirror. We were the same, nearly, he and I. I was just one or two steps from going over like he did. It scared me."

Draco could empathize; he'd been a few steps from going the other way, the right way, for a time during the war. He just couldn't work up the courage to do it. They had talked long into the night and Draco had offered him a position with his company. Greg had accepted and in the years since had settled nicely into a position he was good at with decent pay.

The rest of his family was just getting by. Greg's father, Joel, was charged with being a Death Eater, but was let off on a technicality. Still, he hadn't been able to return to his job and now worked at a bar in Knockturn Alley. Theresa, Greg's mother, was a co-owner of a Divination store off Diagon Alley that sold crystal balls, exotic teas, astrological paraphernalia and shawls, among other things. Her partner was Pansy Parkinson's mother, Hyacinth.

Draco's first genuine smile of the evening went to his friend. "Good to see you, Greg," he said, clasping hands with the other man.

"You too, Draco. Been a while, eh? Busy?"

"A bit, yes, getting things ready for my father's return."

"Oh, right. Wonder how Theo feels."

Draco nodded and glanced at the man in question, talking with his mother in the corner by the window and casting worried looks at Rabastan. Theo's father and Lucius had been contemporaries, imprisoned for the same crimes, yet Lucius served only seven years while Bradford would likely never see daylight again except through the tiny, square-foot window in his cell.

"Of course, your dad never spent a night in prison, just those during his trial."

"Best not to bring it up," added Greg.

"I'm sure he's thought about it plenty. Hopefully there will be no hard feelings. I can honestly say that I don't know why my father got such a short sentence, only that it has to do with Potter."

Greg chuckled. "Saw your picture in the Prophet this morning. Potter and you getting chummy, then?"

Draco scoffed. "What? No!"

"One of those reporters heard him invite you to Quidditch. You gonna go?"

"I ... I don't...good evening, Mr. Goyle, Mrs. Goyle." Draco was momentarily saved from answering by the arrival of Greg's parents.

"How are you doing, Draco?" asked Joel with a smile.

"Just fine, and yourself?"

"The same, the same."

Theresa Goyle held onto Draco's hand a little too long for a casual handshake. Draco frowned slightly at her and she winked. He shuddered once they'd moved on.

Last to arrive, as usual, were Hyacinth and Pansy Parkinson. Pansy's father had been killed in the war and due to some careful maneuvering on Hyacinth's part, the Ministry wasn't able to touch a Knut of the Parkinson fortune. Following the trials, the Ministry had passed a law called the Death Eater Tax, which required all families with known Death Eaters relations to pay a one-time tax of one million Galleons, or a yearly tax of ten thousand, to cover reconstruction efforts. Very few families had been exempted; the Goyles because they didn't have the money to pay and the Parkinsons because of Hyacinth's cunning.

Draco suspected she'd slept with enough people enough times to be given a special loophole out of it, though he doubted that he'd over know the truth.

After a few rather well-placed investments, the Parkinsons were soon one of the wealthiest families in wizarding England, third only to the Notts and the Malfoys. All Pansy and her mother did these days was shop, travel, and shop. He'd tried not to begrudge her the freedom she had, but sometimes, after very long, stressful days, he wasn't very good at hiding it.

Pansy said a hurried greeting to Draco's parents and then rushed to speak with him. He didn't like speaking with her in large, or even small, crowds, because she had a way about her that completely excluded everyone else in the room. She would speak very closely to him, turn her body in such a way that told others they weren't welcome.

"Hello, Pansy," he said, hoping her mother would be along soon.

"Draco!" she cried, throwing her arms around him and then kissing his cheek. "Merlin, I've missed you!"

He couldn't honestly say the same, since whenever they were together all she did was talk about her recent purchases and the men she met on her trips. They were friends because they had always been friends, and he didn't have the energy or the desire to fight her.

Somehow, Draco and his mother had come through the war with the cleanest records and best reputations. Narcissa, for her part in saving Potter's life, and Draco, for being too cowardly to admit that he recognized Potter, Weasley and Granger when they had been brought into his home during the war. The way Potter had sold it to the Wizengamot, Draco and his mother had been put in terrible situations and had to make the best of them. Apparently, it had been enough to secure them 'second chances at life.'

Pansy knew that Draco, of all her acquaintances, had the best position in wizarding society and wanted to be right there with him. When he had refused her attempts to seduce him, she had settled for friendship.

"You're looking lovely tonight, Pansy," he said, knowing it would spark a story about where she had purchased her robes and how the man in the shop had tried to feel her up while taking her measurements.

"Thank you. But," her voice dropped ten-fold, and she leaned in the way she always did, "I heard that you're going to socialize with Potter. Tell me it's not true."

Draco glanced at his parents and saw to his dismay that they were still conversing with Mrs. Parkinson.

"He merely extended the invitation in a show of good will. For what reason, I have no idea."

"You're going then?" she said, crossing her arms and giving him a disapproving glare.

"I ... yes. I'm going." Draco felt an odd sense of relief at his admission, even though he knew he wouldn't hear the end of it all night.

Her eyes widened and her mouth started twitching on the right side, at the apple of her cheek, the way it did when she was incensed. "How could you? It's Harry-bleeding-Potter!"

He thought quickly, a skill he had honed during his years of running a billion-Galleon company.

"Think, Pansy, what could I do? Tell the Golden Boy no?" That seemed to hit her, and her glare went from deadly to cold. "It's one morning of Quidditch, it won't ruin me. Speaking of which, I need to reschedule our lunch that day for dinner."

"Why?" she asked, narrowing her eyes to slits.

"They asked me for lunch. Before you go off on a rant, understand that I don't want to go, but I'm doing this in the best interest of my family. That much I think you can understand."

Pansy was about to protest when Draco caught a whiff of strong perfume. Hyacinth was approaching. Pansy gave Draco one last glare and left him.

"Hyacinth, you're looking fabulous," Draco said, taking her proffered hand and kissing it.

She simpered. "Thank you. You've always had such great taste. Of course, I'm just her mother, so I'm not sure if I can be believed, but I do think Pansy is looking radiant this evening."

Hyacinth was always trying to convince Draco to marry her daughter. She made every attempt, took advantage of anything that remotely resembled an opportunity to make her wishes known. It was obvious the woman didn't care about her daughter marrying for love.

"She is, yes. Quite beautiful. Is she wearing a new pair of shoes?"

Mrs. Parkinson took the bait and began to tell the story of how Pansy acquired her shoes, complete with the man helping her nearly begging for her hand by the end of the fitting. Draco could have told the story himself, he'd heard a similar one told many times.

Fortunately, the Parkinsons were the last of the guests to arrive, and soon Lucius announced that everyone should move to the dining room.

The meal was as pleasant as it could be. Rodolphus glared at his plate the entire time, though he ate his fill and then some. Rabastan seemed to make it his mission to entertain the crowd, while at the same time eating as much as he possibly could, despite Narcissa's assurances that he needn't worry; he could take something with him when he left.

Theo and Greg were seated together, and so they talked nearly exclusively throughout. Draco, through what had to have been his mother's involvement, was seated beside Pansy. Narcissa wanted Draco to settle down, and Pansy was the only witch she really knew that was her son's age. Though, unlike Pansy's mother, Narcissa wanted her son to be happy. She hadn't risked her life during the war so he could end up in a loveless marriage. Why she thought he could be happy beside Pansy, he would never understand.

The general conversation at the table was politics. The men, especially, seemed keen on getting Lucius caught up on the goings on in the wizarding world. They discussed the latest blunders of the Minister, the ridiculous laws that had been passed, and took jabs at the notion of 'tolerance' that the Minister was touting. Draco thought they might get into a bit of Muggle hating or at the least tell a joke or two at the expense of a Muggle-born.

He was relieved when pudding began and not a single prejudiced word had been uttered, but he was suspicious also. True, the Ministry had cracked down on intolerance the best way it could, by punishing those who blatantly discriminated, but people's minds were made long before the Dark Lord came on the scene. The group of people with whom Draco dined had never before hesitated to make jokes about Mudbloods, half-bloods, half-breeds and blood-traitors. The total absence was so stark that he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on.

Following the meal, Lucius and the men went into the smoking room while Narcissa took the women into the parlor for gossip and wine.

Lucius stood tall and proud, speaking jovially with his friends about trivial matters. He had handed out cigars, and Draco had to covertly cast a Filtering Spell on his nose; he had never enjoyed smoking or the resultant smell that followed him when he was around people who did. For the most part he stayed quiet, his mind elsewhere, while the other men talked. Greg and Theo stood nearby, talking about women.

"What do you think, mate?" Theo asked Draco, dragging him out of his thoughts.

"Think about what?"

"Once your parents are gone, throwing a party here, just us! We can invite all the old crowd, even those we don't speak to so much anymore. What do you say?" said Greg.

"I've heard Daphne Greengrass had some sort of ... Muggle enhancement. Supposed to be better than the magical version, look and feel more real," Theo added, winking at Draco.

"A party? Here?"

"Yeah, you'll host it, we'll all eat and dance and get wasted, then fall into bed with whoever in one of the dozens of bedrooms you've got here ..."

"As delightful as that sounds," Draco said impatiently, "I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it."

"Psst! Draco!"

The three young men looked toward the sound of the distinctly feminine voice and saw Pansy peeking in through the door.

"What?" he asked, going closer.

"Come out here!" she demanded.

He rolled his eyes. "No."

Greg came to stand at Draco's elbow. "Hi, Pansy," he said.

"Hi," she replied, barely glancing in Greg's direction. "Draco, please?"

"Why?"

"Just..."

Pansy reached inside, grabbed his arm, and pulled him through the door. He was so surprised that he didn't resist.

"...Come. There," she said, once the door was closed behind them, "that's better."

"What do you want?" Draco asked crossly, wishing he'd been holding a glass of whisky so he could finish it off.

"I was wondering if you've thought any more about my ... proposal."

"Merlin, Pansy!" he said, staring at her incredulously. "You had to ask right now? It couldn't wait?"

"No," she said defiantly, jutting her chin out. "I was bored to tears in there. I couldn't care less about Armando, the garden boy, or who shagged whom last weekend. I needed out of there for some air and thought of you."

"How delightful," he muttered. "We aren't supposed to ... intermingle during this phase of the evening. Men in one room, women in another."

"Better that they get used to the idea, right?" She smiled and put a hand on his cheek.

It was cold and clammy and he flinched away from her touch. How could he even consider what she'd offered if he hated when she touched him? She was trying to be alluring, he knew, but he wanted to get away from her. Gently but firmly, he removed her hand from his face.

"I'm still ... considering it," he said tersely. "If, and it is a very strong if, I agree, you must understand what it will mean. I do not love you, I am not attracted to you. You may touch me only when I tell you to touch me. Is that clear?"

She rolled her eyes and pulled a cigarette out of her purse, one of those thin, dainty sticks. "You say that now, Draco. Just wait until I've got my hands all over you; you'll be begging for more."

He snatched the lighter from her hands and threw it behind him as hard as he could. "You may not smoke in my house!" he said angrily, fearful pride getting the best of him. He got right in her face. "I will never beg for anything, not so much as a Knut, if I had nothing and needed it to buy my next loaf of bread."

She laughed uncomfortably. "You never know, Draco."

He backed away and straightened his robes. "That much I know. Don't ask me again about your offer. I will come to you."

Pansy shrugged. "I'll be waiting. Just remember, there aren't many of us left, and I'm just about the only one who's willing to put up with your ... colorful side." She smirked and headed back toward the parlor.

By 'us,' she meant pureblooded witches his age, and she was right. Most of them had married or moved away, and the few remaining were all undesirable for one reason or another. Pansy was different, though; she had money, she was unquestionably pretty, and she was well-mannered. Draco had heard rumors of many men courting her, but she always turned them down.

One month before, she had sent him a formal proposal, drafted by her lawyer and notarized by the Minister himself. In it, she offered herself to him. In addition, he would take control over the Parkinson estate, by far the most appealing part of the proposition. As it was, he would have to wait until he received another message before he could make that decision.

If his circumstances were different, he would have rejected her immediately. They were friends because they had grown up together, had been through many 'firsts' and milestones. They tolerated each other for the most part, but whenever Pansy got it in her head that they would be perfect for each other, Draco had no patience whatsoever for her...like now. The smallest things she did annoyed him immensely, and he'd long concluded that it was his attempt to rid Pansy of her daydreams. He cared about her very much, but it was strictly as a friend.

Draco silently fumed as she walked away and then forced his blood to slow so that he wouldn't appear out of sorts when he returned to the smoking room.

All the men were huddled together near the fireplace, the smoke so thick it was hard to make out their features. They were speaking in low tones when Draco entered the room. Theo motioned for him to join them.

"Lucius, it's got to be you," said Rodolphus as Draco came near enough to hear.

He was surprised to hear not only his uncle's harsh, ragged voice, but the passion behind it. Draco saw fire in his eyes, and it sent a chill down his spine.

"Yes, Lucius," said Rabastan silkily. "Only ya can carry us. With yar ... resourcefulness, ingenuity, and charisma, it'd only be a matter of time before we were once again a force."

Dread filled every space inside of Draco as the gist of his uncles' pleas registered. They wanted to start up the Death Eaters again and wanted Lucius as their leader. Draco glanced at his friends. Greg looked nearly sick, but Theo looked ready to join up. Greg's father, too, had a hungry glint in his eyes.

Not wanting to look at his father, but needing to see what his reaction was, Draco slowly dragged his gaze to the man who had only the day before returned to his life. To his surprise, Lucius was looking at him, his eyes swirling with emotion. Draco sent his father silent pleas to stop this, end this discussion now and run away.

Lucius frowned, then looked away.

In his mind, Draco saw everything that he'd worked for in the past seven years go to waste. All of his efforts to bring credibility to the Malfoy name once more: the donations – though grossly inadequate, allowing the Ministry uninhibited access to the Manor and their financial records, and publicly destroying the dungeons beneath the Manor were just a few of the things Draco had done for his family, for his father. If Lucius agreed to this wild scheme, Draco didn't think he could bear it. He would leave, he decided the instant his father had frowned. He didn't care how much it would cost him; he couldn't go through more darkness, and he wouldn't live in the shadow of war.

"Think, Lucius!" continued Rabastan, eagerly. "It'll be like the World Cup eleven years ago. I wasn't there, but I heard about it. Terrorizing Muggles, and Mudblood filth..."

"This Minister is a disgrace to magic," spat Rodolphus. "Mudbloods should be rounded up and given what they deserve. Make them beg, make them wish they'd never heard of magic! What's to stop us?"

Lucius sighed. "If the Ministry didn't have every single one of us on a list, watching our every move, then perhaps it might be possible, however unwise."

Draco exhaled in relief and Greg looked at him, his eyes clouded with fear.

"While your idea is intriguing, gentlemen, I must postpone my decision. I'm leaving with my wife on holiday tomorrow. When I return, we can continue this discussion."

Now Draco's heart fell into his stomach. Lucius hadn't said 'no,' just 'later.'

"I believe it's time to join the women," said Lucius, finishing his glass of brandy. "Remember, not a word leaves this room."

The others agreed and followed Lucius from the room. Once they were gone, Draco sank heavily into an armchair. Greg sat opposite him.

"They're serious, aren't they?" he asked Draco, his brow furrowed.

"Sounds like it. Should've known," he muttered darkly. "Why must they insist on this course? Why not just ..." His frustration was mounting the more he thought about what his father's friends wanted. "I'm not saying I'm all for this tolerance rubbish, but why can't we simply ... endure them? We ignore them, they go about their lives ... No one is requiring us to be friends with Muggles or Muggle-borns! Let's just leave them be! Look where intolerance got them last time!"

Greg ran a hand through his hair, his dark brown locks falling around his face. "All I know is, I want nothing to do with it. I got my thrills once, and never again."

Draco nodded miserably. "I'll try to talk some sense into my father, but honestly, if his attitude is unchanged, then there's no point. I thought, after he shook hands with Weasley yesterday, that it meant something."

A few moments passed, and then Greg said, "I guess we'd better get going, eh?"

"Reckon so," said Draco. He sighed and stood, feeling older than his twenty-five years.

"What did Pansy want?" Greg asked hesitantly once they were in the hall.

Draco shrugged. "Nagging, as usual." He stopped walking and turned to look at his friend. "Why?"

Greg avoided Draco's eyes. "No reason."

He tried to keep walking, but Draco put a hand on his chest. "No, not true ... Greg, mate. Tell me. Does she owe you money? Do you owe her money? I'll lend you whatever..."

"N-no, it's nothing like that." Greg's shoulders slumped. "I don't reckon it was anything to do with me, then."

"Oh. Oh, bugger, Greg. You fancy her. How long has this been going on?"

"I dunno ... Year or so."

"It's nothing, right? Just fancy a shag?" Draco needed to know the depth of his friend's feelings.

"No! Of course not!" Greg said, anger flashing through his eyes.

"You love her?"

Again Greg looked away and shrugged.

Draco shut his eyes and clenched his fists. Here was another reason to reject Pansy's offer. Would Greg ever forgive him if he married the woman he loved, especially since Greg knew that Draco didn't love her one whit? He didn't want to marry her, but he was hesitant to reject her entirely. Draco was in a tight spot and he knew it.

"Bollocks," Draco cursed, shoving his hands in his pockets and walked toward the room where everyone was now gathered.

"What?" Greg asked, hurrying to follow.

Draco stopped suddenly. "Look, mate. Pansy ... she's not right for you. She's spoiled and petty, and you could do so much better. Besides, when do you even see her?"

"Every time she comes down to the office to meet with the Manager," Greg replied, his eyes telling Draco once and for all that he was crazy about the witch and nothing Draco could say would sway him.

"Bloody fantastic," Draco muttered. He forced his negative thoughts aside for the moment. Greg was a good man, the best Draco knew. If anyone would be good for Pansy, it was him. Draco just wasn't sure he could say that the opposite was true, that Pansy was the best woman for him. He sighed. "I'm glad you told me, Greg. Really. Let's go on, shall we?"

As soon as Draco and Greg entered the parlor, Pansy attached herself to Draco's side, dismissing Greg with a tiny wave. It made Draco angry, so he left Pansy and went to speak with his mother. He saw Greg approach Pansy, and they spoke for a few minutes before Pansy moved away. Greg's disappointed face further rankled Draco.

He hadn't been in the room ten minutes before he felt like he would suffocate. Pansy, Hyacinth, and Athena wouldn't give him a moment's peace, he couldn't catch his mother alone, he would never willingly engage his uncles in conversation, Greg was staring at an oblivious Pansy, and Greg's father was monopolizing Lucius. Draco wanted to leave the gathering and retreat to his office where he could add the new wrinkle of his father's friends' ideas to his plans and mull over his options.

Instead, he was required to stay until the last guest left, which wasn't until after midnight. As soon as the flames in the Floo died after the Parkinsons left, Narcissa excused herself, leaving Draco and Lucius alone.

Draco knew he might not have another opportunity to speak to his father before his trip, and despite the unpleasant conversation he knew would result, asked his father to remain for a few minutes.

Lucius agreed and sat on a sofa, perfectly at ease. Draco remained standing, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

"What's the matter, Son?" Lucius asked tiredly. "Did you enjoy the evening?"

"Not especially, but when have I ever?" Draco replied. "Father ... I must ask you. The conversation in the smoking room. Do you ... I mean, what are you intentions in that regard?"

"Ah," said Lucius, nodding. "The efforts to put the gang back together, so to speak. That worries you."

"Yes, it does. Father, you have the chance to start fresh. The Minister thinks well of you, and being seen with him and Potter could mean we have the opportunity to be what we once were. The Malfoy name has the chance to be respectable again. I've done everything I could to make it so over these years you were in prison, and ... well, I would like it to stay that way."

Lucius propped one leg on the other and regarded his son. Then he chuckled. "In other words, you want me to stay out of trouble."

Draco grinded his teeth, but the good-natured look on Lucius's face told him the man was making a joke. Of all things.

"You have nothing to worry about, Draco," said Lucius. "I have no intention of returning to Azkaban."

"That's not nearly close to what I would have preferred you to say." Draco was still staring at his father with an intensity that would have made his underlings mess themselves, but Lucius remained unaffected.

"First of all, what I do with my time is none of your concern. Second..."

"It most certainly is my concern, Father. If you get locked up again or, worse, killed, then I will be responsible for all of this again. That concerns me greatly."

The older man stood to his full height and looked at his son, who stood two inches shorter than him. "Second," he said, the calm in his voice inadequately covering a much deeper emotion. "And I want you to understand me very clearly, Draco. I would never do anything to put you in danger."

The way his father's eyes looked, as if they could bore through solid steel, kept Draco from saying what went through his mind then. My whole life I've been in danger because of you.

"One must never agree or disagree to requests like your uncle made in the situation in which we found ourselves: overfull on food and drink, surrounded by monstrous egos. Rodolphus and Rabastan have been twisted beyond the realm of reason. While they can be spoken to civilly, they cannot be helped to see that the circumstances require a different course of action. They will always be of the type who picks up his wand upon command and never asks questions."

"That I believe."

"That is why they want someone to give those commands. If enough people of like-mind get together, it may only be a matter of time before they act."

"I don't want to be in that group."

"You certainly do not have to, son."

"Nor do I want you to be."

"I have given your mother my word that I will put her and you first. I intend to keep my word."

Draco exhaled slowly, letting the words sink in. "You won't be leading a rogue band of Death Eaters in the sport of Muggle-torture."

Lucius smiled wryly. "No."

Draco's entire body relaxed and for the first time in a very long time, he truly felt like smiling.

ooo

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Chapter title comes from a song of the same name by Pink Floyd.

Art Credit: The amazing artwork in this chapter was again done by the fabulous melia_eothria.

Beta Thanks: Once again, a hundred thank-yous to manda, zoe, drcjsndier, and pokeystar.

Music: inadaze22 gets all the credit for the playlist! Check it out here!