Chapter 4

The reason, Draco mused as he listened with half an ear to the ceaseless blathering of a Ministry housewife, that Outreach was so successful was because people were inherently lazy. Good, mostly. But lazy.

Take Melisanne Phimzer. Disposable income that would put most pure-blood families to shame, heart that was big enough to feel sympathy, conscience just slightly larger. Melisanne was one of their most prolific donors. She made substantial contributions every time that nasty little voice inside her head spoke up and demanded that she do more than she already was...which was nothing. Except for her charitable offerings to Outreach by way of Gringotts, she did absolutely nothing to further humankind...or wizardkind...whatsoever.

Not that Draco really cared about what other people did with their money, not really. Outreach was doing very well, and donations begat donations, but if it meant he didn't have to hear about the cost of magical spaying for her herd of cats, Draco would have happily covered the lost revenue himself.

Hermione had qualms about that sort of dealing, though. Her theory was that if Draco simply donated his own money rather than deal with the people donating, they might as well shut down the programme and just call it the Draco Malfoy Dear Merlin Why Don't You Shut Up Fund.

Draco rather liked the sound of that, himself, but he knew better than to say such a thing.

"I had no idea," Draco enthused, his smile tight as he glared at his wife across the dining room table.

Hermione's saccharine smile was enough to make him reach over and mess up her pile of envelopes and letters, theretofore neatly stacked.

Hermione's lips pursed together in a muted shriek, her eyes wide as she surveyed the damage. Draco wouldn't bet on it, but he thought he saw her mouth a death threat at him.

She was so feisty.

"That's truly abysmal," Draco commiserated before he remembered he was supposed to be congratulatory. "I mean, of course, magnificent. Ms. Phimzer... Oh, yes, if you insist, Melisanne. I do hope the werefleas clear up. I'll send you a full write-up on the allocation of your donations based on the forms you filled out. Thank you so much for your continued and generous support."

Draco hung up the telephone...a new addition to the Malfoy-Granger household and equally despised by father and son. Or perhaps more by son, as he actually had to use the damned thing.

"Werefleas?" Hermione asked, an eyebrow quirked.

Draco wondered if she'd learned that from him. She could raise her pretty little brows all she wanted if it meant she wasn't going to get back at his petty shenanigans with something time-consuming and wearying.

"Happens to the best of us," he said in his haughtiest voice. "And our cats."

"You get all the nutters," she said, laughing. She settled the last envelope in the new pile and glared at it and Draco in turn.

"True. I got you, didn't I?"

Easily ducking the stack of little yellow sticker things Hermione lobbed at him, Draco tried to ignore the wriggling sensation in his stomach that had been plaguing him ever since...

Well, ever since what had happened before he'd woken up tied to a bed being mauled...in their sleep, so they could be forgiven...by his father and Hermione. Draco rubbed his wrist where a light indentation still displayed his weakness and a discoloration declared his deviance.

Just because it had felt right didn't make it so...did it?

What was the differentiation between feeling right and being right? They weren't hurting anyone. It was completely informed... consensual. If he'd wanted his father to stop, Lucius would have without a pause. Draco knew he could count on him for that, more than he could even count on himself.

Still, he went stiff and his stomach roiled when the door opened to signify Lucius' return from work. His hours were getting longer as he took on more responsibility with the Board...Draco would be shocked if his father wasn't made Chairman in the next year.

There would always be detractors, of course, but Hermione had done wonders for their reputation, even if she didn't really like thinking about it like that. Draco was a pragmatist; he would take the help where he could get it, especially if he hadn't had to ask for it.

It felt strange, sitting in his chair and waiting for Lucius to enter the room, as was the routine. Draco's nerves were frayed raw, even though nothing outward was any different. He could feel Hermione's keen and sympathetic eyes on him, ready to give him a soft smile if he looked up, but he didn't. This whole... thing with his father was something he had to deal with on his own. He couldn't let her direct, much as he might have wanted to at times.

Even so, the twitching of his fingers was a sure giveaway when Lucius came in, his presence a tangible force.

Feeling detached from himself, Draco watched as Lucius went to Hermione and gave her the traditional kiss hello. Draco'd never before felt jealous that Hermione always got the first kiss, but for some reason, an unfamiliar twist in his gut made him frown.

Shaking off the foreign discomfort, Draco plastered a smile on his face that was so fake he chided himself and pretended to be engrossed in the notes of his phone call.

He looked up when Hermione pushed her chair back and stood. She nodded at Lucius, kissed him on the cheek, and left the room. Draco watched after her, strangely put out that she hadn't kissed his cheek, and what was that about?

Then he could put it off no longer. He had to look at his father. Wary as if expecting a fight, Draco met Lucius' eyes.

"Hey," Draco said, and then remembered, as did Lucius, it seemed, that he'd said that exact same silly greeting when he'd entered Lucius' study before... before everything had changed. Again.

Lucius moved to stand beside Draco's chair and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Draco," he began, obviously intending to say more, but Draco couldn't allow it.

The tension was too great, too confusing. He'd never been so uncomfortable around his father with the exception of the war years. He had to get away...

When he stood, however, he was gathered into arms too strong to resist...or so he convinced himself as he sank into the embrace. He felt stupid and embarrassed and nervous and ugly for some strange reason. He felt out of control and odd and complicated... and in the easy hold, tight but yielding, Draco felt safe. He should have remembered that. That was what he'd gotten from the bonds the night before. That safe feeling, artificially recreated with a tie, had originally come from Lucius himself and this tight grip that was unassailable and somehow taming.

Draco had ducked his face into Lucius' shoulder, hiding himself. It felt childish because they were almost the same height, and Lucius compounded that feeling when he tipped Draco's chin with a curved forefinger as he had when he'd known his son was telling a lie so many years ago.

"I've missed you," Lucius said, pinioning Draco with the honesty in his slate grey eyes.

Wishing he could be half as candid, Draco tried to bluff. "And for good cause, one would think."

Lucius only smiled the smile of someone who, without even expending an iota of extra effort, saw right though the charade. Draco's own transparency made him want to turn away, to run as he had whenever anyone had ever called him on his bullshit.

"I didn't want to leave you this morning."

Draco half-smiled. "I don't think Hermione wanted to untie me, the saucy chit." Avoidance and superficiality...it had saved him before.

Never with Father, his mind reminded him too late.

"I find that to be understandable in the extreme," Lucius murmured, leaning in slightly and curving his lips against Draco's suddenly flushed cheek.

Why was he the blushing virgin? Draco's upper lip twitched in disgust with himself. He had been the one to properly seduce Hermione, to get her swotty arse into bed the first time. Sort of. Lucius shouldn't be so difficult to manage...after all, Hermione had hated him during school; Lucius had always loved him. There was more to work with there.

And yet... Draco just couldn't bring himself to turn into those teasing lips, to press his own against them until the wrongwrongwrong went away forever.

"I can't," Draco whispered, not bothering to specify what he meant. He knew Lucius would know. He squirmed a little, hoping Lucius would let go, but the arms only tightened.

"Don't go, Draco." Lucius' hand came up to push the hair from Draco's face, but Draco just buried himself deeper into Lucius' shoulder, hiding. He felt about twelve years old, though his body was reminding him he was an adult. He would just have to ignore that knowledge until he understood his feelings a little better. And if that never happened, then he would just avoid, avoid, avoid.

"This is just... It's too soon. It's..." Draco tried to pull away again, but it was half-hearted and they both knew it.

"I know. Believe me, I do know. But it's not bad, is it?" Lucius' voice was low and thick, and it reminded Draco of the way he'd spoken to him in the bedroom the day before. When had that voice gotten all mixed up with his normal voice? Would Draco ever be able to differentiate between his father and his lover?

Was he supposed to? Had he lost his father?

"It's not bad," Draco admitted quietly. He had to know. "So now that we... you know. Are we only... you know?"

All at once, it hit Draco that he was being a complete fool. This was Lucius, his father! If Draco could talk to anyone, it was him. He was just embarrassing them both with his immature reactions and inability to face the truth.

Because the truth was that he wanted more of what had happened the day before...he wanted more and harder and longer and he wanted to touch Lucius and not just the other way around.

Taking a deep breath, Draco clarified his last half-thought. "What I mean is, now that you're my lover, are you still my father?"

When the silence stretched and Draco braved leaning back away from the hard comfort of the embrace to see Lucius' face, he was transported to his childhood. It hadn't taken Draco long, as a child, to realise that his father had only smiled a certain way for him. For other children, there was no smile at all, even Draco's cousins who'd visited on occasion. For his mother, there was a different smile, but for Draco, there was the smile, and it was the same one that graced Lucius' face at the moment.

It was pure comfort, true and honest and with a touch of fond exasperation, like when Draco had demanded a real dragon for his birthday or when he'd blamed the house-elves for his own misdeeds.

"Of course," Lucius said simply. It made Draco think that maybe it was that simple. Or that maybe it could be...if he'd let it. "No matter what happens between us, regardless of any title bestowed upon us, we are always and first father and son."

"Always and first," Draco repeated. The words rang true, like something he'd always known but just had to be reminded of. He absently wondered if he ought to have felt strange, standing in the middle of the dining room in his father's arms having a discussion, but he only felt right.

Pulling back only slightly, Draco met his father's eyes. They were familiar in one way, and foreign in another. He'd never seen Lucius look at him with such raw want, and that made Draco shiver deep inside. With Hermione between them, Draco had always been able to distance himself from his father's desire, almost as if it were incidental, just something there, alongside his own more important needs. Now, though, there was a connection between them, something alive and fervent that demanded his attention.

"I want to kiss you, Draco." The words were simple and plainly put, and yet there was a world of import behind them. He could say no; that was very clear. He could say no, and Lucius would nod, maybe a little sadly, but he wouldn't press. And then it would be up to Draco to make the next move, and he might never work up the courage. It was easy, really, to let Lucius take control now, so Draco wouldn't have to later.

Draco nodded. Every other kiss had been in passing, or too timid to be called anything other than a peck. He wanted more.

So when Lucius leaned in, so slowly, like Draco was a wild animal, Draco tilted his head to the side, indicating that the kiss could be deep and he wouldn't run away. The first brush of his father's lips against his was strange. Lucius' lips were wider than Hermione's, thinner and more demanding. Even though the pressure was light, the intent seemed very heavy. Lucius pressed forward so that Draco had to bend back a little, and there was a moment where he wanted to protest being the girl between them, but he realised there was nothing feminine about what was happening. Getting kissed and kissed hard didn't make him a woman any more than it did when Hermione took control. And all the proof he needed of his manhood was heavy between his legs.

With that in mind, Draco didn't let himself feel silly when he wrapped his arms around Lucius' neck and moulded his body against his father's. He could feel hardness there and it scared him a little, but he tried not to think about that, only about how he was feeling inside. Lucius moaned when Draco adjusted his hips slightly, and the sound drove Draco into madness.

When Lucius' tongue licked, so gently, at Draco's lips, there was no other choice. He parted them. With Lucius' tongue inside his mouth, Draco went passive, submissively allowing his father to explore him, doing nothing in return except accepting it. His hands clenched reflexively in Lucius' waterfall of hair, and he just might have whimpered but wouldn't admit it on pain of death.

Then Lucius pulled away. His cheeks were pinked and his eyes dark, but Draco couldn't look away from his lips. They were softly open, and Draco could see just a sliver of white teeth beyond, sharp and greedy. Draco felt devoured. He felt aroused. He felt protected.

Relaxing against Lucius, Draco just allowed the comfort to wash over him for a few moments. The kiss had allayed his concerns, alleviated his fears, and really, everything was okay. Draco knew that, eventually, he'd have to move away, but for that moment, he needed nothing else.

Except maybe Hermione. And since she was poking her head around the corner to check up on them, Draco considered that lucky.

"Come here," Draco said, loosing one arm to wrap around her when she came near. He wanted her to be a part of his post-kiss bliss.

Easily folding herself into the three-way hug, Hermione whispered to Draco, "Okay?"

"Okay," he confirmed.

"Good, because the house-elves have been waiting outside the door for ages to set the table. Poor things!"

Lucius rolled his eyes and pulled away. A neat spell had all the Outreach papers organised on the sideboard and the table cleared for dinner. "Come in, then," Lucius said to the elves, who scurried in en masse and set the table with traditional efficiency. As always, Hermione watched with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, but she said nothing. It was another compromise...Hermione could use the Manor to house werewolves for their first transformation on Wolfsbane (after that they went to the Shrieking Shack, which Hermione had completely overhauled until it was werewolf-friendly), as long as they got to keep the house-elves. Draco thought it was quite fair, especially since it meant they got to take a short vacation every month.

Just as the three sat down for dinner, another house-elf brought in an owl letter on a silver platter. The harried-looking elf hovered for a moment, as if indecisive as to who should get the letter, before finally presenting it to Lucius with a bow. Draco chuckled at the silly thing, but stopped when Hermione glowered at him, exchanging a look with his father when she turned back to her meal.

"'Lucius, Draco, and Hermione Granger Malfoy,'" Lucius read, an eyebrow raised. "Have you been telling people those are actually the names we're using?"

Hermione laughed at Lucius' consternated expression, and Draco snorted. If the inside joke had got outside, he'd have some damage control to do on his reputation...he preferred that people not think Hermione walked all over them.

"No!" she protested, reaching for the letter, which was held out of her reach. "I swear." Pouting when Lucius wouldn't hand over the missive, she turned on Draco. "It must have been your son."

"Oh, yes," Draco drawled, but whatever sarcastic response had been building on his tongue was ceased when Lucius made a surprised sound in the back of his throat. "What is it?"

"It appears," Lucius began, turning the letter, now opened, over in his hands, "that Thello and Michael are eloping."

"Well, then they shouldn't have told us...that rather ruins the intention, doesn't it?" Draco asked. He was happy for the couple, though he wished things with Celeste had been more positive. It was difficult to think of Michael and Thello without wondering what would happen to their own triad if a similar situation happened to them. To Draco, Michael and Thello would always be two-thirds, not a whole.

He wondered if Celeste had heard about the wedding.

"Actually, they've invited us," Hermione said, having snatched the invitation for herself. "They're going to Canada, to Ilsa, in fact."

"We're invited to an elopement?" Draco was puzzled...he'd thought elopements weren't made public until after the deed.

"It's really more of a destination wedding, really," Hermione said. "And isn't this stationery lovely?"

Draco and Lucius both absently agreed that yes, the filigree was stunning and the embossing superb. Draco wondered where Hermione had even heard such words...their own wedding hadn't exactly been a gala. There certainly hadn't been invitations.

"It's in two weeks. What do you think, Draco? Lucius?" Hermione was practically bouncing in her seat, and Draco immediately knew that regretfully declining wouldn't be an option.

"It sounds lovely," he said. He didn't relish going back to Canada, of all places, but it had been where they'd cemented their own triad, where he and his father had proposed to Hermione, where they'd gotten married. Yes, he supposed it would be a nice anniversary.

Even if it did snow.