Chapter 9

By the time Lucius announced his own little surprise, Hermione was so deep into her morning sickness that it warranted little more than a weak nod and a very tired smile.

Knowing better than to take it personally, Lucius used his newfound freedom to relieve Draco from vomit detail. Hermione, flouting tradition yet again, had morning, noon, and night sickness. It was enough of a concern that Lucius had called the Healer to the Manor twice, just to be assured that it would run its course. The Healer, who Lucius just knew was rolling her eyes inside her head at the two fretting Malfoys, gave Hermione a potion to settle her stomach but warned her not to take it too often. They were also given strict instructions on what Hermione could do to keep herself healthy and nourished.

When Lucius went to check on Hermione, who was in bed but unfortunately not resting, quiet sobs met him before he even opened her door. She'd taken to sleeping in her own bedroom rather than their shared one. Despite that, one or both of her husbands would inevitably find their way back to her, unwilling to let her spend the night alone even if it meant sleeping on her sofa.

Lucius knocked on Hermione's door, knowing better than to barge in, and the cries immediately stopped. There was a raucous sniffling and then Hermione called for him to come in.

"Is everything all right?" he asked quietly. The room was a disaster...the house-elves hadn't been in because their popping made Hermione's head ache, and neither Lucius nor Draco really knew where any of her things belonged. She seemed to prefer it that way; it was her little nest.

A bushy head of hair poked up from beneath a mound of blankets. Hermione's eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. Lucius thought she looked beautiful.

"Just... having a rough go of it," she admitted, the closest she would come to outright declaring that she felt horrible.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lucius toed the sour-smelling wastebasket toward the wall, waving his hand at it and Banishing its contents. "Is there anything I can do?" Lucius didn't want to seem anxious, but the powerlessness was exhausting. Draco had taken on Hermione's role as well as maintaining his own in Outreach, so the job of caretaker had fallen primarily to Lucius...not that Draco exactly minded. Lucius had seen the helpless looks on his face whenever Hermione ran to the bathroom or smelled the wrong food and gagged. He was happy to let his son have a break...Narcissa had been ill with Draco, although not to this extent. She'd been surrounded by her family and friends, so Lucius hadn't really been kept abreast of his former wife's condition unless it was imperative. He certainly didn't mind experiencing these things with Hermione.

Hermione shook her head and collapsed back onto the bed. Lucius had brought up one of her restorative potions and helped her drink it through a straw...a rather ingenuous contraption brought over by Arthur Weasley of all people. This way, he'd asserted, Hermione wouldn't have to get up to take a drink. Apparently they'd come in handy when his own wife had been bedridden with the youngest Weasley child. Having Arthur Weasley in his home had been disconcerting to say the least, but a part of him was glad that rather intense enmity had come to an end.

"I was expecting you to want strange foods. I was all too prepared for cravings and the like," Lucius said. "I'm afraid I don't have much else to offer."

"I couldn't eat." She sounded apologetic, as if it were her own fault.

Lucius leaned in and kissed her. She turned her head, grimacing, letting him catch her cheek instead. Sighing, he petted her hair for a moment, holding the glass as she drank from it. They both held their breath when she was finished...the first few moments after ingesting something were the tricky ones. Once it seemed, miracle of miracles, that she'd be able to keep it down, they both exhaled in relief.

"How's Draco?" Hermione asked, rolling onto her side and facing Lucius. Her eyes were closed but her face animated. Lucius knew she was awake.

"He's fine. Working as hard as ever."

"Did he remember to call Auror Blakely about the donation she promised? She's been giving us the run around for..." Hermione trailed off, panting a little. Her face scrunched up, but after a few tense moments, she relaxed, the danger passed.

"Was it on the list of things you gave him to do?"

"Of course." She frowned.

"Then I'm sure he's taking care of it."

"You have to make sure..." Hermione's eyes opened, an obvious struggle. "It's important that we not get behind just because I'm useless." The last word was breathed out harshly.

"I don't want to hear you talk like that," Lucius said sternly. "You've a very important job as it is: keeping yourself and our child healthy. As to the rest, you well know Draco is very competent. He can handle the workload if he says he can, and I am able to help if he needs it." Luckily for Lucius, Draco hadn't needed the extra help yet, but it was only a matter of time. Hermione'd been at the height of her sickness for a week, and every day that passed, Draco worked longer hours, looking more and more stressed.

A slender hand escaped the mountain of covers and took his. Her grip was very firm; Lucius took heart from that. "I'm so lucky... so glad to have you home."

"I am just as glad to be home. The idea of you here without me..." Lucius shook his head. He wasn't one for sentimentalities (no matter how often he took the Daddies' Girl sleeper from Draco's drawer, just to look at it), but he knew Hermione understood.

"Everything's fine," she said, sounding just a touch exasperated. No doubt she was tired of having him and Draco fawn all over her.

"I know, pet," Lucius whispered, his thumb caressing the palm of her hand. Hermione graced him with a smile, her eyes closed again. Lucius waited until she fell asleep before slipping out. She slept a lot, but that Healer had assured him that was normal.

In the dining room, Draco was sitting at the head of the table, stacks of papers looking ready to overwhelm him, a quill behind his ear dripping ink onto his shoulder and a smudge of said ink on the side of his nose.

"Damn it," he muttered, patting down the papers with a deep frown etched into his normally marble-smooth forehead.

Lucius plucked the quill from behind his ear and presented him with it. "Looking for this?"

Draco snatched it without a word and immediately set to signing a stack of papers, checking something from a list with Hermione's handwriting, and making a note in a ledger. "How is she?" he asked, distracted but obviously concerned.

"She's resting now." Lucius sat, unfamiliar with the seat to Draco's right; for dinners, he sat at the head of the table. The world was a little slanted from this perspective. "What can I do, Draco?"

Draco sighed and looked ready to refuse, but when he raised his head to answer, he must have seen the need to be needed in Lucius' face. He sighed and pushed a stack of parchment toward Lucius. "I need copies of all of these. Put the originals in this folder when you're through." He pushed over a manila folder and got back to his own work.

It was a mindless magical chore, and Lucius took to it with relish, despite the fact that it was the type of work for a secretary or assistant.

"Why don't you hire someone to do the more menial tasks?" Lucius suggested. "At least until Hermione is feeling up to returning."

"I can't be arsed to train someone right now. It would put me even further behind."

"If you took one day to train a competent witch or wizard, you would save yourself days of labour in the long run."

Draco paused midway through his signature. "How to find someone competent; I supposed that's the question."

When the answer came to Lucius, he almost said nothing. It was too perfect and too evil. Could he do it to his own son? He could.

"I do know just the person for the job, as it happens. Diligent, hardworking, fast learner..."

"What's the catch?" Draco asked immediately, not fooled. Slytherin.

"It's a Weasley."

Draco scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "You've got to be kidding me. I know Hermione is willing to bend over backwards for the arsehole, but I, for one, couldn't care less if he were to never work again. I don't owe him anything."

"It's not Ronald Weasley," Lucius said, giving Draco a disgusted look. Perish the very thought. "He'd be the last person I would suggest in a time of need."

"Who, then?"

"Percival Weasley. He made it impressively far in the Ministry, politically, given his young age. After the war, he lost his job, and he's been working beneath himself since."

"How do you know all this?" Draco asked, pulling another parchment in front of him.

"It pays to keep track of those beneath you just as it does to watch those above you."

Draco tapped the quill against the table, seemingly unaware that he was staining the mahogany. Lucius cringed and stilled the spastic movement.

"Well?"

"Owl him, then," Draco said, sounding as tired as Hermione had.

It was a testament to how very overwhelmed he was that he would capitulate so easily, not that Lucius was complaining. He wouldn't have Draco working himself to the bone when they were more than rich enough to live without working, let alone doing all the work themselves. If he were honest, he was glad that Draco was seeing the light. Employees meant more work could be done, and therefore more good could be done. It also meant that his son would spend less time working. Lucius made sure, however, to keep his less than altruistic intentions to himself.

Lucius went to his study to compose the offer. Owling a member of the Weasley family was still uncomfortable at best. Lucius didn't want to word it so it sounded as though they needed Percival, and he also wanted the boy to know that working for them would be in his best interests. He took his time writing the missive, finally deciding that appealing to Percival's foresight was the answer; helping to bring a fledging charity up in status would look quite impressive on a résumé.

In the meantime, Lucius returned to the dining room to encourage Draco to take a short break. "Perhaps even a nap," he added.

Draco looked up, harried. "I can't take a nap. If Hermione finds out..."

"You truly think Hermione would be upset with you for taking time to yourself? How did Arthur Weasley put it... for recharging your batties?"

"That doesn't sound right."

Lucius frowned. "Indeed, it doesn't. I'll have to ask Hermione. The sentiment stands. You're working yourself to the bone, Draco. Hermione wouldn't want that."

Scrubbing at his face with his hands, smearing still more ink...on his cheekbone this time...Draco finally gave in. Or at least that's what Lucius assumed he meant by letting his head fall forward onto the desk.

"That's enough," Lucius said. He stood and lifted Draco from his chair easily...when had he lost weight? That settled it. "I'm putting you to bed."

"Ooh, Daddy," Draco purred, giving a drunk-sounding laugh.

They both froze. Draco's face flushed red. "Or not."

"Or not," Lucius agreed, rather horrified. Opting to pretend nothing had been said, he guided Draco up the stairs. His son insisted on stopping in to see Hermione, who was still resting, though Lucius noted the wastebasket had been pulled close again. He felt a moment's rage for incompetent Healers who couldn't help his wife. What sort of medieval torture was it that made women still suffer the same ailments that they had since the beginning of time? Were they so backwards that they couldn't even cure morning sickness?

Severus Snape would have been able to help, Lucius thought. He closed his eyes briefly. That was a wound that had never really closed. Severus would have known exactly what to do. Maybe not exactly how to make it palatable or how to present it in a positive way, but he'd have had a solution, surely.

The thought of Severus made him think of Thello. Of course! How foolish of him to overlook the budding potions prodigy. Thello very well might have a solution. He vowed to get into contact with him as soon as time warranted.

Once Draco was satisfied that Hermione would survive while he rested, he led Lucius to their bedroom. As always, it was too large without Hermione in it. They'd begged and bargained...though they'd take that fact to their mutual graves...but Hermione had refused to take to their bed for her rest.

Draco removed his robe, nothing in his brisk movements bearing the usual seduction that he gave to undressing. Lucius helped him with his tie, barely slipping it from his neck before Draco fell onto the bed.

"Stay with me?"

"Of course." Lucius removed his own robes, slipping under the covers with only their pants between them.

"I'm scared for her." Draco could only confess with his eyes closed.

"She will be fine."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because she is strong and because we need her."

Draco nodded. It seemed to be enough.

Gathering him close, Lucius shushed him in a half-musical, half-nonsensical voice that Draco might recognise from his childhood...but if he had any compunction with being soothed so, he didn't make them known.

"I wonder what we will name him."

"Or her," Lucius said quickly, his own preferences revealing themselves. Not that he wouldn't love another son.

"Or her," Draco conceded, smiling at Lucius as he burrowed deeper into the embrace.

Lucius loved moments like this, when Draco was completely unguarded, when he just let Lucius hold and comfort him, when he wasn't sarcastic or standoffish. When he just... relaxed.

"I named you, you know. It was to be after a star, that much your mother insisted on. There weren't many good, strong names to choose from that didn't already come with a Black family history, and I wanted your name to be your own. That's one thing I'll always be grateful for: that you have no namesake. You're free to make your own way with no shoes to fill or footsteps to follow."

"Just yours."

"Not even mine." Lucius kissed Draco's temple, then his ear, and then his throat. "Just your own."

"How did you pick my name, then?"

Lucius smiled. He couldn't believe he'd never told his son this story. He almost didn't want to; Draco wouldn't like it, most likely.

"When you were a baby," he began, lips twitching, "you made the most adorable little sounds. You'd scrunch up your face really tight and roar. I swear to Merlin, you were roaring. Like a growl but more... ferocious."

Draco's cheeks went a deep red with embarrassment. "No, I did not!"

"You did. It was unbearably charming. You didn't cry when you were hungry, you roared. My little dragon. You went two days without a name, but once you did that a few times, the name came to me, and there was no question. You were Draco."

"I did not roar," Draco muttered, but a small smile played on the corners of his lips, and he looked up almost shyly. "You must have thought I was pretty cute."

"The cutest," Lucius whispered, lost in memory. So much time wasted indoctrinating when he should have been learning about his only child. He shook his head to clear the negative thoughts. He'd been gifted with a second chance; it was his to take.

Draco shimmied closer. "Still think I'm cute?"

Lucius shook his head, then smiled at Draco's aghast expression. "Handsome. Beautiful, even, if you'd allow it. Amazing." He chuckled. "And cute, yes."

"I love you," Draco said, kissing Lucius.

For a moment, Lucius was tugged back to over a year before. They'd been just about to give their press release. Draco had pulled Hermione back and told her those exact words for the first time. How far they'd come...how soon it would be until there was another person with whom to share that love. Love that Lucius now knew was both unconditional and limitless. How silly he'd been to once worry that Hermione hadn't room in her heart for both of them...now he understood. There was room enough and more left over.

With a devilish smile, Draco lifted his arms over his head, crossing them at the wrists and stretching. "Like the first time," he whispered. His face was tired but his eyes were eager and hot.

Returning the look, Lucius bound Draco quickly, the spell almost as familiar as the lubrication one they used. That was his second move, slicking Draco's thickening cock and stroking it leisurely. Maybe Draco wanted this to be a quick wank before his nap to relieve the stress of the day but Lucius had more intense intentions. He wanted Draco to give up, give over, and let Lucius do what he knew was best.

He kissed Draco as his hand moved expertly. He knew exactly what Draco wanted, what he needed. Draco's abandon was beautiful to witness. At first he strove to maintain composure, an impossible task as he very well should have known by now. Soon enough, the mask began to crack and little sounds escaped his swollen lips. After that, it was a quick ride downhill. Draco started to writhe, pumping up into Lucius' iron grip. He planted his feet for leverage and rutted into Lucius' hand, gasping and panting, his face pink with exertion.

Just as Draco's climax began to build, Lucius eased off, returning to the more teasing strokes. "Let go," he whispered, sensing that Draco was holding on to something, to some bit of stress or some memory or some fear. "Let it go, pet."

Draco's eyes had tears in them as he did as he was told. With a weakened cry, he first went limp and then stiff all over. His submission, if only a moment, was complete. Lucius guided him through his orgasm, his own cock twitching in response to Draco's soft sounds.

"Thank you," Draco said, and even his voice sounded lighter.

Using the come from Draco's hard belly, Lucius wet his own cock after freeing it from the confines of his pants. With Draco bound and debauched before him, there was little effort needed. A few quick strokes had him crying out, letting go just as he'd demanded Draco do. His seed mixed with Draco's, and the sight was both familiar and taboo. Before he was done looking, Draco spelled away the fluids and his bonds, though his arms remained where they were.

"Thank you for taking care of me. Of us."

"Put your mind and your body to rest, son. There is nothing I wouldn't do for our family."

Draco drifted off with a smile on his slightly sweaty face. Lucius watched him for a few long moments. His family.

He got up when he heard a pecking on the window. He frowned at his owl for nearly waking Draco, directing it to his study where he met it moments later.

Percival Weasley...or Percy, as he insisted on being called... had accepted the position after a very brave negotiation of his salary. Lucius would pay it from his own pocket so Outreach would enjoy even better profits. He keyed the wards to admit Percy and wrote back telling him he began the next day.

A Weasley in Malfoy Manor. For shame. And yet, things really had changed, hadn't they? A Weasley and a Malfoy, working together, helping one another.

Hermione would be most pleased.

Author's Note: Sorry for the day's delay! Huge thanks to my lovely betas, Krystle Lynne and my anonymous friend.

As a sidenote, I suspect most readers of this story are het fans, but if there are any slashers among you, check out my original fic At His Throat, A Promise, posting on my LiveJournal (http://literaryspell.livejournal.com). It's a few chapters in and posts every Thursday. :D