Work Text:
*
Every measure in use, every note… must be perfect.
Narcissa softly guides Draco's fingertip to the correct piano-key, nodding her approval.
The one they're waiting for, Draco's beau, wanders in a clap of thunderous sound — the doubled doors. Rainwater trickles from the ends of his dark, untidy hair. Spectacles visibly wet, fogging with morning condensation. One of the Manor's albino peacocks hoisted up into his arms.
"S'rry…" Harry Potter mumbles, blinking, glancing over his shoulder. Narcissa's lips thin. "I had…erm, the gates wouldn't let me in."
Draco's own pale mouth thins in irritation. He hurries over.
However, there's warmth in the exchange of a kiss.
"You kept Mother waiting — "
"Look. It's injured or something. The yew hedge — "
"No, no — Potter — you're rubbish at healing — "
Their whispers fade as Narcissa approaches, wand raised. She doesn't verbalise the spell, not needing to. In moments, the peacock contently trills, more lively. Harry Potter then hoists it into the arms of a confused-looking Draco, gazing apologetically towards Narcissa.
"Mrs Malfoy, I'm — "
Narcissa's hand grasps sternly onto Harry Potter's chin. "I believe you heard Draco, yes? Mother," she corrects.
The awkwardly wide-eyed flush reveals all. Poor dear. No motherly figure to care.
How perfect.
*