Work Text:
They’ve been at this dance for years, bringing Draco into it only because there had been no other option. At least not an option that had been safe. An option that would have meant they all lived in the end.
It’s not an easy dance, though they’ve gotten used to it over the years. A sneer here, a snide word there, a smirk and a curtsey. Hexes, curses, life lived on the razor’s edge of a megalomaniac’s tongue, plié, turn, bow, and hope for something other than death.
“May I have this dance?” Lucius says, holding his hand out to his wife.
Draco, face a mask of curiosity (in spite of what he’s been taught), watches as his mother smiles and slips her hand within his father’s. The young wizard quickly schools his features, and Lucius offers up what passes for a smile as he leads his wife through a waltz.
It’s a simple dance. They go through the motions, rote by now, Lucius’ hands on Narcissa’s lower back, hers around his neck. Left foot, right foot, a neat little box, and then a promenade. There’s nothing to it.
A snake hisses somewhere nearby, and they kiss. Neither of them loses the rhythm, even though there’s no music playing aside from the one that’s inside their hearts. They’re doing this for Draco. They’re doing this to live.
Draco’s eyes track his parents as they dance around the room. He’s careful not to let his interest show this time, affecting a look of supreme boredom that Lucius sees through, but only because he knows his son well. He stifles a yawn behind a thin hand, and Lucius dips his wife, surprise and laughter dance in her eyes, but it’s only for him to see.
“I’m going to bed,” Draco says in a lazy drawl, gaze darting briefly to the shadows, before he stands and smooths out his robes.
“Sleep well, son,” Narcissa says.
“Good night, father, mother,” Draco says, tipping his head at each in turn.
Though he leaves the room, he casts one last, wistful look upon his parents before replacing the look with one that is much more guarded. Draco steps from the room, and that’s when the real dancing begins as a single clap echoes in the room, and their Dark Lord smiles his approval.
“‘Manners maketh the man,’” the Dark Lord hisses, dark, snake-like eyes glittering with mirth as he watches Draco leave, tracking the teen’s movement from across the room until Draco disappears out of sight. The wizard’s eyes narrow, and he hisses before sitting in the very spot that Draco vacated.
Narcissa shivers, and Lucius grips her tighter, whispers, “It’s just a dance, love. Just a dance. Smile. It’ll be over before you know it.”