Fic: Liberalia (LM/DM)

[carolinelamb.livejournal.com]

Title: Liberalia
Author: carolinelamb
Prompt Number: 16 submitted by eevilalice
Kink Showcased: Incest
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Lucius Malfoy/Draco Malfoy
Summary: For centuries the men of the Malfoy family have been honouring Liber, the Roman god of male fertility. They sometimes forget that Liber also means liberation.
Warnings: Incest, invented Roman history,
Word Count: ~18.200
Disclaimer The Harry Potter universe is in its entirety the property of JK Rowling and her affiliates. I, the author make no profit.

Author's Notes: I apologise for the lateness of this, and for the length. Brevity obviously is not amongst my talents.

I want to add a special thank you for the patient mods! Thank you for being so patient and courteous with me! I really appreciate this!

I owe also a special Thank you to my betas starduchess and azure_rosa who beta'ed this in lightning speed for me and scolded me only a bit for my random commas! Also thank you to schemingreader who helped me find my way through this story.


Part I
 
In the early dawn of the morning of the 17th day of March, Druella, Narcissa, and Aunt Calpurnia (instead of his late mother Octavia) waited silently outside the gates to accompany Lucius Malfoy to the nearby forest. They all wore dark tunics, had their hair open, tamed and kept in place by artful, slim braids wound around their heads. As Druella had told him to do, he was only dressed in a white toga, held with leather cords at the waist, the knot interwoven with a thread of elven silver.
 
They reached their destination, a small shack at the edge of the forest. The women pushed him into a kneeling position, Druella a little grumpy that he didn’t know such simple things, and he ate the bread and drank the cold water from the chalice they gave him. After he had drunk, Calpurnia poured the rest of the water over his hands onto the ground and bowed. None of them said a word.
 
A fire was burning in the middle of the shack.  The red flame cast a bronze glow onto their faces. Then again, he had to kneel, and Lucius who hadn’t knelt in a long while, squelched a tiny bit of irritation.
 
Aunt Calpurnia, took out a book from the folds of her linen dress. It was old and brittle, the pages cut uneven, held together by a dark red string. They had to touch the rough parchment to make the letters appear, then the women began to recite verse for verse, until Lucius finally understood fully what he was to do.
 
Shortly before nightfall, Calpurnia, who took the role of a high priestess tonight, and his wife left the shack. When they were alone, Druella asked him: “Do you remember your own initiation, son?” She moved her wand before his eyes and told him to look at it. The rune she wrote into the air glowed faintly then left an uncomfortable, white imprint on the back of Lucius lids.
 
Lucius found, to his own amazement that slowly memories seeped into his mind, in a fragmented, torn way, in a tumble of confusing images that felt more like hallucinations then memories.
 
Back then, so many years ago, things had been different. He had been on different sides, and his father …
 
Oh father …
 
The ghost of a memory lingered, a brief moment of sweetness, trust and comfort.
 
“Yes,” he said, his voice not more than a whisper.
 
Calpurnia and his wife returned with bowls of oil, potions and fragrant flowers. The sun went down in a glorious blood-filled sky, and now pyres were lit, blazed white-yellow into the indigo night and the sound of steady drums rose into the air.
 
The three women undressed him. He felt no shame in standing naked before his mother, his wife and his mother in law. The absence of shame was curious, though, and a tiny part of Lucius’ mind wondered about it.
 
While slowly humming and chanting, they began to pour the warm oil over his arms and shoulders, gently caressing him. The oil, he knew was mixed with a potion enhancing his senses, and he could feel its effect immediately. He bit his lips, suppressing a moan, at the sensations it amplified.
 
They bound a silver cord around his waist, slipped bracelets made from heavy gold over his hands and fastened bronze anklets around his ankles. Narcissa kissed his feet. The two other women nodded in approval.
 
Narcissa finally put a crown made of ivory coloured bones, bound together with branches, twigs and strands of hair, onto his head and led him out of the shack. The heat outside made Lucius nearly gasp.
 
From all directions people in their cloaks, arrived, dressed for the ritual and blessed him, kissing his hands and his forehead. He knew many of them, but tonight, they were all children of the forest, here to celebrate the night of Liber and to welcome a boy into manhood.
 
Druella, Narcissa and Calpurnia went slowly from one to the other. They kissed each of them, washed their hands with cold spring water, broke a piece of bread and gave them dark red wine to drink. The heavy, iron smell of blood, the sweet aroma of herbs filled the air. Soon people began to move to the sound of the drums.
 
The drummers were the young ones: No longer children, but still too young to take part in the rite yet.  Their naked chests gleamed golden in the flickering firelight. The boys wore heavy, gold bullas around their necks, the girls amulets made from leather, filled with gems stones. Their arms moved as one. They called the elements, stirred the fires, roused the gods of storms, wakened the earth and brought forth the water.
 
Calpurnia and Druella were looking expectantly at him, then Druella stepped closer, and pried one of his eyes open, peering into it. His pupils must be enormous, he knew, only a small, thin rim of silver left. Then she made a satisfied noise with her tongue and turned to Narcissa.
 
Narcissa’s chest was heaving with anxiousness and excitement. But when she looked at him, he could see her love and trust. She held the chalice with the wine, and her hands were shaking. She took an ivory knife, carved from bone, made a little cut on her chest. The white skin parted and dark red blood welled out. He could not tear his gaze away from it. The blood flowed like water into the chalice, mixed with the thick wine and potion.
 
He tasted sweet flowers that only grew at the full moon, wild grass, and something hot and sharp, mingling to cloud his senses. With a sigh he rolled his head back and a naked woman in a leather mask, caught him. He laughed, suddenly filled with joy. The sound of his own laughter seemed to come from far away.
 
The second time he drank he felt something rise in him. Liber was awaking and taking the body that was offered him tonight. Tonight he would run through the forest, hunt and fight, as a God, to bless the land, strengthen the protection of the wards, to welcome his son into manhood.
 
Narcissa painted runes onto his body and his face, covered him in protection. Humming in a low voice she poured oil onto his cock and gently caressed it. He fought the need to push her onto the ground, to lie on top of her and touch her breasts. As if the women at his side felt his desire, they both held him more firmly.
 
Suddenly the flames were climbing into the sky. He was amidst them, part of them, yet didn’t burn. The sound of the drums was so close, although the boys and girls were standing far away. He didn’t know if the sound roaring in his ears, was the sound of the fire or the sound of his blood. He could not distinguish the beat of his heart from the beat of the drums. The forest was him and he was the forest.
 
Calpurnia made a movement with her hand and the drums stopped. Safe for the licking and hissing of the flames not a sound could be heard. They waited for Liber to speak.
 
Lucius raised his arms. As soon as his arms were raised the trees began to shake. People around him looked up. A wind stirred through the grass, carried sparks from the fires like a fiery veil and slowly the voices and sounds of the animals that inhabited the forest could be heard, answering his call. As if it was bright daylight, the rattling warble, the chirping and shrieking, crowing and howling of the animals was audible and the cicadas began to sing their heavy, odd song.
 
“It’s time,” Calpurnia said to Lucius.
 
And then before he knew what he was doing, before he could even make a decision, Liber was steering him, and he broke into a run, with a lightness and grace he didn’t know he still possessed. Behind him, the men and women, all except Narcissa, Druella and Calpurnia, who had to wait for them and keep the fires alight and the children who had to beat the drums, followed him.
 
Lucius was their leader, but they were part of him, and he was part of them. Tonight they were not the honorable witches and wizards of the Wizarding Kingdom of Britain. Tonight they were his pack.
 
Quickly they ran, jumped over logs, cut through grass as tall as men, deeper and deeper into the eerily silent forest, where the trees grew thicker and higher. The deeper they went, the older the trees were, the more dense the forest was, the darker and softer the earth was, although now it was also covered with dead branches, knotted and gnarled roots that rose from the ground as if to grab and hold the passing humans at bay.
 
The drums were still audible, even that far into the forest.
 
Lucius stilled, listening. He could smell the concoction of oil and blood and potions on himself. He put up a hand, and behind him every single one ceased moving immediately. Another group of people was approaching. From far away they could hear running, yelling, shouting. The sounds seemed to come from every direction. Then Lucius could see the flicker of torches, but in his potion addled mind the flames seemed like golden rays of light, crawling between the trees.
 
He gave a sign, and they began to proceed again, slower this time, lowering their own torches, into the direction where the lights came from. His men began to call out in a strange singsong voice and not so soon later the others responded.
 
They finally met at a clearing, one that had been created with magic, many centuries ago. The surrounding trees were ancient, tall and their branches intertwined forming a dome above them, like a cathedral, the sky behind almost invisible.
 
Like him his son was naked, painted with blood and oil, his face smeared with blood as well. His bulla was gleaming brightly in the light of the torches. For a moment Lucius had forgotten what was expected of him until one of the women nudged him.
 
Hesitantly he entered the dome, feeling the cool, damp ground under his bare feet. His men and the members of the other group stayed back, but they distributed at the edge where they held the torches up. Again absolute silence reigned in the forest.
 
His son stepped closer, his motions cautious, full of grace. Lucius movements were a little slower, but more economic. When both had reached the middle of the clearing, two men stepped forward and handed them two wooden spears with blunted tips. Lucius took his in his right hand, while Draco took his with both hands. Two women approached them and marked the point between the collar bones with a paste of blood and earth.
 
Draco and Lucius bowed towards each other.
 
Both of them breathed heavily, their chests heaving. Then with a fierce movement, the others brought up the torches. A spell was spoken, and the clearing was filled with the reddish light of the suddenly blazing torches. A strong wind carried the sound of the drums to them. Draco’s body looked like made of bronze, hammered out of metal in this light. He cocked his head and then began to move towards Lucius, challenging, yet keeping his spear in front of him, shielding himself.
 
Lucius took three steps back, as if still trying to find his footing, but in the moment before Draco attacked, he flung himself forwards as well and used Draco’s body weight to throw him onto the ground. Draco was quickly on his feet again, like a cat. Even in the light of the flames, Lucius could see his cheeks burning with shame. Some of the women chuckled.
 
The young were always too quick, too impatient. His own memories came to the surface suddenly, another clearing, so many years ago, Abraxas, carrying a spear, his face painted with blood.
 
Draco charged again, this time the tip of the wooden spear nearly touched Lucius caught off guard as he was, but Lucius dove away, took a step in Draco’s direction and came to stand behind him. Draco swiveled around, his features betraying a momentary flicker of shock by his father’s fast movements.
 
Behind him some of the men whistled. Lucius had yet to attack. It would do no good to play like a cat with its prey. He must not give the impression he was saving his energy and let his son exhaust himself.
 
This fight was not about winning. It was a dance. It was a prayer.
 
Draco attacked once more, with a lightning fast, fluid movement, lifting his spear high up aiming at Lucius shoulder. For a brief moment Lucius was entranced by his son’s beauty. The play of muscles in the arm wielding the spear, the tension in the chest, the strength in the thighs, as he ran towards him, the absolute determination and concentration in his face.
 
This time Lucius did not swerve. He gathered all his strength in his upper body, caught Draco with his own body and they fell to the ground together, in a tangle. Draco straddled him and aimed for the mark, both of his arms raised over his head, but took too long. Long enough for Lucius to block him with his spear and throw him off again.
 
The men and women were reciting songs in an ancient language, their eyes glassy and unfocused. Magic began to fill the dome. Lucius felt his breath quicken, his heart beating faster, Liber’s strength flooding his body, he could see the pupils in Draco’s eyes dilating, like black inkblots seeping into parchment. He too was filled with the divine presence.
 
Draco got onto his feet again and began to round him, now aggressively, the tentative beginning of the fight completely forgotten. He was baring his teeth and hissing like a snake. Lucius swayed, shifting from one leg to the other, swirling his spear to distract Draco, dancing out of reach and then feigning attack.
 
Draco, flinched, nearly fell for it, but pulled back in the last moment and remained in his calculating, watching stance. Lucius suppressed a smirk. He tensed his right arm, preparing to lunge forward.
 
For one moment they looked each other in the eyes. It was possible that in this moment, each of them lost a piece of their own soul and received a piece of the other’s, aided by the rite, by the moon, by the forest and Liber breathing through both of them, connecting them.
 
Lucius blinked and suddenly saw himself, the face partly hidden in the shadows of the torches, only the jaw visible, strands of long, yellow hair.
 
The muscles in the right arm were twitching and then Draco stopped thinking. It was time to abandon all thought, he raised his arm, swung his spear, gained momentum in turning around his own axis and then Lucius was in his own body again, he saw his son storming towards him like a golden, gloriously blazing fire, a raging storm.
 
Lucius did not move. Fluid like water, heavy like the earth he stood and waited.
 
Only when Draco’s spear lowered to find the mark between his collarbones, Lucius bent with unexpected grace and speed but in the same instance, moved forward also, like water, in a  swift movement switched his spear from his right to his left hand.
 
Draco, who had not foreseen the movement, was hit by the spear squarely in the chest. Then Lucius twirled the spear and brought it down on Draco mid-jump. Hissing with pain, Draco fell to the ground. Lucius straddled him,with one knee on his sternum and firmly put the blunt end of the wooden spear on Draco’s mark.
 
Draco closed his eyes and opened his hand, allowing the spear to roll out of his grip.
 
The fight was over.
 
Now the heat was flowing around them, whispering and Lucius found it hard to swallow. When the woman had finally reached them (she seemed to take an eternity) she verified that Lucius spear had indeed found the mark.
 
“You fought a good fight,” she said. “The forest and the elements will be satisfied.”
 
Lucius laid the spear down, but didn’t take his eyes away from Draco.
 
The woman crouched beside them, stroking Lucius mane and gently caressing Draco’s hand: “Your next offering, shall honor the god of Liber. The son shall lie with the father and the father shall embrace the son. Together your magic will burn brighter than every fire. Only then will Liber give you his blessing. The son will take from the father and the father shall take from the son.”
 
She stood up and rejoined the others.
 
Draco’s eyes were closed and his chest was heaving. When Lucius kissed him, he opened his eyes, looked at him, weighing and judging. Lucius held his breath, because he didn’t know what else to do as Draco regarded him solemnly. He reached up and laid his hand on Lucius cheeks, stroking the soft, wrinkled skin underneath the eyes.
 
“Father,” he said.
 
Then he pulled him down and kissed him back, open mouthed, wanting, burning. There was not a single moment of fear or hesitation in the boy and deep inside Lucius’ mind it unsettled him even as he lost himself in the sweetness of that kiss.
 
Lucius remembered what he had to do and removed the boy’s bulla. A man reverently took it from him. They heard the approving murmur of the others. 
 
Draco pressed himself against him. Lucius’ eyes fluttered shut for a moment.
 
“This …” Draco said, then kissed him again, sucking at his lips, licking them and Lucius swallowed fire.
 
“I want you,” Lucius said, and Draco smiled against his lips, whispering: “Then take what you want.”
 
No, Lucius longed to tell him. Not only now, not only because of this … of Liber … of the potions … but he wisely didn’t speak.
 
Draco’s hand wandered down his neck, touched his shoulders, slid down his arm, his chest. He pressed one palm against his nipples and pushed lightly and Lucius gasped as he involuntarily ground his hips into Draco’s groin.
 
Draco buried his face in his neck, the way he did when he was a child, no, Lucius refused to think about it. He felt his son’s heart beat against his own.
 
Desire blazed bright in him, the strength of it took away his breath. He lifted his body away from Draco. Sweat was glistening on the collarbones, gathered in the hollow, where the mark still sat, smudged now. Despite the heat, the dark nipples were raised and hard, Lucius rolled one between his fingers and bent to lick the other. Draco bit his lip and threw his head back.
 
Lucius thought: “I should not be aroused by my own flesh and blood.” It was of course futile. He closed his lips around the nub, gently tugging at it. Draco’s hands were tangled in his hair, then he spread his legs and wrapped them around Lucius.
 
“You know what I want,” said Draco, grinding himself against Lucius’ erection, his voice rough with desire. He smiled, his lips slightly parted. His face showed naked want in the flicker of the torches orange glinted in the rim of his irises.
 
In Lucius’ memories he hadn’t been that bold. When it had been Abraxas who had embraced him, to celebrate Liber’s night, he had been filled with anxiety, fear, overwhelming shyness, even with the god’s presence inside him.
 
Draco, though, was a different child. For the first time, Lucius saw something else than the elfin features of his mother and his own grey eyes. He saw that Draco’s left eye was slightly narrower than the other one: while the right eye seemed bigger, innocent, a strange knowing look rested in the left one. There was the nearly unnoticeable hint of a smirk, the right corner of his lip very, very slightly curled. He saw that Draco was wild, more daring that he had been, hungrier and far more confident.
 
Then Draco’s hand wandered down Lucius body, fingertips smoothing over his chest, gliding over his stomach, lingering briefly on the hips, then touched his cock. It felt hot and heavy in his son’s hand.
 
My son is licking his lips like a whore while touching me. Lucius had to shut his eyes. He is too young to know what he is doing.
 
From far away he heard the others chuckle at Draco’s boldness. He gave into the sensation and groaned. Draco began stroking him, looking at him with heavy lidded eyes. Lucius kissed him, tasted his son, the sweet taste of youth, of his own flesh and blood.
 
Lucius slid down Draco’s body and Draco immediately spread his legs further, then lifted them up so he could see his tiny, pink hole, clenching in undisguised desire. Lucius stroke tenderly around it with his index finger, savouring the feel of the delicate, wrinkled skin, trembling under his touch.
 
Draco began throwing his head from one side to the other, mewling. His hands clawed the earth. Lucius felt the heat of the torches on his back. He bent down and gently licked Draco’s cock. It tasted so … so good, so delicious. Lucius lapped it rather than sucking on it, flattened his tongue against the frenulum and began rhythmically pushing at it with the tip. Draco sighed softly, writhing. Lucius felt as if he was inside Draco’s body, feeling every touch in his own cock. He took the head of Draco’s cock between his lips, sucking wetly, then let it slide once, twice deep into his throat and immediately felt Draco pushing. Almost smiling at his son’s unrestrained behaviour he held him firmly down.
 
“Please,” whispered Draco, barely audible. Every muscle in his body was tense, his thighs shaking.
 
Lucius released Draco’s cock when he felt his balls go taut and begin to draw up. Draco’s heels dug into the earth, arching up against his father, silently begging. His hand was on his chest now, caressing and pinching his nipples, tugging at them.
 
Lucius bent down again, further down this time, pushed his son’s legs up, then darted out his tongue and caressed his son’s entrance. Draco gasped, his legs jerking against his chest. Almost desperately he clutched them, fingernails digging into the soft skin behind the knees. With one hand Lucius stroke Draco’s cock, now glistening with pre-come, purple with need, while patiently licking and suckling around that clenching, tight hole, reddening with want. Draco pushed up against Lucius’ tongue, as if he wanted to impale himself on it and Lucius teased him, withdrawing every time Draco pushed too forcefully, only breathing on the wet hole.
 
“Father,” Draco begged.
 
Lucius slowly pushed his tongue inside Draco and Draco howled, his hands now gripping his buttocks, spreading them, trying to force Lucius deeper. Lucius own cock throbbed painfully. He felt a drop of pre-come sliding down the sensitive head and onto his shaft. Moaning he closed his lips around the hole and sucked wetly while fucking his son with his tongue. For minutes he didn’t go deeper, did not increase his speed, enjoying Draco’s growing despair. Then he felt Draco’s long fingers inching towards his own hole, impatiently clawing at his buttocks and Lucius withdrew to watch one of them sliding into the reddened pucker. Lucius grasped both of Draco’s legs and spread them further, lifting them up. Draco began to fuck himself slowly, gasping and shuddering, pushing deep inside him.
 
“Please,” Draco said.
 
And although Lucius felt, as if Liber was devouring him from the inside, a hunger he had never ever known before in his life, he remained still, not capable of tearing himself from his son’s shameless display.
 
Lucius moved closer, now and then licking the fingers that worked themselves tirelessly into Draco’s body. When Draco’s rhythm began to grow frantic, lifting himself up and arching like a cat in heat, Lucius slowly pulled out Draco’s fingers and continued licking him, wetting him further. Draco’s twitching hole was glistening.
 
“Now … now,” Draco whispered pleadingly, his lips bitten. Lucius raised himself onto his knees and brought his cock near that hole. Immediately Draco’s fingers were on it, trying to push it in. Lucius resisted and he merely circled Draco’s entrance with the tip of his cock, smearing hot precome on it. He could feel it twitching, begging for it. With the last shred of his control he managed to continue torturing his son, with light touches. He nudged the taut balls, then slid up and down the hot cleft, hesitating over the hole, as if he was to slide inside, but then continued stroking, caressing, teasing.
 
Finally when Draco screamed, clutching his father’s arse, in a desperate attempt to finally push that cock in, Lucius slowly inched himself inside. Draco rewarded him with a shout. His whole body jerked and spasmed, clenching around Lucius, drawing him further in.
 
Lucius let himself fall forward, not yet thrusting, only stroking his son with one hand and putting his weight on his left hand, beside Draco’s head. Draco’s legs were holding him tight, trying to urge him to thrust, pulling him. He could feel the heels digging into his back, then Lucius obeyed and angled himself, bearing his weight down. When Draco’s eyes flew open and he jerked up again, Lucius knew he had hit the right spot. He looked down and saw a small, clear puddle of precome on Draco’s stomach that was hollow with tension. Before he knew what he was doing, he dipped his fingers into it and then smeared the fluid onto Draco’s lips, who licked greedily, his pink tongue darting out.
 
With every thrust his son whimpered, moaned, begged shamelessly and instead of thinking of his son’s display as weak Lucius found himself admiring Draco’s ability to lose himself. With the last remains of rational thinking Lucius realised that Draco was not weak. He was strong enough to show his weakness. He did not guard himself, but proudly displayed his wantonness, his lust. In a way, Draco was strong, where Lucius was weak. Lucius would have never ever dared to betray his vulnerability in such a way.
 
This was the night where the father had to lead the son into manhood, but Lucius felt that it was his son who was teaching him.
 
As if Draco could read his father’s thoughts – perhaps he could – he smiled and pulled Lucius into a kiss, his lips parting and sucking at his tongue.
 
“Please … let go,” Draco whispered against his lips, and Lucius did. He put his weight fully on his left arm and pulled out, then buried himself inside Draco and began to thrust. He came up for air, clutching Draco’s head, who had begun to lick and suck his nipples like a kitten, whimpering. Lucius could feel Draco’s cock rubbing against his belly and he deliberately ground down on it. Faster and faster he fucked Draco, until Draco let go of his nipple and suddenly spasmed and clenched tightly around his cock. Lucius looked down and saw that Draco was coming, thick white come shooting out of his cock, landing on Draco’s face, across his open mouth and his cheeks, even in his hair, then another spurt onto his chest. At that Draco’s head fell back and he moved again, urging his father on, while smearing his own come over his chest, darting out his tongue.
 
Draco looked beyond debauched: his cheeks flushed, his parted lips red, panting, struggling for breath. Like a whore he still plucked at his nipples, now slippery and glistening with his come and moaned. A white glob of come was sliding down Draco’s cheek, and he tried to reach it with his tongue.
 
Lucius shook, he pulled back and then slammed in again, buried himself to the hilt. He, too was now beyond restraint. He could feel his whole body being filled with the strength of his orgasm, saw blinding white light and shouted when he came deep inside Draco’s body.
 
Gracelessly he collapsed on top of Draco, feeling his own and his son’s hearts beat a mad staccato. When he tried to move, he realised his limbs were nearly boneless. Instead of getting up, he fell to Draco’s side, lying on his back.
 
A disturbing thought slowly penetrated through the haze of his afterglow, strangely piercing and alarming: He was happy. And although he tried to relativise his own happiness away, he knew that he had never ever felt this happiness before.
 
It was as if he had been waiting all these years for this moment, to come home to his son, to be one with him. Lucius stared at the shadows the torches threw onto the canopy of branches and asked himself if he could ever go back to his former life the way he and Abraxas had so many years ago. Had Abraxas felt the same mixture of pain and happiness? This love? This longing? Would he ever again be able to look at his son without wanting him?
 
He felt a hand in his and looked to his side, into Draco’s eyes, who stroke the back of his hand.
 
Around them everyone was kneeling, reverently, murmuring prayers and thanks to Liber. Hands touched them, soothing, calming, a young man wiped Lucius with a warm cloth, two girls helped Draco up, while another cleaned Draco. Everyone was whispering to them and finally two cloaks were brought. When they were finally standing, feeling hot because of the Warming charms on the cloaks, Lucius was embarrassed to feel that his legs were still shaking. The elder people laughed and patted him on the shoulder.
 
“Liber took your sacrifice and was pleased with it!” an old woman said. She pushed his wand into his hand and gestured him to try a spell. He felt it already before he cast Wingardium Leviosa: Liber had taken his magic, as he had Draco’s to strengthen the protection of the ancient forest, the land and the Malfoy wards.
 
Their magic would restore itself over the next few hours.
 
When he turned to leave the clearing, Draco took his hand, and entwined their fingers, and together they walked back through the forest, following the steady drums, until they were at the big clearing, where Narcissa, Calpurnia and Druella were waiting with two white togas, the one in Calpurnia’s hands belonged to Lucius, but the other, new one in Narcissa’s hands was Draco’s toga. The women had to help him put it on, close the shoulder clasp and arrange the folds, but then finally it was done and Draco stood beside Lucius.
 
Narcissa put her hands on Draco’s shoulders: “My son, not a boy anymore, but a man.”
 
One after the other people left the clearing to go home, until only the three women and Lucius and Draco remained. Then they too, turned and walked out of the forest and headed home to Malfoy Manor.

Part II