"Not at all," Lucius lilted. "I'd say he's doing a fine job. We expect to retake Geneva any day now."

Nott Sr. laughed and muttered something to himself. "Antonin has some interesting stories about him. Has he learned to cast Killing Curses yet?"

Both Malfoys went very still. Lucius glanced around before releasing his wife's arm and stepping forward, inches from Nott Sr.'s face. "You're treading on thin ice, Ted. You should hear the stories I've heard about your son. To say nothing of what I've heard from Rookwood about your performance in France."

Nott Sr.'s face soured. He hid his grimace with a long sip of his Firewhisky as he glanced over his shoulder, looking for listeners. His knuckles were red and raw— he'd clearly punched something recently, and done a patchy Healing charm.

"So, why don't we have another glass," Lucius whispered, "and toast to the Dark Lord together."

A floating tray paused at his elbow, and he took a glass from it, never breaking Nott Sr.'s gaze as he yanked the empty tumbler from his grip and shoved the champagne into his chest. He plucked his own glass from the tray and toasted.

Nott scowled as he clinked his flute against Lucius's. "To your wife's health." Narcissa said nothing. Nott Sr. downed the bubbles before stalking off.

Lucius guided Narcissa forward, whispering something in her ear. She nodded, and her posture relaxed.

"Narcissa!" They were quickly accosted by a grandly dressed middle-aged woman. "We must have you and Lucius on the dance floor," she said, as she kissed Narcissa's cheek. You are a delight together!"

Narcissa returned her kiss and offered her a dazzling smile. "You're too kind, Siobhan. But I'm afraid we're a bit preoccupied with babysitting this evening." She lifted a brow and jerked her head in Hermione's direction.

"Then let me take over. My mother deserves to dance at her own Gala."

The deep baritone spoken behind her shivered her skin and sent her blood racing.

Hermione's heartbeat skyrocketed as she turned slowly, hardly daring to hope…

Draco stood behind her in a tuxedo — white from head to toe, shimmering almost silver in the candlelight. She forgot how to breathe as he looked over her shoulder at his mother's friend, his lips tugging in a smile.

"Draco"—the word sharply enunciated on Lucius's tongue—"what a surprise."

Hermione watched a storm of emotions cross Narcissa's face as she reached for him. He hugged his mother, kissing her cheek. After a few long moments, she released him, and he stepped beside her. And when she felt his hand press lightly on her back, her knees almost buckled.

"I thought I could spare an hour or two," Draco said, staring at his father.

"Wonderful! Oh, I love seeing the family all together!" Siobhan clapped her hands together. "Narcissa, Lucius, come dance—"

Lucius took his son's shoulder with a firm hand. "Draco, let's speak over here—"

"Oh, I'd love it if the two of you danced, Father." Draco tore his gaze away to give Siobhan a roguish wink. "Siobhan is right. You couldn't possibly deprive your guests of the opportunity to watch."