Omnia Mors Perimit

Everything turned out well. The investigations against Lucius were called off before they had truly begun, and the same was true for most of his closer friends. Graham, Crabs, Severus, Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan, they all went free. Most former Death Eaters did, only fifteen were captured and sentenced to life-long imprisonment, alongside some minor members of the Dark Order. Bizarrely, one of the convicts was Narcissa's cousin Sirius - he had been the one to betray the Potters, apparently, though Narcissa never quite believed that. Both she and Lucius carefully observed the proceedings, still anxious that one of the felons would try to make a deal with the Ministry, bargaining their own freedom by snitching.

Nothing of the kind happened. Instead, disaster struck in a very different quarter. Not even Narcissa had believed her sister to be that mad, but fact was that Bellatrix, together with her husband, her brother-on-law and some kid fairly fresh to the Dark Order, had assaulted the family of the Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, cruciating both of them into insanity. Neither Narcissa nor her husband could believe it. They had known that unlike themselves, Bellatrix hadn't felt relieved with Lord Voldemort's undoing, but that she could be so imprudent - foolish - suicidal really - no, they hadn't reckoned with that.

Narcissa put the blame on her sister for something else, too... Three days after her trial, resulting in four life-long sentences - Barty Crouch had not even spared his own son, the forth culprit - Cygnus Black sustained a heart attack and died. Her mother was inconsolable and so was Narcissa, but they found solace in the idea that he had lead a very happy life for seventy long years.

Life went back to perfect normality rather soon. Narcissa was happy, happier than ever before. She no longer had to fear for her husband, that he might be injured, captured or - she still hardly dared to think of it - killed. Their little family was safe, and she could concentrate on life's pleasantries, shortly interrupted by her mother's death two years later. She saw her little darling grow up, she was devotedly attentive to his education, teaching him basic spells, reading, writing, playing the piano, of course. She taught him French and German, Latin and Italian, Arithmancy and Arithmetic, Herbology and Zoology. She introduced him to art and literature, everything in life that was beautiful and elegant. The only matter swiftly unsettling her was when Draco got his first broom for Christmas. Otherwise, she enjoyed the comfortable homeliness that Malfoy Manor offered to her and never left it if she could help it - beatus ille homo qui sedet in suo domo. She only ever went out to do her husband a favour, either to impress some business partners of his, or to get him some amusement.

She knew that Lucius was slightly bored with the routine of his daytime work; in 1984, for his thirtieth birthday, Abraxas had fully committed the enterprise to his son's hands. This one wasn't half as grateful as his father thought he ought to be, but alas! It was too late for him to become a Quidditch pro, and that was the only profession that he had ever seriously contemplated. The times in the Dark Order got the patina of nostalgia in the course of time. Now that it was over, Lucius forgot the risks and fears by and by, only remembering the thrills and kicks. Narcissa let him, it was no harm.

Draco grew up to be his parents' sheer delight. Lucius was the sort of father that he had always wanted to be, and if possible, Narcissa loved him even more for it. Yes, they were spoiling their baby, but so what? Whenever Narcissa would raise that question - blanda facit segnes matrum indulgentia natos, but not meaning it quite earnest - Lucius would answer with a fond smile that she had been spoilt by her own parents, too, 'and just look what a marvellous person you've become!'

Indeed, if anyone had wanted to write a book about thorough felicity, or the happiest family that could possibly exist - he could have written that book about the Malfoys. Lucius' worship for his wife couldn't have been greater; he'd shower her with kisses every day, and similarly frequently with all sorts of mind-blowing jewellery, rare flowers, invaluable paintings and other objects of art of every kind. Narcissa loved him just as much, rewarding him in the way he liked best - behind closed doors.

And Draco? Draco grew up believing that his parents were The Best, The Coolest, The Most Powerful, Elegant, Intelligent and Overall-Flawless people in the whole wide world. He'd be like his dad once, oh yes, and he'd marry a witch exactly like his mum, and he'd be a fabulous Quidditch player like his dad, a proficient pianist like his mum, an irresistibly mighty wizard like his dad, fluent in twenty-two languages like his mum, a business-genius like his dad, an universal genius like his mum - and so on, and so on. His parents encouraged him in all those ambitions with a benign smile, patting his shoulders and telling him that he was perfect just the way he was.

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Fugaces... The years pass fleetingly.

Beatus... That human being sitting in their home is blissful.

Blanda... The mother's spoiling leniency renders the children lazy.