In the main sitting room of the Manor, just above the marble hearth, there had been a portrait. A gilded frame edged the canvas, lending the portrait an elevated, regal air. The palette was full of greens and blues with black accents-airy but elegant. At the centre of the portrait stood the two subjects, adorned in formal dress with opulent robes of silk, brocade, lace. Lucius Malfoy gathered up his newly named wife, rendered in delicate brushstrokes in the traditional style. Naricssa laughed in the portrait, rewarded Lucius with a kiss, and they gazed out upon their sitting room, together-happy.

Draco remembered standing before it, a young boy with starry eyes, and wondering at the day his parents had married. He wondered at the people in the portrait, versions of his parents he didn't know. He found it difficult to imagine them existing before he did. He found it difficult to imagine not existing at all.

But what always struck him was the liberation in the portrait, the way Lucius held Narcissa, the way she laughed, the way she kissed him. It was open and honest and without the strict regimentation of pureblood life.

"Love, Draco," Narcissa had said. "It's love that liberates us, that lets our hearts sing. Like my love for you."

Back then, as a child, he had not understood how to love that way. He loved his parents, he was sure, but it did not feel terribly liberating. More of a thing one must do. He decided, then, he didn't know how to love. He thought he might never feel it-not really. And every day's worth of evidence from his life from that point to this had supported that theory. He'd never felt love like that. Never the chiming, whispering wind of a sunny day, in an open field with rolling hills and singing tree leaves.

He had only felt the warm, glowing Lumos of his parents' love for him. The soft light in the darkness that did not flicker out. And though the light was there, so too was the dark.

A hand settled on his thigh and squeezed gently. Draco came back to reality and found the hand belonged to Potter. His green eyes trained on Draco, concern and mild discomfort in them, he smiled awkwardly.

"You all right?" he asked in an undertone. Draco saw a flicker of open fields and bright days before remembering his mother.

"Fine," he said, and turned back to Narcissa. She had lost little colour in her face from his revelation but none of her composure. She sipped her tea-no evidence she had ever dropped it-and waited for an explanation. But Draco found himself speechless then, with Potter's comforting hand on his thigh, at afternoon tea with his mother and husband.

Husband.

"You must forgive my earlier rudeness, Draco dear," Narcissa said when it became apparent Draco would not explain unprompted. "I had not been aware you were courting." She glanced at Potter here, a fleeting look full of appraisal.

Potter shifted. "It's not quite what you think, Mrs. Malfoy," he said, and she reached out a delicate hand to him.

"Narcissa, please, Mr. Potter," she said.

To which he said, "Er, Narcissa. Please call me Harry, then." He glanced at Draco, perhaps aware that Draco had not called him by his given name since the bonding. Draco rolled the name around on his tongue but couldn't quite manage to speak it. "It was sort of-an accident."

Narcissa set her teacup down and tilted her head just so, eyeing Draco. "Oh?"

Draco raised his hand to show her the ring more clearly. "The rings," he said, "were from a bonding ritual from centuries ago. Potter brought me the ring to assess in a professional capacity when the bonding-took place."

Taking her son's hand, Narcissa studied the ring carefully without touching it. Draco felt her eyes rove over the edges of the stones, into the engraved designs on the shank. There was a moment's pause, and Narcissa released him, paying no more mind to the ring. Draco studied her carefully.

"Ritual bonding, you say?" she said, turning her attention back to Potter. "Am I to expect we won't be family for much longer, Harry?"

She'd said it with so much ease it irked Draco. It felt wrong to hear her speak of Potter as family before Draco, himself, could manage it.

"Well, we've been investigating a possible way to reverse the bond, yes," Potter said, "which is one of the reasons we've come to you."

Folding her hands on the table, Draco noticed the subtle translucence of her skin, the blue veins drawing ley lines down her wrist, and how though she didn't look older, her age began to show in different ways. Narcissa sat with her back perfectly straight.

"And how might I be of assistance?" she asked.

Her face was a perfect mask of mild curiosity. Draco's fingers played over the ring as he watched her. After a moment, he realized there was tea set before him, and he picked it up. The teacup was fine bone china, translucent when held up to the light, like so much else. The rim of the cup was silver-leafed and delicate. The tea was Earl Grey.

"It seems the answer to breaking the bond lies in the hands of the eldest heir to the Black family," Draco said before taking a calculated sip of his tea. He savoured the liquid on his tongue a moment, hot but not so much so it burned him, and swallowed.

"It seems the problem is solved," she answered, studying her son. "Ritual bonding magic views only male children as heirs. That would be you, darling."

"Except it isn't," Potter said, ignoring his own tea. "Draco doesn't seem to have the answer."

Knowing the question was coming, Draco said, "I'm afraid it's a form of magical inheritance, Mother. If I were the eldest heir, I would have the key. As I do not," he paused, as she adjusted the cuff of her robes, "it seems there is another Black heir older than I."

"We'd hoped you might be able to tell us who that would be," Potter said, "or point us in the right direction."

Narcissa considered a moment, looking down. "My sister, Andromeda, is the eldest of my family," she said, "and as I understand it, you have a relationship with her. Why not ask her?"

Potter smiled oddly. "Andromeda left her relationship with your family on bad terms." Draco snorted inwardly. "Her knowledge of what went on within the limits of the Black family ended years ago. But you were close with your family until-"

"Until they were killed," Narcissa finished for him. Draco felt the tension rise between them all. Like a vise slowly tightened around them all, Draco felt himself forcing breath.

"Yes," Potter said, sidestepping the bait. "So you see, you're our best chance."

Narcissa dabbed at the side of her mouth with a serviette. With a glance up to the right, she said, "I'm afraid I cannot offer you the answer you need. Draco is the eldest Black heir. If another heir should live, that would be news to me, Mr. Potter."

Potter leaned back in his seat. He nodded once. "I see. That's too bad," he said, and his hand found Draco's on the table. He laced their fingers together, his fingers playing over the ring on Draco's hand. "There's strong evidence these rings may be cursed. I would hate for Draco to come to harm because we failed to dissolve an unintentional union. But I supposed 'til death do us part' it'll have to be." He turned to Draco then, his words calculated and cut to size. His expression, however, spoke of quiet pleasure and warmth.

"Cursed?" Narcissa said, her voice pitched a note higher than before.

"Didn't we say?" Potter said. Draco hummed in agreement.

"These rings were made for Perseus and Helena, Mother," he informed her. "And you remember the stories."

Narcissa offered her son a stony look flecked with a shard of fear.

"That coupled with the break-in at Draco's shop, well," Potter said, rubbing gentle circles into Draco's hand. Draco let his eyes flutter shut at the feeling. "That indicates this may have been a targeted attack."

Narcissa crossed her legs and sat straighter in her chair. "Is that so?" she said. "Well I am terribly sorry I am unable to help. You did mention another reason for coming to me, no?"

Potter nodded, taking a gulp of his now-cold tea. "Yes," he said, "that's right. We've found surveillance images of a person or creature of interest in regards to these events. It seems a House Elf purchased some of the items shipped to me with the rings." Narcissa looked steadily at Potter, and Draco studied her in turn. Potter leaned in closer to Draco as he spoke, the warmth of him making it more difficult to Draco to focus. "Draco mentioned you once employed a House Elf named Kertsy; is that correct?"

Narcissa crossed her arms before her on her lap, her chin slightly angled upward.

"It's possible. We employed numerous Elves at Malfoy Manor," she said. She looked up to the right again. "Kertsy, you say?" She paused. "Yes, I believe we did employ her once." Draco glanced at Potter for a moment, his eyes shining. He felt a drop in his stomach of molten liquid and a spark of something new. Potter was good at his job.

"What were the circumstances of termination?" Potter asked.

"She left a heated iron out where my son was playing," she said sharply. "Draco was a child; he could have been badly injured. I presented her with clothes and am afraid I do not know what became of her thereafter."

Potter nodded again and drew Draco's hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "I understand. Protecting your son is of the utmost importance to you. Like I said, I wouldn't want any harm to come to him."

"On that, Mr. Potter, we agree," she said. Setting her tea and serviette aside, she got to her feet. Smoothing out the creases in her robes, Narcissa inclined her head to them. "I'm afraid I must be going now, Mr. Potter, Draco. I do hope you catch the person responsible." Then, turning her attention to Draco specifically, she added, "I've missed you, darling. You must come to dinner."

"Of course, Mother," Draco said. "Safe travels. We'll speak soon."

Narcissa smiled and made her way to the door of the teashop. As they watched her retreat, Draco leaned into Potter more fully. Potter continued to press soft kisses to Draco's knuckles with a smile. Breathing in the feel of Potter peppering him with affection, Draco found himself smiling. The heat in his belly grew, and the pull between them worsened.

"I do believe my mother is hiding something," Draco said after a moment. Potter hummed his assent. "She's never lied to me before."

"I thought highlighting the danger to you might be enough to draw it out of her," Potter said, taking the time to press each of Draco's fingertips to his lips. Draco shivered. "Whatever she's hiding, it's either very important or very damaging."

Draco smirked at Potter, licking his lips. "You're rather brilliant, you know."

He was rewarded with a dazzling and mischievous smile. "Careful, Draco," he said, "a few more compliments and I might start thinking you like me."

"Perish the thought," Draco said, his smirk turning to a smile. He reached for Potter and pulled him into a kiss, catching his lower lip between his teeth. Potter moaned into the kiss and slipped his fingers into Draco's hair. At the back of his mind, Draco knew the teashop was not the place for this, that people would stare no matter how private the clientele, but he didn't care.

Then a different thought struck him, and he reluctantly broke the kiss.

"She'll be gone now," he said, and Potter shook his head.

"I placed a tracking spell on her when it became clear she wasn't going to cooperate," he said. Draco laughed and kissed him again, finding no better way to reward Potter for his cleverness-however unexpected it was. "Shall we go track down your mother?"

Forehead to forehead, Draco and Potter took each other in. Draco licked his lips again, and shut his eyes. "In a minute," he said, an impish look crossing his face. "I'm not finished with you yet."