To the dragon as always and BeautifulDisaster, the Lady Bellatrix Black and 97hollster and lilian - you all rock so hard for reviewing. And to my other, quieter readers. It's okay...I understand;-) This one particularly goes out to mysthslayer - here's your coffin bit, you lovely sicko.

Malfoy Manner: Our Dinner with Weasleys

Part the Second: Backseat Drivers

The drawing room was quiet, dark and empty. Draco sat front and center to the casket, just as he had during the funeral proceedings. If they could be called that; eleven people, several of them solicitors or ministry agents, and two extended family members who didn't seem at all regretful about speaking only French. It had cleared out fairly quickly.

Now, in the chair beside him was a bottle of firewhiskey and a shot glass. He'd had two. He was in no hurry. In the elaborate snow-white box there was his father. The remains of his father, anyway. A closed casket had been firmly recommended. Apparently, dementors didn't leave behind anything attractive.

Oh, well. The coffin was pretty. His mother had such nice taste. No doubt she was off grieving as was proper.'What the hell's wrong with me?' Draco wondered. He leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his face in his hands. 'I can't seem to miss the man.'

He'd tried for the last three damn days; thought of his father's smile, his laugh, but those things had only ever seemed to proceed another's pain. He'd tried to recall holidays filled with quality time, but it had always been just himself and the elf, really. It seemed his father had always worked hard just to keep his son and wife estranged from each other – to keep his family on the whole estranged.

All Draco could truly remember fondly were the gifts. Always, always lavish gifts – new brooms, fine clothes, exotic pets, sweets and the best toys available. Anytime there were sharp words, there was a gift to make up for it. If his mother wept one morning, she had a new necklace the next.

His mother. She was always just…the pretty witch in the house.

"Draco?" The pretty witch had come to stand before him, interrupting his view of the casket.

He blinked up at her, expecting a tearstained face. Instead, she looked remarkably composed, like usual. He swallowed. The white silky nightgown she wore was almost sheer in the drawing room's bright moonlight. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed her body, her attractiveness. Hardly appropriate given she was his mother, and even less appropriate now given the immediate presence of his dead father. "Yes?"

She studied him curiously. "You should sleep, son. We've a busy day tomorrow."

"Oh? Are we to bury him ourselves, then?"

"Don't be obscene." She sighed and sat beside him. "Are you drunk?"

"No." She smelled lovely.

"Draco…" Hesitantly, her slender hand stroked his elbow. She didn't know how to be a mother, just as he didn't know how to be a son. "I know that you…miss him…" There was something in the way her lips quirked.

"Do you?" He asked her. "Do you know that?"

She blushed. "I apologize. I should not assume to know your emotions, son."

"And I shan't assume to know yours. Do you miss him?"

She stared at him. Her eyes were quite peculiar – nebulas of bluegray hues. Like his own, but different. "I…"

"Tell me the truth," he said. "And I'll do the same. I promise."

"I do not miss him." And her chin went up to prove it, to challenge any question.

"Me either."

Her chin dropped. "Oh."

"I didn't know him, mother." Draco gestured to the coffin. "Did you?"

She shrugged. "No. Not really."

"Did you love him?"

Another shrug. A thin silver strap slipped from her creamy shoulder. He tried to ignore it. "I wanted to love him," she whispered. "I wanted to be a good wife. A mother."

"You were," Draco leaned toward her, took hold her hands. They were chilly. "You were, I'm sure of it," he said.

She was shaking her head, tears beginning to form. "No, Draco. I wasn't. I never had a chance!" Her hands tightened on his. Their eyes met, hers feverish, desperate for knowing. "Draco. Do you love me?"

He opened his mouth, but what he'd thought was an automatic answer froze in his throat. Her hurt was a palpable wave. "Mother." He didn't remember kissing boo-boo's, hide and seek, or story times. He looked at this woman and remembered a curve of her jaw; an expanse of pale, porcelain back as a dress zipped, the look of shapely hips just below his eye level as he learned to dance atop her graceful feet. "I do love you," he whispered. 'Just not like I should,' he added silently.

She nodded, but didn't seem terribly relieved. "Perhaps now…we could…start to know one another?"

In answer, he hugged her to him. "Perhaps," he murmured into her hair. It was soft. He nuzzled it. His thumbs felt…skin. Gods, there was no back to this gown – just two straps criss-crossing. And her back was…heavenly. Cool to his fingers, and satin smooth. He touched unsashamedly, felt the muscles beneath his palms tense and contract.

Her hands found his shoulders and awkwardly caressed. "Draco…" Hot breath from such a cold mouth.

His hands slid further south, fingertips reading the Braille of her spine. His lips found her ear. "You're chilled, mother."

"I'm…" She didn't finish the thought. Draco's jacket shifted and through his cotton oxford, he felt her hard nipples press into his chest. He hardened, too, and shifted closer to her. She panted against his neck. "Draco."

His mouth and lips were sliding down the column of her throat for some reason. For some reason, her head was tilting back, giving him better access. "Mother," he murmured into that precious hollow above her breastbone.

"Stop!" She gasped.

"I can't!" He gasped.

He pressed her backward bodily. She bent like a rose in the wind. He kissed her chest, felt it heaving sumptuously under his exploration. She was his every fantasy made reality – a stark and awakening realization. It was more than desire making his head swim.

Unthinking, unbridled, his nose nudged at the strap on her other shoulder, needing to bare her further. He wanted his mother naked. She shivered at the touch, but suddenly scrambled against him. "Draco, no!"

She flung herself away, bent and staggering from the seats. He was on her in a flash, an arm grabbing her waist. Her hands hit the edge of the marble table upon which his father rested. "Please!" she cried.

They stumbled. Draco's strong upper body bent her weaker one til it touched the shining coffin surface. "Please what?" He turned her to face him, needed to see her eyes, her honesty. He saw tears on her cheeks.

"Please don't…" She went nearly boneless. He pressed a leg between hers and heard, felt her breath hitch. Her core was hot against his thigh. Her eyes shone, finally meeting his from beneath long, dewy lashes, half-closed with pupils as wide as saucers.

"Don't what?" His hands slid up, up, over her breasts (she squirmed) and to her neck. He cradled her heavy head, angled her for kissing, and let his lips hover while he awaited her reply.

Her tears teemed over her eye-brims and she sobbed brokenly, "Don't stop!"

So his lips fell on hers and she gave in, resistance in the far distance. She surged against him, gave assistance when he boosted her bum onto the table edge. His father's coffin supported her back when she helped him struggle out of his jacket. He tore the other strap from her shoulder and attacked her perfect breasts, grunted when her thighs drew him further into their clutch.

She thrust her tongue in his mouth and Merlin, he'd thought only naughty Slytherin girls kissed like that. But this was so much better, more certain and more…wanting. His trousers clung to his hips, didn't even fall away completely before he was pressing his bare cock against the wet silk over her cunt.

He groaned, hands travelling up her legs, finding the knickers, tugging. In a haze, she pulled away from his lips long enough to brace both hands behind herself and lift. Her son divested her of the knickers swiftly and as soon as her arse hit cold marble again, he slid inside her, pausing awkwardly only once, looking at her with wide, amazed eyes.

"Draco," she rasped. "Oh, gods, son!"

He'd no knowledge to guide him, but instinct won out. Centuries of human mating made intrinsic practice. They moved together, her flexing arms and undulations making his thrusts all the more powerful. Draco grabbed hold of a bar behind her for support – a bar obviously meant for a pall-barer to grip. But he bore only her, knew only her, this extraordinary creature who'd borne himself in many ways.

She growled and groaned like an animal, clutching his head, ignoring the bite of polished wood and metal at her upper back. The coffin slid loudly a few inches here and there until finally she arched into her boy as if he were her exorcist. Her fingers couldn't pull him tightly enough to her as she came apart and felt him follow uncertainly and powerlessly seconds later.

She cooed in his ear, wrapped her legs round his waist. Draco stroked her despite her sticky sweat. He kissed her neck, her face, her lips. They breathed each other's breaths. The moonlight showed him their joined reflections in the lid of Lucius' elegant casket, and they were beautiful together. They were simply perfect…

"Wow, Draco." Potter had broken the descended silence. The young Malfoy snapped back to the present, relieved his ruse had been believable. Harry was shaking his head. "That's crazy, mate."

"Yeah," Ron agreed seriously. "We didn't know your mum or dad had friends." Neville punched Ron's arm, but Draco smiled gamely at the ribbing. It was pretty damned close to the truth, actually.

"Well, they've got friends now," Potter said.

Draco grimaced. "Oh, you had to go and sap it up, Potter!"

Their laughter was cut short when the door of the garage flew up, loudly banging, revealing Arthur and Narcissa. Ms. Malfoy wore a slightly startled face and held Draco's broom to her side in the fashion of a professional quidditch player. Draco salivated a little at the vision.

"Knew you boys would be out here!" Arthur chuckled. "Hard to resist, isn't she?"

"Sorry, dad," Ron said. Draco peered guiltily through the windshield at his mother's smirk and raised eyebrow.

"It's alright, son. Narcissa informs us she and Draco are departing. Unfortunate really, as your mum and brothers have decided a fire is in order." Ron, Harry and Neville perked up. Apparently a fireside gathering was a thing to enjoy among Weasleys.

Draco, on the other hand, was contemplating a different kind of fire entirely. He wondered if his mother could be persuaded to partake in moonlit forest fucking somewhere between here and home… The way she was holding that broom suggested the possibility was good.

Handshakes and until-next-time's were exchanged. The requisite one-armed hug was delivered. Arthur herded his son and adopted sons out to their fire and singing and marshmallow-roasting. "You show your mother around the Aston before you go," he called back to Draco jovially. "I bet she'll enjoy it!"

"I will, sir!" Draco replied. "And I'll cover it for you, too!"

Dust swirled in the dim lamplight and they were alone. Narcissa bit her bottom lip. "Aston?"

Thoughts of moonlit forests had careened to a halt, causing a muggle five-car pile-up. Could he get her in the damned thing? Worth a shot… "The car," Draco explained. He reached for her hand. "Have a look." Cissa propped his broom against a cluttered table and walked to the open driver's door. She sighed placatingly as her son seated her behind the wheel. "What do you think?" He grinned at her.

"It smells nice." Her hands touched the wheel, played at turning it. Her feet stretched to the pedals, and she pumped the gas experimentally. "It won't…go?" She asked.

Draco gestured for her to move over and took the driver's position. Briefly, he explained what he knew of the mechanics, showed her the shift and the ignition, the radio and various meters. She humored him beautifully. "Intriguing," she allowed.



He looked at the logo at the steering wheel's center, stroked it. "Do you ever think about…the first time we were together?"

Her neatly manicured fingers touched the clasp on the glove box before her. "I have."

"The others – Harry and them – they were talking about it. Their first times, I mean."

She looked at him, a strange blend of sadness and worry on her features. "You didn't…"

"Gods, no!" He shook his head. "I just made something up."

She looked away again, fingered the passenger door handle. "That must have been difficult for you." And there was the wistful wisp that appeared sometimes, a tiny frown on her pretty lips.

Draco took her chin and turned her face to his. "I wished I could have told the truth," he whispered. "Because I still think it's one of the most beautiful memories I will ever know."

Her eyes glistened. She leaned toward him and they kissed softly, sweetly. "Shall we go?" There was the definite suggestion of salacious activity in her quiet question. It thrilled him.

"You know, mum." Draco stroked her cheek, faces still close. He smelled chocolate on her breath. "Muggles are known to occasionally…mate…in the backs of these things."

Those glistening eyes widened. "Muggles do strange things," she murmured. But she didn't shy away from his second kiss. In fact, she let it linger like a promise.

"Mm-hm." He turned to pull her against him more firmly, deepening their kiss. She was prized and pliant. Leather creaked as they shifted. Her strong hands rubbed at his neck and back.

Draco's knee banged the dash. "Ow!" She reached for his hurt and he swatted her hand away, cocked his head. "Come on," he panted. "Easier back there." His trousers tightened further as he watched her backside somehow maneuver almost gracefully over the front seats. He showed none of that grace himself when he scrambled after her.

She looked positively wanton laying on the white leather, her hands flicking off her heels. Knees now in the seat at her hip, Draco struggled from his jacket, dropped his wand to the floorboard. She was on an elbow, unbuckling his belt as he kissed her bent knees, caressed the insides of her spread thighs. "Gods, witch…"His finger traced her wand holster to the ebony instrument on the outside of her thigh, then back around. He loved her garters, snapped them open easily now, practiced and perfected…

She was quiet save for her occasional gasps, raised up to slide his tie from his neck. They kissed more, unbuttoning his shirt and trousers together. When Draco pulled her knickers from her legs, his head bumped the soft roof of the car. "Sorry so cramped, mum." No, hell, he wasn't.

She brushed off his apology. "Sit, son."

"Huh?" His brain was a bit addled, hot straining cock having met the cool sateen of her rucked-up frock.

"Sit," she repeated, drawing up on her knees.

"Oh." He fell into the backseat. More creaking leather. Grunted as she palmed his erection and straddled him. Again, they kissed sloppily, bent awkwardly. He held her hips under her dress and she lowered onto his hardness. Their foreheads pressed together. They moaned at the simple, overwhelming pleasure of joining.

Narcissa found no space to push against his shoulders the way she would have liked. Her back hit the front seats. Frustrated, she growled and instead found purchase with one hand on the seat behind her and one braced against the roof. It was quite exquisite for the grinding cadence they'd recently discovered, and soon their heat and breaths were combining to fog the car's windows nicely. "Oh, Draco…" Her head lolled back.

He attacked her neck, her ears, tongue scraping sapphire. "Every time, Narcissa," he huffed. "Every time feels like the first to me." She sobbed and tightened at his words. "Christ, it's good!" He needed her more, harder, pulled her from her stabilizing grips and planted her back against the side of the car. She oomphed.

"I'm sorry!" He rasped. "I need to fuck you, mum." His thrusts pushed her til again she braced a hand on the roof. Her other arm held his shoulders. One of his knees had pushed into the crease between the backseat cushions. It frustrated him a bit, but apparently the angle it created was pure pleasure for the witch whose legs were round his hips.

She cried out with every lunge he made, finally keened in his ear. "There, son! Yesyesyes!" Her head slammed into the small passenger window and Draco drove into her as hard as he could, focused on the sensation of her rippling walls and clenching thighs. This moment he lived for; her abandoned indulgence, the ultimate sensuality of her orgasm mingling with his.

There was the roll of their magic meeting, a drowning tide that was too brief. Then the delectable tingles of static, the coming down, this time accompanied by the sound of her sticky bum squeaking against leather interior.

Draco cupped her face and she returned the gesture. "I love you," she whispered.

And he knew this thing for a fact; felt it in her touches, her words, her care for him. But so rarely did either of them speak it aloud –as if it was a thing that still secretly shamed them. And fuck that! This woman was his goddess. He sacrificed a kiss. "I worship you," he whispered back.

She nodded. They were cooling quick. "We should go before Arthur comes to check his car is covered," she reminded gently.

"Right." He slipped out of her and began affixing himself. She drew her wand and did some detailing to Arthur's backseat before affixing herself. "Don't forget these." Draco passed over her knickers. "Whatever would Arthur think?"

Cissa chuckled as she re-dressed. "I would be more concerned about what his wife would think."

"True." Outside the car, Draco leaned in for a final check. "Merlin! It smells like pure sex in there."

"What did you expect?" She asked, brushing off her skirt. "It lacks adequate ventilation." She performed a quick freshening charm.

Draco scowled as he helped her out. "Now it smells like sex and…a lavender meadow."

"Oh, crack a window then!" She was straightening her hair and couldn't be bothered. He did so, then with one final stare, covered the car with the tarp Ron had left.

"Ready, mum?" She nodded, and quietly, like two teenagers sneaking out to a street fair, they left Arthur's garage. In a clearing a few meters away, Draco steadied the broom while his mother mounted it, then climbed on himself. Her arms settled around his chest and his goggles settled over his eyes.


"Hm?" Her face was resting tiredly on his back as they rose. Soon they were silhouetted against the huge, full moon.

"I think I'd like to look into acquiring a muggle car."

"Of course, son." She nuzzled his shoulder. "Of course."