Draco's Other Delicate Condition

Chapter 05 - New Rules

'Play park NOW!' Albus howled. The elfling hopped up and down on his bed, his little vest was half on and half off and his pants were nowhere to be seen. Across the room, in sisterly solidarity, barefoot Ella bounced up and down on her bed. Hermione felt stressed as she attempted to corral her youngsters and make them ready for their nanny's arrival. It was amazing how such small children, an elf boy and elf girl managed to keep Hermione jumping to keep order. She held Albus firmly by his arm and gave the auburn tuft of hair on the top of his round wrinkled skull with one last tug with a brush. Elf children were at best sparsely haired and Ella had no hair to speak of so Hermione spellotaped a pink ribbon to the crown of her daughter's head and began telling her children their favourite Peter Rabbit story. Hermione was late for a party and was growing later by the second. Then she heard a knocking at the front door which she ignored, thinking it was the children's nanny.

'Drat! Why doesn't Nanny just apparate upstairs?' The knocking was persistent. 'Oh, all right! Just a minute! I'm coming!' She trotted barefooted down the stairs, attempting to tie shut her dressing gown which kept flying open. She stood behind the door so she could not be viewed from the street below and pulled back the door. At the sight of who stood on the flat's front step Hermione dropped her hair brush.

'Mrs Longbottom,' said Draco, his voice as melodious as a choir boy, though hardly as innocent. He slouched against the door frame and without hesitation entertained himself by staring openly at Hermione's bosom like a wolf eyeing a lamb. 'How lovely - to see - you again.' His smiled and his white teeth glistened. The previous week when he took Hermione out he had behaved admirably, but this was a second time he was seeing her, sort of, so he felt within his rights to tempt the fates a bit.

Hermione pulled at her dressing gown, tightening it and pulling up the collar so high it covered her chin. Draco's eyes made her feel unclean in ways that befuddled her and made her want to climb back into a shower - though not necessarily alone. Her hands fluttered nervously and self consciously she smoothed her jumble of chestnut hair.

'Draco, what are you doing here?'

'I was in town on business and was delighted to find myself in your - vicinity,' Draco purred mellifluously. His hands were tucked into his robe pockets, and seemed to be jingling loose change or other bits and bobs that we all prefer remain unmentioned in polite society.

That Hermione accepted Draco's skewed assessment without question demonstrated that after so many years the witch still did not allow herself to fully grasp the serpentine nature of his character.

'Thought I might stop by; pay my respects. See how you are doing.' He gracefully picked up the fallen hair-brush and held it carelessly, caressing the soft bristles with slow idle spirals of his thumb.

'Please,' Hermione said, eyeing the slow motion of Draco's thumb and feeling rather warm, 'I don't have time to chat, I'm trying to get the children ready for their nanny - she is to take them to the park, bring them home, feed them and put them to bed and anyway...' She tried her best to give Draco a frown but somehow it seemed difficult making her own mouth obey her wishes. 'I was not born at teatime yesterday. When I saw you last, I made myself quite clear. We had a lovely time but-'

'Yes, quite a time. Yes, yes, we did, but?' said Draco and with fluid grace he slid through the doorway. He presented Hermione with an oddly seductive pout.

'It was quite wonderful talking about our 'old times' together but I have no intention of... of "involving" myself with you.' Hermione snatched back her brush and ignored the shiver that ran the length of her spine -a nice sort of shiver.

'Yes, you made your point clearly last week,' Draco moved closer. 'But I do not recall your mentioning that I could not drop by if I happened to be in your neighbourhood.'

'Yes but - '

'Mrs Longbottom - by any chance are you venturing out for the evening? With a wizard?'

Perhaps that base arse-wipe Weasley?

'Yes - I am quite busy just now, on my way to a small party.' Draco's penetrating stare caused Hermione to hastily add, 'I am not going with Ron if that is what you are thinking. Truthfully, since your last visit I have had nothing more than an owl post from Ron. I suspected you of doing him harm but I spoke to Ron's brother George and... oh it really is none of your business. I am going to the private gathering alone.'

'Really, Mrs Longbottom?' Draco purred. He was close, so close his warm brow rested against Hermione's. 'I have many pressing obligations but as your luck would have it, this evening my time is my own. Might you fancy a chance to have me escort you to your little "affair"? I will be happy to, in fact, I insist on doing so.' Draco was already enjoying himself immensely as evidenced by the firmness of his hidden agenda beneath his cool summer robes. 'No need for you to travel alone while I am available.'

'No, no, however "charming" the escort, that will not be possible. The Pott...,' Hermione hesitated; she felt a tad giddy. Draco was close enough to her she could faintly detect something - a familiar and slightly musky scent radiating from his body making Hermione think how long it had been since she'd had a good, long hard - something or the other. She took a deep husky breath and continued. 'This afternoon, the daughter of friends of mine showed her first sign of magic. We are all quite pleased - a little party is being held tonight in her honour. They are celebrating right now.'

'How sweet,' said Draco his chest pushed pleasantly against Hermione, relishing her cushier qualities. 'The child who showed her first signs of magic, how lovely, what did she do? Levitate a toy? A biscuit from a tin?'

What an excellent excuse to point out that Draco's first sign of magic was also the occasion of his first spanking; no not that sort of spanking, just an innocent paddling administered by his father. The incident had occurred at a summer gala hosted by the Malfoys when Draco was little more than five years of age. Young Draco had hidden beneath a table, and levitating the robes of the ladies as they danced by. Honestly, you are not surprised by his precociousness on that occasion, are you? His parents were not and come to think on it, neither am I.

'No, she did not levitate a biscuit, not exactly,' said Hermione, carefully. 'This was not a young child Draco. She is actually past proper age to attend Hogwarts.' She shoved her hands against Draco but he only drew closer to her.

'Lovely,' Draco placed his arms on the wall caging Hermione as he feigned interest in the near-squib. 'Coming to one's first magic is a wonderful thing whatever the age of the child. Might I ask who...?'

Hermione dodged Draco's query and his ever closer torso; she slipped completely under Draco's arm and as he turned to face her she backed towards the stairs. 'I really ought to have left already, but as I told you, Nanny is late and I can't leave until she gets here. Please let yourself out.'

It was obvious to Draco that Hermione was avoiding discussion about the pitiful, squibbish witch, but the matter was of no interest to him; it was far more interesting that he had spotted a small chink in Hermione's armour.

'You say your nanny is late? How lucky for you I happened along. I can do you - a service,' Draco offered. 'Don't look at me like that; I did not have your nanny kidnapped. I can stay with your children until she arrives. I welcome the opportunity to become better acquainted with your little "family".' the last thing Draco wished of course, was to further acquaint himself with Hermione's elf children.

Mind "the children" - what nonsense. The girl elf is large enough to take care of herself and the boy would do well enough in a large box filled with shredded newspaper.

'You Draco? You stay with the children?' Hermione gave a nervous laugh. 'I might as well stoke the fireplace, toss them in and have done with them.'

At last the light of reason briefly glints on that jumbled up pile of facts and figures that comprises her feminine mind.

'Why are you so surprised I wish to be close to your children? I have four godchildren, I told you as much, didn't I? I am excellent with children; they love their dear Godfather Draco.'

'Oh I don't know,' fretted Hermione as she considered the pejorative implications of the Muggle title "Godfather". As Draco had advanced on her again, she backed a few steps up the staircase - gaining little ground. 'You really are too rude.'

'Now, Mrs Longbottom, if you do not plan attending the party in your dressing gown you ought to run along and ready yourself.' Draco leapt up a few stairs and took up a lock of hair from Hermione's shoulder. He idly twirled it in his fingertips.

'Draco really, I have not taken leave of my senses.' She snatched the hank of hair back. 'I will not leave you here alone with my babies.' She shoved his predatory arms from around her waist.

Draco laughed. 'Oh stop fretting! Go doll yourself up. Your gathering of mates should not be deprived of your beauty.'

'Beauty?' Hermione caught herself on the verge of simpering. She slapped at Draco's hand and softly jeered, 'you always were a flatterer.'

Draco released Hermione's bum, turned and slipped past her, rapidly limping up the stairs. He called down the stairs to her, 'You might as well go to your party now - I made up my mind and I am going to stay with your miniature family. Run off to your little affair. Have a lovely time. As soon as your nanny arrives I will take my leave.'

'But,' Hermione trotted up the stairs after him. 'Well, surely Nanny - Mrs Tippy - will arrive shortly and I suppose you could visit with the children while I dress and prepare to leave. I am certain Nanny will be here by the time I am ready to leave.'

Draco gave Hermione a flash of bright teeth. He called into the nursery, 'Children - your "Uncle" Draco here is.' He ducked into the nursery where Ella - again bouncing on her bed - wasted no time in frowning at him and Albus - little darling that he was - stopped hopping long enough to smile shyly and hopefully at his new "Uncle"; perhaps there would be a story or a present.

Hermione scurried in after Draco but he took her gently by the shoulders and manoeuvred her back to the hallway. 'You do wish to help your mates celebrate their excellent news? Or do you plan to miss out on the fun?'

'Oh...' Hermione still hesitated. 'Can I trust you Draco?'

Draco whispered. 'Trust me? Why of course not. Why, the moment you leave I will smother your children in curry, take them to the play park, and eat them there for my supper - curried medallions of elf on toast! My favourite!' Laughing, Draco shoved Hermione into the hallway and slammed the nursery door shut behind her.

Stunned, Hermione tapped, then pushed on the nursery door. On the other side of the door Draco just as stubbornly pushed back. At a stalemate Hermione leaned against the door and began to urgently shout instructions.

'All right, I suppose I am being silly. You can mind the children but if Mrs Tippy is very late, you may want to take them to the play park but their bedtime is 7:00, they may have story first, Peter Rabbit is their favourite. Oh and do not forget, Albus must use to the toilet before he goes to bed! There is a potty and a seat for him behind the screen in the nursery. Oh, and they do not like to, but make sure they both brush their teeth and -'

'For Merlyn's sake,' said Draco uncertainly, 'are you trying to be funny? They are two tiny elves, not a stable full of high-strung hippogriffs, now get out of here. Your "children" and I will be fine.'

Still reluctant, Hermione shouted, 'I do appreciate that you-'

'Scoot,' came Draco's last word through the keyhole; and with thought as to the degree of seriousness of the error she was in all likelihood making, Hermione did.

~*~*~*~*~*~

In a humble but respectable side alley of Diagon Alley sat the prospering family-run business - Weaselys Wizarding Wheezes (Wheezes) Long ago the location of the shop had been carefully selected by the Weasley twins, who finally chose a modest store location, chosen because it was wedged between two older shops that drew a good flow of customers of the sort that were apt to appreciate a good laugh; The Armand A. Legg Tax Consultants and the Deadus A. Doornail Funeral Parlour.

Everyone is aware how Fred and George Weasley founded Wheezes following their decision that they had completed quite enough schooling thank-you-very-much. Few are aware the Wheezes business nearly failed early on because Fred and George were too absorbed in the nuts and bolts of their business - or rather they were too absorbed in the explosions and concussions of their fiery business - and they paid little heed to the accounts and records of Wheezes and made a muddle of the bookkeeping. Happily for all concerned Angelina, who was then Fred's girlfriend, took upon herself all the Wheezes accounts and records. She seemed born to rule over the Wheezes accounts. Over the many years she kept watch neither a Sickle nor a Knut of the business went astray, wasted or unaccounted and the witch was dead handy with investments to boot.

When Fred and Angelina's children began to arrive, Angelina grew in the habit of bringing her babies to Wheezes and her tots puttered about. Fred and George pressed the children into service as guinea pigs for Wheezes experiments. You may rest assured Angelina knew nothing of such experimentation or she would have deprived her children of both their father and their Uncle George - permanently. It was in the Wheezes office the Angelina taught her children their A B Cs, maths and such prior to their attending Hogwarts.

We now may return to the day that Lily Potter 'found' her magic, on that afternoon Angelina was busily sorting through a stack of Wheezes invoices. She was interrupted by a small Tawny owl flying into her office and landing on one of the many large crates labelled "Tiger Toffees". The bird held out its talon, beckoning Angelina. The witch was happy for an excuse to get down from her high stool for a stretch, having been hard at work since early morning. Being four months along in her current pregnancy Angelina's "bump" was already substantial and she waddled over to the owl, relieving it of its post. She suddenly began to yelp and dance about, making the startled owl shoot off though the window.

'Fred! George! You won't believe this!' Angelina waving the post about excitedly. 'Lily showed her first magic only an hour ago!

'What?' said Fred racing into the little office. 'That's cracking good news!'

'Well,' George chortled. 'Harry must be dead chuffed!'

'Too right you are,' said Angelina 'Here, Mum Weasely write that every Weasley with a breath in his or her body is to come home to the Burrow to help prepare for Lily's coming out party - tonight!' Angelina waddled towards the fireplace. 'I must floo home right now. Mum Weasley must be all in a flutter getting everything ready. And Ginny! The poor thing will be bawling for weeks she'll be that happy. Fred, George', said Angelina sternly, 'now you two close down the shop for the day and fetch Charlie, he's still in town isn't he? He'll want to be in on the fun tonight.' A second later green flames roared up under the office mantelpiece and Angelina was gone. Before the flames receded to normal, the three brothers sprouted ear to ear grins.

'You know what this means,' sniggered George to his twin. 'I mean, you know the implications of all this fuss?'

'What?' sniggered Fred. 'You mean Mum is going to have to break out the sacred Prewett family poteen?'

'Remember last time Mum broke the cache keeper's charm and revealed the secret cellar?' George sniggered. He gave Fred a poke. 'What a piss-up! You tried to apparate yourself up to the toilet and accidently apparated yourself north, clear to Loch Ness in Scotland. Woke up with Old Nessy breathing down your back, didn't you?'

'Yes,' shivered Fred at the memory. 'And that wasn't even the worst of it - Angelina was right shirty when I finally got back I was catching my kips and winks on the couch for a month.'

'Better not pull any such tricks this time round,' said George. 'Angelina's setting on eggs and she'll murder you for sure. Come on then, let's fetch Charlie. He's still in Diagon Alley, shacking up with that Ministry bird.'

'You think Charlie's serious about her?'

George shrugged. 'Let's leave it for Mum, Ginny and your Angelina to drive Charlie mad with questions, all right?'

While the twins sniggered and closed their shop up for the day, every member of the Weasley and Prewett clans that could floo, apparate, fly or walk were descending on the Burrow. The Prewetts were Molly's side of the family and though the Potters were not mentioned, remember the only Potters left were Harry, Ginny and their three children. Though the Weasleys, Prewetts and Potters were all pleased Lily was anything but pleased and explanation is required.

One must understand that from Lily's point of view the whole question of her magical abilities was completely irrelevant. Lily's early education was not home-schooling as most of the Weasley offspring traditionally received. It was Hermione's influence that caused Harry and Ginny to allow their children to attend a quaint Ottery St Catchpole school along with the local Muggle children, and that at first caused quite a stir among the Weaselys who were traditionally home schooled.

As it happened the schooling of the Potter children with Muggles was serendipitous. At the age of eleven when Lily did not receive a letter from Hogwarts she continued on in her Muggle education. Because Lily's magical abilities had apparently died on the vine - the girl rejected the idea of a pitiful second class citizenship that many squib resign themselves to. No, instead Lily boldy set her cap on a successful and honourable first class existence in the Muggle world.

Sadly, as far as Lily's magical relatives were concerned, the girl might have well declared that she was preparing to devote her life to lying face down in a gutter.

Hermione was proud because her goddaughter Lily had laboured admirably at her Muggle education, winning a scholarship from a University well known, at least to Muggles. Magical folk do not pursue their education at Universities or College, preferring apprenticeships and the learning of occupations on the job. Lily's situation was therefore unique from most of her relations.

After putting in her four years at university, Lily graduated. The clever young woman ranked in the top 5% of her graduating class. Her graduation ceremony was attended by her parents, her grandmother Molly and her godmother Hermione. Of the lot, only Harry and Hermione were capable of fully appreciating the significance of the Lily's graduation which was after all, a Muggle-ish sort of day.

Poor Lily - the majority of her relatives had never even heard of her alma mater which carried a name that led them to think the facility specialized in cattle. It was a nice enough university known by the name of Oxford University.

So only a few hours after her first sign of magical powers, Lily pleaded and beseeched her overjoyed family to pretend nothing at all had happened. Lily reasoned with them that perhaps it was young Rose who magiced herself out of her fall, or maybe little Beth had saved her cousin by a magical intervention. But the Weasleys and Prewetts were having none of it. Lily would have had more luck in stopping stop the sun from rising than in trying to stop her family from singing praises for her long overdue witchhood.

'It's a small family affair dear, with a few friends and neighbours popping by for a little drink,' insisted proud father Harry. He did not let on that the party planned would be "small" in the manner of a "small" royal coronation.

'But Dad,' Lily pleaded, 'I don't fancy a party at all, even a small one. Why can't we just wait - see what happens? I don't feel any different. Honestly, I can't be a witch, I just can't. And anyway,' she fumed in frustration, 'I promised to see someone tonight. I can't cancel at the last minute!'

'Well you can see who ever it is another night Lily, don't be stubborn,' said Harry, though he knew good and well that stubborn was Lily's speciality.

Lily's discussion with her father gradually moved into the Burrow living room where many Weasleys and Prewetts loitered while waiting for nightfall when the bash would begin. Ginny was there, holding a sodden handkerchief to her streaming eyes and wiping bogies from her red, freckled nose. Ginny had not cried so long or so hard since Harry rescued her from the Basilisk and the disagreeable T. Riddle when she and Harry were ikle Hogswart students.

'Dad, Mum,' pleaded Lily in desperation, 'this is all a mistake, isn't it? Wouldn't it be a shame to make a fuss over me when it's Rose's big day we ought to be celebrating, or perhaps Beth's?'

The youngest Burrow children, Little Rose and her cousin Beth, stood idly nearby, the two girls completely unperturbed as they squabbled over whose turn it was to play with Beth's much coveted sock puppet, a toy that meant more to either child than the hubbub of Lily's big day.

'Perhaps you are right Lily,' said Harry. He walked over and stooped in front of the little girls and took their hands in his. 'Now listen to me my girls - I have a very, very important question, Rose, Beth; when you two were playing in the barn earlier today when Rose fell from the loft. You must think hard now... did you Beth, or you Rose, think or do something - anything at all - that may have stopped Rose from falling? Now, girls, tell me the truth and remember this...if anyone tells a lie - somewhere on earth - a small, fluffy little kitty with big sad eyes,' Harry looked sternly at the wide eyed girls - 'will stop purring and fall down dead!'

The sock puppet fell to the ground. The girls squeaked and started aghast at Harry, their little eyes brimming with tears and filled with horror.

The many boys in the room were positively gob smacked, never having heard of the perilous connection between lying and spontaneous kittycide. The boys thought their own lies must have sent more fluffy kitties to an early death than an illegal pit-bull training camp. The youngest of the boys darted from room driven by guilt because only moments ago he had murdered a kitten having told a fawning Prewett aunt (who had pinched his cheeks and told him how much he had grown) that he was quite happy to see her. The poor tender-hearted lad was heartbroken for days.

Little Rose shuddered and exchanged uncomfortably glances with her cousin Beth - each unsure if the other might have sparked Rose's rescue. Finally the girls tearfully whimpered to Harry they were each certain they had nothing to do with Rose's rescue.

All at once, the adults in the room exclaimed Lily's witch status anew as if they hearing the joyous news for the first time; their own Lily was saviour of her baby sister and had at last achieved honourable witchhood.

'Dad, a kitty didn't die, did it?' pleaded Rose, tears dribbled down her cheeks, 'I told the truth. '

'Me too Uncle Hah-wee,' lisped Beth.

'Now girls,' promised Harry, 'someplace far away a kitty with long whiskers is purring and lapping milk and all because you two told the truth.' Harry gave each girl a kiss and stood up to face Lily. 'As sure as Rose and Beth here saved a kitten's life, you Lily are the one saved Rose's life. Lily, I wager the shock of seeing your baby sister falling, perhaps to her "d-e-a-t-h",' he whispered so as to not upset Rose, 'shocked your system and connected you to your power.'

'Yes, perhaps' murmured Lily, glum and unconvinced. It was hopeless; the whole of her family was dead set on making her the tragic heroine, snatched from a horrific life of squibhood at the 11^th hour.

'What's this standing around idle then?' demanded Molly. She bustled into the room, a great stack of posts and a small pouch in her hands.

Lily looked relieved to see her Gran. She grabbed Molly and ignoring her protests, forcefully manoeuvred her down onto a rocking chair.

'You are my last hope,' Lily pleaded squatting at her Gran's knees. 'You must realize that I'm not a witch, not just because of some silly faff in the barn. Why can't we just cancel this folderol, wait to see what happens? Gran, please, only you can stop this madness.' Lily stared hopefully into her Gran's weary blue eyes.

Molly placed her little pouch and papers into her apron pockets and gently took up Lily's hand. The afternoon light emphasised the creases around Molly's tired old face. 'My baby's baby,' Molly murmured softly. 'Yes, my darling; so much happened so quickly; one minute you were lost, barred from so many of life's gifts and the next the doors opened and life's sweetest treasures were laid before you. Who could blame you for being so confused? My dear sweet Lily - Gran understands.'

Molly looked towards her room full of relations; she was not to be disputed on such an important issue. None could blame Molly from savouring the moment; it was like old times when her word meant something and was not continually being second guessed as though her wits were impaired. Molly stood up from the rocking chair, cleared her throat and announced, 'Tonight we PAR-TEE!'

At once the Weasleys, the Prewetts and the Potters jumped, bounced, hooted and yelped in anticipation of the oncoming festivities for the evening.

'Sorry Lily,' Molly apologized, 'but I'm afraid this is just one of those times - like a funeral - the fuss being more for the family than the guest of honour. You would not want to deprive your loved ones of our fun now would you dearest?'

Her heart to heart with Lily over, Molly barked orders to her oldest grandson.

'You there, Arty! Take these posts to Mr Cooper, hire every last owl with feathers from his mews and have these invitations sent off straightaway! And mind, don't you fanny about at the sweet shop or dilly-dally trading wizard cards or-'

'Sweets shop? Trade wizard cards?' snorted Arty in disgust. He relieved his grandmother of her postal pile. 'Gran... sweet shops are for children, I'm sixteen bloody years old! I'll go straight to Mr Coopers and I'll be back by tea time!' Indignantly he took the small pouch of Sickles from his grandmother and raced out the door, keen to be off before anyone thought to caution him against taking the time to flirt Mr. Coopers's buxom daughters.

As Arty raced for the back door he ducked to avoid airborne collision with the fifth batch of apple tarts that afternoon to fly out of the cooker and out a window. The tarts settled themselves on elevated planks in the garden on which cooled pies, cakes, cheese and mushroom pasties and the lot. Every savoury and sweet known to Weasley-kind was under preparation in the Burrow kitchen. For at least a kilometre the air wafting from the Burrow was so temptingly scented that even the local Muggles guessed there was an exciting event about to take place.

Molly pulled out her wand from an apron pocket - it was still smoking from the afternoon's hectic spate of house cleaning. She was not near satisfied with the Burrow's condition - her home, not to mention her family, were to be up to inspection by every witch in the county by sundown - but for once good enough would have to do

'Now you boys,' Molly barked at her remaining grandsons, 'I want you lot to pick two more bushels of apples straightaway!'

'But Gran, fussed one of the smaller boys - a brave lad to take on his Gran, 'how many more bleeding pies are you going to make?'

'That's not your concern, now get going,' Molly snapped and she shoed the boys outside and yelled after them, 'if I find one wormy apple I'll skin the lot of you!'

The boys had only just shot out the door when Fred, George and Charlie apparated just outside the back door. The three brothers wore eager expressions.

Charlie gave Molly a hug and a kiss and stood patiently to allow his Mum another chance to round on him to her heart's content.

'Charlie you have near as much scars as skin! Don't you use the salve I make special for you? Dear me, well, no bother, you're home and I'll fix you right up. And where is your fringe? Mercy - did those great nasty dragons burn the fringe off Mummy's little man? Charlie, what you're wanting is a lovely wife to tend to your burns. You wrote that you met some nice lady at the Ministry, why don't you take a page from Fred's book and settle down, raise something besides dragons?'

While Molly happily lambasted her fifty-something year old "little man", George whispered to his twin, 'Blimey, if Mum doesn't stop soon I'm going to lob a dung bomb into the cooker just to see if we can hear it going off over her noise.'

At last Molly wound down, releasing Charlie from his obligatory lecture. She put her hands on her hips and lit into the remainder of her sons and her son-in-law.

'All right; I can tell by the cheesy smiles you know what comes next. Now I want you to move the entire lot - every keg, bottle, jug and crate - up from the fruit cellar and over to far end of this kitchen, there by the window, under the shelves. And I'm warning you - not one drop is to be touched, and I mean not one - until our guests arrive and are on their second round of toasts! If you get pissed before our guests are tended to, there will be hell to pay!'

Molly meant it too.

She raised her wand and gave it a hearty wave. To the astonishment of all, a square trap door, a meter square, rose up from among the wooden slats that composed the kitchen flooring.

'Since when has that been there,' asked Angelina, who was shoving a load of tarts into the cooker. She turned to stare in amazement at the cellar opening.

'Always been there,' snapped Molly, 'at least it's there when I wish it to be there. Now - Charlie, Fred, George, Harry - go on down. Remember, carry everything upstairs by hand - no magic - I'll not have those bottles cracking against the walls,' she wagged her wand at the men. 'And remember do not touch a single drop!'

The men obediently climbed down into the root cellar on a ladder that had appeared with a "poof". The old root cellar was cool, dank and dark so wands were lit. Once down below the kitchen, the four men stared in awe at the great cache of liquid spirits that was stashed in the northern corner of the vast dirt lined vault. It was the famed Prewett family cache of brews; homemade lagers and stouts blacker than thestrels, home fermented gooseberry and honey wines, gilly water, golden bottles of store-bought premium grade butterbeer and the crown jewel of the renowned libations - kegs of the homemade Prewett poteen - the stuff of legend.

'Right under our noses and we can't ever see the trap door leading down to paradise because of Grandmother Prewett's blasted cache keeper's spell,' George fussed vigorously. 'It's enough to make a grown wizard cry.' His brothers gloomily nodded in agreement.

'I don't understand,' said Harry. 'What is the fuss about?'

'NEVER YOU MIND HARRY,' Charlie smacked Harry on the back, making him stumble forward under the affectionate blow.

'Listen to Charlie Harry,' said Fred. 'All you need to know is great, great, great, great, great granny Black-Prewett first brewed the Prewett poteen and it was she who put a spell on the bloody root cellar. A spell passed down from the last female Prewett - that is our Mum. Some day your Ginny will rule over the spell, and when she does, I'll be pulling in all those favours I did for her when we were little!'

'Right,' laughed George, 'Fred passed the chops to girl one time and thinks she owes him for life. Oh well. Let's have a go at this lovely Prewett Poteen - smooth as a baby's bottom with a kick like a cheesed-off centaur; lovely stuff poteen!'

'Mum almost never lets us have any.' Fred said to Harry and he imitated a high pitched witch's voice, '"We must save the poteen for special family occasions!" Godric's golden goblet, Mum doesn't even offer a taste when Weasley babies are born!'

'Well, it's hardly a rare occasionWeasely babies being born, is it?' laughed Harry.

'Whose bloody side are you on anyway Harry?' scoffed Fred light-heartedly. 'Come on lads, let's have a round.'

'But you your mother warned us not to drink...' said Harry. He was never comfortable breaking any of his mother-in-law rules.

'NO, MUM WARNED US NOT TO DRINK "A DROP" AND WE WON'T,' Charlie said in what he believed to be a whisper.

'Right Charlie,' sniggered Fred. 'We're going to drink a fucking great more than one drop, aren't we lads?'

'Here,' George handed round dusty glasses he pulled from a shelf that jutted from one of the dirt walls. 'Never mind the dirt, the poteen will kill the germs.'

The spigot that projected from one dusty keg squeaked loudly as Charlie turned it, decanting thin streams of the reddish liquid into each man's glass in his turn. A few silvery sparks shot fitfully up from their glasses.

'SMOKING DRAGON'S ARSES, WHAT BODY, WHAT A BOUQUET,' Charlie shouted reverently and blew across on the top of his poteen.

'What are you lads doing down there?' shouted Molly down into the gloom of the hole.

Quickly and taking care not to spill a precious drop, the glasses full of poteen were shifted behind their backs.

'Uh... nothing mother!' squeaked George innocently, 'dusting down the kegs mother!'

'Well met George,' whispered Fred, 'but call her "Mum" or she'll know we're up to mischief you git.'

'Do come along down there! Lots of work to be done with sundown fast approaching!' Molly's footsteps echoed in the cellar as she stomped away overhead.

'You see Harry, the shame is,' explained Fred as he viewed the radiant contents of his glass with true love and admiration, 'Mum never did appreciate a good piss-up. When she reactivates the spell come tomorrow we will no more remember the location of the root cellar than we can locate a gnat's arse in a hurricane.'

Charlie raised his glass and they all, save for Harry, hoisted their glasses and with a simple toast of 'HERE'S TO LILY,' they downed the brew.

Not wishing to appear prudish, Harry tasted the poteen but his eyes bugged and he explosively spit sprayed the liquid on his brothers-in-law. Charlie gave Harry hardy thumps on the back while Harry coughed and gasped violently, his face red. Finally Harry managed to sputter, 'But you said this stuff was as bottom as a baby's smooth!'

Note: Prewett Poteen is notoriously quick to inebriate.

All of an instant, Harry felt his gut warming - he was already as pissed as a pirate's pixie. 'Fuck me but I never realized you lot are the best ever and I'm damned fortunate to have you. I love all of you Weaze...Woad... Weedleys... - whatever the hell your fucking names is - are.'

The brothers brayed with laughter at Harry's expense.

'Bloody hell.' Fred wiped his mouth and eyed Harry with concern. 'Probably a mistake giving Harry any just yet - he's pissed already.'

'Yes,' George laughed and snatched Harry's still three-quarters-full glass away. 'We have generations of Prewett-Weasley blood flowing in our veins and filtering the poteen. Another sip and poor Harry will climb naked onto a keg and dance us a jig!'

'DAMN IT,' said Charlie and he pushed Harry onto a crate and wagged his finger in his face. 'STAY PUT HARRY! WAIT HERE AND KEEP YOUR GOB SHUT OR MUM IS GOING TO MURDER ALL OF US!'

'Quiet. Yes, shhhhush' said Harry loudly, putting his fingers in front of his lips. 'I can do that. Shussh!'

With Harry loudly practicing the art of silence, the Weasley brothers, snickering all, began carrying the crates and kegs up into the daylight for the celebration at hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Muggle clock on the sitting room wall made an unpleasant ticking noise rather like a beating heart. It gave Draco a dreadful headache. He was vexed. He crossed and re-crossed his dragon hide boots on the overly fussy antimacassars on the couch arms as he swore a horrible fate on the children's still tardy nanny. It was near to 9:00 and the Nanny had yet to put in an appearance. Draco had laboured for well up until the children's bed time before he gave in to their screams, opting to tuck the brats into his cloak pockets - least someone actually see him acting as nurse maid to the insufferable little brats. He took them to the local play park where the tykes gave him a merry chase, dodging in and out of play equipment in a one sided game of hide and go seek. The youngest elf was most difficult because the boy seemed be troubled with a minute bladder which was in fact no larger than a marble, and the boy pee'd his way around the play park like a leaky hound dog. Worse, the child had wet down Draco's cloak pockets from the inside. It was all Draco could do to not give into his worse impulses and drown the elfling in the play park fountain.

Upon returning to Hermione's flat, Draco managed to wrangle the brats into their pyjamas and shove them into bed with threats as to likely locations their lifeless bodies would be found if they dared to disobey him and additional threats if they informed their mother they had had anything other than the best of times with him at the play park.

The sad and poignant point is that although little Ella was hard pressed to not kick Draco every time she laid eyes upon him, poor little Albus was thoroughly taken with Draco and the tot thought him the best wizard in the entire universe save for his "Uncle" Ron whom the poor boy had not seen in days and whom the boy dreadfully missed.

Draco swore vengeance on "Mrs Tippy" because it was her unforgivably tardiness that held him virtually imprisoned by his promise to mind Hermione's idiotic tots. As if the preceding was not bad enough, the couch cushions on the flat's couch were too few and of insufficient support so Draco's tired arse ached. He was so vexed he opted to risk a smoke and soon dotted clouds of pale blue smoke rose into the air and wafted past the pictures on the walls. He enjoyed the numbness as his mind entangled itself in a web of pseudo contentment.

A knock at the sitting room door made Draco shift upright as the long awaited nanny entered the sitting room. Draco pondered if his pipe's brew was too strong for him because the nanny was queer - she appeared to have just waltzed in from a tornado; her white blouse was not tucked in and it was stained, her skirt hung at a queer angle and even the flowery hat perched on her head seemed to be inside out. Her unkempt clothing was disturbing but what most made Draco suspect his smoking blend was too powerful was the nanny appeared to be yet another disgusting and inferior House Elf. Draco stared at her rudely and blew a great billow of smoke in her direction.

The untidy elf was caught in a fit of coughing and although small she managed to glare down her turnip shaped nose at Draco. 'Smoking in Mrs Longbottom's flat?' she snapped in a high squeaky voice. 'Mrs Longbottom she don't allow no smoking in this flat and neither does Mr Weasley!'

Draco blew another long coil of smoke at the elf and he snorted at the thought of Hermione's grotesquely odd household. 'No... this is too much - don't tell me that you are Mrs Tippy?'

'That I am, sir. Where is Mrs Longbottom?' Mrs Tippy peered around the room, no doubt expecting to spot Hermione and the children bound and gagged in some corner or behind the side table; Mrs Tippy was a shrewd little judge of character.

'Bloody Elves! Why must the witch persist in surrounding herself with those foul little elves,' Draco muttered. He stood and walked over to the elf in order to wrest any semblance of control back from the elf's tiny grasp. 'I am guarding Mrs Longbottom's brats and you are more than three hours late! I had to escort the brats to the play park and chase them about like fucking squirrels! If you were my employee you would be in the kitchen chopping off your fingers-'

Mrs Tippy did not wait for Draco to finish. 'If you are a' watching the children, where are the tykes?'

'They are upstairs tucked in their beds where they belong you impudent-.'

'Is that so?' grumbled the elf and she then proceeded to shock Draco within an inch of his life by turning her back to him and without as much as a respectful curtsy or show of obeisance, much less asking for permission to be dismissed, she left the room.

'The filthy, rude, smug, inferior little...' sputtered Draco giddily. He flung his smouldering pipe to the side table and limped to the foyer. He spotted the elf moving with amazing swiftness up the stairs and he followed her.

When he got upstairs he found the elf standing with her tiny gnarled fists set on her hips. She grunted in annoyance and said in a surly voice, 'In the nursery you say?' She snapped her fingers and the nursery door flung open.

Draco stepped past the elf and stopped dead staring dumbfounded; the children's beds were inexplicably and absolutely bereft of children of any sort, elf or otherwise.

'Well I put the little pissers in their beds, didn't I?' Draco explained defensively. 'The little - imps - were right there, not two hours ago! What did you do with them?'

Tippy fumed. 'What did I do with them? You...!' Ignoring the disagreeable look on Draco's face, the elf dropped to her knees - a short fall at best - and began a search under the beds. 'Nanny is come now children, you are safe! Come out, come out!'

'Safe?' Draco swore and he left the nursery.

Stupid, minging, jumped-up, tittle-tattling little piece of -

Enough was enough; he was going home and was too agitated to even think of apparating and he made it down the first few stairs when he heard the sound of a splash and childish chatter and from behind a door at the end of the hallway. Draco leapt up the steps and hurried to the door. At the sound of more splashes he ducked into the room which turned out to be the loo.

There, in the clean white room stood Ella teetering unsteadily on the side of the toilet seat. The poor tot wore her frilly pink one-piece pyjama backwards. Earlier in the evening her "Uncle Draco" had carelessly helped the two children into their pyjamas - even little Albus would have done better without "Uncle Draco's" assistance.

A side note, Draco himself had been nearly nine-years-old before he learned, or rather was allowed, to dress himself.

Suffice to say that Ella had yet to accept Mr Malfoy's new title of "Uncle" Draco. 'You are a bad, bad, bad man Mr Malfoy!' the girl scolded.

'So the ladies tell me,' retorted Draco. 'What do you think you are playing at Fella? Get down from that toilet! And where is Bulbous?'

'My name is Ella! My brother is -' Ella's her foot slipped on the toilet seat and she wobbled unsteadily, her arms pitching in circular loops trying to regain her balance. She gave a little shriek as trying to steady herself grasped the nearest item - the toilet handle. FWOOOOSH! The toilet flushed.

A shrill, high pitched shriek rose from inside the toilet.

Draco lunged forward staring down into to bowl. Round and round in the whirlpool hurtled the little tuft of auburn hair, unfortunately attached to little Albus's wrinkled scalp. 'HEEELLLPPP!' squeaked the boy as the wash of water carried him around and around.

'DAMN ME!' yelped Draco. 'What are you sprogs playing at? Get out of there!'

'He's going to drown!' squeaked Ella and she tumbled backwards onto the floor.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck,' Draco chanted under his breath. His wand was downstairs and without magic it was a difficult choice he faced; informing Hermione one of the brats had drowned - in a toilet - or worse, he would have to risk touching the yellow-tinted toilet water. Any second, the vortex would begin its decent into the plumbing.

'Get out of there you bloody little floater! Climb out I say!' Draco frantically commanded. With a sickening lurch of his stomach realized there were only seconds to go before the child would be sucked down into the u-bend.

Could I find another nipper elf to replace this one before Lushbottom returns? And would she notice the difference?

His face cringed disagreeably; Draco plunged his arm into the cold water and fished out the choking tyke. With disgust he held soggy little Albus at arm's length.

'Let's have it then,' Draco barked at the tot. 'Why were you half-naked and backstroking in the bog?'

Albus blinked. His pyjama top clung to his skin and his little pyjama trousers hung dripping from his ankles. The shock of auburn hair on his otherwise bald pate was plastered over his enormous round eyes. Having spent a perilous hour only just managing to keep his head above the water, the poor mite was exhausted. His shivering was uncontrolled. A trusting lad, he looked gratefully into his saviour's eyes and whimpered weakly with a pathos that was lost on Draco.

'I fall-ded in.'

'You "fell" in,' Draco sneered nastily. 'Why the "eff" were you on the toilet in the first place?'

'You said a bad, bad word Mr Malfoy,' gasped horror-struck Ella. She was nearly dancing about on the white tiled floor, fluttering her hands, quite unsure whether to clamp them over her mouth or her large ears.

'Shut it you silly little cake-top decoration,' Draco roared at the child, just as Mrs Tippy bustled into the loo.

'Hand Albus to me!' shouted Mrs Tippy. She delivered Draco as vicious a kick to the shin as she could manage, as would have any sympathetic being. 'I say, hand over that child!'

'Owwww! How dare you, you minging ...' Draco snarled and with one foot roughly shoved Tippy back. 'I warned Mrs Longbottom about the dangers of associating herself with inferiors.' He made his most dreadful face and ignoring the nanny he took delight at snarling at helpless little Ella. 'I asked a question! Why was your brother trolling in the toilet?'

Fighting back her tears, Ella glared angrily and proclaimed breathlessly, 'Mummy always makes Albus use the toilet before bedtime, I tried to tell you but you would not listen and Albus pee'd the bed and woke crying and I called but you did not come so I brought Albus to Mummy's loo for a wash and, and, and, Albus was having a pee, and, and, and, he fell in!' Then overwrought with childish indignation and at the end of her minute tether, Ella burst into tears.

'Hand that child to me I say!' Mrs Tippy commanded and with the grace of a gazelle, she leapt up onto the toilet seat, holding out her arms for the dripping tot.

'Get away!' Draco snapped, further astonished by the nanny's boldness. He had never in his life met a House Elf - freed or otherwise - who dared to address him in such an brazen manner.

But as Draco seemed to have no intention of giving up Albus, Mrs Tippy was pushed to do what she must. She plunged her arms into the folds of Draco's robes, grabbed something Draco treasured and gave it a vicious and awesomely aggressive twist - I mean, for such a small elf she had quite a lot of pull.

'AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHH!' Draco dropped Albus who was neatly caught by Mrs Tippy. Draco stumbled backwards, his hand clutching his groin. His back slammed against the wall and he slid slowly downwards, squealing in a bat-high voice, 'you torqued my tadger you putrid little-'

Mrs Tippy, ignored Draco 'There, there Albus,' she cooed. She hugged her little charge as she jumped to the floor. 'Albee-popkins my precious... did the bad, bad, albino wizard frighten Nanny's poor, sweet treasure?'

'I - want my - Mummy,' choked out Albus, snivelled and hiccoughing feebly. He clung with tired little arms to his nanny's neck, while his sister stood heaving and make fretful little gasps.

Mrs Tippy patted Ella's back affectionately. 'Come along my darlings,' she cooed and the tough elf headed for the doorway, tots in tow.

Draco was beyond furious. He lay collapsed on the floor, gripping his goolies. He flung out a foot, blocking Tippy's path. 'One bloody minute - I want an apology, no, I demand an apology!'

Mrs Tippy showed no fear whatever; she had been a freed elf for a good long time and was one of the very few House Elves who has taken to her freedom and all of its entitlements like a grindylow takes to water.

'Mr Malfoy, you remove your foot straight away or find out for yourself if House Elves don't have a dark magic of our own!'

'Are you,' Draco's grey eyes narrowed ominously, 'a bloody little elf, threatening your superior?' He was still blocked the doorway and he was beyond livid. He stumbled to his feet and slowly pulled back one foot taking aim at the nanny.

Mrs Tippy was unflinching; she hugged the frightened children close. She fixed Draco with a stare worthy of a rampaging Manticore and resolutely marched boldly pass Draco - unharmed. Draco was livid as he watched the elf march up the hallway, bold as you please. He was so stunned he sputtered as he tried to put his indignation into words.

Draco bellowed, 'If you were my House Elf you would be put to death!'

If I were your House Elf I would flush meself down the nearest toilet!' retorted the cocky elf - and of course, there was precedence for such at more than a couple of the Malfoy manors. The little elf slammed the nursery door shut so hard, a couple of framed hallway pictures crashed to the floor, their glass shattered.

'She can't be a real House Elf,' Draco fumed, 'somewhere in that atrocious creature's bloodline there has got to be a hogshead of rabid troll.'

~*~*~*~*~*~

Though Hermione had known the Weasleys since she was a girl, and had lived as a witch for many more years, she was still a little shy about attending her Goddaughter's coming out party. She arrived at the Burrow taking a place amid the throng of visitors, to edge her way up the porch steps toward the welcoming queue of Weasleys. First in the semi-formal queue were the proud parents: Harry and Ginny.

Hermione smiled at Harry, who seemed to be having trouble focusing his green eyes behind his black spectacles.

'Hermeep, Hermee, Hermeeonee-nee,' said Harry as he aimed a kiss on Hermione's cheek and missed. 'Welcome!' Harry looked at Ginny proudly. 'See? I nearly got it right that time!'

Ginny elbowed Harry and gave Hermione a hug. 'Welcome Hermione! You'll have to excuse Harry, I'm afraid our Prewett poteen is a bit too much for his constitution. Actually the poteen a bit much for anyone with a constitution that doesn't match that of a Mountain Trolls - or that of my brothers,' Ginny laughed. 'Oh Hermione, this is the happiest day of my life! Can you believe it? My Lily is a witch as I always knew she must be!'

Hermione exhaled, choosing her words carefully. 'Ginny, do not misunderstand me. I am very pleased, but I have read on the matter of late blooming magic and really... the chances of Lily showing her first sign at so advanced an age - really Ginny, you must realize Lily, being in her twenties, is beyond the normal age a witch will show her first signs, and I wonder if...'

'How rare was it that my Harry surviving the Avada curse as a baby?' Ginny raised her head proudly. She smiled. 'It is all right Hermione. I would almost be disappointed if you had not taken the time to read up on our little family "miracle".'

'I am not saying Lily isn't a witch, I'm only trying to be a voice of reason, for Lily's sake. Has Lily performed any other magic since the fall?'

'No. But Hermione, she is only just getting started. She'll work more magic. When she wishes too. And I know you must think that Rose or Beth performed the magic but we are certain they did not. The spell that stopped Rose's fall was the "Aresto Momento" spell. No child of Rose's age can produce that spell. Harry says so himself.'

'Yes,' Hermione steadied her nerves as she continued dashing water on Ginny's joy. 'The only wizard who successfully performed the Aresto Momento - that anyone knows of - in the past decade was Albus Dumbledore - when Harry was unseated over the Quidditch pitch, during his third year when - .'

'I know that,' said Ginny frowning. The conversation was treading on dangerous ground. 'You, Harry and Ron often forget I was at Hogwarts at all. Our Tate did not speak until he was nearly five, you know that Hermione. And when Tate did finally speak, he said, "Bloody hell lay off the chops Uncle Fred, the rest of us are hungry too!" He spoke in a complete sentence.'

Hermione giggled, she had been present for Tate's first speech. 'Yes Ginny, but first magic is a dodgier business than a child's first words. I only want to caution you in case-'

'In case what?' Ginny snapped. 'Hermione! My daughter has at last come into her own and all you can do is find reasons to doubt -'

'...if Lily is a witch,' Hermione continued equally as stubbornly, 'her magic is only the icing on the cake. She is a wonderful young woman with or without magic. She is... I suspect you cannot realize how accomplished Lily is in the Muggle world, she is...'

'My Lily is a witch,' said Ginny with finality. 'And that is what matters.'

Hermione gave Ginny's a hug. 'I will say no more about it Ginny. I'm as pleased as you are, honestly I am.'

'I'm sorry,' said Ginny. 'I didn't mean to snap at you.'

'Nothing to apologize for,' said Hermione with a sigh of relief. She moved on and next found herself being happily hugged by the witch of the day herself, Lily.

'Godmother!' said Lily. She was exceedingly fond of Hermione, 'but why are you on line? You ought to be here with the rest of the family, receiving guests.'

'Oh no Lily,' said Hermione, flattered. 'This is your big day. I'm so proud of you dear. I have always been proud of you before this, but now - well - here I brought you a gift.' She pressed a tidy package wrapped in pink tissue into Lily's hand. 'I'm afraid it is not new, but I thought-'

Eagerly, Lily ripped off the tissue and read the title of the little book. Squib-No-More: A Guide to Your New Horizons. The gift was so thoughtful and so "to the point" that fighting back tears, Lily flung her arms around Hermione.

'You always understand,' said Lily. She whispered. 'Godmother, how could I be a witch? Why did my magic stay hidden for so long? Something must be wrong, I know it but not even Gran will listen to me.'

'Lily dear, everyone has wanted this for you for such a long time. It is strange, and it is quite rare for magic to turn up so late but...' Hermione smiled held Lily's face tenderly in her hands. 'One way or the other you and I will sort through this muddle dear. Why don't we meet for lunch on the weekend and have a heart to heart, all right?'

Lily nodded at her godmother's hopeful smile. 'I would enjoy that godmother.'

The two shared a hug and temporarily dismissing her concerns, Hermione moved along to shake hands and exchange pleasantries with Fred and Angelina, and of course Molly. That Molly looked tired was not surprising considering the day she had put in, but Hermione was startled.

'Mrs Weasley! You ought to sit you look exhausted - !'

'I'm just a little tired dear,' Molly assured Hermione as she kissed her cheek. 'Don't fret, it is a glorious day for your Goddaughter and the family and I'm not about to miss out on a minute of it. Now you go along inside and make yourself at home!'

Not convinced that Molly was quite up to specs, Hermione moved on into the Burrow and began to circulate and chat. Soon she felt nearly lost and quite knackered as she pressed the palms of many Weasleys she'd not met before and introduced herself to a plethora of Prewetts. Hermione was pleased to recognize an elderly Weasley great- great-uncle (he was 127 years young) whom she had met previously at Harry and Ginny's wedding.

'Hermione?'

Hermione turned to see Ron's smiling face towering above all the other heads in the room. To finally find herself face to face with her long lost flat mate - she had not seen for several days - showed in the obvious relief on her face. The Weasley uncle took Hermione's facial expression as a sign that she was smitten with Ron so he politely took his leave. Unfortunately the look of relief on Hermione's face was similarly mistaken by Ron to mean the same thing his old uncle had assumed.

'Ron, here you are! Are you all right?' Hermione asked with great concern.

'I'm right enough,' said Ron, uneasily. 'Hermione, I'm happy you made it here. It was such short notice - for all of us, but there is other news too... you might find - distressing.'

'What? Is something wrong? I mean something other than your having lost your beard - you look like a boy again.' Gently she touched Ron's smooth chin making him shyly smile - he looked quite the lad again. 'So Ron, what are you up to? You haven't been ill?'

'No, nothing like that,' said Ron, moved by Hermione's show of concern.

For days Ron had mulled over how he would break his startling news to Hermione - that his affections for her had been alienated by a new love - Perdita. That Hermione showed no interest in him since a brief snog they'd had shared at Hogwarts in their fifth year did not enter into the equation for Ron. That Perdita was half Hermione's age - and half Ron's age - made Ron all the more apprehensive about breaking the news.

Ron had no experience with breaking witch's hearts but had heard frightening second hand tales telling of lady witches who cast stultifying spells on their rivals, including in more notable cases, unforgivable curses. Ron cringed to think of Hermione winding up in New Azkaban like some improper, hair pulling, eye scratching, Knockturn Alley bint - he felt himself come all over randy at the very thought.

Like most men of wizard and Muggle persuasion Ron was quite secure about his personal attractiveness to witches. One can safely say he was not mistaken; freckles and all, Ron was a fine specimen of wizardhood and that he hadn't sought Hermione's hand was simply because of his indecisiveness and abysmally poor sense of timing.

Ron never understood that Hermione had no interest in him as more than a dear mate. He was so far off in his view of Hermione's affections that he even mistook her affection for Draco Malfoy as a silly mistake that would have been readily forgotten had Hermione only found herself in Ron's own capable arms; yes - as if.

Still, Ron was a gentlewizard and with Hermione's happiness in mind he did not wish her to discover from anyone other than himself that she had been displaced in his affections. As Ron saw it, better the "old girl" hear the news quickly and from his own mouth, so the healing process could commence with all due speed.

Ron held Hermione firmly by the shoulders and he looked steadily into her hazel eyes. 'Hermione, I - I met the love of my life.'

'What happy news Ron, I am so very pleased for you!' Hermione said with great sincerity.

'You poor brave witch,' said Ron, touched by Hermione's bravery in the face of her bitter disappointment.

Might as well point out right now that Perdita was not present at the Burrow, having convinced Ron at the last minute that she had neglected serious obligations concerning her recently acquired Quidditch team, the Chuddley Cannons. Of course Ron forgave her in an instant, not wishing to in any way to put his beloved - Chuddleys - at a disadvantage.

Perdita was only guilty of a small white lie. There was a fair amount of truth to her claims of having neglected her newly acquired Quidditch team. She and Ron spent the first days of their acquaintance ignoring all their obligations in favour of fornicating like stoats on holiday. And who among us can blame Perdita for wanting to avoid the critical eye of Ron's numerous mates and relations?

'Where is she?' Hermione looked around curiously. 'I should love to meet her.'

'Now Hermione,' Ron warned, 'my heart was stolen in an instant; no one's fault. Don't jump to conclusions.'

'Oh, well, all right then,' said Hermione pleasantly, and she began to scan the room. 'Is he here? Do I get to meet him?'

'Him?' Ron asked, totally puzzled by Hermione's take on his love life.

'OI, RON,' bellowed Charlie, 'KEEPING THE PRETTIEST ONES FOR YOURSELF, EH?'

'Charlie!' said Hermione. It had been ages since she had seen the dashing dragon keeper. 'How lovely to see you!'

'COME ON,' shouted Charlie. 'COME MEET ME GIRL SHEILA, SHE'S IN THE KITCHEN. NEVER KNOW HERMIONE, YOU MIGHT JUST BE MEETING MY FUTURE... FLAT MATE!' Booming with laughter, Charlie took hold of Hermione by the arm and pulled her away from Ron, who was still stunned by Hermione's odd assumption about the 'love of his life'.

As Ron stood watching Hermione disappear as Charlie hauled her off, his brother George, who had been overhearing Ron's conversation, gave him amiable slap on the back. 'You have a boyfriend Ron? By gawd, I'm stunned! No wonder you never married! Why didn't you tell us before?'

Ron was mortified. He was about to point out that George was older and equally unmarried, not to mention the true sex of his beloved but George was off in an instant because he heard the sound of drums from the direction of the kitchen.

The receiving queue was done and the festivities had begun. The Burrow kitchen was the room that took the lion's share of the crowd. Many guests brought their own instruments. All around the kitchen violins mewed, pipes piped, a bagpipe droned and the bohdran drums were pounded within an inch of having their skins split. Children blew penny whistles and hand pipes as they, their elders and peers clogged, hooved and shuffled in place around the packed kitchen.

'Go Fred, GO!' Molly shouted at the top of her lungs to be heard above the din. She held up her robes and her feet flew with great animation as nimble Fred clogged his way towards her down the table. Reaching his Mum they joined arms and danced their way back across the top of the kitchen table. With a shout, George leapt up on the table too. The twins spun their old Mum round and round as the exuberant crowd cheered, and whooped at the sight. Everyone in the kitchen joined in to dance in place and the kitchen rafters shook in time to the music. It had been ages since there had such a happy, riotous event at the Burrow and everyone was having a grand time.

As the night progressed the air was filled with chatter, singing and the guests entertained themselves with all manner of play, games, feasting and drink. There was all that and more to occupy the merry makers and no surprise many gave themselves over to having lovely, lovely snogs - and more.

Mind, the inhabitants of Ottery St. Catchpole and the greater jurisdiction of Devon were not particularly more or less amorous than the denizens of other towns, but the denizens of other towns did not have the Prewett Poteen to inspire a randiness that would have embarrassed Emperor Caligula of Rome. Debauchery was rampant as witches and wizards, all of suitable age for legal fornication, except for those who were not, buggered away under shrubbery in view of the full moon and twinkling stars and the odd voyeur. Those romantics who chose more secluded venue for their illicit trysts in the Burrow barn literally rolled in the hay. So very many wet spots were left up in the barn lofts and down in the stalls that the hay grew mouldy within the week and the fodder was thrown away at great expense to the Weaselys.

As the warm summer night progressed, love spread and the randier of the house guests busied themselves creating the next generation of witches and wizards; nine months hence seven infants were born to the Ottery St Catchpole's delighted citizenry. You will be pleased to know that some of the new parents subsequently married and the remainder who did not, felt ashamed enough to subdue the ire of even the most judgemental among us.

Harry, who had been excessively randy of late retired with his beloved Ginny to their bedroom where they went at it like spring hares with more exuberance than they had managed as randy teenagers. It is no one's business but their own though I must say their mutual ardent efforts were such that in the coming week Ginny would be unable to stand or sit properly and Harry himself required one of his Mother-In-Law's specialty salves for treatment of bruises caused by excessive friction; a potion that over the years was largely what kept the Weasely men functional, if you catch my drift. Sadly - or perhaps mercifully - the following day Harry would remember little of his night of amorous antics.

Meanwhile, just up the Burrow stairs from the Potter boudoir, Charlie had retreated with his girlfriend from the Ministry to his old bedroom. Charlie was doing interesting things to, and with, Sheila. Molly had left Charlie's room untouched since the day he ventured off to wrangle dragons in Rumania. Charlie gave his childhood bed - well all of his childhood furniture and the floor and the walls come to that, an excellent workout.

'CRIKEY SHEILA,' shouted Charlie, 'YOU'VE GOT A HINDER ON YOU WHAT'S MORE SOLID THAN A HUNGARIAN HORNTAIL IN HEAT!'

Sheila knew Charlie well enough to take his words as the great compliment it was.

'Charlie,' moaned Sheila from a nearly impossible physical position, 'just shut up and do me!'

For three decades Charlie was "Chief Dragon Breeder" at a Rumanian dragon colony - a job of work that despite the provocative title did not, require or engage Charlie's wedding tackle, yet he had still picked up a thing or two from his scaley, fire-breathing charges that Sheila, despite her conspicuous lack of scales, appreciated.

Later that night, while everyone back at the Burrow debauched, danced, drank and dallied, Lily wandered far, coming to the little brook beneath the apple orchard on the hill. There she settled down on the long grass, on her back, watching the stars and naming the constellations from whom so many of her distant relations took their names. She pulled loose from the bodice of her frock the blue necklace Draco had given her some weeks earlier. She admired the blue bauble and held it dangling at the end of its golden chain. Feeling very melancholy and ill used, she spoke aloud to herself.

'I reckon if I had the paperwork Gran told me about I could trade this in for enough gold to set myself up in the Muggle world where no one believes in witches or wizards. I could follow my dreams, become a Muggle-'

'And just what sort of Muggle would you be after becoming Lily?' asked a voice coming up from behind her.

'Go away Finn,' said Lily, tucking the necklace away, 'I'm tired, I'm hot and I'm not in the mood.'

Finn, a local boy, paid no mind to Lily's wishes. 'I was promised your company for the evening Lily and I'll not take any excuses from you. You made me a promise.' He dropped, as awkwardly as a long legged unicorn colt onto the grass by her side and leaned over her frowning face until his dark hair brushed her forehead.

The pair - the wizard and the former-squib - had known each other since they were children. Finn was happy to work the very same job he had worked as a lad during summers when he was home from Hogwarts. He spent those summers collecting twigs in the forest for delivery to Harry at the Burrow barn for wages of a few sickles per load. Now that Finn was done with Hogwarts he frustrated his parents by worked the same job for the Potters, without shame or apology. Finn's job was easy. He roamed the forests around Ottery St Catchpole on the lookout for enchanted trees, frequented by bowtruckles and any place frequented by Lily.

Harry felt himself lucky to have the young man working for him. Everything about Finn was idle, meticulous, painstaking and deliberate. It took a deliberate and critical eye to spot the best twigs on the best trees for the best broomsticks. That Finn's greatest qualities involved his idle nature was the very thing Lily best enjoyed about the young man - when it came to meticulous, painstaking and deliberate lovemaking, Finn was the best.

'And truth is Lily there is no girl in Ottery who is as fine as you even when you're not in the mood. It's a warm night we're having here and I'm wondering, might you enjoy the feel of the breeze, running over the brook and across your fine skin - and what is this thing fancy bit of jewellery?'

'A wealthy wizard gave this necklace to me,' Lily said in a saucy voice, and he told me I am worth the weight of my own arse in Galleons.'

Finn laughed, then he pulled down the front of Lily's little summer frock to expose the cleft of her breasts and idly ran his tongue, oh so idle, down over her fine skin. The warm trail his tongue was lovely as the cool air from the brook wafted across Lily's skin.

'Your arse is worth a fortune all right. I'll say that for you,' said Finn peeling away enough of Lily's top to expose bits of her that required both admiration and sucking. 'And is the stinking rich, fancy wizard who gave you this bauble living in Ottery? The butcher's son - that limp-cocked would-be-lover?'

Lily arched her back to give Finn a new angle on herself for consideration. 'No Finn, not the butcher's son. Don't worry, I'll never see the wizard who gave me this trinket ever again. He lives far away from anyone who hangs with the crowd around these parts. He is upper class, the real thing, a high class gentlewizard. He said the necklace is a token to my beauty.'

'Bah! Can that stinking wizard appreciate you like I can Lily? Here - I can give you the night breezes.' With a slow hand, Finn worked the hem of Lily's frock upwards so it met with the top of the frock about her midriff. 'Lily can your fancy wizard give you the breeze up your arse under a sky full of twinkling stars? Did he give you - this?'

Finn grunted slightly and exhaled as he slowly entered into his loving bit of 'work' and into Lily; he stretched luxuriously and began to labour in earnest.

Lily squealed and attempted to talk between Finn's thrusts. 'Fin-finny, you are ridiculous but - I do enjoy you - and this willie of yours - you are the slowest- boy in Ottery St...' She had to stop speaking because Finn had put his back to his pleasures and Lily found that chattering was quite unnecessary - breathing and feeling sufficed well enough.

Between deeply drawn breathes, Finn gasped, 'Lily, my girl - I would take you - with or without - magic - you know that - you have no fit excuse - now - I've made it - known - to you - over and over - and its again I'm asking - be you a witch or a squib - I'm willing - to marry you - either road.'

'Finn,' said Lily, taking up a great draught of air to say her bit before she lost track of all her thoughts with her oncoming burst of warmth and intensity. 'Do you think I am - daft? Accepting a - proposal from - a wizard in the middle of having it off - I am no Squib now - or so I'm told - but I'm still "a slut" - you are still a royal pain in my arse.'

The talk now died away for five frantic minutes at the end of which Finn made a sudden and loud explosive noise. The ducks sleeping in the rushes in the brook below began to quack loudly and Finn, too called out aloud. He called out thanking the soft grass, the shining moon, the cool breezes and he even thanked Lily herself for their mutual pleasure. And being a through lad, though done for himself, he politely, and with no less enjoyment, battled on until Lily too, cried out and the ducks squawked and quit the near shore to traverse to the far bank of the brook. Lily, flushed and content then snuggled beneath Finn and his warm skin for a lovely cuddle.

It is recommended all men reading this, take notes; finish your work, don't exclude the cuddle and you'll be all the happier for it and as well rewarded as Finn.

'What is that you were saying Lily?' asked Finn. 'I've done a lot of nasty things to you, but I've never been a pain any place but up your lovely fanny and as to your being a slut, well, so have a look at what I've done to you here - that doesn't make me the town virgin, does it?'

'Shut it Finny,' Lily murmured. 'You are the most bone idle boy in Ottery St Catchpole and by Merlyn, I think I could almost love you for it.' Lily sat up and pulled her frock up to cover herself. 'Come on Finn. Let's go back down to the Burrow. My Mum would have a fit if she knew what I was up to with you. And besides, there is a house full of guests. I have more folk to entertain than just you.'

~*~

The moon was high overhead a few hours later and Angelina and Hermione were having a nice chat over cups of smoldering Poteen on the Burrow's front garden, seated on overturned geranium pots.

'I had a dreadful time getting here tonight,' Hermione said conversationally. 'Who had any idea that two such eensy tots could be such a handful!'

'What? Your sweet little Ella and Albus?' Angelina laughed and she was genuinely surprised by Hermione's comment. 'But Hermione, how much trouble could they be? They are angels compared to my lot!'

Hermione began to laugh so hard she snorted poteen through her nose. 'Please Angelina, you don't know the half of it! Try bathing children that are small enough to hide behind the cat.'

Angelina too was now sniggering in a semi-hysterical manner. 'But surely your nanny keeps them in line for you, doesn't she?'

'Oh, Mrs Tippy is a treasure, but you know,' Hermione laughed and her tongue loosened by the poteen whispered secretively, 'she didn't show up tonight and... you won't believe this, I don't believe this - I left Draco minding Ella and Albus!'

Angelina almost dropped her glass. 'What... Draco? Hermione, you're not serious - you're seeing Draco Malfoy?'

'No, not seeing him, haven't seen the better bits of Draco in donkey's ages.' Hermione giggled, but was immediately sorry to have brought up his name but she'd been dying to tell someone. 'Draco just happened to drop by the flat late this afternoon - it wasn't planned.'

'Oh please,' laughed Angelina. 'Happened to drop by your flat? But didn't Ron bite him on the leg and chase him off?'

Both witches exploded into laughter at the thought. Hermione and was about to reply but they turned to see a couple of Angelina's sons flying out the front door of the Burrow, and racing up to them shouting at the top of their lungs, 'MUM! AUNTIE HERMIONE! COME QUICK! GRAN IS DEAD!'

The scandalous conversation was forgotten in an instant as panic stricken Angelina and Hermione dropped their glasses and with the boys pelted back to the house.

The hysterical crowd in the living room quickly parted letting them pass through into the kitchen where, surrounded by concerned faces was Molly, sprawled on the kitchen floor, sallow faced, her eyes tight shut and her head resting on Charlie's knee. Frantic he was patting his mother's cheek.

'Mum! Mum!' Fred, George and Ron on their knees, hovered over their mother, openly sobbing.

Wrapped in a dressing gown, Ginny was pale as a ghost. Harry too was in tears. He was oddly wrapped toga style, in a bed-sheet and he was not wearing his glasses. Ginny had to turn him round because he looked with grave concern in the opposite direction of everyone else.

'MUM, MUMMY, WAKE UP!' Charlie was imploring his mother and she would have had to be dead to remain inanimate what with Charlie's racket.

'Dear me,' said Molly, without opening her eyes. 'Stop your noise all of you. I am not dead yet, I've only overdid the dancing. I reckon this old witch has had quite enough excitement for tonight.'

Lily fought her way through the crowd, 'Gran,' she screamed. 'All of you get out! My Gran wants air! She wants quiet!' Frantically, Lily took it upon herself to push individuals of the crowd towards the doorway, shouting, 'Out with all of you! Enough is enough! My Gran wants peace!'

'For Merlyn's sake Lily girl!' said Molly.

Charlie and Ginny joined their brothers in poteen stimulated sobs of relief.

Molly's pale face was a match for Lily's. She opened her eyes and with Charlie's help sat up. 'What a racket! Shut it all of you, and you, Lily, leave our guests alone! This is a special night and I won't hear of the celebrating stopped. This is a night we shall always remember, and not because your old grandmother has embarrassed herself by keeling over from too much dancing!'

'YOU WANT REST MUM', said Charlie softly - for him - and he lifted his mother gently in his arms. The crowd parted and he gently carried her upstairs to her room followed by the rest of the family. Once there, Lily fretfully insisted on being the one to aid her grandmother. She boldly pushed her parents, uncles, aunts and godmother out of the room into the hallway then Lily shut the door on them which made Molly fall into a fit of laughter.

When Molly was in her nightgown and tucked comfortable in her featherbed, Lily, still in her fancy frock, climbed onto the bed and curled up by her grandmother's side.

'Oh Gran,' whinged Lily,' maybe Mum and the others are right. You look dreadful. Why won't you let a doctor see you? What's the harm in that Gran?'

'Lily,' said Molly sternly, she always seemed to know what her granddaughter was up to. She sniffed and gave Lily a stern look and began to scold her. 'You wicked randy girl! You are using the Rue Potion - LILY! That isn't the dragon scale still hanging around that stubborn neck of yours? Did I not tell you to get rid of that dreadful thing weeks ago, you... Oh Lily, if I had the energy I would climb out of bed and take a switch to you!'

'Oh Gran,' said Lily miserably, 'stop fussing at me. I take that nasty rue potion and pennyroyal tea each and every morning and they do the job proper. I'm not pregnant, am I? Gran,' said Lily mournfully, 'what if you let a doctor see you and in return I promise to get rid of this necklace? Are we agreed?' Lily waited for an answer but only heard the sound of soft snoring. Her gran was already fast asleep. Lily sighed and held up her fingers in the general direction of several candles on the side table by the bed. In a half hearted voice Lily called out, 'NOX!'

The candles immediately extinguished.

'Shite in a cauldron didn't even use a fecking wand,' Lily muttered in amazement. 'I am a bloody witch!' Wondering just what implications the fact would have on her life kept her thoughts whirling until finally, fitfully Lily drifted off to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The atmosphere in the sitting room was increasingly reminiscent of an opium den because as Draco precluded - and with good reason -he was already in for such a great deal of trouble when Hermione arrived home, there was little for him to lose by lighting his pipe and smoking himself into a hazy stupor.

Draco held his odds for remaining in Hermione's already unstable good graces as perhaps 50/50. Upon Hermione's return it would be Draco's word against that of the vicious, willie-twisting gnat of an elf and Hermione's brats. Draco reckoned the best he could hope for at this point might be to persuade Hermione to view his wrung Fireball for herself, not that it would necessarily persuade her of Draco's innocence, but from his point of view, giving her a peek would be a plus whatever the outcome. So Draco sprawled uncomfortably on the flat's couch and he tortured himself with mental images of Hermione off on carefree adventures without the benefit of his own company; perhaps viewing some other wizard's fireball, or worse.

After the unbearable Mrs Tippy bathed and tucked Ella and Albus safe and dry in their beds the upstart House Elf came into the sitting room, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was a servant and ought to realize there was no place for her there with a wizard - that is unless she made herself useful by tending the fire or otherwise tidying the room. Draco wondered why the wretched elf had not been properly trained as to keep to the shadows, which was after all the sign of any good servant, much less, a House Elf. But regrettably, Mrs Tippy held to no rules but her own. Bearing a cup of hot tea for herself - and offering no proper cup of tea to Draco at all - the elf climbed up onto a doll-sized chair by the fireplace, where she sat watching the flames and quietly nursing her tea, quite as if she had a right to her own time once her task minding Hermione's brood was mostly at an end.

'Why are all you elves so horribly dirty so much of the time? Can you tell me that?' Draco asked after a while. There was little else to do and chiding the elf held some value as entertainment.

Mrs Tippy sat up tall and after some obvious deliberation she answered. 'I am not dirty. When I left the boarding house tonight I was spotless and expected to arrive here quite early but along the way I met with a spot of trouble by a pub, the Gytrash's Lair.'

'A drinking problem, have you?' said Draco disapprovingly. He recalled a female elf back at Hogwarts who drank in excess. He vaguely recalled the elf's name had been "Wee-wee", "Winky" or some such silly elfish name.

'Drunken wizards', Tippy burst out in reply. 'Two of the buggers accosted me. Jumped at me - knocked me out before I could defend myself. I reckon they thought if they nicked my clothing and gave me a rag to wear I should then be obligated to become their life-long servant; ignorant rabble.' Mrs Tippy's teacup shook in her rage. 'When I woke, I was lying in the gutter, half naked.'

'Here now, you ought not reprimand your superiors, however drunk they might have been. And anyway you brought that attack on yourself,' Draco observed carelessly. 'Had you apparated directly to your job straight away you would not have passed by that pub and you would not have been accosted.'

Mrs Tippy sipped her tea, her eyes trained on the roaring fire. She responded angrily, 'I enjoy a good walk. What is the point of being free if I cannot walk when or where I please?'

Hum,' Draco blew out a trail of strongly scented smoke that seemed to make the elf all the angrier. 'So you were knocked out? Then what happened?'

'I don't like to say,' said the elf. She stopped speaking - they could hear Hermione arriving home, opening the front door in the foyer.

Draco immediately sat up, dropping his booted feet off of the couch. He raced to draw his wand, extinguish his pipe and cast a clearing charm on the murky smoke scented air. The charm was a tricky one and did not quite clear all of the fumes from the air.

Shortly thereafter Hermione made her way into the sitting room. She seemed delighted to find Draco in the company of Mrs Tippy. No doubt the unusual pair made a pretty picture; the firelight cast their odd dancing shadows - one tall, one short - onto the wall behind them. But reality quickly set in as Hermione noted Draco's odd expression and Mrs Tippy uncharacteristic state of dishevelment; something was off.

'Mrs Longbottom,' said Mrs Tippy hopping off her stool. 'Forgive my commenting but you are home rather late. I had an "interesting" evening here with Mr Malfoy. Did you enjoy your evening?'

'Yes, yes, well, really, I had a lovely evening,' said Hermione. 'I floo'd as far as the Leaky Cauldron and then walked the remainder of the way home. I thought I could use some fresh air.' Hermione sniffed and looked around. 'The air in here is not fresh is it? Is that smoke I smell?'

'Walked here from the Leaky Cauldron?' Draco inquired suspiciously. 'Why didn't you apparate here?'

Hermione giggled self-consciously. 'I had a bit too much Poteen to safely apparate. Oh! Tonight when I arrived at the Leaky, I heard there was a spot of trouble. It seems two wizards were found half-dead in the alley behind a pub - I believe the pub was The Gytrash's Den.

'Gytrash's Lair,' corrected Draco. He tore his eyes from Hermione and fixed Mrs Tippy with a look that insinuated "Aha, I have got you now!"

'Yes, that was it, the Gytrash's Lair,' said Hermione. 'I ran across Kingsley from the Ministry. He was not one of the investigators but he told me the Ministry is puzzling out what might have happened. The Ministry officials believe some sort of dark magic is involved. I get the shivers just thinking about very dark wizards still being about. I like to think they are a thing of the past.'

'Mrs Tippy,' Draco said conversationally. 'Didn't you say you walked past the Gytrash earlier this evening? Notice any "funny business" going on there - that you may have noticed - anything at all?'

'No,' retorted Mrs Tippy, nonplussed. 'Mrs Longbottom, would you like to know how your children were this evening? Would you be curious if there was any "funny business" going on here - anything I might have noticed - anything at all?'

Now Hermione were certain something was dodgy between Draco and Mrs Tippy, and she was not surprised. 'Is there something - anything at all - either of you would fancy telling me?'

'No, no, not at all, begging your pardon,' said Mrs Tippy - rather unexpectedly. 'I must be off. I was only waiting for your return Mrs Longbottom. Oh, little Albus wet his bed but that was hardly his fault.' Tippy shot Draco an accusing look and he suddenly averted his eyes, fascinated by a picture hanging over the fireplace.

'Damnable little besom has me by the tight and curlies.

'But,' Tippy continued, 'the lad is set to rights now, sound asleep like his sister. Good night Mrs Longbottom. I can see meself out.' Tippy headed for the doorway.

'Goodnight Mrs Tippy,' sang out Hermione lightly. 'It was kind of you to come back tonight on such short notice. Why don't you take some time for yourself tomorrow morning, come in a little later?'

'Oh, not necessary Mrs Longbottom. Watching the children was my pleasure,' said Mrs Tippy good-naturedly. She suddenly came up short however, turned and eyed Hermione. 'Would you rather I stay a bit longer? I mean, if you do not feel safe with that one...' She flicked her head to indicate she had concluded Draco to be of questionable trustworthiness. Again, it must be said the elf was a shrewd judge of character.

'Thank you,' said Hermione, amused. And before Mrs Tippy was out the door, Draco volunteered Hermione his assessment of her employee.

'Ha!' he said reproachfully, 'I am appalled at that creature's cheek, mouthing off! What a naff choice for a caretaker. You mark my word, that elf will have those tots setting fire to your bed within the year! You should make her redundant immediately. Never allow her to set foot in this flat, ever again. I'll hire you a suitable nanny for those... children. A witch - perhaps a French one - who wears those adorable little petticoats under her robes - a nanny that knows her place.'

'What foolishness,' said Hermione, dismissing Draco's comments. 'I would trust Mrs Tippy with my life.' She slowly walked over to Draco and seated herself at his side. She spoke hesitantly. 'You may as well know I am glad you are here.'

Draco was delighted and he was still decidedly under the influence of his pipe mixture. He budged up to Hermione and with a happy little noise he dove for her neck, but Hermione was quick to lean back to avoid his lips. Alas, the very agility Draco admired about the witch had drawbacks.

Hermione explained, 'I only mean that your being here gives me, gives us, an opportunity to talk, and say, do you smell smoke - tobacco?'

'Ah, Mrs Longbottom, I am glad you bring up the matter of - of us. When we last spoke during our little night out the other day, you were... distant with me. You gave me the impression that seeing me was not a happy event for you, but rather a near tragedy. Even now you are giving me the impression you intend to toss me away like some broken memorabilia that no longer has a place in your life.'

To Draco's dismay, Hermione would not meet his eyes. She only looked down at his hand that was drumming fretfully on a cushion. Draco hoped that as Hermione stared at his hand she perhaps recalled the caressing touch of his fingers on those bits of her that were as delightfully squashy and inviting as cushions.

'Do not be so hard on yourself Draco. I have always appreciated you... in many ways,' Hermione said circumspectly. 'You are correct on the point though, I am not prepared to, to allow you into my life again. We must both face the fact that you do not approve of my activities, my work, my children or my mates. To be with you I would need to forsake everyone that I love and forget my own principles.'

It was difficult listening to one's dreams and wishes being politely dismissed by the one who held your heart at bay and now Draco's demeanour was as serious as the Dark Mark hovering over an orphanage.

'Excuse me but I have not finished speaking.' He placed a hand on Hermione's and when she attempted to draw it away, he gripped it stubbornly. 'As I was saying, when "we" last spoke on this matter you were the only one speaking. You will now listen to my thoughts. You must understand how much I have always ... fancied you. Even when I so reluctantly gave you up, to keep you safe from my father I... fancied you very much.'

'That was ages ago Draco and none of that changes how things are now.'

'But it does change things and don't quibble with me witch. I still care for you and my affections for you have not diminished over time. You are my one, true mate. Only a heartless bitch, a cursed harpy - which you are not - could abandon someone who has kept true to her.'

'Rubbish,' Hermione snatched back her hand, pulling it behind her back. 'For starters, I am not your only mate, you have many others.'

We are all probably aware that Hermione referred to the numerous witches she had read occupied Draco's time over the years. None the less, Draco responded on a different note.

'Yes,' Draco began with humility. 'Officially, I, "Mr Draco Malfoy Esq." have many mates that anyone can read about in the daily news rags. And yes, I have mates as defined in contracts, as drunk to lavishly in gaudy public forums. And I have old school mates whose slavish attentions have followed me since we were knee high to Knarls. And I have other business "mates" inherited from my Father.'

'Yes, and I know their loyalties mean everything to you Draco -'

'Shut it Longbottom. You are my one - true - mate. If I were penniless and doors slammed in my face, you would be the only one who would damn everyone and invite me in, pour tea for me, and fill me up with biscuits and kind words. You must know you mean more to me than business associates or empty hearted old school chums that only look to me for scraps.' Draco reclaimed Hermione's hand. 'You must give me a chance my dear. And that said... what concession - what changes might I make that would have you even consider allowing us to become again what we once were to each other?'

'Get together? The way we once were? But that is impossible. We are no longer children and - '

'One quibble at a time,' said Draco. He sat back already feeling somewhat drained. It was awkward to find himself holding so few cards in such an important game. For the first time in his life he was glad his father was gone to him because if his father knew his boy was cowing down before a "Mudblood" the shame would have been unbearable. 'Tell me what little "things" I might consent to do that would make you consider being my - my dearest mate again. Please - take your time.'

No doubt Draco expected a long pause as Hermione mulled over her requirements, or perhaps more likely he expected an argument. After all, Hermione was quick to launch into arguments for matters of far less importance. But Draco's wait was unexpectedly brief as Hermione had already given the topic a great deal of thought; indeed, she was keen to speak her mind.

'There are so many things to consider Draco,' Hermione began carefully. 'For one thing I am no longer alone in my life. I am a mother. Surely you understand that no mother - no good mother - would tolerate a gentlewizard in her life whom she believes will never love her children - who might do her children harm. If only I thought you could at least tolerate Ella and Albus and keep their best interests in mind as I do. Anyone who seeks my company must at least attempt to love my children.'

'I can pretend to like your nippers,' Draco confessed thoughtfully. There was no doubt about it; his long standing promise to never lie to Hermione was already presenting interesting problems for him. 'Would that do for a start?'

'That is a poor start Draco. There isn't something you could find to like about Ella and Albus? Could you make up your mind to try?'

Now Draco took a turn to reflect on his heart. He quickly concluded loving House Elves was as likely for him as developing love for cockroaches or Muggles or other such vermin. Still, there was always the odd miracle. So feeling he was not exactly telling a lie, Draco nodded. He noted from the look in Hermione's eyes that she took his answer for little more than a weak offering - which was precisely what it was.

'I am hopeful,' said Hermione eagerly, 'if you cease judging Ella and Albus by the cruel stereotype "House Elves" represents to you; if you allow yourself to judge them by their wit and behaviour - then I think you could not help but fall in love with them. I know how unlikely that must seem to you now...'

Gods, those tits; I can see her nipples outlined under - Hello? Is she bare-breasted? My adorable base-born witch - how I long to once again swathe my tongue on those pert titbits and suck...

'Draco,' called Hermione, sensing Draco's attention had wandered, 'could you be... you must be... pleasant to my family.'

'That should be easy enough,' said Draco with easy sincerity. It was good having at least one stipulation he felt he could easily adhere to. 'If I recall correctly your old Muggle parents snuffed it some years ago, did they not?'

Hermione's hand felt that familiar itch that indicated she wished very much to slap Draco. His callousness put the steel back into her original resolve and she steadied her voice. 'Draco; I have an extended, adopted, family. You have already met some of them; The Potters - Harry, Ginny their three children, Ron, and come to that, the entire Weasley clan.'

'Right. Yes,' said Draco, relaxing but only enough to ease his burden of maleness tucked under his robes. 'You must realize camaraderie works both ways Mrs Longbottom. Were I to fraternization with "Weasleys", how might I expect them to behave toward me?'

Hermione held back an indignant snort. 'It is not the Weasleys who would require change Draco. If I... I mean, if I... and you... were invited to the Burrow for the evening would you be willing to both attend and be amiable to the Weasleys?'

Draco stood and with great drama walked to the side of the fireplace. There he leaned on one arm, head down in deep contemplation while he gave grave consideration to Hermione's unreasonable request. Several minutes passed before he returned to sit at Hermione's side. He leaned close enough to feel the heat rising from her.

'You really are asking too much. I was raised to walk among kings, not dine with paupers.' Hermione opened her mouth to protest, Draco raised a finger in front of her nose as if training a budgie. 'However my dear little witch, I am willing to agree to dine, with the Weasleys. I can't predict what mood I shall be in when I do. However, I am willing to give it a go - but for no more than one occasion each year...'

Hermione made a disagreeable noise through her nose, 'once a year is hardly adequate. I must insist on twice a month.'

'Gods, you bloody bint, give over!' Draco, angrily took to his feet. 'You are a pain in my phantom arse!' He paced back and forth before he was willing to speak again, this time in a slightly more civil tone.

'All right, FINE. I can dine with the Weasleys. Once a month. Salazar's shimmering shite, I cannot believe the concessions you ask of me! I can barely wrap my head around the image of me, a Malfoy, dining with Weasleys. After dinner, heading for the "Burrow" sitting room to sip brandy and smoke cigars with the likes of Weasley men! I mean honestly, what sort of home is named for a weasel's nest?' Draco sighed with exasperation. 'But, if I must to keep you happy Mrs Longbottom, then I must.'

As Draco completed his dramatic little speech, Hermione had her work cut out for her to keep from smiling. 'Brandy? Cigars in the sitting room? Draco, you are woefully ignorant of how ordinary folk live.'

'I need no lessons! What else would the blasted Weasleys do after supper?' Draco sputtered sarcastically. 'Morris dance on the dining room table?'

Hermione giggled. 'Um... actually they prefer clog dancing on their kitchen table. You see, the Burrow's dining room is the one and the same with the Burrow kitchen. To tell the truth, ordinarily after a meal at the Burrow, the men strew vegetable scraps about the garden. Then they sit about on the porch waiting.'

'Waiting for what?' Draco was, intrigued by a morsel of insight into the lives of the shite-common sort of folk who were by their baseness forced to eat in the same room where cooking - whatever that consisted of - was performed.

'Oh, well they wait for garden Gnomes to come out to nibble at the vegetable scraps.'

'What the...?'

'They wand-blast Gnomes. See which wizard can make the poor little creatures jump the highest. Beastly activity I know, but wizards - what can you do?'

Draco's jaw dropped. 'You are pulling the old Fireball!'

'No. I am dead earnest.'

'So, faced with such high standards as one will find at the "Burrow"...' said Draco, astounded that any sane person would harbour a desire to dine with Weasleys under any circumstances. '...I may assume it would be permissible for me to show up for dinner dressed only in my pants, and a vest with a stem of barley clenched in my teeth?'

Hermione sniggered - on one occasion she actually had observed a wizard clad for a Burrow dinner in such a manner and saying nothing on the issue Hermione wisely proceeded to list her other concerns.

'As we will dine with the Weasleys, as you might expect, we would also from time to time play host to the Weasleys.'

'What? Here?' said Draco peering around as if expecting to see some freckled, red-haired Wally lounging in a corner.

She expects me to dine here with the "Clan of the Cave Wizards"? Following our meal shall I be expected to scatter dead mice in the alley so we may wand-blast the neighbour's cats to see how high the beasts jump?

'Once a month Draco,' said Hermione pedantically, 'hosting a small get together once or perhaps twice a month is not asking too much. And fair is fair, if there is no objection from your business constituents about dining with a lowly Muggleborn witch such as myself, you may entertain here if you so desire. There can be cigars and brandy afterwards. And,' Hermione hesitated then entered the breech. 'You may even invite your mother.'

'Please,' Draco allowed himself to fall onto the pillows he'd stacked by Hermione's side, 'no need to carry things that far. There. Might I ask you Mrs Longbottom - have I conceded enough? Are you pleased?'

Are my bollocks sufficiently separated my groin and stuffed with sweetmeats to my lady's exact specifications? Shall I provide you my tadger on a silver tray with parsley and a frilly white paper trim around the foreskin or shall I speed the messy business along, grab a silver knife and just cut away at my willie for your ladyship's ultimate convenience?

'There is one point that I haven't addressed yet Draco,' the pleased smile dropped abruptly from Hermione's lips. 'And that Draco - is the subject of your business practices.'

Why can't the witch mind her own affairs! Fuck, double blasted hell-roasted eternal fucking fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck!

'Oh,' Draco asked calmly with only one raised eyebrow, 'My "business" practices?'

'Well yes Draco, I've said this before. Over the years your family - your family dear, not necessarily you, miraculously morphed from a conglomeration of infamous Death Eaters into a benign group of benevolent benefactors after the war ended, and I for one do not believe the change was genuine.'

'Must we discuss my family's reformation? I blush easily.' The hint of pink in Draco's cheeks contained more rising temperament than modesty.

Hermione was not to be detoured. 'I am of the belief there has been no change in the collective, ancestral Malfoy heart - only a change in technique and style, meant to pull the yeti's wool over the public's eyes.'

'Why do you talk this way? This is me. I am no monster,' Draco calmly explained. 'You confuse me with the wrongful reputation put on my family by those who would bring us down - the jealous, the evil minded.

Hermione's retort was rapid. 'That you believe your own propaganda makes the situation all the more unfortunate.'

'I can save us a great deal of time,' Draco fumed, but he spoke calmly and in a soothing voice. 'If it will please you and settle your mind, you may have a go at my books, records, and the lot. You may peruse the Malfoy Foundation to the very root of its steady formation and satisfy yourself. You will know your worries are without base. The Malfoy Foundation is as clean and unsullied as am I.'

'How thick must you think I am,' said Hermione unimpressed. 'I've no doubt you are willing for me to review your "public" set of records. That you voluntarily offer your records only indicates to me you have done a reliable job of camouflaging the underhanded dealings of your family's "foundation".'

'Mrs Longbottom,' Draco sighed; the witch had never been a fool. 'So, what must I do to convince you I am sincere? That my Foundation is above board, and all the ugly rumours of skeletons in the Malfoy wardrobes are just that - rumours.'

There are NO skeletons in the Malfoy wardrobes. The House Elves clean and dust them at least once a week. .

It was now Hermione who drifted into deep contemplation. Draco's business practices - and those of his foundation - were no small matter and could no more to be ignored than a troll in the foyer. How to catch Draco at his own game or at least, corner him in his duplicity required a good deal of thought, stealth and skill.

As Draco watched Hermione by his side, she silently twisted a lock of her hair and bit her lip thoughtfully as she used to when they were students. Twenty minutes passed before Hermione sat up - her contemplation complete. She stared at Draco until she was certain she had his full attention.

'It is obvious that as long as you are aware that I might ask for your records or pry into your affairs, you will always be at least one step ahead of my inquiries, and you will have your less honourable business enterprises buried.'

'My enterprises are only dishonourable in your imagination. I swear that to you.'

Draco placed his hand over Hermione's. 'I am not my father, nor my father's minion.'

Although Draco believed his own statement, at that precise moment, somewhere in the Outer Hebrides, a small fuzzy grey kitten keeled over dead.

Hermione ignored Draco's would-be-honourable claim. 'I have a possible solution that will relieve my doubts. Some day Draco, I will ask, and you will take - on the spot - veritiserum. And you will answer my twenty questions - just you and I. I will ask this of you for one time only. I must add that if you do not agreed to this condition then I am afraid I-'

'Why wait? Ask your questions this minute. Have your curiosity settled and done with on the spot.'

'No,' Hermione answered with great resolve. 'Just now there is no way for me to know what questions will give me the information I will need, nor do I know what thoughts or questions about you - your dealings - will plague me in time.'

'Why twenty questions?'

'Because I should think it would take as many to circumvent any detours you will use to throw me off the scent of your affairs.'

Gods - why was such a mind wasted on a witch - a witch with tits like that?

Draco exploded. 'You-do-not-trust-me! How can we have anything at all between us if you do not take me at my word? Your distrust swings above my neck like some great pendulous sword.'

'Your metaphors want work Draco. But you see... I might never have cause to ask you a single question, ever.' Hermione insisted. 'I only want the option to ask questions if I have cause. It is not something I want - it is only something I believe I might require some day. Will you do as I ask Draco? If your circumstances raise no questions in my mind I may never have cause to hand you a measure of veritiserum.'

'Mrs Longbottom, this... this is outrageous. I am a wizard and frankly, my concerns are not concerns for you to, to, to concern yourself with!'

'Your response is exactly what I expected,' said Hermione. She pulled her hands from Draco and proceeded to fretfully wring them on her lap. She stared into the firelight and said in a would-be steady voice, 'I am pleased you stopped by tonight. I appreciate your kindness in minding the children. I hope they were not too much trouble.'

'Now, hang on,' said Draco, despairing. 'You interrupted me again, gave me no chance to respond, properly. You always jump to conclusions you aggravating witch. As I was saying, my concerns are no concerns of yours, however, if someday our - friendship progresses as I hope it will, there are some extenuating circumstance in which my affairs may well have some - slight interest for you. In such a situation it would be within your rights to ask the odd question - or twenty.

'The chance that we will ever-'

'Merlyn's maggot swollen maw,' Draco swore, in a second fit of pique. 'I speak of outcomes that might come to pass if we... seek each other's company. If I wish it, I have a right to be hopeful to that end!'

Torn between the drama of making a point by apparating his aching arse home or staying put, Draco surprised himself by taking the latter path and he sank onto the carpet, his back against the couch.

As you can imagine, that Draco felt comfortable enough to recline in such an undignified manner in front of Hermione was one of the myriad reasons he felt like crap because he expected shortly to take his leave of the one witch he had ever loved - with his heart - never to return. He leaned back against the couch, feeling his heart aching even more than his non-existent buttock. He crossed his arms over his knees and watched the fire flames.

After a number of minutes, Draco snarled, 'five questions.'

'Twenty questions.'

'Merlyn's white hot death you bollock mashing bit of baggage... ten questions!'

'Twenty questions.'

Damned impudent, upstart, murky-blooded harpy, FUCK you - sooner or later.

'Fifteen questions and that is my LAST offer you tadger teasing ...'

'Twenty questions and that is my only offer,' said Hermione firmly.

'All fucking right - twenty,' Draco roared, and in spite of herself, Hermione cringed.

Draco's eyes were still turned toward the fire and he spoke, summoning the tattered dredges of his dignity. 'Twenty questions. One time only - that was your stipulation. And if answering your damned twenty questions will please you, then I imagine,' Draco said the last words of his surrender as rapidly as possible, 'then it very nearly pleases me as well.'

Had Draco not been so elated in the following few minutes, he would have been furious that his heart beat as frantically as that of some milk-livered fop. His heart made its great leap because Hermione sank to the floor by his side. She voluntarily sought out and pressed her own lips firmly against his. Draco shut his eyes and although he was well aware he was being rewarded in the manner of a pet dog that begged prettily, he did not care. Whatever resulted in the witch of his randy dreams pressing her breasts against him as she leaned close to take his lips to hers was quite all right with him. When he again spoke his voice was slightly irregular.

'Mrs Longbottom... if I continue to surrender to your every teensy little wish I don't know how I will ever have your respect! Could you occasionally allow me to win a proper round so I can at least pretend I am the dominant one in this relationship?'

Hermione opened her own eyes and smiled. 'I already respect you Draco, honestly, I do. I believe you are - a good wizard - in your heart. I could not feel the way I do about you if I believed otherwise.'

The witch's cheek took Draco's breath away. 'Are you so sure I am "good" deep inside - by some back corner of my innards, perhaps to the rear of my duodenum? How do you know that I am not just an accomplished actor?'

It was queer that such a thought should occur to Draco. It was with Hermione that he was most moved to be his true self, without layers of pretence; it was with Hermione he was closest to being - paradoxically - both less and more than a "Malfoy".

Hermione had an answer. 'I am told, even the most accomplished actor, the best of them, must dig deep inside of themselves to dredge up the emotions they want to portray, to "act'. An actor who cannot feel, who cannot draw on the emotions they portray is a poor actor. I suppose I am hopeless but I believe if you are "acting" that at the very least you draw on some innate goodness you were taught to suppress.'

'You always manage to surprise me. Why did you not conclude only that I am no actor - just a tolerable mimic of goodness? Perhaps I only demonstrate goodness in the manner of a trained hippogriff that appears to count because it is taught to scratch its talons on the ground in response to the wishes of its clever master.'

'I like to think my intuition is not easily fooled. When I kiss you I truly believe I am plumbing your depths, reaching down into your basic... goodness.'

'You flatter me,' Draco said fretfully and breathlessly as he kissed Hermione. 'You want me to give up everything I was raised to be just so I can sit in some stupid little flat in a poor district of Diagon Alley, and listen to you, a Muggleborn witch, pat me like a pet kneasel and praise me?'

Yes, that is what Draco actually said out loud.

'No, I never flatter you Draco; I only tell you how I see things. I do dream you might some day give up everything you were raised to be, that you may wish to live here with me and have a boring life - a boring and wonderful and good life - with me.'

The preceding is what Hermione wanted to say, what she needed to say and was perhaps what she ought to have said but say it - she did not. She was unsure just then if Draco could handle her highly biased desires so instead Hermione gave Draco a petulant little shove to indicate he was being too silly to respond to.

Simple truths can only make themselves known when the timing is right.

So, instead of speaking her true mind, Hermione momentarily ceased to resist Draco. In fact, she eagerly reciprocated his show of affection. Shifting uncomfortably on his absent buttock, Draco ignored the discomfort, his eyes glued to Hermione's. He happily pushed his advantage, pressing Hermione's hand firmly against the proof of his ardour, rock hard beneath his robes.

It was, most likely, the residual poteen that allowed Hermione to press her hand firmly under Draco's hand, shuddering as she felt him do likewise. For the first time in ages, life seemed hopeful to Draco, but then Hermione broke the spell.

'I shouldn't do this Draco. I would be giving you the wrong idea. I mean, I only agreed to try-'

The disappointment was staggering for Draco. He felt angry but choked down his ire, which was not focused on Hermione, but himself. He was not to be allowed so much as a fondling of tit or even, much to his ultimate dismay an airing - however brief - of the Fireball. Such privileges would only come with time, patience and possibly a bottle of Ogden's Best. Still, things could have gone worse, and Draco took the rejection as simply a few steps of the dance that Hermione seemed determined to require as a perquisite to their lovemaking.

Draco sighed, 'So, I'll call again, soon...?'

'Please Dray... Draco, it is getting late.' Hermione rose up somewhat awkwardly from the floor and Draco took her elbow and rose with her.

'Right. Yes. It is late,' said Draco.

'I must get up early for work and the children should be up and breakfasted before Mrs Tippy arrives. She is to take them on a trip to the sweets shop and I - I...'

'Tomorrow then? Perhaps I see you tomorrow?'

'I - no, that is not going to possible. I have so much work to do...'

'Damn it witch,' Draco hissed. 'I am only flesh and blood. How long before you cease your endless teasing of your old mate and mine?'

'Old mate? Who would that be?'

In reply Draco only glanced to his crotch.

Hermione dropped her eyes modestly. 'Draco, please, I'm not leading you on - I only wish to take things more slowly. You can understand that can't you?'

If you were a blushing virgin, then yes I would understand, but you have performed more erotic positions with me than a contortionist's gathering for the promotion of the Kama Sutra.

'Fine. I will stop by that S.P.E.W. office of yours tomorrow, noon, sharp. We will take a lovely walk. You can't have any objection to having a bit of walk in public with a gentlewizard, can you?'

'No. I can't,' Hermione conceded. She thought it only fair that Draco ought to have some things his way. 'I'll look forward to it. Promise you won't forget?'

'Now it is you teasing me.' Draco paid no attention to Hermione's automatic resistance and taking her tightly he gave her lengthy snog that did not cease until Hermione moaned because her nether regions were vibrating. Slowly he released Hermione and took a good deal of pleasure in the unsteadiness of her feet - he still had it. 'I think I'll use the door - don't want my apparating to disturb your little household. Good night Mrs Longbottom.'

~*~

Draco apparated to his summer mansion's grand foyer and screamed out for the hell of it.

'She loves me, I know she still loves me! My lady is to give me another go!' Draco shouted. 'I've as good as got the witch in the sack!'

So excellent were Draco's spirits that he plucked several long stemmed moon-flowers from one of the many vases about the lobby. Taking one of the flowers into his teeth he then danced energetically around the tiled mosaic floor, humming and pretending the flower was his most excellent and enchanting dance partner. It had been years since Draco had felt so exuberant, so marvellously hopeful.

As Draco twirled the floor, a song in his heart, the night-servants scarpered off as fast as they could manage - they recognized a private moment when they saw one, and besides, they wanted to be clear of the area should Draco's uncharacteristic glee prove peremptory to a complete mental breakdown. There was one servant - a minion really - who did not leave the area. As Draco danced he spotted Crabbe, creeping into the foyer from a side hall. Laughing, Draco danced over to Crabbe and startled the tubby wizard by stuffing a moon-flower stem crosswise into Crabbe's mouth. Then taking Crabbe by the arms, Draco led him into an inspired tango, crossing briskly back and forth under the foyer's giant crystal chandelier. Draco's characteristic limp was largely undetectable when he danced.

'Malfoy!' gasped Crabbe, totally delighted to find Draco in such good spirits.

'Crabbe,' Draco laughed. 'You have been holding out on me! You're an excellent dancer. Do you tango often with Goyle and that cock-pecking, insufferable bitch, your wife Messalina?'

'Yes,' replied Crabbe happily. 'We dances at home and sometimes we goes out dancing. My Vinnie, my Messalina taught me lots of stuff!'

To prove his point, Crabbe suddenly wrestled the lead from Draco and twirled his startled employer three times like a top. With uncommon elegance for such a large wizard, Crabbe flipped Draco backwards so his blonde hair hung just inches above the floor. Crabbe bent forward, grinning at Draco, the flower still tightly clenched in Crabbe's gleaming teeth.

'Crabbe!' shouted Draco, the flower stem wobbling in Draco's open jaws. He was panicked because the gleeful look on Crabbe's face indicated that Draco was in grave danger of being kissed, or gods forbid, more.

'What?' asked Crabbe, his eyes pixie dusted with lust.

'Is there... news? Have you news for me?' Draco sputtered, embarrassed as he realized his cheeks were flushed. He spit out the moon-flower. 'I mean, why are you here? It must be near to 2 AM.'

Still holding Draco with one powerful arm, Crabbe nodded. 'Right Malfoy. Goyle said I was to give you an important message the minute you returned tonight.' Crabbe's eyes now rolled skyward as he attempted to recall and recite his missive precisely as he had been tutored. 'Earlier today the International Confederation of Wizards met...'

'Yes, yes,' said Draco, his face was quite pale - not only because of the impending news but from being held upside down. 'Go on Crabbe. What happened?'

'Today the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau Subcommittee presented resolution number 122 to the International Confederation of Wizards.'

'Yes, yes!' shouted Draco eagerly.

Crabbe's face was screwed up as the stress upon his brain was quite taxing. 'The subcommittee presented its findings for the adoption of a declaration to declare the Dragons known as the Greater and Lesser Ukrainian Ironbellies, the last of which formerly roamed the Ukraine on the Lucius Malfoy Memorial Ukrainian Ironbelly Dragon Reserve be declared extinct-'

'Yes, yes, spit it out Crabbe!' Draco insisted.

'The subcommittee rejected the bid that stated Greater and Lesser Ukrainian Ironbelly Dragons as extinct due to irrefutable proof there still exists a viable population of the aforementioned dragons that roam the Lucius Malfoy Memorial Ukrainian Ironbelly Dragon Reserve.' Crabbe gulped.

'WHAT!' Draco bellowed so loudly the crystals on the chandelier rattled and several portraits of dead Malfoy ancestors that hung around the grand foyer began to loudly wail in sympathy.

Crabbe, startled out of his wits flung his arms upwards allowing Draco to drop to the floor with a loud clunk as his blondie head hit the tiles.

'MAY SALAZAR SMITE THE BASTARDS OF THE FUCKING SUB-INTELLIGENCE COMMITTEE WITH A POX ON THEIR PRIVATES!' Draco roared, with enough volume to match the decibel levels of five yearling Ironbelly dragons in full cry. 'How DARE that collection of imbeciles ruin plans that took Father the better part of two decades to set into order!'

Crabbe assisted Draco up from the floor and received a kick in the shin for his trouble.

'The dragon scheme was the last project that bears my Father's personal touch! The Ironbelly Dragon project is my ultimate legacy!'

'Are you going to cry Malfoy?' asked Crabbe. Draco's face was screwed up and appeared on the verge of highly non-Slytherin behaviour.

'Shut your gob you ignorant brute,' growled Draco furiously. He stalked from the lobby towards his private offices. He would spend the remainder of the night mulling over a fix for his damaged plans.

'Good night Malfoy!' Crabbe shouted after Draco. For Crabbe the trauma of the past minutes was already forgotten. 'Sleep tight!'

~*~

It took a while for Hermione to fully regain the control of her limbs; they had gone weak under the influence of Draco's lingering snog and playful fondling. Hermione rose and slowly ascended the stairs, headed to the nursery for a last check on her sleeping children. But at the top of the steps she sunk down for a good long think. There she concluded there was not a single person of her acquaintance who did not think her feelings about Draco was anything except misplaced affections at best, physical attraction at worse. For a witch who valued facts, nearly worshipped the written word and required solid evidence to support most of her beliefs, Hermione suspected her feelings for Draco were not supportable by anything outside of herself. She knew her feelings for the difficult wizard found its base only the compelling stirrings of her heart - stirrings dampened but never extinguished - would have to see her through.