Strolls on a Sunday

"Ah, Norman!" Draco said, nodding at his son. "How nice to see you! I trust you're well?"

Norman Malfoy stood on the drawbridge of the Manor, glowering furiously.

"Father," he said, in a tone that usually made his own children (not to mention the grandchildren) cringe with what was sure to follow next. "We need to talk."

"Do we?" Draco said vaguely, looking rather puzzled. "I don't recall you making an appointment, especially for a Talk. It's not Thursday, so I've not missed father-son therapy with Dr Ignatius, have I?"

Norman scowled all the more. "This was more of a spur-of-the-moment, spontaneous kind of talk, Father," he growled.

"Oh, don't be so ridiculous," Draco snorted. "You haven't been spontaneous since you were six."

"That's simply not true!" Norman cried. "Dr Ignatius says that of late I'm becoming much more open to-" he cut himself off abruptly, and drew in a deep, quivering breath. "But that's not the point."

"If you say so," Draco said, turning around. "Do come in. But mind the stones just here- I cursed some of them for fun the other day and I can't for the life of me remember which ones they were! So I'm still looking for my big toe, if you see it."

Norman looked like he had sucked a lemon, as he gingerly picked his way across the cobblestones.

There was a puff of smoke from in front.

"Whoops," Draco said. "There goes the other one."

***

"I heard a rather awful rumour, Father," Norman said as both he and Draco were seated in the most imposing armchairs in the house. "It's really terribly strange. People are saying that you... that you asked Harry Potter OUT." He looked rather green. "That you have intentions towards him. Romantic intentions! It's completely ridiculous! " There was a rather wild look in his eye.

"Of course it is!" Draco said. Norman slumped in relief. "Oh, but it's true," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Norman gaped at him in horror. "Father!" he spluttered. "It is utterly impossible for you to... to be courting Potter!"

"Now now," said Draco. "Don't take that tone with me, young man."

"Young m-! I'm almost ninety-seven!"

"Which should mean," Draco said in a superior manner, "that you should know much

better than this by now."

"But- you've been married three times. To women! I just don't understand how-"

"Well," Draco said. "In actual fact, it's going to be four. Now that you mention it, I'm rather glad you're here. I've a little announcement to make!"

Norman was about ready to faint. He almost wished that his father had accidentally cursed the walls to blow his head off. At least then they would not have to be having this conversation.

"Oh, now don't give me that look," Draco continued. "You'll still be getting your inheritance. No need to worry about that!!"

Norman finally found his voice. "Father!" he screeched. "You simply cannot do it! Merlin knows I've tolerated everything else, but this little stunt-! We'll be the laughing stock!"

"I thought you'd be more open to it all, especially with Aramin in the family," Draco continued, waggling a finger. "But I told his mother, didn't I, Nigel? I said, if you force the boy to learn flower arranging, then it's no wonder he turns out like he has..."

"What?" Norman moaned weakly, closing his eyes. "What in all the hells are you blathering about now?!"

Draco trailed off doubtfully. "You mean Principessa didn't make him go to those classes?" he said, rubbing his chin, thinking hard. "Oh. Well, perhaps that bit was from a little dream of mine." He then brightened up considerably. "But the principle, Norman- the principle!"

"There is no principle!" Norman shrieked accusingly. "You're just trying to confuse me by talking about flowers!"

"I would have thought you'd be pleased to see me happy," Draco said, reproachfully.

"Oh no," snarled Norman, leaping up from his chair. "And don't you dare try that with me either. It stopped working twenty years ago!"

"Damn," Draco muttered.

***

In a house several hundred miles away, a rather similar conversation was taking place.

"Yes, it's all perfectly true," Harry said airily. "He asked me if he could escort me on a stroll after the Wizengamot Council." A dead silence followed. Harry nobly drew himself up (as far as his knees would let him, of course) continuing, "and I'll have you both know that he was a perfect gentleman!"

Abigail Weasley blanched. Hermione wasn't looking too well herself. Harry hoped it wasn't the kippers he'd given them for tea.

"Well, I don't see why it comes as such a shock," said Harry. "We always had rather a rapport going at Hogwarts, if I do recall."

"Harry," Hermione said. "That was one hundred and forty-three years ago. And you hated each other with the burning fire of a thousand suns!"

"Always pulling our wands out at each other," Harry muttered. "And the broomsticks! Not to mention the Quidditch balls..."

"Oh good GOD," Hermione screeched, clapping a hand over her good ear.

Abigail looked too nauseated to even move.

***

Several weeks later on a Friday afternoon at Malfoy Manor, everyone was being terribly English. Harry and Draco had called a meeting about their wedding, and therefore both their friends and family were grouped together in an utterly stony (not to mention flinty) silence. The Malfoys were sitting up very straight and proper with cups of tea in their hands, their faces frozen into expressions of utter contempt. Most of the Weasleys were eyeing the remaining cakes and wondering if it would be terribly rude to take the last one. Frunella Weasley smiled nervously at Principessa Malfoy, who simply sniffed. Disdainfully.

Norman Malfoy seemed to have developed a very nervous tic, Abigail noticed with interest. Right in the very corner of his eye.

"We're having a traditional Muggle honeymoon," Draco beamed round at them all. "We're going to go to Scarborough, sit in the freezing cold of the seafront in deckchairs, and eat home-made sandwiches out of Tupperware boxes!"

"You can't!" Norman cried out, desperately.

Both Harry and Draco looked at him innocently. "And why's that?" Draco asked.

Norman floundered. "Because- you can't sit in a deckchair, father. You'll hurt your back."

"Oh, Harry said we're allowed a cushioning charm," Draco beamed even wider, showing both his teeth. "So you don't need to worry about that."

"It'll all be so romantic," Harry sighed.

"Oh, he's such a dear," Draco said, patting his fiancé's arm.

Norman's hand shook as he gulped down the rest of his tea.

***

"Now Harry, it's not too late to back out," Hermione said desperately. "I truly didn't know you were feeling this lonely... but now that I do, we can do something about it..."

"Hermione dear," Harry interrupted, squinting at himself in the mirror. "I'm marrying Draco Malfoy in ten minutes."

Hermione rang her hands. "You're confused! You are lonely! You're certainly getting on a bit, Harry! Perhaps thinking this through would show you..."

"You're only as young as you feel," Harry said defensively. "And I feel perfectly fine. This wedding is going ahead, whether you like it or not!"

There was a pause. "Well Harry," Hermione sighed. "Just don't forget to put your trousers on before you go."

Harry looked down. "Oh, yes," he said, defensively. "But I was just about to, you know."

***

So, at long last, the Big Day had finally dawned. Both grooms looked radiant, especially as Draco had consented to have the cobwebs removed from both of his ears. Hermione even recovered herself when she tripped over Harry's four-foot-long beard (which he had brightened up with a very flower arrangement- Aramin Malfoy had been particularly helpful on this subject) and thankfully managed not to break her hip for the seventh time. Both Harry and Draco took this as rather a good omen. They both decided to ignore the strangled sobs from Norman's corner however, as they were pronounced Husband and Husband.

At the reception Draco sang a slightly amended version of 'Lady in Red', dedicated, of course, to his new husband. The only dampener on things was, rather unsurprisingly, Norman Malfoy. He sat in a corner, pale faced, with numerous glasses of champagne disappearing from all around him. His nervous tic now seemed to have returned with even fuller force. The younger children were much too frightened to go near him, but the older Weasleys stared at him in fascination as he began talking to himself.

"...This whole thing has stemmed from him calling me Norman... Dr Ignatius said I must learn to forgive him," Norman muttered wildly, almost incoherent. "But Norman- Norman! I believe it's quite unforgivable, really! Always undermining me- my self-esteem issues! And he was so cruel- my childhood memories are utterly horrid! That time when I was eight, and all I wanted was a set of gobstones, but no, he said..."

Felicia, undaunted, sat next to her husband and patted his arm reassuringly.

Norman downed another glass of champagne.

***

When the reception was over, it was time for the happy couple to fly the roost.

"Wait, wait!" Draco said, as they were about to get into the car. "I don't have my cane!"

Harry looked at him. "But you don't need that anymore," he said. "You can- well, you can lean on me now, you know."

Draco looked almost surprised but extremely happy, as he slipped his arm through his husband's.

"Now if you'd forgotten the sandwiches," Harry said, "then we really would be in trouble."

"Well, at least we both remembered our trousers this time," Draco said, reassuringly. "And that's most definitely a good start."

THE END.