A Not So Simple Kind of Life

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE JOYS OF PARENTHOOD

Draco exhaled slowly as he Apparated into the foyer of his home. It had been a long week, and he was looking forward to the weekend immensely, not withstanding the family obligations that were going to occupy Saturday evening and all day Sunday. He consoled himself that he had twenty-four hours of relaxation before he had to pretend to be having a good time somewhere he wished he didn't have to be.

A small noise garnered his attention as he slipped his cloak from his shoulders. Draco glanced towards the staircase, and it was then that he realized there was no welcoming committee this evening. Drake and Angel always greeted him on his return from the office, but they were nowhere to be seen tonight.

He frowned when he saw his wife sitting on the stairs, close to the balustrade. Something in her expression told him that she was troubled, and there was the fact that she'd made no move to meet him when he arrived. "Ginny? Is everything all right, love?"

She sighed heavily and Draco's stomach knotted uncomfortably. There was obviously a problem. Rather than stand there trying to guess what might be the issue, Draco joined her on the stairs, lowering his tall frame to sit beside her. Before pressing her for details, he slipped his arm around her and placed a soft kiss on her head.

"What happened?" Draco whispered.

"I don't know what to do with him," Ginny mumbled.

"Who?"

"Drake." Ginny shook her head sadly.

Draco's eyes slipped closed, and he silently counted to ten before opening him mouth. If Ginny was this upset by what had happened then it had to be something serious. "What did he do this time?"

"He refused to do anything for Miss Sheehan today."

"That's not all, is it?" Draco questioned.

"He was rude and obnoxious." Ginny sighed again. "I've never seen him that defiant before. Not even your mother could convince him to behave."

Draco groaned. "Please tell me he wasn't rude to Mother."

"Not directly, but he did ignore her."

"Brilliant," Draco hissed. He'd be sure to hear from his father about his son's delinquency now. "Where is he?"

"In his room," Ginny replied flatly. "He's been there for-- Well, it's been hours."

Draco nodded despondently. He'd have to deal with this before Lucius had an opportunity to get his hands on his grandson. The thought that there might not be enough left of Drake to deal with if Lucius got to him first hung heavily in his thoughts. "I'll deal with him in my study."

"I have spoken to him," Ginny uttered.

"Successfully?"

"No," she admitted. "He was in no mood to listen."

"I will be successful," Draco said with determination. "What about Miss Sheehan? Is she--"

"She wanted to resign on the spot, but I think I managed to talk her into staying."

Draco blew out a lungful of air. "He was that bad?"

"Yes, he was that bad."

"All right," Draco replied absently, as his mind wandered over punishment options. "Don't worry about a thing. I'll fix everything."

Ginny nodded weakly.

"You're tired," Draco observed.

"A little," Ginny confessed.

"You are confined to our suite for the rest of the night," Draco instructed.

"Draco, I--"

"No arguments," Draco cut her off. "You sound worn-out."

"But dinner and Angel--"

"Why don't you and Angel have dinner in our suite?"

"What about you?"

"First, I'm going to deal with your son. After that, if I still have an appetite, I'll come up and eat in our room as well, and you can keep me company, but I have no idea how long it'll take me to sort Drake out, so you're to go ahead and eat."

"And if you don't?"

"I'll still come up... I'll probably need some comfort by then." Draco smiled at her, despite the worries parading through his mind. "Now, let's get you upstairs, so you can rest."

He stood and offered Ginny his hands. Once she was on her feet he slipped his arm around her waist and escorted her up to their suite. As tempted as he was to simply tuck her into bed, walk around to the other side, climb in next to her, and pretend that there were no naughty little boys in the world who needed chastising, Draco left her in their private sitting room and went directly to his study.

The first thing he did was pour himself a healthy glass of Firewhisky, and then he summoned Millie. After issuing the servant with instructions for the kitchen regarding the serving of the evening meal, orders to let Angel know where to find her mother and, lastly, a demand for his son to join him in his study, Draco sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was still at a loss as to exactly what to do about Drake.

If his parents were to be believed, Drake was Draco's twin, and he knew how little he appreciated being told what to do, but that understanding wasn't going to excuse his son. Of course, he also realized that there were very few things he could do to make his son appreciate the gravity of the trouble he had caused.

"Millie!" Draco bellowed into the empty room.

"Master did summon Millie?" the house elf gushed as she appeared before Draco's desk.

"Have you spoken to Drake yet?"

"Millie was about to see Little Master Drake."

"Just hold off for now." Draco rubbed his hands over his face wearily. "Is Miss Sheehan in her quarters?"

"Millie believes Miss Sheehan is where she should be."

"Good," Draco uttered. "Continue with your duties."

The moment Millie had Disapparated Draco rose from his chair and left his office. He needed to speak to the tutor first, and hopefully procure a full and detailed account of Drake's behavior. It wasn't often that he ventured to the servants quarters, but he remembered the way well from his childhood when exploring every room in the manor was an enjoyable pastime. As he reached Miss Sheehan's door the knot in his stomach clenched tightly. Draco took a deep breath and tried his best to ignore the feeling of impending doom that had fallen over him as his hand rapped on the door firmly.

He could hear movement from behind the door and then he was suddenly facing the woman.

"Mr. Malfoy."

"Miss Sheehan, my apologies for intruding on your private time, but I wonder if I could have a few minutes?" Draco asked politely, his tone belying his inner turmoil.

"Of course. Please come in." Claire Sheehan stepped aside to allow Draco entry.

"Thank you." Draco inclined his head respectfully. "This won't take long."

"Was it Drake you wanted to talk about?" Claire inquired as she motioned for her employer to take a seat.

"Yes, unfortunately. Mrs. Malfoy informed me that you had quite a difficult day with him."

"To be perfectly honest, Mr. Malfoy, I've never had a day quite this bad since I began tutoring," Claire admitted.

"I would like a full account of what transpired, if you wouldn't mind. I need to deal with Drake and ensure this doesn't happen again, and I believe I would be more effective if I heard the entire story from your perspective."

"Of course."

Draco sat and listened with increasing horror as the young tutor described her day with the children and Drake's deteriorating behavior. It was clear that the little boy was pushing all the boundaries to the very limit and then beyond whenever he thought to push just a little more. At one point Claire began to tear up and Draco had to move fast to cease the threatened flow of tears -- it was one thing he was not capable of dealing with tonight.

By the time he found himself in his study again, Draco was furious. Not only had he found himself apologizing for Drake's behavior, Miss Sheehan had actually delivered him with an ultimatum: if Drake ever conducted himself in a manner similar to today she would resign her post immediately. It wasn't that he blamed her after hearing all the facts, but Draco did not appreciate ultimatums.

"Millie!"

"Master did--"

"Fetch Drake immediately."

"As Master wishes," Millie mumbled.

Draco glanced up when the servant hesitated. "Now!"

Millie sent him one last beseeching look before disappearing.

He sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair. There was no need to think hard about what Millie was asking of him, but he couldn't let Drake get away with this sort of behavior. If the situation wasn't so serious he might find himself amused that the house elf found it necessary to protect his son in the same way she used to protect him.

Draco thought to the outings they were scheduled to take this weekend. As much as he'd like to ground Drake and leave him home, he didn't think that would work, because there was a good chance the boy would have more fun being left in the care of his grandparents -- particularly his grandmother -- than accompanying his parents to see Ginny's family, so that pushed the idea out of contention entirely.

Another heavy breath left his lungs noisily. It was an impossible situation. Tomorrow evening they'd be at Ron and Pansy's, which would most likely be quite boring for a five-year-old, but Sunday was Hermione's birthday, so they'd be at the Burrow, and Drake would be running around, having fun with his cousins. The timing was absolutely appalling.

A light knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Time had run out for thinking of possible ways to deal with his errant son. "Enter."

"Little Master Drake to see Master," Millie announced.

"Come in, Drake," Draco intoned deeply, without looking at the doorway.

It wasn't until he heard the door close that Draco's eyes rose to meet his son's, but a movement just behind Drake stilled his mouth from delivering the cold greeting that was on the tip of his tongue.

"Millie?"

"Master did summon--"

"Leave," Draco growled harshly. He hated to use such a tone when she was only trying to protect Drake, but it was harden himself or laugh at her futile attempt, and that wouldn't have been conducive in making Drake see the error of his ways.

"If Master--"

"Millie," Draco snarled, the warning in his tone clear to anyone within earshot.

With a last affectionate caress to Drake's arm, Millie Disapparated.

Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes. The old servant meant well, and he had no doubt that after Drake returned to his quarters Millie would be there doing whatever she could to comfort the boy. While he could forbid her to go anywhere near Drake until tomorrow morning, he remembered well the comfort she gave him after a harrowing hour or so in his own father's study. He consciously pushed aside his memories and focused on his son.

Drake was standing in front of his desk with his eyes cast to the floor. The little boy's feet were shuffling ever so slightly and Draco could hear his quick, shallow breaths.

"I had a rather disappointing conversation with Miss Sheehan a short time ago," Draco started softly. "She told me that your behavior today left much to be desired."

"Didn't do nothing," Drake mumbled insolently.

"That seems to be the general consensus," Draco agreed with a cold smirk.

Drake's eyes snapped up in surprise.

"Of course, nothing covers a lot of things if we bring the tantrums and alleged uncontrolled magic into the mix," Draco observed in a casual tone that belied his mood.

"Did nothing," Drake muttered, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, we covered that part, but we need to discuss the rest of what you did while you were doing nothing, and we'll need to look into why you did all this nothing today." Draco looked expectantly at his heir. "Why don't you get started on that?"

Drake opened his mouth, but closed it again as he frowned at his father.

"Let's start with why you misbehaved today?" Draco suggested patiently.

The little boy shrugged carelessly. "Bored."

"Did it occur to you that if you did the work Miss Sheehan set for you that you wouldn't have the opportunity to get bored?"

"Work was boring."

"That's too bad. If there's work to do then it must be done. We have discussed this before, Drake."

"Don't want to do boring stuff," Drake mumbled towards the floor.

"As I said before, the boring stuff has to be done too, so you can move on to more exciting things," Draco explained patiently.

Drake muttered something unintelligible under his breath and glared at the floor.

"Now, perhaps you can explain why you threw a temper tantrum and spoke to Miss Sheehan, your mother and your grandmother with such disrespect?" Draco suggested gravely.

"They wanted me to do the boring stuff," Drake whispered. "Even Grandmother," he choked out.

Draco had to clear his throat, so he wouldn't laugh at the forlorn tone his son finished with. He could well imagine how betrayed Drake would have felt when Narcissa didn't side with him, not that it excused his behavior. "So you decided to be rude?"

Drake's eyes slipped up to meet his father's, and then fell back to the floor.

"Did being rude work for you?"

"No," Drake answered sullenly.

"And how didn't it work for you?"

"No one let me go and play," Drake admitted in a small voice.

Draco nodded solemnly. "I can tell you now that it'll never work. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Miss Sheehan also told me that you used magic today," Draco stated.

"Didn't! Couldn't help it!"

"Which is it, Drake? Did you do magic or not?" Draco pressed.

"Couldn't help it," Drake uttered.

"So you couldn't help levitating your workbook and tearing it to shreds with magic? Or pushing Miss Sheehan's desk up to the wall, pinning her behind it?"

"No."

Draco leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk, lacing his fingers together. "You know I don't believe that any of those incidents happened by accident."

"Was an acc--" Drake started defensively.

"You might want to think about your answer carefully before lying to me," Draco cautioned. "I know how accidental magic works, remember that."

"Was--"

Draco pinned his son with a questioning glare.

"Didn't mean--"

One of Draco's eyebrows crept up his forehead.

"Don't like Miss Sheehan," Drake blurted angrily.

"Irrelevant," Draco dismissed flatly, forcing himself not to rise to his son's sudden outburst.

Drake's arms folded across his chest, and he glared defiantly at Draco.

It was tempting to demand that his son show him the respect he should, but for the time being Draco ignored the sudden change in his posture. "Do you want to know what I think?"

Silence engulfed the room while Draco waited for his son to answer, but all Drake did was sharpen his glare and pull his arms around himself tighter.

"Yes?" Draco answered his own question with another. "I think you willed all of that to happen. Perhaps you didn't think it would work, but it did. The problem is that you didn't stop when your book was in little bits; you went on to pin Miss Sheehan against the wall with a very heavy desk."

Draco again waited for some response from his son, and again he was disappointed by the silence.

"You hurt Miss Sheehan when you did that," Draco informed him seriously.

This time the silence was interrupted with an erratic hitching of breath. Draco smirked. It seemed he might be getting through at last.

"Is there something you'd like to say?" Draco asked curiously.

"I--I did--dn't--didn't mean--"

"You didn't mean to hurt Miss Sheehan?" Draco offered.

Drake shook his head.

"Well, you did. She's got bruises where the desk hit her." Draco paused to watch his son carefully. He needed to observe a sufficient amount of remorse before concluding that Drake appreciated the gravity of the situation. "And I'm sure your grandmother is very hurt to have witnessed such a display from you. Not to mention Mummy and Angel."

Sure enough, it didn't take long for a couple of fat tears to make their way down Drake's cheeks. The little boy's breath continued to hitch as he fought to keep his emotions under control.

"Now that you seem to understand what you've done is wrong, we're going to set some very strict rules. You are never to use magic. If the Ministry gets wind that you can control your magic already it will create a very difficult situation for all of us. You will attend your lessons Monday through Friday with a smile on your face. You will do exactly what Miss Sheehan asks of you, and you'll do it to the best of your ability. If you are having an issue with anything she is teaching you or demanding of you, you are welcome to bring your complaints to me for consideration, but unless I have ruled that you don't have to do something you will do it as requested and without complaint. As for your temper tantrums, know that they will not be tolerated for any reason or in any situation where your life is not in danger. Understood?"

Drake nodded. "Yes, Daddy."

"Good," Draco snapped. "Now for your punishment: you will apologize sincerely to Miss Sheehan, your grandmother, your mother and your sister for your behavior, citing reasons why you're apologizing and why your behavior is unacceptable, with a promise that there will never be a repeat performance."

"Yes, Daddy."

Draco smirked as his son appeared to relax. "I'm not finished."

Drake's eyes opened wide as he stared across the desk.

"We're going to the Burrow on Sunday for your Aunt Hermione's birthday," Draco told him. "Tell me, Drake, what do we usually do when the family gets together for a birthday?"

"Play Quidditch," Drake answered in a small voice, as if he realized exactly what he wouldn't be doing on Sunday afternoon.

"I'm certainly looking forward to that," Draco claimed. "Are you?"

"Yes," Drake answered uncertainly.

"That's too bad, because you won't be playing," Draco said casually. "Instead, you'll be doing all the work you refused to do today."

He didn't think it was possible, but Drake's face fell even further as the news sunk in.

"I'll escort you up to your room, where you'll stay until you're ready to make your apologies tomorrow morning, and you can give me your broomstick," Draco said.

"My--my broom?"

"You'll get it back when you learn to behave yourself in the classroom." Draco smirked as he stood up.

"But--"

Draco stopped and glanced at his son. It was enough to silence the plea that Drake was about to voice. Without looking at him again, Draco led the way out of his study and upstairs to his son's suite.

"Millie!" Draco called the moment they stepped into Drake's rooms.

"Master did--"

"Drake will be eating in his room this evening. See that his main meal is delivered here, with no dessert. After he's finished eating he can bathe, and then go straight to bed," Draco instructed curtly.

"Millie will look after Little Master Drake," the servant agreed.

One glance at the aging house elf and Draco knew his instruction for no dessert would be categorically ignored. In fact, he was certain Drake would receive a double serve of whatever the kitchen had prepared this evening to soothe his pain. "Drake, your broomstick?"

With a loud sniff, Drake moved to his dressing room.

After a few minutes Draco's patience began to wear thin. He could hear a little rummaging about from the dressing room, punctuated by loud sniffs, but Drake had yet to reappear. "Drake!"

"Trying to find my broom," Drake answered in a small voice.

Draco rolled his eyes and moved across the room. "Let me help you."

Drake's eyes went wide and a small, strangled sound escaped his throat as Draco's hand went directly to the corner where his broom stood against the wall.

"It might have helped if you looked in the place you always keep it," Draco drawled, ignoring the fact that his son had tried to put one over on him. "Millie will be back with your dinner very soon, so I suggest you prepare yourself to eat."

"Yes, Daddy."

"I'll be in my suite with your mother. Millie will be reporting any instances of misbehavior to me directly, so make certain you give her nothing to tell me," Draco told him.

"Yes, Daddy."

Draco nodded his head just once at his son and then left with Drake's broomstick in hand. Just as he stepped over the threshold and into the corridor he heard a wretched wail. He had to draw on every ounce of strength he possessed to keep walking and not run back into Drake's room to comfort him. In the long run he was doing the right thing, he knew this, but it hurt him deeply to cause his son such pain. The need to gather himself did still Draco's feet as he approached his own doorway. All he needed was a few minutes, so he could present a calm façade to his wife and daughter -- at least that's what he told himself as he sagged against the wall.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco placed Angel on her feet and glanced up at the large house from where they had landed. It was not nearly as impressive as Malfoy Manor -- in truth, it would probably fit comfortably into one wing of his home with room to spare -- but it was a house of some distinction. There appeared to be two floors of living space, an attic and he presumed there would be a cellar. In the distance he could just make out the shape of a large outbuilding, but he couldn't discern what purpose it served in the fading light.

Ginny was suddenly at his side, distracting him from his analytical assessment of the Parkinson property that Ron and Pansy had accepted from Alfred Parkinson.

"It's lovely, isn't it?"

"Mmm... Quite," Draco mumbled distractedly.

"Draco?"

He turned to find his wife frowning at him in a notable expression of disapproval. "Sorry, love. It's a good house for them."

"Just because--"

"Shall we go and see what sort of progress your brother has made with the renovations?" Draco slipped his arm around Ginny's waist smoothly and they started walking towards the broad staircase that would lead them to the front doors.

Drake and Angel had run ahead and were already hammering on the door, bellowing for their uncle to answer. By the time Draco and Ginny had climbed the stairs, Pansy was greeting the twins with enthusiasm.

"Welcome!" Pansy smiled happily at the Malfoys as they approached.

"Pansy, the house looks wonderful," Ginny told her.

"From the outside," Pansy acknowledged. "We're still living in a mess inside, but we're getting there."

"Pansy, thank you for inviting us," Draco intoned politely.

"I wasn't going to get you here any other way, was I?" Pansy arched a perfectly groomed black eyebrow at her old friend.

"Nonsense," Draco refuted.

"Well, I suppose you might have come over after all the work had been done," Pansy teased. "Come in... come in."

Though the entry looked clean at first glance, Draco soon noticed trails of dust over the wooden floor and little collections against the walls. He looked around for a servant to hand his cloak to, but found Pansy waiting with her hand outstretched, ready to accept his outer garments. "No house elf?"

"No, we do everything ourselves," Pansy answered with a hint of pride.

Her tone took Draco back a little. "Of course," Draco drawled. "You have learned how to cook, haven't you?"

"Draco, don't be cruel," Ginny scolded. "I'm sure Pansy is a fine cook."

"Ron has no complaints," Pansy informed him haughtily.

"Ah, but he'd eat anything," Draco pointed out with an amused smirk.

"Where is Ron?" Ginny asked.

"Through here." Pansy motioned for everyone to follow. "He's still trying to finish the parlor."

"Wasn't he working on that last week?" Ginny questioned.

"We had a little accident with too many paint brushes, so that caused a delay. I was hoping to use the room tonight, but..." Pansy sighed heavily. "We'll just have to stay in the dining room."

Draco quirked an eyebrow questioningly. "An accident?"

Pansy cleared her throat lightly as color flooded her cheeks. "Yes, an accident."

"It's embarrassing," Draco observed.

"A little," Pansy confessed.

"Do tell," Draco pushed with a smirk playing around his lips.

"It's not that exciting," Pansy assured him.

"I thought it was hilarious," Ginny interrupted with a giggle.

"How did you--"

"Ron told Harry, who told Hermione, who told Angelina--"

"I get the gist," Pansy said flatly.

Ginny laughed. "You know there are no secrets in this family."

"There obviously are, because I don't know," Draco grumbled.

Pansy looked between the couple before letting out a little sigh. "Go ahead. You're dying to tell him."

"Pansy came home from work one night to find Ron hard at work in the parlor. He'd charmed ten paint brushes to do the walls, but when Pansy walked into the room he lost concentration and... Well, Pansy ended up the same color as the walls," Ginny explained, trying not to laugh as she spoke.

"You're kidding?" Draco began to snigger lightly, but before long he was laughing hard.

"As funny as it sounds, being covered with paint is not all that comfortable," Pansy stated seriously.

"I'm sure." Draco laughed.

Pansy shook her head and continued towards the parlor where Ron was still working. "Ron!" she called loudly from outside the door.

"You're right to come in, love," Ron answered.

"Not game enough to just walk in now?" Draco teased.

Pansy threw Draco a withering glance before opening the door. "Our guests have arrived."

"Guests? It's just Ginny and Draco," Ron responded.

"He's never going to learn, is he?" Charlie asked from the far corner.

Bill shook his head sadly. "We've done our best. All we can do now is hope she doesn't punish him too harshly."

"What?" Ron demanded.

"Mate, it doesn't matter who it is, if they're coming for dinner, they're guests," Bill explained with exaggerated patience.

Ron rolled his eyes as he walked across the room to greet his sister and brother-in-law. "It's about time you two visited," he expressed.

"It's starting to look good," Ginny said, glancing around the room before she accepted a kiss on the cheek from her brother.

"It's getting there," Ron replied proudly. "Draco."

Without thinking Draco accepted Ron's outstretched hand and shook it. When he let it go he realized his brother-in-law's hand had been covered with paint, which had transferred to his hand. "Ron."

"Drake, don't touch anything!" Ginny growled.

The little boy glanced over at the gathering adults. All eyes were on him and his hand, which was hovering over a large pail of delicious looking fluid the same color as what was on the paintbrushes.

"Come on, little man, go and stand in the hall," Bill encouraged. "You'll end up covered in paint, like Aunt Pansy, if you're not careful."

Again, Drake looked at the adults, then he moved slowly towards the door, where Angel was waiting for everyone. He was not happy, but there were too many eyes watching his every move at the moment.

"Draco, good of you to come and give us a hand," Charlie said as he pumped Draco's hand.

"I really-- I'm not--" Draco faltered, much to the amusement of the men present.

"Don't tell us... Your servants would give you hell if you got paint on your clothes," Bill interrupted Draco's stammering.

"No, they--" Draco stopped, unable to speak as Bill clapped him on the back and knocked the oxygen from his lungs.

"It's all right, mate, a little paint won't hurt you," Charlie told him.

"Enough," Ginny said. She was doing her best not to giggle, but her efforts were beginning to fail. Draco's mortified expression every time he glanced at his hand was wearing at her self-control. "Which way to the bathroom, Pansy?"

"It's at the end of the corridor and to the left," Pansy instructed.

"Go on, you heard her," Ginny encouraged her husband.

As Draco reached the door, Ginny had to hold back a gasp. In the middle of his back, against the black of his jacket, was a perfect impression of Bill's hand. "Bill!"

Bill shrugged and grinned at his sister. "Couldn't help myself. He looked too clean."

"He's going to have a fit when he sees that," Pansy said.

"You know he doesn't buy off the rack. Everything is tailor made, and it costs a fortune," Ginny added.

"Because he can afford it," Charlie pointed out.

"It'll come out," Bill assured her.

"Yeah, it'll be as good as new with a proper clean," Ron added.

"You lot need to go and clean up as well, or we'll be eating at midnight again," Pansy ordered.

"Okay," Ron agreed. "We can get back to it after we eat."

"We're having a dinner party and--" Pansy started.

"Just leave it." Ginny placed her hand on Pansy's arm. "If they want to keep going then it'll get finished sooner."

"But I wanted tonight to be nice," Pansy whined. "This room was supposed to have been finished."

"Does it really matter?" Ginny asked sympathetically.

Pansy sighed heavily.

"It doesn't matter," Ginny answered her own question. "We're here to see you, not the house."

"I'm just getting tired of living like this," Pansy complained. "Everywhere we look we have to step over something or take a different route through the house."

"Just try to imagine what it's going to look like when it's finished," Ginny said encouragingly.

"He promised this room would be usable tonight." Pansy looked around at the mess. "It's just frustrating."

Ginny put her arm around the other woman's shoulder. "If it was too much you could have cancelled. We would have understood."

"I know, but I wanted you to come," Pansy said. "I've been surrounded by men constantly -- they're not the best conversationalists."

"Tell me about it," Ginny exclaimed. "At least I have Narcissa at home most of the time."

"You don't live on top of each other, do you?"

"No, it's not like that at all," Ginny answered. "We can go days without even seeing each other. In fact, they generally stay in their wing, and we usually invade them."

"It must be nice to know that you have someone there," Pansy muttered.

Ginny took a step back and regarded Pansy carefully. "Are you really all right?"

"Of course I am," Pansy insisted. "I've just been a bit--"

"Lonely?"

"Yes, that's probably the best description." Pansy sighed. "We used to go out all the time, but since we moved in here we just come home from work and get on with the redecorating."

Ginny giggled. "Welcome to married life."

"But we're not married yet."

"You're living together; that's close enough."

"I guess so."

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"No, not at all," Pansy insisted. "I love Ron. I suppose I wasn't quite ready for our social life to die quite so suddenly."

"It doesn't have to," Ginny said gently. "Ron is just concentrating on getting this place livable at the moment."

"I know. He's doing his best."

"It'll be over soon," Ginny assured her.

"Somehow I doubt it."

"How many rooms are there left to do?"

"It's easier to count the rooms we've done," Pansy replied forlornly. "Our bedroom and bathroom are finished. We have a small sitting room upstairs that's sort of inhabitable -- it's not been redecorated, but it's been thoroughly cleaned. The dining room was fairly easy and the kitchen, of course, plus a bathroom down here... Well, it's more just a toilet and basin."

"That's it?" Ginny tried to hide her astonishment, but failed miserably. "What about the nursery?"

"I haven't even cracked the door open since the day we decided it would be the nursery."

"Well, the baby will probably spend a couple of months beside your bed anyway," Ginny said encouragingly.

"That is the only plan I have right now, because I just can't see us getting to it in time." Pansy glanced around. "There's so much to do down here to make the house presentable..."

"Stop worrying about it," Ginny insisted. "Everything will get finished, and it'll look amazing."

"Of course it'll look amazing," Ron stated as he reentered the room, looking somewhat cleaner.

"Is she doubting our abilities again?" Charlie asked with a hint of a smile playing around his mouth.

"I'm going to develop a complex if this keeps going," Bill commented humorously.

Pansy rolled her eyes expressively. "And here I thought they ignored everything I said."

"That's why she keeps repeating herself!" Charlie laughed. "New plan, boys... We react and comment on everything she says, so she won't keep repeating herself."

"Noted," Bill responded heartily.

"Just leave her alone," Ron mumbled.

"If she kills you we promise to finish the job," Charlie vowed sincerely.

"You said nothing about stopping her from torturing me," Ron griped.

"It would be considered criminal to put a stop to something genuinely entertaining," Draco drawled from the doorway.

"Enough, you lot," Pansy ordered. "Dinner is ready, so let's go to the dining room."

"Ginny, where's Drake?" Draco asked.

"He was right there." Ginny pointed to the now empty space just to the right of Angel.

"Drake!" Draco bellowed. "Angel, where did he go?"

Angel raised her arm and pointed into the parlor. The little girl's shocked expression seemed to render her speechless for the time being.

As everyone fell silent, waiting for the little boy's response, a gasp was heard from the far corner of the parlor. Bill held a finger to his mouth, instructing everyone to hold their silence while he investigated. He tiptoed over to a large piece of furniture that had been covered with an enormous sheet and peeked around the back.

Bill snorted with laughter. "Oh, mate, you are going to be in so much trouble," he whispered.

Drake stared up at his uncle with wide eyes. The little boy didn't need to be told; he knew his parents weren't going to be happy.

"Come on, there's no point putting off the inevitable." Bill beckoned with his hand.

The little blond wizard shook his head furiously.

"They know you're back here, so you can't hide," Bill said gently. "The best thing you can do is step out and face the music."

Drake's head dropped onto his chest. Miserable didn't even begin to describe his expression. He shuffled forward slowly, not at all eager to for anyone to see him.

Ginny gasped as her son came into sight, and Draco's eyes almost left his head.

Drake was covered from head to toe with mint green paint. It was as if someone had poured a bucket over him.

Pansy groaned, and Angel squealed in horror, but it was just about drowned out by Ron and Charlie's laughter.

"Laugh now, little brother, because when you see the mess behind there you won't find it so funny anymore," Bill instructed quietly.

Ron stopped laughing immediately. "What?"

"I wa--wanted to see h--how deep it--w--as--" Drake stammered through the tears that were now flooding his face.

"Drake, what did you do?" Draco demanded in a commanding tone.

"Did--dn't mean to," Drake sobbed.

"We can work out what happened later," Ginny interrupted. "Right now he's dripping paint on the floor."

"Charlie, can you get one of those drop sheets?" Pansy requested. "If we wrap him up, we can hopefully get him upstairs and into a bath without turning the rest of the house green."

"No problem," Charlie responded. He quickly removed an enormous drop sheet from the long couch in the middle of the room and walked across to Drake, wrapping it around the little boy, so only his head was exposed. "Stand still."

Drake sniffed loudly and nodded, not courageous enough to move.

"Pansy, I'm so sorry," Ginny expressed embarrassedly.

"Don't worry about it," Pansy answered absently. "These things happen."

"They don't happen when children do as they're told," Draco snarled, sending his heir a look that would have killed a lesser child.

"Later," Ginny hissed. "He knows he did wrong already."

"He does this after yesterday's fiasco! He needs--" Draco started.

"He needs to get cleaned up," Ginny butted in strongly.

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but snapped it shut as Ginny's 'back up' made herself heard.

"Shut up, Draco," Pansy snapped. "You can yell all you want later, but right now we need to get him clean."

"How are we going to do this?" Charlie inquired.

"If one of you will carry him, we can go up to my bathroom," Pansy suggested.

"Pansy, why don't we use one of the downstairs bathrooms?" Ginny asked. "At least we won't mess up your bathroom."

"They're absolutely feral." Pansy shook her head. "Not fit to wash an animal in, let alone a little boy."

"I just don't--"

"Ginny, don't worry about it. The paint will wash down the drain," Bill assured her.

"We're ready to go," Charlie announced. "Aren't we, Drake?"

"Follow me," Pansy ordered. "And try not to let him touch the walls or anything. Angel, why don't you wander down to the dining room, so you don't get your pretty dress covered in paint? It's just down there on the right."

The little strawberry blonde nodded and wandered slowly down the corridor in the direction her aunt was pointing.

"No problem," Charlie replied confidently.

"See what you can do to rectify the mess he made while we get him cleaned up," Ginny whispered to Draco before following Pansy and Charlie upstairs.

Draco held his hands out helplessly, but Ginny didn't notice.

"Have you seen this?" Ron inquired angrily. "Have you seen what he did?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Ron that he didn't care, but he swallowed the urge and stepped around the furniture. Draco's breath caught in his throat when he saw what Drake had accomplished. There weren't just a few small smudges of paint around the area; there were puddles of paint on the floorboards along with several handprints.

"How the--"

"You've got me stuffed," Ron cut in wearily.

"Do you have any rags or something I can use to mop it up with?" Draco asked.

"Here's one," Ron offered, throwing a small dirty cloth at Draco. "I'll see if I can find more."

Draco examined the cloth and sighed heavily. "Thanks."

The rag was sodden with the first swipe at the paint. All Draco could do was push the spill together and hope Ron wasn't too long retrieving some more cloths. How they were going to get it cleaned without damaging the floorboards was beyond him, because there already appeared to be some smudges of paint that had dried. Draco leaned over and began scrubbing at a particularly large smudge that was drying quickly. After a few seconds, his eyes widened in shock when he realized that he was making the mess far worse with the filthy cloth. Without thinking, Draco snatched his hand off the floor. It wasn't until he started to overbalance that he realized he'd made a mistake. Panic seized him immediately, and he automatically reached out to steady himself, placing his hand into a puddle of slimy paint.

There was something almost graceful about the way his hand slid across the floor, spreading the paint he'd recently collected even wider. His body tipped towards the floorboards as his hand flew above his head. Panic only just had time to reinstate itself on his face before he released an unmanly shriek and landed on his side on the paint covered floorboards.

"Malfoy?" Ron called. "Malfoy, are you all right? Draco?"

"Fine," Draco ground out. "I'm fine."

"What are you doing down there?"

Draco glanced up to see Ron's staring down at him. "I thought I'd roll around in the paint to see what it felt like."

"That color doesn't exactly suit you," Ron replied, not bothering to hide his amusement.

"Very funny," Draco snarled. "Are you going to stand there sniggering, or are you going to help me up?"

"I think it might be fun to watch you try and get up on your own," Ron answered casually.

"What are you doing, Draco?" Bill inquired with a curious frown.

"Taking a nap," Draco snapped irritably.

"Here." Bill offered his hand. "Don't make any sudden moves and we should be right."

Draco took Bill's hand and immediately began trying to use the other man's weight as a lever against the slippery surface.

"Wait! Stop!" Bill demanded. "You're going to pull me over. Just let me lift you."

"Fine, but can we hurry it up?"

"What's the rush?" Ron asked curiously.

"The paint is seeping into places it ought not." Draco tried not to cringe as his boxers continued to soak up the sticky paint.

"All right, let's get you on your feet," Bill answered. "Don't try to lift yourself."

Draco's arm tightened as Bill pulled steadily at his weight, but apart from his shoulder feeling like it was about to dislocate, he didn't feel as though he was any closer to standing on his own two feet.

Bill frowned and let Draco's hand go. "This isn't working. I'm going to have to lift you using magic."

"I don't really care how you do it, just get me up," Draco replied, trying not to think about what color his bits were going to be when he finally got out of this mess.

"Just relax and don't fight it," Bill advised as he withdrew his wand. "I'll lift you and move you away from the mess before putting you down. It should be easy to get yourself on your feet away from the paint."

"Fine," Draco snarled.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Bill incanted seriously.

Draco felt the sensation of weightlessness flow over him, and suddenly he was no longer in contact with the floor. It was as odd feeling, and he had to consciously remind himself not to fight against the magic. His side met the floorboards gently, several feet from his original position.

"You should be able to lift yourself up now," Bill said, putting his wand away.

Without the puddle of slimy paint under his body, Draco lifted himself to his feet with ease. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Bill answered casually. "Now we need to get you cleaned up, then we'll tackle the floor."

Draco glanced over to the area he was originally trying to clean. As he feared, the damage his son had wrought was minimal compared to what it looked like now that he'd been rolling around in the paint. "Ron, I'm really--"

"Don't say it," Ron interrupted. "Sorry just doesn't sound right coming out of your mouth."

"I think Draco's going to need a change of clothes, little brother," Bill observed.

"I'll pay to have it professionally--"

"It's nothing we can't handle," Ron insisted. "I'll get you some clean clothes."

"Fresh clothes will be a waste without a shower," Draco informed them. "I can feel the paint on my skin."

"Right." Bill sighed. "Strip off down here and wrap one of the drop sheets around you to get upstairs. Ron, you organize some clean clothes while he's in the shower."

"Pansy's upstairs!" Draco protested.

"And she'll flay you alive if you drip paint in any other room than this one," Bill explained patiently. "Strip off and she'll thank you for not spreading the mess further."

"Make sure you keep a tight hold of that drop sheet in front of her too," Ron growled.

"Well? Don't just stand there, Draco. Get on with it," Bill encouraged. "We'll turn around if that makes you feel more comfortable."

Draco snarled under his breath as he started removing his sodden clothing. The urge to make Drake pay for this little adventure for the rest of his natural life was tempting. He'd never felt more humiliated than he did right now, standing in the middle of Pansy and Ron's parlor stark naked, accepting a drop sheet from a sniggering Bill. Life was never supposed to be like this.

"Ready to brave the women?" Ron asked.

A heavy sigh left Draco's lungs as he nodded and started to move towards the door.

"They're going to wet themselves laughing." Ron chuckled in anticipation of his fiancée's reaction.

"I hardly think this is amusing," Draco growled. "Especially considering the mess of the floorboards in the parlor."

"But they'll see you first, and that'll be enough to get them giggling," Ron reminded him.

"Which way?" Draco demanded angrily.

"Follow me," Ron offered.

Despondent and almost drowning in embarrassment, Draco followed his brother-in-law to the upper level of the house. The drop sheet that was supposed to be protecting him wasn't doing much to keep him warm and it smelled wretched. He shivered and pulled it tighter around his shoulders. His mind was busy trying to think of a way to make this comedy of errors up to their hosts. However, nothing short of paying for a professional decorator could possibly make up for the destruction he and Drake had caused in the parlor.

"Pansy, we've got another one for the bath," Ron announced as he led Draco through the master bedroom.

Draco's eyes flicked up just as Pansy's and Ginny's heads appeared around the doorway of the bathroom. The shock on their faces as they took in his appearance was evident, and he couldn't help but cringe at the questions he knew would be fired at him in mere seconds.

"What on earth--"

"Where are your clothes?" Ginny queried.

"This is what happens when you leave a Malfoy to clean up," Ron answered for him smugly.

"You got like this trying to clean up?" Ginny questioned.

"I slipped and--" Draco started.

Pansy shook her head. "You see, this is what happens when you never learn to do for yourself."

Draco looked at his old friend with a horrified expression and took a step forward, his self-respect giving him courage. "But it was--"

"Will you please hold that drop sheet a little better?" Pansy held a hand in front of her eyes. "I really don't want to see where you got the paint."

Pink stained his cheeks as he readjusted the drop sheet to cover his modesty. A deep chuckle from inside the bathroom deepened his color and made him regret attending this evening. "Enough," Draco demanded angrily. "I tried to clean up, and I slipped into a large puddle of paint. It's not funny--"

"You've obviously not looked at yourself in the mirror," Pansy countered with a giggle.

"As I was saying, it's not funny," Draco continued. "The parlor floor is an absolute mess. There's paint everywhere!"

"Everywhere?" Pansy whispered.

"Best you not go in there, love," Ron advised. "I wouldn't want you to slip over."

Pansy's hand drifted up to cover her mouth, and her eyes took on a hollow look of disbelief.

"Don't worry about it, love, we'll get it clean," Ron promised. "I'll get you some clothes, Draco."

Charlie suddenly appeared behind the women. "Draco, come in here and get in the shower."

He had to pass the women to enter the bathroom, and it wasn't something that could be considered entirely good for his health, if their expressions were anything to go by. Draco slowly slid one foot forward and then the other. Neither of the women moved, much to his chagrin.

"Who's with Angel?" Charlie asked.

"She's still in the dining room as far as I know," Draco answered.

"Pansy, it might be an idea to check on her. Poor thing's been sitting there on her own for ages. She might have gotten bored and gone for a wander." Charlie winked at Draco as the words left his mouth.

"Oh Merlin, that's all we'd need," Pansy expressed as she rushed past Draco and continued out of the master suite.

"Thank you," Draco mouthed in Charlie's direction.

"No problem," Charlie replied. "Now get in the shower before anything else gets covered in paint. Drake and I will be out of your way in a few minutes. Unless you want me to scrub your back."

"I'll manage," Draco muttered.

Charlie grinned wickedly. "If you're sure."

With his wife the only female in sight, Draco allowed the sheet to fall to the ground as he entered the bathroom. All he wanted to do was wash the paint off before it became permanent or needed scrubbing from what he considered vital parts of his anatomy.

"Nice," Charlie commented.

Draco's eyes went wide as he spun around to face an amused Charlie. "Excuse me," he choked out.

"The color." Charlie chuckled. "It suits your arse."

"You're so funny," Draco snarled as he stepped into the shower stall and turned the water on.

The fluid running down the drain was a murky green color as the paint mixed with the water. His mind was still struggling with the events that had taken place since he'd stepped into the house. It seemed he was destined to be the laughing stock of the Weasley clan, seeing as he couldn't help but get into trouble whenever there were a number of them around. Draco knew it was pointless asking those present tonight to not mention his little accident, because nothing he could offer them would outweigh the entertainment they'd get from seeing him squirm in front of the entire family. Angry at his circumstances, Draco scrubbed at his body frantically. It wouldn't do to have a trace of evidence on his person when the family started laughing at him tomorrow.

"You're going to remove your skin if you keep going like that," Charlie commented with a worried frown.

"Why are you still here?" Draco growled, not bothering to look at the other man.

"I was helping your son," Charlie answered simply.

Draco muttered something unintelligible under his breath. What he wouldn't give for a little privacy right now. The water running from his body was slowly becoming less colored and his skin was beginning to appear clean again, albeit bright red due to his efforts to remove the paint. At some point, while Draco was concentrating on a rather stubborn stain on his rear end, Charlie removed Drake from the bath and took him out of the bathroom, closing the door behind them. Drake hadn't uttered a word the entire time, but Draco wasn't truly surprised considering the trouble his son had found himself answering for in the past twenty-four hours.

He rubbed his hands over his face wearily. After spending a considerable amount of time in his study last night being berated, Draco would have thought Drake was intelligent enough to stay out of trouble for a couple of days, but apparently not. A knot of dread formed in his stomach as he realized he'd have to deal with this latest foray into the world of mischief, and after yesterday's efforts he was going to have to find some way to make the boy understand what was unacceptable.

"Malfoy, I've put some clean clothes on the bed," Ron said from the doorway.

"Thank you," Draco uttered.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine... I'm just fine."

"Just so you know, I know you're lying," Ron replied with a hint of amusement.

"That doesn't change anything," Draco responded flatly. He didn't care that he was lying about his state of his well being; discussing it with Ron wasn't conducive to obtaining a successful solution.

"All right," Ron acknowledged before leaving the room.

Draco slumped against the cold tiles and quietly let loose a string of profanities. One didn't have to be a genius to know that the youngest Weasley brother was making a beeline for the oldest to tell him all about the brother-in-law's current demeanor.

"Are you finished now?"

He jumped as his wife's voice invaded his thoughts.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Ginny smiled softly. "I just wanted to make sure you got all the paint off."

"I think so," Draco murmured.

"Turn around, so I can see," Ginny instructed. "Mmm... You might want to wash your backside again."

Draco sighed heavily. He'd already spent more time on that area than would normally be considered necessary.

"Did you know that they haven't even begun work on the nursery?" Ginny asked.

"No, I didn't," Draco responded absently.

"We haven't bought them a house warming gift yet--"

He could see where this was leading, and there was only one question plaguing him: Was it worth arguing with her? "And?"

"And I was thinking it might be nice if we paid to have the nursery decorated for them," Ginny suggested with a hopeful smile. "The baby's due in eight weeks, and there's no way Ron is going to get it finished in time, not with all that's left to do downstairs. They don't even have a parlor finished."

"All right... all right! We'll get it done for them, but you're to make the arrangements and check everything with Pansy first. Okay?"

"I'll take care of everything. All you'll have to do is accept their thanks."

Draco shook his head at his wife. He had a feeling things weren't going to go right this evening, but little did he know he'd be emptying a Gringotts vault for his trouble. "Just don't go overboard," he warned.

"You've just got a little more paint here," Ginny said with a nefarious smirk as her hand reached into the shower.

"Ginny! Not here!" Draco stepped back until he couldn't go any further. "Your brothers aren't exactly worried about affording me any privacy."

"So?"

"Can you not imagine their reaction if they found you... found you cleaning me?"

"I think their reactions would be funny."

"From your point of view," Draco uttered. "I'm the one they'd torture."

"They wouldn't," Ginny scoffed.

"They would, and you know it," Draco countered strongly. "They'd wait until you were otherwise occupied, and then they'd take to me. The whole bloody lot of you should have been in Slytherin!"

"Should I be offended?" Charlie asked as he reentered the bathroom.

"Not at all," Ginny replied. "You just received Draco's highest compliment."

"Was there something you wanted, Charlie?" Draco ground out from the shower. Again, the disregard for his privacy irked him.

"I just came up to let you know that Pansy's feeding the twins. Drake was apparently starving when he got back downstairs," Charlie informed them.

"Thanks, Charlie," Ginny responded.

Uncharitable thoughts about how he should be sending his heir to bed without dinner for a month roamed freely through Draco's mind, even though he knew it would be pointless to try and introduce such a punishment. There was something to be said for the house elves of Malfoy Manor and their protectiveness of the smallest members of the family.

"See you two downstairs." Charlie lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave before disappearing.

"I think I'll get out," Draco mumbled. "I'll get the rest off at home."

"Here's a towel," Ginny offered.

"Thank you."

"I'll go and check on the twins," Ginny said uncertainly.

"I'll be down soon," Draco replied flatly.

He noticed the frown that creased her forehead as she left him alone, but rather than call her back now, Draco decided he'd wait until they were home to put her mind at ease. There was nothing he could say now that would help anyway, because he seriously doubted his ability to lie about the situation effectively.

The clothes Ron had promised were sitting in a pile on the end of the bed. Draco sighed and pulled on a pair of track pants there were several inches too long for him. While he was tall, Ron was taller. Unable to do anything about it now, Draco rolled the legs of the pants up so he wouldn't trip over them as he walked. The shirt was no better -- hanging from his frame like a loose potato sack.

Before he left the room, Draco promised himself that they would be leaving at the first available moment and not returning until the house had been completed, and his ego had recovered from being seen dressed like a hobo.

"Now there's a look we don't see every day," Bill boomed as Draco descended the staircase.

"It almost looks better on Draco than it does on you, Ron," Charlie added with a chuckle.

"Rubbish! I do that outfit justice," Ron protested. "Draco doesn't know how to wear it right."

"He hasn't got that same slouch you've perfected over the years," Bill observed.

"Precisely," Ron agreed heartily.

Draco paused on the last step and waited for the three men to finish teasing him. Retorts were dancing on the tip of his tongue, but he knew it would only encourage them to continue, and he really wasn't in the mood tonight.

"We were just coming to find you," Bill told him. "Pansy's serving our dinner."

"Good," Draco uttered.

"She's making us eat in the kitchen," Ron added.

He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the man. Draco hadn't eaten in the kitchen since he was a lad and went there looking for a snack -- a snack his mother had forbidden him to eat.

"We're dirty and everything," Ron continued. "It's really not worth arguing the point with her."

Draco nodded slightly. The man did have a point -- arguing with Pansy at any time wasn't the best idea, let alone when she was pregnant.

No one seemed to be in any particular hurry to reach the kitchen as they dawdled down the corridor.

"About time!" Pansy expressed impatiently. "I've cast warming charms on your plates. Take any one; they're all the same. I'm going to join Ginny in the dining room. Enjoy!"

It wasn't until Pansy left the men alone that they moved forward to inspect their plates. Draco frowned at the plates and wished desperately that old Parkinson had afforded his daughter at least one house elf.

"This isn't going kill us, is it?" Charlie asked, screwing his face up at the plate in front of him.

Bill leaned over to his youngest brother. "What is it?"

Ron picked up his fork and poked it at the nondescript blob on his plate. "Don't know."

"You have got to get Mum to teach her how to cook," Charlie said pleadingly.

"She does all right," Ron responded defensively.

"Mate, just because no one's died from eating her food yet it doesn't mean she's doing all right," Bill explained. "Try to encourage her to let Mum give her some advice. Unless you like the idea of eating like this every night for the rest of your life."

"Yeah, okay. I'll do something," Ron grumbled.

Draco smirked. He could well imagine Pansy's reaction to accepting any sort of advice from his mother-in-law.

"Come on, we can't put it off much longer or she'll get suspicious," Charlie announced, reluctantly picking up his cutlery.

"I propose we let Ron try it first, and if he doesn't keel over then we know it's at least safe to eat," Draco suggested.

"You heard Bill: she hasn't killed anyone," Ron snarled.

"Yet," Draco added under his breath.

"Who hasn't killed anyone?"

All the men at the table jumped as the voice of the very woman they were talking about interrupted what they thought had been a private conversation.

"Err... Umm-- Percy!" Ron stammered. "No one's died from listening to Percy's lectures on cauldron bottom thickness."

"We were just pacifying Draco," Bill added.

"He got stuck with him at the Ministry the other day," Charlie embellished.

"You poor thing." Pansy sent a suitable look of pity in Draco's direction. "How's the stew?"

"Delicious!" Bill answered heartily.

"Best ever," Charlie lied.

"You've outdone yourself, love," Ron supplied without meeting his fiancée's eyes.

"None of you have eaten much," Pansy complained.

"Too busy chatting." Bill winked at her. "You know how it is when we get together."

Pansy rolled her eyes theatrically. "Well, eat up! There's plenty more in the pot."

Draco watched in horror as the other three men lifted healthy forkfuls of stew to their mouths. He wondered how they were able to hold their smiles in place and make what sounded like noises of enjoyment as they chewed. His stomach was threatening to rebel just from observing them.

"Draco, aren't you hungry?" Pansy asked pointedly.

"I--err--" Draco paused as he caught the pleadingly gaze of Ron. It didn't take him long to decipher the trouble he would cause if he refused to eat. "Unlike this lot, I don't eat like a heathen."

Pansy sighed and shook her head patiently at him.

Unable to put off the inevitable any longer, Draco pushed a small amount of food onto his fork and tentatively lifted it to his mouth. He wished the stew smelled tempting, but it didn't, so he couldn't fool his senses by merely closing his eyes. His mind was working overtime trying to come up with a viable excuse not to put the fork in his mouth, but in the second or so before his mouth opened nothing came to him. It was like sludge on his tongue and didn't taste much better than what he imagined the bottom of sewer would. Draco could feel his mutinous stomach clenching and rolling, and he had to will himself not to spit out what was left in his mouth.

"Remember there's more in the pot if any of you are still hungry," Pansy reminded them just before she turned towards the door.

Draco forced himself to grin, though even he could tell it was more of a grimace. At this point he just wanted her to leave, so he could do something about not eating anything else off his plate.

"Will she be back?" Bill whispered across the table.

"I don't know," Ron returned just as quietly.

"I don't care," Draco muttered, as he drew his wand and vanished the food from his plate.

"No offense, little brother, but I can't eat this," Charlie admitted, placing his cutlery on his plate.

"I'll see if I can find something else," Ron offered.

"Anything to fill the hole," Bill qualified.

"There's a loaf of bread," Ron muttered from inside the cupboard.

"That'll do," Charlie answered. "Any butter?"

"I'm looking," Ron replied. "It should be-- Here it is!"

Ron emerged from the cupboard with a loaf of bread in one hand and a dish of butter in the other. The moment the items hit the table Charlie swooped on them, removing four slices of bread before passing the loaf to Bill.

"Anyone want some jam?" Ron asked, noticing a small jar of the conserve on the counter.

"Excellent! Throw it over here," Charlie exclaimed.

When Bill passed the bread to Draco he removed a few slices and set about making himself a jam sandwich.

"Oi! I hope there's enough left for me," Ron whined.

"Here." Draco shoved what was left of the bread at the man.

Ron frowned deeply. "The end bits? I hate the end bits!"

"They don't taste any different to the rest of the loaf," Bill advised sagely.

"You sound just like Mum, you realize that, right?" Ron asked sourly.

"When it's for something like that, and I get that reaction from you, I'll wear it," Bill announced amusedly.

"You could have saved me some real bread," Ron uttered sulkily. "It is my loaf of bread. I paid for it."

"That may be so, but part of the deal is you feed us when we're helping you, and you've failed to do that, so your loaf of bread is our loaf of bread now," Charlie responded smartly. "You told Pansy she'd outdone herself with dinner tonight, so why don't you eat it?"

"I didn't say which way she'd outdone herself," Ron clarified.

Bill cringed comically. "Oh, mate, telling fibs by omission could get you a year on the couch."

"My Pansy would never send me to the couch." Ron preened confidently. "She has way too many needs."

Charlie chuckled through his mouthful of jam sandwich. "That doesn't mean she wouldn't kick you out the minute she was satisfied."

"She wouldn't," Ron repeated assuredly.

"So you won't mind me clarifying what you said with her?" Bill questioned with a cheeky smirk.

An unguarded expression of panic took up residence on Ron's face. His eyes were wide and wild, and shooting between the door and his oldest brother. "You wouldn't!"

"What would she do if I did?" Bill inquired, as if were seriously contemplating telling Pansy the truth.

"She'd kill me! There'd be no need for a couch. I'd be in a pine box by the time she'd finished with me," Ron declared fervently.

"That's not really an issue," Bill mused aloud. "I do have another five brothers, so one less..."

"How many years have I been saying that for?" Draco mumbled, mostly to himself.

"Shut up, you," Ron snarled at Draco. "No one asked for your opinion."

"I was merely agreeing with Bill," Draco drawled.

"Oooh... And he starts to get nasty!" Charlie teased.

"Remind me that we have to beat that out of him one of these days," Bill replied with a chuckle.

Draco tensed nervously and raised his eyes surreptitiously. He wasn't entirely sure Bill wasn't talking about him. Relief relaxed him again when he noticed the oldest Weasley brother grinning at the youngest.

"This jam is rather good," Charlie said as his fingers dipped into the jar and removed a rather large dollop of the sweet conserve. "Who made it?"

"Mum," Ron snapped impatiently.

Charlie licked his fingers clean. "She must have given you the best jar."

"Of course she did," Ron retorted as he moved the jar out of his brother's reach. "And I'd appreciate it if you left some for us to enjoy."

"Remind me not to feed him next time he turns up at my place," Charlie muttered.

"I have very little food that actually tastes good here," Ron said defensively. "I'd like to keep some of it, so I don't starve to death."

"How are you coping with what Pansy's cooking?" Bill queried.

Ron's mood changed immediately. His eyes dropped shamefully to the table, and a bright red flush crept up his face. "Most of the time I call in and see Mum on my way home from work."

"Doesn't she think that Pansy's cooking for you?"

"Yeah, but I tell her Pansy's tired or whatever, and she feeds me to save Pansy the trouble," Ron confessed in a small voice.

Charlie groaned. "Ron, you can't let this go on. If Pansy finds out and you know she will, because Mum will say something about her being tired all the time--"

"I know, but I'll starve to death if I don't eat," Ron wailed.

"Umm-- When Pansy finds out what you've been doing, can I be there?" Draco smirked.

"Because that would be entertaining for you, wouldn't it?" Ron responded.

"Absolutely! I could sell tickets to an event like that. All your brothers would buy one," Draco insisted.

"Bloody brilliant! You know family are supposed to support each other," Ron pointed out.

"We are supportive," Charlie avowed.

"Of Pansy," Draco clarified.

Ron gaped at the three of them.

"Pansy is pregnant and, therefore, in need of our support far more than a strapping lad like yourself," Draco continued.

"Yeah, you can look after yourself," Charlie affirmed. "Look at how ingeniously you're getting fed each night."

"I'm going to get back to work," Ron announced sulkily, pushing back from the table and leaving the room before anyone could respond.

"We really shouldn't tease him," Bill whispered.

"Yeah, but he's so easy to get riled," Charlie reminded him.

"And it's fun," Draco added.

"Is that all?" Bill queried with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, while you're picking on him you're leaving me alone," Draco admitted with a grin.

"The man speaks the truth," Charlie declared.

"We'd better get back to it as well," Bill said. "We've got to work out what to do about the floorboards."

"Didn't the paint come off?" Draco asked.

"Not all of it," Charlie told him. "In fact, not even close to all of it."

"We might have to see about getting the floor sanded or something," Bill added.

"Didn't you do the cottage a few years back?" Charlie questioned.

"Yeah, we did, but it was bloody messy," Bill answered.

"I'll get a professional to take care of it," Draco offered.

"You don't have to do that." Bill shook his head adamantly. "It's nothing we can't handle; it's just going to be a pain."

"It was Drake who created the mess, so I'll fix it," Draco insisted as the men made their way out of the kitchen.

"Draco, we can get those floorboards looking brand new for a lot less than a professional," Charlie said seriously. "There's no need to throw good Galleons away."

Bill stopped and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Look, you can help us, if you feel that strongly about fixing the problem. We wouldn't say no to another pair of hands."

"I--err--I--" Draco stammered.

"You don't want to get your hands dirty?" Charlie tried with just a hint of disgust.

"No, it's not that," Draco claimed firmly with a shake of his head. "It's just that-- I've never done anything like that before... I've got no idea what I'm doing, and I'd probably just get in the way."

"You're a smart lad, and we're good teachers," Bill replied. "Hell, Charlie's a professor, so if he can't teach you to do something as simple as cleaning up some floorboards and slapping some paint on the walls... Well, you'd be a lost cause."

As they continued to the parlor, Draco felt as though he'd just been roped into something he was going to regret -- deeply regret. He wished that Bill had held onto the 'lost cause' thought, because that suited him just fine, and it would have ensured he wouldn't get dirty. Right now his plan to leave as soon as they politely could felt like it had been a silly fantasy.

Draco's silly fantasy thoughts were confirmed the moment they walked into the parlor. He'd taken no more than three steps inside the room when a paintbrush was forced into his hands.

"We'll concentrate on getting the walls finished tonight and during the week we can get onto the floor," Charlie said as he all but dragged Draco across the room.

"I really think I'd be more of a hindrance--"

"Rubbish!" Charlie scoffed. "You're not getting out of this, so there's no point protesting."

"I'm going to kill him," Draco muttered under his breath.

Charlie patted Draco on the back consolingly. "You'll regret it if you get blood on the floor, and Ginny might notice if he suddenly goes missing."

"I don't think she'd be that bothered right now," Draco replied scathingly.

"Is there something else going on?" Charlie asked, his tone quickly becoming one of concern.

"I've dealt with it," Draco uttered. "Let's just get this done."

"Okay, but if you need to talk--"

"No point discussing something that's over and done with," Draco interrupted sharply. He walked towards the wall that had been half painted and turned just in time to see his three brothers-in-law exchange worried glances. Rather than comment on their silent conversation and get drawn into telling them all about his son's problem with following instructions, Draco focused on what he was about to attempt. "How do we do this painting thing?"

"Just copy me," Charlie said as he dipped his paintbrush into the large pail of paint that Drake had earlier been playing in.

Draco watched Charlie carefully drain the excess paint from his brush on the side of the pail, and then use even strokes to transfer the color onto the wall. The process looked simple enough, though he did wonder why they were doing this by hand when there was surely a charm to eliminate the manual labor.

"Make sure you get even coverage," Charlie instructed. "It's better to build up thin coats, than to have a thick uneven coat right off."

"What are you waiting for?" Ron demanded. "Get on with it!"

"You're a little pushy for someone who has acquired free labor," Draco pointed out a bit coldly.

Ron shrugged his shoulders casually. "You don't want to talk, so paint."

A snarl climbed up his throat, but Draco swallowed it. This family just couldn't leave things alone. He plunged his brush into the pail with far more force that he ought to have.

"You might want to take it easy there," Bill said calmly. "It's not the paint's fault that Ron is a nosy git."

"I am not!" Ron refuted strongly.

Bill sent his youngest brother a withering glance.

"No more than you are anyway," Ron corrected.

"That's irrelevant," Bill claimed. "If Draco doesn't want to talk about it we can't force him."

It took all his strength to not roll his eyes. Draco knew exactly what they were trying to do and it wasn't going to work -- he wasn't going to talk. He derived a small sense of satisfaction from having made a firm decision. It wasn't something he always had the opportunity to do, because they were geniuses at getting him to talk about what he didn't want them to know.

Silence engulfed the room as efforts to get Draco to talk gave way to work. Draco was grateful they didn't push the issue, but he wasn't foolish enough to believe that they had given up altogether. As the wall filled with color Draco lost track of time. He was surprised to find himself feeling somewhat satisfied with what he was accomplishing. There was something strangely therapeutic about painting, and he was beginning to appreciate the Weasleys need to do some things without the use of magic, though how they discovered this was beyond him, because his long ingrained belief was still that wizards need not do manual labor as long as they were capable of performing magic.

"Is there anything sexier than men working hard?"

Draco spun around, startled at the amused voice that disturbed the slopping of paint and whisper of brushes over the wall.

"Look at you! Getting all dirty with the boys," Ginny exclaimed with a hint of a smile playing around her lips.

"He might need therapy if he catches sight of himself in a mirror," Pansy pointed out.

"Oh, we'll handle it," Ginny assured her. "Can you imagine the scandal if it ever got out that he got dirty?"

"When you two are finished," Draco drawled.

"I'm finished," Ginny claimed. "Are you finished, Pansy?"

"Yes, I'm finished," Pansy answered.

Bill shook his head. "No wonder the bloke has a thing about getting dirty."

"He had that thing a long time before we had any influence on him," Pansy claimed. "Maybe you boys might be a good influence on him."

"There's a first time for everything," Ginny commented cheekily.

"If you two have come in here for entertainment purposes alone we'll put you to work," Charlie warned good-naturedly.

"Now that would be entertaining," Draco agreed heartily.

"Could you imagine if they got a spot of paint on them?" Charlie continued.

Ron suddenly held his paint-smeared hand out in front of himself with a horrified expression on his face. "Get it off! Get it off!" he squealed in a girlie voice.

Charlie followed his younger brother's lead, holding his hand out in front of himself. "No! No! This color simply won't do! It does nothing for my skin tone. Change it all!" He finished his effeminate tirade with a sweep of his hand around the room.

"You lot think you're so funny," Ginny said dryly.

"We try." Charlie grinned. "What did you disturb us for? We were working hard."

Ginny's eyes left her brother and traveled to her husband. "The twins are really tired. I think we should take them home before they get obnoxious."

"Oh no, you don't!" Bill expressed before Draco could open his mouth to respond. "We just got him to work. You are not stealing our protégé!"

"I--umm--the twins--" Draco began weakly.

"Ginny can get the twins home," Charlie assured him. "Can't you, Ginny?"

"I can manage if you'd rather stay," Ginny responded warily.

"I should-- After the mess-- If you can manage--" Draco stammered, obviously unsure if he did want to stay.

Ginny smiled at him. "We'll get home just fine. Before we go you'd better say goodnight to the twins, because they'll be sound asleep by the time you get home."

"Where are they?" Draco asked, suddenly worried.

"They're waiting in the dining room and don't worry, Drake is under the threat of witnessing his broomstick being burnt at the stake if he so much as takes a breath the wrong way."

Draco relaxed a little. Such a powerful threat would be sure to keep his iniquitous son in check for a few minutes. "I'll be right back," he said to the other men.

"We might stop for a few minutes to say goodbye as well, and Pansy might like to arrange some refreshments," Bill suggested. "It's dry work painting her parlor."

"You can have Butterbeer," Pansy said in a tone that brokered no argument.

"But we've got--" Ron started.

"Butterbeer or you can have a cup of tea," Pansy butted in firmly.

"Don't push it, mate," Charlie whispered. "After last night you can hardly blame her."

Ron looked at his wife pleadingly. "We didn't mean to get pissed last night, and we promise we won't--"

Bill cleared his throat loudly, effectively interrupting his brother. "Butterbeer is fine, Pansy."

"Ginny, why don't you grab the twins? We'll say goodnight to them on the way out," Charlie suggested.

"I might go--" Draco started.

"We're all covered with fresh paint, so it's probably better if we stay here," Charlie reminded his brother-in-law.

Draco glanced down at the borrowed clothes he was wearing and frowned. He certainly didn't recall getting paint on himself at any point, but he was covered again.

"I'll get the kids," Ginny said as she turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked Pansy, who had turned to follow Ginny.

"I'm getting the twins' cloaks," Pansy answered. "Maybe you can go to the kitchen and get some Butterbeers?"

Ron grumbled under his breath as he stomped out of the parlor and disappeared down the corridor.

That now familiar feeling of entrapment threatened to engulf him again. Draco wasn't sure what made him feel as though he owed these men something, but when he figured it out he was determined to destroy it, so he could return to doing as he pleased with no regard for how his actions affected others. A heavy hand landing in the middle of his back just about knocked him over.

"We couldn't give you the opportunity to change your mind and escape now, could we?" Charlie asked with a feral grin.

Draco allowed his eyes to slip closed. Perhaps if he couldn't see them then they'd all disappear for a while. He was right about feeling trapped; they'd deliberately kept him here, so he didn't have a chance to talk to Ginny privately and plan his getaway. "If Ginny needed me then I would be leaving with her," he said to what he hoped was an empty room.

"That's different," Charlie conceded. "If she genuinely needed you then we would have told you to go, but she doesn't need you, so you can stay and help us."

He didn't care how false the smile on his face looked as he opened his eyes, because he'd just come to the realization that it really didn't matter what he thought about anything, the family would always bully him into doing what they wanted him to do.

Bill suddenly appeared at Draco's side. "We'd really like to get the walls finished tonight if we can. Pansy's just about going out of her mind with this redecorating mess, and the baby's not far off, so she's stressed and Ron's stressed... All in all it's not a good situation, and they shouldn't be starting their life together with so much upheaval."

"Fair enough," Draco replied quietly.

"You've proven yourself more than capable of wielding a paintbrush without making too much mess, so that means you've been inducted into the work crew dedicated to getting this house livable in the shortest amount of time possible," Bill continued.

"And if I don't want--"

"As a member of this family, you don't have a choice," Bill whispered firmly.

Draco sighed and lifted his hand to run it through his hair, but dropped it back to his side when he remembered the paint that would be transferred. "What does being in this work crew entail exactly?"

"We work weekends and nights after work. We're having most of tomorrow off for Hermione's birthday, but we'll be back at it tomorrow night," Bill whispered urgently.

"Where's everyone else tonight then?" Draco asked astutely.

"They had in-law obligations and the like, but we were all here last night," Bill replied. "If we could get the downstairs finished it would take a lot of pressure off Ron. There's also the nursery; he hasn't even started it yet!"

"I know, and we needn't bother about it either," Draco said, not bothering to correct himself when he used the term 'we'. "Ginny wants to have it professionally decorated for them as a housewarming gift."

"That's really nice of you," Bill responded.

Draco shrugged. "It was Ginny's idea."

"Still, it's a nice gesture," Bill stated. "Anyway, you're in now, so there's no escape."

"I might not be able to do after work all the time," Draco informed him. "Ginny would skin me if I didn't see the twins and spend some time with her."

"She wouldn't mind if you were here with us," Bill guaranteed.

"The last time I got busy at work and had a few too many late nights--"

"This isn't going to go on forever," Bill said. "We'll do what we can to get the house livable and Ron can finish the rest over time."

Draco felt himself nodding. He wondered briefly if one of them had turned him into a puppet or something equally as silly, because he could clearly hear one side of his brain screaming at him to run away now. The problem was the other side of his brain felt obligated to help, so his feet were nailed to the floor and his head was agreeing of its own volition.

"The point is, he can't do it on his own, and with so many of us available there's no reason why he should. You understand that, don't you?" Bill asked.

"Of course," Draco agreed quietly.

"Good." Bill clapped Draco on the back in a show of comradeship. "We'd do the same for you any time you needed."

"I can afford decorators," Draco muttered mostly to himself. The thought of letting any of his brothers-in-law loose in his home was quite enough to give him nightmares.

The sound of the twins coming up the corridor negated any more conversation. Draco could clearly hear Drake complaining about having to go home and Angel seconding his every grievance. There was also an odd clinking sound that Draco couldn't quite put his finger on.

Charlie laughed loudly. "I'm glad it's you dealing with that tonight."

"Drake won't be," Draco promised seriously.

"Wait there, and I'll get Daddy," Ginny instructed from right outside the door.

"I'm here," Draco said from behind her. "No point in giving him a chance to disappear," he added with a whisper only his wife heard.

Ginny smiled. "Good thinking."

"Right, you two, Mummy is going to take you home. When you get there you will go straight to bed without one word of complaint. Clear?" Draco instructed, as Ron moved past him with his arms full of Butterbeer bottles.

"Aren't you coming, Daddy?" Angel asked innocently.

"No, I'm going to stay and help your uncles," Draco explained.

"So we won't see you until tomorrow?" Drake inquired.

Draco smirked. He could see a spark of hope in his son's eyes. "Apparently not."

"Goodnight, Daddy!" Drake said with enthusiasm.

"Just so you know, we will be discussing your inability to behave in the morning, Drake," Draco informed his son. "After our chat last night, I had expected you to behave this evening, but apparently I was mistaken."

"Yes, Daddy," Drake responded confidently.

A light frown crossed Draco's brow. His words had had little effect on his heir. There was no doubt if Lucius had made Draco such a promise, his younger self wouldn't have slept a wink, but Drake appeared to be untroubled at the idea of yet another trip to his father's study in the morning. "Behave yourself."

"Yes, Daddy," Drake answered with a grin.

"Goodnight." Draco leaned down and placed a light kiss on Drake's forehead.

Angel tried to launch herself into her father's arms the moment he pulled away from Drake, but Ginny reached down to stop her.

"Honey, Daddy's covered with paint, and if you hug him now you'll get paint all over your pretty robes," Ginny explained lightly.

"But I want a hug!" Angel stamped her foot.

"How about I give you a hug when I get home?" Draco suggested.

Angel pouted. "I want a hug now! I always have a hug at bedtime."

"I know and I'm going to miss our hug too, but--" Draco stopped as a loudly cleared throat disturbed his train of thought.

"You could take your shirt off and give her a hug," Bill suggested in a low voice.

"Good idea," Draco uttered, a little shocked that he hadn't thought of it himself.

"You're welcome," Bill whispered smugly.

"Just let me get rid of this filthy shirt, and then we can have our hug," Draco told his daughter.

He ignored the catcalls from the other men as he pulled the dirty tee shirt over his head, and then the complaints about his blindingly white skin. Angel seemed to think her uncles' foolish behavior was amusing, so they succeeded in making her smile at least.

"Oi! Stop looking at him like that, Ginny!" Ron demanded.

"Like what, Ron?" Ginny asked naively.

"Like you want to--to do something," Ron stammered.

"What's something?" Ginny inquired.

"You know very well what something is," Ron accused her.

"But I might feel like something," Ginny said in a completely innocent tone.

"Do not go there," Ron warned.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You do it."

"That's different," Ron insisted.

"I can't see how." Ginny shook her head.

"I'm a bloke; it's expected," Ron explained succinctly.

"But you do it with Pansy," Ginny pointed out.

"I--well--you shouldn't-- It's beside the point," Ron stuttered. "You shouldn't look at him like that!"

Bill chuckled heartily. "You're going to give him heart failure in a minute, Ginny."

"Can I have my hug now?" Angel asked impatiently.

"Of course you can, princess." Draco kneeled down and opened his arms to his daughter. "You sleep tight, okay?"

"I love you, Daddy," Angel whispered.

"I love you too, baby," Draco returned softly before placing a kiss on her head. As he released her, Draco gave her cheek a quick kiss. "Go straight to bed for Mummy, like a good girl."

"Yes, Daddy," Angel answered sweetly. "Will you be home in the morning?"

"Yes, I'll be there. We've got to go to Aunt Hermione's birthday lunch tomorrow," Draco reminded her.

Angel yawned widely as she stepped back from her father. Her little hand wound around Ginny's leg and she rested her head against her mother.

"Drake, come here," Draco said, motioning for the little boy to step forward. When his son was within reach, Draco gathered him in his arms and gave him a quick hug. "I'm counting on you to behave," he whispered into his ear. "I think Mummy is more tired than you right now, so don't let me down."

Drake nodded solemnly and stepped back.

"Don't make it too late tonight," Ginny warned all of them.

"We won't," Draco promised as his arms encircled her. Despite the audience they had he wasn't letting her go without saying goodbye properly.

Just as his head started to dip towards hers a choking sound from behind his back disturbed him.

"Do you have to?" Ron demanded.

"Yes, I think I do," Draco responded smugly.

Now more aware of the spectators, Draco decided to give them something to whine about, if they were so inclined. He dipped his head slowly, capturing his wife's lips softly at first and then firmer, until conscious thought drifted away from him and his tongue demanded entry to her mouth of its own volition.

Somewhere just to the side of them, Draco could hear Drake making gagging noises, and behind them his brothers-in-law were laughing at their nephew's antics. It wasn't as hard to ignore them as he thought it would be, at least not while his wife's tongue was reminding him of what would be waiting for him at home.

His hands also grew minds of their own, wandering down her back to caress her derriere. He thought that maybe his fingers had just touched her backside when he received a sharp shove in the shoulder.

"We do not want to witness that," Ron told him seriously.

"You'd refuse a man the right to bid farewell to his wife properly?" Draco drawled calmly.

"You're not saying goodbye, you're saying hello," Ron corrected.

"Are you telling me that you don't kiss your lovely fiancée with passion?" Draco questioned deliberately.

"Not in front of everyone," Ron told him as if he were offended.

"Ah, then it's jealousy that's got you complaining," Draco observed.

"It is not!" Ron refuted.

"You lot can argue about this later," Ginny claimed. "I've got two tired kids to get home."

The men immediately began to bid their sister and the children goodnight. Drake received warnings from all his uncles to behave himself before he was released to walk with his aunt to the front door. Angel played the tired little princess perfectly as she was passed from one shirtless man to another, before being placed on her feet to hold her mother's hand.

"How are you going to manage to get them both home?" Draco inquired.

"Pansy's going to take Drake for me," Ginny said, smiling at her brother's sudden panicked expression. "Don't worry, Ron, she's coming straight back."

"I wasn't worried," Ron claimed as nonchalantly as he could.

Ginny rolled her eyes, gave Draco a last peck on the cheek and walked towards the front door where Pansy was waiting with Drake.

Draco watched until she was out of sight. There was something terribly wrong with him staying here and Ginny going home with the children, but at the same time it felt right as well. He shook his head and sighed. This wasn't the time to try and untangle the complex feelings he'd been experiencing tonight.

"Might as well get on with it." Bill put his arm around Draco's shoulders and led him in the direction of the unfinished parlor. "The sooner we get finished, the sooner you can be home with her."

"Heads up, Draco!" Charlie tossed an almost full bottle of Firewhisky in Draco's direction.

His old Seeker reflexes caught the bottle automatically. "I thought--"

"What Pansy doesn't know won't give us a headache," Ron explained quickly. "If you're having some, drink up, or pass it on to Bill. We've only got until she gets back."

Draco removed the cork from the bottle and took a healthy swig directly from the bottle before passing it to Bill. There was something about the grin Bill gave him as the bottle left his hands that made Draco think of the phrase 'Brothers in Arms'.

"She's back!"

Ron's panicked voice interrupted Draco's musings and all of a sudden they flew into action. He had no idea how it happened, but he found himself standing in front of the wall with his paintbrush poised. The bottle of Firewhisky had vanished, replaced by four open bottles of Butterbeer on one of the sheet-covered occasional tables. Bill was to his left, and when Draco turned his head his brother-in-law sent him a conspiratorial wink. Seconds later Pansy walked into the room.

"You're back at it already! I thought you were going to take a break," Pansy said, looking around at the four men.

"No point wasting too much time," Charlie said.

"We can drink and paint, love," Ron assured her.

About to laugh at how Pansy, once the consummate Slytherin, trusted the word of these men when they were lying through their teeth to her, Draco had to turn back to the wall. He pretended to be concentrating on painting the wall, even though there was no paint on his brush.

"Well, I think I might go upstairs and let you boys get on with it," Pansy announced.

"I'll see you up there later," Ron replied.

"Goodnight, Pansy," Bill said respectfully.

"See you tomorrow, Pansy," Charlie added.

Draco was trying to pull himself together, so he could say something without laughing.

Bill nudged Draco's ankle with his foot. "Say goodnight, so she'll leave," he hissed.

"Dinner was great, Pansy," Draco managed before he had to fake a cough to cover his laugh.

"Goodnight, boys. Don't work too hard," Pansy sang as she left.

All was silent for a few minutes. Not even the whisper of brushes on the wall was evident from any of the other occupants of the room. Draco couldn't look at anyone at the moment or he risked laughing very loudly and he didn't want to alert Pansy to anything that was going on. He was just on the verge of bringing himself under control when someone slapped him on the back of the head.

"You're a good one, aren't you?" Bill exclaimed. "She's not stupid. Your behavior could have given the whole game away."

"So much for being the ultimate Slytherin," Ron scoffed.

"I just couldn't believe the rubbish she was buying without evening batting an eyelash," Draco explained as he rubbed his head. "The Pansy I knew at school wouldn't have believed one word."

"Let's just get on with it," Charlie said. "If she comes down again we'll just silence him, so he can't give us away."

Draco spun around to look at the Hogwarts Professor with wide, shocked eyes, which grew horrified when he spied the missing bottle of Firewhisky in his hands. "What if she--"

"Then we hide it again and silence you before she enters the room," Charlie told him with a cold grin.

"Leave him alone," Bill ordered good-naturedly. "He'll get the hang of working with us eventually."

"Sooner would be better than later," Ron mused aloud.

A frown creased Draco's brow as they all turned back to the painting. Again only the slop of paint and whisper of brushes on the wall could be heard throughout the room. It was punctuated by the occasional slurp from the Firewhisky bottle as one of the men stopped for some refreshment, but that was all. The men were lost in their own thoughts, and Draco was eternally grateful for the time being, because he needed time to compose himself properly.

It didn't take long for the sense of peace and accomplishment to flow through his thoughts again as the therapeutic benefits of this task worked their magic. Draco glanced around as he helped himself to the Firewhisky and realized that this room was going to look amazing when it was finished, and they would be responsible for creating that look. Pride filled him as he picked up his paintbrush again and resumed work.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They'd only been at the Burrow mere seconds, but already his family had abandoned him. He shouldn't have been surprised, because this had happened time and again, and really he should be accustomed to it by now, but it irked him. Not enough to make an issue of it with Ginny, but enough to make him feel uncomfortable.

"Oi! Looking a bit green there, aren't we, Malfoy?"

Draco turned slowly, sending a withering glare in Harry's direction. He knew it would have been too much for Bill, Charlie and Ron to keep their mouths closed about the unsuccessful dinner party the night before. "I noticed you were nowhere to be seen last night," he drawled.

Harry walked over to Draco with a knowing smile. "That's because I value my health. What did you have for dinner last night?"

"Let's not talk about that," Draco returned in a low whisper.

"That good, was it?"

"Pansy might hear," Draco hissed as he glanced around furtively.

Harry chuckled heartily.

"Something funny?" Ron asked as he wandered over.

"Draco was just telling me about last night," Harry replied.

"He did an all right job," Ron admitted thoughtfully.

"Job?" Harry frowned. "Did he help with the painting?"

"Yeah." Ron's forehead creased. "That's what you were talking about, wasn't it?"

"Actually, we were discussing dinner," Harry responded. "Though I am sorry I missed seeing Draco get dirty."

Ron's face flushed crimson.

"The jam was rather tasty," Draco whispered.

Harry cringed. "Had to resort to bread and jam again?"

"Bill and Charlie reckon I should get Mum to give her lessons," Ron admitted.

"I have to agree," Draco said quietly.

"You can't keep going like this, mate," Harry pointed out. "She's going to notice that loaves of bread are going missing sooner or later."

"I don't always have to resort to that," Ron claimed.

"At least not on the nights you drop in here before going home," Draco clarified, remembering their discussion in the kitchen from the night before.

"You have to tell her," Harry insisted.

"I don't want to upset her," Ron whined.

Harry snorted. "Chicken!"

"Am not!" Ron retorted in a juvenile manner.

"Are too!" Harry poked his tongue at the redhead.

"Come on, Weasley, where's your Gryffindor courage?" Draco asked mockingly.

"Look, I'll tell her. It's just a delicate matter, so I have to time it right," Ron explained.

"Before she's dead would be a good idea," Harry pointed out.

"He might end up going first if he doesn't tell her," Draco added with a smirk.

"I'll tell her, all right?" Ron blurted loudly.

"Tell who what?" Pansy inquired as she approached.

"I think I might see if Hermione needs something," Harry muttered as he patted his best friend's shoulder.

"Umm--yeah--I don't think I've seen the birthday girl yet," Draco stammered uncertainly.

Between Pansy's curiously innocent expression and Ron's look of impending doom Draco was barely holding himself together. There was no way Ron was going to be able to talk his way out of this, unless he could come up with something really quick to explain his expression, but Draco doubted his brain functioned that fast normally, let alone when it was under pressure.

Harry and Draco drifted away as stealthily as they could. If he told her, neither of the men wanted to be in striking distance. The yard was beginning to fill with family members now, so it was easy to lose themselves in the crowd.

Draco absently acknowledged several greetings from the children as they ran past him on their way to the back field. His eyes wandered over the family, searching for Hermione -- he hadn't greeted her yet and it was her birthday, so etiquette dictated he should make an effort.

Around the table several of the women were making a fuss over Angelina. Draco's eyes were about to pass over the scene when he froze. He couldn't help but stare. She looked ready to burst. Draco remembered clearly when Fred announced they were expecting another child; it was the first time he'd ventured into the midst of a Weasley family luncheon. It seemed like forever ago. Now Angelina would give birth sometime in the next week or so. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he tried to picture Ginny being that big, but the image wouldn't come to him.

"You right there, Draco?" Arthur inquired.

"Err--Yes... yes, of course," Draco stammered.

"I give her another day or so," Arthur said, nodding his head in Angelina's direction.

"She looks like she should have had it last month," Draco uttered before he could stop himself.

"She's fine," Arthur assured him. "Angelina carries well."

Draco could do no more than stare at his father-in-law. If what he was seeing was 'carrying well', he'd hate to see what 'not well' was. The woman could hardly move on her own and definitely required assistance to sit down.

"Of course, if we could manage to get her excited today we might see the little imp a bit sooner," Arthur continued casually.

"Get her excited?" Draco questioned.

"See if you can make her laugh today," Arthur told him.

"I--I'll try," Draco muttered without conviction.

The conversation was so odd, in Draco's opinion, he had to shake his head to clear his thoughts after Arthur had moved away.

Food was starting to fill the table, and the family was beginning to mill around. Experience taught him to claim his seat early, before he found himself sitting with the children or worse, in the midst of the women. He moved slowly towards the end of the table -- the traditional place for the men to gather -- with his eye on a very safe seat.

"Draco!"

"Hermione," Draco replied. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"I do hope Potter spoiled you this morning."

"Oh yes, I'm very spoiled."

There was something in the way her expression shifted that set off warning bells in Draco's head. He was positive the glow in her eyes wasn't connected to some insanely expensive bauble or breakfast in bed. "Can I offer you a chair?" Draco asked, grasping at anything to change the subject.

"I'm sitting down there." Hermione indicated to a chair firmly in female territory.

Draco offered his arm chivalrously. If his friends could see him now they'd have him committed for sure, but he was desperate to get away from her and couldn't just walk off on her birthday. "Delivered safe and sound," he announced as he held her chair out.

"Thank you," Hermione said with a smile.

"You're welcome," Draco replied. "Enjoy your lunch."

"Such a gentleman," Fleur whispered across the table.

"Ladies." A confident smirk tugged at Draco's lips as he sauntered back to the end of the table. It never hurt one's ego to receive a compliment. His mood faltered a little when he spied Harry sitting in the chair he'd been hoping to claim.

"Something wrong, Malfoy?" Harry questioned.

"I was going to sit there," Draco informed him a little coldly.

"Well, I got here first," Harry responded with an amused smile.

"Only because I was escorting your wife to a chair," Draco returned irritably.

"Hermione is quite capable of finding her own chair," Harry said.

"It's polite to ensure she's taken care of on her special day," Draco replied.

Harry grinned broadly. "I took care of her this morning."

Draco closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I do not want to know."

"Why not?" Harry asked as innocently as he could manage.

"Would you like me to tell you every time I take care of my wife?" Draco snarled.

"No," Bill answered quickly and firmly.

Charlie shook his head and sighed heavily. "I do believe the man has a death wish."

"Perhaps he just likes to be tortured?" Ron suggested.

"Some people get off on that, or so I've heard," Harry added.

"On what?" Fred inquired.

"Torture," Harry answered.

"Yes, please," George said enthusiastically.

"Bend over then," Fred instructed with faux impatience. "He just loves a good spanking," he explained to the rest of the men.

Draco pulled a chair out from the table and dropped his tall frame into it; arguing with Potter about his preferred seat would have been futile and childish, though that did seem to be the theme at this end of the table today. Sometimes he wondered if it might be better to sit with the children, as he tried not to watch the two clowns have a slapping competition.

"Fred! George!" Molly bellowed from the kitchen window. "One of you is going to end up hurt in a minute!"

At the sound of their mother's warning the two men calmed themselves significantly and took their seats as if nothing had just happened and they weren't covered in bright red welts. Draco merely shook his head at the two. It amused him to see them follow Molly's instructions like they were still little boys instead of grown men, but then their maturity probably put them in the 'little boy' category.

There were only another few minutes of chaos before all the food was on the table compliments of the women, and the entire family was seated at the extended backyard table. Even though it was Charlie who had been responsible for gathering the children and ordering them to the table for lunch, Draco glanced down to make sure the twins had made it -- there were so many of them that it truly wouldn't be difficult to miss one or two in a head count. Angel waved back at him with a big smile on her face. Drake, on the other hand, sullenly averted his gaze to look at the other end of the table.

Drake's reaction didn't surprise Draco in the least, because they had spent another uncomfortable hour in his study this morning discussing the virtues of behaving in an acceptable manner, especially when they were outside their own home. Draco sighed and turned to look at the empty plate in front of him. He didn't know if he'd managed to get through to his son this time, but he hoped so, because this constant disciplining routine was beginning to wear on his sanity.

So lost in thought, Draco failed to hear Molly's order to eat and he almost jumped out of his chair when the noise level in the yard rose suddenly. It took him a moment or two to gather himself before he could reach out and begin to serve himself.

"All right there, Draco?" Ron asked around a mouthful of food.

"Fine," Draco answered with a frown. "Are you stocking up for the week?"

Ron looked at his plate without an ounce of guilt showing in his expression. "I always eat like this."

"You do when your fiancée isn't cooking," Draco retorted in a whisper.

"Did you sort that out?" Harry inquired of his best friend.

"Sort of," Ron admitted. "I told her we'd talk at home."

Draco's eyes went wide with shock. "And she accepted that?"

"Yeah," Ron answered confidently. "Well, she kind of did... Ginny distracted her, and I guess she forgot she was waiting for me to tell her something."

Charlie laughed. "Got to love when they get absent minded."

"It saved my neck so many times," Bill confessed.

"Women should be vague all the time!" Fred announced with quiet gusto.

"It would decrease our level of pain so much," George agreed.

"You could try behaving like decent human beings," Percy pointed out disdainfully.

"Says the perfect husband," Charlie muttered.

"Just because you're too afraid--" Fred began.

"--Of your own wife," George continued.

"To put a toe out of line," Fred added.

"Of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that I respect my wife," Percy stated sarcastically.

"Nah," Fred dismissed.

"It's because she's not afraid to hit you over the head with a cauldron if you piss her off," George declared confidently.

Percy sent a contemptuous look at his twin brothers. "I believe it is your wives who are experts at wielding cooking instruments."

"Yeah, but we're tough," George countered.

"We can handle a few bumps on the head," Fred assured him.

"Settle down, you three," Bill ordered. "You'll have us all in trouble if you don't."

Percy sniffed haughtily. "My wife trusts that I don't involve myself in any of your nonsense."

Charlie leaned across the table menacingly. "If we get in trouble I can promise you that you will be involved, and I will give Penelope a detailed account of how involved you were, along with suggestions of what sort of punishment you should suffer."

Draco had to bite the side of his mouth to keep from laughing aloud as Percy opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish. Ron and Harry were less discreet and sniggered into their hands.

"That's enough, boys," Arthur ordered calmly. "We wouldn't want to spoil Hermione's birthday."

The men all returned to their meals without further comment. It amused Draco how things worked with the men in the family. A word from Bill and Charlie instantly backed him, but it really took Arthur to step in and put a stop to any nonsense. The twins usually stuck together and were usually at the center of whatever rubbish was going on, Ron and Harry tended to stick together, but sided with Bill and Charlie more often than not. Percy stood alone, but that didn't surprise Draco, because the man was of an entirely different personality than his brothers. All of this left Draco with the question of where he stood. Commonsense told him that Bill was the person to stand behind, but he was a bit uncomfortable pledging allegiance to one when there was always the possibility that he may disagree one day, even if it was only a decision he kept to himself.

When everyone had eaten their fill, the women started to clear the table. The children disappeared into the field beyond the yard, and the men broke up into little groups, enjoying their conversations. Draco remained where he was, relishing a moment of peace and quiet, even though there was enough background noise to deafen the uninitiated. He gazed at his wife wistfully. She was laughing with the other women and generally having a good time. Her beauty, in moments like this, was not lost on him.

"We didn't get a chance to talk all that much last night." Bill sat down next to Draco. "How are things going?"

"Good," Draco answered, averting his gaze for just a second before returning it to his wife.

"Looking forward to the birth?" Bill pressed.

"Mmm," Draco uttered.

Bill frowned. "Doesn't sound like you're exactly excited."

"No... I am," Draco countered absently.

"That's convincing," Bill responded.

Draco sighed. His inner fears were, obviously, impossible to hide at the moment. He detested being caught off guard. "It's nothing to do with the baby. I am looking forward to the birth and all that follows."

"Then what is it? Are things all right between you and Ginny?"

"Yes, we're all right. Better than all right, actually."

"But?"

"Wednesday afternoon--"

"I heard something about Wednesday."

"It wasn't pretty," Draco muttered. The memory of Ginny's distress still tore at his soul. "But it's nothing to do with that."

"What's the problem then?"

"It's not a problem per se," Draco said reluctantly. "It's just my own-- my insecurities."

"You're feeling insecure?"

Draco nodded reluctantly. It killed him to admit such things, but Bill had helped in the past, so he trusted the man to keep his confidence and supply him with the advice he needed to get over himself.

"What over?" Bill asked sincerely. "Your ability to raise the kids?"

"No, it's not that. I'm getting better, and Ginny pretty much guides me along that path if I stray." Draco ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He knew he couldn't just drop the subject now, even though he desperately wanted to, and he didn't want to sound pathetic, but that is exactly how he was going to come across. "Wednesday afternoon Drake successfully pushed me out of way and commanded Ginny's attention."

"And?"

"She gives herself so freely to the twins now... What's going to happen when the baby arrives? Is she going to have any time left for me?"

Bill released a chuckle, but quickly smothered it when Draco's whole frame tensed.

"This isn't funny," Draco ground out.

"Sorry," Bill mumbled. "It's not funny, and you're not alone."

"I'm not?"

"We've all been there," Bill admitted. "I have four kids and every time I worried about how each was going to change my relationship with Fleur."

"Did it change?"

"Yes and no," Bill answered honestly.

"That makes sense," Draco snapped sarcastically.

"It's difficult to explain," Bill confessed. "All the worry is negative, right?"

"Yes."

"Have you thought that maybe a baby might have a positive effect on your relationship?"

"But if she has less time for me--"

"It's not about time spent together," Bill cut in. "It's about how you feel about her, and believe me, that will change once you've witnessed the birth of your child."

"How can the time we spend together not matter if she doesn't have any time for me?"

Bill sighed and placed a comforting hand on Draco's shoulder. "She will find time for you."

"What if she doesn't?"

"You're worrying about nothing," Bill assured him.

"She was just so focused on Drake the other night... It was like I didn't exist," Draco whispered.

"You've got to remember that Drake, and Angel for that matter, are experts at getting what they want. They both know how to twist every one of us around their little fingers in a way none of the other kids are capable," Bill reminded him. "Someone once told me that Drake is his father's twin."

Draco rolled his eyes skyward. "And who might that someone have been?"

"As a matter of a fact, it was your mother," Bill answered smugly. "She's quite an interesting lady."

"She is," Draco accepted.

Bill looked over his shoulder and suddenly turned serious again. "You have to trust in Ginny to balance her time, and you have to do your bit as well, as far as giving her some time out from the kids."

"Quidditch anyone?" Charlie asked as he walked past.

"I'm in!" Bill answered. "Draco?"

"Absolutely," Draco responded.

His head shot up when he heard Harry calling to the older boys to get ready for the game. He was about to yell out for Drake not to bother, but then decided to do it discreetly; the last thing Draco needed was his nephews to start arguing his son's case for him. Draco waited patiently for Drake to climb over the stone wall and get close enough to have no choice but notice him. When the little blond's eyes finally flicked up Draco was ready with a crooked finger to beckon him.

"You're not playing," Draco said quietly, but sternly.

"I know," Drake whispered miserably.

"I have your work here." Draco reached into his pocket and withdrew a small square of parchment. With one tap of his wand there was several sheets of parchment sitting on the table awaiting Drake's attention. "You can sit here and finish all of this. If you should finish before the Snitch is caught, you may come to the field and watch."

"Yes, Daddy," Drake answered.

"Well, take a seat," Draco encouraged. "I need to get changed."

A snail might have moved faster than Drake did as he rounded his father and sat in the chair near where his work was waiting for him.

"I haven't got a quill," Drake pointed out.

Draco pulled a quill and ink from his pocket with smug smirk. "You didn't really think I'd forget to bring the essentials, did you?"

Drake accepted the quill with a frown and turned towards his work.

Confident that his son would do as requested, Draco turned towards the house. He was looking forward to blowing off some steam during the game.

"What's all this then?" Fred asked as he picked up the piece of parchment beside Drake.

"Just leave him be," Ginny instructed firmly from the other end of the table.

"This looks like schoolwork," George pointed out, peering over his twin's shoulder. "Why are you doing schoolwork today, mate?"

"Daddy said I have to," Drake mumbled.

"Rubbish! You can't do schoolwork when it's time for Quidditch," Fred stated, as if the mere thought offended him personally.

"Oi, Draco, what's the meaning of torturing our nephew?" George demanded.

Draco turned around slowly, raising a single eyebrow at his twin brothers-in-law. He'd almost made it inside. "Excuse me?"

"Drake said he has to do this rubbish." Fred shook the parchment full of simple words at him.

"Well, if he did his work during class time then he wouldn't have to do it when everyone else is playing Quidditch," Draco explained evenly as he took the parchment from Fred and placed it firmly in front of his miserable son. "Isn't that right, Drake?"

"Yes, Daddy," Drake responded despondently.

Draco smirked at the two protesting men, turned on his heel, and headed inside to change for the Quidditch game. They could complain on his son's behalf all they wanted, but it didn't change the fact that Drake had work to complete, and he only had himself to blame.

"What was that about?" Harry asked as Draco entered the kitchen.

"Fred and George seem to have a problem with Drake doing the schoolwork he should have completed on Friday," Draco explained briefly.

"It's Sunday," Charlie pointed out.

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Draco answered patiently.

"If the work was supposed to be done on Friday why is Drake doing it now?" Charlie posed curiously.

"Tutor not working out?" Harry enquired.

"There's nothing wrong with Miss Sheehan. She's a fine tutor. Drake, on the other hand, is a poor student. He has decided that he doesn't want to do any work. The woman was, apparently, beside herself before lunchtime on Friday." Draco looked around the room at his captive audience. "Does anyone have a problem with how I'm dealing with adjusting my son's attitude?"

Charlie's eyes roamed the room before he met Draco's harsh gaze. "Not at all. We were just curious. You didn't say anything about this last night either."

"I had issued his punishment, and it had nothing to do with last night," Draco snapped.

"Just one word of advice," Charlie continued.

"What might that be?"

"I wouldn't leave Drake alone with the twins for too long, or they'll be teaching him some new tricks," Charlie advised, nodding towards the window that afforded a clear view of the twins leaning over the small blond boy.

"Drake isn't foolish enough to try anything they might suggest," Draco replied confidently.

"He might get desperate," Harry suggested.

"After spending an hour or so in my study on Friday night explaining himself, I don't think he'll be disrupting lessons for a good long while." Draco smirked at the memory.

"That sounds like it would have been fun," Harry commented.

"Watching him squirm held some entertainment value," Draco admitted, even though at the time it was far from fun.

"Can I ask exactly how you're punishing him?" Charlie requested.

"He had to apologize to Miss Sheehan, my mother, Ginny and Angel for his behavior, citing the reasons why he was apologizing and why his behavior was unacceptable, along with a promise that there will never be a repeat performance. He made his apologies Saturday morning, with the exception of Miss Sheehan." Draco smirked at the memory. Drake had been infinitely uncomfortable admitting he'd been wrong and could hardly be heard at times, a fact that irked the boy's grandfather, but he'd managed to stammer out his reasons. "He's banned from playing Quidditch today, and he's lost his broomstick until he learns to behave in the classroom."

Charlie nodded thoughtfully.

"That's got to be hurting him," Harry uttered.

"That's the idea," Draco said. "His broomstick is his most prized possession at the moment, so removing it, indefinitely, wounds him deeply."

"Hey, are we playing Quidditch or are you lot going to stand around gossiping?" Bill asked as he entered the kitchen ready to play.

"Playing," Charlie answered as he moved towards the sitting room.

"What's going on?" Bill inquired.

"Seems Drake has been a bit of handful since Friday," Charlie whispered.

"I thought there was something else going on," Bill returned quietly. "Does he need any help?"

"No, he's got it under control," Draco responded strongly.

"Sorry," Bill muttered. "I didn't mean to--"

"It's all right," Draco cut him off. "I know you mean well. Thank you, but I have the situation under control."

"Well, the offer is there any time you need us," Bill reiterated sincerely.

"I think the boy is managing quite well on his own," Charlie said as he patted Draco on the back.

"That's good." Bill smiled briefly. "I'll go and organize the equipment, while you lazy buggers get changed."

"Err-- Bill, do you think you could move Fred and George away from Drake? He's supposed to be finishing his schoolwork, and they're clearly distracting him," Draco muttered.

"No problem." Bill winked at him as he moved away.

Draco and the others moved upstairs to change for the game. He was feeling somewhat lighter than he had since much earlier in the week. Charlie's words of confidence had done a lot to boost his mood, along with Harry's understanding of what hurt Drake the most. While he didn't feel he needed their approval, it certainly helped to know he was on the right track as far as his children were concerned. Now all he could do was hope that Drake took his punishment to heart and remembered it long enough to give Draco a break from being the 'bad guy' for a good while.

It didn't take the men long to change and return to the backyard. As Draco exited the house his eyes immediately sought out his son, who appeared to be working diligently, much to his pleasure. Next Draco's eyes scanned the women to find Ginny. She was standing in the middle of quite a gathering with many hands on her stomach -- the baby must have been moving. His hand twitched automatically, wanting to connect with his child.

"Baby must be moving," Harry observed when he noticed the women.

"That one's going to be a Beater," Draco said proudly. "It kicks with power."

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" Harry asked in a soft voice.

Draco nodded. Though he personally thought 'amazing' was a bit of an understatement. He was completely in awe of the miracle.

"Are you two going to play or are you going to stand there all day gossiping like women at a baby shower?" Bill inquired impatiently.

"We're coming," Harry answered. "You can feel the baby later," he whispered to Draco.

"I don't need--"

"Yeah, that's why your hand is twitching." Harry looked down purposely. "Don't worry, I know the feeling. You just want to feel it."

Draco suddenly felt more than a little uncomfortable. It was good that there was another man who understood what he was feeling, but at the same time having another know what he was feeling didn't sit well with him, especially as the emotions involved were anything but masculine. "Let's go before Bill gets his britches in a knot."

Within seconds all thoughts of moving babies and naughty children left Draco's head as he became involved in the final preparations for the game. The teams were picked with few protests -- one team had to have Percy -- and then the men were in the air. It wasn't until that moment that Draco realized he really should have had his broom out earlier in the week, because it was exactly what he needed to clear his head and shake off the frustration that hadn't been far from his being the last few days.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*