So You Bought The Cow

Chapter One: Pushing Up Daisies

***

"DRACO!"

With a loud thump, Draco fell out of bed in a tangle of pink cotton sheets. "Wha?" he mumbled. "Whosit?"

"Draco, what the hell are you still doing in bed?" the voice continued. He tried to stuff a tatty teddy bear into his ear, but to no avail. The bear was pulled away and tossed aside, and he struggled against the pink sheets being taken from him as well.

"Go 'way," he said, covering his eyes with his arm. "It's too early."

"It's nearly noon," the voice nagged, and he opened his eyes to see his aunt Trixie looming over him.

"Where's Gin?" Draco asked, sitting up.

"I think you've had enough gin," Trixie replied. "And put on some pants. I don't want to see your skinny white chicken legs."

She turned and marched up the stairs in her bleached jeans, muttering about relatives.

Draco untangled himself from the pink cotton sheets. He hated them, but Ginny had pulled a set of repulsive pink and purple flowered linens out of the closet when he'd complained, and told him that they were his only other option. He's decided that pink was the lesser of two evils, but made sure that none of his friends ever came downstairs when they visited. He didn't think he'd ever live it down if they found out.

He stood up, and immediately stepped on the damn teddy bear- named Cyrus, after one of Ginny's childhood crushes- that his wife insisted had to share their bed. He'd protested left and right, but Ginny had insisted that Cyrus either had a place with her, or she'd go make a place with Cyrus.

Most of the time, he lived on the headboard, butt crammed between the wood and the wall so he wouldn't become dislodged, but over the course of the night Cyrus had somehow made its way into their bed.

He stumbled over to the closet that was overflowing with frilly, lacy or colorful bits of cloth, and bent down to dig through his clothes, which for the most part found their way to the floor of the closet. He tossed aside a green sparkly top, wondering when he'd see Ginny wearing it, and tried to decide what he could wear that wouldn't make Ginny mad. He found his favorite pair of black jeans, and debated between a white or a black t-shirt before seeing a grey one tangled up with an orange flipflop.

"Draco!" Trixie yelled down the stairs. "I made you a sandwich and you're damn well going to eat it!"

"I'll be up in a minute!" he yelled back, then tried to find where his other shoe had gotten to. One had been right were he left it, sitting at the end of the bed, but the other one was nowhere to be seen. He finally found it lurking underneath last month's Car Trader, and with another glance around the admittedly messy room, decided that socks were highly overrated.

He hurried up the stairs, narrowly missing tripping over Bocephus, who as a small kitten had a tendency to sleep on the stairs and swat at people passing by, and took the food gratefully.

"When are you supposed to be at that trollop's parent's place?" Trixie asked, settling down at the table across from him.

"Pretty soon," Draco replied. "Think Ginny'll be mad if I'm late?"

"Probably, she's a particular little thing," Trixie replied.

"I should go then," Draco said with a sigh.

"Bring me back some cookies," Trixie said.

Draco went outside, climbed into his Chevelle, and drove to his in-laws' place. Cars were parked willy-nilly across the yard, and Draco carefully parked his treasured vehicle next to the chicken coop where it would take some spectacularly bad driving to come anywhere near it. He'd seen Weasleys drive, and it was not a pretty sight.

He took a deep breath, and headed towards the rickety hovel the Weasleys called home. The house itself had started out as a normal, modest home, but years had added additions and rooms at odd angles, leaving a sprawling mess of mismatched walls and porches. Draco thought it was a terrible home when compared to the sleek double-wide he had been raised in, and felt a stab of pity for Ginny's humble roots.

He stepped on the porch, avoiding a cranky looking hound dog while wondering whether he was supposed to knock, or just walk inside. Ginny just walked inside, but he wasn't sure about the rules for a disliked son-in-law. He was just about to knock when the door flew open, and Charlie charged outside. He was followed by Percy, who was ranting loudly about the dangers of throwing plastic six-pack holders away without cutting them first.

"Is Ginny inside?" Draco asked, and Charlie nodded as he passed.

Draco stepped inside the house and was immediately surprised at the sheer number of people crammed into the living room. Molly was sitting at her favorite chair, weeping, while her children and their significant others milled around, talking and laughing. Draco spotted Ginny near the food, and made his way through the mob of redheads to reach her.

Ginny was wearing a black tank top and a denim miniskirt, and was eating an olive off a toothpick. "Finally make it here?" she asked, going for a handful of chips.

"Yeah," he said.

"We're leaving for the funeral in a few minutes," Ginny continued. "Mom's taking it hard."

"Where's Arthur?" Draco asked.

"He went fishing," Ginny replied. "Completely forgot about the funeral after the celebration he had last night."

"Oh." Draco wasn't surprised. Jo's death had come as a shock, but no one had really considered it a bad one. Her stove had sprung a gas leak an indeterminate time ago, and one day she'd been lighting up a Marlboro over breakfast when wham.

Her house had gone up like a Fourth of July celebration.

"I think Mom's more upset because all the things she figured she'd finally get when the old hag died- her big screen tv, her waffle maker, the Walker Texas Ranger commemorative plate collection- were all destroyed. But she's acting like she actually cared about Mamaw, so watch out," Ginny said.

"Zis is ridiculous," said a heavily accented voice.

"What is it now, Fleur?" Ginny asked impatiently.

"All zis!" Fleur said, waving her hands around expressively. Draco hoped she would do that again, as her very low cut, very short dress did some very interesting things when she moved her arms up and around. "Why hasn't the old broad been chucked in the ground yet? We've been waiting all morning to leave!"

"Ignore her," Bill said as he took Fleur by the arm. "She's nervous she won't get to work on time."

"Hardly, my set isn't until nine," Fleur huffed indignantly. "You know I'm a headliner, Bill." She turned back to Draco and Ginny. "I'm just saying that no one liked the hag, she was miserable to everyone, and this party should be a lot wilder than it is."

"We can't hurt Mom's feelings," Ginny said. "After all, Mamaw was her mother."

Bill gave Ginny an sideways look. "Remember how Mamaw would always spit on whatever Mom cooked for dinner and insist trained monkeys, even if they threw poo around the kitchen, could do a better job?"

"She just showed her affection in a different sort of way," Ginny said.

'Okay, everyone, the funeral starts in half an hour! It's time to go to the cemetery," Percy announced, and began to list road precautions for everyone to follow.

After a mild bit of chaos and a driveway traffic jam caused by Fred and George, the Weasley-fueled caravan made its way to the cemetery. No one had wanted to splurge on any sort of extras, so the funeral party converged at the graveyard and gathered around a hole in the ground.

"Howdy-do," said the minister as they arrived and gathered around. He gave Tonks an odd look, as she hadn't bothered to change out of her orange work shorts, and Draco was certain that the preacher's insistence that they all "reach towards heaven- just a bit more, there, blondie," had more to do with Fleur's dress than showing respect for the deceased.

He gave a nice speech about how much Jo was going to be missed by all.

Draco spent the entire time wishing someone had sprung for a tent, as the glare of the sun off nearly a dozen heads of red hair was nearly blinding. Molly sobbed loudly into a tissue, and Arthur slunk up to the funeral nearly twenty minutes late, wearing rubber wading pants and a hat covered in fish hooks, smelling suspiciously of lake water.

After the small metal box containing what was left of Jo was put in the ground, the group began to disperse.

"C'mon," Draco said, taking Ginny's hand and pulling her towards the funeral home sitting several rows of headstones away.

"Why are we going in there?" Ginny asked, glancing back towards her family briefly. Arthur was spreading his hands two feet apart and the words, "just barely got away," were floating across the graveyard.

"Aunt Trixie wanted me to bring her back some cookies," Draco said. "She loves funeral home cookies, for some ungodly reason. Thinks they taste better. She used to go to funerals for all sorts of people back before she went to the pen just for cookies."

"But funeral cookies are always those gross stale sugar cookies," Ginny insisted. Draco shrugged, and they stepped inside the funeral home into the blast of cold air.

Their feet made no noise on the carpeted floor as they sneaked towards the table outside a viewing room where cookies were neatly lined up. Ginny crammed a dozen into her purse, and they were nearly to the door again when a short, hairy old man came out of an office and stopped them, scowling.

"What are you two varmints doing in here?" he snapped.

"Nothing," Draco replied automatically.

"Cookies are for families of the deceased in the viewing rooms only," the man said, looking suspiciously at the table, where a big gap was formed in the formerly neat lines of cookies.

"We didn't touch the cookies," Ginny said, smiling prettily.

"Then what are you doing in here?"

"Air conditioning," Draco said.

The man raised an eyebrow.

"My wife's pregnant," Ginny immediately rested her hand on the barely noticeable bump of her belly, "and got a bit overheated at her grandmother's funeral just now," Draco said. "My car's air is on the fritz, and I thought no one would mind if we came in here for a minute."

The man gave him a suspicious look while Ginny shot him an admiring one.

"Well, you be on your way, then." the man said.

They hurried out, Ginny giggling madly. "That was brilliant, darling," she said, pecking his cheek.

"What were they really going to do over stolen cookies?" Draco wondered aloud. "They can't cost anything, they're terrible."

The funeral party was long gone, and the Chevelle was the only car left sitting on the side of the narrow road through the cemetery. They climbed inside, and Draco reluctantly drove back to the Weasley's shanty.

The first thing they heard as they walked through the door was Molly screaming at deafening levels. "And a stripper! My mother's funeral was attended by a girl in hot pants and a stripper!"

"But Mom, you love Fleur!" Bill said. "She's just working at The Paper Moon until she can get enough money to become a real estate agent."

"I would have changed if I would have had time," Tonks was saying. "But I have to be at work in a few minutes and still wanted to go to the funeral..."

"And my mother hated Malfoys, and there was one of those there too," Molly continued.

"Two, really," George said.

"I think technically it's three," Fred amended.

Molly screamed incoherently, then turned on her husband. "And you didn't nearly catch a 200 pound catfish! You just forgot about the funeral and wanted a flashy cover story!"

"Are you allowed to have cover stories?" Draco whispered.

"I don't think it worked," Ginny replied.

"And you two!" Molly yelled, looking at the twins. "Did you honestly think that I didn't notice you humming "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead" during the funeral?"

"But Mom, you hated her!" Fred said. Heads around the room nodded. "You always said you couldn't wait to dance on her grave."

"That's why I brought a camera to the funeral," muttered Charlie.

"I still respect the dead!" snapped Molly.

"But-" Arthur began, and then stopped.

Molly glared at him, hands on substantive hips.

"I was just going to mention that time, at the flea market when we were dating, when she tied the sow to your belt and refused to untie it, even when you got rolled over by it in the mud in front of all the cheerleaders..."

"That's still no reason to celebrate the woman's death!" Molly insisted.

The phone rang shrilly. Percy answered, then handed the phone to Molly, telling her it was Mr. Jameson, the lawyer.

Molly spoke with him for a few minutes, then they all jumped as she screamed, "WHAT?" into the phone. She sank down on the plush leather recliner with a large number eight stitched onto the headrest that Arthur frequented, slammed the phone down, and began muttering about how glad she was that that vindictive bitch was six feet under, or else she might have had to do something unladylike to her.

"Molly?" Arthur ventured, obviously a great deal braver than his assorted children, who were watching with bewilderment, bemusement or boredom.

"She left everything to that no good cousin of mine- the accountant in San Francisco, the one with all the gel in his hair!" Molly snapped. "Not so much as a teacup for me!"

"Maybe we should leave," Ginny said quietly.

"Finally," Draco said, earning himself a glare and a shove as they moved towards the door.

They got to the car, and carefully maneuvered through the mish-mash of cars parked haphazardly across the property.

"Where should we go?" Draco asked.

"I want a banana milkshake," Ginny said decisively. "Every time I got near the drinks at Mom's, someone would take it away from me, saying I shouldn't be drinking. It's not my fault they spiked every bit of it."

Draco drove to Sonic, and once Ginny had her milkshake she was dandy, chattering happily and ignoring the fact she had just come from her grandmother's funeral. They arrived back home at Bellatrix's, only there was an unfamiliar car where Draco normally parked.

"Who's that?" Ginny wondered.

"I don't know," Draco said.

Just then, the door burst open, and Draco groaned as he saw who was silhouetted against the porch light.