Don't Let's Start

Chapter Three

The very first thing Draco noticed, as he stumbled out of the hearth at the Burrow - beyond the odd mismatch of furniture spread about the den - was that the children far outnumbered the adults. Which was, when he thought about it, perfectly fitting for the Weasley family.

Before he could even brush the ash off his clothes, three almost identical little girls - the slight difference in their heights suggesting that they were merely sisters, not triplets - launched themselves at his legs and dove around him. They were laughing and yelping, using Draco's body as a shield against a spindly young man who was mock-growling at them, his fingers curled into menacing looking claws.

He lunged forward and Draco stood stock-still, bewildered, while the girls let out high-pitched squeals and took off for the kitchen, the boy in hot pursuit.

Ron chuckled from behind him. "That was Sorin, Charlie's oldest," he explained, then laughed harder when he heard his mum's voice shouting, "Sori, not in the house! Elizabeth Minerva Finnigan, put that spoon down now, young lady."

"The girls were--"

"Don't bother, Weasley," Draco cut in almost absently. "I'll never be able to tell any of them apart."

"Ah, look, George, it's our darling little brother and Malfoy-the-younger."

"Together at last."

"Aren't they precious?"

Draco scowled at the Weasley twins as they made their way into the room. The years hadn't changed them much, both physically and mentally. They were still identical, down to the slight laugh crinkles at the edges of their eyes, and they still had that annoyingly grating sense of humor.

Fred rocked back on his heals, grinning madly. "What's the pout for, Malfoy?"

"Ronnie not keeping you satisfied?"

"Bugger off," Ron growled good-naturedly, shoving George's shoulder. "Just ignore them, Malfoy."

"It's impossible to ignore us," George protested.

Fred nodded. "We're incorrigible, which makes us endearing as well."

"And loveable, don't forget loveable."

"And a hit at parties. Tell your friends."

"Now, Fred, this is Malfoy remember. He isn't likely to have many friends, is he?"

Draco growled threateningly, and Ron placed a hand on the back of his neck, curling his fingers around his nape.

"Don't let them get to you," the redhead said, glaring at his brothers. Without thinking, he slid his hand down and pressed into the small of Draco's back. "Come on," he nudged, "let's say hello to Mum." He added in a dangerous whisper, leaning down close to his ear, "If you say anything at all to upset her, Malfoy, I swear I'll..."

Draco glanced over at him and arched a pale brow, trying to ignore the warm hand resting just above his arse. "You'll what? Strangle me to death?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Just watch your mouth, all right?" Moving past the blond, he strode into the kitchen, taking in his mum's disheveled appearance with a fond smile.

"Oh, Ron, you're a godsend." She hurried up to him and took his chin in a hand, bringing his face down for a kiss hello. "Here, take Fane, would you?" she asked, transferring his sturdy one-year-old nephew from her arms to his, and then turned to Draco, her eyes narrowed. "Draco, dear, let me get you something to snack on before dinner. It might be a while."

Ron couldn't help but laugh at the grimace on Draco's face, obviously trying to come up with a polite way to decline her offer. There was no excuse on earth that could possibly work, though, once Molly Weasley got it in her head that you needed to eat.

The three girls, who were now clinging to Sorin's arms and legs as he dragged them across the kitchen floor, piped in, "We want cookies, Grams!" and one little boy, who'd been sitting quietly at the long kitchen table, a large picture book spread out in front of him, admonished, "You can't have cookies now, brats, you'll ruin your dinner. Grams, they can't have cookies, can they?" His tone suggested that if they could have cookies, then he'd like some as well.

"No one's having cookies," she replied with a stern eye. "Now will you all please go outside? Merlin," she grumbled, "a beautiful day, and they all want to clutter up my kitchen. Out!" she yelled louder when none of the children seemed inclined to vacate the room. "Outside, all of you! Oh, not you, Draco, you're fine right here." She placed a hand on his arm to stay him. "Ronald, would you fetch Ginny for me? She's up in your room settling David."

Adjusting a sleepy-eyed Fane on his hip, he said, "Sure, Mum," then hissed, "Behave," to Draco as he stepped around him and into the stairwell.

Draco shifted nervously from foot to foot, staring at Mrs. Weasley, who was staring pensively back at him, her hands on her generous hips.

"You've grown up handsome," she said finally.

Eyes widening slightly, he replied with a choked, "Thanks."

Her face softened, a sad smile gracing her lips. "I was sorry to hear about your mother. I knew her from school, you know. She was always..." she seemed to be searching for an appropriate word, "lovely."

Draco hadn't thought about his mother in years, and he bit the inside of his cheek, poleaxed by the sudden mention of her. "Yes," he agreed, somewhat awkwardly, "she was lovely." Feeling an unexpected urge to return the favor, he blurted out, "I'm sorry about..." then paused, the name Percy on the edge of his tongue, remembering Ron's warning. "Everything," he concluded lamely.

Sadness flickered briefly in her eyes, but she forced a grin. "Everything covers a lot of ground."

"I know," he replied.

"Good." She took a deep breath, then grabbed an apple off the counter and pushed it into his hands. "Go on out back, now."

Bemused, Draco did as he was told and wandered out into the backyard, somehow feeling a little bit lighter. Mrs. Weasley wasn't all that bad.

******

"I can't believe you, Ron," Ginny ranted in a hushed voice, rubbing circles on the back of her five-month-old son, soothing him into sleep. "I can't believe you'd bring him here. I can't believe you'd let him stay at your house. What about the twins?"

Ron gazed at her blankly. "What about them?"

"He'll be a terrible influence on them."

Ron blinked, then grinned widely. "The boys aren't exactly angels, Gin. I doubt there's much he could do to corrupt them."

"This isn't funny, Ron," she hissed.

"Oh, I disagree. It's fucking hilarious."

"Watch what you say in front of the children," she admonished.

Brows furrowed, he glanced from Fane, who was busy drooling on his shoulder, to David, lying sprawled on his stomach in a portable crib. "They're both knocked out, Ginny. Calm down."

"I am calm," she huffed out on an annoyed breath.

"Sure you are," he said wryly, shaking his head. "Look, Gin, I'm not going to be trite and say that Malfoy's a changed man. Honestly, most of the time he still bugs the shit out of me." He shrugged. "But he has his moments, and right now he needs my help... so I'd appreciate it if you could accept this and move on."

"Accept this?" she grumbled. "Sounds like you're bloody asking my bless--" She broke off, chocolate eyes widening in horror. "Good Merlin, Ron, you're not dating the git, are you?"

"No, but so what if I was?" he demanded, getting a little pissed off by her attitude. "What I do with Malfoy is none of your business."

Her jaw dropped open. "What you do with..." She trailed off with a groan and closed her eyes, fingers pinching the top of her nose. "Bad place," she murmured, "very bad place."

And then, to Ron's everlasting surprise, she giggled. Then she snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth, dancing eyes gazing up into his.

"I thought this wasn't funny, Gin," he mocked.

Her laughter muffled against her hand, she leaned into the wall and wrapped an arm around her stomach, shoulders shaking with the effort to contain her mirth.

"Have you gone nutters? What's wrong with you?" Ron queried, finally placing the sleeping Fane on his old bed and straightening to stare warily at his sister.

"I just," she wheezed, hand traveling up to cover her eyes, "I just s-started picturing you... and Malfoy... a-and Malfoy's so... and you're s-so…"

Ron cocked his head to the side. "What? You're not making much sense, Gin."

"He's such a... proper little ferret," she explained, finally getting a hold of herself. "And you're well... you. You live on a farm."

"It's not a farm," he muttered indignantly.

Ginny ignored his protests and went on, "With animals and dirt and Merlin, Ron, you're out in the middle of nowhere! I bet he cries himself to sleep every night." She seemed particularly tickled by that prospect.

Ron scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"This is the perfect punishment for him, you're right," she crowed, patting his shoulder, completely oblivious to his disgruntlement.

"Hang on, I never said--"

"He'll have chores, won't he? Make him clean up after Geoffrey," she chuckled evilly.

"But he's afraid..." Ron trailed off and grimaced. He probably shouldn't have mentioned that.

"He's afraid?" she exclaimed. "Afraid? Oh, this is priceless."

"Gin, you're being unnecessarily mean."

"It's warranted, Ron," she said tightly. "He made our lives hell for years."

"Actually," Ron pointed out, "he made mine, Harry's, and Hermione's lives hell. You, I don't think he much bothered with. And so if I'm willing to overlook that for the time being, I don't see why you can't as well."

Ginny bowed her head and clasped her hands behind her back, then gave a loud sigh. "All right," she said wearily. "I'll reserve judgment. But if he says one horrible thing to my girls..."

"If that happens I doubt he'll make it out of here alive," Ron joked, thankful that she had relented. 'Reserving judgment' was a big step for Ginny, who held grudges longer than anyone he'd ever known. She still refused to acknowledge she'd ever had an older brother named Percy.

"Fine, then. As long as he's civil, I'll try to be polite."

******

The late afternoon sun beat down onto the packed table of friends and family, the children subdued for the moment at the sight and smell of food. It was a lovely spread, and Hermione was greatly enjoying herself. Blaise, however, was glowering down the length of the table at Ron.

Hermione nudged him with an elbow. "Why are you scowling?"

"He isn't cooperating," he snapped, viciously cutting into his roast beef. Damn bloody Weasel. "If I have to put up with this pack of Weasleys, the least he could do is provide some entertainment."

"What are you muttering on about?" Hermione asked. "Entertainment?"

"They're practically ignoring each other," he exclaimed, handsome face screwed up in frustration. "Where's the fantastic rows? The sultry, heated glances? The barely restrained lust?"

Hermione merely stared silently at Blaise for a moment, then cleared her throat. "All right, I'm going to pretend that you aren't a perverted little voyeur," she said primly, then reached forward to grab a bowl of potato salad.

"Pretend all you want, Granger; it isn't going to make me any happier," he groused. "And there's nothing little about me, which, if you'd had any sense at all, you'd already know by now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, straightening in her seat and narrowing her eyes at him.

His irises glinted wickedly. "Exactly what you think it means."

Making a slight 'hmmm' noise, she took a sip of water, then gazed over at Draco, who was squished between Fred and George and looking as if he'd bit into a lemon. Ron, who was clear on the opposite side of the table than the blond, was giving an inordinate amount of attention to his glass of pumpkin juice. "They're not ignoring each other at all," she finally said.

"Ah, avoidance," Blaise commented knowingly with a slight nod. "Your favorite form of defense."

She sent him a quelling glare, then continued, "If you watch closely, Malfoy is trying desperately not to look at Ron and... See, he's turning pink every time he happens to glance down towards the other end of the table."

"I'm well acquainted with Draco's blush, Granger. I didn't come here for girlish flirting," he complained. "Although I must say Mrs. Weasley's cooking is unparalleled. Too bad you can't cook, Granger. I'd have wrestled you into bed well before tonight if that was the case."

"Before...?" Hermione clenched her jaw, her fingers curling around her fork in a white-knuckled grip. "You aren't coming anywhere near me tonight, you prat."

"Finally," Blaise grinned, "a straight answer! And, of course, I intend to prove you wrong. I shall take great delight in it, too."

"Zabini..." she growled a warning.

"But that isn't the matter at hand," he went on matter-of-factly, tapping his knife impatiently against the flat slice of meat. "Right now, I'm in dire need of one of those famous Weasley-Malfoy screaming matches... and perhaps some rolling about on the ground, followed-up by a passionate kiss."

"You're sickening, Blaise," Hermione hissed. "And there are children about!"

He blinked over at her, a slow, smug smile spreading onto his face. "You called me Blaise."

Hermione groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

******

"What're you doin'?"

Draco glanced up at the miniature version of Ginny Weasley and scowled. "None of your business."

The little girl ignored his disgruntled tone and plopped down on the ground next to him. "Uncle Ron said you're hiding," she commented, her tone conspiratorial.

"Your Uncle Ron's an idiot," he snapped. Although the git was right. He was hiding. Specifically from Fred and George, as they had tortured him ruthlessly throughout dinner and seemed disinclined to leave off at the close of the meal.

If he'd had any idea in which direction Ron's place was, he'd start walking. Or perhaps he'd sneak into the den and use the Floo if he could manage to scrounge up the name of the refuge. He knew he really wouldn't do either, though, even if given the opportunity, since that would be beyond rude. While he had little qualms about being impolite to his peers - or inferiors, of course - he was loathe to brass off Mrs. Weasley.

Stretching out an arm, the little girl, who couldn't have been much more than six or seven, said, "I'm Mel Finnigan," and as he took her small hand in his, she added, "My mum hates you."

"How delightful," he murmured dryly.

"I don't, though," she said, gazing at him solemnly.

He sighed and dropped his head back onto the rough bark of the large tree he was currently sitting behind.

"Do you want to know why?" she prodded, poking him in the side with a forefinger.

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me whether I want to know or not," he drawled, staring up at the thick canopy of leaves.

She tugged on his sleeve. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently, turning to look down at her, "go ahead and tell me."

Smiling grandly at him, she said in a torrent, as if she'd been politely restraining from baring her soul - or in this case, talking his ear off - until she had his full attention, "I don't hate you 'cause I heard Uncle Fred say you're Uncle Ron's now, and Uncle Ron is my favortest Uncle, and did you know that Uncle Ron doesn't like girls?" She sounded slightly puzzled, her brow wrinkled. "I'm not supposed to think that's wrong and I don't think I do so long as Aunt Gabby still bakes me cookies on my birthday 'cause she bakes the best cookies and so long as Jem and Beans don't care 'cause they're my best friends and they let me play Quidditch with them even though I can't hardly fly straight and Dad has to fly next to me so I don't fall..."

Draco stared at her, speechless, mouth opening and closing dumbly. At some point in her monologue, Mel had casually repositioned herself so that she was lounging across his lap, fingers digging in the grass at his knees.

She plucked a buttercup and held it under his chin, then grinned into his eyes when the skin obviously took on a yellowish tint. "You like butter too, and so do I, and so does Uncle Ron and Mum and Dad and Sorin and Uncle Charlie and Ellie and Aunt Sasha," she went on. "So I can't see why Mum would hate you when Uncle Ron doesn't--"

"I don't hate Mr. Malfoy, Melissa."

Draco jerked his head up and watched warily as Ginny approached, her lips pursed but her eyes not entirely unfriendly.

She shifted her gaze from Draco to her daughter. "Sweetheart, you know how strong a word hate is, don't you? Hate implies something very bad, and you wouldn't wish anything bad on anyone, right, Mel?"

Mel shook her head. "No, Mum."

"Now, to say that I dislike Mr. Malfoy," she continued, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips as she watched Mel absently tuck the bedraggled buttercup behind Draco's ear, "would be more to the point."

Draco knew the explanation was more for his benefit than for Mel's, and offered Ginny a small nod of acknowledgement. "Mrs. Finnigan," he said, by way of belated greeting.

She eyed him speculatively. "That sounds rather odd coming out of your mouth, Malfoy. I'd offer for you to call me Ginny, but the thought of returning the favor doesn't sit well with me either."

"I could always revert to calling you Weaslette," he replied in a slightly teasing manner that caught Ginny off-guard for a moment.

"What can I call you?" Mel piped in, stuffing another flower into Draco's hair.

He splayed a hand over her deep auburn tresses. "Whatever you like, Muffin."

Ginny choked on her breath and had a small coughing fit. "Did you just call my daughter Muffin?"

"Ah," Draco felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment, "no?"

Watching the blond flush, Ginny said, "You're an odd creature, Malfoy."

Draco cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I'm sure you'd like your daughter back now, so..." His voice was slightly pained as Mel pulled a clump of green weeds out of the grass and started shredding them over his trousers.

"Oh, no," Ginny rocked back on her heels, giving him a mischievous look reminiscent of the Weasley twins, "she looks just fine where she is. I'm sure you'll take great care of her."

******

Hermione cornered Ron outside the bathroom. "Just answer me this, Ron. Do you fancy Malfoy?"

His brows furrowed. "I thought that was fairly obvious by my letter."

"Then can you please just... snog him or something? Preferably in front of Zabini?" She sounded desperate, her fingers twisting into the front of her shirt.

After a lengthy silence, Ron said, "I'm going to assume you haven't lost your mind, Hermione, and that you were simply asking me about Mum's new recipe for creamy pesto sauce. You're going to have to ask her directly, by the way, since I'm less than passable at cooking Italian dishes."

"Ron," she said in an exasperated voice, "I'm serious. Zabini is driving me crazy."

Ron patted her arm sympathetically. "Zabini has always been your problem, Hermione. I'm afraid there isn't much I can do."

"At least talk to Malfoy," she suggested. "Interact with him. Hold his hand for a while and parade around the yard in front of everyone."

"There's nothing going on between Malfoy and me," Ron pointed out calmly, and thought it admirable that he hadn't lost his temper. Hold hands with Malfoy? He hadn't even decided if he wanted to give in and kiss the git. Holding hands seemed a step further than he was willing to go at the moment.

"On second thought," Hermione said, seeming uncharacteristically unsettled, "maybe that's a bad idea. I mean, I can handle his complaining, right?"

Ron nodded mutely, not following Hermione's train of thought at all.

"And any display by you two might incite him to actually follow through with his... threat," she murmured, almost to herself, her index finger pressed into her bottom lip. "Yes, yes, you're right. It's better that you have absolutely no contact whatsoever with Malfoy in front of Zabini."

Ron wisely stifled a chuckle. Blaise really had Hermione running scared. It was about time one of those two took the initiative, though, as they'd been blatantly panting after each other since they'd both taken up their teaching positions at Hogwarts.

And it was fairly common knowledge that Blaise used his Animagus form to spy on her whenever he could.

"Well," Ron said, placing an arm around Hermione and guiding her back down the steps and into the den. "I suppose I should go find Malfoy anyway. He's hiding from Fred and George, I'm sure of it. Why don't you go make sure Zabini doesn't see us together?"

Hermione nodded and wandered off, muttering under her breath and still clearly off-kilter.

Shaking his head bemusedly, Ron strode out the back door and circled around the house, searching for any sign of Draco. Naturally, his eyes were drawn to the leafy branches of the myriad trees growing about the grounds, but when he did find Draco, at the base of a rather fat oak, he was stunned into momentary silence.

His silver hair laced with grass and bits of yellow flowers, Draco was calmly listening to his second eldest niece prattle. His eyes, to his credit, were only slightly glazed - Mel often took some getting used to.

Glancing up, the little girl paused in her one-sided chatter and shouted, "Uncle Ron!" She scrambled to her feet and rushed towards him, throwing her arms about his legs.

"You just saw me about a half hour ago, Mel," he said, chuckling as she merely tightened her grip. "Are you torturing Mr. Malfoy?"

"No," she replied, voice muffled by his trousers.

"Sure?"

"She wasn't bothering me, Weasley," Draco said, brushing the greenery from his head, unknowingly causing a few strands to stick out.

"Just the same, why don't you go pester your Grams?" Ron suggested, giving the girl a squeeze.

"D'you think she has cookies?" she asked hopefully, tipping her head back to look up at him.

"Only one way to find out," he said, nudging her towards the house.

After she rushed off, Ron moved forward and lowered himself to sit beside the blond, who was, of course, glowering at him. The effect was dimmed, however, by the mussed hair and bits of grass coating his shoulders. "Sorry about Mel," he said. "She's inherited Seamus' hyperactivity I'm afraid."

"I said she wasn't bothering me. I meant it, she was fine," Draco insisted sharply. "You didn't have to send her off."

Ron was taken aback by Draco's vehemence. "Sorry, Malfoy. I just wanted to talk to you."

"About what?" he snapped.

"Er..." Ron shifted on his bum and brought his knees up, resting his elbows on top of them. "How are you holding up?"

"How do you think, Weasley?"

Ron risked a small smile. "Fred and George are harmless for the most part."

Draco snorted and leaned back against the tree, letting his eyes fall close. "How much longer do we have to stay?"

"Another hour or so." Ron shrugged. "Although I suppose you can leave anytime you want. Floo's safe enough for you to maneuver by yourself." When Draco remained silent, Ron suspected that his previous suspicions of the blond's loneliness were close to the truth. He sighed and got to his feet, brushing off his jeans. "Come on, Malfoy," he said, holding out a hand to help him up.

After a slight hesitation, Draco slid his hand into Ron's, curling his fingers around his palm. A tingling heat shot up the redhead's arm as he pulled Draco to his feet, and he had to fight the strong urge to lace their fingers together and draw him closer. Damn Hermione for putting ideas into his head.

Unthinkingly, Ron reached out and smoothed Draco's ruffled hair.

"Weasley, what...?"

"Sorry," Ron murmured, dropping the blond's hand and stuffing his into his pockets. "And thanks."

Draco cocked his head. "For what?"

"For being nice to Mel." He gave him a lopsided smile. "Putting up with the rest of the family. Mum thinks you're adorable."

"She does not," Draco said, affronted. "She said I was handsome."

"All right," Ron relented, enjoying Draco's indignant sputtering. "I think you're adorable, then." It was so incredibly easy to rile the blond up. And entertaining. Despite the pale skin, Ron never remembered Draco blushing quite so much when they were in Hogwarts.

"Would you stop it?"

"Stop what?"

"Being a condescending prick," he replied stiffly. "I'm not here for your amusement, Weasley. I'm here because my father is trying to kill me. You're just as bad as your bloody brothers."

Ron took a step backwards. "I was just teasing."

"Teasing implies some sort of camaraderie," Draco spat. "And you clearly don't even respect me."

"Look, Malfoy--"

"No, you look, Weasley! This is hard enough as it is," he snarled, clenching his hands into fists. "Believe it or not, I truly appreciate your help with this matter, but you can take your patronizing attitude and shove it up your arse." He looked as if he wanted to shout more, much more, but he merely spun on his heel and stalked off towards the backyard, leaving Ron in a state just below shock.

Who was Draco to talk about respect and condescension? The arrogant bastard. He deserved everything Ron could dish out.