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The Best Of...	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 13807 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. I almost own the laptop I'm writing this fanfic on, tho'.

Chapter List
- 18
- 19
- 20
”Why aren’t you dressed?” the fireplace inquired as a tall dark-haired witch exited into the bedroom, dressed to kill.

The bundle laying naked in the bed under the silk coverlet did not appreciate being awakened in this manner.

“Because I’m not leaving my boudoir today, Pansy.”
“For Merlin’s sake, Blaise, it’s Boxing Day. Draco will be expecting us.”

While his manicured hands straightened the sheets, Blaise’s hazy head recalled a casual tradition of visiting the Malfoys the day after Christmas. With clarity came the realization that it hadn’t been an absolute ritual and that Draco hadn’t mentioned celebrating it this year.

“I seem to remember Draco had other plans this holiday. We shouldn’t arrive unannounced.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The Malfoys? Not entertaining? Get your lazy arse up and dressed. I’ll be downstairs in the study getting a head start on the wine.”

With a walk that meant trouble for someone, Pansy approached the door to leave — stopping as her hand turned the knob.

“You have two hours to get dressed and get out, Flora and Hestia.”

Blaise’s overnight guests did not acknowledge Pansy’s greeting.

“You promise you’ll behave?”
“I will treat Weasley-the-King as well as he treats me. He should be honored that I’m accompanying you to that shack he lives in. The Barrow, the Borrow?…”
“The Burrow and I expect those impeccable Malfoy manners to be on display the entire time.”

Hermione smiled once again as Draco held her blazer for her; the Draco clone always treated her like a lady.

“Speaking of the Weasley shack, where were you earlier?”

At dawn, Hermione’d quietly floo’d over to the Burrow to modify the tags on the gifts for Arthur and Molly; they now included Draco’s name.

“Just seeing to a few last minute items.”
“Hermione…”

It was rare that Hermione witnessed an uncertain Draco before the war. After Voldemort claimed Malfoy Manor as his own, Draco lived in fear so intense it changed his handsome features. Since the war, Hermione recognized a new man — a hesitant Draco, more inclined to question his own choices in unexpected situations like going to the Weasleys.

“I bought gifts for Arthur and Molly. Would you look at them… to see if they’re appropriate?”
“I’m happy to.”

Boxes on the sofa unwrapped themselves and tops flew off, revealing a lovely winter robe for Molly and a muggle remote control car for Arthur accompanied by a book on the basics of the internal combustion engine.

“I think they’re perfect, Draco! How thoughtful of you! When did you do this?”

A slight blush colored his cream-white skin. Hermione wasn’t the only one in their quarters unused to compliments.

“Last night after you went to bed. Malfoy Enterprises’ American subsidiary owns a company that manufacturers muggle versions of our magical products. The marketing head suggested the car — made some comment about ‘boys with toys’. Bloody Yanks… it would be so much more efficient if they spoke English.”
“And the robe? It’s lovely.”
“Molly’s dress robe seemed a bit… threadbare?… when they visited yesterday. I would have thought one of her never-ending brood would make sure she had proper clothing.”
“Like most mothers, Molly looks after everyone else and ignores herself. Where did you get it?”
“Madame Malkin. We have some unfinished business and she happened to have something suitable.”

The Slytherin left more unsaid.

Whatever he’s not telling me, we’ll deal with later…

Swishing her fingers in the direction of the presents, Hermione saw them closed, rewrapped and levitated to the fireplace for transport. Pinching and throwing floo powder in a single sinuous arc, she chuckled as her words had the desired effect on the evolving Slytherin blushing more deeply behind her.

“Thank you — you’re being so sweet!”
“Malfoys don’t do ‘sweet’, Granger!”

“Hermione!”
“Give us a hug, ‘Mione!”
“Hey, Hermione!”
“Oi, Hermione — where ya been hiding!?”
“Out walking your pet ferret for the holiday?”

Amongst the heartfelt greetings, this jibe zinged in from a smiling George Weasley whose lanky frame leaned against the stone surrounding the hearth.

“How would you like to be a — ” an irritated Malfoy sneered, reaching for his wand.
“DRACO.” Hermione warned her escort. “George — behave! Or I’ll help Draco determine your best animagus form.”

No stranger to involuntary experimentation, the joke shop owner blanched at the threat from his fellow Gryffindor, raising his hands and forearms chest-high in surrender.

“Defending Malfoy? Have you two set a date yet? I see you’re on a first name basis.”
“GEORGE!” rang out over the din and the surviving twin took off into the crowd of red-heads as a red-faced Hermione reached in her jeans pocket for her wand.
“George Weasley! Draco is our guest and you will welcome him appropriately.” Molly warned in her mother’s tone.
“Hit him with a bat-bogey. That’s the welcome he deserves.” got barked from the steps

Stomping loudly down the creaky stairs, Ron approached Hermione, keeping his wand aimed at Draco. Weasleys engulfed her in hugs and kisses (and a handshake from Percy). Behind the last Weasley came a smiling Harry Potter.

“You look better.”
“I probably do,” the Head Girl laughed, “I had a bit of trouble yesterday keeping it all together. Where’s Ginny?”
“Leaving the remains of Christmas dinner in the loo. She stays sick enough for twins, if you ask me.”
“Don’t congratulate yourself, Harry; Ginny’s doing all the work.”
“Move away, you lot, let them in! Hello, dears. Come have a seat. Breakfast will only be a minute.”

Unspoken affection between Molly and her family permeated every corner of the room. How different this was from Draco’s familial experiences…

So unlike growing up an only child…

For her part, Hermione’s only wish was a day devoid of the almost affectionate animosity between the Weasley Gryffindors and the lone Slytherin in the room. The holiday so far had been perfect. The biggest stress-producing parts, however, still lay ahead and all on the same day — breakfast here at the Burrow and dinner at Malfoy Manor.

A harbinger of what she could expect came while breakfast was served.

Molly served Hermione first — presently the only young lady at the magically elongated table — followed (almost) by Draco.

Two of the girls, Mrs. Harry Potter and Mrs. Bill Weasley, had parked themselves in the loo — unable to dissuade the children they carried from upsetting their stomachs this early in the morning. Megan, Ron’s present girlfriend, had gone MIA and Angelina — George’s longtime on-again-off-again-on-again girlfriend — was expected any time.

“RONALD WEASLEY! Pass that plate to Draco NOW!”

Tied up with serving the entire Weasley brood and their guests, Molly’s wand couldn’t enforce her intent on her youngest, and most stubborn, son.

“I’m hungry! The ferret can wait, can’t he?”

Frustrated with Ron’s inability to avoid provoking Draco, Hermione reinforced Molly Weasley’s instructions.

“Ronald — give him that plate of pancakes NOW, please!”

Instead, Ron swiped more than half the stack, using his hands, and shoved them in his mouth before handing Malfoy a plate with a single lonely pancake.

In retaliation, Hermione cut her own rather large stack of sweet-smelling silver dollars into small bites, doused the mound with maple syrup from the trees surrounding the Burrow and fed Draco from her own fork.

“Draco, here you go. Not all of us were raised in a BARN!” Gryffindor’s Princess announced with the first forkful.
“HERMIONE! Why’re you feeding that tosser!? He can wait like the rest of us!”

In response, Hermione gifted Ron with a smirk worthy of a Slytherin.

“As you saw fit to consume his breakfast, you left me no choice, Ronald.”

The surprised crowd sitting around them stared openly. Not much eating was going on despite the heaping stacks of golden brown goodness and rashers of bacon getting cold on their plates — except for the family patriarch who ate with enjoyment, making small sounds of satisfaction at the flavors, and complimenting his wife of nearly 32 years on another fine meal.

Into this unusual silence came three young women who all looked like they’d rather be somewhere else. Ginny took her place next to Harry, tucking her arms around his and leaning her head on his shoulder to protect her nose from any food aromas. Fleur mimicked Ginny as she joined Bill. Through the front door came Angelina — then through the living area and the dining area and up the stairs to the loo. Angelina eventually made her way back to George’s side of the table and the real fun began.

As the third girlfriend/wife effected the hide-the-nose pose, George nuzzled her with soft kisses to her slightly warm forehead and cheek.

“Is it bad, luv?”
“No worse than usual. I thought I’d finished before you left.”
“About time we came clean, luv. Listen up! Angie and me are getting married and getting a sprog in about seven months.”

Hermione dropped her food-laden fork on her plate midway to Draco’s open mouth and rounded the table to hug the couple.

“Oh my gosh! That’s great news!” she squealed.

Congratulations came from all corners along with suggestions for getting contraceptive spells and potions to work more effectively — George and Angelina’s made the third Weasley grandchild conceived since September.

“Can’t believe you lot can’t keep from getting your girlfriends up the duff. Simple charm — you should practice.” Ron mumbled around a full load of his favorite breakfast.
“We did practice, mate,” Harry interrupted, “that’s why our ladies are up the duff.”
“Serves you right for shagging a Weasley.” Charlie added, “We’ll make sure there’ll always be wizards around.”
“Charlie! There are ladies present!” Arthur admonished with a sly grin. The impending baby boom of Weasleys and Potters brought a sense of normalcy back after the loss of so many friends and family, especially Fred.

At Arthur’s comment another lady joined the table. Megan Jones looked exhausted; she also looked unhappy to see Hermione Granger situated next to Ron at the table. The Hufflepuff doubted Ron’s reassurances that any romantic feelings he’d ever had for Hermione flew out the window when she’d decided to pursue her education rather than pursuing him. Ron’s explanation —

“Listen, Megan — why would I snog Hermione when I can shag you?”

— did nothing for Megan’s confidence in Ron’s commitment.

Nodding a silent greeting to the table, Megan wedged herself between Hermione and Ron, glaring alternately at the only female member of the “Golden Trio” and her “Ronny”. Giving in to his need to distract Megan’s attention away from Hermione, Ron picked what he thought to be an easy target — Draco Malfoy — and started a fight he couldn’t win.

“Will you stop feeding that ferret?”
“Jealous, Weaslebee?”
“Put a sock in it, Draco!” the Head Girl hissed at him under her breath.
“Shut it, Ron!” a pale Ginny Potter hissed at her brother between gulps of air meant to keep her stomach settled as her anger rose.
“Not jealous, you tosser — watching you two’s putting me off my breakfast is all. Take it back to your rooms.”
“That’s the lady’s choice and not something I will discuss in public. As to your stomach trouble, I would suggest you pay more attention to your girlfriend. I doubt she’s eaten breakfast in a few weeks.”
“What do you know about my girl!? You shagging her too!?”

Horrified at the accusation, Hermione again dropped Draco’s morsels and rounded on her other best friend.

“He’s not shagging anybody — least of all me!” Hermione shouted at her former best friend.
“How do you know who he’s shagging?”
“Because we live together, Ronald!”
“Oh that’s rich, it is! I guess I believe you since shagging isn’t on your list of entertainments!”
“What a horrid thing to say! Take that back!”
“Come on, Hermione. It’s no secret you’re not into shagging. I mean, you’ve got your books to curl up with.”

This topic had fueled many of their arguments following the war. Ron expected her well-used rebuttal concerning the benefits of education.

“I’m very interested in shagging, Ronald. I just wasn’t interested in shagging you!”

Raised eyebrows accompanied the wide grin Draco sent her way. The next volley hit Ron between the eyes — figuratively speaking.

“Apparently someone is interested in Ron-the-Broken-Wand Weaselbee and she’s looking a bit green around the gills, if you ask me.”
“No one ASKED you, Malfoy! What’s Malfoy talking about!?” Ron deflected back to Hermione
“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?” Draco interjected, “Let me be the first to congratulate you on your fourth grandchild.”

Impeccable manners didn’t diminish the impact of Draco’s verbal observation.

“WHAT!?” Molly screamed, staring Ron down.
“Are you mental, Ferret!? Megan’s not pregnant!”
“I beg to differ, Weaslebee. You should pay more attention to your girlfriend - you Gryffindors are a fertile lot.”

Head spinning in a 180 to face him, Hermione caught the double entendre in Draco’s retort.

“We’ll discuss this later, Lioness…” Draco whispered for Hermione’s ears only.
“Stop lying, Malfoy — don’t you think I’d know if my own girlfriend was preggers!? What kind of an idiot do you think I am!?”

No longer seated, Ron backed up — wand out — to a vantage point where Malfoy and Megan were both in his visual field. Draco took the fork from a stunned Hermione and continued consumption of Molly’s excellent food.

“I’m not sure we have time for that discussion. However, based on seven years of watching you bollocks up one thing after another — the slugs being my personal favorite — I can say— ”
“SHE’S NOT PREGNANT, YOU BARKING DARK WANKER!”
“Yes I am, Ronny…”

What with the shouting and the back-and-forth, Megan’s soft correction would have gone unnoticed if George hadn’t been at the table.

“Turns out you’re an Idiot First-Class, Ron. Megan’s in the pudding club. Way to go, little brother.”
“Shut it, George! Megan takes care of that — don’t you!?”
“You were so insistent and we’d not been together in a few days and the next thing I knew…”
“YOU’RE PREGNANT!?”
“Nothing gets by you, does it Weasel? I’m surprised you figured out how to get her in a family way with those damaged wits of yours.”
“YOU SAYING I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SHAG MY GIRLFRIEND, MALFOY!?”
“Ronald, calm down! Draco didn’t mean— ” Hermione pleaded.
“So it’s Draco, now, is it? You taking his side, Hermione!?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side — but you did start this by taking his breakfast.”
“Children! Stop this fuss right now!”

Mrs. Weasley’s request held no hope of being heard much less obeyed.

“I did mean it, actually. Mrs. Weasley, these are excellent. Could I have some more, please?”
“OUT! Get out of my house, Ferret!”
“Ron, sit DOWN before I hex you!” Ginny shouted before bolting for the loo.
“Oh, Merlin…” Angelina moaned before sprinting upstairs to empty herself again.
“See what you’ve done, Ron!?” Harry and George yelled in tandem as they prepared to deal with Ron as only family — blood and extended — can.
“Why are you all taking HIS side!? He’s in MY house!”
“Dad’s house, Ronald. Always be accurate in an argument.”

This came from Percy who’d managed to continue his meal without a thought to the escalating emotions around the table.

“Sorry, mate, but if it’s a choice between upsetting you— ” Harry started.
“— or our pregnant ladies— ” George added.
“— then you lose. We have to live with them. Back off Draco and let’s finish eating in peace.” Harry offered.

Ron was having none of it.

“He’s leaving, even if I have to do it alone.”

In the midst of the back and forth, Mr. Weasley — as in Arthur — leaned over to speak to Hermione.

“Would you have a moment? I’d like to speak to you in the greenhouse, if I may?”

The situation around the table distressed Hermione greatly. On the one hand her best friend (and former almost love interest), Ron, threatened to forcibly eject and possibly injure her flatmate (and possibly new love interest), Draco. On the other hand, Draco’s behavior had been beyond reproach — a sure sign he’d planned for this eventuality and would retaliate with malice and aforethought.

Molly Weasley moved between Ron and the others while Hermione weighed the pros and cons of leaving. Moments later Hermione’s decision was made when a hex from Bill — whose wife reacted to all the stress in the room by delivering sick into his lap — stung Ron in retaliation. Nothing Hermione did would prevent the Weasley family from acting like the Weasley family.

As Draco could well look after himself in a duel, Hermione nodded her consent and accompanied Arthur to the greenhouse without further ado. She did take a brief second to wink at the still-sitting, still-eating Draco Malfoy, an unmistakeable “okay” to act as he saw fit with no repercussions from her, and followed Arthur outside.

When viewed up close and in Arthur’s presence, the Weasley greenhouse bore no resemblance to an actual greenhouse. Sometime after the war Molly enlisted the boys’ help to convert the ramshackle barn into a ramshackle barn with shelves that she now called a greenhouse, hoping to squash Arthur’s tinkering with muggle and magical devices by removing his home tinkershop. Arthur accepted this calmly as it took he and George barely an hour to turn it into a first-rate tinkering shop again and then to glamour it back into a shoddy-looking greenhouse. Quality spell casting maintained a controlled and comfortable environment.

“Hermione… I don’t mean to pry, but we’re concerned.” Arthur began as they strolled down the center of his best kept secret.

The topic was Draco.

“About Draco?”

On the enchanted work surface, a muggle cell phone — using Merlin knew what network — dialed random numbers incessantly and hung up when the caller had screamed a greeting for a minute or so.

“And you. The man in court this summer bore no resemblance to the spoiled, pure-blood child raised in Malfoy Manor. He’s changed for the better. Everyone’s seen it.”
“Except Ron.”
“Some prejudices die harder than others, I’m afraid.”

In Arthur’s presence, the building revealed it’s true nature as a workshop. Hermione knew that once they opened the presents (if the presents were still usable when the “argument” ended) Arthur would love Draco’s most of all — and it hadn’t cost a knut over 6 galleons.

“Hermione… That young man feels something for you. I saw it yesterday at dinner; so did Molly.”

As they passed, a toaster danced on the worktop, loading, burning and jettisoning its contents in a perpetual cycle of waste and odor.

“Really?”

Hermione hoped what had transpired between them reflected more than a desire on Draco’s part to deflower her.

“Draco’s life will be rather complicated until this nasty business with Lucius is done. To bring you to the Manor will take more courage than he’s ever needed before. Maybe more than he can muster.”

The annoying ringing Hermione thought came from her head turned out to be a very old muggle phone connected by some means to a battery from a muggle car.

“I understand…”
“No, I don’t think you do. You spoke of several schools yesterday. Is it true that Draco’s headed for LSE?”

Her nod confirmed Draco’s acceptance at the London School of Economics — Magical Division.

“Do you care for him at all?”

A muggle clock on the wall flashed its “9999” error code display.

“Yes… More than I’m comfortable admitting to anyone… To myself…”

Arthur made a note to thank Molly for that suggestion. Getting Hermione past that admission had been critical to the next step.

“If you leave him here… alone, he will revert. When Lucius Malfoy and his troubles consume him, Draco will return to what he knows if he stands alone.”
“Are you saying I should stay in London?”
“I’m saying that you are as responsible for that young man’s change of heart as he is. If you want it to continue, to become permanent, you need to be with him.”
“I can’t afford LSE without a scholarship of some kind. Brown offered full fees and board.”

That truth hadn’t been mentioned yesterday.

“What if you stayed at your parents’ place? Could you do it then?”
“No. Until the Ministry deposits the money it promised me, I don’t have enough.”
“We’ll see about that. I’ll have a word with Kingsley and let him know your situation. You’ve earned every galleon. If I can help you find the resources, are you willing to help Draco stay on the correct side of the street?”
“YES!… Sorry… Bit loud…”

Rosy cheeked and in near-perfect condition, a porcelain-headed doll spoke his complete vocabulary as they approached the rear door of the “greenhouse”, starting with “Mummy” and ending with “Daddy”.

“That’s my favorite of all my projects. He’s beautiful, isn’t he? The stamp on his foot says '1884'.”

The life-sized baby doll sported a navy blue sailor’s suit with short pants, knee-high cream stockings and a red bow tie. Every part of him sparkled — from his cupid’s bow lips painted a pale rose and his neatly combed cornsilk-blonde hair to his warm brown eyes.

“He is beautiful…”
“Someone’s been very kind to him. Shall we return? I’m sure Molly’s sorted it all out. Don’t want to make you late for your engagement at the Manor, do we?”

Inside the Burrow, order (if not peace) had been restored.

On the ever-lengthening enchanted sofa sat Ginny, Angelina, Fleur and Molly with a space saved for Arthur. On the floor in front of the youngest three ladies sat their husbands (present and future). Charlie, used to being on his feet for hours with his dragons, leaned against a bracing timber while debating with his most arrogant brother, Percy. Percy perched on the ample armrest at Molly’s end of the sofa as did Draco on Ginny’s end. In a cushy chair opposite the sofa sat Megan, staring moodily at the floor.

And on the floor, howling like a mandrake, lay Ron in a full body-bind hex. Conversation and snacks passed amiably around to everyone except Ron.

“Hermione, come sit in front of Draco and we’ll get started.” Molly directed as Hermione and Arthur reentered the house. As you’re not suffering from baby tummy, would you be a dear and hand out the presents?”
“Glad to help.”

In a house with seven children and limited funds, each child grew accustomed to one or two homemade presents and great meals. Resources now were a bit better but nothing like Draco’s family.

Charlie received a very nice grooming kit as a hint that his parents thought his hair and beard needed trimming. Percy received a similar grooming kit for vastly different reasons — he’d been promoted and would handle liaison responsibilities between the Minister of Magic and the muggle Prime Minister. Bill and Fleur, Harry and Ginny and George and Angelina all received the same “Welcome” package for the newest additions: a Gryffindor red babygro, a hand-knit blanket of the softest wool, sets of baby booties and a scrapbook with the first pages filled with Weasley baby pics.

Seldom surprised by his parents, George scratched his head as Angelina and the other mums-to-be “oohed” and “ahhed” at the presents.

“Mum — how’d you know?”
“I’ve had seven children. We know the signs, don’t we, Arthur?”
“And here I thought we’d surprised you.” George chortled.
“No, dear. Ron’s surprised us. ALL of us. But we’re happy to have another to love.”

Hermione received a lovely knit sweater from the elder Weasleys, dragon hide gloves from Charlie (that Draco admired a bit too enthusiastically), a nice ink set from Bill and Fleur and a Quidditch 2-fer ticket combo to the Chudley Cannons from Ron and Megan.

A box of prototype gadgets from George — and Hermione’s squealed delight in having them — confused the assembly.

“Thank you, George. I’ll get back to you.”

Draco frowned but let his questions remain unspoken, unlike the rest of the group. Hermione grinned but offered no explanation. The relationship between the healing war heroine and the grieving twin would remain theirs alone. Hermione, who’d always respected the magical talent of the twins — even when she’d had to discipline them — became George’s secret partner, restoring a small part of the partnership the twins shared before Fred’s death. If Ron and Ginny tied for her “best friend” Weasleys, George might well be her “favorite” Weasley sibling.

Hermione (and Draco, as tagged) gifted muggle baby products to the two married couples including stuffed Thomas the Tank engine squishies. Charlie whooped at the American muggle genuine western jeans that were impossible to buy in Europe. Foreknowledge of his promotion allowed Hermione time to order a monogramed desk set for the pompous but dedicated Percy Ignatius Wesley Esquire. Ron received two box seats to two Chudley Cannon games; Oliver Wood, a fellow Gryffindor and friend, made that gift possible.

Hermione and Draco held back, only presenting their gifts to the Weasley parents after Molly and Arthur had worked their way through their children’s gifts. Molly’s box, labeled jointly from “Hermione and Draco”, held a certificate for a pamper day at a magical day spa for Molly and a guest.

“I’ve always wanted to try this!”
“So when are we going?”

Molly sent a smile her only daughter’s way before letting her down gently.

“I thought I might invite Megan. I’d like to get to know you better, if you’d like to go.”

The petulant girl almost didn’t pout for the first time today. Megan finally considered that Hermione genuinely had no interest in Ron.

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you too, Hermione… and Draco.”
“Don’t thank that hairless ferret!” Ron protested from the floor.
“Ferrets are covered in hair, Weasel. You’re mistaking a ferret for a naked mole rat.”
“Shut yer gob, Malfoy!”
“Just trying to help.”
“Let’s see what these wrappings are hiding in this enormous box,” Arthur Weasley cheerily interjected.
“Oh! Oh my! Thank you, Hermione and Draco!”

A brand new iMac G3 mesmerized Arthur. He’d always been curious about these muggle devices that performed the work of owls, floos and patronuses.

“You’re welcome. Harry’s pretty comfortable with all things computer if you need help.”

The “Draco Malfoy Secret Gift Fund for Stubborn Gryffindor Princesses”, saved from the ridiculous amounts of galleons he’d thrown her way since the Halloween gown (which she’d blackmailed Ginny to reveal; Harry’d been “visiting” his old tower long before the signatures on that marriage contract dried), funded the computer and the spa day with ample remaining to purchase a luxury flat in London.

“Harry, I expect to see you for dinner more often, then. And what are these — two more for us?”
“You’re spoiling us, you two!” Molly clucked as she carefully disassembled the paper, folding it for reuse.

Quiet descended when the tears snaked their way down their mother’s cheeks. Almost reverently Molly lifted the winter robes out of the box for all to see.

“It’s too nice to wear about…”
“Now Molly, dear,” Artthur soothed, his voice awash in love, “I think it would be perfect for your spa day and maybe a nice dinner in London after. Would you go on a date with me, lover?”

Leaning in, Arthur expressed his love and his happiness to be with the woman who made this day, and every other, a joy to live. Unable to resist, George ruined the moment.

“Alright you two, we’ll have none of that here. Next thing you’ll have a sprog younger than his nieces and nephews.”

The women tried to beat the skin off of George — starting with a slap from his fiancée, Angelina. The men (except Percy) cheered their father on, barking and hooting whilst taking bets on whether their parents would join the expectant couples’ club.

Without further ado Arthur removed the wrapping and lifted the top off his last gift. His whoop of sheer delight brought Charlie, Bill and George in for a closer look. As Hermione predicted, the remote control (RC for short) Formula 1 race car replica brought out the boy in every man in the room — all except Ron who remained trussed like a Christmas goose.

Pandemonium broke out as the “boys” in the room fought over the car — all except Draco.

The women retired to the nearby kitchen to observe and comment on children’s need for supervision — especially male children over 17.

For Hermione and Draco the morning ended too soon. Much fuss was made over their departure accompanied by many invitations to return. Ron would have protested but he was consumed with protecting himself from further harm — in his efforts to free himself he’d managed to end up in front of the floo. The goodbyes and good wishes had him dodging and rolling out of the way of careless feet.

“I’ll expect to be an uncle soon, Hermione, if you know what I mean.” George teased in his farewell hug, slipping a small packet into Draco’s pocket.

Hermione flushed, taking a step back to stare at the most audacious Weasley and his outrageous expectation. Deeper red suffused her visible skin as she stared at Draco, mortified that George would make such an intimate statement in front of the Slytherin prince.

“Think you can help with that, Ferret?”
“Not something to be discussed about the lady and I’d prefer you not make Hermione uncomfortable.”

Smoothly moving closer, Draco draped a protective arm over her, incensing the Weasley on the floor squirming to get free of the binding hex.

“She’s not your bloody property, Malfoy! Move away!” shot up from the bundle of Weasley on the floor.
“You’re certain of that?” Draco sent back along with a stinging jinx that had Ron’s arse sending smoke signals speling out the word "idiot" over and over again.

Leaning once again on the hearthstone, George gave Hermione’s escort a thorough gaze before a mischievous smile broke out on his handsome face.

“Who are you and where’s the real Ferret, mate?”

No choir boy himself, Draco sneered back at his newest Weasley non-enemy.

“That’s what Granger asked me two nights ago.”
“Nights, huh? Looks like my little one might get that playmate sooner.” George poked again and ducked away when Hermione made to punch him.

Ron yelled in frustration when a pair of dragon-hide slip-ons landed too close to the tenderest part of his anatomy.

“Hey — that’s my todger! Have a care, Malfoy!

The Ferret got the last words, which floated back to the latest expectant father, as he hugged Hermione in transit.

“What’s the fun in that, Weasel?”
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