A/N: Godparents Draco and Hermione have been asked to babysit for the day. Things may or may not get is some mild language in this.
Special thanks to the moderators for the Riddikulus fest, for Hystaracal for the inspiration, to Mykespirit for reading this and saying it was funny and my amazing beta CourtingInsanity.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.
"Why am I not surprised?"
"Surprised, Draco?" Granger answers, though the witch doesn't turn her head of curls to acknowledge his entrance.
He huffs. "Yes. I'm gone for all of five minutes and, as usual, you've taken over. This can only end in disaster."
That gets her attention. "If you're referring to the incident with the Cornish pixies, I maintain that was neither my idea, nor my fault." She pauses in her work nudge a pudgy baby's nose with her finger. "Besides that, you've been gone for forty-five minutes—"
" I have not!" He's indignant, but cannot resist brushing a hand over his trimmed fringe once more…
His godson coos and giggles from behind Granger and the witch turns back to the baby, saying in that sing-song voice she gets around baby James, "Oh yes he was." She summons a pot labelled 'Glue' to her and sings again, "Yes, yes, yes, Draco was. You didn't even mess his hair up—"
"He did so!" Draco yelps, carding both hands through his fine, trimmed and pristine hair, thank you very much. "He spewed that green vegetable mash all in my clothes and hair."
"Still not your fault, little James," Granger keeps singing to their godson, while Draco vows then and there to seek revenge on Potter for conspiring to make them babysit their godson together.
Together for the day.
Granger continues, "Your godfather forgot to add the mashed banana before feeding it to you, didn't he, James?"
The little traitor laughs and laughs as Draco stalks further into the room, surveying the mess he has walked into. Socks, buttons, coloured pieces of parchment, scissors. He asks, because it's not entirely obvious, "What is this we are doing to pass the time and entertain James with now? "
"We're making puppets."
He scowls, ready for a retort—
"And before you say anything condescending," she continues, lifting her eyes to meet his, "this will be far less messy than trying to feed him another helping of vegetable mash or flying his toy broom in the house or outside in the rain."
"We'll erect a magical tent for him to fly under!"
"And risk mucking up your clothes and hair again?" She giggles, looking back to the proper mess before her. "Besides, the sock puppets will be a memory and something we can play with over and over again.
Draco bites back exclamations that he's no intention of being blackmailed or coerced into babysitting again, until he takes a moment to study the sock Granger has tasked herself with. It's long, slender and white. She's given it pink button for a nose (something he's sure she'll say is 'adorable') and small shiny black button eyes… "Is that—" he squints, certain his mind is deceiving him. Surely Granger wouldn't… "Is that a ferret ?"
"I believe it is." She's entirely too innocent in that answer.
"Foul!" His eyes narrow in righteous indignation. "I call foul! That long brown sock is obviously an otter! You've made an otter to represent yourself, which means you should be making an eagle for me!"
"The process of making the wings would be so much messier and give more opportunity for a mess." She blinks up at him, an invisible smirk dancing in her fucking irresistible eyes. "Wouldn't you agree, Draco?"
He draws a blank and has no retort. Not a sodding, buggering word comes to mind. Because they've been doing this dance for months now. Bloody months . And he's coming to the conclusion that this co-babysitting venture was all a ruse to force him into the same room with Granger for more than professional purposes (because there were lines he simply would not cross at work, regardless of the fact that Finnigan and Nott saw no reason to maintain professional boundaries).
Granger resumes her work and ridiculous (yet, oddly endearing) conversation with their godson and inspiration strikes! A Lumos beams bright in his mind and Draco sinks to the floor, folding his legs with every grace and poise bred into him.
"Pass the glue, Granger," he says, burying a wicked grin.
Draco is unhappy.
Draco is more than unhappy.
Draco is thoroughly pissed.
"Need some help over there?" Granger's voice is far too pleased and he wants to snark and growl more than anything.
Which isn't precisely true… He can think of other ways to shut Granger's mouth and obtain pure satisfaction...
Balls.
She sings out again, "Who's making the majority of the mess now ?"
"It's not my fault a beaver is impossible to recreate!" He sneers at the deformed creature he's created with a sock. "What sort of feet does Potter have that this looks more like a log than anything?" He can think of other choice words he'd prefer to use, but in front of his godson, language as such would land him on the wrong side of Granger and Mrs. Potter's wand…
"You're trying too hard," she says. "The teeth are far too square, and they just look like white boxes pasted onto a brown sock, and Merlin-only-knows what you're doing to get a tail looking like a sausage every single time."
He glares at his failure of revenge staring back up at him with blank eyes and fucked up teeth. He will demolish Potter, because this is doing nothing for his image in Granger's eyes and—
Something nudges his knee.
A corked pot labelled ' Glue'.
Granger giggles. "Thought you'd like to start over again..."
Every fragile tendril of self-restraint within him snaps. He throws the brown monstrosity to the floor, rising simultaneously. He vanishes it with a flourish he knows is dramatic, but he doesn't give two shites about it at the moment.
"Jamie," he croons, ecstatic as wide and innocent blue eyes fly to his, "you want to see some real magic?" His godson giggles and claps, and Draco begins.
Using exaggerated nonverbal spells, he conjures water and makes it dance and dance midair.
The water moves and skips around James, close enough for the enchanted, cooing and giggling baby to reach out, trying to grasp the water for himself, cackling and squealing as the water moves away from him at just the last moment.
Granger huffs, but he can tell from the shimmer of the flecks of gold in her eyes that she's pleased, and so Draco continues. He makes conjured water swirl and spiral, growing and expanding it, taking great pride as James' cackles reach a ridiculous volume and pitch.
With a lazy motion, he causes the water spiral to diminish, forming it into a toy-sized figurine. He casts a freezing charm as the figurine is complete, quite satisfied at his new and improved beaver present for his godson.
He dances the frozen sculpture around James and Granger several times before casting a permanent unbreakable charm over it and floating it down to his godson's waiting hands. The flakes of gold are still twinkling in Granger's wide hazelnut eyes, and he doesn't bother hiding his dark grin this time. "I win."
He stalks from the room, calling out behind him, "I'm fetching the tin of chocolate biscuits I brought. Mind you don't let anything get caught in that tangled entrance to oblivion you call hair in my absence."
He is completely pleased with himself as he summons everything in the kitchen, directing it all to a tray. Not only will he have given James the better gift, but appearing with covetted biscuits should certainly obliterate the great vegetable mash incident from James' memory completely, and —
CRASH!
"JAMES! NO!"
He sprints from the kitchen without thinking twice, wand drawn. Ready to come to the aid of the witch he would like to call his , but keeps managing to bugger everything up at every opportunity…
She makes a face as he bursts over the threshold. "Do not say anything!"
"Wha—"
"I said don't speak!"
He makes a tight thin line with his lips, keen gaze trailing down and back up the length of Granger's delicate form as James giggles in her arms. He's torn between laughing and groaning. He finally sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "May I speak now?" he asks.
"If you must."
"I must. Because we're going to St. Mungo's."
"What?" Her shrill shriek that's somewhere between vexed and horrified scares James and Draco rushes to her side to assist in soothing the crying child.
He cooes and makes a face, bumping his godson's pudgy nose.
Granger's sad eyes bore into him. "Must we all?"
"There's nothing for it," he says. "You have buttons, socks, parchment, a beaver figurine and both of James' hands caught in your hair." She opens her mouth, but he continues before she can interject: "No arguments, Granger. Someone will have to keep his attention while everything is being extracted from this madness."
Her bottom lip trembles and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, smug that now he will be caught in the chaos of magical glue and hair. "And besides, someone will need to be the responsible adult and send the Potters a patronus to alert them of our whereabouts and the mess we're leaving behind."
"Honestly, Hermione, it's just not a big deal." Draco snorts at Potter's words, earning himself a glare from the green-eyed wizard. The wizard with the ridiculous hair takes his comfort a step further by grasping the witch's elbow, giving it a squeeze that Draco knows is meant to be a familial gesture… Even so, Potter continues to speak: "You can't fret over this; an incident with the glue could have happened just as easily with myself or Luna."
Granger sniffs, cheeks still flaming. "But it happened with me . I spoiled your day out together; you had to meet us at St. Mungo's while they're getting everything unstuck from my mangey bush of hair."
She looks so displeased and Draco thinks it's a good thing that Potter has the decency to shrug, giving his sister's arm one final squeeze. "You spoiled nothing," Potter says. "It wasn't anyone's fault, and I should have warned you that we've been catching signs of accidental magic. You're still the godmother and you're still going to be the first person we call to babysit." His bespectacled eyes slide to Draco's and Draco swears there is a cheeky dance to them as he adds, " Both of you will still be the first people we ask. James Sirius is safe and happy and hasn't let go of that new beaver toy you two made for him."
Potter lowers his head, placing the softest of kisses on Granger's forehead, awakening some raging beast inside Draco. The beast claws and burns behind Draco's eyes as Potter wraps Granger in a warm embrace…
"Shouldn't you be getting back to your family, Potter?" He's snapping, and he realises it's completely juvenile, but the way Potter smirks over Granger's curls lets him know that Potter was not oblivious or innocent in his actions. At all. "I'm sure your wife could use a helping hand cleaning up in the study. And I left a tin of scrumptious and untouched chocolate biscuits in the kitchen… T'would be a shame for James to get ahold of it all before you… Although I'm sure you'd want to celebrate his accomplishment this afternoon..."
The infernal twat took the hint, throwing Draco a wink as he leaned in for one final embrace with the witch… Insufferable meddler. This was all his fault in the first place. The wizard just had to push. Just had to stick that irritating nose in where it wasn't wanted.
Granger had only been broken up with the Corner prick for nine months; Draco was going for the long game—
"Fine, I'll admit it now," Granger starts, turning to Draco as soon as Potter vanishes on the spot with a salute and a ' Pop '. "You were right; I was wrong. The puppets ended in disaster and not one of them is salvageable after James's first display of accidental magic. Your bit of flashy and clever magic for the beaver figure is all that remains. You won; I lost. I was wrong, you were ri—"
He doesn't give her the chance to finish, closing his lips over hers.
At last.
At. Last.
It was all he's imagined, swallowing Granger's words as he presses, nips and sucks her luscious lips, unable to hold back a groan of his own as Granger angles her face, threading her fingers through his hair as he pulls her closer, permitting his hands to lose their way in her now-glue-free silken mane.
She giggles as she pulls back, and it's a soft symphony tickling his lips, shooting a shiver up to his ears, doubling back down his spine. He almost misses when she says, "Was that a reward for admitting defeat?"
"Clearly," he drawls in his best godfather impersonating voice before claiming her lips again, deciding he's been a bloody fool for waiting so long for such exquisite perfection.
It's almost insulting that she begins talking again, when he's doing his utmost to woo her. "What was it you—" she gasps as his lips explore the length of her neck "—you were… were bemoaning earlier—" a hum and sigh when he takes her lips again… "Something about—" a trail of pecks up her jaw "—my hair being a tangled entrance to oblivion?"
There's coughing in the background, but he doesn't care who sees them and may or may not be disgusted by this overt display of public affection. He growls and nips at her lower lip. Then nuzzles her nose with his and sinks his hands deeper in her curls. "Pass the fucking glue."