AN: This is the sequel to 'Can you imagine?' though it can probably be read on it's own.
Let me know what you think and a very merry Christmas to you all!
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just letting them out to play. If they were mine, do you think the epilogue would be the way it is right now? No, neither do I.
The table in the small dining room had been laid with the finest silverware and china. The house elves had stoked a fire in the fireplace in the corner to ward off the chill that stealthily took over the Manor in the evenings, even during the summer. Rays of orange and pink light from the setting sun streamed through the arched windows, bathing the entire room in an almost otherworldly hue. Despite the fact that the setting sun still provided ample light, the cream coloured candles in the elaborately wrought, silver candelabra's had been lit to give the room a small, cosy feeling.
Several dishes had been placed in the middle of the table, kept under warming spells. The food looked delicious, but for some reason it had not been touched yet. Despite the lateness of the hour, house elves still had not been called upon to serve the main course. The soup had not yet been cleared away, even though it had been a while since the first course had been served. In fact, the table was deserted, the soup half finished and, by now, stone cold.
Two chairs stood away from the table, as if their occupants had stood up hastily, without bothering to place their chairs back under the table. A third chair lay on the floor. It was obvious that its occupant had not just made a hasty retreat from the table, but had fled from one moment to the next. This occupant had not only overturned his chair, but had dumped his napkin, which had been artfully folded into a swan before dinner, in his soup, such had been his haste to flee from the table. The napkin was now completely saturated with soup and was dripping said soup to the floor from one corner, while simultaneously staining the tablecloth.
This was the unexpected and premature end of an informal dinner, hosted by Narcissa Malfoy for her son and his partner.
It was a week since the appearance of Draco and Harry at the fateful wedding. The one where they had given her unsuspecting husband a heart attack simply by showing up together. While Narcissa had to leave with her husband shortly after Hermione Granger had, as Lucius now referred to it, beaten the life back into him, she had seen more than enough. She had seen the way Harry and Draco looked at each other, held each other, spoke to each other and, unless she was very much mistaken, she had seen matching rings on their fingers.
Being a curious creature by nature, Narcissa knew straight away that she had to find out more about this situation, as soon as she could possibly manage. Being a connoisseur of all things Lucius-related, however, had also made her aware of the fact that she would have to tread carefully. Applying all the stealth-tricks Severus had ever taught her, she had decided that gathering further evidence would, at this stage, have to be done at an occasion where her husband was nowhere near them. After that, she had decided that Lucius' business meeting with ensuing dinner the next Friday would be the perfect opportunity to invite her son and his partner over for dinner.
This was how the house-elves at Malfoy Manor had ended up in a dreadful state; worryingly pulling at their ears, beating their heads into nearby walls, and ironing their hands in advance, simply as a precaution. After all, it had been over an hour since they had served the soup, and they still had to be called upon to clear the dishes and serve the main course. In the opinion of the fretting elves, this could only mean one thing: The soup had been so awful that Mistress Narcissa had been too sick or too afraid of new and disgusting flavours to allow the main course to be served.
Mopsy, the eldest and bravest of the house-elves, had dared to peek into the dining room, only to have his worst fears confirmed. The soup had been abandoned half-way through, one of the chairs had even been overturned and, with his sensitive hearing, Mopsy could pick up on the sound of vomiting.
If Mopsy had actually followed the sound to its producer, he would have found a scene quite different from what he was now imagining, but venturing out into the dining room without having been called upon had already been more than enough for his brave little heart.
The actual scene showed a closed and locked bathroom door from behind which a wide array of vomiting-like sounds could be heard. On his knees in front of the door was Harry Potter, a worried look on his face while he was producing a constant stream of phrases ranging from 'Baby, are you alright?' to 'Please let me in, Draco. It really doesn't matter if someone sees you vomiting.'
Seated on bench nearby was Narcissa Malfoy, the care for her son evident, even though Harry's worried look was not mirrored on her face. In fact, if one would bother to look closely, a knowing twinkle could be seen in her eyes.
After a little over thirty minutes, although, to Harry at least, it felt like an eternity, the flow of vomiting-sounds abated and, after a few more minutes, a pale-faced and somewhat scared looking Draco emerged from the bathroom.
In a different part of the Manor, the house-elves, in their effort to do something absolutely, perfectly, and indisputably right for once, had managed to open the front door, take their Master's cloak and cane and show him into the warm dining room, without making a single sound. After Witty had poured a large glass of brandy for the Master, they had quickly retreated to the kitchen.
They had in fact been so quick about it that, when Lucius noticed the chaos in the dining room and turned around to ask one of the elves what on earth had happened, they had already disappeared. After calling out to his wife and receiving no answer, he began to get worried and left the dining room in search of his wife.
Hearing a door close somewhere to his left, he turned and headed down the hallway to further investigate the sound. He began to hear voices as well and hastened his step in response, but slowed down again after realising that the second voice he heard belonged to his son. After his embarrassing episode - he still refused to acknowledge that the sight of his son holding hands with Harry Potter had caused him to have a heart attack - at the wedding last week, he had not spoken to his son yet. Frankly, he was ashamed and had hoped to avoid Draco until this infatuation blew over, but apparently, that was not to be.
These thoughts were running through his head when he suddenly realised that he had come close enough to the corner in the hallway to hear what was being discussed between mother and son.
'…worry, why on earth would I be angry? My son is happily married, deeply in love, and now he's pregnant with his love's baby. I think it's…'
Pregnant
PREGNANT
!!!PREGNANT!!!
The word echoed through Lucius' head until all other sounds died down. Stars began to dance in front of his eyes, moving together to form the word 'pregnant' in front of his eyes until 'PREGNANT' was all he saw. The stars grew brighter and brighter until everything turned black and he saw no more.
The heavy thud coming from around the corner had scared all three of the people in front of the bathroom door. One had been sitting on the bench next to his mother, who had wrapped both her arms around him. His tear-streaked face was hidden in her hair. The third person was still on his knees on the ground, now in front of the bench, his hands comfortingly stroking his husbands legs and worry still somewhat evident on his face.
The aforementioned thud had him jumping up from the ground, running around the corner and coming to a complete halt immediately afterwards.
'Erm, Mrs. Malfoy?' Harry asked timidly.
'Really Harry, how many times have I asked you to call me Narcissa by now? You are my son-in-law now, so all this formality truly isn't…'
'Yes, well, anyway,' Harry cut her off, 'I erm, eh…'
He turned back around and moved to stand in front of Narcissa, all the while fighting very hard to keep the laughter bubbling up inside of him from showing on his face or in his voice as he said: 'It seems your husband came home early.'