Hermione shepherded Reg through the fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron, followed by Ginny Potter. The pub was already busy, even though it was early on a Friday night. Malfoy evidently had been watching for them, since he rose immediately from a table and shouldered his way through the crowd by the Floo.
"Blaise and Goyle are holding a table over this way," he half-shouted to Hermione over the noisy patrons at the bar. He grabbed her hand and led her in the indicated direction, using his bigger body to create a path for them. He released her hand only to pull out a chair for her.
Hermione sat down, feeling inexplicably flustered. Really, what he had just done was no different than the kind of casual touching she engaged in all the time with Harry or Ron. Perhaps it was that Malfoy's public persona had always been cold and undemonstrative, although she noticed he had raised no objection to Reg hugging his legs before he plopped the boy down in the chair between him and Gregory Goyle.
Goyle grunted something at the two witches that might have been a greeting. He then shocked Hermione by smiling at Reg and pulling a book, of all things, out of his pocket.
"You look enchanting, Hermione," Blaise declared, half-standing and kissing both of her cheeks, overtly admiring her sleeveless black dress, cinched with a red belt, and high-heeled, strappy red sandals. The sandals belonged to Ginny, and Hermione was worried they were a bit too much, but the redhead had positively insisted that she wear them.
"Er, thanks, Blaise." The dark wizard was always flirtatious, occasionally to the point where it made Hermione slightly uncomfortable . . . like now.
Malfoy looked up from the floor and his own examination of the red sandals and her matching nail polish to frown at his friend. "Granger always cleans up well. Remember Sluggy's Christmas party?"
Hermione now felt distinctly uncomfortable. She wasn't sure whether Malfoy's compliment, such as it was, was a subtle comment on her blood status, and she hadn't missed the intense look exchanged between the two wizards or the hooded look in Malfoy's eyes as he watched her. Her body remembered that look and what it meant, and she felt her pulse quicken in response.
"I'm going to get a Butterbeer while we wait for Luna," she announced, standing up. "Would anyone else like a drink?"
"Soda water with lime for me, please," Ginny requested. The three men shook their heads. Although she didn't look back, Hermione was fairly certain Malfoy's gaze never wavered.
Tom the barkeep served her in record time, which Hermione supposed was one of the perks of being Harry Potter's best friend. As she returned to the table with a Butterbeer, the water, and a mug of pumpkin juice for Reg, she could hear Blaise and Ginny engaged in their usual charged banter.
"Weaselette!" Blaise exclaimed with a gleaming smile, focusing his attention on Ginny's emerald green sweater dress. "I like that color on you. Are you cheering for Slytherin these days?"
"Puh-leeze, Zabini," the redhead rolled her eyes. "I love this dress because it's the exact shade of Harry's eyes." Then she fluttered her eyelashes in mock seduction. "Besides, I never cheered - I always played."
"Believe me, Little Red, I haven't forgotten," Zabini leered. "Or should I call you Big Red these days?"
Hermione choked on a sip of her Butterbeer and Malfoy burst out laughing. "Smooth like a fourteen-year-old Hufflepuff," he mocked his friend.
Goyle looked up from the children's book he was reading to Reg. "I don't think you should tell a pregnant witch that she's big, Blaise," he said seriously. "You should just say that she's glowing."
"I didn't say Ginny was fat!" Blaise protested. "She's totally a MILF!"
"Blaise, I'd prefer it if Reg didn't add too many new words to his vocabulary tonight," Hermione cautioned. Luckily, the boy was engrossed in his new book to ask what that acronym meant.
"Milk. I said 'milk,'" Blaise attempted to recover, gesturing at his chest. "Big jugs of milk!"
"You're just digging yourself deeper, Zabini," Ginny was red-faced, torn between anger and laughter.
"Sorry, Weasley. I often let my tongue get away from me," Blaise waggled his dark eyebrows suggestively.
Ginny gave up on her anger and laughed long and loud at the incorrigible wizard. "Oh, Blaise! Promise me you'll never change."
She wagged a playful finger in his face. "Don't forget, though, it's Potter now, not Weasley. I'm a respectable married woman. This isn't some bastard I'm carrying!"
Hermione heard Malfoy's harsh intake of breath as silence fell over the table. Ginny turned bright red, realizing her faux pas. "I didn't mean - "
For the second time that evening, Hermione decided to tactfully extricate herself from an awkward situation. "Oh, look, Luna's here!" she exclaimed, cutting Ginny off. The blonde witch had exited the Floo and was looking vaguely around the room. "I'll just go and fetch her."
As Hermione stood and turned away from the table, she heard Malfoy's icy voice. "Ginevra, I'd like a word in private, if you please."
She walked away, ignoring the plea in Ginny's eyes. Hermione had endured a few too many well-meaning comments from Ginny and Mrs. Weasley about the undesirability of single parenthood for a woman and pushy recommendations regarding Ron's potential excellence as a stepfather to step in and save the redhead from a tongue-lashing by Malfoy.
When she came back to the table with Luna, Ginny was just retaking her seat, pale and uncharacteristically quiet. Malfoy sat back down as well, still rigid with anger.
Hermione placed a hand lightly on his shoulder and wasn't surprised to feel tense muscle beneath the fine fabric of his black wizarding robes. "Malfoy, it's alright," she said softly for his ears alone, wiillng to play peacemaker, even if Ginny had deserved a reprimand. "Ginny is a great friend and would never intentionally say or do anything to hurt me or Reg. It was a thoughtless comment, nothing more."
Unconsciously, she began tracing small circles between his shoulders and on the back of his neck. She became aware of the intimate action only when Malfoy leaned back into her touch and closed his eyes.
"It's all too easy to be thoughtless when one has the brains of a Weasel," he muttered, "I'll forgive her, though, if you keep that up."
"For a few more minutes," Hermione granted. "We have a dinner reservation in Muggle London."
"Posh?" Malfoy asked, cracking one grey eye open.
Hermione hummed noncommittally. "More kitsch than posh. Luna wanted to go to this tiki bar in Soho to celebrate the seasonal migration of the Pacific humdinger."
Malfoy opened his other eye and raised one skeptical eyebrow. "Pacific humdinger? Never heard of it."
"It's found only in the Hawaiian islands and Fiji. It's the tropical cousin of the equally imaginary blibbering humdinger," Hermione informed him with a straight face.
"Ah, that explains Lovegood's grass skirt," he grinned. "Might be fun!"
"Don't you need to leave soon for the game?" she asked pointedly. "If it's anything like the Cannons, there'll be a long line at the entrance gates."
"You insult me, witch - the Falcons are nothing like the Cannons!" he stated, jokingly affronted. "Besides, we can Apparate right into the owner's box. Best perk ever." Malfoy straightened and looked at his watch. "Still, we probably should be going," he agreed.
"Wait, you can Apparate into the owner's box?" Hermione asked, intrigued.
Malfoy stood up and stretched. "Considering that I've had my Apparition license since I turned seventeen, knew how to Apparate considerably before that, and own the Falcons, I can safely say the answer to your question is 'yes.'" He offered Hermione a hand as she stood up, which she took, not trusting in the wobbly high heels. "Unless you'd prefer that I don't Apparate with Reg? I promise not to splinch him."
"I know you won't." Hermione had full faith in Malfoy's abilities as a wizard and trusted him to be careful with Reg. "I was just surprised that you could Apparate directly into the box from a security standpoint. It doesn't seem very safe, does it? You couldn't do that at the Quidditch World Cup."
"They build temporary stands and boxes for the World Cup and don't bother to ward them except against ticket fraud. In fact, they don't allow Apparition at the World Cup for precisely that reason," Malfoy explained as they walked through the pub towards the Leaky's entrance onto Charing Cross Road. Hermione wondered if he realized he was still holding her hand. "The Falcons have used the same stadium in Falmouth for more than a century, and the Malfoy family has owned the team even longer than that, so we've had plenty of time to put wards on the owner's box that limit Apparition to those who should be there."
"Which reminds me," Malfoy broke off and beckoned to Goyle, who was escorting Reg through the Leaky Cauldron in the opposite direction, towards Diagon Alley and the designated Apparition point. "Make sure you wear this," Malfoy instructed Reg, releasing Hermione's hand to grab a silver falcon pendant from his pocket and slip it over the boy's head. "Though I doubt you'll need it."
"Why not?" Hermione was curious to learn more about pure-blood wards and how they worked.
"Two reasons." Malfoy ticked them off on his fingers. "First, he's traveling Side-Along with me, so if I can get through the wards, so can he. Second, the wards recognize anyone with Malfoy blood."
He placed a finger over her lips when she opened her mouth in automatic protest. Once her lips closed, he removed his finger and quickly, softly brushed his lips against hers. If Zabini could kiss her, so could he. "Have a good night, Hermione."
X X X
The Falcons' publicist was waiting as they Apparated into the box. "Thank Merlin you're here, Mr. Malfoy. The Daily Prophet's sports editor is waiting for his pre-game interview."
Draco bit back a nasty expletive. He had entirely forgotten about his meeting with the journalist, who was writing a feature on the Falcons' resurgence. "Blaise, Greg, can you entertain the sprog for ten minutes? I'll make this quick."
He took a closer look at Reg. In the dim light of the Leaky, and while distracted by Granger and her fuck-me shoes, Draco hadn't noticed that Reg was wearing his Cannons jacket and scarf. "Reg, we really need to expand your wardrobe beyond Chudley orange and Gryffindor red." He tossed a money bag to Blaise. "Zabini, get him outfitted in some Falcons gear."
Blaise deftly caught the bag. "No problem, Drake."
Draco sincerely hoped there wouldn't be any problems as Zabini and Goyle walked away, each holding one of Reg's hands and periodically swinging him in the air as he shrieked with glee. Granger would murder all three of them if anything happened to her little boy.
Twelve minutes later, just after Draco had graciously sent the reporter on his way, the two men reappeared in the owner's box, Reg still swinging like a monkey between them, but now dressed in a silvery-grey Falcons jacket and matching scarf.
"Looking good, Reg," he greeted the boy. "Did you comb his hair?" Draco asked Blaise, trying to put his finger on what was different about Reg's appearance."
"Nah, but the color makes his eyes pop," Blaise observed.
Draco rolled his eyes. "What the feck does that mean? Zabini, mate, there are times when I seriously doubt your heterosexuality. "
"It means that the grey jacket looks good with his grey eyes." Blaise impatiently replied. "Wanker," he added in a low voice so Reg wouldn't hear.
"Reg's eyes aren't grey. They're hazel," Draco scoffed. "Tosser," he whispered back at his friend.
"Greg, what color are the kid's eyes?" Zabini appealed to Goyle as a neutral arbiter.
Goyle crouched down and peered into Reg's eyes. "Silver with gold flecks," he pronounced.
"In other words, hazel," Draco smirked at Blaise.
Goyle slowly shook his head, signaling a rare disagreement with Draco. "No, they're grey like your eyes, except with gold flecks instead of blue."
Draco backed up a few paces and stared at Reg's eyes. "Son of a bitch," he swore softly, forgetting Granger's "no profanity" rule for a moment.
Blaise laughed and leaned over to mutter in Draco's ear, "Watch it, mate. That's no way to refer to the mother of your son." The wizard turned his dark eyes on Reg, who was thankfully paying no attention to the adults' conversation, engrossed as he was in looking out the box's oversized windows at the pitch, where the teams were warming up. "Hey, sprog," Blaise addressed Reg, "do you know that Halloween is next week?"
Reg turned back to the adults, visibly perking up at this vastly more interesting topic. "Yeah. I'm going to be Batman!"
Draco, Blaise and Goyle exchanged puzzled looks and shrugs. What was a "bat-man"?
Blaise continued. "For tonight, would you like to be a scary, snarky, snake instead?"
"Sure!" Reg happily agreed.
Blaise smirked at Draco over the boy's head and recited a simple, temporary Glamour Charm that turned Reg's hair platinum blond. The darkly handsome wizard's grin widened at his handiwork. "Oh, yeah. He's definitely got a serpent's look to him. Don't you think so, Draco?"
Goyle looked slowly from Reg to Draco, his mouth hanging open at the resemblance.
"Well, well. Looks like we have a little Slytherin prince in training, after all," Zabini gloated. "Don't you agree, Drake?" he prodded.
Draco nodded, absently. He knew the prudent thing would be to change Reg back to a ginger, but he had to admit he really liked the effect.
Before he could tell Blaise to reverse the charm, another wizard knocked and entered the box, hand outstretched and a smile on his face. Draco recognized Adrian Pucey, a former Chaser on the Slytherin house team who had been a few years ahead of him at Hogwarts. The Puceys, like the Malfoys, were a wealthy, established pure-blood family. Unlike the Malfoys, the Pucey clan had never been active supporters of Voldemort. Adrian's father had even sent him to Paris after graduation, to help operate one of the family businesses and to prevent him from being recruited as a Death Eater.
"Malfoy, it's good to see you," Pucey pleasantly declared, with a nod towards Goyle and Zabini.
Draco shook his hand and mentally sighed as Pucey's sharp eyes shifted to Reg. Adrian wasn't a viper, and Draco generally considered him an ally, but Pucey still had a malicious tongue.
"I was stopping by to welcome you back now that you've been paroled," Pucey said, eying the little boy, "but I see that congratulations are doubly in order. I hadn't heard that you'd gotten married?"
Draco gave him a cool smile. "No, you hadn't."
"Cute kid," Pucey complimented. "What is he, four?" he asked, subtly trying to establish a mental timeline for Reg's birth and conception.
Draco nodded, tight-lipped. In their elite pure-blood world, unplanned pregnancies either resulted in a hasty wandpoint wedding or a formal acknowledgement of the child and provision for his or her support. Pucey clearly was intrigued that he had heard nothing via the grapevine of such accommodation with respect to Reg, or even a prior whisper of the boy's existence.
Draco decided to toss him a bone that would also throw him off the scent. "Regulus has been living abroad with his mother until recently."
Several progressive pure-blood and half-blood families had sent their daughters to Beauxbatons or the Salem Institute after Dumbledore died, rather than entrust their education to Death Eaters. Pucey would assume that one of those girls was Reg's mother and that Draco, due to his recent release from Azkaban, was still negotiating the terms of the prenuptial agreement.
"Then you must be happy that he's returned to England," the other wizard remarked. "My son Etienne is the same age and my little Adrianna just turned three. Perhaps we can have them all get together for a play date once you've had a chance to regularize the situation."
"Perhaps." Draco answered, non-committal. Reg was a talkative little boy, and an afternoon of his chatter about "Uncle Harry" and various and sundry Weasels would make it obvious that Hermione Granger was his mother. Not that Draco had any objection to making the extent of his relationship with Granger public knowledge, but he knew she would hate being the subject of pure-blood gossip.
Now Pucey looked vaguely affronted. Slytherins formed alliances early, and he had definitely gone out of his way in doing so by offering to introduce his children to a Malfoy born out of wedlock. He expected Draco to have accepted with alacrity and pushed for a firm date, and Adrian clearly was struggling to understand the tepid nature of his response. A sudden expression of comprehension and compassion crossed Pucey's handsome face.
"Malfoy, are you still waiting for him to manifest accidental magic? Because if you are, I know of an excellent specialist - "
"Pucey, did you just ask if my kid was a Squib?" Draco was incensed. He was going to nip this particular rumor in the bud. "Reg, come here for a minute," Draco called to the boy. "Do you remember what I taught you yesterday at Aunt Andy's house?"
Reg nodded eagerly. "Good, I want you to show off your new skill to Mr. Pucey."
Draco silently waved his wand to close and lock the door to the box. Belatedly, he realized he should have done so when they had first arrived, to avoid that pillock Pucey altogether. Without any further instruction, he handed his wand to Reg.
"Alohomora!"
Reg's pronunciation and wand movements were perfect and, not surprisingly, the door clicked open.
Draco smirked proudly as Reg returned his wand, while Pucey, Zabini, and Goyle (who hadn't mastered the spell until his third year at Hogwarts), stared in shock. Accidental magic was common among young wizarding children and even toddlers, but purposeful magic by a preschooler was unheard of.
Blaise recovered first, grinning. "Sweet trick, mate," he told Draco in a low voice so Reg wouldn't overhear, "but someday, when he catches you shagging his mum, you're going to regret teaching him that spell instead of Lumos."
Draco shrugged it off. "I'll take the risk." At present, any shagging of Granger was taking place only in his fantasies. If that ever changed, he knew some more complex locking spells he could employ.
Goyle just smiled proudly. "Nice one, little guy!" he congratulated Reg.
Pucey looked thoughtful and vaguely envious, which is exactly how Draco would feel in his shoes. "Impressive. I'll have to try that at home with Etienne."
Draco just smirked again. "You do that." Unless Pucey's wife was a prodigy like Granger, instead of the usual pure-blood trophy wife, it really wouldn't matter if Pucey's kid was using a stick picked up off the ground or his father's wand. Neither would work.
He ushered Pucey out of the box just before the referee released the Snitch. Getting rid of Adrian involved another round of handshaking, to the point where Draco wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if Pucey hit him up for a campaign contribution in the near future. "It was great seeing you and meeting Regulus! He's a son to be proud of! I'll Owl you!" Pucey called as Draco shut the door, spell-locking it to prevent any other surprise visitors so long as Reg's hair remained Malfoy blond.
Reg was sitting beside him, seemingly transfixed by the game. Other than his cheering whenever the Falcons scored, Reg was unusually quiet, which Draco in hindsight realized was a dangerous sign - just as it was with Reg's mother.
The boy waited to strike until Zabini and Goyle were distracted, celebrating a spectacular goal by the new Irish Chaser with shots of Firewhiskey. Draco felt a small hand tug his to get his attention and looked down at Reg's bright hazel - no, grey - eyes. "Mr. Draco, why did that man think you were my daddy?"
Draco ruffled the temporarily white-blond hair on Reg's head affectionately and thought quickly to come up with an answer that wouldn't alienate mother or son."He thought you were my son because our hair is the same color right now."
"I like this color," Reg declared, tugging at a blond lock. "Can I keep it this way?"
Draco smiled and gave the boy a one-armed hug. "I don't know, sprog. We'll have to wait and see what your mum says."
