A/N: The following takes place early July 2007, so Clara is 25 and Malcolm is forty-six; ended up being much longer than I expected even though all I wanted was the little domestic scene at the end.

Malcolm stared at the hastily-written address in his hand and double-checked it with the house in front of him. When his magical counterpart had called him earlier, he knew things were not going well. For one, she had called him mobile to mobile, which meant she wasn't in the office, and two… well… he rarely heard her sounding this upset. He walked up to the door of the council house and knocked, not surprised that a young boy answered.

"Hey, you Milo?" he wondered. The boy's eyes went wide and he flung himself at Malcolm, hugging him around the middle.

"You and the ladies are going to take me, right?"

"Hold on lad—we have to get permission from your parents first," he replied. "Now what seems to be the problem that the ladies haven't been able to solve?"

There was some incoherent shouting coming from inside the house, which led Malcolm to gently push the boy away before he entered. Clara was standing in the sitting room, glaring hard at the pair who must have been the boy's parents, flanked a woman he knew as the Deputy Headmistress of the magic school up in Scotland. The teacher seemed considerably less confident in her ability to stand up to the Muggles as Clara, which likely provoked calling him in for backup.

"Bloody—another one?!" the mother snapped soon as she saw her newest guest. "Why don't all the rest of you freaks come on down and have a convention?"

"Ma'am, this is my associate Malcolm Tucker, and he is, in fact, a Muggle like you and your husband," Clara explained. "He is going to assure you that we're not here to kidnap your son."

"…and what do you do? Push trick pencils?" the father snarked.

"I am Director of Communications for the Prime Minister; it's a good thing that it's a slow day down at Number 10, or I'd be livid standing here," Malcolm said. He reached into his jacket and presented a business card, which neither parent took. Pocketing it again, he cleared his throat and continued. "Trust me when I say I had never imagined that a wizarding community would be a thing, but I can assure you that knowing they exist makes the world much easier to comprehend."

"You aren't the first set of crazies that have walked into my house and wanted to make off with my boy," the mother said. "He was small last time it happened and I didn't like the look about them… just how I don't like the look of any of you."

"I'm normal, like you," Malcolm reiterated. "I take the fucking Tube and make my meals by hand… I'm pretty sure you can listen to me."

"Piss off—I'm not sending Milo to some wort-academy at the suggestion of complete and total strangers."

"Now Ma'am, while I understand the sentiment, you don't necessarily have to send Milo to Hogwarts," the deputy headmistress said from behind the safety of her friend. "You have variety of options we're more than happy to—"

"No, and that's final," the mother declared.

While Clara continued arguing with the mother (and it was mainly the mother), Malcolm glanced about the room in an attempt to keep his temper down and not-focused on the banshee. It wasn't squalor, but it wasn't exactly well-kept either. Actually, it reminded him of Jamie's flat around the time they first met—a couple of bachelors just starting out at the same news rag. It brought back fond memories, though those were decidedly killed when he realized the boy was not in the room.

"Sorry, but can I use the loo? Morning coffee hit me at the wrong time," he lied.

"Past the stairs," the mother snarled, slipping it into whatever she was saying to Clara seamlessly. Malcolm walked out, closing the door to the room behind him, and quietly snuck up the staircase. He found the boy sitting on the bed in what was presumably his room, sniffling as he palmed his eyes.

"Hey," Malcolm said, standing in the doorway. The boy gasped and looked his way, relaxing only slightly when he saw who it was. "Can I come in?" A nod of permission and he did, sitting down on the mattress next to the kid. "So you can do magic, yeah?"

"Uh-huh," the boy muttered. "Sometimes, if I concentrate hard, I can make things float. Mum says it's because I'm possessed."

"I would've thought that too a few years ago, so I can't blame her, even if she is a fucking earful," Malcolm scoffed. He wasn't going to watch his language, not with the kid, not when he was using the choicest of words be his age. "What does she plan on doing with you?"

"Send me to the neighborhood school, I guess," Milo shrugged. He pulled his knees up and hugged them, toes curled over the side of the mattress. "I thought Professor Longbottom and Miss Oswald were case workers at first."

While it should have surprised him, it didn't. "Case workers? Have you had some come to the house before?"

"A couple times, but Mum and Dad were always let off with warnings. Mostly it's because of how the front garden looked, or because we forgot to do laundry, and things like that. One of the teachers at my school kept calling for them."

"…and should they have been called?"

"I… I don't think so," the boy said. "I'd still rather live with Dad."

"I thought your da was downstairs…"

"He's my step-dad—my real dad lives in a flat a ways away with his girlfriend. I'd have to share a room with her brother, but at least there wouldn't be so much fighting."

"Aye, I see," Malcolm chuckled. "Sometimes people get shouty parents and there's nothing you can do about it. They don't hit ya or call ya names, yeah?"

"Yeah…?"

"Then chances are that they're only trying their best," he assured. The words were as much for himself as they were for the young boy. "Parents aren't always good at showing how they care—trust me." He patted Milo's back right before he heard footsteps storm up the stairs. The gait undeniable, Malcolm stood and watched for Clara to make her way into the room.

"Milo," she said, "pack your things; we're leaving." The boy's eyes lit up.

"Does that mean Mum and Dad gave permission?!"

"…in a way. Now come on." She helped him take his overnight bag out from underneath his bed and magicked it so that he could fit more in there than normally possible. While Milo was packing, Malcolm leaned down and murmured in Clara's ear.

"They didn't agree, did they?"

"I had to use extreme measures and figure out why the mum was so adamant in keeping him here instead of allowing him to go off to a state-run boarding school. Apparently she thinks he's possessed."

"Yeah, that's what he was saying."

Clara motioned for Malcolm to follow her and they stepped aside, right outside the boy's bedroom. "She was going to exorcise him herself. Now I just committed a major crime for the best interests of Milo in there and I am not going to repeat what I saw. Hannah is working on the Memory Charms for them as we speak."

"…fuck, Clara, so we are kidnapping him?!"

"They didn't listen to Hannah, an instructor, me, a Muggle-born member of government, and you, a high-ranking Muggle member of the Muggle government, whom that woman down there didn't even pay any attention to—there was no way they were going to budge, and considering they think he's possessed, they won't home-school him."

"So now I've been drafted into Wizarding Social Services?!"

"No, but we did have to act for them, since the actual group is all engaged at the moment," she stated. "Listen, Malcolm: what we're doing is for this kid's own good."

"Where will he go though?"

"There's a children's home in Islington—Grimmauld Place—where he can go as soon as there's a spot open. Until then…"

"…he'll stay with me, a Muggle that actually knows what the fuck is going on," he said. Her eyes went wide as the words came out of his mouth. "Where else would he go? The Ministry doesn't have bunks hidden away in all those fucking pigeonholes, do they?" When she could not give an immediate answer, he nodded resolutely. "Be a dear and Apparate us, will ya? I don't want the neighbors around here seeing."

"Don't pretend you're such a bloody martyr."

"Don't pretend you're actually qualified to do this sort of shit."

"Like you are?"

"Considering I've seen it happen before… yeah." He went back into the room and saw Milo was done packing, sitting down on his bed. "Alright, ready? Miss Oswald and I were talking, and you're gonna stay with me until we can get you put somewhere else."

"Somewhere else…?" the boy wondered. "You mean, I'm not going to school?"

"Not directly," Clara said. She went to the boy and knelt in front of him, looking up kindly. "There's a nice place for kids who can't go home during the summer months. Do you want to go?"

"I won't come back…?"

"That's up to you; we can make it so that you can come home, or we can make it so that you never have to again. For now though, we have to ensure you go to Hogwarts, because otherwise your magic will grow out of control and accidentally hurt someone."

"What about my dad?" the boy asked. "Why can't I stay with him?"

"Because we have to deal with the non-magic side of government before he can take you," Clara explained. "We thought we would only have to explain calmly to your mum and stepdad what was going on, but obviously it's much worse than that." She paused and Malcolm could see the wheels turning rapidly in her brain. "I might be able to get you with your dad before the summer holiday is out."

"Thank you," the boy said. The Hogwarts teacher then came rushing up the stairs, attempting to find them.

"I've got the Memory Charms in place so that they think we were some public school faculty offering Milo a scholarship, which they took. It involved going back to when he first started showing magical abilities, but it's done."

"Good—Hannah, take Milo back to my office, while I get Malcolm," Clara replied. "We don't have any time to lose." She grabbed Malcolm's arm and suddenly they were off.

…and that was how Malcolm Tucker found himself playing host to a pint-sized wizard.

The following day, Malcolm woke up to the ring of his mobile cutting through the peaceful birdsong. There was a minor cock-up in DoSAC, which he was able to take care of while getting dressed, and everything functioned properly again while he shuffled into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. Milo was sitting at the table, munching cereal happily as he looked at the back of the box—one of the couple things they picked up on the way back from Clara's office. Story was to the neighbors he was a coworker's kid, staying over because said coworker had an emergency flight to take over to America, and staying with him was better than being completely alone. He'd have his niece over on occasion when she was younger, so kids in his house was thankfully not an odd thing.

"Sleep alright?" he mumbled.

"Yeah, thanks," the boy grinned. "That bed's really comfy."

"It hasn't been used as often as your old one, is all," Malcolm shrugged. The kid had been sleeping on a plain mattress, and he actually had been genuinely worried that the pillowtop he had in the guest room would be too much for him. Good to know it was the total opposite. "Tell me: what do you normally do for fun? It's Saturday and I might be able to do something before getting dragged off by the old ball and chain."

"I usually read, or watch telly; I don't make a lot of noise because Mum needs her quiet."

"I don't need quiet." He watched as the boy became pensive, only for a twin pair of cracking noises disrupted them. Clara and Sam were standing in the sitting room, both looking incredibly haggard.

"Okay, good news and bad news," the former said as she walked into the kitchen. "Good news is that we can transfer Milo's guardianship over to his father, who is more than willing to take him if it helps his son."

"…and the bad news?" Malcolm asked, not having nearly enough coffee in his system for this.

"We won't be able to get the transfer over legally ratified until Monday," Sam finished. "We can conjure up a temporary foster parent license for you no problem, but it's the more involved stuff that we need to have the Muggles in-charge on the clock for."

"At least that's not terrible news," he said. Malcolm was now gratefully sipping coffee, waking up and getting into gear. "You made it sound like the world was fucking ending."

"Yeah; I like it here. Mister Tucker is nice," Milo added.

"Now that's a new one," Sam laughed. Her mobile buzzed and she looked at it, rolling her eyes in the process. "Got to go; they're wondering where I am at the office."

"Go, go," Malcolm insisted. With that, Sam vanished, leaving her boss with Clara. "Really, the lad isn't any trouble."

"I'm glad, though ugh…" Clara trailed off as she noticed how wild Milo's hair was. She put the papers that were in her hands—Malcolm's license, the papers that would transfer permanent custody—and began messing with the boy's sticky-uppy mane.

"For fuck's sake, Clara; the kid just woke up. Leave him alone," Malcolm scowled. He sat down at the table and began skimming the papers. "Why don't you just adopt him if you want to be his mam?"

"I don't want to be his mum—I want him to be presentable," she fired back, combing the kid's hair with her fingers. "I'll be one, someday, but not today."

"Try telling that to Milo's scalp."

"You're an arse." The kid snickered and she jokingly nudged him. "Watch yourself, or you might get on Miss Oswald's bad side."

"She's all bark unless you cock up, kid; trust me," Malcolm advised. Clara finished with Milo's hair, pressed a motherly kiss in it, and smacked the back of Malcolm's head while he was mid-sip. He choked on his coffee, cussing as it spilled down his front.