On a Sunday


Easter at Green Lawn is rather a loud affair, with Scorpius and Daphne's new little boy having squalling matches and Draco and Seamus shooting quiet barbs at each other, over the rims of raised glasses and under concealing hands and out of the corners of their mouths, but only when they both are relatively certain their wives are otherwise occupied. Hector makes polite, friendly conversation with both of them, while his wife Sophie fusses over Daphne and Astoria and their respective sons.

She attempts to fuss over Nike for a few minutes, and then wisely decides to leave her well enough alone. It's the tragic equivalent of fussing over a Skrewt, but Sophie has more sense than Hagrid, thankfully.

Nike Finnegan, it is discovered, simply does not like babies. Daphne and Astoria set her up on the sofa with the two new babies for photos. They seem to adore her, cooing and gurgling contentedly, hands grasping at her holiday dress. Seamus and Draco grudgingly share a laugh over the mutinous, obstinate look on Nike's face as her mother and Aunt fuss at her to smile pretty. She's dolled up in lilac, a spring green ribbon in her hair, but she's got the look of an impatient goblin on her face, eyeing Scorpius and Sean unfavorably. After the round of photographs are taken, Nike imperiously informs her uncle Draco that 'these can be taken away now,' with a lofty little wave at the squirming babies propped up against her side.

She fluffs her dress, frowning at the crinkles in the skirt where the babies grasped at the fabric. "Da, my dress! They messed it up!" she complains, and Seamus waves her off; "Your Mam can fix it, I'd probably set you on fire, love."

"But Sean did it!" She's looking up at her father expectantly, as though expecting him to go snatch her infant brother from Daphne's arms and chuck him out the window for his offense.

Seamus' strained patience is rather amusing—Draco can nearly see him biting back the curses to speak to his daughter in a calm, rational fashion. "He's a baby, Nike, shouldn't let him touch your dress, then." This is not an adequate answer for a four-year-old girl.

"But—but Mummy made me!" Her mouth flips in an exaggerated display of injury and, sensing her father's diminished patience, she flounces off to kick at a chair leg and scuff up her shiny patent leather shoes until her mother yells at her.

Seamus swears under his breath and says to Draco (out of sheer lack of any other audience), "And all this from a girl who threw the biggest fit this morning when Daphne tried to brush her hair, to say nothing of the tantrum over that fucking dress—she hated it this morning, she ripped up the petticoat and I thought Daphne was going to go spare."

"Apparently she does not hate it enough, so long as it can be used as a means to a tantrum. Congratulations, Finnegan, she should be setting your shack on fire any day now."

Seamus doesn't even rise to the taunt, only nods vaguely in some form of agreement as he watches Daphne pulling Nike into the corner for a 'time-out.' "Keep having boys, Malfoy," he mutters, shaking his head. "They can't be this much trouble."

"Oh, just think, though!" Draco enthuses, "In decade or two, you'll be handing over that little darling to a man she'll be able to frustrate far more than she'll ever frustrate you. Should set her on one of Potter's sons, or Weasley's. Those men seem to like shrews."

Draco rather enjoys the blanched look that washes across Seamus' face at the thought of a grown-up, grown-away Nike and the no-good little bastard who would be stealing her away someday—and who was at the moment probably, out there somewhere, attempting to shove a whole Cadbury cream egg into his mouth and drooling chocolate. Hatred glows from Seamus' face anyway, and he leaves Draco standing alone with his drink to rescue Nike from time-out.

Seamus seems to have a newfound appreciation of his daughter's obstinacy, perhaps hoping her extreme predilection for the word 'no' might continue on for the next three or four decades, at least where young men were concerned.

Draco is a little blindsided when Astoria shoves what looks like a very large stuffed rabbit into his hands. Wait, no—too heavy for a stuffed rabbit. Instead, Draco's firstborn son and heir is looking a little too cozy in a fluffy white bunny suit, with fuzzy white ears sticking up from the hood; he smiles beatifically up at his father.

Draco stares at the child in his arms as though he's actually grown rabbit ears which, really, would probably have been less upsetting. One of the ears flops into Scorpius's face and he blows a spit bubble. Draco looks up at his wife in disbelief and betrayal. "What the hell, Astoria? What have you done to my kid?"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Seamus is loud, clutching Nike closer to his chest as though the little yellow duck gumming the fabric of his sleeve and smiling toothlessly at his father is contagious. Daphne shoots a glare at him, cuddling her son back. Seamus is not dissuaded. "What is my son dressed as?"

"It's sweet!" Daphne says, maybe a bit too firmly, almost like she's pushing the words out past clenched teeth, too many of which are showing in her pinned-up smile.

Astoria jumps in with a similar tone, glaring death at her husband. "Sophie gave them to the boys, wasn't that thoughtful?" She smiles over at her stepmother, who is, apparently, a very sweet woman with very dubious tastes for little boys. Even Hector is looking at the boys with a subtle distaste. The words, the tone the wives are using—it's as good as a smack upside the head.

Seamus and Draco fall silent, adequately chastened.

"Queer," Nike proclaims simply, from her perch in her father's arms, and her mother gasps.

"Where did you hear that word? That's terrible, you can't say that! Where did you hear that?" Daphne insists, falling all over herself in shock.

Nike looks incriminatingly over at her father, who seems torn between cowering from his wife, scolding his daughter, or pissing his pants laughing. Nike reconsiders, though: "Telly."

Draco can't help himself; he laughs. Seamus laughs as well. Even Hector laughs (though very quietly, and behind his wife's back).

They both sleep in guest rooms. Astoria and Daphne are horrified, poor Sophie is deeply offended, Nike has all of her sweets confiscated, and Hector expresses his condolences as he heads to bed (and offers his sons-in-law his suggestion to 'think of the sofa' next time the urge to laugh in an inappropriate situation arises).

Draco shakes Seamus' hand as they depart, and sends Nike a top-of-the-line toy broomstick the next day.

I couldn't help myself. Happy Easter!