Chapter 68

Saturday 22 March 2003: PM

"Gus? May I speak with you for a moment, please?" Blaise stands before her, his obsidian eyes flicking to her conversing companions as he adds, "Privately, if that's OK."

Seated on the long blue sofa, she has to tilt up her head to meet his wary gaze. Shrugging her consent, Gus follows as Blaise strides into the hallway and opens the front door, gesturing for her to precede him onto the wide stoop. He closes the door behind them; his enticing signature scent (of fresh-cut grass, tea leaves, woodsmoke, and something uniquely… Blaise) wafts around her.

"This won't take long. Don't be nervous, Gussie," Blaise cheeks dimple becomingly as he flashes one of his impudent grins.

The dimples are grossly unjust – like this guy needs any bonus features when it comes to physical allure. Gus reminds herself to stay frosty cool (and to ignore her combusting arousal).

"Nervous? Why on earth would I be nervous around you, Blaisey?" Gus scorns. "Tell me, when you looked in the Mirror of Erised, were you still kissing your reflection?".

"Ohhh, burn – that was good, top points," Blaise is unruffled, his grin widening. "I'll have to write down that one. And I love the way you say my name, Auror Gilmont."

"Do you intend to flirt with me much longer, or do you mean to actually discuss something?" Gus schools her face into an expression of bored stolidity… though my dratted blush ruins the effect, she thinks sourly.

Blaise insouciantly copies her mien, down to her crossed arms. The corners of Gus's primmed-together lips quirk as she endeavours not to smile at the clown.

"You know, Tavi's fond of mimicry to get under my skin," Gus cuttingly remarks. "Her excuse is that she's ten."

"The girl's a legend, and I hope she's smart enough to never forgo the delights of affectionately mocking her gorgeous sister," Blaise winks. "No, don't leave – I promise I'll be good… well, I'll behave." The light touch of his hand on her arm as he prevents her from reopening the front door is disproportionately titillating.

Saying nothing, Gus waits, unwilling to break the minute contact. She masks her reactive shiver by rubbing at her collarbone with her free hand.

"Gus… I don't have much experience with normal families – I mean, I have a family – sort of – I didn't spawn from an egg or something – look, what I'm trying to say is that I don't want you to worry that you and Tavi are just a passing whim to me," Blaise's wonted suaveness is notably lacking as he grits his teeth and drones a sigh.

"OK, let me try that again, please. The guys staged a mini-intervention before; they basically warned me off encroaching upon your life if I have no intention of sticking around. They said that I can't let Tavi become attached to me if I'm not prepared to be there for her in future." Blaise shakes his head in angry negation.

"I know they meant well – and I get the point they were conveying – but I want you to understand that I am committed to being a true friend, to you and Tavi… and Mrs Green, of course. She's the ultimate Gilmont matriarch."

Something small and fuzzy wakes within Gus's guarded heart, yawning and stretching its fluffy limbs. She doesn't trust herself to respond, apart from a tiny, encouraging nod.

Blaise slides his grip down her arm, gingerly curling his fingers around hers. "I really like Tavi, Gus; she's an amazing kidlet, and I'm going to do everything I can to be a positive, supportive, and dependable friend to her…. to all of you. So that's all I wanted to say – you needn't worry I'll grow bored, or find excuses to fade out of her life. I won't be a disappointment to either of you, I swear."

His boyish earnestness is difficult to resist; Gus unconsciously sidles closer, hopelessly entranced. She bestows him with an impulsive, heartfelt grin.

"Sweet baby dragons, Gus… you shouldn't smile at me like that," Blaise gulps. "Your smile… it could light the darkest of winter nights. You're so beautiful, Gussie."

Gus withdraws as quickly as she'd advanced, yanking loose her hand from his gentle clasp. "I don't need you to tell me pretty lies, Blaise Zabini. I know I'm not beautiful; I'd rather be strong, and loyal, and smart, in any case. Step aside, please; I want to re-join the party," she stiffly instructs.

"Hey – you are all those things – they are part and parcel of your beauty, of course – and you're a stunningly comely woman, to boot," Blaise frowns. "Do you not believe me because you think I'm an incorrigible flirt, or is there a deeper issue at play here?" he blocks her exit with his tall, broad frame.

Lips twisted bitterly, Gus replies, "I'm six feet tall, built like a brick shithouse, with zero interest in (or knowledge of) feminine prettification, or fashion. I'm well aware that the men who pursue me see me as an oddity, a freak – hence, 'the Arctic Amazon' moniker. I'd rather live with the plain truth than believe in a lie."

Blaise's furious snarl of dissent is the last reaction she'd expected; Gus is startled when he jerks his head closer, until their mouths are almost touching. His warm breath puffs against her lips.

"Tell me the names of these fucking fools, and I'll make them wish they were born without their lying, scurrilous tongues," he rasps. "You're a goddess, Augusta Meredith Gilmont. Kiss me – judge for yourself whether I truly find you attractive – I won't touch you, except with my mouth. Go on," he invites, tucking his hands securely behind his back and staring fiercely into her shocked eyes.

"No – you're being ridiculous– " Gus growls.

"Ah – you're scared. That's a shame," Blaise taunts.

Later, Gus decides that the faint 'tsk' the cunning man made is what finally tipped her into accepting his challenge. He played me like a freaking fiddle… but Gods, what a tune.

She hurtles into him, her body pushing his back to the door as her hands find purchase on his corded neck. The first touch of her mouth to his is a revelation of competing sensations: warmth, firmness, softness, the smell of apple juice, and the taste of rhubarb and sweet cream. Their noses bump before Gus finds the right angle; she sinks into him with a deep groan, pressing them together from chest to knees.

Blaise's initial passivity vanishes when Gus boldly licks her tongue around his. He moans, his breath shallow and irregular, as he switches the angle of the kiss to robustly nip, and plunge his tongue deeper. A savage flare of pure yearning engulfs Gus, as she scrapes her breasts against his pectorals, her hands moving down his shoulders and burly arms, circling and squeezing.

He's so sexy, so thrilling… so extra, Gus thinks. Like rich chocolate mudcake, or a Thai tom yum gai soup… multi-flavoured and deliciously complex. She applies herself to thoroughly exploring the delights of his silky mouth once more, her fingers stroking urgently down Blaise's sinewy sides. He nudges his hips against her groin in tight, inflaming motions; the two layers of denim do little to mask his swelling hardness.

The whimper Blaise emits when Gus wedges his thigh between her legs is thrilling, inspiring her to slide up and down in tiny increments. She grabs at his buttocks, revelling in their tight muscularity, as their kiss impossibly deepens.

"Gussie – la mia bella guerriera – my beautiful warrior – more, I need more –" Blaise pants, between their swollen lips. "Please –"

The suddenness of the door opening behind him catches them off guard, with wholly mortifying consequences. Blaise ungracefully falls back onto his rump, windmilling his arms just in time to keep from smacking the back of his head on the floor; Gus lands between his legs and unfortunately collides solidly with Blaise's bulging loins.

The high-pitched scream the man releases is painful to hear. He clutches at the crotch of his jeans, eyes compressed tightly, as Gus scrambles to untangle their long limbs.

"Blaise! I'm so sorry – here, let me help you up," Gus tries to kneel, but the smooth floor (and her arousal-induced befuddlement) work against her regaining her balance.

Harry and Pansy peer down at their writhing bodies.

"Erm… sorry, guys. Gus – I just received an owl from Pritchard-Hawes, he needs us both to go in to the Ministry, pronto. Zabini… do you need a Healer, mate?" Harry's apologetic tone is undermined by the amused smirk stretching his mouth.

Worming erratically across the floor, Blaise squeakily answers, "I'll – be – OK – gimme – a – minute."

Extending his hand to Gus, Harry quickly assists her to her feet. She cannot meet his eyes, instead pretending an intense interest in straightening her shirt cuffs.

"We couldn't find you anywhere; Macdolas noticed shadows at the bottom of the door frame," Pansy nods to the agog elf, who is fascinatedly watching Blaise wriggle in pain.

"Master Zabini takes a bad hit to his cobblers," he redundantly states. "Shall Macdolas prepare a bag of ice?".

"No – don't – touch me – no ice – leave me – to die – with my – dignity," Blaise whines. "Tell – Theo – he can – finally have – my rare – Galleon collection."

He can't be too badly hurt, if he's still cracking jokes, Gus surmises with relief. I hope I'll be able to see the funny side of this one day – but by Morgana – how embarrassing!

Meeting Pansy's mirthful eyes, Gus hurriedly announces, "I'll just grab Tavi, and Apparate us home. I'll be right behind you, Auror Potter."

"'Harry' – it's 'Harry', Gus. And be assured I'll be insisting that Kolton calls me that, too," Harry decrees. "The summons isn't urgent, so don't rush."

"Yes, Auror Potter– sir– Harry– " Dipping her head, Gus bolts for the lounge room, following the sound of little giggles.

Were she not feeling anxious and awkward about being caught madly snogging Zabini, Gus would be more appreciative of the charming scene that greets her as she bumbles into the living room.

Tavi is sprawled comfortably in the middle of the sky blue corduroy bean bag, sharing the squashy chair with Ruibby and Gelsy. Luna is sitting on the couch behind them, Kreacher and Boadie beside her, and Wirey in the far corner position. Hermione and Draco are wrapped in a loose clinch, leaning against the tall bookcases in the back of the room, and cooing softly to one another.

Bernard Granger is standing in front of the television, excitedly shuffling two videos in his large hands and talking nineteen to the dozen.

"… so what it boils down to is: New York, or London? They're both Muppet classics – but for me, 'The Great Muppet Caper' really epitomizes the spirit of the franchise," Bernard babbles. "It's got everything – mystery, a heist, comedy up the wazoo, and a good old-fashioned romance between a frog and a pig," he concludes his argument.

"Macdolas asks if Muppets are related to Smurfs, Father Dentist Granger?" Macdolas trots into the room, jumping up onto the sofa to squeeze between Luna and Kreacher.

"Er, no… these are technically marionette puppets – 'Muppet' is a contraction of 'marionette' and 'puppet', see? Henson reckoned that wasn't the case, but I'm sticking with it – whereas the Smurfs are a cartoon show – eh, I might let Hermione explain it, if she ever manages to detach from Blondie over there," Bernard replies, as blank little faces greet his explanation.

"Herr Wireceaster asks how a pig und frog become sweethearts?" Wirey challenges.

Bernard waves dismissively, turning to slot the video cassette into the machine. "Look, it's best not to dig at that odd hole – it's a crazy, fun ride, that's all you need to know."

Gus walks to stand before her sister. "Tavi, I've been called into work; it's time to go, Kiddo."

"But Gus! We're just about to watch a movie, and we haven't even had any cake yet!" Tavi vociferously objects, as Gus holds out her hand. "Mac said I can have a piece of each one, if I like!". The girl's lower lip trembles as her faced reddens.

"I told you this morning that it was likely I'd have to cut this visit short if work needed me; you knew this might happen, Tavi. Come on, please – I have to take you home to Mrs Green." Gus reaches again for her sister's hand, becoming increasingly irked when Tavi crosses her arms stubbornly and flumps deeper into the beanbag.

"Gus, we're more than happy to look after Tavi for the afternoon," Hermione breaks in. "Forgive me for interrupting – I don't wish to undermine your authority – but I promise Tavi will be safe here until you return."

"I'll be here too, Gus; you needn't worry at all," Luna contributes, smiling placidly. "Apparently we're going to play something called Mono Poles, after the film."

"'Monopoly', Luna love. We might have to break into teams though – oh, I bag the Hat," Bernard slaps his hands together in merry anticipation. "Little Wendy and Lord of the Manor here can fetch the board from her flat, right?".

"Look, I don't expect you to shoulder my responsibilities – not that I don't appreciate the offer," Gus demurs. "It's too much of an imposition."

"Nonsense," Draco dismisses. "You'd have a hard time separating Tavi from the elves, anyway; they've well and truly adopted her," he points to a nodding Gelsy and Ruibby, on either side of the child. "And we do need help in consuming all that cake," he grins.

"Please, Gus Gus! I'll be really good… and I won't eat too much… please?" Tavi implores, clasping her hands together beseechingly.

"Alright, Little Orphan Annie – but you're to obey Hermione and Luna without question, and have a rest if you start to tire, OK?" Gus surrenders to the familial and peer pressure with some relief.

"Oh, thank you, Gus! I will, I promise," Tavi snuggles back in amongst her elfish buddies, looking like she's won the Lotto.

From the corner of her eye, Gus notes Harry and Pansy strolling back into the room; they appear flushed and happy, and are holding hands like high school sweethearts.

"Ready to go, Gus? We heard the tail end of that discussion," Harry smiles.

"Yes – unless you'd prefer I went home and changed into my uniform, Auror– Harry?".

"No need, we'll be fine as we are," Harry replies. "Blaise is slowly rallying; ah, here he comes now."

Zabini limps carefully through the door, appearing anomalously subdued. His weak grin morphs into a brilliant beam as he stares at Gus.

The weight of his gaze sets her blood afire all over again; Gus has to look away, afraid the whole room can tell she is hungry like the wolf for the handsome young wizard. He keeps grinning at her like a loon, setting off snickers and whispers among the lounge crowd.

"I'll be here when you return, Gussie," Blaise confidently declares. "Then I'll escort you both home – no, don't protest, Mrs Green made me promise. Have a productive afternoon, Auror Gilmont." He winks slowly, clearly delighted by her heightened colour and restless jitters.

Gus settles for a curt nod as she pinches the Floo powder and quickly steps into the chimney. "Bye – and thanks," she addresses the room at large, before the teleportation system whirls her toward the Ministry.

Closing her eyes against the confusing maelstrom of Floo travel, Gus is dismayed to realize that the image of Blaise's exquisitely charming countenance seems permanently etched upon her mind.

It was just a kiss – a dare, she soothes. He's doubtless kissed a veritable horde of witches… it would be silly to attribute any special meaning to this particular encounter. Sly bastard knows I can't resist picking up a gauntlet.

But… damn, the man can kiss.


Putting down her fork, Hermione suppresses a burp as she blissfully swallows the last bite of delectably moist chocolate coconut cake. Oh, dear… I seem to have developed a bit of a sweets baby belly. She surreptitiously undoes the top button of her jeans before leaning back into Draco's arm. He gives her a tender smile and a cute bop-kiss to the tip of her nose, before returning his attention to their guests.

"Check out this one – Theo, have you ever thought about shearing your elf? Look at him, man – I've seen less fur on a forest wolf," Draco wheezes, handing over the next Polaroid.

"Look, he's not that hairy – no, sorry, he is," Theo winces and hurriedly passes the snapshot to Blaise. "For the love of lizards, don't ever show me a bare-chested Wirey again, Draco! He looks like he's wearing a medieval hair shirt."

"That's quite an impressive pelt," Blaise comments, before bursting into rollicking laughter. "Did you notice the bunny ears Gelsy is making, behind him? Touché."

Hermione puzzledly enquires, "Why do Wirey and Gelsy dislike each other so? I noticed her glorying in lording that black ribbon over him all throughout brunch."

Theo and Blaise share an amused look, before erupting into fresh hilarity.

"No – you tell them – I'm dying here, Theo," Blaise chokes.

"Well, when I first returned to live permanently in England, I introduced Wirey to Gelsy; they're of an age, and Blaise and I thought they might become friends, seeing as how they've both been transplanted from their native soil," Theo expounds.

"Wirey went a bit stupid at the sight of Gels and immediately asked her on a date; but when the time came, he lost his nerve and hid in the wine cellar of Nott House. I couldn't find him for hours, I was getting quite worried. He turned up like a bad Knut eventually, but the damage was done. Gelsy was slighted and infuriated, and has been gunning for the silly bugger ever since." Theo shakes his head in fond exasperation.

"Well… all your elves lead rather more exciting lives than I ever realized," Jane Granger opines. "Is there no hope of reconciliation?".

"It's unlikely. Wirey is as shy as porcupine when it comes to females he might actually have a chance with," Theo answers. "And I doubt that Gelsy would accept an apology, at this late stage."

"Shy?! He's disgracefully smarmy and sycophantic whenever he comes within five feet of women!" Draco contends.

"Yes – because he's safe to flirt up a storm and write dreadful German poems in their honour… but he's terrified of elven females who may truly break his squishy heart. Gelsy's had many admirers; Blaise has had to chase off a few when they became unbearably persistent," Theo chuckles.

Pansy guffaws loudly. "Your elves are taking over, you know that, right? Horny little devils."

"Pot calling the kettle black, Pansy? Macdolas told me how he discovered you and Harry pawing at each other… on his bed," Draco razzes.

"Why, that toadying little tattletale!" Pansy exclaims. "We were– we were merely formalizing our… courtship," she imparts, smiling joyfully.

"How lovely, Pansy; I'm so pleased for you," Narcissa Malfoy reaches across the table to pat Pansy's hand. "It's well past time you were treated properly by an estimable wizard."

"Thanks, Narcissa," Pansy shyly replies. "I hope Harry won't be… disappointed."

"Oh, pish tosh! Harry Potter has struck gold with you, Pansy – and he knows it. His eyes never left you throughout bruncheon, my dear." Narcissa nods decisively.

Dearest Pansy… for all her sass and spine, she's as vulnerable as I am, when it comes to matters of the heart. Hermione kicks her legs beneath the long table delightedly as she recalls Draco's astonishing announcement about putting the townhouse in both their names; and his emphatic reiteration that they live together, permanently.

Cripes. I can't believe he's done that! I mean, I do believe Draco when he tells me he loves me – hell, he shows me, every day… and with our soul bonded magic… oh, he makes me so happy.

She impulsively kisses Draco on the cheek, not objecting in the slightest when he swiftly captures her mouth with his.

"Leave it out, you two – it was bad enough watching Ginny and Viktor uninhibitedly pashing, before they did us all a favour and finally departed," Theo good-naturedly grumbles.

Draco responds by kissing Hermione more avidly… and flipping Theo his middle finger.

Pulling away breathlessly, Hermione whispers, "Malfoy… we are being rude hosts. Don't you have some more photos to show us?".

"Spoilsport," he murmurs into her ear. "Later, Granger."

He selects the next shot; Hermione chortles at the sight. A belligerent Wirey (dressed only in his underpants) is slumped beside the coffee table, unsteadily clutching a shot glass of peach schnapps. Gelsy is on the other side, cleverly balancing her own glass on her tousled head, her peanut-brown eyes glowing with triumphant spite. In the background, Kreacher is carefully feeding Boadie a plate of tuna, on the hearth.

"Damn, Kreacher loves that kitten," Pansy comments. "Harry pretended to be irked he wasn't allowed to hold Boadie, but secretly he's thrilled that Kreacher won't be so lonely. He told me he worries about him… he's getting on in years, isn't he?".

"Yes… though perhaps he'll look after himself better, now he has Boadie to take care of," Hermione muses. I'll quietly raise the subject of treatment for his arthritis again soon… Kreacher may be more amenable. It's a plan.

"I've eaten enough cake today to last me a lifetime – and yet, I can't stop myself from wanting a taste of that New York baked cheesecake," Jane groans. "Hermione, Draco – you've treated us to a magnificent party, today. Thank you so much, darlings," she smiles.

"You're most welcome, Jane," Draco pushes the desired sweet toward her, laughing as Jane first waves him off, then cuts herself a sliver.

I really never, ever, ever thought I'd be sitting in the back garden of Draco Malfoy's London townhouse, eating half a dozen types of fancy, delicious cakes with an eclectic assortment of witches, wizards, friends, family… and elves. Hermione discreetly pinches her own arm, just to be sure.

"What are you doing, my funny little lioness?" Draco rubs at the tiny red spot on her forearm.

"Oh, nothing… just marvelling at my good fortune," Hermione diverts. "I love you, Draco. I love our home, and our family," she tips her chin to the group. "Thank you, for sharing all this with me… thank you, for loving me."

"Hermione, all the thanks are due to you, my love. My sweet, sexy, beautiful, miraculous Hermione. I love you." Draco gathers her onto his lap for a tight, emotional hug.

Clinging gladly to her beau, Hermione widens her eyes, glimpsing her mother nudging Narcissa; the two women share smug smiles, before bending together their heads in obvious 'plot' mode.

"Draco? Are you a little scared that our mothers appear to be in cahoots?" Hermione wonders.

"I'm terrified, sweetheart. Can't you feel me quivering? Hold me tighter, Hermione," he dramatically requests.

"You're shameless, Draco! And I love it," Hermione sits up, loving the feeling of his silky silvered mop as she cards her hands through his hair.

"Indeed I am – but only for you, ma petite. Only for you."

"Ditto, mon coeur. Only for you."


Blaise leans against the kitchen doorframe, not bothering to hide his grin at the antics unfolding at the table.

"Herr Wireceaster lands on the Mayfair, with one hotel – thus now owing Gelsy two thousand pounds," the Italian elf trills, her accent giving the 'Rs' a lilting roll. "Herr Wireceaster has not the bucks nor the bangs – Herr Wireceaster is bankrupted," she vehemently hisses.

Bernard Granger foolishly tries to play peacemaker, as Wirey works on his impressive head of steam.

"Now, now, let's not be too hasty – haven't you a few properties left to mortgage, Wireman? What happened to Bond Street, eh? Ah, no – that's right – you had to let it go when Tavi hit you for landing on Piccadilly," Bernard pulls an apologetic face.

"Herr Wireceaster tells Signorina Gelsomina she need not monstrously gloat at the misfortunes of a poor German elf!" Wirey fumbles at his ear, tugging wrathfully at the jet silk ribbon. Flinging it onto the board, he gripes, "Wireceaster deserves not the unrelenting barrage of malice directed by Gelsomina, and demands immediate cessation!"

"Stupido ometto! Herr Wireceaster shows himself to be the poorest of losers, yet again!" Gelsy screeches, using the blue and red property deed cards in her hand to gesticulate wildly.

"Herzlose Füchsin! Wireceaster advises Gelsomina she hath the monopoly on viciousness! Ich habe genug gehabt!" he grips the edge of the square board game and forcefully overturns it. Much shrieking ensues, amidst the chaos of falling paper monies, cards, and plastic and metal pieces.

Running over, Blaise grabs Gelsy around the waist before her wrathful kicks can find purchase on Wirey's person.

"He's not worth it, Gelsy – it's alright, you bested him," he comforts, as her struggles ease. "Let's return to the lounge with the girls – we'll watch another movie, OK?".

To Wirey, he orders, "Go outside and find Theo – quickly, now! You need to chill out, you little spitfire."

Giving an imperious sniff, Gelsy stiffly acquiesces. Wirey speedily darts out the back door. Turning, Blaise is surprised to find a composed Tavi helping Ruibby, Mac, and Luna to gather the fallen accoutrements of the game.

"Don't worry, Mr Blaise – most Monopoly games end this way," the child utters her wisdom in an endearingly world-weary tone. "Gus doesn't like to lose, either; it's why our set is missing nearly half the houses."

Ah, this kid… could she be any cuter? Blaise crouches to give them a hand, though his big fingers have some trouble scooping up the tiny pieces.

He chuckles as Mac grouchily expresses, "The Wirey knows how to kill a buzz – Macdolas was coming second! Macdolas seriously considers rescinding the Wirey's G.R.E.A.S.E.R.S. membership."

"Wirey hasn't broken any of the constitutional rules of our club, darlingest Macdolas; the Wirey cannot and should not be booted," Ruibby chides. "Macdolas must learn to get along with his German counterpart."

Macdolas mutters something highly uncomplimentary beneath his breath, before smiling toothsomely at his diminutive paramour. "Yes, ma moitié."

Bernard ducks his head under the table. "I've picked out 'Beauty and the Beast' and 'Aladdin' – both animated classics – so now we have to decide: prickly, tormented, furry prince and brave bookworm, or scampish street rat and gutsy princess? You're going to have to make the final call, my heart is cleaved right down the middle," he sighs lustily.

"Why don't we let Miss Octavia choose? She is the guest of honour here," Blaise suggests.

"I am? Wow… um, 'Beauty and the Beast', please. Beast is my favourite, but Gus likes Aladdin because he's so cheeky," Tavi glances knowingly at Blaise.

The girl's as smart as paint… Blaise hastily stands up, holding out his hand to the wise little moppet. "Come on, Kiddo – you get to choose the best seat, before this rabble descends. Ease up, Mac, I'm joking," he forestalls the elf's indignant squawk.

Bernard literally skips ahead of them, making Blaise wonder anew if the man is wholly sane. He sniggers to himself as he envisions Barney meeting Lucius for the first time.

What I wouldn't give to be a Flesh fly on that wall…

"Mr Blaise? Thank you very much, for inviting us here," Tavi solemnly communicates, her taffy-brown eyes rounded with sincerity. "This is the very best day of my life – well, it's a tie with when Gus took me to Legoland Windsor last year, and we rode 'The Dragon'… but then I spewed afterward," she confesses.

"Gus warned me not to eat that second hot dog so fast… but she was nice enough not to say, 'I told you so'," Tavi adds.

"When I was littler, I had Oropharyngeal Dysphagia: that means difficulty swallowing, because of my muscle and nerve dysfunctions, you know. I had to eat a lot of really boring pureed food and see the speech pathologist and occupational therapist to learn different swallowing techniques. I'm much better now, Mr Blaise," she staunchly avers. "Having another little vanilla cupcake wouldn't bother me at all, I'm sure."

The sweet, clever little darling! Blaise curbs his urge to enfold the tiny, plucky witchlet in a big bear hug. He settles for carefully helping her scooch onto the middle of the sofa, and plumping up the softest, fluffiest cushions to place behind her back and neck.

"You're a regular con artist, Miss Octavia; like recognizes like, you understand," Blaise grins. "We'll see, about that extra cupcake… as long as you promise me one thing."

"What's that, Mr Blaise?" Tavi curiously replies.

"If Gus gets shirty when she hears how much cake you've eaten today, we both tell her that Barney insisted you eat as much as you like. Deal?" Blaise whispers, sticking out his big paw.

"Deal!" Tavi vigorously shakes, giggling preciously.

Sitting down beside her, Blaise feels a mild twinge of alarm at how much making this child happy already means to him.

Well, I'd have to have the hairiest of hearts to not be moved by her struggles, he rationalizes. And as for her sister…

Lost in a glorious remembrance of the singular bliss of Gussie's intoxicating acceptance of his 'dare' (sweet Salazar, her lips! Her hands! That noise she made when I nipped her jaw! The fire in her eyes when she launched herself at me… her fiercely splendid face, and champion's heart…) Blaise startles when Tavi lightly prods his ribs.

"The movie's starting, Mr Blaise! This bit is really important, it explains how the prince becomes the Beast."

"Alright, Kiddo. I'm watching."


Narcissa carves another plump triangular wedge off the walnut-adorned coffee cake, neatly dividing it in half.

"Jane, I insist you share this portion with me; you've not tasted coffee cake until you've tried Ruibby's spectacular version," Narcissa commands, pushing the plate between them and picking up her fork. "I know how dreadfully spoiled I am to have such wonderful domestic staff, and I take full advantage of it," she laughs.

"Oh, I shouldn't– I've consumed a month's worth of sweets in one day, as it is!" Jane half-heartedly demurs. "Although… it does smell fabulous…"

Wordlessly, Narcissa hands her new friend a fresh dessert fork. They cackle together as they dig in.

"Ohmigod… Narcissa, this is positively orgasmic," Jane moans around her cutlery. "I'm divorcing Barney and marrying this cake. It's a shame: I've grown rather fond of him – but he's never brought me this," she declares.

"Do call me 'Cissy', if you like; all my friends do. Bernard… he's very loving, isn't he? I know you wouldn't think it, but Lucius loves me so fiercely… too fiercely, some might say. His devotion and overdeveloped sense of protectiveness were often the catalyst for his horrible past actions," Narcissa quietly divulges, laying aside her fork. "I have hope that his recent willingness to seek therapy shall lead to a new, positive era of openness for our little family."

Patting her hand comfortingly, Jane smiles in sympathy. "You've had rather a rough time of things, haven't you, Cissy? I'd invite you to call me by my nickname, but it's almost impossible to shorten 'Jane' much further."

I see where Hermione gets her sweet, loyal, unbounded heart, Narcissa thinks. Although Bernard Granger's unbridled lust for life clearly also plays a part in the dear girl's inherited traits. Thank Circe that Hermione doesn't share his enthusiasm for the boisterously absurd; I'm going to have to prepare Lucius days in advance as to how to politely cope with the Granger patriarch's zany personality.

"Thank you, Jane. I will admit to having experienced some loneliness, over the past few years – though I deserved no less, for the part I played in the terrible events of the War," Narcissa's mouth droops.

"Nonsense – if it weren't for you declaring Harry dead to Voldemort – lying like an absolute BOSS, I might add – we'd all be toast," Jane robustly objects. "I've made it my business to learn everything I can about that horrific time; and your actions were integral to the 'goodies' triumphing, Cissy. I won't allow anyone to denigrate my friends, and that includes you."

Struck speechless, Narcissa blinks away a tear or two. I do wish we'd met much sooner… never mind.

"Let's talk of happier things, hmmm? Such as – how long do you estimate until Draco proposes? Judging by their closeness, I'm honestly surprised he hasn't already popped the question," Jane ruminates, nodding to the other table.

Hermione is still seated in Draco's lap, the pair of them chatting and laughing with Pansy and Theo as they reminisce about their happier Hogwarts memories. Wirey broods beside them, sullenly flattening and reshaping his elaborate moustache, mumbling crossly in German.

"He refuses to say, the silly boy," Narcissa answers. "I do know he's been sneaking around our Gringotts vault, and visiting jewellers. It shan't be long now, I'm sure," she complacently states.

"Are you set upon the Manor, for the reception? Hermione has a horror of being the centre of attention in crowded events, especially when she's the focus of all eyes," Jane discloses. "It stems from her Muggle schooling, I think… she was teased mercilessly for being an overachiever, plus she was miles smarter than the other children. I've always thought that bullying led in turn to her insecurity about her romantic relationships, Cissy. She was so busy trying to prove she belonged in both worlds that she allowed herself no time to simply be, if that makes sense."

"It does – and I do apologize for the part my family played in exacerbating her distress," Narcissa sorrowfully responds. "Contrary to his poor treatment of her at school, Draco has been pining for Hermione since the first moment he saw her – though he hid it for eons, for a multitude of reasons. No, no, I won't dwell on the negatives; no need to scold me, Jane. To answer your question: they can be married in a dilapidated greenhouse on the grounds of Hogwarts, if they wish – just as long as we parents are in attendance!".

"Agreed," Jane clinks her cup of tea to Narcissa's. "I think that if we're cunning – and do most of the planning ourselves – we can find a decent compromise between 'lavish pageant' and 'intimate gathering', for their wedding."

"Here's to us!" Narcissa gaily toasts. The two women fall about laughing as their children turn their nervy, apprehensive gazes upon them.

"Quick – let's start talking about sex again," Jane chirps. "Please tell me more about that special hip motion of Lucius's? What did you call it… 'The Limber Lolabug?"

"'The Limber Lobalug'," Narcissa corrects. "The trick is to stay perfectly still while he thrusts up and in a clockwise motion, you see." She demonstrates by making a circle with her left hand and twisting her right fingers inside.

"Oh! That's interesting – I admit we've developed a similar manoeuvre, though it works best when I'm on top and Bernard is clinging to the bed rails for dear life," Jane leans in. "I've named it 'The Sugarpuss Swivel'… that's Barney's pet name for me," she pinkens prettily.

"Mum! We can hear you!" a scandalized Hermione hollers. "Please, stop!".

"Sweetie, you're the witch – cast a Muffy Latté, if you're that bothered," Jane calmly ripostes. Narcissa nearly slides off her chair as her helpless merriment overcomes her.

"Jane – you are utterly priceless– " she gasps, wiping at her wet eyes. "Our adorably daft offspring don't stand a chance against the two of us."

"I'm counting on it, Cissy."

Smirking saucily, Jane finishes off the coffee cake.


Stepping out of the townhouse's Floo, Gus snorts to herself as Kreacher immediately places a gnarled shushing finger to his lips; the elderly elf glares as he jerks his head to the slumbering creatures all around him.

Oh, be still my dopey heart. Gus swallows spasmodically as her eyes alight on the devastatingly captivating tableau before her.

Kreacher is half-swallowed in the right corner of the lounge; beside him, Gelsy is snoring softly against Tavi's side. A soundly sleeping Tavi is tucked securely against Blaise's shoulder, his long limb extended to keep both females from lolling. Kitten Boadie is nestled in Blaise's lap, blithely catnapping. Luna is in the left corner, supported by Blaise's other shoulder… and also fast asleep.

Mac and Ruibby occupy the beanbag; Mac on his back, with Ruibby draped across him. Bernard Granger is awkwardly spread over an armchair; everyone bar Kreacher and Blaise is dead to the world.

From behind her, Harry whispers, "We should get Malfoy's Polaroid – this is too sweet for words."

Hermione appears at the doorway. "I'm one step ahead of you, Harry – as per usual," she continues to speak in a low tone as she holds up a number of snapshots, and the Wizardly camera. "Blaise is particularly photogenic, as it happens," she grins at Gus.

Nope – not touching that gibe with a broomstick, Brightest Witch!

Gus allows herself to fleetingly glance at Blaise's smiling, drowsy, beautiful eyes. "We'd best get going – Tavi's had a long day. Was she alright? Anything I should know about?". Her eyebrow rises at the evidence of cake crumbs and a number of empty paper cupcake cases scattered on the floor and table. "How badly did she pig out?"

"Bernard ate most of those," Blaise claims. "Tavi's fine – she had a ball."

"OK. Here, I'll take her– " Gus moves forward.

"No, I have her – Kreacher, would you pick up Boadie, please? Gus, if you wouldn't mind steadying Gels – thank you." Blaise gingerly leans Luna back the other way, sliding a cushion under her fair head. He cradles Tavi as though she's made of the finest china, supporting her little head and legs with an expertise that frankly astonishes Gus. She bites her lip as she lowers Gelsy down onto the couch.

He turns to Hermione. "Thank you for a wonderful day, Golden Girl. I'll come back for Gels once I've seen my girls safely to their flat."

'My girls'? Gus opens and closes her mouth in a trout-like fashion, finally deciding to leave that verbal grenade alone, too.

"You're very welcome, Blaise; and thank you so much for bringing Gus and Tavi. We've loved getting to know you, and please visit us any time," Hermione beams. "Draco left for his meeting a little while ago; and Theo took home Wirey before any more fights broke out, but they both asked me to pass along their goodbyes."

"Right – OK – um, thank you, Hermione. I'd – I'd like that," Gus stammers. "We've really enjoyed ourselves… you've made Tavi's year, I think."

"The pleasure was all ours, Gus," Hermione avouches. "You'd better take good care of our Gilmont girls, Blaise, you hear me? Goodnight," she gives Gus a quick hug and pats Blaise's back.

"Goodnight," Blaise and Gus reply in unison; their gazes clash, sparking fresh heat in Gus's blood.

"Well… shall we Side-Apparate back to the park?" Gus shyly suggests, belatedly realizing that Blaise has both his hands full with carrying her little sister… meaning I'm going to have to latch onto him.

"Yes: if you wouldn't mind – erm, holding onto me," Blaise lifts Tavi a little so Gus can access his waist. "Let's go home, Gussie."

Clinging securely onto Zabini's belt (and his washboard abdomen), Gus strives to crush her galloping heart at his words… and his warm, intense regard.

Shutting her eyes, her persistent thought is that she has grossly erred, both in initially dismissing Blaise's character as frivolous and entitled… and in not working harder to suppress her raging attraction to him.

And why, oh why, does the man have to smell so good? I could roll around on him like a cat in a herb garden.

Sniffing as inconspicuously as she can, Gus mentally shrugs, hanging on tightly.

Take us home, Blaise.


Translations

Italian

Stupido ometto! – Stupid little man!

German

Herzlose Füchsin! – Heartless vixen!

Ich habe genug gehabt! – I've had enough!

French

ma moitié – my better half (colloquially, it can also mean 'my ball and chain').