Chapter 86

Monday 30 March 2003: AM

"Pansy? Pansy? Pansy!" Mayumi's genteel tones finally penetrate the dozy little domestic daydream Pansy has been indulging in as she's been (ostensibly) processing end-of-the-month paperwork.

"Oh! Yes, Mayumi?" Pansy hastens to cover her absentminded sketch with a Gringotts report before her manager can catch sight of the intertwined hearts creeping around the page in a doodled border. It's normal to get a little side-tracked with the banking details – they're boring as batshit, after all. "Is there a problem in the boutique?" she questions.

"No: you have a visitor," there is the merest hint of a smirk on Mayumi's face as she gracefully steps aside from the open doorway. "Auror Potter was in the neighbourhood… apparently."

"Harry!" Pansy abandons any last pretence of nonchalance as she rockets from her chair, cannoning into Harry's open arms. He utters a soft "oof" as she cinches him into an ardent hug, deep emotion clogging her throat.

Mayumi peers around Harry's back, her smirk now a full-blown grin. "I'll see to it you're not interrupted; provided you supply me with all the juicy details at lunch, Pansy."

"Off you go, Mayumi," Pansy shoots out a hand, having no compunction about firmly shutting the door in her snoopy colleague's face. She turns back to her smiling boyfriend, suddenly feeling a tad shy after her exuberant greeting. "Hi, Harry."

"Hallo, Pansy, love," his head lowers in a passionate kiss, effectively quelling her doubts of over-effusiveness as his mouth hungrily explores her own. Pansy holds on for dear life as Harry backs her up against the closed door, his fingers lightly curving around her jaw and burrowing into her hair.

Oh… my… goddess… he's kissing me like he's been away at sea for six months! Pansy eagerly reciprocates, cupping his taut derriere through his crimson Auror robes and licking at his warm, hot mouth. Memories of their utterly superb night together float past her mind's eye in a stream of remembered pleasure and hitherto unknown intimacy. Was it really only last night? Well, this morning, technically… her cheeks flush as she thinks about waking up in Harry's arms, coaxing him awake with tiny nibbling kisses to every part of his gloriously nude body…

Harry is panting hard when he pulls away from their embrace, his emerald eyes fever-bright behind his spectacles. "Merlin, Pansy – I want nothing more than to Apparate us home and have my wicked way with you," he groans.

"I have no objection, seeing as how you've completely ruined my concentration for the day," Pansy pertly replies, her sauciness dropping away as she notes his serious expression. "Harry, what's wrong? You look like you've bad news to impart." A ball of dread clenches in her stomach as she considers that he appears to have come straight from work. The damned roofie case…

"It's nothing bad, love," Harry reassures, clearly understanding the source of her stricken expression. He gathers her back in his arms in a loose hold, intently peering down into her face. "I have to go away this afternoon, for the job – we've been given the go-ahead to make international arrests, starting with the Netherlands, Belgium, and France."

"There's– there's that many – people to arrest?" Pansy stammers. "I hadn't realized the… scope, I guess." She casts down her eyes, heart heavy. Harry's gentle fingertip on her chin rouses her from her melancholy.

"Love, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. All I'll say is that we're confident that we've now discovered the full extent of the criminals involved, and we're set to see they all face appropriate justice. I'm sorry for dropping in on you like this, I only found out about the work trip this morning, and I–I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye… I-I had to see you," he confesses, smiling shyly. The bashful gesture makes her heart thump a little harder.

"I'm really glad you did," Pansy mumbles, a pang of vulnerability rising even as her hands compulsively roam his lithe body. "Will you be gone long, Harry?" she tries not to sound too wistful.

"At least until Thursday night – possibly most of Friday, depending on how effectively we can liaise with the French authorities," Harry replies, his fingers smoothing back her hair. "I'll be doing my level best to ensure it all proceeds as quickly as possible, believe me."

"Do you think you'll make it back in time for Mac's party on Saturday? I mean, I know it's obviously not your number one priority, but I thought it would be nice if we could attend together…" Salazar's smelly socks – I sound like a whiny baby! Pansy berates herself.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, love; I promise, I'll be back to escort you to Malfoy Manor, come hell or high water," Harry seals his vow with a tender kiss, chuckling against the side of her mouth as he observes, "There's something I never thought I'd ever say: I'm going to a house elf's party at Malfoy Manor… well, I'm game if you are, Pansy."

"I can't wait, Harry," Pansy sincerely states, her thumping heart now flopping in her chest as Harry's smile happily widens. "I'll protect you from Lucius, never fear – though I very much doubt he'd dare do or say anything rude to you, Narcissa would have his hide quicker than you can say 'dragon leather'," she laughs.

Harry shrugs carelessly. "He's not stupid, whatever else he may be… besides, there's no way I'd miss the opportunity to see Lucius's reaction to his ancestral home being the host venue for Macdolas's 'Wild Birthday Bacchanal," he quotes the party invitations they'd recently received. "I bet he has a face like a half-sucked lemon for much of the duration!".

Pansy cackles at the thought. "Wait until Hagrid plonks himself down in the ex-Lord of the Manor's favourite armchair, or that giant cat of Hermione's sheds all over his precious Aubusson… oh, it's going to be so much fun, Harry."

"Yeah… because you'll be there, Pansy." Harry coughs a little, his sooty hair flopping over his forehead as he quietly says, "Um… I also wanted to say that– that I'd like– I'd love for you to make yourself at home, at Grimmauld Place, I mean. While I'm away– when I'm not away, too, of course– any time you like, not that I expect you to move in or anything– it's too soon for that, yeah… but Kreacher gets lonely, you know, and I thought that you maybe wouldn't mind spending some time with him, in the evenings, he's a really good cook–"

"Harry. Shush," she lays a silencing finger upon his parted lips, wondering anew at just how endearingly cute his nervous little speeches always are. He couldn't be more charming if he actually tried; the best part is, he has no idea how sexy his sweetness is. Such a darling… my darling…

"If you're certain Kreacher won't mind the intrusion, I would like to drop by occasionally," Pansy strives to keep her tone light and unconcerned, though butterflies are buffeting to and fro in her stomach. "I've developed a bit of a fondness for your record collection, you see – especially Stewart Rod, and The Windows."

"I think you mean Rod Stewart, and The Doors, love," Harry mildly corrects, though she can see the amused smile in his eyes. "I wish I could be there to listen to them with you… I'm going to miss you something dreadful, Pansy. Last night – last night was so special – you're so special, and I just want you to know that I'll be thinking of you constantly while I'm away."

He's determined to make me test the waterproof assurance on my new mascara. Pansy blinks away her stupid tears.

"Hey – you'd better not, I need you to concentrate wholly on the job, Auror Potter! The sooner you throw these bastards in the clink, the sooner you'll come home, right?" she injects some spine into her wobbly voice. "Please be safe, Harry. I'll miss you, too."

"'Throw them in the clink'? Have you been watching old Muggle TV cop shows, love?" Harry grins, before he folds her back into his warm arms. "I'll be safe as houses, don't worry about me."

Pansy lays her head against his chest, unable to speak for a few moments. How is it that being around Harry always makes me feel grounded, and whole? I feel so freaking happy… but I need to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dr Rica was right when she said the universe isn't actually out to get me. Urgh, being an adult is hard.

"I'd best get back to the Ministry, sweetheart," Harry regretfully states, kissing her eyebrows once, twice, then stepping back a pace. "I've been remiss in not telling you how beautiful you look, today – well, every day. You take my breath away, Miss Parkinson."

"Why thank you, kind sir," Pansy performs a quick spin to make the belled silk skirt flare on her black and azure floral dress. "We might have one in your size downstairs, if you come back for a fitting?" she teases.

"Maybe another time," Harry plays along. "The shop looks wonderful; you've done a brilliant job with your business, love."

"Thanks, Harry. Although I prefer 'boutique' or 'salon'," she winks. "It's mandatory to charge an extra twenty percent with the fancy name, you see."

"Mmm, I usually find that's the case when I purchase my bespoke suits, tuxedos, and dress robes," Harry somehow keeps a straight face as he strikes a 'model' pose. "I should hit up Malfoy the next time I frequent Savile Row, teach the posh git a thing or two about real fashion."

If her responding laughter is a little high-pitched, Harry doesn't remark upon it. I wish he weren't going away… but I'll be OK. It's only a few nights, after all. She puffs out a strong breath in an effort to rid herself of her lingering melancholy.

"You can use my Floo to return to work, if you like," Pansy offers, after goodness knows how long spent simply mooning at each other while holding hands, Harry's thumbs running gently over her knuckles. Clearing her throat, she adds, "I'd rather not give Mayumi any more ammunition about your presence – her beady eyes are already on stalks."

"Thanks… yeah, I guess… I guess I should leave now." Harry makes no move toward the magical fireplace, chuffing a dry laugh as he admits, "I'm having trouble letting go of you, love."

"Come on," Pansy leads him over, just as unwilling as he is to disengage from their affectionate handhold. "Have a productive and safe trip, Duckie."

"I'll owl you when I can – and Kreacher is expecting you, so please come over whenever you feel like a nice meal, or to listen to some records – you can set them up magically too, remember how I showed you the other night? Not that I don't trust you to manually operate the record arm and needle – you've very agile, pretty little hands–"

"Harry, I really should have nicknamed you 'Waffler'; it's fine, darling. Go back to work – but one more kiss, please?" Pansy taps her lips, barely having time to remove her fingers before Harry's mouth enthusiastically descends.

Expecting a light smooch, Pansy literally has to clutch the wizard for support as his firm, strong lips claim every inch of her gasping mouth, her constant desire for him flaming incredibly quickly with each assured stroke of his masterful tongue.

Just when she is at the point of seriously contemplating dragging him over onto the two-seater dark grey divan for a 'proper' farewell, Harry breaks away. It is little consolation that he looks as wantonly frazzled as she feels.

"Bye, love– take care of yourself– I– lo– I'll miss you," he blindly snatches a pinch of Floo powder, raggedly speaking his destination and whirling away before her dazed eyes.

Wait – what was that – stutter…? Pansy shakes her head, unwilling to assume Harry was going to say something rather significant with his choked-out goodbye. She stumbles over to the divan, plunking herself down without a shred of her usual grace.

How the devil am I supposed to return to the excruciating mundanity of balancing Galleons and Sickles after that?

Monday 30 March 2003: PM

"Mrs Green! MRS GREEN! Look, there's a pool in this room – a pool, RIGHT INSIDE THE HOUSE!" Tavi's shrieks of pure glee echo throughout the cavernous ground floor of the mansion, her little feet rapidly pattering across the black and white chequered marble floor as she bounces from doorway to doorway.

"Heavens, us'll all be deef, what wiv yon kidda's hullabaloo," Nella dryly remarks. "All this gan-on ower ye wee bummler box – Aa've seen swankier hooses, mind." Mrs Green's droll expression falls away as she claps her hands to her knees, dissolving into guffaws at Blaise's crestfallen face. "Divvent be bubblin', young Blaise, ye mansion's properly hoity-toity and sonsy, lad."

"Thanks, Nella." Heartened (by what he assumes is praise for his residence), Blaise pecks an impulsive kiss to the septuagenarian's weathered cheek, smiling as she pretends to bat him away. "I appreciate you accepting my offer to stay here while Gussie's away; it's nothing short of a disgrace that the soonest the council can send someone to fix your broken plumbing is Friday."

"Aye, curious, that," Nella sniffs. "Nowt odd that the pipes went wrang when ye arrived, tis there? I wonder what our Gus'll think on the fine coincidence, hmmm?".

"It was fortuitous indeed that I was on hand to offer my favourite ladies alternative accommodation," Blaise needlessly adjusts his grip on the two small suitcases Mrs Green entrusted to his care before he side-Apparated them all into the foyer of Villa Zabini, feeling Nella's judgmental regard crawling over his involuntarily deepening complexion like ants on a picnic blanket. Deflect, deflect!

"Welcome to my humble abode - la mia casa è la tua casa, as they say."

Hopefully, she won't notice my guilty blush… it's not like those pipes weren't overdue to be replaced, anyway. This is going to be a pleasant, relaxing mini holiday for Nella and Tavi – and Gelsy's going to revel in the extra company, she hates twiddling her thumbs while I'm at work. I think anyone would have to agree that my teensy spot of light tampering has benefited us all. Blaise grins as he mentally pats himself on the back for his patent altruism. The Great Zabini, spreading joy and cheer wherever he goes…

His self-congratulatory musings are interrupted by Gelsy Apparating into the grand vestibule with a soft pop. Her shrewd little face lights up at the sight of Mrs Green.

"Ah, Gels, there you are: could you please make us–"

"Mia cara amica Nella! Benvenuto… welcome, welcome! Come to the parlour, Gelsomina prepares a delizioso afternoon tea," she takes Nella's thin hand before bustling them in the direction of the smaller sitting room.

" – some tea," Blaise speaks the last to himself with a sigh. He hefts the suitcases a little higher as he heads for the wide central staircase.

"Mister Blaise, do you want some help?" Tavi skitters out of the pool room, Tricky tucked beneath one arm and her school bag banging against her back. "I can carry my own case, you know – I've got plenty of muscles." Blaise bites his cheek to stifle his smile as the diminutive schoolgirl bends her elbow to flex her skinny bicep. "See? Gus has already taught me how to punch and kick, and I've watched all the 'Karate Kid' movies."

"Impressive, Miss Octavia," he murmurs. "All of them, hey? Why, it's a wonder you don't come with a warning label, strutting around with all that infinite power under your belt."

Tavi narrows her eyes. "I know you're laughing at me – just because I'm little, it doesn't mean I'm not dangerous," she plants her hands on her tiny hips with an adorable scowl. "The smallest scorpions deliver the deadliest sting, Mister Blaise."

Setting down the cases, Blaise hunkers in front of the girl, lightly tweaking one of her pigtails. "I've no doubt you're a natural-born killer, just like your big sister. I'm sorry for teasing you, Kiddo – and I'm very glad you already know how to defend yourself. Maybe you could teach me a few things, while you're here?".

"Mmm… I guess… I'd have to consult my schedule," Tavi mimes pulling a pencil from behind her ear and ruffling through an imaginary diary. "Also, I'd like to be paid in cakes and milkshakes, please?" she shamelessly wheedles. "Tricky gets hungry a lot, and she's not cheap to feed."

"I bet – look at the cute poochy belly on her," Blaise nods. "How about you take Tricky and yourself along to the parlour to join the others for afternoon tea –" he points the way, " – while I carry your things to your rooms, Kiddo? Oh, before you go, Miss Octavia: will you please promise me you won't ever go in the pool on your own? Make sure Mrs Green or Gelsy is watching you the whole time, alright?".

"OK – but I already know how to swim, Gus takes me to the community pool in summer," Tavi shrugs. "Nella's a really good swimmer, she won a lot of races when she was younger, so she taught me all the strokes except butterfly. I don't know why they call it 'butterfly', though, I think if butterflies could swim, they wouldn't splash about so much and churn up all that water – do you know why it's called 'butterfly', Mister Blaise?".

"Eh – no – what? You can look it up in our library, I'm sure we have a book about… Muggle swimming terms." Blaise crosses his fingers behind his back. I might have to make a quick trip to Waterstone's before the day is out… that's not a bad idea, I can ask the staff to recommend some appropriate children's books… or I'll ask Nella, she's bound to know what Tavi likes. Maybe I'll take them both after school tomorrow? And we should also visit a toy store… I've always said the Villa doesn't have enough toys. Knocking 'em out of the park today, Blaisey!

A gentle tug on his left ear brings him back to the conversation. "I promise I won't go swimming on my own, Mister Blaise," Tavi solemnly says. "Tricky really wants to try the spa bubbles, though."

"Well, it's lucky for Tricky that the pool – and the spa – is heated year-round. Maybe you could have a dip after dinner? Here, may I take your backpack upstairs, too? I think you'll like your room; it has an adjoining door to Mrs Green's, and Gelsy reckons a real Italian princess once stayed there," Blaise stands, carefully slipping the bag off Tavi's upheld arms. He forestalls the eager child's next line of questioning. "Go have something to eat and ask Gelsy all about it, she's the expert on the history of the house."

"Wow – OK, Mister Blaise!". Tavi takes a few jolting steps, before rotating; she races back to fling her arms around Blaise in a tight hug. "Thank you very much for asking us here and taking care of us. I'm so happy you're Gussie's boyfriend now – and my friend."

She lifts her candy-floss blonde head to peer up earnestly at him, continuing, "And not just because you're rich – I mean, I'm glad you're not poor – Mrs Green said you're rich as Croesus, I don't know who that is, but I bet he doesn't have to eat three minute noodles the night before pay day – anyway, I don't have many friends: but even if I did, you'd make my top three, for sure."

Bequeathing him a toothy grin, she tears off again before he can return the hug, or try to force a reply from his choked-up throat. He stands stock-still, his heart seeming to both crumple and expand at the dear little girl's sweet sincerity and affectionate gesture.

'Top three'… I don't think I've ever been happier with scraping into third place. Blaise pinches at the inner corners of his eyes, wiping away the sudden wetness.

I don't care if Gus hits the roof when she learns I've imported Nella and Tavi to the Villa while she's on her work trip; she did ask me to keep an eye on them, and there's no better way to facilitate that than by having them stay with me, right? Who knows, maybe my Gussie won't mind at all? It's not like I'm spoiling them… I'm simply being caring, and sharing. Yeah. Perfectly reasonable.

He picks up the suitcases, beginning to ascend the gleaming marble steps. Maybe, though… maybe I should just shoot off one of those text message thingies tonight, not call… Gussie's bound to be tired, international travel is wearisome at the best of times. We wouldn't want her to worry.

Cool. Sorted. Cheerily whistling, Blaise proceeds to La Stanza della Principessa, his mind filling with ideas as to how to best employ the limitless scope of his hospitality for the next three days.

Tuesday 31 March 2003: AM

"Granger, I can't shake the feeling we've been summoned to the Head's office to discuss our naughty child's mischievous behaviour," Draco grouches, standing behind her at the vanity as they groom their respective heads of hair.

He watches with no small fascination as Hermione adroitly applies a series of potions and lotions to her tumbling chestnut curls: 'fluffing', 'scrunching', 'praying hands', 'finger coiling', and Merlin knows what else. He smugly lays down his hairbrush as she glares at him in the shared mirror. "All done."

"Mac's not a child, Malfoy – and you can wipe that critical look off your face, all this is necessary if I don't want to sport bird's nest hair," she huffs.

"Hermione, your hair is utterly glorious, and I respect and admire the effort you employ to keep it so lustrous and… contained." Draco prudently moves out of jabbing reach of her special comb as her freckled little nose wrinkles in suspicion at his glib words.

"Just for that, I'll let you take the lead in our parent-teacher conference this morning," she sniggers as he blanches. "Make sure you have a good reason prepared, as to why Mac ignored McGonagall's no-weapons policy, Draco."

"Hold on – you just said he's not a child – and I truly feel you are better suited to pleading the rascal's case, you understand the elven mindset so comprehensively, Granger. And– and you're a G.R.E.A.S.E.R., you should have the honour of explaining that he deserves a second chance."

"Nice try, albeit terribly flimsy and transparent," Hermione shakes her head pityingly, before cocking her head at her reflection and nodding in satisfaction. "Hurry up, we don't want to be late." She winks at his affronted expression. "Minerva detests tardiness."

Knowing just enough about women to keep his mouth firmly sealed, Draco allows himself to be towed in her wake. Technically, Macdolas isn't even our employee, any more… I don't see why we've been dragged into the daft little toe-cutter's probation meeting. Although – I suppose I'll have to speak up on his behalf, if the Headmistress really is of a mind to let him go; I doubt she'll go to that extreme, she's strict but fair, in everything except close Quidditch games… maybe best not to mention that, though…

"Malfoy, you left behind your satchel, sweetheart," Hermione points to the item as she opens the door of their suite. "Ready to plead Mac's case?".

Grabbing his portfolio, Draco drolly enacts a courtly roll of his wrist. "After you, ma petite."

Macdolas, you are going to owe me – big time – for this, you rascally shrimpet. Always with the ruddy sharp blades…

"Mister Macdolas, while I do understand that you had no intention of wounding yourself with the sword, I distinctly remember advising you that carrying weaponry at Hogwarts is not only unnecessary, but stringently prohibited. It is an edict which applies to staff and students alike, with very good reason – as you may now personally attest." Minerva McGonagall's cool, lilting tones fill the cosily-lit Head's office. "I believe we would all like to know why you saw fit to ignore my earlier stricture, thusly causing unfortunate injury to yourself, please."

Squirming like a worm on a hook, Macdolas opens his sulky mouth to reply. "Highly Heralded, Hardworking, Highbrowed and Handsome Headmistress Professor McGonagall–"

"'Headmistress' or 'Professor' will suffice, Mister Macdolas; the continued use of unnecessary honorifics will slow us down interminably, and I am already cognizant of your impressive vocabulary." Draco has to stop himself from clapping in admiration at Minerva's no-nonsense squashing of Macdolas's verbosity.

She peers over the top of her glasses, her familiar quelling expression instantly making Draco cringe a little at an anticipated dressing-down (regardless of the fact it's not aimed in his direction).

Ruibby's prim lips thin even further, until they all but disappear. Even Hermione looks subdued, her hands clasped neatly in her lap as she sits beside him. She discreetly prods Draco's ribcage, presumably to spur him into action.

"Headmistress, if I may– " Draco's attempt to intercede on the gosling's behalf is curtly abbreviated.

"You may not. Do carry on, Master Macdolas."

The disgruntled elf sullenly mutters "Hortatory and Highflying," beneath his breath, fussing at his standard uniform robes before he properly answers. "Macdolas merely wishes to better inspect the shining sword of the armoured suit, Headmistress – he reaches for the piece afore he realizes its nasty, stabby qualities."

His usually sunny voice falters as he suddenly flings himself to the floor, his nubby hands grasped in abject supplication as he cries, "Please, Headmistress, Macdolas begs you to take pity on a poor, inquisitive, misguided-but-well-intentioned elf! He means no harm, and begs pardon for his unintentional sword-based crimes! Do not cast him aside – he will perform any task to prove his fealty to the Humanitarian Headmistress McGonagall and the Captivating Castle Hogwarts! Have mercy, your Heavenly Highness…" he snuffles into the carpet.

Ruibby immediately slides from her own chair, kneeling to rub his shivering back and croon soft phrases of assurance.

Before Draco can decide upon a course of action, Minerva briskly moves to the prostate sprite; she helps him to stand with a firm, gentle hand. "Enough of your 'Heavenly Highness' nonsense; dry your tears, there's no need for dramatics, Mister Macdolas. Your employment shan't be adversely affected by this luckless incident, though you may consider this your formal warning against further testing of the rules on weaponry, do you understand?".

"Yes, Headmistress Professor McGonagall; Macdolas has certainly learned his lesson," he jerkily nods, tears vanishing as quickly as they appeared. "Macdolas asks leave to make one small suggestion, if it pleases Your Hegemonic Headmistress…ness?"

Faintly sighing and raising her left eyebrow, Minerva nods her assent.

Here we go. Draco presses his fingers to his temples, emitting a tiny groan as he imagines what the madcap elf is likely to come out with next.

Macdolas opens his wide mouth, but Ruibby beats him to it.

"MacRu respectfully request that the elfish staff of Hogwarts be eligible for the Sorting Hat, Headmistress? Ruibby and Macdolas believe their people's long-denied integration into respectability and acceptance may be more easily achieved if the students come to know and appreciate the elves as their House members and equals," she assuredly proclaims.

"And MacRu also petition that the human and elf Houses be granted one large communal common room, to better facilitate unity and togetherness, and work towards eradicating the oft unconscious yet tangible prejudice against and for certain Houses," Macdolas chirps, swinging Ruibby's hand as he warms to their topic. "Despite Her Most Honourable Principal's known bias, Gryffindor really shouldn't win all the time, Headmistress Professor McGonagall!".

Eh – and he was doing so well. A beat of fraught silence; Draco stares in confusion as Minerva raucously laughs in response, slapping her thin hands upon the polished wood of her organized desk top and throwing back her head. Hermione and Draco exchange astonished glances.

Wow… I really thought Mac was going to be tossed out on his ear, Hermione's wondering voice sounds in his head. Minerva must have taken a shine to him, hmmm?

He possesses the luck of the very devil himself, ma petite. He's both the genie and the lamp. Draco relaxes his tensed shoulders.

Rising from her seat, Minerva looks keenly at 'MacRu'. "You're pure gallus, Master Macdolas – quite the cheeky monkey. I'll let it pass this time, since you've considerably brightened my morning," she bestows a thin-lipped yet kindly smile.

"Now, as to your suggestions: I'll have to take them to the Board, but I think they're both excellent ideas, depending on your final proposals and recommendations, of course. I shall expect you – er, MacRu – to present a meticulously researched submission on both topics: by Friday evening, shall we say? A written proposal, naturally," she stresses.

Macdolas's ears noticeably droop at the request; Ruibby beams and rubs together her hands in delight. "Certainly, Headmistress McGonagall! MacRu shall devote every moment of their leisure time to the project."

"Excellent. You may be excused. Mister Macdolas: I urge you to heed my advice, and stay well clear of any dubious objects, despite their shininess and apparent glamour. Should you have any questions or concerns, please come see me, rather than take matters – or swords – into your own hands," Minerva sternly cautions. "You were fortunate indeed to not suffer serious injury, my dear." She ushers the elvish couple to the door.

Bowing and curtseying their farewells, the pair exit the office. Draco chortles as he hears Macdolas plaintively bleat, "Darlingest Ruibby – the Highly Heralded Headmistress gave MacRu homework!" as their light footsteps fade down the stone corridor.

Draco scrambles to his feet as Minerva returns to her chair. "Thank you for expertly dealing with Macdolas's idiocy, Headmistress; I'm sure we've taken up enough of your valuable time–"

"We're not done yet, Draco. You may remove that pained expression from your face, this won't take but a moment." Minerva trains her eagle eye on him as he slowly reseats himself. "How are you both settling in? Anything I should be aware of?".

Pinned by her judicial gaze, he barely manages to resist the urge to fidget. "Ah, everything is going well, thank you; though perhaps our bathroom is a little… poky–"

"One of the Seventh Year Potions students left a nasty tricked-up toy skull and snake on Draco's desk yesterday," Hermione vociferously divulges, completely ignoring Draco's lightly exasperated groan. "Head Boy Joseph blasted it out of existence, but I'm not pleased that Draco's being subjected to rank prejudice and hatred."

"Hermione, it's just a stupid prank, I'm not bothered about it, really," Draco clasps her hand, stroking small circles into her palm. "It's best to ignore it, they'll get bored if their petty tricks garner no attention."

"I disagree, Mister Malfoy. You are a valued employee, and I simply will not stand for this kind of behaviour within the castle, from students or staff alike. Leave it with me: but you'll immediately report any more incidents of a similar nature, is that understood?". Minerva's hackles have clearly risen; Draco almost expects her to viciously hiss.

"Draco, please smile and nod," Hermione quietly prompts. He dumbly obeys, gratitude for McGonagall's unquestioning support clotting his vocal chords. This is more than I deserve… much more.

"Good. Now, as to your bathroom; the new Joint Accommodations Tower is still undergoing renovations, so you'll have to make do with the 'poky' facilities for the time being. 'Suck it up, Sunshine', as the hip and happening kids say."

She cocks her head to scrutinize Hermione. "Now, how are you finding everything? Any other problems to report?".

"Oh, Professor– Minerva – I'm thoroughly enjoying teaching here! I know it's early days yet, but I already feel fulfilled, and I've so many ideas, about the Arithmancy curriculum, and perhaps even a restructure of the introductory mathematics courses to attract more students, particularly focusing on any gender bias issues…" Hermione blushes as she realizes her audience is regarding her with fond indulgence.

"Please continue, we'd love to hear more," Draco moves his caressing fingers to her wrist, pride for his magnificent girlfriend's genius wreathed across his face. He chances a quick peck to the corner of her mouth. "You're amazing, ma petite." Their mouths meet for a longer smooch as Hermione leans into him, her plump lips warm and inviting.

"Oh, to be young, and in love… ugh, just watching you two is exhausting," Minerva drolly comments. "I'll thank you to save the cuddling for your suite, Professors."

"Sorry," they sheepishly mumble in unison, breaking apart, but leaving their pinkies looped together.

"Back to business: that's excellent news, Hermione. Once you've collated your research and drawn up a suitable proposal, I'd be delighted to discuss your ideas," Minerva declares. "I don't agree with change merely for change's sake, but I'm of the opinion that it's past time Hogwarts adapted itself to better suit everyone's needs."

"Absolutely," Draco fervently replies. "Is that why you're giving serious thought to Ruibby and Macdolas's bold concepts? I'm sorry about their audacity – I did expect them to start shaking up things, but not in their first week," he sighs.

"No need to apologize, Draco; though I will be billing Malfoy Estate for any future damage caused by Macdolas's inquisitive, meddling fingers," Minerva cackles. "I'm wholly confident you will do your utmost to help contain his… rashness, shall we say?".

Bloody hell – considering the mayhem Macdolas consistently leaves in his wake, our coffers will bleed dry within the year. Draco glumly nods. "Yes, I'll do what I can – but he definitely listens to Hermione more than he heeds my sound advice."

"Throw me under the bus, much?" Hermione grumbles in a low whisper.

"Dear me, Draco – I was jesting. Don't get your trousers in a twist, Hogwarts is perfectly able to absorb the cost of Macdolas's shenanigans." Minerva begins gathering together loose parchment. "He's quite a character, isn't he? And Ruibby… she's as sharp as a tack. I predict she'll rise through the staffing ranks quicker than you can say 'I wish to wash my Irish wristwatch'."

Butting the papers into a neat stack, the Headmistress archly smiles at their non-plussed demeanours. "Try saying that ten times with a few generous drams of Glenfiddich beneath your belt! Let's get down to breakfast before all the good kippers are gone, yes?". She herds them before her (much like she did with 'MacRu', Draco decides, still feeling like he's regressed to his teenage years).

"We will do what we can to… erm… minimize Macdolas's exuberance, Minerva," Hermione promises, as the elder witch spell-locks her office door and begins swiftly striding down the hall. "He's an incredibly hard worker, and he doesn't mean to cause trouble…"

"…It simply always seems to find him," Draco finishes, tucking Hermione's arm into the crook of his elbow as they strive to keep pace. "He's a rogue – but he's our rogue," he avers. "I'd like to confidently state that he'll learn from his near-miss; but it's more accurate to say he'll probably find an ingenious new way to wreak havoc."

"Be that as it may, Macdolas is the responsibility of all of us, now; but yes, I did call you both in on the meeting as soft practice for dealing with your future children's escapades. I've a powerful premonition that your offspring will present almost as many scholastic challenges as the Weasley brood," McGonagall quips, as they reach a fork in the corridor. "No need to sputter your whinnying protests, I'll see you downstairs. Good day."

Head held high, Minerva swoops her black cloak tighter as she turns left; her sprightly gait is surprisingly fast as she disappears from sight.

Draco and Hermione are left bashfully staring at one another, cheeks and ears pink at the topic of babies.

"We should– we should get some food," Hermione says at last, not quite meeting his eyes. "That went much better than we anticipated, didn't it?".

"Yes: and far better than Macdolas deserved. Come, darling, you must admit he'd try the patience of a saint… and his bare-faced gall, fronting McGonagall about the Gryffindor bias! Of course, he's not wrong – but to just blurt it out like that!".

Draco isn't certain which of them starts laughing first, but it isn't long before they are doubled over and grabbing at one another to stay upright, gasping for breath.

"Oh, Malfoy… I'm so glad we moved here… our life's never going to be boring, is it?" Hermione says, twining her hands around his neck and smiling beatifically into his mirthful grey eyes.

"Never a dull moment; and there's no place I'd rather be, Granger." Slipping his hands around her shapely hips, Draco bends his head for a torrid kiss, showing her exactly how happy he is to share her world.

Geordie translations:

Heavens, us'll all be deef, what wiv yon kidda's hullabaloo – Heavens, we'll all go deaf, what with the ruckus the child's making.

All this gan-on ower ye wee bummler box – All this fuss over your small house [bee box].

Aa've seen swankier hooses, mind – I've seen posher houses, you know.

Divvent be bubblin', young Blaise, ye mansion's properly hoity-toity and sonsy, lad – Don't go crying, young Blaise, your mansion's certainly fancy and good-looking, lad.

Nowt odd that the pipes went wrang when ye arrived, tis there? – Nothing strange about the pipes going wrong when you arrived, is there?

Italian translations:

la mia casa è la tua casa - My house is your house

Mia cara amica Nella! Benvenuto – My dear friend Nella! Welcome!

Delizioso – delicious

La Stanza della Principessa – the Princess Room.