Chapter 95

Saturday 05 April 2003: PM

"Tavi, are you feeding that feline beneath the table? I thought we went over this subject at Hermione and Draco's brunch, Kiddo," Gus chides her little sister.

"But Gus Gus, Crooky's much bigger than Boadie, and I'm only giving him tiny pieces of salmon," Tavi argues. "I dropped it straight on the floor so's he didn't lick my fingers, it's perfectly… hygienic?" she looks to Mrs Green to confirm her pronunciation, smiling with satisfaction as Nella approvingly nods.

Blaise grins into his napkin, lest Gussie note his indulgent pride in the child's quick wit. She's as smart as a whip, is Miss Octavia.

"Crooky, Fang, and Boadie have already had their dinner, and I doubt very much Crooky is in danger of imminent starvation, Tavi; he's bigger than a Collie already." Gus lifts the red and gold tablecloth to dubiously eye the half-Kneazle as he licks his marmalade chops with gusto.

Tavi bounces in her seat. "Wouldn't it be great if we had a dog, Gus? A rescue doggie, who really needs a home… I think we owe it to society to help out all displaced creatures great and small, you know." She clasps her hands in earnest supplication.

"We 'owe it to society', huh? That's mighty magnanimous of you, Kiddo," humours Gus. "Shame we can't have any pets at the flats, though."

"Uh-huh…" a stymied Tavi blinks at the multisyllabic word, before regrouping. "Mr Blaise agrees, he said–"

"–that I've always wanted a pet, and recently Gelsy proposed that the Villa could use a guard dog, given the, er, spate of burglaries affecting the local area of late," Blaise hastily improvises. Studiously ignoring Gelsy's long-suffering eye-roll, he discreetly reaches around the back of Gus's chair to offer Tavi his hand for a low-five slap. Nice save, Zabini.

Gus throws back her head in hearty laughter. "What rubbish! I don't know which of you is more cunning, truly." She lays a gentle hand on her sister's forehead. "You still look a little flushed, honey; you did spend a pretty long time on that bouncy castle. Drink some more water, please."

Guzzling down half a glass, Tavi wipes her mouth with her napkin before she assures, "I'm fine! I had lots of rests when my legs got tired. As soon as supper's over, I'm going back outside for another jumping session. It's alright, Gus, I know to stay in the little people's castle… and to crawl over to the sides if I fall down. I saw Mr Barney get in the big castle, he fell down and everyone ganged up around him and bounced him up and down in the middle for ages, it was so funny! Mister Lucy laughed the hardest of all, I reckon." She chuckles anew at the memory.

Blaise grins as Gus's attempt to maintain her po-face fails.

"Yes, well, as long as it was kind laughter, I guess," Gus smilingly concedes. "We'll see about going back in the jumping castle; please don't give me that look, Octavia Felice, you promised me you would listen to what I asked of you tonight."

"Yeah, OK," Tavi only pouts a little before her expression cheers. "Do you know that we're gonna take turns singing later, Gus Gus? I've already picked out our song, Mr Barney showed me the list to choose from. Don't worry, Mr Blaise, I'm sure it won't take you long to figure out the tune. You sang fairly well at the flat yesterday," she generously allows.

"That's a fine compliment indeed, Miss Octavia," Blaise grins. "Gussie, you're singing with us too; and I absolutely won't take no for an answer, cara." He bequeaths her his slowest, most wicked smile, delighting in the way her pupils immediately dilate and her breathing hitches.

Pretending she hasn't heard him, Gus applies herself to forking up a mouthful of mustard-stuffed, prosciutto-encased chicken breast and kisir salad. "Maybe," she eventually mumbles. "Please eat your grilled miso salmon before it gets cold, Tavi."

And that's a 'yes', as far as Blaise the Praised is concerned. Making certain that Gus isn't watching, Blaise triumphantly winks at Tavi, who offers a surreptitious thumbs-up in reply. He startles as a familiar feminine brogue rings out beside his right ear, automatically jumping to his feet.

"Good evening, everybody; may I join you? Hello, I'm Minerva McGonagall," the Headmistress introduces herself with a friendly smile. "Thank you, Blaise," she says, accepting his help in being seated after setting down her dinner plate.

Gus undertakes the rest of the introductions. "Headmistress McGonagall, I'd like you to meet Signorina Gelsomina, Mrs Green, and Miss Octavia Gilmont, aka Tavi."

"Do call me Minerva, Augusta; you're not at school anymore, dear. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

Leaning over the table to shake hands, McGonagall's brows draw together as Tavi instinctually quails, shrinking back from the enchanted hissing snakes atop the 'Medusa' costume. Whipping out her wand, Minerva points it to her head, uttering an authoritative "Somnos". The serpents' elliptical eyes uniformly close in forced slumber.

"Now, that's much better. Please accept my apologies; though they are not real snakes, the effect is nonetheless a wee bit confronting, isn't it?" Minerva murmurs, a kindly light in her eyes as she regards the child. "I confess to choosing this outfit in the hope it would help keep our boisterous house elves in line; but alas, they seem indifferent to reptilian deterrents."

"Our Tavi's a bonny brave bairn, for all she's but a slip of a lass," Mrs Green fondly contributes. "Divvent argie, kidda; tis a compliment, ye ken."

Squirming for a moment beneath their combined benevolent gazes, Tavi sits up poker-straight to politely reply, "Hello, Headmistress McGonagall, I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I understand we're expecting you at Hogwarts later this year, Miss Octavia? Professor Granger informs me that you're top of your class, and a very talented young witch, to boot. I'm certain you shall be a wonderful asset to the student body, my dear." Minerva's gentle smile broadens as Tavi excitably kicks her legs at the mention of the castle.

Blaise hears Gus's breath catch in her throat at the significance of Minerva's statement. He shares a glance of deep relief and joy with her, fervidly squeezing her hand as she fumblingly gropes for his beneath the table.

Bless you, Hermione Granger! Tavi's definitely going to Hogwarts in September – no more fretting for any of us, our girl's a bona fide witch! Not that I ever had any real doubt: she's a bloody little champion, and I'll fight any rank fool who says differently. Blaise barely contains a whoop of joy, instead channelling his delight into bussing a swift, rapturous kiss onto Gussie's beautiful mouth.

Returning his kiss with equal gladdened fervour, Gus pulls away to cup his cheek. "She's going to be OK, Blaisey… we're going to be OK," she huskily whispers. Beside her, Tavi continues to extensively list her favourite subjects and hobbies to the Headmistress.

"I was going to request an interview to discuss all this with Minerva next week… I should have guessed Hermione would beat me to it. Sneaky, busy, wonderful woman! By Rowena, we're a fortunate family. Thank you, orsacchiotto." Gus's low-pitched tone cracks on the endearment.

"Oh, mia adorata Gussie, there's no need to thank me," Blaise softly contends. "We can both express our gratitude to Hermione after supper, hmmm? She's a right crafty Gryff, but fortunately she uses her powers for good," he jokes.

"Don't deflect, Zabini: if it weren't for your dazzling charm and chirpy determination to drag us all into your inner circle, we'd probably be chowing into cheesy baked beans on toast right now; and I'd still be freaking out worrying over whether Tavi would be accepted into Hogwarts." Gus keeps their hands linked as she good-naturedly razzes him.

"Well… it is true: I'm insanely charming, have simply loads to offer, and am nigh impossible to resist," Blaise thoughtfully cocks his head and grins hugely. "I'm so happy to be with you, Gussie."

"You've an ego the approximate size of Jupiter – but an incredibly generous heart to match. I'm so happy to be with you too, Blaisey."

She leans in to kiss him this time, softly and sweetly, uncaring of their small, approving audience. Her sincere words and gentle touches are a blissful balm to the long-hidden fractures of Blaise's lonely soul, making his pulse boom and his elation soar ever higher.

My darling Gussie… I really am a lucky bastard. As their embrace ends, Blaise opens his eyes just in time to be blinded by the intrusive flash of a Polaroid camera. What the devil?!

"Master Zabini and Mistress Auror Guardswoman Gilmont, Macdolas immortalizes the memories of his breathtakingly brilliant bacchantic Birthday Bash by means of the wondrous PollyRude: he asks permission to snap the shot of the smooching couple?" he redundantly requests, as the Muggle camera whirrs and spits out a plastic square.

Before either party can voice their opinion, Macdolas trills, "Excellent!", and skips over to the next table.

I suppose I can forgive his cheek, on account of it being his first ever birthday party… but I'll do my utmost to ensure that Macdolas hands over a copy of that picture, before we leave.

Draping his arm over the back of Gus's chair, Blaise returns his attention to Tavi's rapt discussion with Headmistress McGonagall on all things Hogwarts.

That's our clever little Kiddo.

Having already whispered her intention to Draco before they lined up at the buffet, Hermione waits until Pansy has finished loading her plate before she pounces.

"Pansy! I really need to speak with you, it's about Harry," she whisks away the brunette witch to a small, secluded table for two set up in the back right corner, taking care not to upset either of their meals in the process.

"What about Harry– is he ill!?" Pansy demands, plonking down with a disgruntled 'oof', thanks to Hermione's forceful tug. "He said he was just going to have a quick word with Hagrid, he seemed fine–"

"Harry's not sick, I promise. Now, please don't be cross with him… he told me about what happened, with Molly." Hermione tightens her grip on Pansy's hand as the other woman flinches and tries to rise. "He only confided in me because he's dreadfully worried about you, Pansy; and because I've been on the receiving end of Molly's censure more times than I can count. Yes, truly," she replies to the unspoken shock and doubt in Pansy's juniper-green eyes.

"But– I thought Molly adored you, and wanted you for a daughter-in-law," Pansy says, clearly confused.

"Well, that didn't hold her back from ripping into me when she thought I was toying with Harry's affections by playing him off against Viktor during the Triwizard Tournament, thanks to Rita Skeeter's wretched tabloid pap," Hermione grimaces. "Never mind that I was all of fourteen years old, and that she'd known me for years: she was awfully quick to think the worst of me, simply because of some dirty lies she'd read in that rubbishy rag."

"That's awful, Pollyanna… How could she possibly think that? I mean, I know we were the very opposite of friendly, back in school; but Blind Freddie could see how principled you were… and that you were shy and lacked confidence around boys– sorry, sorry, that came out badly," Pansy taps her palm to her forehead in self-remonstration.

Laughing, Hermione shakes her head. "No, you're spot-on: I was rather hopeless, I know. To answer your question, though: Molly has a strong 'holier-than-thou' attitude, combined with a Queen Bee complex, and she usually favours the male of the species… whether consciously or unconsciously, I'm not sure. When it became obvious that Ron and I were having relationship difficulties, she turned up the pressure on us to marry and immediately have children – like that was going to paper over all the gaping cracks in one fell swoop."

Sighing, Hermione quietly continues, "When I did break up with Ron – for good – Molly paid me a 'little visit', and tried every tactic under the sun to force me to reconcile with him. It quickly devolved into a shouting match (mostly on her part), and I've not seen much of the Weasleys since. I told her in no uncertain terms that I won't be bullied, especially not under the guise of 'motherly' care and concern. So you see, I do understand much of what you must be feeling, Pansy. It's not the same, of course… but Molly subtly insinuated that as a Muggleborn witch, I was lucky to have caught Ron's attention, and I was a short-sighted fool not to accept what he had to offer."

"She didn't," Pansy breathes, astonishment swiftly moving to anger. "That's fu-fricking terrible, Hermione! I'm so sorry, she had no right...!"

"Molly had no business coming after you, either," Hermione's face darkens. "I suspect she was still holding out vain hope that Harry and Ginny would somehow reconnect, but that's never going to happen, Pansy." She firms her tone as Pansy's sad gaze drops to the table top. "Harry adores you, and you won't have to worry about Molly Weasley's interference ever again, Harry made sure of that – uh…"

Oh, poo… I don't think Harry's yet mentioned his visit to The Burrow this morning, judging by Pansy's staggered expression. Hermione mentally shrugs, deciding to plow on regardless.

"Harry did what– he what?" Pansy stammers. "He– what?!".

"Please don't be cross with me for spilling the beans… Harry and Kreacher spoke with Molly after you left to see Dr Rica, and Harry made it crystal clear how angry and disappointed he was with her meddling, and that it will never happen again, if she wishes to be a part of his future," Hermione divulges. "Kreacher insisted on accompanying Harry, and he– well, Kreacher put in his two Knuts' worth and threatened Molly if she makes another attempt to hurt you."

Covering her agape mouth with her fingers, Pansy emits a noise halfway between a groan and a giggle. "Oh no! Kreacher– I can just imagine him– and Harry… my darling Duckie…" She breaks off with a small sob. "He– they– they really didn't have to do that, I didn't want a fuss… but oh, I'm incredibly touched that they stuck up for me!".

Hermione scooches her chair closer and slings an arm around Pansy's trembling shoulders. "They both love you so much, Pansy; and they're your family now, sweetie. Harry would charge through hell and high water for you; and Kreacher would insist on running beside him, most likely with that adorable black kitten still strapped to his chest," Hermione attempts to lighten the densely emotional mood.

"Probably," Pansy agrees with a watery smile. Eventually, she mumbles, "Hermione… I'm more than a little scared of how hard I've fallen, for Harry… I've never– I don't– and we– Hold up, I'll try again," she wiggles her hands in frustration.

"Take your time, and some deep breaths," Hermione advises, letting her pleased grin flash for a brief moment.

"Yes, I know I'm making about as much sense as an inflatable pincushion – cut me some slack, I've never been in love before," Pansy gripes, before the import of what she's just announced fully sinks in. "Morgana's pointy pink nipples! I'm crazy in love with Harry Potter, Hermione!" Slumping back in her chair, a shellshocked Pansy doesn't react as Hermione jubilantly pumps her fists.

"YES! I knew it – I could just about see it, it's as plain as a pikestaff… Oh, Pansy, I'm chuffed to bits for you both, truly," Hermione doesn't realize she's blubbing again until a hot tear rolls off her nose to splash onto her decolletage.

"Stop, stop– now I'm bloody crying, Pollyanna," Pansy whines, alternating between agitatedly flapping her bright crimson paper party napkin and blotting it below her wet eyes. She jerkily wags her index finger. "I know you won't– but please, don't say anything to Harry, I don't want to scare him off this early in the piece, OK? Wait, why are you snorting like that, you contrary creature?".

"No reason," Hermione cackles, her tears ceasing as quickly as they started. They're both as clueless as each other, the daft darlings! I'm dying to tell them so – but I won't, I did promise impartiality on both sides. Drat.

"I hope my 'dramatic buccaneer' eyeliner hasn't smudged, I must look a fright," Pansy picks up a spoon to use as a makeshift mirror. She returns the cutlery to the table to diffidently ask, "Hermione… did Harry tell you what Molly said, when he confronted her? Is she honestly worried that I'm trying to… take advantage of him, somehow?".

A fresh wave of annoyance and ire comes to the fore as Hermione comprehends how deeply Molly's catty words have cut into Pansy's tenuous self-esteem. She breathes out strongly through her nose, reminding herself to leash her outrage, for her friend's sake.

"Apparently Molly's immediate reaction was self-righteous justification, followed by some piteous crying, then shocked astonishment. I believe Arthur told her she was out of line, which pleases me. Listen, don't waste another moment thinking on it, Pansy. Harry was never going to tolerate anyone attacking you like that… and he wasn't going to allow you to break up with him over this, you know. Please tell me that you've put all that foolishness out of your head, for good?" Hermione urges.

Pansy gives a fierce nod. "I have. I told Harry last night – I'm not going to let him go without a fight." Her emerald eyes glint. "The gloves are off, Pollyanna." She energetically feints a few air punches, almost knocking over the salt and pepper shakers.

"Er, that's marvellous, Pansy; but what do you say we save the pugilism for a little later? You've yet to enjoy a single bite of your slow-roasted pork belly with celeriac and pear mash," Hermione taps Pansy's plate. "And I'm positively slavering for a taste of this shallot tarte tatin with goat's cheese, and the honey-glazed haloumi and fig salad – yum!". She expertly cuts her dish into neat bites.

Pansy eyes her speculatively. "I'm surprised you can fit anything more in, having witnessed you scarfing down plate after plate of appetisers. No judgement, Pollyanna, I'm just wondering…"

"What? If my eyes are bigger than my belly? I didn't have much appetite after Draco's poisoning, and I've been a bit run-down as a result." Hermione spears a square of the briny white cheese, chewing with patent relish. "Are you saying I'm being piggish?" she defensively mumbles through her next hearty mouthful, making them both laugh.

"I wouldn't dare suggest it, Golden Girl." Pansy begins eating her own meal, though the judiciously reflective expression remaining on her face gives Hermione an odd feeling. She concentrates on conversing on the lighter topics of various costumes and the hilarity of the earlier party games… and on polishing off the rest of her supper with alacrity.

"Hurry up, Harry – I think the karaoke is due to start in a few minutes," Draco calls over his shoulder, as they make their way back from the impromptu Patronus-casting practice session in the 'Time-Out' study. "Hermione's been insistent that Lucius is singing first, she claims she selected the perfect song choice for him."

"Hang on, my bandanna's come loose," Harry grumbles. "Probably got knocked around by your wonky spellwork, I'd say." His cheery grin negates any malice with his ribbing.

"Stow it – I'd say we're pretty equally matched, Potter," Draco easily rejoins. "I'm thrilled you've expanded your casting beyond 'Expelliarmus', at any rate."

"Very funny, Draco," Harry grins. "Hey, you're lucky I went along with your makeshift excuse of needing to discuss an urgent matter with me, after Hermione figured out you basically painted Ron's face onto the 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey' board." He chuffs an aggravated grunt as the bandanna knot fails to hold.

"Here, keep still and let me tie the ruddy thing," Draco swiftly gathers the ends of the black headscarf and ties it into a firm knot. "And any resemblance between that donkey and Ronald Weasley is purely coincidental, I'll have you know."

"Bullshit, Draco," Harry disbelievingly mutters beneath his breath. "I'll give you points for artistic ability though – the likeness was uncanny. Thanks, I reckon that'll stay put the rest of the night," he says, checking the bandanna's fit.

Chuckling to himself about 'Ron the Ass', Draco is about to step back when Macdolas skips around the corner of the corridor and raises the Polaroid, cunningly capturing their unusually close pose and nonplussed expressions.

"Proof positive that Master Malfoy and The Revered Master Harry James Potter have become the bosomiest of buddies – Macdolas's skill as a visual arts maestro cannot be refuted," the elf smugly announces, reversing direction with an impressive rapidity before Draco or Harry can effectively react.

The mischievous, stealthy little twerp! Growling, Draco moves to chase the wretch and recover the photograph, before Harry grabs his arm.

"Leave him – he's having a ball, and that picture is guaranteed to be a great anecdote, regardless of us being the butt of the joke," snickers Harry. "Imagine your father's face when he sees it!".

He does have a point there. Draco's scowl fades somewhat. "I swear Macdolas thrives on testing my patience, Harry; but I suppose I can overlook his brash impertinence, for tonight, anyway. Besides, I suspect he'd Disapparate the moment I caught him."

Harry slaps Draco on the back, chivvying him along. "That's the spirit! Pick up the pace there, bosom buddy."

"Piss off, pal," Draco grins back. "Here, there's a shortcut through this door – follow me."

He leads Harry through the side garden and directly to the 'dance' chamber of the huge marquee. A throbbing dance beat assails their ears as they step through the entrance flap. Both men stop dead at the unprecedented sight before them.

Ruibby is positioned out front of the slightly raised dance platform, leading a couple of rows of other dancing house elves, each copying her fluid, stylized moves with varying degrees of synchronicity and ability. A rapt audience of party-goers oohs and aahs every time Ruibby flicks her wrists and swivels her tiny hips with practised panache and grace, all the while mouthing the words of the throbbing disco-influenced track.

A gobsmacked Draco vaguely notices Harry bent double beside him, racked with silent laughter. "Harry, is this… miming? Line dancing? I've never seen the like… pull yourself together, man," he shakes the Auror's arm in exasperation, as Harry gasps for fresh oxygen between muted guffaws.

"No– none of those– they're Voguing, Malfoy! Ruibby's putting Madonna to shame up there – cripes, this is truly a first," Harry wipes ineffectually at his mirth-wet eyes. "I have to stop laughing, she'll be offended if she sees me– ow!" he rubs at his left bicep after Draco's swift, measured punch to the muscle.

"Worked a treat, and I've wanted to do that for years. What the deuce is 'Voguing'?" demands Draco, mouth flapping open again as Ruibby progresses to fast, jumping spins, angled kicks, and some disturbingly sinuous hip-writhing as the lyrics boast about 'bumping and grinding it'.

"It was a Muggle dance craze in the early 90s; I'm betting your elves have been watching old music videos on MTV or 'Top of the Pops', Draco. You must have heard of Madonna? Never mind, Ruibby's killing it up there." Harry seems to have gotten his hilarity under control, save for the occasional burbled giggle.

When Ruibby switches to complicated face-framing hand movements, Macdolas boldly pushes to the front of the crowd, rapidly depressing the flash button on Draco's large Wizardly camera. With perfect poise, Ruibby stares straight at the lens as she lip-synchs the names of various Old Hollywood celebrities.

'Ladies with an attitude / Fellas that were in the mood / Don't just stand there, let's get to it / Strike a pose, there's nothing to it… Vogue… vogue… vogue… vogue.'

At the conclusion of the four-beat echoed finale, Ruibby dramatically thrusts out her hands, cueing a couple of Hogwarts elves to flutter large white feathered fans over her face.

The audience bursts into wild applause, hooting and whistling as Ruibby and her dance crew blush and bow. Macdolas lays down his camera to bend Ruibby over his scrawny arm in a passionate kiss, only coming up for air when Kreacher sharply prods him in the back with his carved staff.

Draco and Harry add their own strenuous cheers and claps.

"Merlin's handmade mittens, Draco; that was utterly extraordinary," Harry says, breaking off his applause to joyfully wave at Pansy and Hermione. "Look lively – here come our witches."

Holding out his arms for Hermione to jump into them, Draco risks swinging her in a tight circle as she delightedly smiles up at him. Gods, she's stunning… my beautiful woman. My Hermione. As ever, his heart races and his nervous system plunges into overdrive at her nearness, making him almost dizzy with joy and passion.

"I love you with all my heart, Hermione," Draco bends his head to touch his lips to hers, kissing her soundly. She eagerly responds, clutching fistfuls of his double-breasted black tailcoat and dipping her tongue into his mouth with entrancing, assured strokes. Draco's desire instantaneously blazes to 'inferno' level, aroused beyond measure by her taste, scent, and glorious touch.

I love you so, Draco. Hermione telepathically communicates her vehement reciprocal sentiment without breaking their kiss. Completely forgetting their location, Draco's left hand begins to sensuously curve around her buttocks, only to be slapped away by an unknown chaperone.

"Kreacher reminds Master Malfoy and Mistress Hermione that the marquee ballroom is a most populous public environment," he sternly decrees, before focusing his disapproving attention upon Harry and Pansy's ardent canoodle, beside them.

Pulling away from their embrace before Kreacher can rap Harry's knuckles with his cane, Pansy spontaneously kneels before the senior elf. "Darling Kreacher… may I give you a kiss on the cheek?" she quietly asks. "Just a little one… to say thank you, for sticking up for me with Mrs Weasley."

"Mistress Pansy, there be not any requirement to thank Kreacher–"

"With great respect, I disagree." Pansy sniffles a little, though she keeps gently smiling. "Please, Kreacher."

Hesitantly shuffling forward, Kreacher wordlessly offers his right cheek. He closes his sooty black eyes as Pansy drops a butterfly-light kiss on his wrinkled skin, his knobbly hands tight and trembly on the staff.

Holy Hippogriffs… if I hadn't seen that incredibly poignant moment with my own eyes, I'd never have believed it. Draco feels rather than hears Hermione's tiny empathetic sob whilst nestled in his arms.

Snapping open his eyes, Kreacher rounds on Harry. "Catching flies with one's mouth is a most unattractive look, Master Potter! Kreacher takes his leave, he must attend to Little Boadie." Keeping a disagreeable grimace plastered on his face, Kreacher abruptly bows to Pansy and Hermione before departing the chamber.

Rather than looking put out by Kreacher's curt reprimand, Harry is regarding Pansy with pure awe. "Blimey, Pansy – you'll have turned Kreacher into a hugger by the end of the month, love."

"Oh, shush, Duckie; I've told you all along he's really quite a sweetheart," she smiles, accepting Harry's hand to stand up. "By the way, I owe you much more than a kiss on the cheek, Harry James Potter."

"As much as I support your flourishing relationship, that will have to wait – the karaoke's about to start," Hermione decisively proclaims. "You don't want to miss Lucy's opening act, trust me! I played him the tune without the words earlier, to ensure we get to witness the full effect of the song." Grinning impishly, she points to the stage.

Lifting her other hand to place an indulgent kiss upon her palm, Draco smiles at her arch glee.

Have I told you that I love this naughty streak of yours, ma petite?

You told me that you love everything about me, mon coeur. As I do you.

Tu as parfaitement raison, Hermione. I do.

Tant pis. Lucius sourly ponders how much easier his life would be if he still possessed the magical ability to Disapparate from distasteful situations at will.

Unfortunately, it is far too late to back out now… and Hermione did slyly call in the unqualified marker I offered at Friday's dinner. Singing some silly Muggle pop song (and doubtlessly humiliating myself before all and sundry) is a small price to pay to clear the slate, however trivial this may be.

Fidgeting at the white fedora atop his russet-brown hairpiece a final time, Lucius fastidiously wraps his lean, pale hand around the stubby microphone and finds his mark on the wooden stage, directly behind the small electronic screen displaying the first line of the lyrics.

"Hit it, Barn."

Readjusting his large black headphones to fit snugly over his ears, Bernard starts the music and offers a double thumbs-up. "Knock 'em dead, Luce."

Lucius tamps down the uneasy nerves coiling in his lean stomach, vastly heartened by the sight of Narcissa standing front and centre of the stage. I shall concentrate on singing to my beloved wife, and forget the horde. Deep breath.

"You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht…" This isn't so bad, I have boarded many the luxury vessel, after all…

"Your hat strategically dipped below one eye / Your scarf it was apricot," Lucius struts back and forth a few steps, twirling the ends of Narcissa's borrowed peach silk square with aplomb.

"You had one eye in the mirror, as you watched yourself gavotte," he swivels on one heel and cocks his hip, relishing the loud encouragement of the spectators. I seem to have quite the flair for show business – who knew?

"And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner / They'd be your partner and…" Here comes the chorus – pfft, why ever was I worried? This is a doddle, to be sure.

"You're so vain / You probably think this song is about you / Don't you, don't you?" The audacity! The barefaced cheek! This song IS about me, is it not?! Affronted, Lucius nearly drops the microphone, his eyes hardening to steel-grey as the crowd shrieks with laughter.

Narcissa minutely shakes her head, clearly reading his body language as he considers precipitously bolting from the stage. Surprisingly, Hermione waves to catch his eye, smiling and nodding her head in an unmistakable signal of support. Beside her, Draco is grinning widely and clapping to the catchy beat.

Swiftly glancing about the darkened ballroom, Lucius comes to an unexpected realization.

They're not mocking me… not truly. Yes, they're laughing fit to burst – but not with any genuine malice. Gathering his tattered pride and courage, Lucius decides to take up his performance another notch. There's no shame in being born gifted and beautiful – and knowing yourself to be so – is there? He launches into the next verse with an extra hip sashay and an affectionate wink to Narcissa.

When the chorus returns, he copies a gesture he once saw on the front page of a Muggle newspaper, holding the microphone forward for everyone to croon along. The ensuing babel is more enthusiastic than talented, but the spirited gaiety makes up for any deficit of musical ability.

This is rather jolly… I daresay Healer Kuznetsova will approve of my efforts in 'stepping out of my comfort zone', when I tell her of it, Lucius considers, as the song winds down. His favourable frame of mind lasts right up until Macdolas darts before him to direct a dazzling camera flash straight into his eyes.

"Dratted wretch, begone!" snipes a light-blinded Lucius, hurling his borrowed hat in what he hopes is the pestilent elf's general direction. "Petite merde effrontée!".

"Lucius, darling, allow me to assist you," Narcissa weaves her arm through his, adroitly steering him away from the scarpering elf (who is now shamelessly wearing the fedora as though it were made for him). "Remember it is his party, mon cher mari. Come, your fans await."

"Thank you, Cissa." Checking that the apricot scarf remains stylishly arranged around the high, buttoned neck of his dentist costume, Lucius holds his head a little higher and admits to himself he's almost pleasantly anticipating being able to mingle with people, after five long years. "Lead the way, ma reine."

Enjoying himself immensely, Barney places another tick against the checklist of karaoke songs and performers propped up before him, as Headmistress McGonagall exits the platform.

Lucy: 'You're So Vain' by Carly Simon

MacRu: 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart' by Elton John & Kiki Dee

Gus, Tavi & Blaise: 'A Whole New World' by Lea Salonga & Brad Kane [from 'Aladdin']

Narcissa & Jane: 'Sisters Are Doin' it For Themselves' by The Eurythmics

Ginny & Viktor: 'Kids' by Robbie Williams & Kylie Minogue

Hagrid, Luna, Neville & Theo: 'Bohemian Rhapsody' by Queen [short version]

Harry & Pansy: 'Take a Chance on Me' by ABBA

Minerva: 'What's New, Pussycat?' by Tom Jones.

Right, who's up next? DJ BarnHouse MoshMaster is on a roll, ladies and gentlemen! Bernard's happy planning is interrupted when Jane carefully slips the headphones from her husband's ears.

"Barney, are you ready to relinquish control of that fancy motherboard to Hermione and Draco yet? It's our turn – remember you promised to sing with me, darling."

"Of course, sugarpuss. Just let me check the other side of my list– " Bernard pauses as Jane snatches the sheet and pencil, squinting at his cramped handwriting before turning over the paper.

"The other side is blank, Barney. I know you're reluctant to take off your 'DJ' hat, but it's time." Jane places the list facedown and raps her gold-sandalled heel on the floor.

"I hope those dragon leather boots will hold up on the dance floor tonight, Dad." Hermione hip-bumps him away from the karaoke console, Draco crowding in beside her. "Hurry up and grab the mikes, you've stalled long enough."

"They pinch a bit, actually– the boots. It's hard work, looking this posh," Bernard confesses. "Don't tell Lucy I said that, he's already sporting a swelled head from the wild success of his opening number. You were right, Little Wendy: that song could've been written for him. I'll give credit where it's due, too – Lucille brought down the house. Thought he was about to do a runner in the early stages, but he toughed it out."

"He sure did," Hermione nods, pursing her lips as she studies the music machinery. "Don't look so nervy, Dad, we have this well under control. Go, go," she pushes him away, lovingly but firmly.

Barney smooths a meaty hand over his ash blond shoulder-length wig in an unconsciously eerie facsimile of one of Lucius's mannerisms. "Listen, you have to use a light touch with the master fader on the mixer, it's a tad finicky… maybe I should stick around, make sure you've got the hang of it… No? Alright, alright, I'm going."

Switching the 'on' button of the mike, he slides his arm around Jane's warm waist. "Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight, my beautiful wife? Good enough to eat, in fact," he nuzzles her neck with a faux growl, glorying in her playful squeal.

"Actually, why don't we slip away and cosy up together in one of the five hundred empty rooms in this joint after our song, sugarpuss? I bet there's any number of crannies in which to nook, eh? I'd love to glide my hands beneath Athena's golden gown, and–"

"DAD! STOP! YOUR MICROPHONE'S ALREADY ON!" Hermione bellows, while Draco frantically hunts for the button to cut the feed.

"Whoops! No, don't turn it off, we're fine," Bernard calls back, roguishly winking at the snickering audience. "Please don't hide your lovely face, sweetie pie, I didn't say anything really filthy. I'll save that for later."

"Barney, you're a rascal – but you're my lovable rascal," Jane pats her flaming cheeks, gifting him with the glorious smile that he's adored ever since the day they first met. "Quit fooling around and warm up that booming baritone, honey."

"Your wish is my command, sugarpuss." Placing the microphone to his lips, Bernard has no need of the visual prompt as the well-known country/pop duet starts to play. Memories of singing along to the tune in the poky, couldn't-swing-a-cat living room of their first apartment colour his mind.

Carolling in tandem with Jane, toddler Hermione balanced on her hip, tawny curls jouncing as they'd shuffle-danced in front of the old stereo... Hermione robustly clapping her chubby little hands and lisping the key phrases of the chorus while Barney improvised hand gestures and mugged funny faces...

Oh, how they'd treasured those evening family hours together, despite Jane's exhaustion from her accelerated dentistry course load and Barney's fatigue from parenting Hermione during the day and working a part-time night shift at a corner shop.

I could sing this in my sleep… heck, I probably do. Should ask Jane about that later. He twirls his wife into a flamboyant spin before they harmonize into the chorus together.

"Islands in the stream / That is what we are / No one in between / How can we be wrong / Sail away with me / To another world / And we rely on each other, ah ha / 'Cause we love one another, ah ha…"

Yup, Lucy was good… but it ain't bragging to state I'm the best, Barney congratulates himself, as the crowd roars their approval by cheering and stamping their feet.

As if there were ever any doubt, right?

Geordie translation:

Divvent argie – don't argue

French translations:

Tu as parfaitement raison – You're absolutely right

mon cher mari – my darling husband

Tant pis – So be it

Petite merde effrontée – Cheeky little shit

ma reine – my queen

Song credits:

'Vogue' by Madonna & S. Pettibone

"You're So Vain by Carly Simon

'Islands in the Stream' by Maurice Ernest Gibb / Robin Hugh Gibb / Barry Alan Gibb.