A/N: I don't think anyone, once they have started using the word 'sexcapades' is physically capable of stopping. Honest. That's why this chapter is longer than the recent ones. Anyway, I believe next chappie is the sexy dance. However, there shall be no grievous injury to the author if she's just nuts 'cause she's wearing too many bangles, which work kind of like crack does on normal people on her.
I always thought I would be a great father but without any sort of proof. Children think I'm funny, I'm immensely loyal to my own people and I was raised to be obsessed with carrying on a bloodline.
This is why it was a shock to discover I'm terrible at this.
The first little while was all right, Ginny had gotten her calm and changed while I was busy with Pansy. But then she and Potter disappeared (and from the sounds on the ceiling, seemed otherwise occupied) and I was alone with a baby. And that baby didn't feel like my daughter. She felt like one of the billions of "cousins" I'd been introduced too- these, I know now, were everything from illegitimate siblings (three of them, all my father's, two now dead) to people who were of no relation to me at all. And this felt no different, except this child was so like me. I could see Pansy in her, a little, and certainly my mother- but mostly myself.
And I think this is why Hermione delights in telling me I'm a self-absorbed poof. Doesn't mean I'm going to stop, but at least it means I've got some insight into my own incipient metro-sexuality.
But, that's beside the point. I was, at that moment, losing my mind. I had a wailing baby that I didn't know what to do with and no clue where Hermione was. I thought Potter was probably supposed to convey some sort of message, but he can't honestly be expected to have the presence of mind to tell me these things- not right now, anyway.
But, that didn't stop me from, after an hour of trying to find something serviceable to feed the baby (I have some experience with this at least, there was one dreadful week in the war when I was being healed and Tonks simply deposited her son at my doorstep, smiled, and left). I found the milk substitute Ginny had been talking about and fed Sabin, so she calmed down, at least a little. Then I started to fidget- I had no clue what to with the baby, and I was worried about Hermione. So, I went upstairs. Ginny was a bit of alright, and I'd seen the terrible sight of Potter naked a few times before.
It's horrific because it's Potter, but I have to say (objectively and in the straightest way possible) the bloke's fit. And I'll never admit to that again, besides, I'm twelve times better looking. He's just got the rugged scarred and monstrously famous thing going for him.
I did, however, have the decency to knock, though I think the extremely melodramatic wailing of the baby alerted them to my presence, but you never know what Potter will choose not to notice. The door was answered by Ginny, looking like the paintings of Aphrodite that my mother used to have around her mirror- the white sheet substituting for the crests of waves. Her hair was loose (it had been in a tight bun that reminded me more of McGonagall than anything else before) and I could actually see why someone would have sex with Ginny Weasley. I mean, from looking at her on a day-to-day basis you can understand some cuddling and a white wedding, but after you've seen her thoroughly ravished (not that Potter has the ability to thoroughly ravish, perhaps he just pleased) you can understand why Harry is the luckiest man in the world, except, of course, me. I've got Hermione.
"Draco," she said, grinning sleepily, "and Sabin, hey sweetheart."
"I take it you and Potter have sorted things out?" I said, I had anticipated at least a week of brooding and screaming before anyone got any.
"Mm-hmm," she said, and then contorted her face into some expression of glee that I am physically incapable of understanding. Happily Ever After does not suit me, but she and Potter appear to be pushing right ahead. Bloody Gryffindors. "Harry's just um-"
"Ginny, you have a really good throw, I don't think they're even in the bedroom," Potter screamed from the back of the room. I felt my first twinge of fatherly protectiveness as I realized that my only child was being subjected to the mental image of a pants-less Potter.
"I think they went to the left, Harry," Ginny called back, "do you have some stupidly complicated plan or can I just tell him what to do?"
"Just tell him where to go and then come back to bed," Harry said, whining. Good God, Molly Weasley was having a seizure somewhere right then- her only daughter doing that and not even hiding it. I could just hear her.
"Hermione's with Harry's aunt and uncle," Ginny said, "go and arrest Snape. Try to do horrid things to him," she then held out her hand for the baby and I gave her a scandalized look.
"Are you about to make my daughter witness your sexcapades?"
"No, I'll feed her and put her in with the boys before I get to the sexcapades," Ginny said, blushing and smirking at the same time. I do like the girl.
"I didn't need to know that," I said, handing the squalling Sabin to Ginny with something a lot like relief- this was going to take some getting used to.
"But I wanted to tell you," she said, and then closed the door in my face.