Narcissa burst into the Minister's office with a sort of elegant exuberance that even Kingsley Shacklebolt's apoplectic secretary couldn't dim. "Kingsley!" she said with what could only be described as a Cheshire cat grin on her face, "Why on earth are you still working? It's evening. Come." She held out an imperious hand.
"Narcissa…"
"Don't you Narcissa me. I'm talking about a public dinner; just a small meal in my new rooms at Draco's."
Kingsley cleared his throat. "I'm not entirely sure how comfortable I am dining with you alone at your son's home, Cissa," he said softly, true regret shining in his eyes. "Don't you find that...well, awkward?"
Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Kings, darling, I have an entire wing to myself and the ability to floo you in directly. Draco need never know you're there. Not that it would matter as he already knows about us."
"Pardon?"
"That we're...you know. Seeing one another. Courting, if you will."
"You told your son?!" Kingsley shout-whispered, rising to his feet to close the cracked door. "Narcissa, we talked about this! About the need for discretion. If the Prophet were to find out that we've - that I've - been instrumental in securing the first pureblood divorce whilst sleeping with the plaintiff of said ground-breaking case - my tenure as Minister would be over!"
Narcissa snorted. "Touchy. Draco is trustworthy. You know that, darling."
"Your son is a bloody gossip is what he is," he grumbled, scrubbing at his face.
"Not about his mummy, he's not."
"Fine, fine. Just tell me you haven't told anyone else." He looked up to see a contemplative look on his lover's face. "What? What's that look?"
"Well…"
"Oh Gods. Narcissa Malfoy, who have you told?"