A/N: Thanks to Everyone that has reviewed. I am still astonished at the responses I am getting to this piece.
Also Thanks loads to Madelene3666 for her excellent Beta skills, and also Gianfared for her invaluable advice. This chapter has been posted exactly as it was mailed back to me.
As Always R&R.
Enjoy.
Lucien woke them four times that night; twice to be fed and twice to be changed, and when Narcissa turned up the following lunchtime, she found them both still curled up together in the middle of the bed, too exhausted to react to her unannounced entry.
“Four times,” mumbled a voice from amid a pile of pillows as she shut the door.
Draco raised his head wearily from the pillow he had been clutching around it, opened bloodshot eyes, and looked at his mother. “Four times,” he repeated, and then dropped his head back onto the pillow with a dull thud.
“Ah, the joys of parenthood,” she said, as she studied her grandson who was now wide awake.
Ginny was still asleep as Draco slid carefully from the bed and padded across the room. He eyed his newborn son through eyes that boasted dark circles and bloodshot whites, and were narrowed to reduce the painful glare of light from the curtains that his mother unsympathetically pulled open.
He stretched and yawned, and then slumped into a chair at the table upon which sat a tray of breakfast that had been left some hours before. Munching a slice of cold, butter-less toast and drinking lukewarm orange juice, he watched his mother pluck Lucien from the basket, hoping that he didn’t decide to start crying again.
“Would you like me to stay for a while? So you can have a shower.”
“If you like,” he said, already rising from the chair.
After a long and hot shower, he returned to his bedroom to find Ginny awake and feeding Lucien again. He was amazed at the amount of food that someone so young and tiny appeared to need.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, addressing his wife.
“Like I’ll never be able to sit comfortably again.”
“Still sore then?” he surmised.
“You try putting a Quaffle through a hole the size of a Snitch and see how far it gets you!” she retorted. “The midwife says I’m going to be sore for at least a week. Personally, I wouldn’t be surprised if I hurt for the rest of my life!”
Narcissa made a convulsive movement that was possibly a restrained laugh, and then turned to Ginny and said, “Do you still have that ointment I gave you?”
“Ointment?” Ginny looked baffled for a moment before a look of dawning comprehension spread across her face. “Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that. It’s in the cupboard under the sink in my bathroom.”
“What ointment?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Ginny replied.
This was clearly about to turn into one of those ‘women’s conversations,’ and so he ducked into the wardrobe rapidly to escape hearing something he would rather not.
When he emerged, having dressed in one of his more imposing robes, Ginny had disappeared from the bed and he heard the bath running.
His mother sat on the end of the bed with the baby in her arms again; it seemed she had as much difficulty putting him down as Draco himself.
“Are you going to the Hall of Records today then?” his mother asked, observing his formal attire.
“I thought it best, yes. While I’m in London, I might open an account for him too. The earlier the interest begins to accrue, the better.”
“You know,” his mother said shrewdly, “Your father has yet to see his grandson. Do you not think that of greater priority?”
“Of course, but I assumed that he would be out.”
“Well, you assumed wrong, Draco. He has been waiting for you all day, and I happen to know that at the moment, he is in his study.” So saying, she stood up and handed the baby to him. He had been changed and dressed in a plain blue baby-gro that matched the pale blue blanket that he was wrapped in.
Lucien looked up at his father with apparent interest, made several ‘baby noises’ and yawned, which was followed in quick succession by a matching yawn from his father.
“What do I say?”
“Oh, for goodness sake, you’ll think of something. He is your father, after all. I remember when he held you just after you were born; he was so proud!” Narcissa smiled at him.
“Now go, I’ll deal with Ginny,” and she chivvied him out of the door.
As he walked the corridors of Malfoy Manor cradling his child, several portraits expressed their congratulations, but Draco was worried; he was worried that his father would not be proud of him now.
He was worried that when faced with the physical and inescapable proof of the Weasley-Malfoy ‘merger’, his father would change his mind and deem the pair of them not worthy as heir. In short, he was afraid of rejection.
He reached his father’s study and found the door closed. Raising his fist carefully, trying not to jostle the baby, he knocked.
“Who is it?” said the imperious voice of Lucius Malfoy.
“It’s me, father.”
“Come in.”
He opened the door and found his father sitting, bent over his desk, writing.
“What time is it, Draco?” he asked, without looking up from the parchment.
“Half past one, father.”
“We had four appointments this morning. You missed them all.”
“I know, father.”
This was not going as well as he had hoped.
“It’s lucky for you that you have an adequate excuse then, isn’t it?” At last Lucius stopped writing, and he looked up at his son who stood in the doorway cradling the newest Malfoy heir.
Yes, thought Lucius, my son is indeed a man now.
“I thought you’d like to see your grandson.”
Lucius didn’t reply. He stared at him for a few moments that felt like hours to Draco, before rising slowly from his chair and crossing the room towards him.
Carefully, Lucius took the baby from his son and walked over to the window to study him properly.
“How poetic it is that the passing of time can be so clearly marked by the son becoming the father.”
Draco said nothing; he was relieved.
Lucius studied the child for some minutes before returning him to his father’s arms with a faint smile playing at his lips.
“I’m proud of you, my son.”
Those six words spoke volumes to Draco; nothing more needed to be said.
As the elevator descended into the foyer of the Hall of Records, he looked around. He had been there only once before, when he registered his marriage, and he had been equally impressed by the building then.
The foyer was silent, with the whispering echoes of the footsteps of the milling people and goblins projected high into the vaulted ceiling by polished marble floors and towering columns. The entire building was located underneath an apparently derelict multi-storey car park, which made it all the more impressive in its dimensions. Seventeen levels underneath the foyer dealt with every record kept by wizard-kind since written records began.
Crossing the vast expanse, Lucius and Draco passed the striking fountain in the centre, carved out of a dark rock that glittered and sparkled. Water splashed down haphazardly into a deep pool in and around which various tropical and magical plants grew, lit from overhead by a hanging glass globe that mimicked the sun glowing with magical light.
At the other side, they stopped at the reception desk in front of a blonde witch in gold-trimmed uniform robes who was studying a sheet of parchment. Looking up, she smiled at them and said, “Welcome to the Hall of Records. How may I direct you?”
“We’re here to record a birth,” Lucius said imperiously, not returning her smile.
“Fourteenth floor, third door on the left hand side. You will need to pass through security at the desk on the right hand side, and then take the silver elevator. Congratulations, by the way.”
Some minutes later, they found the door marked ‘Births’ and entered a large waiting room in which several wizards were queuing between gold ropes strung in front of three counters. Lucius took a seat on a bench by the wall, and Draco joined the queue.
As he waited, his mind wandered over the events of the previous day, and thoughts of his son, his tiny wrinkled newborn face and little hands that clutched his finger, made him smile to himself.
His turn arrived swiftly, and he stepped up to the desk. An ancient, dry-looking wizard looked at him over the top of small square spectacles, and in front of him was a large leather-bound tome.
“Surname?” he asked, his voice sounding like the snapping of twigs.
“Malfoy.”
The wizard tapped the book with his wand and it snapped open at a page marked with a decorative ‘M’.
“Malfoy, did you say?”
“Yes.”
He flipped through the pages, muttering to himself.
“…Maborn…Maddley…Makel…ahh, Malfoy,” and he opened the ledger to a page recording all the births in the Malfoy family for what appeared to be the last three hundred years.
Picking up his quill and charging it with ink, he wrote the year and a four digit code number, then looked up again. “Boy or a girl?”
“Boy,” Draco replied.
“Date of birth?”
“Yesterday, the fourteenth of March.”
“What name have you given the child?”
“Lucien William Malfoy.”
The wizard wrote this down carefully and deliberately underneath the place where Draco could see his own name written, and then looked up again. “Father’s full name?”
“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
“Mother’s full name?”
“Ginevra Molly Malfoy, née Weasley.” As he said this, out of the corner of his eye he saw several wizards turn their heads to look at him, and gave an inward sigh. Would it never cease?
“Place of birth?”
“Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.”
“Time of birth?”
“Fourteen-thirty-four.”
“Midwife or attending Physician?”
“Midwife. Elizabeth Callaghan.”
As he had been giving this information, a quill on a bench behind the desk had been automatically filling in a birth certificate which the wizard now retrieved, rolled up, placed inside a tube, and handed to him over the counter.
“Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy. NEXT?”
As he turned and walked away from the desk, he saw a couple of vaguely familiar faces scowling at him from the queue. One face was brave enough to hiss something at him that made him turn around sharply, and approach the man who now clearly wished he hadn’t said anything.
“Say that again.”
“We know what you did to her.”
“Did to whom?” He knew, of course, to whom the man was referring, and as he looked at him, he suddenly realised why he was familiar. He had been in his year at Hogwarts, Justin Finch-something or other, a Hufflepuff. He’d been part of that ridiculous group that Potter had set up in their fifth year. They’d called themselves ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ – such pretension.
“Ginny. Everyone knows what you did. You’re despicable, Malfoy.”
“You want to watch how you speak to me,” he said calmly. “It’s not wise to piss me off these days. Oh, and I suggest you get your facts straight before making a complete fool of yourself.” Then he lowered his voice so that only Justin could hear him, and said, “You want to be careful, throwing baseless accusations around, Finch-Fletchley, as it might get you noticed by the wrong people.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Hardly. Just call it a friendly warning,” and he turned to where his father was waiting for him and left Justin standing, staring open-mouthed.
After he had paid a visit to Gringotts and opened an account for his son, Lucius advised that it would be a good idea to place an advert in the Daily Prophet. Draco was reluctant to go to the offices; he knew how irritating journalists were when it came to anything remotely scandalous. Not that he considered his son’s birth in any way scandalous, but people’s minds worked oddly sometimes. However, as always, he heeded his father’s advice, and found himself in front of the advertisements desk filling out an announcement form when someone wearing robes of a yellow so bright, it hurt his eyes, stepped up next to him.
“Mr. Malfoy,” said a voice like dripping honey.
“Rita,” he acknowledged. Damn the woman. Of all the people he had not wanted to meet, Rita Skeeter had been third on his list.
“Did I hear correctly? The ex-Miss Weasley has provided a new addition to the illustrious Malfoy family?”
“You did. What of it?”
“Perhaps you’d like to say a few words on the subject. For our society pages, you know…”
“A few words? I think not. What can you possibly want to know that I haven’t already written here?” he said, as he indicated the form.
He had to tread carefully. Rita Skeeter was a pain at the best of times, but right now he couldn’t afford to add further fuel to the deleterious rumours currently circulating regarding the validity of his marriage. Several people were suggesting that Ginny had been hypnotised or put under the Imperious curse, or were questioning the paternity of his son, which was downright ridiculous since the timescales were all wrong for the child to be anyone else’s but his.
“Well, perhaps I can arrange to interview yourself and Mrs. Malfoy, maybe have some photographs. For the society pages you understand…”
This could work to his advantage, he thought, if people actually saw his son and Ginny, they might be persuaded to abandon their rumour mongering.
“I will give it some thought,” he replied carefully, “and I shall have to discuss it with Mrs. Malfoy herself, of course.”
“Of course. You have my card from the last time we…met.”
She smiled at him, well … ‘leered’ at him might be more appropriate terminology.
“I look forward to hearing from you,” she said, and disappeared through a side door in a flurry of luminousness.
“You are joking!” Ginny hissed, when he broached the subject of an interview and photographs. They were having a fiercely whispered argument on the sofa by the fireplace of Draco’s room, trying not to wake Lucien who was sound asleep, laid out in the middle of the bed.
Having discussed the matter with his parents earlier in the evening, they had agreed that it might be a good idea to help silence some of the more damaging rumours. Now all he had to do was convince Ginny.
“It might be a good thing. Maybe people will stop whispering and pointing, and as for the rumours...”
“Does it really matter what people think? We know the truth, isn’t that what counts?”
“You have no idea, do you? In a family as…notorious as mine, scandal and rumour are a serious detriment to our reputation. But of course, you wouldn’t understand…”
“Oh, don’t you dare start making innuendos like that. I know as much about reputation as you do! I just choose not to care.”
“Well, I do, and so should you. After all, you are a part of this family now…” and he left the ‘whether you like it or not’ off the end because he would rather not give her more ammunition to throw at him. It was vital to win her over, make her see that it was a good idea. He couldn’t have photographs with her scowling at him; that would have the completely opposite effect. He decided to wheedle just a little at her mothering instincts.
“Do you want our son to grow up with speculation and rumour hanging over his head?”
“Oh, don’t even bother trying that. I can see through you like glass, Draco.”
Worth a try anyway, he thought.
“All they want is a couple of photographs and a few words. Please, Ginny. I’m getting a little tired of all the bullshit I’m getting.”
He rarely said please, and hoped that it might go some way towards nudging her in the right direction.
“Well, it was your own fault. Surely you knew what sort of backlash there would be when you married me?”
“Yes, but at the time I had…other…concerns on my mind. Like, oh, I don’t know…saving your life.”
She was leaning against the fireplace eyeing him shrewdly.
“I believe we already discussed that,” she said coolly. Discussed was an understatement - they had had a blazing row on the subject.
“The point I’m trying to make is that when I married you, I wasn’t paying much attention to rumour and speculation. I expected it to just die out, but it seems that people in the wizarding world have little better to occupy their dull little minds than to speculate on the sordid details of our marriage.”
She was looking at him oddly, her eyes flickering between where he stood, and their two-day-old son, still lying peacefully in the middle of his bed.
“Alright then,” she said shortly, “We’ll give that Skeeter woman the benefit of the doubt. I suppose she is finding the current state of things a little restrictive to her writing. But I swear to the Goddess that I will personally ensure that she never writes another word, one way or another, if this reflects badly on us.”
He saw a dangerous glint in her eye that made him wonder what she meant by ‘one way or another’.
“So you’re agreed?”
“I suppose,” she sighed, clearly unhappy with the whole concept.
He wasn’t entirely happy about the idea himself, but if it silenced some of the relentless muttering, then he was game. He just had to make sure that Rita Skeeter kept to their unspoken agreement not to twist whatever he said.
~~*End Chapter 15*~~
Also Thanks loads to Madelene3666 for her excellent Beta skills, and also Gianfared for her invaluable advice. This chapter has been posted exactly as it was mailed back to me.
As Always R&R.
Enjoy.
Lucien woke them four times that night; twice to be fed and twice to be changed, and when Narcissa turned up the following lunchtime, she found them both still curled up together in the middle of the bed, too exhausted to react to her unannounced entry.
“Four times,” mumbled a voice from amid a pile of pillows as she shut the door.
Draco raised his head wearily from the pillow he had been clutching around it, opened bloodshot eyes, and looked at his mother. “Four times,” he repeated, and then dropped his head back onto the pillow with a dull thud.
“Ah, the joys of parenthood,” she said, as she studied her grandson who was now wide awake.
Ginny was still asleep as Draco slid carefully from the bed and padded across the room. He eyed his newborn son through eyes that boasted dark circles and bloodshot whites, and were narrowed to reduce the painful glare of light from the curtains that his mother unsympathetically pulled open.
He stretched and yawned, and then slumped into a chair at the table upon which sat a tray of breakfast that had been left some hours before. Munching a slice of cold, butter-less toast and drinking lukewarm orange juice, he watched his mother pluck Lucien from the basket, hoping that he didn’t decide to start crying again.
“Would you like me to stay for a while? So you can have a shower.”
“If you like,” he said, already rising from the chair.
After a long and hot shower, he returned to his bedroom to find Ginny awake and feeding Lucien again. He was amazed at the amount of food that someone so young and tiny appeared to need.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, addressing his wife.
“Like I’ll never be able to sit comfortably again.”
“Still sore then?” he surmised.
“You try putting a Quaffle through a hole the size of a Snitch and see how far it gets you!” she retorted. “The midwife says I’m going to be sore for at least a week. Personally, I wouldn’t be surprised if I hurt for the rest of my life!”
Narcissa made a convulsive movement that was possibly a restrained laugh, and then turned to Ginny and said, “Do you still have that ointment I gave you?”
“Ointment?” Ginny looked baffled for a moment before a look of dawning comprehension spread across her face. “Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that. It’s in the cupboard under the sink in my bathroom.”
“What ointment?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Ginny replied.
This was clearly about to turn into one of those ‘women’s conversations,’ and so he ducked into the wardrobe rapidly to escape hearing something he would rather not.
When he emerged, having dressed in one of his more imposing robes, Ginny had disappeared from the bed and he heard the bath running.
His mother sat on the end of the bed with the baby in her arms again; it seemed she had as much difficulty putting him down as Draco himself.
“Are you going to the Hall of Records today then?” his mother asked, observing his formal attire.
“I thought it best, yes. While I’m in London, I might open an account for him too. The earlier the interest begins to accrue, the better.”
“You know,” his mother said shrewdly, “Your father has yet to see his grandson. Do you not think that of greater priority?”
“Of course, but I assumed that he would be out.”
“Well, you assumed wrong, Draco. He has been waiting for you all day, and I happen to know that at the moment, he is in his study.” So saying, she stood up and handed the baby to him. He had been changed and dressed in a plain blue baby-gro that matched the pale blue blanket that he was wrapped in.
Lucien looked up at his father with apparent interest, made several ‘baby noises’ and yawned, which was followed in quick succession by a matching yawn from his father.
“What do I say?”
“Oh, for goodness sake, you’ll think of something. He is your father, after all. I remember when he held you just after you were born; he was so proud!” Narcissa smiled at him.
“Now go, I’ll deal with Ginny,” and she chivvied him out of the door.
As he walked the corridors of Malfoy Manor cradling his child, several portraits expressed their congratulations, but Draco was worried; he was worried that his father would not be proud of him now.
He was worried that when faced with the physical and inescapable proof of the Weasley-Malfoy ‘merger’, his father would change his mind and deem the pair of them not worthy as heir. In short, he was afraid of rejection.
He reached his father’s study and found the door closed. Raising his fist carefully, trying not to jostle the baby, he knocked.
“Who is it?” said the imperious voice of Lucius Malfoy.
“It’s me, father.”
“Come in.”
He opened the door and found his father sitting, bent over his desk, writing.
“What time is it, Draco?” he asked, without looking up from the parchment.
“Half past one, father.”
“We had four appointments this morning. You missed them all.”
“I know, father.”
This was not going as well as he had hoped.
“It’s lucky for you that you have an adequate excuse then, isn’t it?” At last Lucius stopped writing, and he looked up at his son who stood in the doorway cradling the newest Malfoy heir.
Yes, thought Lucius, my son is indeed a man now.
“I thought you’d like to see your grandson.”
Lucius didn’t reply. He stared at him for a few moments that felt like hours to Draco, before rising slowly from his chair and crossing the room towards him.
Carefully, Lucius took the baby from his son and walked over to the window to study him properly.
“How poetic it is that the passing of time can be so clearly marked by the son becoming the father.”
Draco said nothing; he was relieved.
Lucius studied the child for some minutes before returning him to his father’s arms with a faint smile playing at his lips.
“I’m proud of you, my son.”
Those six words spoke volumes to Draco; nothing more needed to be said.
As the elevator descended into the foyer of the Hall of Records, he looked around. He had been there only once before, when he registered his marriage, and he had been equally impressed by the building then.
The foyer was silent, with the whispering echoes of the footsteps of the milling people and goblins projected high into the vaulted ceiling by polished marble floors and towering columns. The entire building was located underneath an apparently derelict multi-storey car park, which made it all the more impressive in its dimensions. Seventeen levels underneath the foyer dealt with every record kept by wizard-kind since written records began.
Crossing the vast expanse, Lucius and Draco passed the striking fountain in the centre, carved out of a dark rock that glittered and sparkled. Water splashed down haphazardly into a deep pool in and around which various tropical and magical plants grew, lit from overhead by a hanging glass globe that mimicked the sun glowing with magical light.
At the other side, they stopped at the reception desk in front of a blonde witch in gold-trimmed uniform robes who was studying a sheet of parchment. Looking up, she smiled at them and said, “Welcome to the Hall of Records. How may I direct you?”
“We’re here to record a birth,” Lucius said imperiously, not returning her smile.
“Fourteenth floor, third door on the left hand side. You will need to pass through security at the desk on the right hand side, and then take the silver elevator. Congratulations, by the way.”
Some minutes later, they found the door marked ‘Births’ and entered a large waiting room in which several wizards were queuing between gold ropes strung in front of three counters. Lucius took a seat on a bench by the wall, and Draco joined the queue.
As he waited, his mind wandered over the events of the previous day, and thoughts of his son, his tiny wrinkled newborn face and little hands that clutched his finger, made him smile to himself.
His turn arrived swiftly, and he stepped up to the desk. An ancient, dry-looking wizard looked at him over the top of small square spectacles, and in front of him was a large leather-bound tome.
“Surname?” he asked, his voice sounding like the snapping of twigs.
“Malfoy.”
The wizard tapped the book with his wand and it snapped open at a page marked with a decorative ‘M’.
“Malfoy, did you say?”
“Yes.”
He flipped through the pages, muttering to himself.
“…Maborn…Maddley…Makel…ahh, Malfoy,” and he opened the ledger to a page recording all the births in the Malfoy family for what appeared to be the last three hundred years.
Picking up his quill and charging it with ink, he wrote the year and a four digit code number, then looked up again. “Boy or a girl?”
“Boy,” Draco replied.
“Date of birth?”
“Yesterday, the fourteenth of March.”
“What name have you given the child?”
“Lucien William Malfoy.”
The wizard wrote this down carefully and deliberately underneath the place where Draco could see his own name written, and then looked up again. “Father’s full name?”
“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
“Mother’s full name?”
“Ginevra Molly Malfoy, née Weasley.” As he said this, out of the corner of his eye he saw several wizards turn their heads to look at him, and gave an inward sigh. Would it never cease?
“Place of birth?”
“Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.”
“Time of birth?”
“Fourteen-thirty-four.”
“Midwife or attending Physician?”
“Midwife. Elizabeth Callaghan.”
As he had been giving this information, a quill on a bench behind the desk had been automatically filling in a birth certificate which the wizard now retrieved, rolled up, placed inside a tube, and handed to him over the counter.
“Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy. NEXT?”
As he turned and walked away from the desk, he saw a couple of vaguely familiar faces scowling at him from the queue. One face was brave enough to hiss something at him that made him turn around sharply, and approach the man who now clearly wished he hadn’t said anything.
“Say that again.”
“We know what you did to her.”
“Did to whom?” He knew, of course, to whom the man was referring, and as he looked at him, he suddenly realised why he was familiar. He had been in his year at Hogwarts, Justin Finch-something or other, a Hufflepuff. He’d been part of that ridiculous group that Potter had set up in their fifth year. They’d called themselves ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ – such pretension.
“Ginny. Everyone knows what you did. You’re despicable, Malfoy.”
“You want to watch how you speak to me,” he said calmly. “It’s not wise to piss me off these days. Oh, and I suggest you get your facts straight before making a complete fool of yourself.” Then he lowered his voice so that only Justin could hear him, and said, “You want to be careful, throwing baseless accusations around, Finch-Fletchley, as it might get you noticed by the wrong people.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Hardly. Just call it a friendly warning,” and he turned to where his father was waiting for him and left Justin standing, staring open-mouthed.
After he had paid a visit to Gringotts and opened an account for his son, Lucius advised that it would be a good idea to place an advert in the Daily Prophet. Draco was reluctant to go to the offices; he knew how irritating journalists were when it came to anything remotely scandalous. Not that he considered his son’s birth in any way scandalous, but people’s minds worked oddly sometimes. However, as always, he heeded his father’s advice, and found himself in front of the advertisements desk filling out an announcement form when someone wearing robes of a yellow so bright, it hurt his eyes, stepped up next to him.
“Mr. Malfoy,” said a voice like dripping honey.
“Rita,” he acknowledged. Damn the woman. Of all the people he had not wanted to meet, Rita Skeeter had been third on his list.
“Did I hear correctly? The ex-Miss Weasley has provided a new addition to the illustrious Malfoy family?”
“You did. What of it?”
“Perhaps you’d like to say a few words on the subject. For our society pages, you know…”
“A few words? I think not. What can you possibly want to know that I haven’t already written here?” he said, as he indicated the form.
He had to tread carefully. Rita Skeeter was a pain at the best of times, but right now he couldn’t afford to add further fuel to the deleterious rumours currently circulating regarding the validity of his marriage. Several people were suggesting that Ginny had been hypnotised or put under the Imperious curse, or were questioning the paternity of his son, which was downright ridiculous since the timescales were all wrong for the child to be anyone else’s but his.
“Well, perhaps I can arrange to interview yourself and Mrs. Malfoy, maybe have some photographs. For the society pages you understand…”
This could work to his advantage, he thought, if people actually saw his son and Ginny, they might be persuaded to abandon their rumour mongering.
“I will give it some thought,” he replied carefully, “and I shall have to discuss it with Mrs. Malfoy herself, of course.”
“Of course. You have my card from the last time we…met.”
She smiled at him, well … ‘leered’ at him might be more appropriate terminology.
“I look forward to hearing from you,” she said, and disappeared through a side door in a flurry of luminousness.
“You are joking!” Ginny hissed, when he broached the subject of an interview and photographs. They were having a fiercely whispered argument on the sofa by the fireplace of Draco’s room, trying not to wake Lucien who was sound asleep, laid out in the middle of the bed.
Having discussed the matter with his parents earlier in the evening, they had agreed that it might be a good idea to help silence some of the more damaging rumours. Now all he had to do was convince Ginny.
“It might be a good thing. Maybe people will stop whispering and pointing, and as for the rumours...”
“Does it really matter what people think? We know the truth, isn’t that what counts?”
“You have no idea, do you? In a family as…notorious as mine, scandal and rumour are a serious detriment to our reputation. But of course, you wouldn’t understand…”
“Oh, don’t you dare start making innuendos like that. I know as much about reputation as you do! I just choose not to care.”
“Well, I do, and so should you. After all, you are a part of this family now…” and he left the ‘whether you like it or not’ off the end because he would rather not give her more ammunition to throw at him. It was vital to win her over, make her see that it was a good idea. He couldn’t have photographs with her scowling at him; that would have the completely opposite effect. He decided to wheedle just a little at her mothering instincts.
“Do you want our son to grow up with speculation and rumour hanging over his head?”
“Oh, don’t even bother trying that. I can see through you like glass, Draco.”
Worth a try anyway, he thought.
“All they want is a couple of photographs and a few words. Please, Ginny. I’m getting a little tired of all the bullshit I’m getting.”
He rarely said please, and hoped that it might go some way towards nudging her in the right direction.
“Well, it was your own fault. Surely you knew what sort of backlash there would be when you married me?”
“Yes, but at the time I had…other…concerns on my mind. Like, oh, I don’t know…saving your life.”
She was leaning against the fireplace eyeing him shrewdly.
“I believe we already discussed that,” she said coolly. Discussed was an understatement - they had had a blazing row on the subject.
“The point I’m trying to make is that when I married you, I wasn’t paying much attention to rumour and speculation. I expected it to just die out, but it seems that people in the wizarding world have little better to occupy their dull little minds than to speculate on the sordid details of our marriage.”
She was looking at him oddly, her eyes flickering between where he stood, and their two-day-old son, still lying peacefully in the middle of his bed.
“Alright then,” she said shortly, “We’ll give that Skeeter woman the benefit of the doubt. I suppose she is finding the current state of things a little restrictive to her writing. But I swear to the Goddess that I will personally ensure that she never writes another word, one way or another, if this reflects badly on us.”
He saw a dangerous glint in her eye that made him wonder what she meant by ‘one way or another’.
“So you’re agreed?”
“I suppose,” she sighed, clearly unhappy with the whole concept.
He wasn’t entirely happy about the idea himself, but if it silenced some of the relentless muttering, then he was game. He just had to make sure that Rita Skeeter kept to their unspoken agreement not to twist whatever he said.
~~*End Chapter 15*~~
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