Author's Note: Hello, anyone who's still there! I know it's been...uh...seven months since I last updated, and I am really sorry about that. I've never been one to promise punctual, habitual updates anyway, but I still feel bad. This semester has been absolutely awful, and it's only now that I've had the chance to write anything for this story. Let me tell you, seven classes is a terrible idea.

This chapter does not really end on a cliffhanger, but it still sets up some events for the next chapter, and I will be taking this winter break to think about the direction I want to take this story. I mean, sure, I could write over a hundred chapters of nonsense, but I'd really rather not, so there will be some planning to do.

I would like to thank Mark Geoffrey Norrish and MaryRoyale for inadvertently inspiring me to continue this story right this moment, even though they were actually trolling me and came up with some horrendously crackish ideas that I would never, ever put into this story. Heh. There was something they mentioned that inspired me, though, and this was the result.

Thank you to everyone who's ever read this thus far and who's still reading this. I appreciate it, and if I could afford the plane fare to hug each and every one of you, I would. :)

Chapter Twelve—Grandchildren Are Overrated

Ron came home from the pub feeling all too sober. Just as he and Harry had been about to order their first drink of the evening, the special edition of the Prophet had arrived, featuring him rolling on the ground with the ferret's father. After that, there was no hope of ingesting anything without vomiting it back up.

Harry had collapsed into giggles, which did not help the situation one bit. Ron had shouted himself hoarse at him, reminding him that it was completely his fault that he had been caught in such a compromising situation in the first place, but all that served to do was to make Harry paste on an apologetic expression with his lips twitching. Ron had thrown up his hands and stormed out of the pub in disgust at that point, ignoring the giggles and snickers that followed his exit. Apparently all the other wizards and witches had seen the article, too.

He Apparated into the flat he shared with Hermione, sighing at one of the living room walls. He saw a light in their bedroom and knew that she was probably in bed, reading. He prayed that she had been too engrossed in her current research to even notice the paper.

When he reached the doorway, however, she looked up from her book, closed it, and set it down on the nightstand. That was not a good sign. She rarely set her books down, even when she wanted to talk, usually choosing instead to keep one of her fingers tucked in the pages for a quick return afterwards.

"U-Um, hey 'Mione," he stammered out. "How's it going?"

She slid out from under the covers and moved so that she suddenly stood in front of him, her hands on either side of his face.

He held his breath as she caressed his cheeks with her thumbs, her eyes locked on his.

"Ron," she breathed. "I saw the article, you know."

He flushed. "Hermione, that article—"

She cut him off. "You know…if you ever wanted a threesome with another man, I'd keep my mind open."

His eyes widened, and his face grew almost hot enough to melt her hands. "Hermione!"

She let go of his face and threw her head back, laughing. "The look on your face!" she shouted, clutching her stomach and wheezing.

He growled. "It isn't funny!"

"Ron, it's the funniest thing ever! Y-You and Malfoy! Ahahahaha!" Her whole body shook, and her cheeks grew pinker and pinker with each passing moment.

He stomped away. Some friends he had! He wanted sympathy, but all he got was mockery instead.

Just as he was about to open his pantry and drown himself in scotch, however, two slender arms wrapped themselves around his waist.

"I'm sorry, Ron. It's just that after seeing that article and then seeing your face in person, I just couldn't—hahaha! It's so weird. I know we're technically famous, but when one juxtaposes the caricaturised media image with the reality of our identities, the resulting disconnect is just so overwhelming."

"Uh huh." He pulled out a bottle and started to look for the opener.

Her arms tightened around him and gently pulled him away from the counter, and he was forced to let go of the bottle and give up his search. "Ron, don't. You know the Prophet is ridiculous; no one takes them seriously anymore. Sure, people will laugh and giggle for a bit, but they'll forget all about it soon enough, especially when we get married."

"What if they bring it up at the wedding?"

"I'd like to see them try."

His shoulders relaxed of their own accord at the steel in her voice. He turned around and kissed her soft cheek.

"I'm still pretty miffed at you for laughing, you know."

She slid her hand under his shirt. "I think I can come up with a suitable apology," she said with a straight face, although her eyes lit up.

He grinned and swept her up in his arms.

"Alright. Let's roll around on the ground together."

Blaise sighed as he stood at the front door of the Burrow. Well, at least the Weasleys had let him get to this point today, rather than attacking him in the front yard again. He did wish Draco had not fainted the other day, though. He could have used some advice from the man he had guilt-tripped into helping him, after all. Otherwise, what was the point of all that effort?

He rang the doorbell and waited.

The door swung open, but there was no one standing on the other side.

"Welcome to the second test, Zabini," boomed the boring Weasley's voice. "Last time, you proved your courage and strength. Today, you shall prove your patience and endurance. If you will, please follow the crimson light."

On cue, a little red dot appeared on the ground in front of his feet, moving steadily away. He grumbled and followed it, knowing that any refusal would be construed as a forfeit to the challenge and he'd lose his chance to be with Ginevra forever.

He looked around at the homey surroundings as he went, grudgingly admiring the warm effect of the colour scheme and the arrangement of various family portraits and souvenirs. The Weasleys may not have been rich, but they did live comfortably, valuing every little object they came across in their various life experiences.

Vaguely, he wondered what the next challenge would be. It probably would not be something physical, or they would have made him fight it out in the front yard again instead of allowing him into their cosy little abode.

The dot continued on, sliding over cheap wooden flooring and occasionally skirting over patterned rugs. Blaise skipped to keep up, not wanting to lose the challenge simply because he couldn't catch up to a dot, of all things.

Finally, the dot slid up against a door and then blinked out of existence.

This was it, then. The challenge.

He slowly reached for the doorknob, half-expecting it to turn into a serpent's head and bite his fingers off, but nothing of the sort occurred, and he was able to open the door.

He blinked. There was nothing inside the room except for a wooden chair and four blank walls.

"Weasley? What's the meaning of this?"

Boring Weasley chuckled, and Blaise shivered. Boring Weasley should never be allowed to chuckle; he sounded absolutely sinister.

"Close the door behind you, Zabini, and you will find out."

Blaise swallowed and forced his hand to remain steady as he pushed the door closed.

"Now…have a seat."

He made his way over to the wooden chair and slowly lowered his arse onto the seat, his heart racing and his palms growing sweaty. What did they want from him here?

"Look up at the wall in front of you."

He obeyed. Suddenly the wall flickered, and an image appeared. There was Boring Weasley in an armchair, but the whole image was grainy and kept flickering every once in a while.

"What—"

"What you see here is a magical adaptation of a Muggle invention called 'film,' courtesy of my brother George. It is like photographic film, except it moves for a longer period of time. Our magical photographs are pretty sophisticated, but the subjects have a mind of their own and cannot be controlled. What you see in front of you now has been pre-recorded, and thus you cannot talk to me, and I cannot respond to anything you say."

"Oh really? Then you're a big poncey git!"

"I'd watch it if I were you, Zabini," said Boring Weasley's voice from a different direction as the image froze. "I'm still here, you know. It's just that I want the recorded version of me to do all the work."

"Fine," he huffed. "Continue."

The image moved again, and Blaise stared listlessly at Boring Weasley's heavily freckled face and glasses.

"My father does not want to meet you until you have passed all three tests, so he requested that his sons take care of this situation. I am not the oldest son of the family, but Bill has a family to raise, and Charlie is married to his work, so the duty falls upon me to be in charge of the tests, especially since my own work at the Ministry has been stalled at the moment, pending the big Reorganisation. It is a pleasure to represent the family in this courtship business.

"You did get to meet Charlie and George the other day, since they were able to take one day off and I needed Charlie's help with the gnomes, but you will not be seeing them today. Ron may or may not assist us in this, but he has not been considerate enough to respond to my owls as of late."

The Boring Weasley in the image affected a long-suffering sigh before continuing.

"Nonetheless, I do not allow such setbacks to deter me, for duty is duty and cannot be ignored. Today, you shall have the sole pleasure of my company, Mr Zabini, and I should hope that you will enjoy every moment of it."

Blaise gulped and wondered where this was all going. Was he going to have to wank in front of this guy or something? Perhaps verify that he was not afflicted with sexual diseases? Why was he being so creepy?

"As I have mentioned before, today's test will determine your levels of patience and endurance. In the making of this film, I have had the advantage of a soft, comfortable chair and many breaks in between takes of this footage, so although you will not see it, I have actually left the room many times for various things such as washroom breaks and snacks. You, on the other hand, will not get this privilege. You have nothing but your wooden chair, and you will sit there and watch me speak for the entire length of this film.

"You see, the gnome test showed that you will not balk at the slightest difficulty and that you do have decent enough strength to handle unexpected dangers that might befall our sister Ginny. We do not expect you to be invincible, of course, but the least you can do is try to protect her, which we are now convinced that you could and would do if such a situation ever arose. Thankfully, she is an apt witch in her own right and will not need to rely too heavily on you for protection.

"On a day-to-day basis, however, physical threats are few and far between. The more likely scenario is that you, as her suitor, will have to spend time talking and listening to all sorts of people, and not all of them will be as titillating as Harry Potter or Hermione Granger.

"For example, there will be me. I am not under the delusion that I interest you in any way."

"You got that right," muttered Blaise.

"Although I am pretty fascinating to the people in my field, I know that your sort of mind is not compatible with mine.

"Hence I am the best person to administer this test.

"To pass this test, you must listen to me recount the entire history of the Weasley family from the era where the earliest recordings of family history can be found up until the present. This will serve the dual purpose of testing you and of informing you of our values and traditions so as to help you better fit into the family in the case that you actually pass all the tests. At the end, I will quiz you, and you must answer the questions correctly. I will not nit-pick about tiny details, of course, but I do expect evidence that you have been paying attention.

"You may not yawn too obviously or fall asleep. Pretend that I am Ginny's boring and easily-offended great-aunt. If you show too obvious a sign of boredom, you will fail the test immediately."

"What if I have to use the loo?"

The image froze, and Boring Weasley's off-screen voice responded again. "Then you will have to excuse yourself politely and at an appropriate moment in the conversation. You will be monitored, however, and only given just enough time to relieve yourself, so I suggest that you do not dilly dally."

The image continued.

"Now that I have laid out the rules of the test, we may begin."

Blaise took in a deep breath and steeled himself for the most boring lecture of all time. He was going to force himself to stay awake, even if he had to hex himself.

"The noble Weasley family can be traced back as early as around 1200, with the writings of Alderic Weasley, who was known in the community for his…"

Blaise stifled a sigh and listened as closely as he could. All this effort just to get a chance at dating Ginevra Weasley…it was worth it, he reminded himself. Anything could be endured as long as he had a chance with her.

Narcissa stood in front of Mr Potter's door, patiently awaiting his return. It was rude to enter someone's flat uninvited, after all.

Then again, it was rude to call upon someone without owling first, but the situation called for a slight bending of the etiquette rules. She rather feared that giving Mr Potter advance notice would probably scare him off, and she did not have the time for frivolities.

She leaned against the door, keeping her senses alert for signs of life. From her last disastrous encounter with him in her living room, she recalled that he had yet to master soundless Apparition. She was confident that she would hear his return—

"Mrs Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

She gasped and moved away from the door. There he was, standing in front of her, keys in hand. He eyed her warily, his mouth looking pinched at the corners. She did not blame him, if Lucius' account had been accurate.

"Do you never Apparate straight into your home, Mr Potter?"

He shook his head without taking his eyes off her. "I have Muggle neighbours. It looks suspicious if I'm never seen entering my own front door."

Narcissa nodded. Muggles could be inconvenient like that. "Well, may I call upon you today? There are some matters I wish to discuss with you."

He sighed and nodded, unlocking his door. "Might as well. At least you're not tying me up."

Narcissa's lips twitched. "Yes, sometimes Lucius can get a bit…hasty."

Mr Potter shook his head ruefully as he entered the flat. Narcissa followed him into his living room, frowning at the unappealing couch. If she was not mistaken, it was the exact shade of vomit. Well, she supposed it would be easier to clean up after children if one had such a couch.

"Please, sit down," he said, sitting on one side of it.

She complied while continuing to examine the surroundings. There were many pictures of Mr Potter with his two best friends on the mantel of his fireplace and the walls. No pictures of Draco yet, but it was probably too soon for that. Draco actually did not seem to like having his picture taken.

To the side, there was a slight tear in the wallpaper. She frowned at it.

Mr Potter quickly waved his wand, and the wallpaper fixed itself. "Er, yeah. Had a bit of an accident the other day; thought I caught that part."

"Did the accident also involve setting your lamp on fire?" she asked, for there was a charred lamp in one of the darker corners of the room.

Mr Potter grimaced. "Yes. I haven't had the chance to replace that yet. As you can see, I have other lamps to light up the room, so it's not priority."

"Mm, quite." She still felt it was unseemly that he would leave such an object in clear view, but she had to allow for the fact that she herself had so rudely visited him without owling first. "Questionable furnishings aside, I am here to discuss the matter of a terrible misunderstanding that occurred the last time we met."

"Mrs Malfoy, I understand that you don't necessarily mean you want grandkids now, but I have to tell you, I don't think I can ever go through with carrying a child—"

She cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. "No, that is the misunderstanding. Lucius and I have never expected you to carry a child; it is not even possible to do so just yet. Perhaps in the future, there will be some advancement in magical research, especially as more and more people openly enter same-sex relationships—"

"So what if that happens? Will I be expected to carry a child then?"

Narcissa looked up at him, only to see him worrying his lower lip. "No, that is a decision you and Draco must make; it is not my place. All I wanted you to know is that, should you desire children, there are options. For example, surrogacy."

"What exactly is that again?"

"It is when one of you has a child with a woman and accepts him or her as your heir."

Mr Potter nodded. "So would that mean Draco would have an arrangement with a woman, then, to carry on his family line?"

"Yes. You, too, could have children, of course, and we would accept your child as part of our family, too. There are adoption rituals that would work quite well for this purpose."

He looked away and fidgeted, probably mulling over the possibility.

She found herself moving closer despite herself, not liking his discomfort. "Look, Mr Potter, I understand that it might be too soon to even contemplate thinking on this matter, but if you have any serious plans with my son, it would be nice to know that you have at least considered these potential options."

"Well…I don't know," he muttered in the direction of his lap. "I have strong feelings for your son, but I haven't thought that far yet."

"You have always struck me as a family man, Mr Potter, which is understandable considering your history. I just do not want you to end your relationship with my son just because it turned out you had some vestigial heteronormative desire for a nuclear family unit."

"What? How dare you, my feelings for Draco aren't that weak—"

He was cut off as something awful happened.

To Narcissa's complete horror, she had leaned in too close to him, eager to hear his next words, so when he abruptly turned around and leaned forward to defend his love for Draco, their lips had brushed against each other's for the briefest of moments.

She threw herself backward, her stomach churning, only just barely resisting the urge to wipe furiously at her mouth. The idea of putting her mouth anywhere her son's mouth had been! Why, she could barely stomach eating off the same plate as him, much less kissing his lover!

Meanwhile, Mr Potter was furiously wiping at his own mouth, for apparently he had no qualms about open displays of disgust. "How could you? I'm dating your son! And you're married!"

"Mr Potter, let me assure you," she hastened to say, even as she felt her cheeks flaming with humiliation, "I have absolutely no interest in—"

"Oh, I get it now! This was your plan all along! You're trying to seduce me so that you'll get to be the surrogate mother, carrying the next heir!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, you can't let go of Draco for one moment, can you? Always have to be involved in his affairs! That is why you're pushing this child issue right now, isn't it? You're hoping that either you'll scare me off or you'll get a direct hand in our future! Oh, Merlin, I can just imagine you bossing him around as you carry our child! Well, I won't stand for it! I love Draco and I won't let him be ruled by his mum forever!"

By the time he had finished this long rant, she had already stood up and moved over to his fireplace. Forcing a placid expression on her face she said, "I think we have nothing left to discuss, Mr Potter. Clearly, you are unhinged in the worst way. I wish Draco luck in dealing with you; he will sorely need it."

She tossed in the Floo powder, called out the name of the Manor, and stepped through, ignoring any response he might have given.

She stormed into the library and unlocked the door effortlessly, eliciting a shocked gasp from Lucius, who was still clutching a bottle of spirits. Narcissa rolled her eyes at him. Was he even drinking it, or was he just cuddling it for comfort?

"Give that here," she snarled, snatching it out of his hands.

"Narcissa, my apologies, I know I have not been behaving—"

He abruptly stopped talking when she drank directly out of the bottle.

"Narcissa?"

She set the bottle down on the nearest flat surface before pulling him in for a passionate kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, and they stayed like that for a while, his hands rubbing comforting circles in her back.

Finally, he pulled away. "What was all that for?"

She shuddered. "I have had the most traumatic evening. Draco be damned, I do not want to deal with his horrid partner ever again."

Lucius nodded sombrely. "Now you understand?"

"Yes. It is time to let Draco deal with his own problems. Besides, grandchildren are overrated."

"Yes, very overrated. Perhaps we should just fill the void with trips around the world instead."

She smiled at him, the first time she had smiled all day. "Let us start with a trip to Belgium, then."

"Why? What do they even have there?"

Thus they settled into a happy night of bickering and planning, and Narcissa was able to put the horrible events of the evening out of her mind for now.