A/N: *wiggle-dances the entire way in*

*Is so stoked with herself for finally havng an update ready for this*

*hopes you are still reading this one?*

*shimmies away*

xx-Kitten.

Better Dig Two

By Kittenshift17

Chapter 16: A Drop In The Ocean

Hermione made a face as she was forced into the chair, having been introduced to the flamboyantly pompous Francois after breakfast. She wasn't at all in the mood for being told her hair was too wild and her thighs too jiggly and her eyebrows too crooked. Scowling in Narcissa's direction as the other witch sipped tea across the room whilst overseeing Francois's work and chattering away to the man in rapid-fire French, Hermione winced at the first drag of a brush through her wild curls.

She was certain that the man couldn't be as good as he claimed, because everyone knew the last thing you should do to wildly curly hair was brush it. That way led tears, tantrums, and afros so impressive, they put the entire '60s to shame.

"Is the brushing necessary?" Hermione asked after the third pain-riddled drag of the comb through her curls.

Francois stopped speaking to Narcissa and levelled Hermione the harshest glare she'd been on the receiving end of in a very long time. Hermione returned the expression, unfazed by what he clearly hoped was a look designed to silence his clients into cooperating.

"What?" Hermione demanded. "I assume based on your own locks and those of Lady Malfoy, and the fact that you trying to brush my curls that you're inexperienced with hair like mine. All the talent in the world won't make up for what I'll do to you if you try and brush another lock of it. Look at it! Look what you've done!"

She pointed indicatively at the heinous frizz he'd induced with his brushing.

"Mademoiselle," he began, clearly affronted.

"No!" Hermione said, snatching the brush from him. "If you imagine this is a necessary step in order to beautify me, you are mistaken and need to revisit your training for a more well-rounded clientele."

"Narcissa, really," Francois complained, appealing to the woman.

Hermione, not to be deterred and in no mood for being treated like an imbecile, stared the woman down.

"Well, she does have a point, dear," Narcissa allowed, eyeing the frizzy mess the hairdresser had induced.

"The insolence…." Francois muttered in French. "I am expected to make her beautiful, no?"

"You are," Narcissa said, her eyes narrowing.

"Then how am I to do that without first splitting out each strand to more effectively coat it in the deep-conditioner?" Francois wanted to know. "I am not an imbecile, I need not remind you."

"If I'm forced to reschedule this interview because she looks like a poodle, you will regret it, Francois," Narcissa informed Francois coolly, refusing to be cowed by the indignant Frenchman.

A string of rapidly spoken curses sounded in French before the man snatched the brush back from Hermione's grip, muttering spells before he pulled the brush through her curls much more smoothly, allowing magic to ease the way. Hermione kept her mouth shut, but she'd very much have liked to tell him where he could shove his brushes, realising that he'd had the capacity to make it easy from the beginning and was simply one of those assholes trying to shame her about her curls by making it as painful as possible. The asshole.

For the remainder of the session, through deep-conditioning, a style cut, waxing, eyebrow shaping, eyelash tinting, hairstyling, and finally an excessive, if beautiful make-up job, Hermione wasn't permitted to talk. Narcissa kept Francois busy with questions and gossip and chit-chat, refusing to let him know who she was or what the interview was for, or why she was associated in the slightest with the Malfoy family.

Bored, Hermione let her mind wander. She was dreading the interview, and she was worried about Etamin, off with Draco and doing Merlin only knew what. She was worried the story would already have hit the papers – that Ron would've gone running to them to paint himself as the victim, as he so often insisted upon.

"Roberta, welcome," Narcissa said when Francois was finally finished pinching and poking and prodding her.

She was now the begrudging owner of some sort of weight-loss potion in cream form that was to be applied liberally to the belly, arms, and thighs every evening. Given than Hermione was already slim, she thought the Frenchman was just being a jerk, but she wouldn't say no to the added assistance to remove what little baby-weight she'd yet to shift from her rear, thank you very much. She already had proof that the cream worked, after all, and she didn't know what was in it, but it must be worth a fortune because after a single application, she'd already dropped a dress size.

Roberta, the seamstress, set straight to work after exchanging perfunctory greetings, asking a few questions here and there of Narcissa about the purpose of the interview, and the tone they wanted to convey. Hermione, having expected to end up in some pureblood-fashioned gown, was quietly surprised when the woman designed her a powerful skirt-suit in a deep shade of plum that almost looked black. It looked nice; professional; yet just casual enough to imply that she wasn't some high-powered businesswoman discussing some new scientific breakthrough. Indeed, Hermione rather thought she looked like a well-dressed modern princess, the likes of which were so frequently splashed upon the covers of muggle gossip magazines. Professional. Classy. Elegant. But not overbearing.

"Will it do?" Roberta asked finally when Hermione stood before the mirror admiring the new outfit.

She opened her mouth to answer before realising that Roberta wasn't talking to her, but was instead fixated on Narcissa, awaiting the elder witch's reaction and any changes she might wish to implement.

"It will do," Narcissa concluded after several minutes. Hermione noticed with some amusement that she'd held off on answering so long just for the sake of making Roberta sweat when the seamstress sagged just a little in relief, and mischief sparkled in the woman's grey eyes.

"Excellent," Roberta smiled widely.

"Do what you can with her measurements for some additional outfits, Roberta," Narcissa instructed. "I daresay there will be court hearings, dinners, additional interviews and the occasional gala or ball in Mrs Granger-Weasley's future."

"Of course," Roberta smiled. "I'll get right to work and schedule another appointment with you here for a fitting when they're ready."

"Good," Narcissa said, and Hermione could tell from the finality of the word that the conversation was over, and that the seamstress was being dismissed.

She shook her head at the rudeness of it all, noting that not once did Narcissa thank either the stylist or the seamstress before they each departed.

"Well?" she asked finally of Hermione when they were alone.

"Well what?" Hermione challenged, in something of a bad mood after all the poking and prodding and being 'accidentally' jabbed with pins.

"Are you comfortable?" Narcissa asked.

"Am I supposed to be?" Hermione challenged, frowning a little but moving over to the settee when Narcissa fluttered her fingers indicatively, waiting for Hermione to sit and have tea with her.

"Not really," Narcissa admitted with a small smirk. "I have found over the years that when it is necessary that I be on my guard, it is easier to remember to do so whilst ever so slightly uncomfortable in my robes or my skin."

"And you plan to pass the lesson along," Hermione said dryly. "How thoughtful."

"Indeed," Narcissa said, sipping some more of her tea and watching Hermione over the rim of her cup as Hermione attempted to make herself comfortable on the settee with her own teacup poised in her hand.

She could tell the woman was looking for signs that this lifestyle made her nervous, but she would find none. Prior to attending Hogwarts, this had been her life, despite her young age. Primness and properness had been bred into her, and poise had been drilled in from birth.

"You are aware, I suppose, of the importance of the interview we must give to the press today?"

"Draco explained something of the wizarding elite 'rules'," Hermione said. "I have earned points by taking steps to ensure Etamin's paternity is legally acknowledged through the alteration of his birth certificate and Draco's actions of listing Etamin as his son and heir. I have earned more points for leaving my husband and moving into the home of my child's father immediately after learning Draco was his father, and that Ronald was having an affair. I have lost points for not knowing Draco was Etamin's sire to begin with and will lose additional points the longer I delay in divorcing Ron – should he prove difficult about it – and will lose even more for every day I delay in instead marrying Draco. Correct?"

"Essentially," Narcissa said. "Do you have any particular feelings on that?"

"On marrying your son?" Hermine confirmed, sensing that that was where Narcissa was driving.

She waited for the other woman to incline her head, though she didn't speak, indicating that Hermione was correct.

"Draco and I are not well matched, Narcissa," Hermione told the woman seriously. "I understand the pressures of propriety, and should Ron and I finalise the divorce quickly, it will be expected that I remarry, rather than raising Etamin as a single mother. But Draco and I barely know one another. What's more, we don't particularly care for one another, let alone fancy each other."

"That hardly matters, at this level of society," Narcissa sniffed. "Which I'm sure you know. Unless they do things differently in the muggle world? Are matches made only for love?"

"Increasingly, yes," Hermione admitted. "Though historically, no. Most matches at so elite a level of political standing are made for the sake of alliance, money, or power."

"Then what, may I ask, would be the problem with marrying Draco?" Narcissa demanded coolly.

"The fact that I don't love him and could not be happy with a man I don't love," Hermione retorted.

"Oh, yes. Because marrying for love has worked out so well for you the first time," the other witch sniped and Hermione glanced down at her teacup, thinking very hard about pitching it at the blonde woman.

"You only wish for me to marry Draco to desist his embarrassing habit of deflowering and devaluing the daughters of your friends and enemies every time he lures one of them into bed with him," Hermione replied instead, keeping her cool and reminding herself that she was no longer surrounded by hot-headed Weasleys who spoke their minds and lost their tempers. That would never do here, in a place like this, with a woman like Narcissa Malfoy.

"It would be beneficial, I confess," Narcissa said. "But the predominant reason for my hopes of your marriage lie in the fact that you bore my first grandson. Should you wish to bear any additional children, I would appreciate them also being of Draco's seed."

"Dear Merlin, must we discuss such things?" Hermione wrinkled her nose at the thought.

"We must," Narcissa said. "Because one of the first things Rita and Sylvia are going to ask you is about your intentions for mothering more children and the likelihood that they will be Draco's. They will press for marriage as surely as I will. The entire magical community within Britain will."

"Don't you think it would be in poor taste to begin planning to marriage to another man when I am still married?" Hermione asked mildly. "A man my issues began with due to my refusal to bear any more children. I can hardly sit here and self-righteously declare that Ron is a cheating scumbag whom I wish to divorce immediately when his actions are a direct result of his seeking to pressure me into giving him biological children of his own."

"You most certainly can," Narcissa said. "And you can argue your refusal to do so with him by stating that you have known since his conception that Etamin was not Ronald's and did not wish to complicate matters further by giving Etamin any half-siblings. It's a completely reasonable wish, especially for a witch of your now-elevated status. Not to mention that my recollections of the gossip of the day prior to your marriage to the youngest Weasley son suggest that this most recent affair of his is hardly his first indiscretion. It could be very easily argued that having married him knowing his reputation for a philanderer, you didn't wish to complicate matters with children lest he prove unfaithful once again. I can't think of a single witch who could argue with your point, though several will undoubtedly question your intelligence that you married him at all, beyond doing so for the sake of avoiding birthing a bastard out of wedlock…"

"So, I should tell the world I mean to marry Draco before divorcing Ron?" Hermione asked mildly. "Aren't we attempting to portray the fact that Ron is the philanderer who has grievously wronged me, and I am the victim? If I declare my intent to marry Draco before by martial bed is even cold, I will be painted a harlot and rumours of an affair will spread like wildfire. With Draco's reputation for being a complete cad, people will hardly be disbelieving of the notion."

Narcissa scowled, sipping some more of her tea and looking away. Her foot began to tap with irritation against the floor of the drawing room and Hermione raised her eyebrows at the obvious display of agitation. She had assumed that a woman like Narcissa would be unshakeable. Her own mother would, undoubtedly, be unshakeable in the face of such a discussion.

"Perhaps you're right," Narcissa allowed finally, after several minutes of tense silence. "For the time being we will placate whatever queries Sylvia and Rita propose about plans for seeing you and Draco wedded by reminding them that until you are divorced, you have made no declarations to anyone."

"Implying that, at some point, I will need to make a declaration – preferably about wedding Draco – once the divorce is finalized," Hermione noted, annoyed but refusing to show it.

"Obviously," Narcissa said.

"You do know that it's not just me you need to convince of this politically minded match, don't you?" Hermione asked mildly. "Draco and I have already discussed what he called your 'plans to meddle'. He isn't interested in marrying me, though he's been very insistent that I reside here permanently so that we might raise Etamin together."

"He can hardly marry anyone else with the mother of his heir living in the next room," Narcissa pointed out.

"He can hardly want to marry me, no matter his intentions to be a good father, when all of our previous interactions have been fraught with bad feelings and prejudice," Hermione argued.

"Not all," Narcissa said, a sly smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "If that were the case, my grandson would not exist."

"It may shock you to learn, Narcissa, that two people can commit coital interaction and still have it be fraught with bad feeling," Hermione replied icily. "Believe me, we had both had rather a lot to drink, I was emotionally fraught to learn my date was a rake, and Draco was emotionally drained after a year of forced interactions with peers who despised him given his role during the war. The hours we shared together were the result of nothing but bad feelings; a physical outlet for emotional pain, and nothing more."

"If it had been nothing more, I wouldn't have come across the two of you and the delightful son you share, spooning in the same bed this morning, Miss Granger," Narcissa informed her in the same icy tone and Hermione scowled at the thought that she and Malfoy had been caught.

"Do you make a habit of spying?" Hermione demanded, setting down her teacup and sauce with a fine-china rattle of irritation.

"It's hardly spying to seek to check on members of my family when they do not arrive at breakfast at their usual time," Narcissa answered.

"I should think, given the late night we'd all had, that their location would've been obvious," Hermione sniffed.

"Perhaps, but I would negligent not to check," Narcissa told her. "In any case, you were sharing your bed with my son this morning, and it would seem that despite suggestions to the contrary you do now how to get along with one another. That is more than can be said of most arranged matches between the politically elite. Lucius and I hardly knew each other in the slightest when I was told I would be marrying him."

"And look how well that turned out for you," Hermione sneered without thinking, irritated beyond belief with the other woman for daring to point out that maybe she and Draco did have some of the foundations for an amicable relationship already laid.

"A beautiful son. A life of plenty. Status, and power and wealth beyond imagining?" Narcissa suggested. "Oh, yes. Very disappointing."

Hermione opened her mouth, intent on retorting with a scathing comment about becoming Death Eaters and falling under the corruptive tyranny of a megalomaniac. Before she could utter one scorn-dripped word, the doors to the drawing room were thrown open and Zippy appeared in the doorway in a freshly washed and pressed pillowcase uniform.

"Mistress, a Miss Rita and Miss Sylvia is being here to see you," the elf announced.

"Show them in, Zippy," Narcissa instructed. "Brace yourself, Miss Granger. I don't believe, given your past encounters with Rita, that I need to warn you about minding what you say, lest you be misquoted?"

"A lesson well-learned," Hermione nodded in agreement, secretly thinking that it wasn't Rita she was worried about. She had that little bug under her thumb. No, it was this other woman, Sylvia, that Hermione was concerned about.

At the clacking of high-heeled shoes across the marble floor beyond the drawing room, Hermione set down her teacup – which was instantly whisked away by Mipsy – and took a deep, calming breath. She tried to put the argument with Narcissa about her non-existent relationship with Draco from her mind, lest she manage to incriminate herself to two of the most viciously minded women she was sure legally still lived free in wizarding Britain.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

"Well, this is an interesting surprise," Theo Nott drawled as Draco Malfoy strode into his office before Theo's eyes drifted down to the young boy at Draco's side, dressed just like his father and looking the spitting image of him too.

"If you'd read my letter last night, you wouldn't be surprised," Draco retorted, closing the door behind himself and his son – snapping it shut in the face of Theo's secretary, who was foolishly attempting to scold Draco for his lack of appointment.

"Oh, I read it," Theo said. "It's not the boy I'm surprised by. It's the notion of you getting off your lazy arse to visit me in my office."

"Language," Draco chided. "Etamin, take a seat. This is your Uncle Theo. Say hello."

"Hello," Etamin said, climbing up in his chair. "Technically, you can't be my uncle if you're not a blood relative, you know?"

"How do you know I'm not?" Theo asked the boy, surprised at his assertion. Most children tended to fear him, but Etamin looked directly at him and looked a bit like he thought it would be funny to torment him.

Oh yeah, definitely Draco's kid.

"You're not on the tapestry," Etamin informed him. "Daddy showed it to me before we came over here."

"Did he, indeed?"

"Yep," Etamin said. "Are you an attorney?"

"Do you know what an attorney is?"

"A lawyer," Etamin nodded. "You help people sort out their issues regarding legal matters."

Theo frowned, lifting his eyes to look at Draco.

"He's a genius," Draco shrugged his shoulders. "The kid carries a dictionary, for Merlin's sake."

"If you'd carried a dictionary at his age, Crabbe and Goyle would've beaten the snot out of you," Theo pointed out.

"I could beat a crab in a scuffle," Etamin assured him. "Disable the nippers and they're just spider with hard shells that crack very easily."

"Well, that's…. unnerving. And not the type of crab I meant," Theo muttered. "Er… What can I do for you, Malfoy?"

"You know why I'm here," Draco said. "What papers have you drawn up?"

"All of them," Theo informed him.

"Have you issued Weasley the Restraining Order and the Bill of Divorcement?" Malfoy wanted to know.

"Not yet," Theo admitted. "I assumed you'd want to view them first."

Draco held out his hand as he took as seat across from Theo's desk, surprising Theo further when he chose the seat Etamin had taken, lifting the small boy out of the chair and setting him on his knee before reading the legal documents Theo had drawn up.

"I assumed we were taking the bastard for all he's worth?" Theo confirmed.

"Does that mean that Da… Ron will have nowhere to live?" Etamin asked innocently.

"It means he'll get nothing out of your mother," Draco informed the boy. "He treated her very badly, and he broke the promises he made to her, and he has to be punished for that."

"But where will he live?" Etamin asked. "I know he was angry, and he was mean to Mummy, but he still needs a home, doesn't he?"

Theo traded a look with Draco.

"Maybe you shouldn't have brought him," Theo suggested quietly, as though the boy might not hear him.

"He'll have a home, Etamin," Draco explained to the boy. "If he has to, he has a multitude of siblings he can move in with, or I'm sure there'd be room for him at his mother's place."

"Gran's house?" Etamin asked.

"Mrs Weasley's house," Draco corrected him. "She's not your grandmother, Etamin."

"That's your Mum, now," Etamin nodded. "Sorry, Daddy."

"That's alright, son," Draco said. "These things can take some getting used to."

"If you're happy with the documents, I'll have them delivered to Weasley today," Theo told him. "I've even included a gag order to prevent him from trying to slander Granger. I had to provide evidence for the requirement of the restraining order by giving the MLE copies of the pictures you sent me of the bruises on Granger. I expect that he'll be hauled in for questioning shortly."

"Good," Malfoy nodded.

"Don't even think about delivering them yourself, Draco," Theo said when Draco slid the collection of documents into the manila envelope, intending to do just that.

"Why not?" he frowned.

"The man chased Granger and that boy on your knee out of their house and to Potter's place," Theo reminded him. "And he supposedly loves that witch. What do you imagine he's going to do to you if you show up flaunting the boy's fatherhood in his face?"

"Like I can't handle Weasley?" Draco scoffed.

"And who's going to mind your son while you get in a duel, Malfoy?" Theo asked his best friend mildly.

Draco's eyes widened before he looked at Etamin on his lap and his expression furrowed into a frown. Theo could tell Malfoy had been looking forward to getting in Weasley's face about the paternity of Etamin, and likely he'd have invited a duel simply for the sake of punishing Weasley for the bruises he'd left on Granger. Not that Theo would blame him. Over the years he'd spent as an attorney, Theo frequently went up against Granger in court to block her petitions for whatever new magical creature she was trying to save, or protect, or return land to. He'd grown to respect her, if not begrudgingly admire her during that time, and he'd never condoned violence against women.

When he'd seen the bruises the bastard had left of the witch – even if they had been born in the heat of anger and via a hearty shove, rather than an actual beating, Theo had been only too happy to draw up the legal documents that would strip him of everything. His marriage. His house. His rights to the boy. His rights to see or speak to his soon-to-be ex-wife. Theo had also drawn up injunctions for many of the products Weasley and his brother sold at their shop. He hadn't earned a reputation for the most ruthless up and coming lawyer of their age by being nice. Theo was thorough, and he was merciless when it came to defending his clients. Even if it meant stripping the opposition of their homes, their source of income, their worldly possessions, whatever treasures they had squirrelled away; even their very identities. He would take it all, and he'd do it with a sly smile.

"Right," Draco said. "Didn't think about that."

"You're going to struggle adjusting to this fatherhood thing, eh?" Theo smirked at his friend.

Unlike Draco, he'd fallen into line and done the pureblood thing like his mother and father wanted. He'd taken the plunge and gotten married, wooing Daphne Greengrass into dating and then marrying him despite his father's role during the war. They been married almost two years now, and just last week she'd told him that she suspected she might be pregnant but wasn't sure yet. Later this week he would be attending St. Mungo's alongside her to test for pregnancy. Until a few days ago, Theo had been kind of excited, a little scared, and a little disappointed that he and Draco might not have children that would grow up together as best friends, like they had done.

Now, with the reveal of Etamin's existence, it looked like his own children would spend their lives playing catch up to Draco's apparently genius son. Knowing his luck, he'd wind up with a daughter, too. And wouldn't that just be a hell all its own when his daughter was old enough to start thinking about boys and Etamin Malfoy was strolling around, clever as can be? He supposed it was a small mercy, at least, that by the time a daughter was in her late teens and thinking about boys, Etamin would be finished Hogwarts. And Theo didn't plan on being shy about making sure the boy understood statutory laws and all the ways he would destroy the kid's life if he even looked sideways at Theo's daughter before she was of age.

"Too bad you're not already available to provide pointers," Draco grumbled.

"Are we going to rattle Ron's cage?" Etamin asked, turning to look at Draco.

It really was uncanny how alike they looked, Theo thought shaking his head.

"Where on Earth did you hear a phrase like that, Etamin?" Draco asked, though he was evidently trying not to laugh.

"Mummy says it when she talks about her court cases. She says she's not going to let anyone rattle her cage."

"Psssh, how's that for a joke," Theo smirked.

"You rattle her cage, Uncle Theo?" Etamin asked, raising his eyebrows.

Theo blinked when the boy shot him a measuring stare, as though weighing up the likelihood of him even being able to rattle Granger.

"Oh yeah, buddy," Theo smirked. "Your Mum hates going up against me in court because I've made rattling her cage an art."

"I doubt it," Etamin said.

Theo lifted one eyebrow at the boy's dismissive tone, raising his eyes to look at Draco, who was smirking.

"You don't think your Uncle Theo could rattle your Mum's cage, Etamin?" Draco asked.

"Nope," Etamin declared. "Mummy's cool as a cucumber. The only time her cage rattle's is when Da… I mean Ron leaves his dirty socks all over the house. Then, boy, does she yell. You should make sure you don't leave your socks out, Daddy. I don't think you'd like Mummy very much when she yells. She got so mad once that she cursed Ron's dirty socks right into his mouth, even though they hadn't been washed. They had a big fight after that, and he yelled at her a whole bunch about how they were just socks, and that she didn't have to be such a bitch, and that they'd discuss it again when she wasn't on the rag. What's on the rag mean, Daddy? Mummy was too angry and screeched like a Banshee from one of my monster books when he said it, and I was too scared to ask her what it meant because it made her so mad."

"Blimey, Weasley's got stones, throwing something like that at a witch like Granger," Theo said, laughing out loud. "And did he just say 'bitch'?"

"What's it mean, Daddy?" Etamin asked.

Draco winced, not wanting to explain the concept to him.

"On the rag is an unfortunate term from times gone by to describe when a woman is enduring her monthly period," he answered finally, and Theo snickered at the way the man's cheeks glowed pink as he said so.

"Is that when she bleeds from between her legs?" Etamin asked, and Theo wasn't so sure he even wanted to know how the boy knew what a period was.

"Isn't he only five?" Theo asked quietly.

"Yeah," Draco said. "Yes, Etamin, that's what happens when a woman has her period. It's a very dangerous question to ask a woman, and you should never do so – especially if she's in a particularly foul mood – unless you're asking for the sake of helping her if she happens to not realise she's got it and gets blood on her pants."

"Like when I was little and sometimes I wouldn't realise I had to go to the bathroom while I was sleeping, and I wouldn't wake up, and I would go even though I was asleep, and then the bed would be wet?" Etamin asked, as though he wasn't still little.

"Sort of, son," Draco said, shooting a helpless look at Theo. He definitely wasn't ready for fatherhood. "Except instead of pissing the bed, she might just get blood on her knickers, or all the way through her skirt or her pants. If that happens, she'll likely be very embarrassed and want to hide it until she can change her clothes. If you ever see a woman or a girl who has blood on the bum of her trousers, you should very discreetly let her know that it's happened – because she might not realise – and you should offer her your jumper or your cloak to help cover it until she can change."

Etamin thought about that.

"Won't my things get blood on them?" he asked.

"Not really," Draco shook his head. "And even if they do, you can have them washed and the problem is solved. Some people are very unkind about certain things and might make a girl cry if they see she's got blood on her pants. They might tease her and make fun of her and say she's the girl who got her period in class. It can be very traumatic for a girl, and you don't want her to cry, do you?"

"No," Etamin shook his head. "I don't like it when Mummy cries. I give her cuddles, and sometimes they make her feel better, but when she cries it makes me sad."

"Exactly," Draco told him. "Other girls get sad just lie Mummy does, and you should do everything you can to avoid making them cry, okay? Even if it means getting blood on your jumper."

"I understand," Etamin said. "And I should never call it 'on the rag', should I?"

"Not unless you want to be hexed, buddy," Theo told the boy, chuckling.

"Okay," Etamin said, nodding smartly. "I'll remember. Thank you for telling me, Daddy."

Draco shook his head, staring at the boy as though baffled when Etamin proceeded to fish a book – not his dictionary – from one of the pockets of his robes.

"You're welcome, Etamin," he answered, still shaking his head before shooting a look at Theo that perfectly encapsulated how simultaneously confused, alarmed, and proud he was.

Theo smirked, supposing that all of this was going to be ahead of him too, depending on the results of Daphne's appointment with the Healers. Sweet Merlin, maybe he should start making notes.

"I'll have a goblin serve the papers to Weasley," Theo told Malfoy rather than commenting. "That should grind his gears enough. I'd be on the lookout for Howlers from the git, if I were you. How are you handling everything else? Where's Granger? I need her to sign theses papers, actually. It would be better if she signed them before we serve them to Weasley. He might go a little more quietly if they arrive with her signature already on them. She does want to divorce him, yeah?"

"Yes," Draco said, though from the way he darted a look at his son, Theo wasn't so sure Granger had agreed to this entire thing yet. "She's at the Manor. Mother had Francois and Roberta coming to pretty her up, and I believe Rita and Sylvia were coming for tea and an exclusive."

"Doesn't miss a trick, your mother," Theo smiled. "Did you coach Granger in what to say? The last thing we need is to be having to draw up papers against the reporters for slander if she puts her foot in it."

"She knows what to say," Draco answered. "What's your afternoon looking like? You could come by and she can sign the papers after the interview, if you like?"

Theo raised his eyebrows.

"Is she aware you've had divorce papers drawn up in her name, Draco?" Theo confirmed. "Or are you being a controlling git, like usual?"

"When have I ever been controlling?" Draco frowned at him.

"Oh, I don't know," Theo mused with a shrug. "Our entire lives?"

"Name one time," Draco pressed.

"The Pansy incident?" Theo suggested.

Draco's brow furrowed.

"She was being unreasonable, Theo. I had to do something," Draco argued.

"Submitting an application for transfer to Beauxbatons on her behalf just because she was clingy after you snogged her was probably a bit much, Draco," Theo reminded him.

"She needed to be stopped," Draco maintained.

"She needed to be let down easily, rather than being ignored for several weeks until her acceptance letter arrived – via your owl, no less. How hard would it have been to tell her that, actually, you weren't that interested in her after all?"

"You know how I feel about conflict," Draco said.

"Yes, unless you're the one instigating it, you avoid it like the plague," Theo chuckled. "But it's fine. We can go now, if you like. I'll speak with Granger myself to confirm she doesn't want to make any amendments to the divorce settlement agreement before we serve it up to the Weasel."

"There won't be any amendments," Draco insisted.

"You do realise that of all the women in all the world, the two I can think of that you most definitely can not push around are your mother and Hermione Granger, don't you?" Theo confirmed. "You understand that she can and will eat you alive, yeah?"

"She's a muggleborn who studies and champions magical creatures for a living," Draco scoffed rolling his eyes.

"She's also the witch who broke your nose when we were thirteen because you dared to laugh at her friend's failures," Theo reminded him. "The witch who endured the wickedness of your Aunt and survive with her brilliant mind intact."

"And the same witch who stupidly married a tosser who'd cheated on her a dozen times while they were dating, even after shagging me," Draco rolled his eyes. "She might be the brightest witch of our age, but she's proven to be bloody dense when it comes to dealing with that Weasel, and I, for one, am not about to allow the mother of my son to make any more bloody concessions where that git is concerned."

Theo raised his eyebrows at Malfoy's impassioned hiss and a smirk began to pull at his lips.

"When you've quite finished making it painfully obvious that you've got a thing for the woman, maybe you'll tell me how it came to be that she snogged you in the first place?"

Draco glanced at Etamin, who hadn't looked up from his book but was evidently listening, given that they were discussing his mother.

"Maybe later," Draco told him. "Are you coming to the Manor now?"

Theo shrugged.

"Why not?" he said. "Shall I shoot an email to Daph and tell her to meet us there when she gets off work? We could do dinner?"

"Good," Draco nodded, rising to his feet and lifting Etamin with him.

The boy made no effort to be put down, and Theo shook his head when Draco tucked Etamin under his arm like he was a quaffle, the kid practically planking while he continued reading his book, heedless of his father's hold.

"I think you're supposed to keep them vertical unless it's nap time," Theo told him, collecting his coat and informing his secretary that he needed her to reschedule all of his afternoon appointments.

"Probably," Draco nodded in agreement, though Etamin didn't seem to mind being carried. He hadn't even put down his book.

"You know, I find myself looking forward to watching fatherhood and living with Granger completely railroad the way you live your life, my friend," Theo told him, laughing.

"Eat me, Theo," Draco retorted before reaching the Apparation chamber and walking right in with his son still under his arm, heading for home.