Nicest Thing

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Upholding Family Tradition
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FALMOUTH SEEKER ISN’T SEEKING HER; SHE’S SEEKING HIM!!!

Pull out those handkerchiefs ladies because our very own piece of hunkasaurus has been taken off the market! Famous Quidditch seeker Draco Malfoy was seen last Thursday afternoon wrapping more than his arms around none other than war heroine and former classmate Hermione Granger. The Falmouth Falcon seeker took his new squeeze to the lovely Bon Vivant Bistro in France where the pair dined on only the best. Not wasting any time, the sexy slice of man cake snuck several nibbles at the bushy haired girl and disappeared with her shortly after. “They were snogging, literally eating each other’s tonsils in a dirty alleyway,” says an eyewitness. Perhaps Ms. Granger still has a thing for famous wizards. Only a few years ago she was linked with Bulgarian star Viktor Krum and the Boy to Triumphed, Harry Potter. Let’s hope our Mr. Malfoy has enough sense to stay clear of the flagrant scarlet woman!

Lucius sneered at the title of the article gracing page 6 of the Daily Prophet. He folded the paper in half and slapped it onto the dining table. Narcissa looked up from her meal and paused, resting her forearms lightly onto the edge of the table.

“I tried to have Skeeter pull the article before it was printed, love,” she said, eyeing Lucius as he brought his morning goblet to his lips.

“Didn’t try hard enough, my dear,” Lucius said before taking a sip, “This is exactly what this family needs. Our son mucking around with that.”

“Don’t you think you’re being too judgmental?” she asked, cutting a piece of egg, “Hermione Granger is one of the most celebrated heroes in the world. Surely, even you can’t deny that.”

Lucius merely looked at her from under his long blond lashes, causing Narcissa to smirk as she pulled her goblet to her lips.

“Famous or not,” he began, sniffing slightly, “She is still of low birth and as such…”

“Honesty, Lucius!” Narcissa sighed, “Times have changed. Perhaps you should as well.”

“Are you implying that you have no qualms about our son’s…relationship with that witch?” Lucius’ eyes were wide with shock…or was that a little hint of disgust hiding somewhere in those fathomless gray irises?

“He is an adult, love,” Narcissa shrugged, “I would rather see him happy with a Muggle-born….” Lucius nearly spat his fine freshly squeezed orange from his mouth but Narcissa continued, “With a Muggle-born than any of those silly Pure-bloods.”

“Who are you and what happened to my wife?” Lucius asked suspiciously, looking over his wife’s beautiful form.

It seemed as if Narcissa was a fine wine, the older she got the more beautiful she became. He would most definitely have to keep her locked away when they both reach their elderly prime.

Narcissa merely smiled at Lucius and brought a hand to his resting wrist, lightly stroking it.

“You’re getting too old, my love,” she teased, “Perhaps a nap?”

“You’re assuming I’m old enough for a nap,” Lucius drawled, looking at his wife’s lovely face, “Unless you wish to accompany me for this said nap…”

“My, you are a dirty bird,” she smirked, leaning forward as he did.

Their lips touched briefly before Lucius reached out and grasped onto the back of her head, tugging her into a deeper embrace. He could taste the sweet strawberry juice tickling his buds from her lips. Her warm breathe bathe over him like a sea of satin. He loved his wife more every day and even more now that she was far more independent in the world.

Sure, there was a time where he objected to her work. A wife should be a wife and stay home to mother the children. However, now that their child was gallivanting around with mudbloods and touring the world, there was nothing for his headstrong wife to do. So, he allowed her to indulge in common work…more like she woke him up at 3 AM one day and announced she was getting a job.

Her work at the Prophet had changed her inner snootiness, not that he had minded when she didn’t work, into something more of character. She didn’t let him get away with the things he had spent years saying without consequence, nor did she allow him to uphold a Grandview of their son. Draco was intelligent, handsome, and very wealthy but he was also very much his mother’s son.

Lucius had an overwhelming feeling that the war hadn’t only changed her and their son, but their family together. Morning breakfasts had never been so full of talk. Normally, they would eat in silence and go about their day but now…he rather enjoyed listening to his wife and having her scold him for his prejudices.

“Ahem,” a voice beckoned from the doorway, breaking the pair of lovebirds apart, “It’s not that I don’t approve of my mum and dad snogging at the table but do I have to be privy to seeing your tongue shoved down my mother’s throat?”

Lucius pulled away and tilted his head back as Narcissa wiped their kiss from her lips with her thumb and forefinger but Lucius left his alone. Draco stood at the entrance to their morning dining room with hair standing on all end. He had just woken up from a very fitful night and was clad in a gray t-shirt and black pajama bottoms with the initials D.M. embroidered on the pocket.

“Good morning, Draco,” Narcissa chimed happily, patting the seat next to her, “Did you want some breakfast before you head home?”

“Just coffee,” Draco replied, striding over to sit beside his mother.

He had paid his mother and father a visit after dropping Hermione off at work and spent the rest of the day piddling around the gardens with his father. Lucius did not work, not after the war, and had far less interesting hobbies then he did in the past. As such, he turned to herbology and would often remind Draco of one of those old men who wore flannel, a large tan sun hat, and shorts with sandals who prided over their very green lawn.

In fact, Lucius had become quite the pesky lawn care man and would bark at the House-elves if they so much as stepped on one blade of grass. It was weird at first, but Draco had gotten used to it. He had to say that he was half expecting his father to find more interesting hobbies outside of plants and dirt.

“Have you seen the paper?” Lucius asked condescendingly, tossing the paper to Draco, who caught it effortlessly. “It’s been upsetting your mother.”

Narcissa snorted a gurgled laugh and hid her face into her goblet before receiving a glare from Lucius. Draco stiffened only slightly as he unfolded the Prophet and flipped through the pages. His eyes scanned over the print and a sneer crossed his lips.

“Rubbish,” he grumbled, crumbling the paper up and tossing it onto the table, “Utter rubbish.”

“At what part, Draco?” Lucius asked with a quirked brow, “The part where you were caught in a compromising act like a teenager, or that Ms. Granger has an affinity for fame?”

“The latter,” Draco replied confidently, looking to Lucius, “Hermione hates fame and fortune. She’s had plenty of opportunity to find it if she wanted it….”

“It seems she is out to soil our good name,” he sneered, “That girl has had it out for the family since you were a child…”

“Lucius,” Narcissa scolded, “You cannot honestly believe that…”

“I do and I think you ought to live up to your expectations,” Lucius nodded, “Playing with the mudblood is fine and dandy but you will be expected to marry within your ranks.”

Draco rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his hair, “And who is exactly in our ranks now father? Just about every pureblood witch has gone for a wizard who isn’t related to them.”

“Simple,” Lucius said, nodding to the House-elf who brought Draco his coffee, “Pansy Parkinson.”

Narcissa and Draco, who had taken simultaneous sips of their beverages, nearly choked at the same time. Narcissa’s eyes were wide with shock and Draco’s were wide, not only because he just burnt his tongue but because of Lucius’ serious tone.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Draco said with a gasp, biting his inner cheek until the burning sensation on his tongue disappeared, “I’d rather eat a troll’s loin cloth than go out with that chit.”

“I am not joking, Draco,” Lucius replied, tilting his chin up with authority, “And she is one of the few wizarding families who still uphold tradition.”

“Tradition is dying father,” Draco replied, taking a breath through his teeth, “Pure-bloods are literally a dying race. We can’t save every one.”

“As a Malfoy, if you wish to stay a Malfoy, you will uphold those traditions,” Lucius explained, “I will not let this family’s tradition die.”

“This is ridiculous,” Draco snapped, pushing his chair back, “I am an adult, father, and I shall see fit to see and marry whomever I wish.”

He felt like some stupid chit from on of those romance novels where the daughter would refuse to marry the old geezer with money. How emasculating. Lucius folded his fingers together and brought them under his chin, obviously telling Draco that his word was final. Growling, Draco threw his napkin on the table and strode out of the room.

Sure he was throwing an adult temper tantrum but wouldn’t you if you had expectations to marry a witch who was as loose as an African elephant? No one. Good. Right. Spot on. As soon as Draco left, Narcissa turned to Lucius with her lips parted and cheeks flushed.

Oh gods. She was going to go on one of her tirades. Fucking hippie. Lucius thought bitterly, eyeing her down just as she looked at him with that face.

“Pansy Parkinson?” Narcissa gaped, “She’s so…unintelligent…and plain. Sure she’s gotten some glamour work done but it’s all fake. I would rather my son marry some one with natural beauty.”

“And you are assuming Ms. Granger has natural beauty? I do not wish to see my grandchildren with a tumbleweed growing atop their heads,” Lucius sneered, bringing his hands to the table.

“I wasn’t speaking about Ms. Granger, Lucius,” his wife snapped, “Even if Draco wanted to marry her it shouldn’t be any of our business and besides…if he did then our name would be elevated. Marrying a war hero and a Muggle-born. At least we would get out of this whole the Malfoys are Dark wizards bit.”

She threw her napkin on the table much like Draco had and rose from her seat, “Think about that, Lucius. I have to go to work. Why don’t you go prune your petunias?”

She strode out of the room with her head held high and left a red faced Lucius staring daggers at his orange juice.