A Thief to Catch a Thief; a Death Eater to Catch a

A/N: Oh dear, I think I may have unleashed several reader’s inner magpies with the last chapter! Lol!



Does anyone know how to turn off the auto correct features Word has? I write something I know is right and then it suddenly decides it isn’t and swaps it to something else! Sorry for all the whoopsies cropping up, they’re not all Word’s fault – they’re mostly mine. My beta is a tad ill at the mo, so I’m not bothering her too much.



I might just have to be a better nurse maid to my poorly beta; though I don’t think she’d appreciate the little white outfit with the hat and the stockings and suspenders… though my fiancé would, but he’d get jealous that when he gets Man Flu (note the capital letters – this bug deserves them for sheer annoyance!) I won’t dress up for him and nurse him (it’s a common cold for goodness sake! I knew I shouldn’t have told him it was a Rhinovirus!)… and that would open a rather large can of worms… So I’ll put the outfit away.



Riiiiiiiiight, focus. Focus.



Oh, LaBib. – the planning department didn’t get a chance to re-design the other departments because Draco can do (and did) a better job for less money – especially with the auror department complete with gym, pool, duelling room, training room, offices... The planning department only got to design their own because the Minister chose not to use them for the other departments. (Did that make any sense? My dyslexia has decided to plague me this morning. It made sense in my head!)



A/N: I’ve got the kiddies in this chapter and a bit of a Mother’s meeting.















The party carried on without another incident, and the minister had to admit that the planning department had done a good job with the ball, but he would still continue to have Draco Malfoy redesign the other departments that hadn’t been refurbished. The architect actually listened to what the workers wanted, looked at what was actually possible (even magic has limits), compromised the wanted with the possible and came out with the best results at a very reasonable price. The planning department needed to take several leaves out of his book, and listen to what was wanted. The Minister had begged Draco to become head of the planning department, but the young man had wisely refused the position. He didn’t particularly want to be in charge of a group of very jealous witches and wizards who wished he didn’t exist.



The Minister’s wife sat with Ginny Potter and Andromeda Tonks; six-month-old Aton Montague sat on his Mother’s knee looking inquisitively at the sleeping, three-week-old James Oisín Potter. Chubby fingers reached out for the baby’s feet as they twitched. Teddy Lupin sat on his Grandmother’s knee to Ginny’s other side, his hair looking like the rainbow streamers all over the room.



“Why do little ones have a foot fetish?” Laughed Esmé Montague, once again pulling her son’s fingers away from the baby and handing him his teething ring.



“I have no idea. Jay stares at his when he’s awake.” Ginny replied, looking down at a (finally) sleeping child. Ginny and Harry both decided to informally shorten James to Jay, they didn’t want everyone’s expectations of his namesake hanging over him – especially Harry, he had to agree that his Father and the other Marauders had been horrid as teens.



“Oh well, as long as he doesn’t have feet like his Father, Bacchus’s toes are horrible!” chuckled Esmé, hoping her husband didn’t hear her from where he was having a close chat with Draco Malfoy.



“Teddy hates wearing shoes and socks.” Andromeda said, looking down at her Grandson’s bare feet as he ran off to dance with his Uncle Harry and Cressida, “I think he kept them on for about five minutes. I put a cushioning charm on his toes in case they get stepped on while he’s dancing. ”



Teddy and Cressida were as friendly as a boy-who-hates-girls-because-they’re-silly-and-wear-dresses (Teddy’s words) and a girl-who-hates-boys-because-they-play-in-the-mud (Cressida’s words) could be.



Their relationship was strained after Cressida tried to put him in a dress playing dressing up, and her baby magic stuck it to him (on backwards) for half-an-hour as the adults tried to find a counter charm to remove it. The retaliation baby magic from Teddy had turned Cressida’s hair lime green and frizzy for a week.



“I keep finding Aton with his feet in his mouth, its going to hurt if he cuts his teeth on his toes!”



Suddenly Teddy’s hair turned a violent shade of bubblegum pink and became three-inch-spikes. He looked a little confused for a moment before returning his attention to the coloured lights on the floor that he and Cressida were trying to stand on.



“Definitely his Mother’s son!” Andromeda said, dashing a tear from her eye and taking Ginny’s offered hand in a brief squeeze.



“What is his natural hair colour?” Esmé asked, staring at the pink.



“A good question. I think it’s a sandy brown, like his father’s – but you only see it when he’s not feeling very well, but only until he sees the colour of the potion to make him better.” Andromeda said, her moment of grief gone.



“Can he control the transformations?” asked the Minister’s wife.



“I have no idea, he just seems to copy colours around him – I think the pink came from the pink monstrosity that woman is wearing over there.” Andromeda whispered, nodding toward an older woman wearing a gown that looked too wide to fit through the door adorned with a multitude of bows, and lace.



“I’ll be happy when I can fit back into my normal clothes, I’m still bloated after the birth.” Ginny said, looking down at the corseted black dress she was wearing to hide the fact that she still looked a little pregnant. She didn’t really care about the extra weight she’d put on, just that she still had a ‘pregnant silouette’.



“It’ll go down soon enough.” Andromeda said,



“Kinsey!” Cressida yelled, noticing the other auror entering the room, walking up to him as he entered late and hugging his knees.



“Hello your ladyship! Have you been dancing?” he asked, picking her up and bringing her back to the table. Teddy returned his attention back to the lights on the floor as he tried to wriggle out of his dress robes without Uncle Harry or his Grandmother seeing him.



“Yes! I danced lots!” she said, smiling.



“Everyone is going to want to dance with you, especially in this very pretty dress you’re wearing!” he said, sitting down with her on his knee and gladly accepting the glass of fizz handed to him. Even with a party, the aurors had to work, his shift had ended half-an-hour before (enough time to shower and change); Dave had relieved him, having left the party early after consuming no alcohol, his Auror uniform under his dress robes.



“Is Purple dress!” she said, peering into the bubbling golden liquid in the glass, reaching for it.



“Ah ah! Not for you!” Kingsley chuckled, moving the champagne out of reach and passing her the small glass of pumpkin juice she’d been drinking. “Malfoy! You’re daughter’s after my champers!”



Lucius looked up from the conversation he had been having with the twins and smiled at his baby girl. “Don’t give her any, it is rather poor quality. I’d expected better from The Elite Hotel.”



“Whoa! Hang on a minute!” Hermione chipped in, looking bemused, “You’re more worried about the vintage and quality, rather than the fact that she’s four and not old enough to drink in the first place?”



Lucius realised he’d been caught at his blunder and simply shrugged before returning to his conversation. Draco had had the occasional glass of watered down wine with evening meals since he was nine-years-old, he didn’t think a sip of poor champagne would do much damage. However, Hermione might do him damage at letting her have a sip or two.



Kingsley put the wriggling child down and steadied her as she found her footing before running awkwardly over to her Daddy. Lucius picked her up and noted her looking a little upset.



“What’s wrong princess?” he asked, smoothing his hand over her waist-length shining hair.



“Mummy not happy.” She whispered, hiding her face in his neck and taking a not-so-sneaky-look at Hermione. Hermione sat deep in thought, staring off into space with a perplexed expression on her face.



“She’s thinking.” Lucius said, knowing that would only have her asking more questions.



“Why?” Cressida asked, right on cue.



“I don’t know – how about you go see if Draco will dance with you and I’ll go check your Mummy is alright?” Lucius phrased it optionally, but he knew his daughter wouldn’t refuse spending time with her big brother.



Lucius stepped behind Hermione’s chair, his hands slipping to her shoulders as his thumbs ran soothing circles on the back of her neck. She snapped out of her thoughts and leaned her head back onto his dark blue brocade waistcoat.



“Are you alright?” Lucius asked gently, taking the seat next to her and reaching for her left hand, unconsciously running his thumb over the engagement ring.



“Yeah, Molly rattled me a bit, and I can hear the gossip flying around the room. I have a sinking suspicion it’ll be front-page-news.” She sighed, moving her chair closer to Lucius’s and leaning her head on his shoulder.



“Does it matter about the news? Something that is actually more important to the population will replace it soon enough and all will be forgotten.” He whispered, holding her close to him.



“I guess, but I hate being in the spotlight.” She replied, soothed by the scent of his aftershave.



“You are a brilliant witch; you were the keystone of the Golden Trio; you’re head of the auror department; you posed rather provocatively for a charity calendar; you’ve just single-handedly brought down two child-abusing tyrants; adopted a daughter and agreed to marry a Malfoy… you haven’t got a chance of keeping out of the spotlight.” Lucius moved her chair so they were parallel, facing each other, “You are too brilliant to hide in the shadows, you may not like the spotlight, but you will forever be in it.” He said softly, pulling her onto his lap as she let a few tears fall into his crisp white shirt.



“Please tell me that you’re mascara is waterproof.” He chuckled.



“No it isn’t; but it doesn’t matter because I’m not wearing any.” She chuckled back, her moment of emotion passed.



“That’s alright, then.” He said, lacing his fingers through hers as they watched Cressida dancing in a strange triangle with Jess and Draco. All three had beaming smiles on their faces and were completely oblivious to those around them. Lucius noticed Narcissa staring at first her son’s little group and then him with Hermione seated quite comfortably in his lap; her facial expression suggested she was eating a lime.



“Hermione?” said a soft voice from behind her, she turned and looked up at the worried face of Arthur Weasley, “Can I have a little chat with you?”



“Of course, Arthur, shall we take this into the foyer?” Hermione needed fresh air; and whatever this conversation was going to be about needed to be said in private.



“That would be good.” He replied, offering his arm as she stood.





***



“I don’t know what to say – other than I’m deeply sorry about all of this.” Arthur said, dropping down onto the soft sofa in the reception area.



“Arthur, you don’t need to apologise for anything – you haven’t done anything wrong.” Hermione said, taking the seat next to him.



“Yes I have, Hermione. I listened to my son’s side of the story, and accepted it without listening to yours; I stood by in silence as my wife ruined your social reputation by telling everyone who’d listen that you were a selfish prude who cared more about your career than having children and settling down…”



“Well, I did!” Hermione laughed nervously.



“… Yes, but that was for you to tell people, not her… Ron’s behaviour, and Harry showed me his memories from your pensive, was inexcusable – and evidently drove you into the arms of someone who should have been locked up, not pardoned.” Arthur continued, looking angry. “I only found out half-an-hour-ago that Harry is named as your next of kin, not Molly and I! I was saddened to learn that you didn’t trust us to handle anything medical should you end up in Saint Mungo’s! Molly isn’t that cruel.”



“Actually, Lucius is named as my next of kin now. But Harry and I did sign papers so that we are adoptive siblings, and that remains… and I did end up frequently in Saint Mungo’s – being an auror is a dangerous career, you just weren’t told because you didn’t have to be once you were taken off the records as next of kin.” Hermione paused, “I didn’t want Molly reading my medical notes – as a named next of kin is permitted to do – I didn’t want her reading about the damage Zach did, Molly has an inability to keep her mouth shut.”



“Dare I ask what happened?” Arthur said, looking incredibly angry.



“You can ask, but I’m not going to tell you. Just trust that Harry sorted it out and it won’t happen again.” Hermione shrugged.



“I’m so sorry, Hermione.” Arthur repeated.



“You don’t have to be, but when Ron and Molly want to apologise they had better hope someone has disarmed me first. I’m not in a particularly forgiving mood.” Hermione said menacingly, softening instantly as Cressida came running to her and hid behind the sofa they were sat on. Teddy followed thirty seconds later.



“Have you seen Cressida? We’re playing hide and seek!” he whispered loudly. The sofa giggled.



“Asking people is cheating, Teddy.” Arthur said.



“Sorry.” The little boy replied, walking around the giggling sofa and shouting: “Found you! Your go!”



“You two, this isn’t a good game for a party with lots of people, you could get hurt or really lost. Come on, lets go find something better to do.” Hermione said, a child holding each of her hands as she escorted them back into the party.



“Oh Ronald, you missed out with that one. You foolish lad.” Arthur whispered, shaking his head before returning to the party and his still fuming wife.















A/N: if you were wondering, Oisín (pronounced: Osh-een), Means "little deer", derived from Irish os "deer" combined with a diminutive suffix. In Irish Mythology, Oisin was a warrior hero and a poet, the son of Fionn mac Cumhail.



I was working on the principle of James Potter’s (Snr.) animagus being the stag; Harry’s patronus being a stag; and Snape’s patronus being a doe for Lilly. I thought ‘little deer’ was a nice way of linking little Jay to his heritage without being too obvious.



I was wondering, what do you think of me shortening James to Jay – and the reason for doing so? Did it make any sense?