Prologue: More Weasleys

“We’re getting married!”

It had been many years, some time back during his second or third year at Hogwarts, since he had seen someone spit a mouthful of liquid out all over the place. That time, it had been a First Year Hufflepuff whose friends had managed to make her laugh so hard that she had accomplished the amazing feat of not only spitting her drink all over the friend sitting across the table, but of also having about a quarter of that drink come squirting out of her nose. Draco could still remember the jokes he and his friends had mercilessly taunted her with in the weeks following the incident. Why, after all those years, he still possessed the vague impression that it had been chocolate milk, he chalked up to his being more than a little anally-retentive.

This time, it was pumpkin juice.

The orange droplets seemed to sparkle as they shot through the air. Fortunately for everyone else in the room, there was no one sitting near enough to the spray to get splattered. The droplets continued their sailing journey without impediment.

Now I know I’ve lost my mind, Draco thought in wry amusement. I’m waxing philosophical about Potter demonstrating, yet again, the fact that he is a great idiot. He raised his eyebrow as the sputter that had begun the stream of pumpkin juice ended in a fit of coughing.

“I can’t believe it!” Potter gasped, as the coughing began to subside.

Sitting next to the boy-wonder of the Wizarding world, Draco rolled his eyes in disgust. Why does that not surprise me? Everyone else has been taking bets on how long it was going to take them to finally get on with it. Only you would actually be surprised when it happened.

Weasley’s enthusiastic announcement had come about five minutes into breakfast. Had he been a little earlier with it, Draco was sure that the floor would now be covered with the contents of Potter’s plate. Further down the table, Draco could see the other professors smiling, laughing at Potter, and leaning over to congratulate

Granger. After this, Dumbledore’s going to ostracize us to the end of the table where we can’t bother anyone.

When Weasley had returned to the school while on vacation from the Ministry, Dumbledore had assigned the four former students seats next to each other in the middle of the table. This came shortly after the fiasco of the first dinner following the Auror’s return, when the normally calm and relaxed meal had deteriorated into a circus due to the four of them being scattered along the table. While it had thoroughly entertained the students, the rest of the faculty had not been so amused. New seating at the head table had immediately been arranged to accommodate the addition of the visiting Auror to the meals.

“When did this happen?”

Were you even awake during the last thirteen years of your life? Draco knew, deep down in the place that would always be firmly convinced that Potter was a moron, that he wasn’t simply asking when they had decided to get married.

Weasley, however, was giving the buffoon the benefit of the doubt. “Last night. It was a nice night, so we decided to go for a walk down by the lake. It was an awesome: the moon was full; there were only a few clouds in the sky, a light breeze. It was perfect. So,” he grinned, sounding proud of himself. “I took advantage of it and asked her.”

“You had the ring with you?” Potter asked, surprising Draco that he actually bothered to read between the lines. “How long were you carrying that thing around with you?”

Weasley shrugged. “About a month.”

“Ronald Weasley!” Granger exclaimed, slapping him on the shoulder and looking rather displeased.

“Uh… I mean…”

“How long were you going to wait?” she demanded, glaring at him. “Until I died of old age?”

“No.” So quiet was his voice that Draco could barely hear him.

“Well?”

“I just wanted it to be perfect,” Weasley told her, the tips of his ears turning as red as his hair.

Granger glared at him a moment more before smirking at him and leaning over him to Potter. “Thanks, Harry. I was wondering how long he’d been planning it.”

“I…” Weasley started the splutter. “You conniving…”

“Yes? Conniving?”

“Never mind. I know when to give up.”

“Good boy,” she grinned at him and winked at Potter.

Draco watched the banter in silence, trying to decide whom he pitied the most: Weasley or Granger. After a few seconds’ worth of soul searching, he had his answer: neither one of them. No matter how he looked at it, Draco knew he just wasn’t a pitying kind of person.

“Have you set a date yet?” Potter inquired eagerly.

Weasley glanced at Granger with a smile. “We’re thinking of this August. That way we’ll be able to get everything taken care of before Hermione has to be back for the start of classes.”

“We have to have to two different ceremonies,” Granger added with a wry smile. “I’d be content with just a Wizarding one, but since my parents are Muggles, the rest of my family won’t be able to attend.” Her eyes flickered over to Draco as if she expected him to make a disparaging remark about Mudbloods, but Draco merely looked back at her with polite interest. “So we’re going to have a smaller, Muggle ceremony later, with my entire family and Ron’s immediate family.”

“You’re going to subject your clueless Muggle relatives to the Weasleys?” Draco couldn’t help asking her; images of Arthur Weasley asking questions about switches, garden hoses, and various Muggle contraptions intermingling with the chaos that would ensue when Fred and George started playing pranks on the hapless Muggles.

Apparently Granger shared the same visions Draco did, for she almost smiled at him. “Ron owled home with the news, and the plan, last night. Molly will keep everyone in line, and they’ll have gotten the chance to indulge themselves the first time around. Besides, not even Fred and George are stupid enough to needlessly expose our world to Muggles.”

Draco glanced at Potter out of the corner of his eye, but the Gryffindor was studiously refusing to look his way him. Why, imagine that! You’re an even bigger idiot than Fred and George combined. That he had been a part of that particular little adventure six months ago was something that Draco was more than happy to ignore. And it wasn’t like it had been his idea. No, he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, so it truly wasn’t his fault. He had been a casualty of the natural disaster called Harry Potter. 

“So, what you’re really saying by all of this,” Draco interpreted dryly, leading the subject away from topics that involved stupid decisions to reveal the Wizarding world to Muggles, “is that there are going to be more Weasleys inflicted on the world.”

Granger blushed. I’d be more embarrassed by who I’m sleeping with, not by the fact that I’m doing it in the first place, Draco thought in amusement.

Weasley smirked at him. “Of course. There have got to be Weasleys for the next generation of Malfoys to pick on, harass, and abuse.”

He just wasn’t having any luck with this conversation. I should have kept my mouth shut, he thought in disgust. “There won’t be another generation of Malfoys,” he responded quietly.

“Just because you’re still alone now-”

“That has nothing to do with it.” There was an edge in Draco’s voice, along with the way his eyes - suddenly flinty and cold – bored into Weasley’s, that conveyed just how little humor he had for this particular topic and just how much he wanted to drop it. Weasley’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

There will be no more Malfoys to walk the world once I am dead, Draco vowed silently. I will not allow anyone else to bear the curse of this name. Nor will I condemn an innocent to be corrupted by what my father has done.

A moment of tense silence followed Draco’s sharp retort, Potter and Granger watching warily to see if the situation would degrade into a conflict. When Draco finally looked away from Weasley’s wide eyes, he felt more than heard the two Gryffindors breathe a sigh of relief.

Ever since the incident with Cornelius Fudge back in October, things had been touch and go between Potter’s two best friends and Draco and Snape, who had, against their better judgment, become a central part of Potter’s life. The four of them had begun an odd dance around Potter, as each side tried to accept the other. It was a complicated affair that required intuitive knowledge of when to continue and when to back off, as the blurry line that determined the proper course of action was dependent upon the mercurial temperaments of the Slytherins. Initially, there had been a considerable number of rough spots. Yet with time, they became an occasional occurrence, as all parties involved had agreed that for Potter’s sake, they would at least try to be civil to one another. None of them wanted a repeat performance of the Dementor’s Kiss.

     So, in the name of gamely trying to refrain from verbally ripping Weasley apart, Draco gave him a twisted, self-satisfied smile. “At least I won’t have to witness this sickeningly sweet debacle,” he managed to keep the venom to a minimum. The thought of watching the two twits engage in overly romantic drivel made him nauseous.

     The feeling of self-satisfaction froze as he watched twin smirks blossom on the faces of his one-time enemies. Oh no. Absolutely not.

     Granger and Weasley glanced at each other, as if mentally drawing straws. Weasley, judging by the wide smile on his face, had won. “Actually, Malfoy, all of the Hogwarts professors are invited.”

     “And,” Granger added, eyes sparkling more than Draco felt they should be, “Headmaster Dumbledore expects everyone to attend.”

     “Even you,” Weasley concluded vindictively.

     Oh, bloody fucking hell. No matter which way he looked at it, this just wasn’t turning out to be Draco’s day. At least, he thought nastily, glancing to his right and seeing the distaste written all over Snape’s face, I’m not going to be suffering alone.