The Paris Conference
The Nanny Who Lived
Chapter IV: The Paris Conference.
…
The piece of chicken fell off his fork. He could not believe his ears.
This could not be happening. It was ridiculous! Absurd! Borderline stupid! Honestly, was she for real?!
In other words: What in the ever-loving fuck?
“Wh–, ho–, wh–, I–, ho–, wh–, but–, wh–, I don’t even–” Draco stuttered, his grey eyes growing wide, “WHAT!?”
"On dit ‘pardon’, pas ‘quoi’.” Narcissa scolded him, patting her mouth with her serviette, “T’as oublié comment parler correctement, Dragon?”
“I most certainly have not forgotten how to speak properly, Mother, thank you very much.” Draco scoffed sarcastically, “And I’m sorry, but I can’t bring myself to say ‘sorry’ instead of ‘what’, when you oh-so-casually tell me that I’m supposed to–”
“–To give a talk at one of the most important potion conferences in Wizarding Europe, yes.”
“In front of the French Minister of Magic!?”
“And the British, and the German, and the Spanish, and the Italian. And you’re supposed to do it tonight.”
“WHAT!? I mean–, PARDON!?”
It was insanity.
But no, yeah, sure, no biggie. Tonight, after dinner, why not? Right after having changed a hundred nappies and having desperately tried to put Scorpius to bed, after having told a thousand tales and sung a million lullabies.
Of course. At seven, was it? In Paris, at le Parc de la Villette?
Oui, oui, pas de problème.
Inconvenient? Noooooo, not in the slightest! Fuck sleep, sanity, and parental leave – Why worry about those things, when one of the most important potion conferences in the world awaited him in Paris? And with five ministers present in the audience, no less!
NO FUCKING PRESSURE.
NOT INCONVENIENT. AT. ALL!
Lucius calmly took a sip of his Viognier, clearly unfazed by the chaos around him, “The potion you created caused quite the commotion around the Wizarding World, Draco. It’s extraordinarily difficult to create a potion capable of undoing the Dark Lord’s Magic during the Wizarding War. But you did it.”
“More remarkably, darling, your potion is able to erase the Dark Mark if it senses genuine regret in the drinker. Which means, it gives honest redemption to those who need it most.” Narcissa continued, “You cannot seriously tell me you weren’t expecting a bit of a ruckus.”
“If by ‘a bit of a ruckus’ you mean ‘giving a talk in front of some of the most influential people in the Wizarding World’ – Then no, Mother, I was not expecting that. I was expecting a bit of a mention in The Prophet, but not this.”
“You were expecting an article written by Rita Skeeter? Mon chéri, s’il te plaît.” Narcissa elegantly scoffed, waving her hand dismissively, “That woman lacks the intellect to appreciate what you’ve actually achieved. The Prophet doesn’t measure up to your accomplishment.”
“All I’m saying is that I wasn’t expecting to write a speech about a potion I brewed months before Scorpius was born – much less deliver it tonight, in Paris, in front of a bunch of ministers, and that I have,” He checked the time on his watch, “Exactly five hours to prepare!”
“That’s plenty of time.”
“Plenty of– Are you kidding me? I’m constantly covered in vomit, drool and snot, diapers come pouring down on me, and five hours in your time translate to thirty minutes in my time! Also, are we going to blatantly ignore that I’m on parental leave? Scorps is a newborn and Granger is still recovering from labour, for Merlin’s sake! We can’t go to this conference, it’s out of the question.”
“Darling, we’re aware that this is very sudden, and we’re aware of the circumstances. Unfortunately, this isn’t something you can cancel or postpone.”
Draco huffed, crossing his arms and slumping back on his chair, “And why not? Seems to me I bring up pretty solid arguments as to why postponing such a conference would make perfect sense.”
“Because it’s a brilliant opportunity for you to reconcile our family name with the Wizarding World. Forgiving is not the same as forgetting, Draco. People still know whose side we were on during the war. The potion you created is much more than just a potion – It’s redemption with your name written on it. It’s an entirely new reputation, a new identity, a new chapter in life. But you will only acquire it if you step on that stage and deliver a speech – Sloppy, clumsy and unprepared as it might be.”
Draco narrowed his eyes at Lucius and deadpanned, “I can’t believe you just ruined your speech with that last sentence.”
Lucius ignored his comment, “Also, it’s the only time that various ministers coincide in their busy schedules. If you want to be acknowledged as a renowned potions master, and clear your name, I highly suggest you take the chance. But since you seem so adamant to postpone the conference, you could reschedule for Tuesday 12th of December, 2098, at 7PM at laCité des Sciences et de l’Industrie, au Parc de la Villette. I’m afraid, however, by that point, we’ll all be dead.”
“Indeed.” Narcissa sipped on her wine in delight, “That’d be most unfortunate.”
“Hm. Yes, dear.” Lucius agreed, taking a sip of wine himself, “Quite the hindrance.”
Draco looked at Hermione, gesturing at his parents, his mercury eyes wide in disbelief, “Can you believe this?”
Hermione, who had been suspiciously quiet, gave her husband a ‘sorry-I-wasn’t-listening-I’m-at-war-with-our-baby’ look. She had been fighting a battle of her own, as Scorpius’ chubby foot was stubbornly placed right under her chin, pressing hard, effectively shutting her up.
As Scorpius was trying to suck on his toe, he needed to maintain balance in his mother’s arms. So, he kept his leg up, placing it right below Hermione’s chin. And even though she’d tried to reposition him in her arms, trying to cradle him in a more, err– normal, motherly way, Scorps’ little foot always found its way back below his mother’s chin.
And the toe on his other foot, of course, landed in his mouth.
No one shall stand in the way between the baby and his foot! Not his mother, not his father, not his grandparents! Commander Scorpius Malfoy shall puke and shit his way to victory, if that’s what it takes!
No one, absolutely no one shall rob him from the delicacy that were his cute and chubby baby toes!
NO ONE!
Looking at the scene in front of his eyes, Draco hissed. Oof. Hermione did not look amused. Poor girl looked like she needed a break, and they had only just begun with the endless joys of parenthood.
Merlin help them, what had they done.
Suddenly, Paris didn’t seem like such an awful idea anymore…
“On second thought…” Draco ticked his tongue, “I think I have a summary of the paper lying around somewhere in my study. I think I’ll manage to write a speech that isn’t too… Hm, how did you put it, Father? Ah, yes, sloppy or clumsy.”
“You forgot ‘unprepared’.”
“Yes, thank you.” Draco glared at Lucius, and then pointed at Scorps with his thumb, “That being said, you’ll have to babysit.”
“About that.” Narcissa chimed in, “That’s the other thing we wanted to talk to you about. As much as we’d love to kidnap our wonderful grandson and shower him in toys and stuffed animals, I’m afraid Lucius and I are indisposed this evening.”
“Indisposed? What do you mean, indisposed? You can’t drop a conference bomb on me and tell me you’re indisposed for babysitting!”
“I believe I just did, darling. You see, being one of the most important potion conferences in Europe, the organisers thought it wise to set up two different locations for the event. The major setback being that these events were organised to take place at the same time. Meaning, while you’re in Paris representing our family name, Lucius and I will be at basically the same event, doing our part – In Genève.”
Draco rubbed his temples, sighing out in exasperation. This whole ordeal was so ridiculous, “But why in Salazar’s name would they split the event into two separate ones? It makes no sense!”
“Because Paris is the capital of France, home to the Prime Minister, and Genève holds one of the most important potioneering facilities in Wizarding Europe.”
“And, ironically enough, the speech about my potion needs to be delivered in Paris – And not in Genève, where the world’s most renownedpotioneering facility is?”
“Don’t ask me to understand their logic, Draco.” Narcissa sneered, holding her nose up high, taking another sip of her white wine, “Better ask yourself who you’ll hire as a last-minute nanny.”
Well…
Fuck.
…
While Narcissa and Lucius were delighted playing with their grandson, Draco and Hermione were discussing potential nanny candidates.
And thus far…
Eh.
It was not going well.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“NO!”
“We have to!”
“No, we don’t!”
“He offered!”
“And I refuse!”
“Will you stop being so stubborn!”
“Look who’s talking!”
“ME! I’m talking! I’m the one coming up with every possible idea, and you’re the one turning down each and every one of them!”
“Yes, because they’re all absurd!”
“They’re not!”
“They are, Granger, face it already! The Zabinis, really? As in, Blaise and Luna? Blaise would probably try to give Scorps flying lessons. And if that’s not horrifying enough for you, considering that Scorps is only two weeks old, he’d do that without cushioning spells whatsoever. Fancy having a dead baby when we come back from France? Because I don’t.”
“But Luna–”
“–Love, Luna is…” Draco hissed, leaving his sentence hanging in the air, “She’ll probably try to teach Scorps how to speak with Nargles, or something equally absurd, like transforming my peacocks into flamingos. And I’m not letting that happen. My peacocks are sacred.”
Hermione gave him a hard eyeroll. Draco and his freaking peacocks!
“The Longbottoms, then.”
“Hmm-hmm. Of course. We’ll have Pans be Scorpius’ private teacher in the Dark Arts, with the three Unforgivables as his first lesson, and the Manor will be lit with green lights. And if that’s not green enough for you, I’ll spin you another one: How about Longbottom teaches Scorps a bit of herbology? Instead of putting him in his crib, how about he plants him in a pot and uses mud as a blanket? Also, wouldn’t it be grand if his first word was ‘photosynthesis’? Tears of joy come to my eyes just thinking about it. No. Hard pass.”
“FINE! The Notts!”
“Fuck to the no, Granger. Theo is about the clumsiest wizard I’ve ever met, and Daphne is obsessed with babies, it’s insane. She would genuinely try to kidnap Scorpius, and should things turn ugly, Theo would be no match for her. If anything, in his attempt to try to save our baby from Daphne, he’d probably trip and drop him. And I’m not engaging the Aurors simply because we failed to hire a capable nanny, thank you very much.”
“Well, you can shove your thanks up your arse! When I suggested the Weasleys you positively passed out from a panic attack!” Hermione huffed, annoyed, crossing her arms. Before Draco could say anything, Hermione quickly rose her hand and cut him off, “Look, bottom line is, your parents can’t babysit Scorps and you’ve turned down every other option–”
“–I provided solid reasons as to why we should discard the others as potential babysitter candidates.”
“’Solid’ is a strooooong word, Draco…”
“My case still stands.”
“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so, not when it comes to Harry. You still have not given me one reason why he shouldn’t babysit Scorpius. He’s responsible, he’s reliable and he’s like family to me, meaning, he’s trustworthy. Plus, he volunteered. ‘Should we ever need one’, were his words. And oh, would you look at that? We do! Good Godric, Draco, let go of your stupid rivalry for once and let Harry do the job!”
Suddenly, an idea popped into her mind and Hermione went around Draco, hugging him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder, whispering into his ear, putting on her sexy voice. Warm puffs of air caressed his neck as she spoke, and Draco shivered, goose bumps rising on his pale skin.
“Think about it, love… One entire night worth of sleep, without cries waking us up. Without puke… Without diaper changes… Just you and I, lazily lying in bed, after the conference, doing absolutely nothing.” She purred, playfully nibbling on his earlobe.
“Granger…”
“We get to sleep in, Draco… We get to snore as loudly as we want and let drool hang from the corners of our mouths… I won’t even cast the Wake-Me-Up charm…”
“That does sound tempting…”
“Just imagine it, Draco. No baby cries, no projectile vomit dodging… Just us, enjoying the sweet melody of silence. Do you remember what that’s like?”
“Vaguely…”
“And let’s not forget the cuddling, Draco.” Hermione nuzzled his neck, the tip of her nose sending even more shivers down his spine, “Uninterrupted cuddling.”
Draco’s silvery eyes glazed over at the thought, and Merlin, his voice was dreamy, “Cuddling…”
“Don’t you want to spend a lazy morning cuddling me, without interruptions?”
“You know I do…”
“Hmm-hmm, I know you do. And I do, too. And you know what’s the cherry on the cake?”
“What?”
“Harry will be the one covered in puke. He’ll be the one who hasn’t slept all night. Wouldn’t you like to see his face?” Her eyes gleamed with malicious joy, a mischievous smile playing on her lips, “The dark circles under his eyes?”
Draco's resistance just crumbled under Hermione's charm. He imagined the scenario Hermione painted, and sweet fucking Salazar, he liked the image so much goosebumps rose all over his skin. The image of Potter, dishevelled and sleepless, attempting to figure out how to change a diaper on…
Merlin, the malicious joy felt good!
“Let’s make a deal, Draco. You let Harry babysit Scorpius, and I promise you an entire night of uninterrupted bliss. No baby interruptions, just us and the sweet lull of silence.”
Finally, Draco caved in.
“Sweet fucking Salazar, you cheeky witch, you just know how to convince me.” Draco scoffed, but a smile played on his lips, “It’s not fair.”
Hermione giggled, “So, does that mean you’re in, then?”
“Yes, but only because it’s an emergency.” He sighed, “I’ll go fetch Achilles and send him on his way to Potter. But for the record: You are evil, Granger, and the Sorting Hat was wrong for sorting you in Gryffindor. Sweet Salazar, calm down.”
…