Chapter 6: Godfather Over the heads of the cooing females surrounding my wife, past the neutral yellows, greens, and beiges, just beyond the pile of discarded gift bows that Pansy says we have to keep to make a "cradle" out of, Blaise looks like he's falling asleep. In fact. He is asleep. I can recognize Oculus Dolus anywhere. His eyes are trained on Ginny Potter as she collects the guesses for gender, birthdate, weight, and all that rot, but they don't blink. And his head is lolled against his palm. I lean into Pansy's side and whisper, "I'm going to take Blaise for a walk. Or a stiff drink." When I slap Blaise's shoulder, he jumps, jerking the non-alcoholic pumpkin juice in his hand. "Good nap?" "Draco, it's ten in the morning. On my weekend." He rubs his face. "Who planned this thing?" "Ginny Potter. And Pansy. Who still hasn't forgiven you." "I know, I know," he says as I lead him from the sitting room and down to my father's old study where the expensive stuff is kept. I pour him a glass. "You enjoying the last of your freedom?" "Trying not to see it that way, but I suppose." I take a sip from my tumbler. "Well, you certainly won't be able to sneak away for a drink with me in London anymore. But" — Blaise sits in my father's old chair and kicks his feet up on the desk — "you and me can take the brat to the park. Maybe they can spend a day with their godfather in Honeydukes so I can buy their love. That sort of thing." My eyes flicker up to him. "Been wanting to talk to you about that." I set my glass down on a shelf. "Is that something you'd be interested in?" "Godfather?" His lips quirk. "I thought that was a given." "Well, Granger wants Potter, of course—" "Oh, bugger off. You don't want Potter influencing your spawn, do you? They'll all be in Gryffindor like that." He snaps. "I want it. Give it to me. I want it. I'll take the brat to the park and push it in a swing and teach it how to ride a broom..." I eye him. "Do you know what a godfather is?" "Like, the extra amazing uncle." He swivels in the chair. "Er, no," I say, running a hand through my hair. "There is a bit of mentorship, maybe. But a godfather takes responsibility for the child if anything happens to Granger and me." "Right." He swivels again. "As in… legally." "Right." He sips his drink. "As in… adoption." The chair comes to an abrupt halt. "Ah." Blaise stares into his glass. "But Weasley will be the godmother, yeah? So the kid can go live with her." I frown at him. "What if the Potters die with us? Horrible accident." "Right. Well your mother—" "She's dead too." "...Pansy could—" "Pansy isn't their godparent." I watch the fun of it all leave Blaise's eyes. He takes a deep breath. "Look, sure. If you're all dead, I can take over." He waves his hand, then lifts a brow at me. "But don't you worry, Draco. If you're dead, I'll take good care of her." I grin. "Her? You think the baby is a girl?" "No, no," he says, batting the air, as if trying to clear the word "baby" from the conversation. "Granger." He smirks. "As godfather, it would be my solemn vow to you, that I'd look after your widow." He winks. "Take care of all her needs." My eye twitches. "That's not the role of the godfather—" "I'll make it my role." I turn on my heel and sweep from the room. "We're going with Potter." "Better me than anyone else, Draco!" he calls after me.