"My mother is more stubborn than Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Snape put together," Draco offered as an explanation. "Plus if she didn't believe what she did, then she'd have to admit she was wrong, which she could never do."
Draco took a deep breath. He had honestly thought he had been doing the right thing traversing the globe looking for an answer to his son's plight. His condition was a product of dark magic, and Draco had enough contacts who dealt with the Dark Arts. But either they were more clueless than a Muggle or they were too scared to help.
"Well, I promise I'm not going away again, unless if it's with you," he draped his arm around his wife with a boyish smile.
"Merlin's beard, no, of course I won't say that to him. He's old enough to make his own choices, even if they are the imprudent ones," he said. "I learned long ago that the cost of a good relationship with my son was stomaching his connection to the Weasleys." He took a gulp of the cider.
He glanced around. "Any one of importance we need to flower with compliments tonight?"