“Perhaps when you’re through at Hogwarts, we’ll hire a valet for you,” Rufina teased as she moved to straighten his tie. This was not the first time that she insisted upon inspecting Merriweather before a function, nor would it be the last—but the momentousness of the occasion was not at all lost upon her.

He might not have been her natural child, but Rufina had long considered the boy—no, the man—in front of her to be her son. How had he grown from the knobby-kneed little lad she had acquired upon marrying Ernest into the…admittedly still quite thin, but much taller gentleman before her now? Rufina felt herself beginning to tear up, but willed the droplets to remain in place, lest she embarrass her dear boy.

"If that were the case, fashion would go altogether to the wolves," she scoffed in answer. "Show me a young man who claims to dress himself, and I will show you either a dandy or a liar. After all, I am sure most young men would agree that it is more...fashionable to have a valet see to him before an event than his mother!"

Not that Rufina would not have loved to continue serving that very purpose for her own young man, but she was all too aware of how he had been pulling away in recent years. It was, she expected, altogether normal, but that fact did not lessen its sting.

“Don’t be foolish!” Rufina chided kindly, moving a hand to cup his cheek affectionately. “I should hardly dream of letting such a momentous occasion pass without suitably honouring it!”

Besides, with people present, Rufina was much less likely to burst into sobs at the fact that her Little Boy™ was now a man grown. He might not yet be married, and he might not be capable of growing a beard, but legally, there was nothing that Merry could not accomplish now.

"Just one more thing," she offered hurriedly, reluctant to share him with the world just yet. With a reassuring smile, Rufina moved to the desk, upon which she had previously placed a box. She opened it now, revealing a pair of monogrammed cufflinks that she now offered to him.

"I know your father chose the more traditional gift for you," Rufina explained bashfully, "but I could not let him have all the fun."

"Fun" and "Ernest Mulciber", Rufina thought, were seldom coupled together in the same sentence.

She would have insisted on doing so anyways. The rational part of her repeated that over and over and yet—the fact that he had asked her, that he needed her, was almost enough to make her weep for joy.

"Of course," Rufina replied diligently, bending her head to do just that so that he could not see how pleased he had made her.

She gently ran his hands along his shoulders, theoretically brushing them but in truth, wanting to keep him to herself—just for another moment. But Rufina knew she could not hog him forever: he had a party full of guests to attend to.

“It’s time,” she agreed, smiling warmly.