Occam's Razor

The simplest answer is that I'm just not happy; I haven't been for a long time, but it had never made it to the forefront of my mind before. There were always so many other things that required my attention in my life. Not anymore.

The Wireless buzzed in the background, but I couldn't bear to listen to the Quidditch match and take notes another moment. Sighing, I laid my head against the table in front of me.

It's been three months since Harry and I saw the children off to school from Platform 9 and ¾, and I think that if I can just get through the next three weeks until they come home for the Christmas break, I'll be okay. Twenty-one days. That means twenty-one silent breakfasts, twenty-one awkward dinners and twenty-one nights of doing everything and anything I can think of to avoid going to bed until I'm sure Harry's asleep.

I groaned. Twenty years into a relationship and you'd think a couple were meant to spend their lives together. The day we saw Lily off on the Hogwarts Express with her brothers had been the first time I'd realized that, in our case, that might not be so.

***

As I waved at the departing train, sniffling loudly and calling out a final "I love you!" to the red-haired girl hanging out a compartment window, Harry dug the handkerchief he'd come prepared with out of his pocket. He handed it over wordlessly.

I blew my nose and, with a final tearful honk, I dropped the sopping bit of cloth in my handbag and turned to my husband. "I can't believe they're all gone," I whispered, tears welling hot and fresh in my eyes.

Patting my shoulder comfortingly, Harry straightened. "Well, love, I know it's rough, but they're growing up. That's how it goes. We did a good job with all three of them." He offered me a smile even as his eyes swept past me to scan the platform. "Besides, Christmas will be here before you know it. Having the house to ourselves will be a nice change, and you could always pick up a hobby."

***

Looking back, I groaned. Pick up a hobby, indeed. After the moderately-contained chaos I'd reigned over at home for the last fourteen years, I'd need ten hobbies to keep my attention. But in our early years together, things had been vastly different.

I'd hurled a few choice invectives and a rather ingenious hex at my husband the first time Harry had asked me when the last time I had dusted was. Spending his days at the Ministry had skewed Harry's view of what I did all day so badly that sometimes I just wanted to hang out a sign that read, 'I quit!'. Mum was no help, either.

"Of course you'll do their early education at home, Ginny!" my mother had said, a shocked hand on her chest. "I did it with you lot, and you all turned out splendidly." When I had protested that it was really hard being heavily pregnant with my third child as I tried to do housework, prepare meals, keep up on my position as a Quidditch correspondent and chase two small, very active boys around the house, Mum had snorted. "Oh, tell me about it."

"Mum, even if they go to the local primary school for a couple hours a day twice a week, it'd be enough. I just need a break."

"You'll get one when they're grown, dear, and believe it or not, you'll get used to all of this hubbub around here. Someday, you won't know what to do without it."

***

That day had arrived on the first of September as my last baby waved goodbye as she journeyed to Hogwarts.

I spent the rest of the day holed up in the sitting room with our photo albums, alternately laughing and sobbing over the wonderful turmoil of raising three rambunctious children. Woodenly, when the clock chimed half-three, I rose and went to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner; I had done this for so many years that it had become second nature now.

Once, when Albus was teething and James had the flu, I'd gotten a late start on the evening meal. When Harry had arrived home from work, I told him it would be ready in an hour, and he'd simply nodded.

A few minutes past six, I'd called him down and dished him out a generous serving of roasted beef, vegetables and homemade rolls. He'd simply looked at it, frowned at me and said, "I don't eat after six, Ginny. It gives me indigestion and then I can't sleep."

I'd shot him a harried glance as I corralled James back to the table from where he'd tried to slip off to the television set and adjusted Al's high chair. "Harry, it's only a few minutes past now, and it's been a really long day. If you didn't want to eat, you should have said so when you got home. I spent almost two hours on dinner tonight- the least you could do is eat it."

He'd refused, which prompted a similar response from the sickly and cranky James. Finally sending them both upstairs, I unstrapped Al from his seat and sobbed into his sweet-smelling curls. It was the first time I'd cried since I had married Harry.

***

Two days after losing Lily to Hogwarts, I pulled myself out of the mini-depression I'd been wallowing in, firmly telling myself that self-pity was a luxury that I didn't need. Once upon a time, I'd been a talented witch with dreams and ambitions that extended beyond having a husband and children and a nice home. With this new resolve, I sat down to breakfast with Harry, blazing with drive.

"I'm going to get back in shape and play in the town Quidditch league," I announced, no small twinge of pride in my voice.

"Mmm," Harry mumbled, his eyes glued to a file opened in front of him as he raised his coffee mug to his lips.

I slapped a hand on the table. "Harry! Did you hear a word I said?"

He covered it well, but I had startled him. "Of course," he replied quickly, but his eyes held far less certainty.

"You're a rotten liar, Harry Potter," I accused, suddenly irate. He never seemed to take more than a cursory interest in the things I told him. "What did I say?"

"Err… something to the tune of-"

"Precisely." I swept my dishes up with a clatter. "I've got to tell you, Harry, what with all this peace and quiet, I'm starting to realize that things around here aren't the way they used to be."

Snapping his file closed and pushing his coffee to the side, he gave me his full attention. "What do you mean, Gin? I know I wasn't paying attention a moment ago, and I'm really sorry, but things have been fine around here."

I stared at my hands. "I've been thinking, Harry, and I've realized that things haven't been fine. They haven't for a long time. When's the last time we went on a date, or had a meaningful conversation that didn't revolve around the kids, or even had sex?"

Harry watched me, mouth agape and hand frozen in mid-air where he reached for his coffee. "We… well, I think we had sex last week, didn't we?"

A mirthless laugh tore from my lips. "I checked the calendar, Harry, because the last time we had sex was the day Lily got fitted for her school robes. That was more than a month ago."

He frowned. "Really? That long ago? Wow, it sure didn't seem that long."

I smiled at him sadly. "I know, and that's what worries me. Neither of us bothers to make the effort anymore, and on the rare occasion we do, it feels like we're just going through the motions- same old position, same foreplay, just trying to reach orgasm so we can go to sleep."

"It sounds really bad when you say it like that." With his eyes glued to me, Harry couldn't hide his fear. "What are you saying?"

I bit my lip, but forged on. These things had to be said before I burst. "I don't know," I admitted. "I just know that I don't feel like we're married anymore- I feel like we're roommates, or partners, or something. We share the house, we share the kids and we discuss the Daily Prophet's lead article. That's about it these days, Harry, and I never noticed until the kids were gone because I was so wrapped up in them."

As the clock chimed eight, Harry sighed apologetically. "I know this is really important, Gin, but can we discuss it when I get home? I've got to get to work." At the doubtful look I shot him, he added, "I promise. We'll really talk tonight."

He came around the table to press a kiss on my lips, and the utter lack of any desire to respond on my part saddened me.

***

Acknowledging that taking notes on this Quidditch match was a total wash, I stowed the parchment in my desk and wandered over to the window seat. Harry had tried three months ago, he really had, and if I thought in my more bitter moments that it was out of a fear of being alone, well- to some degree, it was probably true.

We had talked, and he'd brought home a book (I'd stake the children on the fact that Hermione had pressed it on him) about relationships for us to read through. He'd instituted Date Night, and I'd indeed joined the local pick-up Quidditch league, but we still sat quietly through meals and made awkward attempts at conversation in front of the fire before bed.

Sex had become an utter disaster. Whereas before it had simply been an infrequent afterthought, now it was desperation-laced and stilted. Harry varied his attentions, and I did my best to be adventurous and try to recreate our old spark, but it was rather like practicing how to snog on your best girl friends- skittishly odd and somehow not quite right. After almost two months of it, we had given up trying, and neither of us initiated a conversation about the disastrous experiment.

Things unraveled rather quickly after that. Date Night became Work Late Night, and just to escape the forty-eight hours (less my two hours of training sessions on Saturdays and my matches on Sundays) of unbearable togetherness that the weekends represented, I joined a gardening club that Neville had mentioned to me often over the years.

The first meeting I attended at Madeleine Pearson's house shocked me to my toes. The group, which I had assumed to be a bunch of grubby-fingered old ladies passing about rhizomes and trumpeting about their rose gardens, included one of the last people I'd ever thought to meet there- Draco Malfoy. And no, he was not grubby-fingered. Ironically enough, he was holding a rhizome, though.

***

"Mrs. Potter," he said stiffly when Madeleine introduced him.

"You know each other?" the kindly woman asked as she poured a cup of tea for me.

I had the urge to snort, because everyone and their pet toad knew that Draco and Harry were the worst sort of schoolboy rivals- Rita Skeeter's hideous biography saw to that. "Yes, we've met here and there over the years." There- that was far more diplomatic.

He smiled courteously and waited for all of the women to take their seats before he did, and I wanted desperately to corner him and ask quite plainly what he was doing discussing the best ratio of humus to top soil for fanged roses with a bunch of old ladies. This was the boy that had tortured Neville mercilessly for years about his affinity for herbology, wasn't it?

I got my chance when the little meeting broke for biscuits and lemonade in the Pearsons' formal garden. "Draco Malfoy… gardener?" I asked quietly, sidling up to him as he held the door open for everyone to adjourn to the patio. "And you hold doors for old ladies?"

He looked me over coolly. "I do any number of civil things you're not aware of, Mrs. Potter. Maturity has a way of sneaking up on all of us. And yes, I garden."

I was shaking my head in astonishment before I could help myself. "Wow, that's- well, odd. You don't seem the type." I waved a hand at myself. "But then again, neither do I, so I guess I should just shut my gob."

He gave me a minute smile and waved me through the door before rejoining me for the short walk to the garden. "I wasn't the 'type', as you say, but my meddling son decided that I needed something to occupy my time, and I explained to him that I'm far too old to take an entry-level job just so he doesn't have to tell his friends that his father is a degenerate that lays about the house all day."

I returned the smile. "My boys are just as intrusive- I think at this age they all like to practice their 'manly bossing around skills', as my daughter calls them, on their parents. So you took up gardening because of-" I let the sentence dangle uncertainly.

"Scorpius," he supplied.

"-Because of Scorpius nagging at you?"

Pulling out a chair for me, he moved around to the far side of the table so we were face-to-face. "Actually, he was right. And since my mother's arthritis has gotten so bad, her gardens have gone to seed. There's quite a lot of work to be done, and Madeleine and her friends have been instrumental in helping bring me up to the task."

Not knowing what else to do, I nodded politely.

"What about you, Mrs. Potter? It's a bit late in the game to develop an interest in flowers, isn't it?" At my questioning look, he added, "I've seen your home while passing through Godric's Hollow. Your landscaping is rather… mundane."

I smiled widely at that. "Quite an understatement. A line of shrubbery and a storage shed sagging under an overzealous crop of ivy can hardly be called landscaping." Shrugging, I swirled the glass of lemonade he handed me from a tray floating past. "Like you, I suppose, it stemmed a bit from being at loose ends. My youngest, Lily, went up to Hogwarts this year, and I've been a mother hen without a brood. I'm trying out a few things to occupy me."

He leant back in his chair, the high collar of his robes looking like they were a bowl holding his disembodied head. "Why not a job? You certainly have the talent to return to journalism full-time, or even some sort of managing position with one of the premier-level Quidditch teams."

Embarrassing as it is, I admit that I squeaked when he said that. "I… er, well, thank you, but I'm rather rusty to be jumping back into the Quidditch world at the professional level."

"Why not journalism?"

Damned if I know why, but I told him the truth. "Harry really didn't approve of me having a full-time job after we married; he said that being a mother was going to be more than enough to occupy me. Now that they're all at school, he just says that we're wealthy enough for me to stay home and relax and write up the odd match summary when I feel like it."

"Damned boring after awhile, isn't it?" he offered knowingly. "I'll never be Potter's most ardent fan, but surely he's reasonable enough to agree with your returning to work if you're so bored."

I changed the topic, because I couldn't bring myself to tell him that no, Harry was not that reasonable. His defense had been that during Christmas and summer hols, the children would need me around, and I couldn't really argue with that. What would I do, ship my children off to my mother's just so I could spend eight hours a day at a position I took only to get away from my husband and my suddenly-empty life? It wasn't fair to the kids.

"How's your wife doing?" I blurted out, desperate for a safe, neutral subject.

By his expression, I knew I had stepped in it rather badly. I was shocked when he answered.

"She's doing well, but Cass and I separated some time ago," he said flatly. "Thus my son's sudden interest in how I spend my time. I can only assume he thought I was drowning a broken heart in buckets of firewhisky."

I tried desperately to think of a new, safer topic, but before I came up with anything, he gave a soft laugh.

"It's all right, you know. The funny thing about becoming single at my age is that you know what you're missing, and it doesn't bother you all that often. Especially since, in our case, the split was amicable."

The situation at home with Harry was the only excuse I had for my next words. "Are divorces very messy? I never heard a word about your marriage being dissolved."

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "Forgive me if this is too personal, but it sounds like you're asking out of more than concern for my welfare, Mrs. Potter." He added a delicate emphasis to my title, and suddenly it was too much to bear.

"Please, call me Ginny," I said impetuously. "And I'm sorry for my question. It was unforgivably rude."

He waved my apology away even as we both rose to rejoin the others queuing up to go back indoors. "Not at all- Ginny. If there is one thing I've learned from our friends here, it's that sometimes the benefit of others' practical experience can save you a lot of grief."

Strange, but I had never considered Draco Malfoy as a candidate to be a prophet. I was wrong.

***

Chapter Two

I Apparated home from the Pearsons' in a bit of a daze. Whatever I'd expected from my new hobby, a civil Draco Malfoy was never part of the picture. More than that, he'd been pleasant. It made me wonder if my view of him all these years had been colored more by Harry's dislike of him than his actual behavior.

I was surprised when I opened the front door to find that Harry had ordered from the local pizzeria. At least I didn't have to cook.

He was situated on the sofa, pizza box open on the table in front of him and the television set to a rugby match. "'Bout as boring as you expected?" he mumbled around a slice of pizza. His eyes never left the television set.

I looked at him and sighed, wondering why he bothered to say anything at all if he wasn't interested in my answer. "I had a lovely time." I waited until he picked up his water glass to add, "Met Draco Malfoy there. We had a nice little chat."

Was I evil for doing that? Maybe, but my maiden name is Weasley, remember? Somewhere, I'm sure Fred's soul is cackling loudly at the thought.

He choked and began to cough water everywhere. "Wha'?" he wheezed, mopping at his chest. "Malfoy?"

I sat next to him primly. "Yes, Malfoy. He's part of the gardening club, and he was perfectly nice."

Mostly recovered, Harry pointed a finger at me. "Ha ha, Ginny, very funny. You got me."

I raised my eyebrows and stared at him the way I did the kids when they were being deliberately obtuse. "I'm serious."

Harry started to laugh. "Oh, that's rich. Malfoy hanging out with a bunch of little old ladies, rhapsodizing about his prize orchids." He snorted. "Is he completely bald yet?" Collapsing against the back of the sofa, he dissolved into laughter, clutching his sides. "If there's a God, he'll be as bald as a Bludger by now."

I was flabbergasted. So much for trying to get Harry interested in whether I enjoyed myself- he was far more intent on developing a mental image of Draco Malfoy. I admit I was a little annoyed. "He's not at all bald, Harry."

"Rubbish, you say," he giggled.

Yes, my thirty-seven year old husband giggled. So sad, and yet it only goaded me into defending a man I'd spoken to for less than ten minutes. "That receding hairline you've been harping on for two years now is nothing more than his hair pulled back in a too-tight ponytail, Harry, and we both know it. Besides that, he was looking rather trim." I leant across the pizza box and poked him in the stomach. "Unlike some other wizards I know."

The conversation fizzled and died in a matter of moments after that, but I'm still glad I said it. Really, after two whole years, why was Harry still so obsessed with Draco Malfoy's hair? Luna thinks it's because he secretly always wanted to be a blond, but I'm pretty sure it boils down to plain old schoolboy pettiness.

I left him to his pizza and rugby and went upstairs to curl up with a book, but I ended up staring out the window and wondering why it still hurt to have Harry more interested in a match than my activities. You'd think I'd be used to it by now.

***

I considered my conversation with Draco Malfoy many times over the course of the next week. Like the existence of Luna's as-yet still unproven Wrackspurts, thoughts of how a couple could separate after so many years plagued me, buzzing around my brain.

I was shopping for Christmas gifts with Hermione when I finally corralled enough nerve to broach the topic with someone that knew and loved both Harry and me. "Hermione," I began, hesitant as we shuffled through the snow that blanketed Diagon Alley, "do you think people change over time?"

She riffled through her handbag as she answered. "Of course, Gin. We all change. That's part of growing up." Drawing a lengthy list from the bag's depth, she chuckled as she perused its contents. "You're a little young to be having a mid-life crisis, though. What's on your mind?"

Holding two enormous bags prevented me from wringing my hands, but oh, how I wanted to. "It's just that, erm, things between Harry and I are so strained."

Hermione never missed a step; she just took my elbow and guided us straight to Hannah's House of Tea. Once ensconced in a cozy booth with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, she reached over to cover my hand with her own. "I know things are changing for you guys, Gin. Harry came to me for advice some time back, but he never mentioned it again after he returned my book. I thought you two had worked through whatever was wrong."

It's funny. After more than three months of wondering what was wrong with me that I suddenly wasn't satisfied with my husband after twenty years together, I still hadn't broken down in tears about it. Hermione's hand on mine was the first time I felt tears prickle the back of my throat. "I feel like I don't know anything anymore, Hermione. My whole life, ever since I was ten, all I wanted was to marry Harry. And then I did, and things were great. We were friends, lovers, and parents together, and I never once questioned if things would ever be different." I sniffled a little, but proudly refused to let the tears chasing around my eyes fall. "Once Lily left, I -no, that's not fair- we realized that while we were still parents, we weren't friends or lovers anymore."

She made a comforting sound and pulled me into a hug. "Ssh, it's all right. Every couple faces challenges in their relationship."

I sat up quickly. "That's just it, though. I don't think this is the same. We've fought over the years." A small smile touched my lips as I recalled some of our more spectacular rows. "But things were always able to be put to rights in the end- even the time I kicked him out for a week."

"And let me deal with the astounding mess, I might add," Hermione said tartly. "After Ron and I sent him home to you, I vowed that he'd never camp out at our place again." She pulled an exasperated face. "Honestly, why would Harry think that it's okay to leave his dirty underpants on my bathroom floor?"

I laughed, because the memories of that episode were just too amusing, even after all these years. "I hadn't completely domesticated him in those days. Believe it or not, Harry can do a load of wash on his own now." Patting her arm, I added, "He even can even fold it, too."

Hermione gave me a warm smile. "I hit the jackpot with your brother; I think your mum pounded household spells into his brain for so many years that he's a better housekeeper than I am." She blew on her steaming mug. "If it wouldn't demolish his pride, I'd have asked him to be a stay-at-home Dad years ago."

I snorted. "Well, he's perfectly thrilled acting like an eight year old with George over at the joke shop, so even if you pitched it to him now, I don't think he'd buy."

Fondly, Hermione said, "No, I'm pretty sure he'll be puttering around that place until he sticks a foot in the grave." She pinned me with a serious look. "But we're not discussing Ron's retirement plans, Gin, we're talking about you and Harry, and how to fix whatever's wrong."

Sobering, I fiddled with a little shaker of cinnamon. "Do you think you and Ron will be together forever?"

"Yes, I do. We work hard at our marriage sometimes because we're such different types of people, but there's no one else I'd rather be with."

Her words reminded me of all the things I missed. "That's just it," I whispered. "Neither Harry nor I feel like that anymore, and we're not sure when that changed." I ignored her look. "That book you gave Harry was great- it had all sorts of wonderful tips about communication and getting to know one another all over again, but the problem is, neither of us loves the person the other has become."

Drawing in a deep breath, Hermione nodded. It looked like she was trying very hard to stem the eruption of advice that wanted to pour from her mouth. "Are you sure he feels that way, too?"

I dropped my head back against the booth and studied the ceiling. "We gave up last month, Hermione, both of us. He works late, has dinner meetings with various Ministry members at least twice a week and goes to bed as early as he possibly can. I actually look for weekend plans just to get away from him. Does that sound like a couple that can fix their relationship?"

If nothing else, Hermione is stubborn. "You can always fix things between you, if you want it enough."

"I don't think I do." There- I'd said it out loud at last. It was both exhilarating and incredibly terrifying.

She gaped at me. "What are you saying, Ginny?"

Feeling infinitely lighter for having told someone the truth, I looked up to tell her that I wanted to ask Harry for a divorce. Hermione stared at me, face white, looking as if she was waiting to be punched in the mouth. My stomach dropped. I'd thought that ending our marriage was between Harry and me. I was so very wrong.

"Ginny?" she prompted with fearful eyes.

I swallowed the words I wanted to say. "I don't know yet, Hermione. I think Harry and I need to sit down and really discuss our future together, instead of just pretending that we're boarders in the same house."

She nodded jerkily, but her brown eyes were still a touch too wide. "I love you both; you know that. That's why I'm going to ask you to do one thing, Gin: really try to work things out. Don't just give up because it's the easy thing to do."

"I'll try."

***

When Harry came home that night, I knew immediately that he'd had a Floo call from Hermione. He kept shooting me little glances all through dinner as if he expected me to draw my wand and hit him with an Unforgivable.

Strangely, I didn't hold it against Hermione that she'd run straight to Harry with what I'd told her. Even though Hermione and I had been close for the better part of twenty-five years, she was one of his best friends. She'd literally been to hell and back with him. I suppose I'd choose him as well if I were in her shoes.

The one thing it did make me realize is that all of my friends have become his over the years, and that the reverse is true for his friends, too. Shocking, but out of everyone I talk to on even a semi-regular basis, I can't name a single person that wouldn't have divided loyalties over this.

I resolved to do something about that as soon as possible. In the meantime, I set my fork aside and looked at Harry. He was staring at me with that same fearful expression I'd seen in Hermione's eyes earlier. "We need to talk," I said quietly. "Really talk, Harry."

At my words, he seemed to gather himself. "I know." He pushed away his plate and set his elbows on the table. "I spoke to Hermione today," he began. "And she said that she was sorry if you felt like she betrayed your confidence, but she really wanted us to be prepared for a discussion about our future."

I smiled gently at him. "I'm not angry, Harry; I know Hermione only did what she felt was best. It's just sad that we needed her snitching on me to have this talk at all."

He pursed his lips. "It's odd." He looked over my shoulder, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. "Being an orphan and growing up with the Dursleys, I always knew that if I married and had kids, I'd make sure their lives were perfect. And there you were, bright and shiny and so talented, telling me that you'd loved me since you were just a kid." I tried to interrupt, but he raised a hand. "Please, let me finish.

"There you were, Gin, everything I realized I wanted in a wife, and I thought that we were surely a match made in heaven. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted you to stay home with the kids and give them the wonderful rearing you got from your mum, and I wanted to make a difference in the Ministry and revolutionize the Wizarding World. I wanted so many things, and I don't know exactly when I lost track of the fact that keeping romance alive between us was one of the things I neglected so I had time to do all those other things."

I nodded, twirling my napkin. "I know, Harry. We did such a good job of building the perfect life. It's not fair that it should all be crumbling because we forgot one thing."

Harry frowned down at the table. "How could we forget us?" He sounded so lost. "How did we stop being in love with each other?"

I wanted to get up and hug him; he looked so forlorn and alone at the other end of the table. "I still care about you, Harry. I still love you enough that I want to see you happy; the problem is this-" I waved at us. "- this doesn't make you happy anymore, and it doesn't make me happy, either. It's not fair that we stay unhappy just because everyone thinks we've got the perfect life."

"What about the kids?" he whispered tiredly, removing his spectacles and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We can't just up and announce that Mum and Dad are splitting when they come home Saturday. It'd destroy not just Christmas, but the rest of their school year. Hell, it might destroy their entire world if we go about this the wrong way."

He had a point. I'd lived like this with Harry for months now; what were a few more? "We'll wait until they come home for summer hols," I decided, and he nodded in approval. "Until then, I'd like to try to discuss how we'll work everything out so there's no conflict in front of the children. I want it to be a done deal so we can show them that we still love them as much as ever and that we can be friendly to one another."

"You've been thinking about this awhile, haven't you?" Harry's green eyes shimmered, and for a moment I thought it was that his eyes were filled with tears. They weren't. Mine were.

He came around to hug me, and we stood there in our dining room, clinging to each other like children in the dark, petrified of what waited under the bed- divorce.

What a bloody scary monster it is.

***

Chapter Three

I was simultaneously looking forward to the children coming home and dreading the moment they'd step off the Hogwarts Express; I longed to wrap their love and the normalcy of having them home around myself like a protective blanket, but I was utterly petrified that they'd know immediately that things had changed between Harry and me. It was almost as if I now had a neon sign blinking above my head that said, "Shameful Divorcee Status Pending".

Thursday night, as I prepared for bed in my temporary quarters in the spare room, I studied myself in the mirror for some physical manifestation of asking Harry for a divorce. Strangely, aside from the hollow eyes and sallow skin I'd gotten as a parting gift from several restless nights, I looked the same as I always had. Long red hair, laugh lines around my mouth, freckles. Check. I still looked like a woman that had a wonderful life, but inside, I felt like damaged goods.

Setting aside my hairbrush, I crawled beneath the crisp linens on the guest bed and sighed as my stomach continued to do nervous somersaults. Yes, having the children home would be wonderful. I kept telling myself that until I fell into a fitful sleep.

***

The day before the children arrived home from Hogwarts for their Christmas break found me back at Madeleine Pearson's for another meeting of the gardening club.

Just because I had almost no experience cultivating my own plants didn't mean I had to go empty-handed; after all, Harry and I certainly had enough money between us to pay for the dozen poinsettias I swung by Glenbaum's Garden Grotto for. If nothing else, it would be nice to give those lovely old ladies -and Draco Malfoy- a little token of appreciation for opening their ranks to me with such warmth. Checking the Shrinking Charm on the flat of plants in my handbag a final time, I rang the front bell at the Pearsons'.

"Ginny, dear," Madeleine said sweetly, sweeping the door wide and ushering me in. "You're just a tad early. I don't suppose I could ask you to give me a hand setting out the biscuits for everyone, can I?" She flapped her hands. "Lindar -my husband- gave both of the house-elves this weekend as their holiday time and forgot to inform me of that until this morning, when I found him trying to make his own coffee. Batty old thing, my Lindy, doing that to me on a day I had the club coming, but what can you do?"

I smiled back at her. "Of course; I'd love to help." Those members of the older generation that had house-elves, though quite nice about Hermione's house-elf rights legislation, seemed particularly at a loss when their servants were away. I was frankly surprised old Lindy hadn't managed to blow both himself and the coffeemaker up. There was an article in the Daily Prophet awhile back about an elderly gentleman that, in his elf's absence, attempted to brew his daily coffee in his potions cauldron. Apparently, caffeine and batwing residue combined at a vigorous boil is highly explosive. Who knew?

As I helped her set out the refreshments and straighten the doilies on her armchairs, I smiled to myself. For some inexplicable reason, being here washed away the worries of my deteriorating home life. At least for a little while.

Let's hear it for the gardening club, a brilliant distraction from the real world.

***

Everyone cooed over their poinsettias and I smiled fatly. It was an excellent idea, if I do say so myself.

"Ginny, love, have you started sketching out the dimensions of the garden you'd like to establish yet?" Gladys Findlepan eyed me eagerly over the eyeglasses perched on the end of her nose. "Being winter and all, it's a perfect time to study your land without foliage and underbrush cluttering up your view."

Well. Yes, I suppose it was a natural assumption that I would be planning my future garden if I was joining a garden club. Damn. I knew I'd forgotten something. Really, I'd only joined to get out of the house; the specifics of it never really crossed my mind. That in itself should speak to my mental state these days.

"Er, actually, I'm still studying the layout. No sketches yet, and with the children home for Christmas, I won't get to that for a bit yet. I will, though, as soon as I have the chance." Yes, I'm aware that I ramble badly when I'm nervous.

Miss Jo, who had never copped to having a surname, asking instead to be addressed as 'Miss Jo' or 'Auntie Jo', delicately broke a piece off her chocolate biscuit. "What about your pH levels, dear?"

"My what?" I was mostly sure she was referring to some obscure and arcane gardening ritual and not a post-NEWT wizarding exam I'd never qualified for, but not enough to bluff my way through.

Draco Malfoy, proving that the git in him was still alive and well, laughed so hard that I was waiting for tears to begin trickling out of his eyes.

"Your pH levels," Miss Jo said as if I'd grown a second, particularly hideous, nose on my face. "The soil in your garden needs to be tested in various areas to determine whether your soil is alkaline, neutral or acidic. It's critically important, dear. Just imagine what would happen to an azalea in alkaline soil." She shuddered and popped a bit of biscuit in her mouth. "Not to mention soil type and light levels."

If I was Alice and this was a Lewis Carroll story, I'd be plunging down a dirty dark hole towards the land of All Advanced Herbology, All the Time. "Of course," I said weakly with an equally wan smile. "Light and pH levels and soil types. I'll get straight on that."

I managed to make it through the rest of the meeting without mishap, though I caught Miss Jo shooting me quizzical looks every now and then. I think she had me pegged as a fraud hiding in the midst of master gardeners.

I was just swinging on my cloak as the others departed when Madeleine cornered me with a sweet smile and Draco Malfoy in tow. "Ginny, I couldn't help but notice your unfamiliarity earlier with soil testing and light requirements, so I've asked young Draco here to assist you the first time. He's assured me he'd be happy to oblige, and I'm sure you'd be much more comfortable tramping about your garden with someone your own age." She chuckled. "Not to mention the fact that it's too cold out today for these old bones. Or that I have to clean up the mess here, thanks to dear Lindy."

Managing to choke back a snort at the 'young Draco' comment -it made him sound like a child but, after all, to these women, anyone below seventy fell into the 'young' category- I nodded politely. "Of course; I'd love any help I could get." I paused thoughtfully. "But really, I have a number of errands to accomplish before tomorrow, so it's not at all pressing. I could always wait a few weeks until you're free, Madeleine."

"Nonsense." She pointed a stern finger at me. "Another few days of this horrid cold and you won't be able to get a proper soil sample until spring, and that's far too late. It'll only take you fifteen, twenty minutes at most, dear. I'm sure Draco has got the spells necessary down pat by now. Surely you can spare a few minutes this afternoon?"

I may be stubborn, but I know when I'm beaten. Why are the sweet old ladies always the ones hiding a titanium skeleton beneath their wrinkly skin? I gave in gracefully, but there was no hiding my huff of annoyance when Draco grinned wryly at me. He knew I'd just been outmaneuvered by a woman two steps from needing a walker.

"I'm available about half-four, Mrs. Potter, if that's convenient for you." A hint of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth and, had we still been schoolchildren, I'd have been very tempted to smack it clear off his face for him.

I nodded shortly. "That's fine; I'll arrange to be home by then. You know where I live, don't you?" Brow furrowed, I added, "And it's Ginny, please."

He tipped his head, sending the shoulder-length ponytail slithering over one shoulder of his expensive robes. "I do." He placed a hand on my shoulder as I turned to leave. "Given your husband's occupation and abnormal level of paranoia about me, am I going to be zapped into oblivion if I Apparate there, or am I safe until he stalks out of the house and blindsides me with hexes?"

"Oh! Right." I blushed. I should have thought of that, I suppose, but my brain didn't seem to be functioning normally much these days. "If you'll give me a strand of hair, I'll add you to the Safe Apparition list for the day, and Harry won't be home until this evening. I believe he's presenting some point paper at the Ministry this afternoon." I smiled slyly. "You should be safe enough. I mean, it's not like he's installed any anti-Malfoy wards around our house or anything." My smile widened. "At least, not that I know of." Plucking a strand of pale blond hair from his ponytail, I Disapparated before he had a chance to respond.

***

I was just huffing my way up the front walk, laden down with paper sacks bulging with food, when Draco Apparated not five feet in front of me. "Bloody- watch out!" I shrieked. Avoiding running him down would have been so much easier if I wasn't weighted down with enough food to feed three starving teenagers and an equally voracious thirty-something man. The iced-over pavement I was currently skating across was not helping matters, either.

In the end, I avoided plowing him over, but just barely, and with much flailing and cursing on my part. The goose was hanging drunkenly from one of the bags I clutched.

"Potter-"

"Ginny," I correctly him automatically.

He waved one hand impatiently as he used the other to save the packaged goose from its imminent plunge to the walk. I firmly believe he was flouting his bloody unnatural coordination at me for spite.

"Ginny, then. My point was to ask you why you're toting the contents of your kitchen around in paper sacks."

I gaped at him. "God above, Malfoy, I'm not doing this for my health. I had to go to Tesco's before the children get home."

"Tesco's?"

Rolling my eyes and stepping around him, I continued on to the house. I was not going to stand about on a bitterly cold afternoon just to discuss my grocery shopping with him. "Yes, Tesco's," I offered over my shoulder. "The giant, ubiquitous chain store that sells food." He still looked at me blankly. "The market, Draco- that convenient place that you get food from. You do know what a market is, don't you?"

He waved the goose at me. "That's right, now's a perfectly adequate time for some joke about house-elves, Potter, bearing in mind that my family had one and your husband freed him when I was twelve. I can do my own shopping, thank you very much, but I've never heard of Tesco's. I order my food in from Procrup's Produce, like every other wizard or witch in Wiltshire."

Shaking my head and awkwardly waving him ahead of me into the house, I smirked. "Automobile out front, married to a man raised a Muggle, and a telly blaring twenty hours a day; do you really think I shop through a wizarding market?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed- or maybe it was just the biting wind and numbing cold of standing outside that reddened his cheeks. Either way, I was satisfied; baiting him didn't change a damn thing going on in my life, but it sure did make me feel better. He didn't seem to be offended by it either, which was a very big point in his favor. One more indicator that Draco Malfoy had indeed grown up.

He walked straight through to the kitchen and set the goose on the counter before turning and taking two of the bags from me. "I assume you're going to want to put this all away before we do the soil tests, aren't you?" When I nodded, he sighed. "All right. If I offer to help, could I finagle a cup of chocolate out of you? I'll need the warmth if we're going to be standing about outside for any period of time." The absurdly hopeful look on his face almost made me laugh; he looked like James offering to add the last ingredient to a batch of cookie dough just so I'd let him lick the spoon.

As I prepared two mugs of chocolate, I watched him wander around my kitchen, perusing the photos and various art projects my kids had made on the walls.

He stopped in front of a tatty piece of parchment smeared with red and green paint. "Ah," he mused, much like Bill when he was sent a new set of Egyptian hieroglyphs to decipher. Turning a serious face to me, he asked, "Doggie or house?"

I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing. "Al painted that for me when he was three- and it's Mummy playing Quidditch."

"You make a lovely red smear," he chuckled. "Scorpius made one for my mother once. It was a pink and white swirl that he swore was 'Ganpa'; I believe she still has it framed in her and Father's bedroom. She delights in tormenting him about his 'pastel beauty' when he's being particularly cranky about something."

I'm not sure how I was supposed to respond to that, but I'm pretty sure my reaction wasn't very polite. I snorted, and not the brief type of snort that indicates incredulity. I snorted so hard that had there been a pig in the immediate vicinity, it would have applauded my capacity for porcine language skills. Or tried to mate with me.

Let's face it; the thought of Lucius Malfoy, spectacularly unscrupulous former Death Eater, being harassed by the coolly haughty woman I knew to be Draco's mother was hilarious.

"Ladylike, Potter," he said dryly.

I threw him a dirty look. "If you call me 'Potter' or 'Mrs. Potter' one more time, Malfoy, I'm going to hex you cross-eyed, soil tests be damned."

Setting his chocolate down on the table, he looked at me quizzically. "A slip of the tongue, Ginny, nothing more, but I wonder why your name bothers you so much. After all, you've been Mrs. Potter for a good number of years now." Crossing his arms and leaning a hip on the corner of the table, Draco frowned. "I don't see why a simple courtesy should bother you so."

Folding the last paper sack neatly and stowing it beneath the sink gave me time to come up with a number of smooth lies about why him addressing me as 'Mrs. Potter' irritated me, but I decided to go with the simple truth. I wanted to tell someone, and he seemed to be the only candidate that stood no chance of being dragged into the middle of my marital woes. I stared determinedly at the counter. "It bothers me because I won't be a Potter for much longer."

"Ah." His tone was guarded. "I'd offer my condolences, but I have a feeling that you aren't an injured party here."

Sighing, I chanced a glance at him. His face was as blank as his voice. "There's no injured party at all; we've just figured out that if we stay married, we'll end up as two strangers in the same house before long."

"Hence your curiosity about the circumstances surrounding my divorce from Cass?"

I blushed. "I was pretty obvious, wasn't I?"

"Not completely transparent, no." Draco's lips twitched as if he was fighting the urge to smile. "I thought you were just looking for a good bit of gossip to share with your mates."

"Then why did you tell me?" I asked, puzzled.

He shrugged. "I don't actively try to hide what happened; I'm not ashamed of it. We were simply different types of people with very different goals in life. I thought that having a child would help Cass to settle down, but as the years passed, she only got a bigger itch to return to her business. In the end, there was no time left for us, and we both realized that forcing it would only make each of us resent the other." His grey eyes locked with mine. "It was better to get out before we hated each other."

I nodded. Strange to think that Draco Malfoy and sage marital advice would be linked in my mind, but they were. He seemed to clearly understand what I was going through with Harry with what little I had told him.

He straightened away from the table. "Let's get to that soil testing before dusk falls and it gets cold enough to quick freeze us, Ginny."

I nodded silently and went to fetch my cloak. It was odd, but he was easy to talk to about the prospects of divorce. I didn't feel shock or horror radiating off him, like I did with Hermione, and he was, well, he was nice about all of it.

***

I wriggled my fingers inside my gloves again, but they remained numb . "How many more soil samples do we need, for Christ's sake?" My teeth were chattering so badly that I was shocked I got the question out without stuttering. "We must've done ten already."

"Buck up," he replied easily, and if the git's ears and nose hadn't been cherry red, I'd never had known that he was feeling the cold at all. "You've got almost an acre back here, and you'd be surprised at how much the pH levels can vary in just a few hundred feet." He slid the small notebook he'd been recording the results in out of his pocket and glanced at the figures on the page. "For example, the spot just off the patio was at 7.6- that's alkaline." He pointed off towards the far corner of the property. "Back there's at 6.1, and you can bet the acidity is from those spruce trees you've got bordering the wall. That's a huge range, and if we didn't do these tests, half the plants you'll put in the ground will either do poorly or die altogether."

"I have to tell you that the combination of a pedantic man and a blindingly cold day makes me cranky," I muttered as I handed him yet another core of dirt from the hole I'd magicked.

He had the nerve to smile at me. "Good to know. No whining. You had chocolate to warm you up; besides, only one or two more tests and we'll be done for the day."

My suspicious look must have lost much of its potency when I was forced to swipe at my runny nose. "What do you mean, 'for the day'?"

After he'd recorded the pH levels for the latest core, Draco shuffled off towards the house, speaking over his shoulder to me as we went. "Why, there's still soil types and light charts to complete; surely you didn't think it was just digging up a spot of dirt, waving a wand and then Poof!- you've got an award-winning garden?" He smirked. "Oh, you did. How cute."

"You know, I thought you'd changed," I accused, though I was secretly amused. He was turning out to be an excellent distraction. "Acting all mature… holding doors… saving the Christmas goose from an icy death, but in reality, your true nature was just waiting to pop back out."

He smiled and indicated the next spot I was to excavate.

Digging the hole with more oomph than strictly necessary, I pulled a face at him. "There's legislation against sarcasm at sub-zero temperatures, you know."

Draco threw his hands up. "Fine, fine, you win. No more." He looked around. "There are two more spots to check back here and a few in your front garden, but if you're so cold, we can always finish up another time."

If I had any feeling in my arms, I would have hugged him. "Really?" The amount of joy I put into that one word was pathetic. I was freezing, damn it. "Brilliant. Another time is perfect. How's June for you?"

He grinned and glanced back at the house. "Don't suppose you've got any more chocolate handy, do you?"

I returned the smile. "I'll race you to the kitchen," I said before bolting for the back door.

*** Chapter Four ***

For all of my worrying, Christmas was nowhere near as awkward as I'd anticipated; the children were in high spirits and doing well in their classes and Harry somehow managed to behave as he did back when things between us were still going brilliantly. I'd even gotten into the swing of things, having a ball baking up pies and biscuits with the kids and taunting them with obscure hints about their gifts.

The only break in my holiday cheer came on Christmas morning after Al tore open the wrapping on the last gift beneath the tree. James, fingers curled around a handsome silver chain from his first girlfriend, peered over at me from his perch on the arm of the chair I was forever yelling at him to sit in properly. "What'd you and Dad get for each other? I didn't see you exchange gifts."

Bloody observant child I raised- that's what I get for hoping that my children would be clever. Harry rode to the rescue. "We did our gifts earlier, before you lot came home," he said with a jovial smile. "We didn't want you to spend your Christmas gagging over how sweet your old parents are."

I wanted to both thank him and smack him- he was helping them to enjoy the holiday, but saying things like that now was going to make things worse in the long run.

"Yes, that's right." I smiled at James. "Now get your skinny arse in that chair the way you're supposed to."

"Mum!"

"Don't 'mum' me, James. Sit." I pointed imperiously and watched with no small amount of satisfaction as he slithered over the arm onto the cushion. Good to know that mum's patented 'do it before I tan your hide' voice still worked.

***

After dinner was done and I'd finished the washing up, I got an owl from Draco Malfoy, asking if he could pop by on Boxing Day morning to finish the soil tests and check on the amaryllis bulb he'd sent me. Much to the eagle owl's chagrin, I went to go find Harry before I dashed off my reply, leaving the haughty looking bird perched on my breadbox.

I found him in the sitting room thumbing through the book on the Chudley Cannons Ron had sent him. It had grown into a bizarre tradition for the two of them to get one another Christmas gifts that they actually wanted themselves and then traded back. Men were, on the whole, very strange creatures.

"Ah, there you are, Gin. I may have to disappoint your brother and keep this book. It's fascinating."

Propping myself against the mantle, I waited until he looked up at me. "How good of a mood are you in?"

He frowned. "What sort of question is that?" Craning his neck to look out into the hall, Harry added, "How much money do they need?"

"No one needs any money, Harry," I sighed, folding my arms across my chest. His looseness with the proverbial purse strings for the children's every whim had caused more than one blazing row between us over the years. "And they've each got a mountain of gifts, so don't go doling out Galleons for unnecessary shopping trips, either." I found myself nervously twisting my hands and just blurted out, "Draco Malfoy offered to stop by tomorrow to finish helping me with the garden and I don't want to invite him over only to end up tossing buckets of cold water on you when the two of you attack one another."

Harry dumped the book on the floor as he climbed to his feet. "We agreed on announcing our split in the summer, Ginny, and now you want to bring a date to our home on Boxing Day? When our children are here?" He actually looked capable of murder, his green eyes flashing dangerously in his suddenly pale face. "And as if that weren't enough, it's Draco bloody Malfoy?"

Lucky for me, his 'someone is about to die' look stopped inspiring terror in me years ago. I marched over and poked him square in the chest. "It's not a date, you prat, and if it was, do you really think I'd be so utterly inconsiderate as to bring him here during the holidays?" I fluttered my lashes and mustered my best syrupy-sweet voice. "Oh, right, luv, meet my husband and kids. The kids are spoiled to within an inch of their lives and my husband couldn't care less if you shag me so long as it's not in front of him. Right then, introductions over. Let's go grope one another."

"They are not spoiled!" Harry hissed, dropping his voice to a whisper as Al and Lily went tearing past and James chased them, cackling merrily. "There's nothing wrong with growing up wealthy, Ginny; just because you grew up wearing hand-me-downs and putting every Knut you had into savings doesn't mean they should have to."

God, he could be thick. "I know that, Harry, and I'm thrilled they don't have to overhear conversations about Mummy pawning her family heirlooms so they could make their mortgage payment. But spoiling them rotten doesn't make up for your childhood either, and if you keep giving them everything they look twice at, they're going to grow up into very shallow, irresponsible adults, Harry, mark my words. I'm always so stingy because I'm counterbalancing you." I frowned fiercely. "Damn it all, now we're a mile off topic. Is it all right if he stops by for an hour tomorrow or not? You've my word that I won't be tearing his clothes off."

I was too close for his mumbled, "And who'd want to? The ferrety git probably stinks of fertilizer anyway," to go unnoticed.

"Harry," I warned. "Just don't. I have no interest in him that way. He's helping me with the whole gardening thing, and he's the only one in the whole bloody club that's within twenty years of me. He's not as bad as you think; in fact, he's a lot mellower now."

He snorted and knelt to pick up the Chudley Cannons book and suddenly I was in the strange position of defending Draco Malfoy. Again.

"He is, you know. Mellow. Talks about his son and all sorts of plants and not a single poke at my family or even you. You'd never know he was the same boy we were at school with."

Clutching the book, Harry stood and studied me closely. "I've seen him since we left school, Ginny," he said slowly. "A number of times, in fact, since his family still donates to a number of the Ministry's pet charities. The point is that he still pisses me right off without a word. Can't you find a better friend?"

Oh, he did that beseeching look so well. "No, Harry. If he's willing to come here to help me despite your past… issues, then he's certainly someone I'd consider being friends with." I looked him straight in the eyes until he began to shift from foot to foot. He'd never been able to beat me in a staring contest. "Are you going to be civil tomorrow? For my sake, please say you will."

Blowing out a breath in defeat, he nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. Just maybe I'll go visit Ron and Hermione whilst he's here, okay?"

I smiled warmly. Harry could be reasonable if you gave him a bit of a nudge. "Give them my love."

***

As any housewife will tell you, it's impossible to keep your house clean when company is coming. Even if you miraculously have everything done, things will spontaneously combust just to thwart you.

Sure enough, the chimes went off just as I finished getting the kitchen neatened after Lily accidently dropped the pitcher of pumpkin juice all over the floor. I still had the plate and glass from James' room that had been growing whitish fuzz to scrub. "James!" I got no response and, up to my elbows in soapy water in the kitchen, I had little choice but to try again. "JAMES!" I bellowed.

The little bugger was watching telly in the sitting room, not ten feet from the front door. "What?" he shouted back without getting up. God, he was fourteen going on forty.

"Answer the front door, please, and tell our guest I'll be just a minute. I have to finish disinfecting the dishes that you left to mould in your room three days ago."

The chimes sounded again. "James, I'll take away your racing broom if you're not at that door in three seconds, so help me-" I heard mad scrambling; threats always did work the best with my oldest son.

I was still scrubbing intently at the dishes when Draco's distinctive voice said behind me, "Aren't we just the picture of domesticity." I scowled. "James -the one that let you in- was growing things in his room. I'll be done in a moment; why don't you have a seat?" I jerked my chin at the breakfast nook.

"So thanks for coming over to help me finish," I said as I finished up. "It was really quite brave of you, Boxing Day and all."

He grinned. "So do you have Potter tranquilized upstairs or should I have my wand out?" He waved me off. "I'm just teasing. By the by, who's kid let me in? He's too young to be Lupin's, isn't he?"

"That was James. My oldest."

"With Potter?"

Unmindful of the water dripping everywhere, I turned slowly to him. He didn't look like he was being purposely malicious, just curious.

"Yes, with Harry. Why wouldn't you think so?" Then it dawned on me. It'd been so many years since I'd had to explain to someone that it hadn't occurred to me. "You're talking about his eyes, then, are you?"

"I know the basics of genetics, Ginny, and green eyes plus brown eyes do not make blue." Draco's lips quirked devilishly. "So who was the bloke?"

Without thinking, I hurled a fork at him and, when it clanged harmlessly off the table, he threw his head back and laughed. "I'm having you on; I'm not blind. He looks just like Potter as a teen."

"Most of my family have blue eyes," I informed him quite stiffly. "James got it from my side; some sort of recessive gene, I guess." When he laughed again, I added stiffly, "It wasn't so funny when he was a baby and I had to explain it to every bloody stranger that wanted to see the famous Harry Potter's first child."

He grinned unrepentantly. "Too bad I hadn't known then. It would have been spectacular to spread the rumor that Potter's kid wasn't his."

I shook a fist at him. "Stow it, Malfoy, before I rearrange that face of yours. I'll have you know-"

He cut me off before I got up a good head of steam. "Teasing, Ginny. So how's that amaryllis coming?"

Accepting that I had just been neatly outmaneuvered, I snatched the pot off the pedestal near the door. "You sent me a dud, Malfoy. I followed your instructions to the letter. It's barely grown at all."

Draco looked at the bulb incredulously. "Merciful Merlin, Potter, I told you to water it, not stick it in a small pond. It's an amaryllis, not papyrus." He poked at it. "I've no idea how it's even still alive."

Hands on my hips, a habit from my mum I'd yet to break, I scowled at him. "You said to water it generously when I planted it. I did. You need to be more specific."

Stalking around the counter to snatch the roll of paper towels, Draco threw them at me and frowned. "Start blotting and it may actually survive." He shook his head mournfully. "How did you ever pass Herbology?" He said this around a mouthful of my prize-winning butterhorn biscuits, a recipe from my Great Aunt Millie that I guarded jealously. "This is quite delicious, by the way."

The sheer gall. He'd unwrapped the plate of biscuits I'd had on the counter without even a by your leave. I gaped at him, at a loss for words. The git was lucky I was busy blotting that damn bulb dry; otherwise, I'd have hexed that butterhorn straight up his nose.

Polishing off the morsel and smacking his lips loudly, he shouldered me out of the way and carried the pot to the sink. "There's no hope for it, Ginny. You're going to have to repot this if it's going to survive."

"Mummy, who's that man?" Lily was standing in the doorway, Al and James just behind her.

The heavens were surely about to explode- I was introducing my children to their father's childhood nemesis. "This is Draco Malfoy, sweetheart. He's an old schoolmate of your father's." His incredulous look had me amending myself as fast as I could. "Not exactly 'mate', mind you, more of a…" I groped for the right word.

"Nemesis?" he offered with a cocky smile.

Good God, the man read minds. "Well, I was going to say acquaintance, but that'll do."

James groaned. "No relation to Scorpius Malfoy, I hope?" He folded his arms. "Lippy little bugger. Always popping off at the mouth over something."

Draco's lips twitched. "Takes after his father, I imagine."

James suddenly smiled, pleased to have found someone who shared his sentiments. "So what is he, your nephew or something?"

"Son," Draco deadpanned, though he broke out in a full-fledged grin when James flushed to the roots of his hair.

Al jumped to his brother's defense. "He didn't mean anything by it, Mr. Malfoy, it's just that Scorpius is always calling our cousin Rose names and James told him that next time he'd-"

James slapped his hand over his younger brother's mouth. "I said that next time I'd tell on him," he said desperately. "Yes, that's exactly what I said. Great to meet you, Mr. Malfoy, but we've got things to do." Using his free hand to catch Lily's arm, he steered his younger siblings back out into the hallway. "C'mon, Lils, let's all have a go at Al's new gaming system."

As the kids stampeded up the stairs with all the grace of a herd of three-legged dragons, I shook my head and looked over at Draco. He was eating another of my biscuits. "Who said you could have one of those?" I demanded. "Those are for my neighbor, Malfoy."

He ate the rest of it with excruciating slowness. "You should sell those. They're sinful."

I brandished my wand at him before Summoning my gardening gloves and anorak. "Outside, Malfoy. We've got less than an hour before Harry comes home, and I promised him you'd be gone by then."

He shooed me out the door and closed it himself before heading for the walk that circled around to the front of the house. "Wouldn't want to upset Potter," he said with a grin. "Ooh! I've a proposition for you."

I eyed him warily. Draco Malfoy plus evil grin plus Harry Potter's house offered far too many appalling ideas. "What's that?"

"I make sure we get these soil tests knocked out in fifteen minutes or less and you make me a plate of those biscuits."

Was he kidding? It was well below freezing and the wind was absolutely howling today. "Done." I grinned. "Make it less than ten and I'll send you home with a double batch."

He didn't reply- just set off for the front garden at a dead run.

***

Chapter Five

I sank onto the sofa and closed my eyes, savoring the brilliance of a few moments of rest. Perhaps I could sneak in a lie down. Oh yes, that sounded perfect. It was quiet- blissfully silent, a phenomenon that hadn't occurred since the children came home for their hols. Don't get me wrong, I was thrilled they were home, but it seemed that I hadn't had a moment to myself all week. After months of carping about how boring it was without them, I found myself in the unenviable position of having to admit I'd adjusted just the teensiest bit to an empty house.

James and Al had gone over to Ron and Hermione's for the day, and Harry had been called off to York for some sort of investigation about black-marketing. It was just me and Lily, and she was upstairs sorting through the avalanche of blouses, frocks, and skirts she'd gotten for Christmas. For a girl that wore uniforms three quarters of the year, she had enough clothes to attire an army of preteens for months without repeating an outfit- I had a miniature clotheshorse on my hands. I dreaded the day she discovered the joy of shoes and handbags. She'd likely bankrupt us all.

"Mum! Mummy, come up here for a minute! I need your opinion."

I sighed. So much for that lie down. "Whatever it is, sweetheart, bring it down here. I'm in the sitting room," I called back.

She came bounding down the stairs with an armful of clothes that she dumped on my feet. Brat.

Pirouetting in front of me in the lovely moss green party frock my mother had given her for Christmas, Lily looked concerned. "What do you think? Does it make me look sallow? I love the color, Mum, but I think it washes me out."

Three guesses as to what field my youngest child would end up in someday. "No, Lils, you look very pretty. The color is perfect with your hair."

She tossed the hair in question and sighed impatiently. She looked like she was a nanosecond from tapping a dainty foot impatiently. "I know it goes with my hair, Mummy. Does it make my skin sallow?"

God save me from little girls. I took a moment to appreciate the fact that Harry and I had stopped after three children- all I had to do was make it through one girl's teenage years. "No, Lily," I said patiently. "It doesn't wash you out. It makes your skin glow. You're radiant. Your grandmum has excellent instincts on how to dress redheads." Inwardly, I thought that was only because she'd had so much practice at putting her own children through every color gingers shouldn't wear. God knows Ron and I had enough awful magenta and orange Christmas jumpers from our youth to attest to that fact. Either that or she was paying us back all those years for being unspeakable brats to her.

Smoothing her skirt, she preened. "Right. Hold on then, let me go change into the dress Auntie Fleur gave me. You can tell me how I look in that, too." She scampered out of the room, snatching a pale champagne frock from the pile on my feet as she went.

Idly clicking through to a 'Coronation Street' rerun on the telly, I wondered when I'd stopped being a mother and morphed into a bloody talking mirror.

***

"For the last time, Lily, we are not Flooing your Aunt Fleur again. She's already promised to take you and Rose out for a cream tea at Claridge's; pestering her is very, very rude."

My darling daughter slumped onto a kitchen chair and stared at her hands morosely. "But that's a whole week away, Mummy. I want to wear one of my pretty new dresses sooner." In a gesture I knew she'd swiped from me at my dictatorial best, she held up one finger to ward off my anticipated response. "Please don't say 'it's only a few days', Mum. I know that, but it feels like forever. Can't we do something today, just the two of us?" Warming to her subject, she raised pleading hazel eyes to me. "You know, like a mother-daughter bonding event?"

"Lily Potter! Have you been sneaking your Aunt Hermione's psychology manuals?" Good Christ. She was eleven going on thirty and it was entirely possible she'd gotten some sort of supercharged Weasley manipulation gene. I blame Fred. Curse you, Fred Weasley. I know you're floating about somewhere having a great laugh over this. Wait 'til I die and get my hands on you. You'll be begging to reincarnate as a dung beetle just to get away from me.

The little brat grinned unrepentantly. "Nope; Rosie and I found a relationship guide in the kitchen. She explained most of it to me, but it did have a section on the mother-daughter bond and the importance of sharing interests."

I threw my hands in the air. "All right, all right. I give up. What would you like to do?"

The squeal of victory made me chuckle. How a child of mine (and Harry's, for that matter) could get so giddy over the thought of parading about town in a pretty frock was beyond me. After hugging me tight enough to move my spleen a few inches to the right, Lily exclaimed, "Ooh, how about lunch at Madam Porter's?"

Hmm. A bit pretentious, but the place did make an éclair that was so good it felt like David Tennant had walked out of the telly and snogged your face off. And yes, thank you, I fancy David Tennant quite a bit. "Madam Porter's is fine, love. I'll call and reserve a table while you get ready, but-" She was already scrambling for the stairs. "Lily!" When she'd obligingly slid to a stop, I added, "Before we go to lunch, we've got to stop over at Draco Malfoy's home a moment. I've a double batch of biscuits to deliver that I promised him."

"'S all right, Mum. He's nice enough." She flew up the stairs, calling back, "And don't forget to put on some lipstick!"

I grimaced and reached for the phone to make the reservation. The really sad part is that I probably would have forgotten if she hadn't mentioned it.

***

"Hello?" I swiveled my head in the grate, peering through the greenish flames. "Anyone about? Draco?"

Fabric swished a moment before a lovely older blond woman sank to her knees in front of the hearth. "This is the Malfoy residence. May I help you?"

Ooh, formal. And slightly snooty. Must be the doting mama herself- Narcissa Malfoy. I unconsciously straightened the hemline of the dress Lily insisted I wear. "Yes, thank you. I'm Ginny Potter. Draco had asked me to stop by to drop off something for him today. Is he in, by chance?"

She frowned prettily, a curtain of long, straight blond hair swinging around her. You could run my hair over with a street paver and it still wouldn't be that straight. It's quite irritating to have hair that is neither straight nor curly. Red hair that just fuzzes up is what I got. Hence, my signature plait. Can't fuzz through a plait, I always say. Well, unless you're Hermione, but her hair's willpower would have reduced Stalin to a quivering lapdog.

"Hem hem!" Narcissa sat back on her heels. "I believe our connection went bad for a moment, since you didn't respond."

"Yes!" I latched onto her statement with gratitude, even though I suspected she knew damn well I had just wandered off mentally. "Bad connection; I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. Would you please repeat what you said?"

With a small twitch of her lips, she eyed me for a long moment. "Draco is indeed at home. He's been closed up in his study all morning attending to business, but he mentioned the possibility of your visiting at breakfast. If you'd like to Apparate in, I'll set the wards for you."

This woman could give the Queen a run for her money in coldly polite speech. "Sorry, but my daughter will be with me, and she can't Apparate yet and gets dreadful headaches from Side-Along. Is it possible for us to Floo over? Otherwise, I'll need driving directions to your home."

She did prettily bewildered well, I'll give her that. "Driving directions? As in an automobile? Frankly, Mrs. Potter, I'm not sure either Draco or I could provide that for you. I don't believe we even have a house number or street." She sighed. "I suppose you'll have to Floo." Surprise surprise. Narcissa Malfoy made Flooing sound like digging through the refuse bin behind a Chinese restaurant.

I clapped my hands once. "Great. Is twenty minutes from now all right with you?"

She nodded once. "Very good, Mrs. Potter. We'll see you then."

***

I don't know quite what I expected from Malfoy Manor, but from the one instance Harry talked about his time there when Voldemort was still kicking about, I remember him saying that it was dark and cold and imposing.

It was certainly imposing, with a gleaming foyer and rotunda that was almost big enough to turn into a basketball court, but the whole area was filled with light. A large window over the double entrance let in streams of sunshine that were refracted by the gorgeous chandelier overhead. I had the fleeting thought that, much like a cartoon, they could drop the whole crystal concoction down on unwanted visitors' heads. Massive arrangements of flowers perched on every horizontal surface, making cold and unwelcoming an impossibility- no, it was more like a gentile take on what a jungle made out of flowers would look like. I found, much to my shock, that I liked the feel of the place. The fireplace on one side was immense, and the only thing I could think of was that you could roast a whole cow in the thing.

"Mrs. Potter. Welcome to Malfoy Manor." Narcissa stood with her hands folded at her waist with her lovely mauve robes floating gracefully around her. I was suddenly glad Lily had convinced me to wear the chic little dress I had on. "And this must be your daughter."

"Lily, this is Narcissa Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy's mother." I clutched the tin of biscuits in my hands. Why on earth was I standing in Malfoy Manor? I should have just Owled the damn biscuits over.

Narcissa moved forward to take Lily's hand. "What a lovely frock, Miss Potter."

Lily preened. "Thank you. It was a Christmas gift from my aunt." She eyed the older woman. "Your robes are amazing. Where did you get them?"

I cringed and waited for Narcissa to chastise Lily for asking such an impertinent question, but she surprised me by throwing her head back and letting out a peal of laughter. "Twillfoot and Tatting's ordered them in for me from New York. When I saw them in the catalogue, I just fell in love."

Lily eyed them rapturously. "Oh yes, I can see why. The color is perfect for you."

Narcissa met my gaze with an indulgent smile. "She's lovely, Mrs. Potter. You must be very proud." When I nodded, she turned gracefully and said, "Please follow me. I'll take you directly to Draco's study."

***

I had expected a good twenty-minute walk down countless ridiculously tasteful corridors, but Narcissa only led us past an airy sitting room and down a short hallway, stopping at the third door on the left. With a smart rap of her knuckles on the heavy wooden frame, she stepped aside and smiled politely until Draco’s muffled voice shouted, “What?”

“You have visitors, darling,” she replied serenely, as if her son had not just snapped at her for simply knocking.

Standing there, I was starting to feel vaguely uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by and the door didn’t open. When the sounds of a muffled crash followed by very creative cursing floated through the door, I swear I saw one of Narcissa’s perfectly manicured eyebrows arch and her lips tilt to one side in an amused smirk.

Draco appeared in the doorframe, a quickly reddening splotch on one cheek.

Peering closer, it looked like the imprint of his watch. Ah. The other signs were all there as well- heavy eyes, slightly mussed hair, soft mouth. I bet his voice would be husky, as well.

“Oh,” he said, running a hand down his shirtfront. “Ginny! I didn’t expect you today.”

Husky voice. Check. Draco Malfoy had been sneaking a kip in his study. I was suddenly very envious, seeing as how Lily had forced me to abandon my own plans for a midday lie-down. “No, it appears you didn’t,” I responded, my tongue tucked firmly in my cheek. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Narcissa’s smirk widen. She was apparently in on the secret as well. I hoisted the biscuit tin. “I brought you-”

“Biscuits!” Draco crowed in delight, snatching the tin from my hands without even a hint of manners. He had pried the lid off and had a butterhorn halfway to his mouth before Narcissa’s disapproving sniff forced him to a sheepish halt. “Erm, thank you?” he offered meekly.

Lily giggled, and I was tempted to join her. He looked less like a man and more like a naughty boy in that moment than I ever remembered him looking, even back at school. Oh, if only he hadn’t been such a git back at Hogwarts.

Narcissa snatched the tin from him with surprising speed. “Shall I just order lunch then, Draco?” she asked imperiously, as if daring him to take a bite of the biscuit he was eyeing with such longing. “If you are that famished, I don’t see why we can’t eat slightly early today.”

Heaving a sigh, he leaned over to her and tucked the treat back in with the others. “No, Mother, the normal time is fine. I can wait.”

With an approving nod, Narcissa patted his arm. “I expect you’ll want to thank Mrs. Potter and Lily for their kind gift, Draco.” She smiled at us and I suddenly wondered why Harry and Ron always said the woman was such a brutally cold bitch; she seemed rather nice, if a bit formal. “Mrs. Potter. Lily, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintances,” she said before turning to float back down the hallway.

Draco waved us inside with one last longing glance at the container his mother was carrying away. “Come on in.”

The study was painfully masculine, filled with old leather furniture, dark wood and hunter green fabric on the wainscoted walls. I half expected a pipe-toting, breeches-wearing lord of old to jump out at us and shout, “I say!” The thought made me smile, but as soon as I imagined Draco as that character, the smile ballooned into a full-blown grin.

“Wow,” Lily breathed, moving over to the completely filled bookshelves.

An item on his desk caught my attention instead. “A computer?” I asked, disbelieving my own eyes. “Draco Malfoy, of the I-hate-Muggles Malfoys, has a computer?”

With the imprint of his watch still clearly on his pale face, Draco looked torn between amusement and annoyance. “Yes, Potter, a computer. If I want to monitor my investments with any sort of timeliness, I need the internet.” He shrugged eloquently at my look, which I’m sure shaded towards flabbergasted. “I like to dabble.”

“How was your kip?” I asked, grinning again. “You know, in between monitoring all of your investments?”

The git didn’t even have the good grace to flush; he simply shrugged again and said in a maddeningly normal voice, “All right, though I had planned to sleep until lunch was announced.” His eyes twinkled. “Not that I don’t appreciate your charming company instead.”

“Rough life, Malfoy,” I shot back.

“Don’t I know it.” He swept a hand towards a set of overstuffed leather chairs. “May I offer you a-”

BANG! The door burst open with a resounding crash.

A half-sized replica of the man who’d made my soon-to-be ex husband’s life miserable at Hogwarts shot into the room with as little regard as either of my boys would have done, and I idly admired the cushioning charm attached to the doorstop. Bloody marvelous idea, that. Imagine all the dings and dents in my walls that could have been averted with the simple magicking-up of a doorstop. Huh. Guess I’m not as clever as I’d thought.

“Mum!”

I really need to work on my attention span- it’s appallingly short for a full-grown witch. “Yes, Lils?” Even Draco was looking at me with an amused smirk hiding around the corners of his mouth.

Lily’s ears pinkened, a sure sign she was annoyed. Well, tough. She was eleven- she’d just have to realize that-

“Please may I go see them?” She was practically dancing in place. The last time she’d been this excited was when Hermione took her and Rose off to Topshop for her first sale.

Draco cut in. “Where are they, Scorpius?” he asked, taking a moment to look over his shoulder out the window. “Not in the Wood, I hope. I’ve warned you a number of times about going in there without me or your grandfather.”

The boy’s pale cheeks flushed. Mmm hmm. Ten Sickles said that’s exactly where whatever we were discussing was. “But they’re right by the edge, Dad. You can see them from the Purple Garden, I swear.”

“Only if your grandfather accompanies you.” Draco folded his arms and put on his version of the quelling face every parent adopted eventually. “As unusual and exciting as a unicorn with a new foal is, they’re still magical creatures that can hurt children. If your grandfather says yes, then you may go.”

Lily’s eyes began to sparkle. “Me too, Mum? I get to go see them, right?” She was already reaching for the plain black cloak Draco’s son was holding out to her.

Well, bugger. Newborn unicorn? Amazing opportunity to see. Allowing my only daughter to go see said amazing sight with only Lucius ‘I’m-a-former-Dark-Acolyte-that-likes-to-slip-little-girls-possessed-diaries’ Malfoy to escort her? Not bloody likely. “It’s all right, Draco. I’ll take them. I’d like to see the foal, too.”

He smirked at me, full on. He knew exactly what was going through my head, I’d wager anything on it. “He’s quite mellow in his old age, Ginny. I can assure you that he’ll keep her perfectly safe.”

Scorpius had taken the opportunity to yank open the door and bellow down the hall, “GRANDFATHER! Grandfather, are you down here? I NEED YOUR HELP!”

I’ve faced Lucius Malfoy over the wrong end of a wand, and let me tell you, it was damned gratifying to see the almost-always composed man skid into the room with hair in his eyes and wand at the ready. “What, Scorpius? What’s wrong?”

I did my level best not to laugh as the story came tumbling out, but I think I may have popped a blood vessel in the attempt. Big bad wizard, my arse. He looked as thoroughly put out as my own father would have been if he’d been called in the same manner. I guess even former Death Eaters have nightmares about their family’s wellbeing.

Lucius kept sneaking quick looks at me as he smoothed his disheveled robes into place. “Of course, Scorpius,” he drawled, his oily tones as gratingly formal as ever. “I’d be happy to accompany you and young Miss Potter here down to the Wood.” He hesitated just a bit at ‘Potter’, just enough for me to give him a hard look.

“I’d really feel more comfortable if I go along, Draco,” I said, never taking my eyes off Lucius. “I’m sure you can appreciate my position.”

The two men shared a long look before Lucius walked right up to me and took my hand. Suppressing the urge to draw said hand back and slug him in the mouth was a testament to my spectacular levels of self-control, I say. “I can assure you, Mrs. Potter, I’ll guard the children with my life. I’m prepared to make a vow for her safety, if it would set your fears to rest. I’ve… changed, as have my priorities.”

Well. A vow? Blimey, that was much more than I would ever expect from this man. I wasn’t about to trust him, though. “I really would like to see the foal, though, Draco.”

Waving his wand, he summoned cloaks for himself and his father, as well as a very pretty blue one for me. “All right,” he agreed equably. “Why don’t we all go then? I could do with a bit of fresh air.”

And just like that, I found myself bundled up in what was undoubtedly one of Narcissa Malfoy’s expensive designer cloaks, tromping across a frosty lawn with Draco Malfoy, watching my child skip happily along next to Lucius Malfoy, who was regaling her with a tale of a red-haired maiden who was befriended by a unicorn. To put it as crudely as Ron would, I was fucking staggered. It’s as if I tripped into an alternate dimension. All that was missing was Narcissa suggesting a game of flamingo croquet. Bloody Malfoys.

“I just came to drop off your biscuits,” I hissed to Draco. “And I can’t believe I’m letting your father within ten feet of Lily. Harry would murder me if he ever found out.”

That certainly delighted Draco, who grinned at me, his cheeks flushed an appealing pink in the biting air. “Potter always was pig-headed. I mean it, Ginny; my father wouldn’t harm a ginger hair on your daughter’s head. He’s spent the last twenty years trying to atone for our… involvement with the Dark Lord.”

I scowled. Even after all these years, hearing him referred to as ‘the Dark Lord’ set my teeth on edge. “It’s Voldemort, Draco. I refuse to give his name power anymore, and the fact is that your father slaughtered innocent men, women and children. I can forgive what you did because you were still just a boy following his father’s beliefs, too scared to do otherwise. Your father caused worlds more pain and suffering than you ever did, and seeing Lily walk with him has every hair on my body standing on end.”

Hands flexing, I sincerely considered calling her back and leaving immediately. Draco’s long, cool fingers wrapped around my wrist and forced me to a quick halt. His grey eyes, normally a pale, colorless shade, were as dark as the North Sea in a winter squall.

“You don’t have to trust my father, Ginny- he’s never given you any reason to, and you don’t have to like him. But I know you like me, and I would hope that you’ll at least trust me. My father will not harm Lily.”

Damn his skinny, sincere arse. For a man that had been an insufferable prick as a boy, he had the appealing, wide-eyed boyish look down to a science. Hell, he could give James lessons, and James could be a manipulative little snot when he put his mind to it. I huffed, sending my carefully brushed and charmed hair flying every which way. Bugger- that charm had taken ten minutes to get right. “Look, Draco, I’ll give you credit where it’s due, but she’s my child, my baby. What if your father has an aneurysm or a psychotic break or something and –oops!- there goes my daughter? He could be seconds from utter psychological meltdown and I’m standing here watching you pull sad puppy faces at me.”

He laughed. “If anyone is tripping the edge of a meltdown, Potter, my Galleons are on you. You’re utterly batty.”

Grabbing my chin, he turned our faces together towards the edge of the Purple Garden, where Lucius was flanked by the children, one of their hands in each of his.

“Ooh, peacocks!” Lily squealed delightedly as one strolled by, his tail fanned like a pompous courtier of old. Her little freckle-sprinkled face lit even further as Lucius pointed quietly towards a glimmering unicorn and her grey foal just inside the tree line.

Merlin’s saggy, dingy shorts. I’d seen that look on Lily’s face before- she’d found the newest object of her affections. I’d be hearing about all of Lucius Malfoy’s wonderful qualities all through lunch. Pardon my French, but- Fuck. I stabbed a finger into Draco’s chest, slightly mollified by the highly undignified oof! he let out. “Just remember, I’m holding you responsible for the fallout, Malfoy. And if she starts sighing over how blond his hair is, I’m simply going to blow you into little bitty pieces and Obliviate my daughter.”

His haughty look was a little wobbly around the edges, but he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and forced me to walk towards the little group. “If it makes you happy, Potter, go ahead and try. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re lying on my floor trussed up like Andromeda for the sea monster Cetus.” Draco’s lips stretched into a wicked smile. “I’m fairly certain I could take you in a duel.”

Ha! I’d like to see him try. Smug git. Maybe he hadn’t changed so much after all, I mused, casting him a sidelong glance as Lily cooed over the unicorns.

Chapter Six

I hate Valentine’s Day. Bloody loathe it, and the first person to mention to me that I’d always adored the girly holiday is going to get a face full of flying bogeys.

I was drowning in pink. Everywhere I looked, things were upholstered in nauseating pink fabric, and bloody great bouquets of pink carnations and roses and other assorted flowers filled up every corner of the place. Madam Pudifoot’s did a brisk business with the fairer sex on a regular basis, but it seemed the proprietor had pulled out all the stops for Valentine’s Day. I momentarily considered bashing my mother over the head with a pink beribboned vase for her choice in venues.

“… Arthur was so nice this morning; he even tried to make me a breakfast tray!” Mum’s face was flushed a becoming pink, though I think I secretly hated her just a tiny bit for adding to the overall color scheme. Her brown eyes swiveled to me. “What did Harry do for you, darling?”

Er- lie through my teeth, burst into tears, or ruin not only the celebratory mood of three happy witches, but likely my mother’s entire life? She adored Harry- thought our marriage was fated in the stars, always had. Of course, I wanted to lie, particularly when Hermione began to shoot me worried glances from the corner of her eyes. “Oh, Harry had to leave early this morning, Mum, something about a missing shipment of restricted items at the Ministry.”

Her eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. “Is he planning on making it up to you later? A nice, home-cooked dinner for two, maybe?”

Sometimes I really hate the fact that my mother has known me my entire life. She knows every twitch, every shift of the eye that says I’m about to lie through my teeth to her.

“Ginny, what has been going on with you two lately?” she asked, putting down her teacup in favor of turning her best inquisitor’s face on me directly. “Every time I have you lot over for dinner, he’s off with the boys in a flash and you ignore or deflect every question I ask you.” Mum paused for a second before plowing on determinedly. “Is something amiss?”

Great. My mother had me fixed in her sights now, and barring the sudden explosion of either Hermione or Luna, there was no escape. I reminded myself firmly that hoping for the spectacular and sudden fiery death of one of your closest mates simply to evade motherly interrogation is cowardly. “I, erm, I’m not sure what you mean, Mum.” I squirmed uncomfortably on my plush pink chair. “Nothing’s up, really.”

Patting a stray wisp of graying red hair back behind her ear, Mum leaned forward. “Hogwash,” she snorted. “I know when you’re lying, Ginny. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Harry and I are…” I looked at Hermione, who was clenching her teacup like an anchor in a storm. Luna was merely watching me, her vague blue eyes steady. “We’ve been having issues for some time,” I finished, trying not to meet Mum’s eyes.

There, I’d said it. I’d been harboring this secret news for months, and though I’m sure Hermione had pieced things together on her own, the only people I’d talked to before this had been Harry and Draco, and while I was beginning to think of Draco as a friend, he wasn’t yet in the same league as Hermione or Luna, and he certainly wasn’t my mother. I sneaked a look at Mum from beneath my lashes.

Her eyes were suspiciously bright, but her mouth was set in a resolute line. “Ginny,” she breathed, leaning forward to clasp my hand. “Sweetheart, if you’ve been so unhappy, why didn’t you come to me?”

Oh God. That was it. My eyes started to leak like the Titanic. “Mum!”

Everything just sort of jumped out of my mouth then without any conscious effort on my part. I blurted out every last thing in my head, taking the tissues Luna passed me and accepting the spontaneous hugs from all three of them. Random other customers were shooting us annoyed glances as if to say, ‘What kind of women come in here and dare to disrupt the syrupy sanctity of our Valentine’s Day celebrations?’ I wanted to get up and hex them all soundly.

When I’d finished talking, we all sat there for a few minutes, quietly blowing noses, wiping eyes and fixing runny cosmetics. No one said a word. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “So we talked, really talked, and decided that we’re going to wait to tell the kids until they’re home for the summer. It wouldn’t be fair to spring this on them while they’re away at school.”

Mum nodded decisively. “Absolutely, Ginny. That sort of thing needs to be handled delicately, and the children need to see that you and Harry are committed to making sure they’re loved and protected as best you can.”

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Luna asked, blowing her nose with a honk that had a fashionably scrawny witch behind her shooting daggers at us from her heavily-lined eyes. “You didn’t have to go through this alone.” God love Luna- I tell her that I’m divorcing the hero of the wizarding world and she wants to know why I didn’t pop round to chat about it with her over a cup of tea. Now there’s a mate.

With an uncomfortable twitch, Hermione raised miserable eyes from the pink embroidered tablecloth. “I sort of knew,” she said glumly. “From what you told me, Ginny, and Harry mentioned a few things, but I was really hoping you’d work things out.” Her lip trembled. “I can’t stand to see you both so unhappy!”

How I ended up in the position of providing comfort after announcing the impending demise of my twenty-year marriage, I’ll never know, but I wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shaking shoulders. “It’s all going to come right,” I said in my best convincing voice. “You’ll see. Just because we’re unhappy together doesn’t mean we have to be enemies or never see each other again.” I bumped her shoulder and gave her a bracing smile. “C’mon, Hermione, belt up. It’s not like you have to choose sides.”

Mum charged right in. “That’s right, you’re both level-headed adults. No one is going to be tearing up this family or making anyone feel badly for speaking to the other.” You know, I take it all back. Upon further reflection, my mother rocks. I’d been expecting her to collapse in hysterics, and here she was telling everyone that it was going to be okay.

“It’s just that no one we know has divorced,” Hermione whispered, wiping furiously at her nose. “If you two can’t make a go of it, what will happen to the rest of us? What if we’re all headed that way?”

Luna slapped a hand on the table. “You can’t think that,” she announced authoritatively. “Things just come apart sometimes for no good reason.”

I shot her a grateful look. Luna could hit on uncomfortable truths sometimes without flinching.

“That’s right,” Mum said, reaching out to catch one of Hermione’s hands. “Just because your neighbor’s fence came down in the wind doesn’t mean that yours will too.”

It’s kind of scary how little faith I had in these women, only to tell them everything and find that they were more stalwart than I gave them credit for. It’s humbling. True girlfriends, it seems, will ride through Hell with you. And, of course, your mother will not only ride with you, but go back and give the Devil an earful for being a pain in your arse. I felt tears prickle in my eyes again, but for an entirely different reason. “I love you all,” I whispered, dashing the tears from my cheeks with a sappy grin.

The skinny, grouchy-looking witch at the table behind Luna turned to her companion and sniffed loudly, “See? I told you the ginger and brunette were lesbians. The old one was just mediating some little tiff they’d had.”

I laughed myself sick when, on our way out, Luna aimed a discreet Snapping Hex at the woman’s chair. She was jumping about and clutching her arse like it was on fire, yelling loudly to all and sundry. Even Mum grinned.

***

“Let’s get on with it, Potter,” Draco drawled, pulling my chair back from the table. “Everyone else is already headed for the Portkey.”

I started in surprise. I’d been thinking about my trip to Madam Pudifoot’s with Mum, Luna and Hermione. Looking around, I realized he was right. The rest of the gardening club were adjusting shawls and cloaks about their shoulders and standing around a small footstool. “Oh, yes, right.” I cleared my throat. Frankly, I don’t even remember what Gladys Findlepan had been saying when we all sat down for her lecture on pruning. Out of the corner of my eye, I studied my companion and debated whether I should confide in him even as he grabbed my hand and pulled me along in his wake.

“Step lively, Ginny.” His eyebrows slanted sharply as he frowned at me. “What’s with you today?”

The tug of the Portkey saved me from having to reply, and when we landed, I caught Miss Jo’s elbow as she stumbled.

“Thanks, ducky,” she wheezed, clutching my arm for a long minute. Merlin, I’d never realized before how much she reminded me of Auntie Muriel with her piercing gaze. Just like my nosy, bossy relative, her dark eyes gleamed with what I suspected was an overwhelming urge to meddle. Slapping at her cloak, she said, “Here we are, Sissinghurst Castle. Go on then, grab Malfoy and wander, Potter. You don’t want to have to stick with a bunch of slow old biddies like us. Madeleine!” she barked. “Come help me down these stairs. Malfoy and Ginny will meet up with us for lunch at the drive at half twelve.”

I was still standing there, mouth hanging open, when she began to flap at me with her hands. “Go on now, ducks, off you go.” I swear the old woman was scheming, a fact all the more disturbing when you recall that as far as she knew, I was still happily married to Harry. Besides, this was Draco Malfoy. I mean, come on. Like any sane woman would think to pair up a Malfoy and a Weasley.

A crooked arm appeared at my side. “I believe that’s our cue,” Draco said, his lips quirked in humor. “If you stand there like a gawping cow any longer, I’m fairly certain that little old lady is going to hit you with a Stinging Hex.” He grinned unrepentantly. “And while I’d love to see you swollen up like a Bubotuber pod, I have to admit that I’m rubbish at healing magic.” Draco’s grey eyes were sparkling with mirth as Miss Jo snorted. “C’mon, Ginny.”

Well, hell- when he put it like that… I glanced at Miss Jo, who was indeed twirling her wand through surprisingly nimble fingers. I am many things, but a complete idiot is not one of them. I snaked my arm through his. With a jaunty wave at the rest of the ladies, I strolled off in a random direction, forcing Draco to come with me or dislocate his shoulder.

Several moments passed in companionable silence before he drawled in his driest, git-iest (yes, I’m aware that I’m now making up words, thank you) voice, “While Sissinghurst’s stables are lovely, I’m fairly certain they’re lacking in interesting flora.” Like I said- git.

Without breaking stride, I changed course for the nearest garden path. I mean, in a place this size, every path is bound to lead to some garden or other. I have to admit, I wasn’t really in an intellectually curious mood, but something struck me rather suddenly. “Draco, it’s February,” I informed him with the air of a particularly annoyed professor. I’m fairly certain McGonagall developed hers on my brothers and perfected it on me, so I had an excellent example to model my own on. I swung a hand around expansively. “It’s bloody freezing and everything’s dead.”

His lips are ridiculously mobile. It’s like he spent years sitting in front of a mirror practicing his expressions. Okay, give me wry amusement! Brilliant, now smug condescension! Oh, baby, you are good! Yes, I’m aware of how disturbing a mental image that paints, but tell me you can’t picture Draco Malfoy doing exactly that. Hmph- I thought so.

Draco snapped his fingers in front of my face. “I’m beginning to suspect that you require medication for this little inattention issue.” At my snort, he simply grinned. “I can always have you round for tea only to accidentally invite old Doctor Porfique as well. I mean, your mother and children may actually thank me for it. Oh very well, Ginny, put your wand away. We’re in public, woman, and I’m not facing the Accidental Muggle Exposure Inquiry Board for your temper tantrum.”

Oh come on, I’m no saint. You’d threaten the irritating man too in my position. “Why are we here, Draco?”

“Form, Potter, we’re here to study the form Vita Sackville-West and her husband gave this property. It’s a fascinating contrast of formal and cottage with some truly clever views planned, and the garden rooms are without peer, in my opinion. Now, with the flowering plantings dormant, is the perfect time to study the bones of this place.” He ran long pale fingers along the yew hedge to his right. “This, for example. Sissinghurst was a broken-down dump when they purchased this place. Yew hedges take about five or six years to mature enough to use to create garden structures.” Hiking a thumb over his shoulder, he added, “See the tower? Of course, Vita took that as her writing study. Spent hours up there, writing and planning, looking down on the grounds and creating her vision for the gardens.”

Ah, yes. Of course. Form. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that, you know, what with my vast gardening experience and all. Git. Speaking of requiring medication, my illustrious Malfoy tour guide could do with some for his apparent split personality. I was missing the understanding, easy-going Draco that let me talk about my problems. This provoking one reminded me too much of the prat I went to Hogwarts with. “You’re a real smug git sometimes, Malfoy, you know that?”

Eyes glinting in the weak sunlight, Draco turned us down a secondary path. “I apply myself in all endeavors, Potter.” He paused long enough to aim an amused smile at me. “Something on your mind?”

“I told Mum.” There. I’d blurted it out.

He stopped cold and eyed me for a long moment. I think he expected me to add something to my previous statement. Finally, he pulled a small leather-bound notebook from a pocket and consulted it casually. “Brilliant. I suppose I’m to assume you meant you told your mother about making my very distinguished acquaintance.” He flipped a page. “I’ll just pencil in ‘rampaging horde of illogically angry Weasley males’ for an hour between afternoon tea and supper, shall I?”

You know, I am occasionally reminded of why I loathed Draco Malfoy so much at school. I much prefer him good-naturedly taking my sly and insulting comments rather than the other way round. Still, he was someone I could talk to about this whole fiasco with Harry and though I haven’t the faintest idea why I wanted to talk to him of all people about this, I’ve never been particularly good at identifying desires before I go ahead and tackle them. “I told my mum and Hermione and Luna about Harry and me.” When he didn’t respond, I plowed on. “They were so sweet. We cried all over one another and they were absolutely bloody fantastic. Mum shocked me the most- I really thought she’d fall to pieces on me. I mean, she’s always adored Harry.”

Draco gave a strange cross between a laugh and a snort. “I’m glad someone adored Potter.” He offered up a hand to help me down the embankment to the stream we’d come upon, but hey- I was an ex-professional Quidditch player. I should have been helping him. Obviously, I was not particularly well acquainted with chivalry. “So the proverbial cat is out of the bag now,” he continued as I jumped down next to him. Unaided, I might add. “I take it you’re feeling relieved?”

“Yeah, I am, actually.” The weird part is that I was relieved- somehow, telling Mum had made it real. Telling Ron and Dad and the others would be hard in a way because they were so close to Harry, but Mum had been the one I was most worried about. I laughed and took a running leap, clearing the snowmelt-swollen stream by a scant few inches. “I feel…”

Draco took a long step back and sprang across to my side with barely any visible effort. I longed, not for the first time, to be over six feet tall. “Younger,” he breathed, smoothing his ponytail. “You feel younger, I bet.”

He was right. I felt like a teenager again, a feeling that lasted all through our outing. We wandered the extensive grounds of Sissinghurst, Draco regaling me with tales of the estate’s history and the exploits of the owners, who had been decidedly bohemian in their personal lives. I giggled and got muddy and froze my arse off, but it was bloody wonderful.

It seemed like barely any time at all had passed when Draco consulted his watch with a small frown. “It’s nearly half twelve- we had better be getting back to the others before they start forming up a geriatric search party.”

We wound our way back through the gardens. “Would you like to come to a town league Quidditch match next weekend?” Good God. Where had that come from? I colored deeply, a reaction that I can tell you is deeply unflattering on a redheaded woman. I’ve been told I most resemble an overripe tomato when I blush. Nervously, I blurted out, “Never mind. Forget I said anything. It was a stupid idea. Oh look! There’re the ladies. Let’s go.”

Long fingers knotted in my cloak. “Wait just a moment, Ginny.” His eyes twinkled brightly. “And you may want to take a few deep breaths. You’re an alarming shade of puce.” He held on tightly as I tried valiantly to make good on my escape. “I’ve always enjoyed Quidditch. I think I’d like that.”

Er- yes. Right. I goggled at him, firmly telling myself that I had not asked Draco Malfoy to come watch me show off in a recreational Quidditch match.

He grinned wolfishly. “It’s a date. When shall I pick you up?”

Oh. Oh no. I was blushing again. “No, not a date,” I said rather wildly. “Just Quidditch.”

“Yes, but I’ll be there simply to watch you play. That makes the invitation personal.” His smug smile told me he was enjoying my embarrassment far too much. “Like a date.”

What on earth was wrong with me today? I contemplated slipping out of the cloak he was still holding and making a break for it. I swallowed hard. “Look, Malfoy, I just informed my mother that I’m getting a divorce. Don’t you think it’s a little soon for me to be planning dates, let alone with you?” I laughed and even to my own ears, it sounded shrill. “I mean, it’s not like that. We’re just friends. You can come to the match as a friend. No one will notice.”

Draco snorted. “Oh, well fancy that.” He peered up at the sky. “And here I thought I saw four horsemen gearing up for a rousing dash across the heavens.” Loosing an enormous sigh, he released my cloak. Finally. “No, certainly none of the magical people associated with your town Quidditch league will find it odd that a Malfoy is attending a match as Mrs. Potter’s guest.”

Well, when he put it like that… “Right. Exactly.” I nodded firmly. “Of course you can’t come. That settles it.” I quickly began to head back towards our group, huddled out on the drive like a flock of hungry chickens.

Steps -mere steps, I tell you!- from the safety of the group, Draco caught up with me. “I’ll be there,” he announced casually. “If by some error I don’t receive an Owl from you detailing the time and location, I’ll Owl your mother. I’m sure she’ll have the specifics.”

I stopped cold. “You wouldn’t dare,” I breathed.

His smile could have lit a monsoon-sodden forest on fire. “Try me.”

Occam's Razor, Ch.7

Today- today I was nervous. Nervous, as in I’m-going-to-vomit-all-over-my-lovely-new-dragonhide-Quidditch-boots (the ones that were absolutely way too expensive but entirely too fetching to not buy) nervous.

I know, I know. I’m a wretched example of witchdom. I catered directly to the perception that all women would sell their left kidneys for a killer pair of shoes, but wouldn’t you snatch up a pair of dragonhide boots with a color-coordination charm built in? That’s what I thought. We can be weak together then, you and me.

There was no good reason to be so nervous. It wasn’t my first Quidditch match, and my teammates are reasonably talented. I’m not so out of shape anymore that I was huffing and sweating buckets when the matches and training sessions ended, thank God. You can only make sick off the side of your broom so many times before your teammates begin to take the mickey about doughy, thirty-something housewives. Of course, a well-placed Stinging Hex usually remedied smart-arsed Beaters. Yes, Nigellus Mansfield, I’m talking about you, you big-mouthed lout… I’m blathering again. I do that, you know.

Draco had stayed true to his threat, and I’d finally sent him an Owl when I thought I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. I’d caved like a poorly-cooked soufflé when Mum inquired if I knew anyone with an eagle owl. That git sent his bloody bird just to scare me out of a few years of my life, I swear it. But he’d get his- I’d see to it.

So when I stowed the car in the car park and hefted my kit and broom out of the boot, I was less than surprised to spy Draco’s platinum-topped figure ensconced in the viewing box nearest the entrance to the pitch. He was perfectly placed to watch everyone come in. Sodding tactical genius. I filed his annoying planning prowess away for future reference- after all, you never want to stumble blind into a gambling situation when your opponent was used to planning fifteen moves ahead in wizard’s chess. Trust me- that lesson was learned early. Bloody Ron. I’d done more of his chores over the summer hols as a girl than I care to admit.

Well, onward, and all that nonsense. I trudged onto the pitch, making sure to wave pleasantly to Draco. Oh, all right, perhaps I only waved my middle finger at him, but it was with a perfectly pleasant smile of welcome. Honestly. The fact that his laughter mocked me as I lifted off for a few warm-up laps did nothing to help his case, or my jangling nerves. Why-oh-why had I ever blurted out that invitation to Draco Malfoy?

Sometimes, I hate myself just a little.

---

“You were brilliant.”

Now that is the way a witch wants to be greeted when she leaves the pitch after a victorious effort. “Really?” I puffed, with a self-satisfied fluff of my hair.

One of Draco’s annoyingly well-shaped eyebrows cocked up as he smiled charmingly. “No, Potter. It was a horrid display of flying, and I’ve seen flobberworms with better form whilst slinging a Quaffle. You should be hanging your head for the shame of it.”

I gaped at him, finally shaking off the shock enough to open my mouth and tell him what’s what. At least until he broke into the most undignified, belly-deep laugh I could have imagined coming from a Malfoy. No Malfoy should ever have a laugh like that. It was evil. It was unrestrained. It was sexy as all get out and… and I did not just say that. It’s been stricken from the record. Banished from your memory. Obliviate! Obliviate!

Ahem. Right. So he laughed at me, and it was a normal, good laugh and not at all seductive.

He finally wound down into a chuckle. “You should have seen your face. Priceless. I’m tempted to Apparate home for Mother’s Pensieve just so I can show you the look on your face.” He tapped a long, pale finger against the broom I was strangling. “Surely you know precisely how talented you are, Ginny. A few years away from the sport won’t change that.”

Oh, all right. So he was a silver-tongued git when he wanted to be, and I have to tell you- flattery will get you everywhere with an attention-starved witch in the midst of her life collapsing about her head. “Thank you,” I replied demurely, or as demurely as possible when one’s stomach chooses that precise moment to growl loudly. There was nothing for it- I laughed and clapped him heartily on the back. “C’mon, Malfoy, beer’s on me. You can buy the food, though.”

Stooping, he snatched the strap of my kit bag and shouldered it before I could and straightened, holding out his hand for my broom with a small smile that dared me to protest. Good Christ, the manners on this one. Who’d have thought he had it in him back when he was a pointy, scrawny teenage git bellowing insults at me in the corridors. I followed him as he began to stride purposefully towards my car. His muttered response, however, reassured me the old Malfoy was alive and well in that body somewhere.

“Of course, given that you’re a Weasley, that means I’ll be out a handful of Galleons. Bloody big mouths and hollow legs on the lot of you.”

“I heard that!” I called crossly after him, glad he didn’t bother to turn around. Cross or not, it was true. We Weasleys could eat. Of course, rumor was Malfoys could drink just about anyone under the table, so I couldn’t be entirely sure I was getting the cheaper end of the bargain. Bugger.

---

“Oh, all right. Ron might hate you. Hermione just finds you highly distasteful.” I scrunched my nose when he took a swipe at me.

“I still maintain that I was the first person to earn the enmity of the entire Golden Trio. It’s a mark of some distinction amongst former Slytherins, you know. Increases my charm and appeal with the more discerning set.”

How could I not laugh at that whopper? Alright, maybe the beer helped a little. "You’re like beets,” I exclaimed, slinging my beer glass a little too hard towards my mouth, dribbling a fair bit down the front of my game jumper. “They’re healthy, but entirely repugnant, much like your particular brand of charm when aimed at someone you dislike.”

Draco frowned, which only made me laugh harder. The man had a highly inflated sense of self. “You do know that Father let me refurbish the dungeons, don’t you? Because I’m inclined to say that mouthy ginger housewives who accidentally disappear are shown to end up in draughty Wiltshire dungeons a disproportionately high percentage of the time.” He sat back and crossed his arms, certain that I’d cave.

I grinned at him. “I’m a Weasley. We come equipped standard with the lungs of an entire section of drunken Irish Quidditch fans. Lock me in your dungeons if you like, Draco, but your neighbors will behead you for keeping such a noisy pain in the arse as a prisoner.”

“I could stuff you in the garden as a statue,” he mused. “You’d look lovely in bronze.”

I would, wouldn’t I? “Only if you let me dress up as a Greek goddess. I always did love Greek mythology. I’d make a smashing Aphrodite.” A flick of the hair, a quirk of the eyebrow- I drummed up that old confidence I’d had when I was younger.

“Fantasizing again? More like Medusa, with that wind-snarled tangle you’re sporting,” Draco drawled back. “Don’t glower, Potter, you’re on a date. People will begin to think I’m a lousy conversationalist.”

I nearly crossed my eyes, I scowled so hard at him. “You are a lousy conversationalist, Malfoy. And stop baiting me- I’m much prettier than that Gorgon.” Clenching my hands, I added in what I thought was a very menacing growl, “And this is not a date.”

“Oh, all right, it’s a practice date, to help you get back in the swing of things,” he offered with an annoyingly cheerful smirk.

Yes, Draco Malfoy has a cheerful smirk. I’m afraid I’m beginning to understand him well enough to differentiate between his various smirks. It’s a sad, sad day. I’m sure Ron is standing at his desk at this very moment, frowning and feeling mighty brassed off and not knowing why. I know, of course, that it’s familial karmic debt biting him on the arse. Poor Ron. ““It’s not a date,” I insisted, as if simply repeating myself would make him roll over and wave the proverbial white flag.

“Our not-date, then,” he ceded. With a frown and a quick look around, he informed me in a lofty voice, “I’ll not have my reputation sullied by being seen with an unhappy woman. Smile. Fluff your hair. Wiggle your arse about in those delightful breeches you’re sporting.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That may distract the men enough so they don’t notice your sour face. Now the women…”

I desperately wanted to pick him up, march back to my broom, and fly high enough so that I could drop him with complete certainty of his very painful death. Alas, he had me by a few stone. I’d need a good levitation charm to get the job done. My fingers itched to draw my wand; instead, I drew in a deep, calming breath. “Draco, you told me your son pushed you into joining the gardening club because he was convinced you sat at home all day drowning yourself in vats of liquor. If we’re going by your previous admission, you haven’t any reputation at all for me to tarnish. Neither of us has dated in about two decades.” There, that was eminently reasonable of me. Logical, even. And I said it all without trying to assault his person. Yay, me.

He gave me a dark look that I’m sure was supposed to terrify me into silence. Too bad for him I’d grown up in a house full of six brothers, all of whom had had no problem venting their bad moods on me. I think I may have giggled at him, but only a little. What? His attempt to scowl me down was funny.

“Then I won’t be able to build a respectable reputation as an accomplished, charming womanizer if you sit there moping.” Tapping his long, pale fingers on the edge of the table, he glanced around. I was a little surprised he wasn’t griping about being forced to eat in a greasy little pub, but then again, he might have been too focused on rowing with me to bitch about the lack of ambiance. “Fine,” Draco said, blowing a stray lock of blond hair out of his eyes. “It’s a not-date, a not-date between two consenting, poorly prepared adults who have ridiculously low levels of current dating experience.”

I smiled brilliantly at him. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? This is just a nice, friendly lunch between two friends.” I’m fairly certain the muscle twitching under his right eye signified that he was annoyed with me. Oh well- there’s no rule saying he got to do all the baiting on this not-date.

He sliced into his fish like it had mortally offended his mother’s sensibilities. “I’m not feeling particularly friendly at the moment.”

Reaching across the table, I patted his hand cheerfully. “Belt up, Malfoy, enjoy the food. Here, you can even try some of my chips, if you’d like. They’re sinful.” I waved at my plate magnanimously. Thank God that was all settled. Now I could eat without feeling like I was cheating on Harry, a strange thought given the fact that I could shag my entire Quidditch team and not be cheating on anyone at all. Still, I guess it’s hard to readjust your moral compass. Maybe I would have to find someone to go out on a real date with, just to work through the feelings. It was a slightly terrifying prospect.

Draco chewed slowly and washed it down with a good portion of the pint I’d ordered him. “The fish is passable,” he allowed.

Something he’d said nagged at me. “No one would believe you were trying to get into Mrs. Harry Potter’s knickers anyway,” I huffed, knocking back my own beer. God, Quidditch made you thirsty. “If they did, they’d think you were suicidal, not a womanizer.” His face was priceless; I mean it. If I’d had my camera, I’d have preserved the moment for posterity. “Don’t pout, Draco. It makes you look like you’re seven.”

His scowl only lasted as long as it took the waitress to hip-swing her way over to our table and deposit another full glass of beer in front of him with a wink. Apparently he was as emotionally shallow as a coffee saucer, since the scowl melted away like it had never been there. Oh, to be a man. “So why’s it suicidal again?” he asked, eyes still following the woman’s hips as she sauntered off, the cow.

“Harry and I were each other’s firsts. We learned everything together.” Alright, that might have been a little blunt, but it was certainly more subtle than the oopsie! moment of knocking the table hard enough to dump the beer in his lap that I considered. Sometimes, I really commend myself on my self restraint.

One long blink, and suddenly a pair of startled grey eyes were clearly fixed on me again. “Well now, there’s your problem. That was my father’s best piece of advice- never marry the first piece of ars-” He cleared his throat. “-never marry your first sex. You’re too infatuated for it to work out, and besides- the sex is subpar, at best.”

“Grea-at,” I drawled. “There’s a visual I’ll never be able to scrub from my brain. Lucius Malfoy, sexpert.” The shudder that ripped through me was not faked, I can tell you that.

Draco grinned wickedly over his glass. “I’m sure you think my father spends his days reading the Marquis de Sade in the original French whilst torturing small, cuddly animals, but he’s quite a handy wizard to have about. Loads of life experience, and all that.”

“I don’t think your father is a guy I’ll ever take advice from, Malfoy. Besides, his advice can’t be that great. After all, you’re divorced, too.”

That stopped him cold for a moment. “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed. “You’re right! My faith in the man is crushed. Decimated, I tell you.”

Dropping my napkin on the table, I leaned back, stretching my legs out and accidentally bumping his beneath the table. “So when you aren’t attending gardening meetings or extending the record for most consecutive days as a sarcastic git, what do you do all day?”

Snaking one hand down, he casually rearranged my legs so that I could stretch them out undisturbed. “I watch the stock markets and read the financials. I practice my French and Mermish. I harass the help by following behind them and tracking mud across the floors.”

I snorted. “You sleep.”

“That, too. I also sneak the occasional nip off a bottle of Firewhisky and peruse my collection of high-end pornography.”

Apparently my taste in friends needed a bit of refining. “Your mother must be so proud.”

He leaned forward, all conspiratorial smirk and heavy-lidded eyes. “I’m handsome, intelligent, I haven’t degenerately gambled away the family fortune and am not currently scheduled for a Kiss from a Dementor. Some days, my mother can’t contain her giddiness.”

“What does she do with all this joy?” I asked wryly.

He leaned in closer, his voice a raspy whisper that fanned warm breath over my cheek. “Occasionally, she hugs me. I’ve received the odd kiss to the forehead, as well.”

Yeah- I didn’t shiver at all then. And I didn’t feel a curl of heat in my belly, either. And I certainly wasn’t struck by lightning for being a liar. No, all I did was swipe a finger down his long, straight nose. “Oh, Malfoy, with all that pomposity and sarcasm, I haven’t the faintest idea how you’re not related to the Weasleys. You sound like a hybrid of Charlie and Percy, with just a dash of Ron.”

“Take that back!” he demanded, aghast. “Blimey, Ginny, that’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever done to me, and that includes those nasty bogey things you set on me in my fifth year.”

I laughed, hard. Oh, the good old days. “The Bat Bogey Hex,” I said fondly. “One of my best spell creations ever. I registered and copyrighted it with the Ministry, you know. It’s officially known as Weasley’s Bat Bogey Hex.”

He tipped an imaginary hat to me. “We are related, on both sides, actually. All the purebloods are, you know. Mum’s a Black, as I’m sure you’re aware. Your mother’s family, the Prewetts, are second cousins, and the Weasleys and Malfoys are third cousins, two or three times removed.”

I waved to the waitress for the bill- I had to get home and shower before anymore sweat dried to an itchy patch on my back. “Got a tapestry with all that somewhere, have you?”

“Oh yes,” he replied with a roguish grin. “A great, big one. Thick, too.”

I laughed and smacked his arm. This was easily the most fun I’d had in ages. “Always comes back to size with wizards, doesn’t it?”

He snorted inelegantly, something I quickly committed to memory to torture him with at a later date. After all, it’s not every day a Malfoy acts like a common Weasley.

“Please. Only witches that have been forced to make due without mock the size factor. Just wait a few months until the brain-crippling thought of sex with your likely undersized, soon to be ex-husband –whose virility I would mock mercilessly if you didn’t have three children, mind you- doesn’t make your libido want to jump from the nearest bell tower. Pretty soon you’ll be another nymphomaniac housewife looking to tup the first halfway decent bloke with a noticeable bulge in his trousers. Mark my words.”

Sounded great. I grinned. “Can’t wait.”

He rubbed a hand over his belly and laughed, reaching out for the bill before I could even raise my hand. Quick as a snake, this one. I guess I’d forgotten about those Seeker reflexes.

“Oh, Potter, you have no idea. Being a divorcé, or in your case, a divorcée, is loads more fun than being a miserable married person. Just you wait. I’ll even take you out and get you blitzed the day the divorce papers are official.” He handed over a wad of money with the casual disregard of the absurdly rich, muttering for the waitress to keep the change. “If you’re good, we might even pop over to the naughty district off Diagon Alley and start your very own porn collection.”

“Oh, gee, Malfoy, I can’t wait.” I very purposefully looked away from the waitress, who was still standing there with a twenty quid tip on a forty quid bill and a look of unabashed interest in her very pretty blue eyes. Rich, handsome, and prone to frank discussion of sex. Honestly, if I were her, I’d probably have thrown myself at him by that point, the smug bastard.