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.”

Author notes:

***

Hee hee. And so the fun begins...

Go on, review. You know you want to. Well, at least I want you to, but that's because I'm selfish. Still, a happy author is a productive author, yes? *bats eyelashes beseechingly*