Trouble In Paradise
--a
*Harry Potter* fanfic by AngieJ (also known as Ebony Elizabeth)
DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling is my role model (oh, if you only knew how
much I look up to her!), and she owns any familiar places and faces you
see here. I have no intention of infringing her copyright or
profiting from her creativity. Also, as far as I know, stealth owls
and the concept of wards both belong to Lori.
Trouble In Paradise
Chapter Three – Boxing Day
After picking at their breakfast, Harry and Ron said their good-byes and
Apparated away. Neither of them volunteered their destination, and
neither Fred nor I asked.
While we cleaned up, Malinda entertained herself by flying her Cho doll
up and down the staircase, using a floating gold bead from one of my old necklaces
as a toy Snitch. Her elfin laughter rang out every time mini-Cho caught
the Snitch and cried in a tiny voice, “Game--set--match!”
Fred was doing the washing and drying all at once, making a game out of
tossing the plates as if they were Fanged Frisbees across the kitchen and
onto the cupboard shelves. I sat at the table, wand out, idly muttering
“Wingardium Leviosa...” whenever my husband’s aim was lacking. I’ve
gotten so good at this over the years that I can do it while jotting down
the outline of a news story, listening to the wireless, and fixing a plate
for Malinda at the same time. Just then I was reading the Daily Prophet.
“What do you say about a visit to your mum?” Fred asked me, as a
final charm caught the last bowl just before it went careening into the
side of the sink. “I’d love to show off the Power Powder Parcels...
especially if Diane’s an unwilling guinea pig.” Diane is the older
of my two sisters. I would say she’s our family’s version of Percy,
but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate. Not to mention unfair to Percy.
Compared to Diane Johnson Riordan, Percy Weasley seems like a loose and
mellow fellow indeed.
I laughed. “Lord knows I’m not itching to have the Diamond Dinosaur
ruin a perfectly good Boxing Day. Besides...” here I trailed off cautiously,
“I was thinking of dropping by Hermione’s later on.”
Fred tossed the dish towel onto the counter and folded his arms.
“Why?”
“Because... well, Hermione and I didn’t get much chance to talk yesterday,
and...”
“...And you’re being a snoop, that’s all.” He sat down in the chair
next to me with a curt nod. Blue eyes boring into my forehead and
reading my intent. “I told you, it’s none of our business. Whatever
trouble Ron and Herm are having, it’ll not be served by you being nosy and
prying into their affairs.”
“‘Nosy’ is such a blunt word, dear. How about ‘worried’?”
“How about ‘no’, Angelina?”
“Well, I would have substituted ‘anxious’ or ‘concerned’, but that’s just
my personal preference.”
“You can be concerned at your mum’s. I owled Lee and Alicia first
thing this morning, and they’ll be meeting us there. Linda told me to
invite George as well, but he’s still in New Delhi. So it’s all been
settled.”
Dry laugh. “Thanks for all the advance notice.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“And thanks so much for deeming it necessary to speak for both of us without
consulting me. Your wish is my command, Your Royal Highness.”
My wand was still dangling from between thumb and forefinger. “Accio
parchment... Accio quill.”
“What’re you doing?”
I briskly moved my quill across the parchment. “Letting Hermione
know to expect me around teatime. Can’t have her off running errands
if Malinda and I are dropping by, can we?”
“What about your mum?” he sputtered.
“We saw her Christmas Eve. And although I’d love to see Liv again
today, I can only stomach Diane once a month. Give them all my regards,
will you?”
Fred was at a loss for words. Turning nearly as red as his hair,
he threw his arms up in exasperation and walked out.
************
Since our supply of Floo Powder was running low, we had to take Muggle
transportation.
Neville had assured me that it was all right to fly as far as Fleet Street,
where Ron and Hermione lived, but I didn’t want to risk it.
Malinda always thought taking minicabs was great fun, strange child that
she was, and didn’t share my impatience with slow non-magic technology.
She bounced on the seat next to me and enjoyed the falling snowflakes as
I fretted about having enough Muggle money to carry us into town. It
was my own fault that I didn’t change more Galleons to pounds the last time
I was in Gringotts, I thought. Of course, my sister-in-law would have
been able to help if I was short, as she and Ron had a joint Muggle bank
account, but I hated to bother Hermione in the state she was in.
To pass the time as the meter ticked off the miles, I thought back to happier
times. It was over five and a half years before, but I still remembered
Ron and Hermione’s wedding as if it were yesterday.
No one who was lucky enough to receive an invitation to the Wedding of
the Millennium refused the honor. This made sense, as Ron and Hermione’s
engagement had bypassed the society pages of the Prophet altogether and
made front page news. The momentous event was held on the Hogwarts
grounds, on the rolling lawns next to the lake. The date--Midsummer’s
Eve.
A perfect day and a perfect setting for what everyone thought was a perfect
love.
While the men milled about in the Great Hall, we ladies used the Gryffindor
common room as a dressing room for Hermione and her attendants. As
she had no sisters and was a relatively private person, the only ones she
wanted with her were her mother, her soon to be mother-in-law Molly,
and maid-of-honor Ginny. Her old dormitory roommates Lavender Brown
Finnegan and Parvati Patil were attendants by default. She also asked
Penelope, Liz, and I to help with the dressing and to aid in casting the
all-important Hera’s Blessing.
Just as Muggle brides have their tradition of “something old, something
blue, something borrowed, and something blue”, we witches have our own good-luck
superstitions. Besides observing the Muggle traditions of her mother,
Hermione wore the Galleon in her slipper that Molly wore at her own wedding.
This symbolizes health, wealth, and prosperity. Because it is passed
down via the mother of the groom, it also represents uniting the fortunes
of two households together. Of her daughters-in-law, only Fleur had
refused to wear it. “I... I ‘ave delicate soles!” she’d protested.
Whatever.
Much to the groom’s chagrin, witch-brides also wear a special undergarment
under their bridal robes called Aphrodite’s Apron. It is made of various
symbolic flowers and herbs that are preserved by enchantment and woven so
that it resembles a chastity belt. I’ve never heard of one of those
aprons (which is more like a girdle) coming off without trouble... the spell
the groom must use to remove it is rather complicated. I’ve heard
stories ranging from the humorous to the macabre regarding the trouble the
darned things have caused on various wedding nights. A very few modern
“sexually liberated” brides choose not to wear one, but most of us do even
if we’re not blushing virgins on our special day.
Hermione’s choice of flora was a little strange to us. The ivy and
buttercups made sense, as they represent friendship and childhood memories
respectively. But the other blooms were jarring... three of the odd
blossoms I remember in her girdle were narcissus, lavender, and golden chrysanthemums.
Which stand for selfishness, hesitation, and slighted love. One would
have taken for granted that she would have included lilacs, as Ron was her
first love. And there was not a violet—which stands for faithfulness—in
sight.
We thought no more of it then, as the enchanted girdle was soon covered
with her magnificent bridal robes. It took Penelope the better part
of an hour to tame Hermione’s thick hair into shining ringlets, and Dr. Caroline
Granger another fifteen minutes to make up her daughter’s shining face.
By the time Liz lifted the veil out of a chest, Ted Granger’s voice was
booming loudly from beyond the portrait hole.
“Hermione? Aren’t you ready yet?”
“Just one moment, Dr. Granger!” Penelope exclaimed. To us she said,
“Come, we haven’t much time. Where has Ginny gone off to? We
need one more for Hera’s Blessing.”
Hermione shrugged, biting her lip as the veil was draped over her hair.
“Off to settle her date down, I imagine. She says she’s bringing someone
we’d never expect.”
“I thought she was coming with Harry,” Molly said.
“Oh, no, Molly, that’s old news,” Penelope replied. “They haven’t
been an item for more than a year. He’s seeing some Muggle girl or other,
I think... can’t keep up with Harry’s legion of admirers, that’s for sure.”
Molly sighed. “All right, then, I’ll take her place. Caroline,
I want you to be a part of this, too... just put your hands on your daughter’s
shoulders. We’ll supply the magic. You supply your love for
your daughter... indeed, the charm won’t work without you.”
Penelope was still arranging things. “Yes, Lavender... that’s good,
your wand should touch an elbow... Parvati, you tap the other. Liz,
I need you kneeling on the left... wand to knee...”
“I know how it’s done,” Liz said briskly. “Angelina...”
“I’m here, I’m here...” I scrambled up and touched my wand to the
right hem of Hermione’s dress. “Ready.”
Penelope touched one shoulder with her wand. Molly touched the other.
Then we spoke an enchantment left over from the Golden Age when we magical
folk lived amongst Muggles without fear, a charm that we’ve uttered over
our brides since time immemorial:
|Weave a web of silver dreams,
|Spin a thread of silver skeins
|Sing a song as old as time
|Melody and harmony, rhythm and rhyme.
|Mother of pearl, peacock feather
|All things soft as silk, whiff of heather
|Eve’s ancient knowledge, Helen’s eternal beauty
|Woman’s mystic allure, honor, pride, and duty.
|Enchant this girl and cause her face
|To glow with love everlasting and womanly grace
|Cast away the impure, cling fast to that which is good...
|Behold the woman-flower where a girl once stood.
As we shielded our eyes and drew our wands back, shimmering, pearlescent
light encased Hermione from head to toe. It was so bright that none
of us could look at it... or could have, for it was blinding. Caroline
released her daughter’s shoulders and took a step back. Thankfully,
Molly had thought to slip a pair of sunglasses over her Muggle friend’s
eyes.
When the light subsided, we all looked up. And seven mouths dropped
open, speechless.
“What is it?” Hermione asked, fretting. “Don’t tell me it didn’t
work!”
That wasn’t what we were going to tell her. At all. I was as
much at a loss for words as anyone else, but I know I was thinking it was
ironic that the most brilliant witch in our generation also happened to
be one of the most breathtaking. There was simply no way to describe
the way she looked...
“Guinevere,” someone whispered behind us.
We all turned toward the now-opened portrait hole. Ginny stood off
to one side of it, shaking her elegantly coiffed red head and grinning from
ear to ear.
Framed in the portrait hole was Harry.
Lavender and Parvati screamed.
“Oh, my God! Harry, you can’t see her...” Lavender shouted.
“There aren’t supposed to be any men in the Gryffindor corridor!” Parvati
added. “It’s bad luck!”
“Why?” Harry asked, stepping into the old common room. “I’m not the
groom, and as far as I know Ron’s still sweating bullets in the Great Hall.
As I’ve been with one of my best friends all day, I’d like to say a few
words to the other before she gracefully ascends to the throne of Camelot.”
“All right, Lancelot, enough with the King Arthur references,” Hermione
laughed, although she did look like a fantastic she-creature from the long-lost
world of Faerie. “Mum, Molly, ladies... do you mind if we chat alone?
We’ll meet you all out in the corridor in five minutes, I promise.”
“Madam, we have a bit of a problem...”
My eyes opened. The Muggle cab driver was holding my door open, face
smeared with grease and shaking his homely head. What a way to come
back to reality.
“What’s the matter?”
“Something’s wrong with the transmission. I’ve been trying to crank
‘er up, but she’s not responding to the TLC.”
Malinda was tapping my shoulder. “Mummy, why don’t we just find a
post office, owl Daddy, and ask him to take us? Since you can’t fly
and all.”
If a picture is worth a thousand words, the look on the cabbie’s face just
then would have been priceless.
“Owl?” he asked. Eyes orbs, lips forming an “o”.
“She means call,” I bluffed quickly, stepping out of the cab. The
moment I did so, I felt the blustery, snowy wind hit my face. “You know
how small children are... their pronunciation isn’t quite up to snuff.
We’re to meet my sister-in-law at her house, then motor over to France since
I’m deathly afraid of airplanes.”
The laughter caught in my throat as I noticed the cabbie’s jaw had gone
slack and his eyes were bulging. I followed his incredulous glance over
to my daughter’s Cho Chang doll, which was now zooming about the cab.
“Malinda Denise Weasley!” I screamed, sounding for all the world like one
of Molly’s Howlers. “You put that doll back into your bag, now...
wait until I tell your father...”
But now mini-Cho had zoomed out of the cab and over to its driver.
The figurine hovered at nose level so that he went all cross-eyed.
“Great wind for flying today, eh?” the lifelike doll said in Cho’s silvery
voice. Then it leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek with a flirtatious
giggle. “I think you’re quite shagadelic myself.”
The cabbie’s mouth became a cave. I’m sure the sound that came out
of it was heard halfway around the world.
“Malinda, stop that!” I cried, even as my daughter rolled on the seat laughing.
Then I turned to the trembling cab driver. “Sir, please... you do
know how ridiculously realistic children’s toys are these days...”
“Stay away from me!” he screamed, backing up.
Hastily, I unsnapped my purse and reached for my wallet. “Here...
at least let me pay the meter out, as you’ve taken us this far...”
“Keep it, lady! Keep the bloody cab for all I care!” With that,
he raced down the street like a frightened rabbit.
Malinda jumped out of the now deserted cab, having placed her doll back
into her satchel. I frowned at her disapprovingly. Then, in spite
of myself, I began laughing. She giggled too. The Muggles who’d
come out onto porches and peeked out of windows thereby concluded that we
were completely insane and went to mind their own business again.
“You know, Angelina, I think Muggle intimidation is still punishable as
a felony even in our enlightened age.”
I stopped in mid-chuckle and looked into Dr. Neville Longbottom’s round
face, peering out from a lowered, tinted Saab window. Next to him sat
Susan Bones, his longtime girlfriend.
“I didn’t intimidate the prat,” I said. “If I had meant to, he would
have been doing more than screaming. A prat is a bloody prat, whether
wizard or Muggle.”
“Point taken.” After exchanging greetings and giving Malinda the
attention she invariably demanded from all of our adult friends, the conversation
turned serious. “So, what brings you to the middle of North London?
Not the usual hangout for our kind, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I’m visiting Hermione for tea and all of the usual modes of transportation
were unavailable. Fred’s rather put out with me today, and I didn’t
trust myself to fly. The cab broke down. I’d enchant it if only
to get to our destination, but as I haven’t driven since Fred crashed our
old Volkswagen Beetle several months ago, I’m out of practice.”
Susan smiled. “Neville and I were about to drop late Christmas gifts
in that direction, Ron’s and Hermione’s included. You’re just about
the luckiest witch I’ve ever met, Angelina.”
I took my daughter’s hand and squeezed it.
“This little one’s all the luck I need.”
*************
On the way to Hermione’s, Malinda showed off her doll (which I was getting
a bit tired of) to Susan while Neville and I talked about Hermione.
“To tell you the truth, Neville, I don’t think you were exercising the
best judgment when you chose to tell Ron about seeing her with Draco in
Diagon Alley,” I said without preamble. “Quite frankly, it was none
of your business.”
“Angelina, I know that you’re trying to protect your brother-in-law, but
I think it’s my turn to be frank with you. It became my business when
Hermione’s biweekly meetings with Draco began to cut into our practice.
Even though my Muggle training is in neurology and physical therapy, I’ve
had to sneak in to fulfill her duties at Parkside several times in the past
month. Had no choice but to use magic extensively... you can’t imagine
how afraid I was of getting caught... or of not being able to get hold of
the Polyjuice Potion when my breasts began to retract...”
“Yes, yes, I sympathize. I really do. However, telling Ron
is one thing. Telling Ron what you saw in lurid Technicolor detail
with Dolby surround sound is quite another. Especially when you saw
nothing incriminating.”
He shrugged, never taking his eyes off the road.
“Angelina, I could care less about what Hermione does with her personal
life. We’ve been friends of a sort since we were kids, but you know
how she is... very close-mouthed with all but her nearest and dearest.
That’s fine with me. But when her private life begins to infringe on
mine and on our practice, then I do have a problem.”
“There has got to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for her meetings
with Draco, Neville. Have you asked her?”
“No.”
“You haven’t? Well, then, I will.”
We said nothing else all the way to Hermione’s.
*************
Ron and Hermione’s spacious home is in an upper-class section of Fleet
Street in Notting Hill that dates back to Georgian times. Although
they’re but a stone’s throw away from Charing Cross Road and Diagon Alley,
they live in an area that is completely surrounded by Muggles. They
don’t have our woods or lot space for privacy, either. I know I wouldn’t
have been comfortable in such a setting... I much prefer Hertfordshire.
Hermione’s Muggle upbringing and both of their magical skills aided in
concealing their true identity. To their neighbors, she was just another
overpaid doctor, and he was involved in some-sort-of-industry-or-the-other
that kept him on the road all the time. Old money, obviously.
Their manners were impeccable, they had no offensive habits to speak of,
and they carried themselves with the understated pride of the wellborn.
Of course, the neighbors’ oblivion was traceable to a series of clever security
wards, Unplottable Charms, and Harry’s wedding gift of Circe, a stealth
owl that could be enchanted invisible. What the local Muggles didn’t
know never hurt them.
The four of us tramped up the stone steps, sloshing through the snow that
had fast begun to blanket the city in a swirl of pristine white. Malinda
stood on tiptoe to ring the doorbell, and grinned at the sound of chimes
that answered back. Neville, more impatient with a shivering (and rather
inappropriately dressed) Susan under his arm, used the brass knocker.
It was Ginny who opened the door.
“Hello, everyone!” She hugged Neville and Susan, pecked my cheek,
and hoisted Malinda up into her arms. “Come right this way... you’re
missing all the fun!”
She led the way to the sitting room, chattering all the way. The
cheerful talk about New Year’s Eve plans was more directed to Neville and
Susan than to me... she was after all closer to them in age and former class
than I. I walked up ahead, eager to see the sister-in-law who had
been in such a troubled state of mind less than twenty-four hours before.
And who should we see sitting in the middle of the living room but Hermione,
Elizabeth Molina, and... and Draco Malfoy. Dressed to kill in an Italian,
grey cashmere v-neck sweater, black jeans that made you want to kiss the
designer, and black leather gloves, he was holding an Exploding Snap card
in mid-air, poised right above one of the turrets of the precarious card-castle
that now towered almost three feet over the coffee table.
The three seemed oblivious to the fact that there were more guests in the
house. As for us, the sight was so confounding that we all stood rooted
to the spot.
“Will you get a move on, Malfoy?” Hermione complained with a half smile
on her face. “Elizabeth Molina will have gotten her entrance letter,
matriculated through, and graduated Hogwarts before you lay that card down.”
“If you must know, Granger, the construction of a perfect card castle requires
precision, cunning, and fine-tuned coordination,” Draco replied, cocking
his platinum blonde head this way and that, trying to find the perfect spot
for his addition. “Patience is a virtue, but you can’t tell a Gryffindor
that.”
Elizabeth Molina giggled. “My mum’s mum says that all the time.”
“Yes, well, if I’m not mistaken Maria Wagner was a Slytherin. Her
good taste in overused cliches can’t be faulted.” He laid the card down
and slowly backed away. “There... try to top that, Granger.”
Hermione snorted and... did I see that correctly?... tossed her brown hair.
“Easily.” She whipped a card off from the top of the deck and began
to place it on top of the castle... but was noticeably distracted when Draco
leaned over and blew in her ear. I was never afterward sure if the
blasted thing exploded or if Hermione fell facedown on top of it. Needless
to say, by the time we made our presence known in the living room all three
were red faced and doubled over with laughter.
“Angelina! Neville, Susan!” Hermione sat up first, clutching
her sides and making a valiant attempt to catch her breath. “And how
are you, Malinda?”
She ran to her aunt and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Fine.
I’m glad to see you happy again, Aunt Hermione. I was worried about
you.”
“Well, don’t you dare worry any more, munchkin. I’m right as rain.”
She looked up and smiled. It seemed to be genuine, but then, Hermione
was past mistress of giving good face. She invited Malinda and Elizabeth
Molina to play with the dollhouse she kept in the guest room, and both readily
agreed. Grabbing mini-Cho and winking at me, my daughter raced after
her older cousin.
“How nice to see all of you,” Hermione was saying. “I got your owl,
Angie, about tea... I’ve made jam tarts that I need to check on. And
will you two be staying?” she asked her partner and his girlfriend.
Neville shook his head. “We’ve left your gifts in the foyer... apologies
for them being so late. Will you be in tomorrow, then?”
“I have every intention. As a matter of fact, I’m on call at both
St. Mungo’s and Parkside now, but it’s been quiet.”
Draco clucked his tongue. “Now, Granger,” he began lazily, “a little
honesty is in order here. You turned your Muggle pager off, didn’t
you? And look at that covered fireplace... no chance of a quick message
from St. Mungo’s reaching you, is there?”
“Oh, mind your own business, dragon claws,” she said without the slightest
hint of any real conviction. “Malfosoft could be under attack by hackers
right now for all you care...”
Neville, giving me an eerily significant look, cleared his throat.
“Well, if that’s all, then we’ll be off. Susan’s mum will be expecting
us.”
We all said our good-byes and they left. After returning from letting
them out, Ginny bounced into the spot between Draco and Hermione.
Both of them gave her a look I couldn’t decipher for the life of me.
“So where’s that human Bludger you call your husband, Angelina?” Draco
asked me as Hermione began scooping the cards back into neat decks.
“At my mum’s house, I expect.”
Hermione laughed again. “Didn’t you just relish the thought of seeing
Diane today?”
“I’d rather have dental surgery. Of course, Fred pretended as if
he didn’t know this when I told him I’d rather be here.” I turned
back to Draco. “Any particular reason why you wanted to see him?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” He pulled off the leather gloves
and I gasped. From fingertip to wrist, his hands were covered in hideous
green scales. “I received our company’s free sample of the Power Powder
Parcel yesterday. Thought old Fred and George had finally mended their
ways by sending a bit of Christmas cheer to a fellow wizarding entrepreneur.”
“Actually, I think it’s an improvement,” Ginny remarked. “Not to
mention dead sexy. Snakeskin’s going to be featured in several of
the spring lines we’re offering at Gladrags Wizardwear.”
“Thanks for the commercial break, Gin,” he drawled, slipping his black
gloves back on. “Anyway, Angelina, tell your dear, thoughtful husband
that payback’s a bastard. He and George had better watch their backs...
and their computer systems.”
“If you’re thinking of conjuring up some nasty virus to crash 3W’s operations,
Malfoy,” Hermione teased, “spare yourself the trouble and write the CEOs
a thank-you note instead. Those are just your true colors shining through,
after all...”
She trailed off as two men strode into the doorway. We all jumped...
we had been so engrossed in Draco’s scales that none of us had heard the
door open.
One of the party crashers was Hermione’s best friend.
The other was her husband.
Ron lunged for Draco so quickly that none of us had time to react.
In an instant, my brother-in-law had Draco’s pale neck in his hands and
had begun to squeeze. Hermione pounced on her husband with a vengeance,
nails ready to do damage, but Harry grabbed her around the waist and lifted
her out of the fray. Once the way was clear, Ginny and I did our best
to pull Ron off a sputtering Draco. It was no easy task... Ron was
taller and heavier than both of us. Thankfully, Draco got over his
shock and gathered enough wits about him to throw a couple of strategic punches.
While this wasn’t enough to overpower Ron, it did put them on equal enough
footing to begin brawling in earnest.
Ginny was screaming “Stop it, you two!” and “Ron, leave him alone!” at
the top of her lungs. Harry had unhelpfully disappeared for the moment,
I supposed to wherever Hermione had got herself to. As for me, I was
torn between alarm and amusement. Almost eight years of being Mrs.
Fred Weasley has the unsettling effect of causing a woman to see the lighter
side of every situation.
What stopped Ron and Draco from killing each other was Elizabeth Molina
and Malinda. Hearing all the commotion, the girls flew down the stairs
with rubber Quidditch clubs (heavens knows where they’d located them) and
began to beat Ron and Draco about the head and shoulders with them.
Of course, the toy clubs squeaked and emitted sparks whenever they came
in contact with something solid, so the effect was absolutely hilarious.
At least, to me it was... I laughed so hard that I fell to the floor, doubling
over.
The next thing I knew, everyone had frozen. Ron and Draco stood at
opposite corners of the disheveled room, fuming at each other so angrily
that I could have sworn tiny puffs of steam were coming out of their ears
and nostrils. Ginny looked like a flame-haired muse of tragedy.
Malinda and Elizabeth Molina let their clubs fall to the Oriental rug with
a final squeak. I’d done my best to stop chuckling by clutching the
stitch in my side.
Hermione strode back into the sitting room, followed closely by Harry.
“Someone get the girls out of here,” Ron said in a voice that brooked no
refusal, putting his hand up to his bloody nose and glaring at Draco.
“Now.”
Ginny went to the corner that contained Draco and attempted to drag him
out, although he stayed put. “Actually, I’m babysitting this afternoon.
I was going to take Elizabeth Molina to the park next door my flat.
We’re going to build snow people... doesn’t that sound like fun, girls?
Angelina, may Malinda come along?”
I desperately wanted to stay behind for what promised to be a fireworks
show that would put anything Filibuster could produce to shame, but didn’t
want to seem too obvious. “Certainly... I’ll tag along as well...”
“No one is breaking my Boxing Day tea up,” Hermione decided. “Ginny
and Elizabeth Molina have been here all day. Angelina came by for
a visit, which you interrupted, Ronald. I see no reason for either
her or Draco to leave.”
“Especially since from what I understand, I was invited and you weren’t.
From what I understand, you no longer live here.” Draco shook his
head with mock-pity. “What a shame. Of course, during this holiday
season we show kindness to the homeless, but unfortunately even the most
magnanimous of charities have their limit.”
If nothing else, I always admired Draco Malfoy’s nerve.
“I’ll show you charity, you smarmy albino son-of-a...”
Within five blinks of the eye, they were at it again. This time,
Ginny and Harry snatched up the clubs and broke them up.
“Come on, Draco,” Ginny insisted. “Girls, let’s go... we’re going
to miss the best of the snow. Wait on the porch... I’ll be along in
a second.” Elizabeth Molina trotted obediently out, but my own daughter
needed some prodding. I provided it, and she moved along.
Draco was sizing Ron up. Even though the skin that circled one gray
eye was purpling, he strutted over to his childhood foe as if he were a
top-billed star in the Weasley Domestic Comedy Show. Come to think
of it, if there was a such thing, he probably was.
“Let’s get something out in the open right now, Weasley,” he snarled.
“You can steal a jewel, you can steal a sack of Galleons, and the last war
proved you can even steal a portion of someone’s magical ability.
But the last time I checked, you still can’t ‘steal’ a wife. Get that
through your thick skull.” He walked past Ron, who was being held
back by Harry, then touched Hermione’s shoulder. Ron almost broke
Harry’s grip when he dropped a kiss on her forehead.
“Later, chipmunk,” he said softly.
She smiled in spite of herself. “All right, ferret.”
I thanked God that Ron didn’t seem to have a wand on him just then.
Draco Malfoy might be the most conceited wizard that ever drew breath, but
he fulfilled an essential need in the postmodern wizarding economy.
I would have hated to see him dead.
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” Draco sneered at Ron. “I almost forgot.
Get your facts straight the next time you decide to use me as your fall
guy.”
He departed then as only Draco can, in his usual silvery-gilt splendor,
but this time with the air of one who had been wrongfully accused. Before
I could follow him, Hermione’s voice cut into the ensuing thick tension.
“Did you get my owl, Ronald?”
“What do you think?”
“So you got it, then. What are you doing here, when I specifically
told you to stay away from me?”
“I came to pick up some of my things. If I remember correctly, Hermione,
this is my house.”
“Not anymore it isn’t... Angelina, don’t you move! You stay right
there,” she shouted, for I was inching my way towards the doorway. “My
tarts are just about ready, and they were just leaving. Weren’t you,
Harry?” Her eyes began to fill with tears. It pierced me to the
heart... I had to look away.
“Hermione,” Ron began, anguish in every wrinkle of his frown.
She threw up her hands and shook her head. “Harry, get him out of
here. Now. I don’t care where you take him or where he goes.
I’ll send his things later. He just has to go. I think I’ll go
mad if he stays here another second.”
Ron was still frowning. “Hermione, don’t you think...”
She was still shaking her head. “Harry, please.”
Harry looked sadder than I’d ever seen him. Ever.
“I’ll pop in or owl you later, Hermione... come on, Ron. Have your
first practice with the Lions tomorrow, don’t you? And I know you
haven’t seen Lupin’s new place yet...”
Trying his best to make small talk (and I get the impression he was never
very good at it), Harry ushered Ron out and into the foyer. A moment
later, the front door slammed and Hermione let out her breath. I hadn’t
realized she’d been holding it. I jumped up and immediately attempted
to make myself useful, whipping out my wand and tidying things up a bit.
“Leave it,” she said. “Come into the kitchen.”
The tarts were completely ruined. Burned to a crisp. I rather
felt the same way. I just knew what Fred was going to have to say
about all this... and didn’t particularly care to hear his broken record
version of “I told you so”. But Hermione shrugged her ruined baking
off, finding cookies and day-old scones in the cupboards for us instead.
Now Hermione was offering me a chair, and sitting in another, and dashing
away her tears with a crumpled cloth napkin.
“Angelina, I owe you an apology. For last night, I mean.” Her
brown eyes were clear with sincerity. “I mean, you were just trying
to help. You seemed so worried.”
“I was. You don’t know how pleased I was to see you laughing earlier.
When we first arrived with Neville and Susan, I mean.”
“What, did you think I’d be over here crying my eyes out?” she scoffed,
as only Hermione Granger can. “Not likely. And Ronald Weasley
had bloody well better not be implying that I’ve locked myself in some crystal
tower, pining away over him. He knows me much better than that.”
If only she knew. “Actually, Draco...”
“...Has proven himself to be a good friend when I needed him. Ginny’s
clueless and preoccupied, Harry’s torn between the two of us, and there’s
really no one else I can talk to.” She glanced at me.
“You do understand, don’t you?”
Actually, I didn’t. How could I? I wasn’t Hermione Granger,
one-third of what was arguably the most powerful magical coalition England
had seen since the Hogwarts Four. Not only did I have all of the Weasleys,
I had my own family--a family that on my mother’s side had been magic as far
back as anyone could remember and understood any magical problem in my life.
I had my father’s Muggle relatives, too, who could give me a different take
on things.
For companionship, I had Alicia and Lee, and all my memories of Katie.
I had my beloved daughter. And I had a husband who meant the world
to me... whose love I was sure of.
Suddenly, I did understand. As much as we all admired Harry, Ron,
and Hermione, none of us wanted to be them. Most of us were subconsciously
glad we weren’t them.
I nodded. She managed the tiniest of smiles.
“So how are you feeling? The baby, I mean?”
The smile disappeared. “I feel absolutely nothing. Too early
along, I suppose... only five weeks by my calculations. I’ll have
Blaise check me out just to be certain.” Blaise Zabini was yet another
doctor and mediwizard who shared a practice with Neville and Hermione.
He specialized in women’s medicine. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t
given it much thought.”
“Well, if you need me,” I reached across the table and took her hands in
mine, “know that I’m here for you. Penelope and Liz, too,” I added
as an afterthought.
She shrugged. “Penelope and Liz are so... so much older than we are.
And you... oh, Angelina, everyone knows you never take anything seriously!”
Hmm. Always interesting to know what vibes you’re giving off.
“Hermione, do you really think that about me? Sure, I like to laugh
and have a good time... goodness knows I always have. But there are
certain things that aren’t funny at all. And sometimes... well, I
laugh to keep myself from crying.”
“The tears of a clown. Oh, Angelina, if you only knew.” She
stood up and picked the teakettle. Producing two cups and saucers out
of what seemed like thin air, Hermione poured the steaming hot brown liquid
out, then returned to her seat. “Judging from what you saw this afternoon...”
she looked at me sharply, “would you bring a baby into my marriage, if you
were me?”
I took my first swallow of tea and cleared my throat. Not only did
I feel as if this was an extremely unfair question (since I wasn’t her and
was still rather clueless about her marital woes), we’d conceived Malinda
during the worst possible stage of our marriage.
“Exactly what I thought,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, interpreting
my silence as negation. “Well, never fear. Although they say
misery loves company, I’m content to suffer alone.”
“Suffer alone? Hermione, you can’t mean you’re thinking about...”
I couldn’t even form the words. She hadn’t conceived in over five
years of trying. Everyone in the family knew that Ron talked of little
else. And now...
“As I’ve said, I’ll have Blaise examine me next week so that I’m absolutely
certain. But if I am pregnant... I’ll do what any woman has to in
my situation. Muggle or witch. It’s all for the best, I’m sure.”
The bite of scone I’d just taken dropped out of my mouth. What
I’d feared had just been verified.
Hermione and Ron had officially declared war on one another.