Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Ginny stared distantly at the clock, mindful of the teacup in her trembling hands. She rattled off the names of her family in her head. Molly – Home. Aurthur – Work. Fred – Home. Percy, Charlie, Bill – Home. Ronald – work. With a small sigh she had come to the last name in her tally and stared at the hand as if admonishing it. Maybe the faithful Weasley clock was broken, for the hand that read Ginevra steadfastly pointed to "visiting". She jumped when she heard a knife clatter to the counter behind her. Turning her head she saw her mother, hands on her hips with her lips pursed into what the twins had always called Molly's Famous Frown.
"Ginny dear, if you're just going to stare at that blasted clock all day-" but her mum's lecture was cut short by a high-pitched whine in the living room.
"Daadadadaaaa!" Ginny groaned softly and set down her teacup.
"I'm going to give Connor his bath, mum."
She collected the toddler and made her way to the bathroom. Sleepovers at The Burrow were a common occurrence for all of Molly and Arthur's beloved grandchildren and the bathroom was littered with little socks, little towels, and an odd assortment of toys. When she'd gotten the water to just the right temperature, she plopped her son into the tub, tossing in a variety of random playthings.
Ginny had to pause at the small yellow duck in her hands. It didn't seem to move or quack or do anything special at all. She briefly recalled her dad calling it a 'rubber duck' and shrugged, tossing the item into the tub with a small splash. Connor seemed to ignore it as he giggled madly at the little toy boat that was circling him and tooting its own horn repetitively.
Ginny's eyes though, stayed glued to the little duck that was slowly turning red. She could have sworn it was just another Muggle toy that Arthur had failed to figure out. Her gaze flicked to her son when the giggles disappeared and he mumbled questioningly.
"Dada?" Ginny blinked back tears. Of course. All he wanted was his bloody dada. The toddler kept mumbling the word again and again, oblivious to the sobs that wracked his mum's body.
"You have got to be kidding me," a voice behind her drawled. She stiffened, wiping her tears with a damp sleeve before turning to face the object of her anguish. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as he took in the sight of her. "Gin, this is ridiculous. When are you coming home?"
For all his concern he couldn't manage to keep the smirk off his face. She opened her mouth, and closed again, finally drawing herself up to her full height.
"You presume I'm coming home at all, Draco." He looked pointedly at the little boy behind her.
"That aside," he spat, "you didn't take the cat." She looked away quickly in an attempt to keep from laughing bitterly. They had fought about that bloody cat a hundred times and more over the years and he had the gall to throw it in her face now. Unbelievable. She looked back at her son whose attention had returned to the train, and then to the little duck, which was no longer yellow, no longer red, but turning a pale shade of blue. Curiosity brought her to her knees to check the water. Finding it cold, she mused distractedly, "So that's what rubber duckies are for. She pulled the plug only to receive an admonishing glare from her son as Draco cleared his throat.
"You're avoiding the question, Ginevra." She whipped her head around, fire in her gaze.
"What? Had enough of Looney Lovegood?"
She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Expecting their guests to have left long ago, Ginny had made her way to the kitchens for a glass of water. The giggling drew her to the drawing room. Snuggled on the couch were Luna and Draco, the former giggling as Ginny's 'loving' and obviously drunk husband whispered something in her ear. She closed her eyes as the blood rushed to her face, and before she could betray herself, Ginny Weasley ran.
Yet again, tears were threatening to spill over, and she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry a second time. He rolled his eyes and stepped into the room.
"My dear, I think you're being awfully rash. We were just talking." She narrowed her eyes at him.
"You looked awfully cozy during your little 'talk'". He shrugged.
"Blaise didn't seem to think so." The minutes passed awkwardly as she considered his words. With a great sigh, his shoulders slumped.
"Come home, Gin. We can talk about this over dinner. I can explain . . . " There was no smirk, no snide quip about her temper. Images of headlines featuring Draco's so-called exploits flashed before her eyes and not for the first time, she wondered if there was some truth to the gossip columns.
Then she glanced at his pleading eyes. Draco Malfoy could be cold at times, maybe even a little cruel, but how many times had the media been wrong? Draco Malfoy, Death Eater? Draco Malfoy, Continuing Father's Work? Draco Malfoy With Latest Mistress. Ginny's head spun as she recalled the countless articles and accusations that had plagued them from the beginning and she considered her husband's haunted expression.
That defeated look in his eyes – or maybe it was the mention of dinner - seemed to win her over. She gave a soft, reluctant smile, pushing all doubts from her brain. She would deal with those later.
"Maybe I overreacted a bit." The words were careful, deliberate; a promise that this discussion was far from over. He smirked triumphantly as he drew her into an embrace, mindful of the bump between them. He placed a hand on her swelling stomach with a pointed look. She rolled her eyes, seizing one last opportunity to take a stab at him.
"Yes well that, Mr. Malfoy, is all your fault."
This was my response to Ria's challenge. Kiley (Bathtubblogger) helped with some of the finer points. It's still not my favorite piece but I'd love to know what you think.