Authors note: I'm surprised you all were so worried about that cliff hanger. I'm not going to be that mean... for awhile.
Draco sat bolt upright. What if she'd been kidnapped? What if his nightmares had suddenly come to life and taken her away? At this very minute, she could be lying hurt and lost in the catacombs, with God-knows-what lurking about down there...
Her dress was gone. An intruder wouldn't have taken her dress. It became terribly apparent that Ginny had not only left him, but had left him of her own accord.
At first he was incensed. Then his anger dissipated. At least he wouldn't have to deal with any of her ridiculous notions about love and eternal happiness. She'd saved him the trouble of breaking the truth to her. He couldn't love, not in that way, not anymore.
He pulled himself from the tangled bed clothes and rooted around the room for his pajamas. He found them without too much trouble. Lurking beneath a night side table were a pair of soft, gray cotton pajama pants. Since the matching shirt wasn't readily available, he just pulled on the pants and ambled down the kitchen to make Marigold's breakfast.
He decided to make something special. Something more difficult than a bowl of cereal. He settled on French toast, and spent an hour preparing breakfast without magic. Even though he was no longer in hiding, he still liked to do things the muggle way. It kept him on his toes, and it ate up time. He found himself doing unnecessary and often ridiculous things just to fill the hours of the day. The unfortunate thing about making food the muggle way was that he always ended up throwing away around half of what he made. In all honesty, Betty Crocker was overly generous with her serving suggestions.
Some flowers from the window-box in a small vase made the tray look... finished, somehow. Satisfied with his handiwork, he carried the tray to Marigold's room. The nanny had arranged to arrive late, citing a death in the family. Ginny had complicated things, and he was glad she'd left. He wouldn't want to bring her back into Marigold's life only to take her away.
The gauzy, white bed curtains were still drawn about the bed, undisturbed. It wasn't terribly early, but it was reasonable to assume that Marigold had slept late. She often slept late, because of the nightmares. The realization hit him- he hadn't heard Marigold screaming last night. She'd either slept soundly or managed to get herself back to sleep. It was nice to think she was beginning to cope with them. Hopefully, this would become a trend, and their sleepless nights would come to an end.
He placed the tray on a small table, and went to wake Marigold laugh. When he saw what lay beyond the curtains, he was fairly certain he would have dropped the tray if he'd still been holding it. It was dreadfully apparent that Ginny hadn't left him at all. He'd slept through Marigold's crying, and she'd gone to comfort the child.
Marigold was sprawled out on top of Ginny, one little white hand clamped onto Ginny's face, the other wrapped loosely about a stuffed bear. The child twitched in her sleep, digging her small fingers deeper into Ginny's face. Draco flinched and gently began to pry Marigold's fingers loose. She began to toss and turn, clutching Ginny tighter and crying, "Mama, mama."
Draco released her and the child's eyes fluttered open. "Papa? I dreamt that Aunt Ginny was here, and then she was!" She smiled and threw her arms about Ginny's still sleeping form. "Good morning, Aunt Ginny!"
Ginny rubbed one bleary eye. "G'morning, Sweetheart."
"Are you talking to my, or to Papa?"
Ginny yawned mightily. "Both, I guess. G'morning Sweethearts."
They were both looking up at him expectantly, and Draco couldn't help but give into the pull of domesticity. "Good morning, Dearests."
"You can't have two dearests, father."
"She's right," Ginny said in another yawn. "Dearest is superlative."
"Which means there can only be one," Marigold added.
"I should never have given you that dictionary for your birthday," Draco sighed theatrically. "Everybody up now. I've made French toast, and way too much of it at that."
They tumbled out of bed, and sat down at Marigold's small table. Ginny looked at the tray rather pointedly. "You only brought two plates."
"I wasn't aware you'd be dining with us."
"Why wouldn't she eat with us?" Marigold asked, baffled.
He was going to calmly explain that he thought she might be having brunch with her family, but Ginny cut him off. "Because he thought I'd left in the middle of the night like some common..." Ginny eyed her present company. "Well, like something very unpleasant anyway. He obviously didn't notice my gown sitting on the armchair, and he obviously thinks very little of my character and has now been proven wrong."
"That's not very nice," Marigold observed. "I think you'd better apologize to her."
Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry. We can share the plate, Gin. It's not like I have the plague."
Ginny scooted her chair up next to his, and her legs tangled companionably with his. She was wearing his pajama shirt, and he was slightly disturbed by the odd surge of masculinity that went through him at the sight of her wearing his clothing. His daughter was chattering away endlessly about slumber parties and nail polish as Ginny cut Marigold's breakfast into little pieces.
Ginny set to work on the remaining plate, finishing by spearing a bite with the fork and pushing it towards Draco. He reflexively opened his mouth, letting Ginny feed him. It startled him, his unconscious acquiescence, but he said nothing. For this one single moment, all of the little pieces of his world just seemed to click.
Ron woke up to the disturbing sensation of being watched. Also disturbing was the fact that he seemed to be laying naked on the alarmingly small balcony. The balcony with the weak railing, to be precise. "Glin?"
"Hmm," she responded, her face buried in his chest.
"How exactly did we get here?"
"I kept bumping my head on the piano bench," she replied reasonably. At his questioning look, she shrugged. "We got up for a snack, and...well I guess 'got up' is an apt choice of words. Anyway, I don't really recall much after the piano. I think I might have blacked out."
"Is that normal?"
"Not really normal, but definitely not a bad thing," she assured him before changing the subject rather abruptly. "Who lives across the street from you?"
"I don't know."
"Well I think if one of my neighbors had a telescope, I'd like to know who," she said reasonably.
"Elderly woman, blue hair?"
"And a big ole grin."
He covered his face with his hands. "Mrs. Murphy."
Glin began to wave. "Good morning, Mrs. Murphy!" The old witch smiled and waved from behind her telescope as Ron pulled Glin into the apartment.
"We're sick, you know that? Really bloody sick." He pulled on a pair of pants. "Put on some knickers, she might still be able to see you."
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the railing this morning."
"What?"
"A. Stop being so cranky. There isn't a thing we can do about Mrs. Murphy, and I doubt she's going to tell anyone but her thousand cats about our little encounter. B. Were you supposed to have brunch with Harry and Herm today?"
"How'd you know?"
"They invited me, too. It's not like they were going to tell you I was invited. We supposedly hate each other. Now take those pants off!"
"You've gotten rather bossy. I think I like it." He eyed her lasciviously. "We have time for a quickie, I presume?"
"If it's in the shower. You've got pigeon poo in your hair."
Draco sat bolt upright. What if she'd been kidnapped? What if his nightmares had suddenly come to life and taken her away? At this very minute, she could be lying hurt and lost in the catacombs, with God-knows-what lurking about down there...
Her dress was gone. An intruder wouldn't have taken her dress. It became terribly apparent that Ginny had not only left him, but had left him of her own accord.
At first he was incensed. Then his anger dissipated. At least he wouldn't have to deal with any of her ridiculous notions about love and eternal happiness. She'd saved him the trouble of breaking the truth to her. He couldn't love, not in that way, not anymore.
He pulled himself from the tangled bed clothes and rooted around the room for his pajamas. He found them without too much trouble. Lurking beneath a night side table were a pair of soft, gray cotton pajama pants. Since the matching shirt wasn't readily available, he just pulled on the pants and ambled down the kitchen to make Marigold's breakfast.
He decided to make something special. Something more difficult than a bowl of cereal. He settled on French toast, and spent an hour preparing breakfast without magic. Even though he was no longer in hiding, he still liked to do things the muggle way. It kept him on his toes, and it ate up time. He found himself doing unnecessary and often ridiculous things just to fill the hours of the day. The unfortunate thing about making food the muggle way was that he always ended up throwing away around half of what he made. In all honesty, Betty Crocker was overly generous with her serving suggestions.
Some flowers from the window-box in a small vase made the tray look... finished, somehow. Satisfied with his handiwork, he carried the tray to Marigold's room. The nanny had arranged to arrive late, citing a death in the family. Ginny had complicated things, and he was glad she'd left. He wouldn't want to bring her back into Marigold's life only to take her away.
The gauzy, white bed curtains were still drawn about the bed, undisturbed. It wasn't terribly early, but it was reasonable to assume that Marigold had slept late. She often slept late, because of the nightmares. The realization hit him- he hadn't heard Marigold screaming last night. She'd either slept soundly or managed to get herself back to sleep. It was nice to think she was beginning to cope with them. Hopefully, this would become a trend, and their sleepless nights would come to an end.
He placed the tray on a small table, and went to wake Marigold laugh. When he saw what lay beyond the curtains, he was fairly certain he would have dropped the tray if he'd still been holding it. It was dreadfully apparent that Ginny hadn't left him at all. He'd slept through Marigold's crying, and she'd gone to comfort the child.
Marigold was sprawled out on top of Ginny, one little white hand clamped onto Ginny's face, the other wrapped loosely about a stuffed bear. The child twitched in her sleep, digging her small fingers deeper into Ginny's face. Draco flinched and gently began to pry Marigold's fingers loose. She began to toss and turn, clutching Ginny tighter and crying, "Mama, mama."
Draco released her and the child's eyes fluttered open. "Papa? I dreamt that Aunt Ginny was here, and then she was!" She smiled and threw her arms about Ginny's still sleeping form. "Good morning, Aunt Ginny!"
Ginny rubbed one bleary eye. "G'morning, Sweetheart."
"Are you talking to my, or to Papa?"
Ginny yawned mightily. "Both, I guess. G'morning Sweethearts."
They were both looking up at him expectantly, and Draco couldn't help but give into the pull of domesticity. "Good morning, Dearests."
"You can't have two dearests, father."
"She's right," Ginny said in another yawn. "Dearest is superlative."
"Which means there can only be one," Marigold added.
"I should never have given you that dictionary for your birthday," Draco sighed theatrically. "Everybody up now. I've made French toast, and way too much of it at that."
They tumbled out of bed, and sat down at Marigold's small table. Ginny looked at the tray rather pointedly. "You only brought two plates."
"I wasn't aware you'd be dining with us."
"Why wouldn't she eat with us?" Marigold asked, baffled.
He was going to calmly explain that he thought she might be having brunch with her family, but Ginny cut him off. "Because he thought I'd left in the middle of the night like some common..." Ginny eyed her present company. "Well, like something very unpleasant anyway. He obviously didn't notice my gown sitting on the armchair, and he obviously thinks very little of my character and has now been proven wrong."
"That's not very nice," Marigold observed. "I think you'd better apologize to her."
Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry. We can share the plate, Gin. It's not like I have the plague."
Ginny scooted her chair up next to his, and her legs tangled companionably with his. She was wearing his pajama shirt, and he was slightly disturbed by the odd surge of masculinity that went through him at the sight of her wearing his clothing. His daughter was chattering away endlessly about slumber parties and nail polish as Ginny cut Marigold's breakfast into little pieces.
Ginny set to work on the remaining plate, finishing by spearing a bite with the fork and pushing it towards Draco. He reflexively opened his mouth, letting Ginny feed him. It startled him, his unconscious acquiescence, but he said nothing. For this one single moment, all of the little pieces of his world just seemed to click.
Ron woke up to the disturbing sensation of being watched. Also disturbing was the fact that he seemed to be laying naked on the alarmingly small balcony. The balcony with the weak railing, to be precise. "Glin?"
"Hmm," she responded, her face buried in his chest.
"How exactly did we get here?"
"I kept bumping my head on the piano bench," she replied reasonably. At his questioning look, she shrugged. "We got up for a snack, and...well I guess 'got up' is an apt choice of words. Anyway, I don't really recall much after the piano. I think I might have blacked out."
"Is that normal?"
"Not really normal, but definitely not a bad thing," she assured him before changing the subject rather abruptly. "Who lives across the street from you?"
"I don't know."
"Well I think if one of my neighbors had a telescope, I'd like to know who," she said reasonably.
"Elderly woman, blue hair?"
"And a big ole grin."
He covered his face with his hands. "Mrs. Murphy."
Glin began to wave. "Good morning, Mrs. Murphy!" The old witch smiled and waved from behind her telescope as Ron pulled Glin into the apartment.
"We're sick, you know that? Really bloody sick." He pulled on a pair of pants. "Put on some knickers, she might still be able to see you."
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the railing this morning."
"What?"
"A. Stop being so cranky. There isn't a thing we can do about Mrs. Murphy, and I doubt she's going to tell anyone but her thousand cats about our little encounter. B. Were you supposed to have brunch with Harry and Herm today?"
"How'd you know?"
"They invited me, too. It's not like they were going to tell you I was invited. We supposedly hate each other. Now take those pants off!"
"You've gotten rather bossy. I think I like it." He eyed her lasciviously. "We have time for a quickie, I presume?"
"If it's in the shower. You've got pigeon poo in your hair."