Pansy stared out at the night sky from the balcony of Jet office, high above Knockturn Alley. The streets were littered with refuse, as rats scurried from corners. Diagon Alley was different. Shopkeepers performed charms to keep the mice and dirt away. Of course, mice and dirt had a way of getting past simple charms, but the streets there were relatively clean. Things were safer in Diagon Alley. Strategically placed lanterns kept things well lit, and there hadn't been any major crimes outside of pick-pocketing there for years. There weren't derelicts sleeping in corners, save an occasional happy-go-lucky bum. People weren't knifed on the corners.
Pansy preferred Knockturn Alley, with the shopkeepers who were more than content to contend with rats and actually preferred to locate their business in dark corners. With Knockturn Alley, you could expect a spot of trouble if you didn't keep on top of things. Poor man or rich man, it didn't matter when you were down there. They'd soon as steal your life as steal your wallet. That was the thing that the Polly Perfects of Diagon didn't realize. Knockturn Alley wasn't about earning a profit. Knockturn Alley was about power. The power to take something that didn't belong to you, whether it was a cookie from a child or a coin from an unsuspecting blind beggar.
Pansy's life had been a simple one. She'd had everything she'd ever wanted, save beauty. Her parents hadn't cared about her physical imperfections, but had assented to a competent glamour-specialist working a bit of magic on their only daughter. After a few hours, and a great deal of pain, Pansy Parkinson had been perfect. Certainly perfect enough to finally be married to Draco Malfoy. Neither party had had any illusions about their marriage. The Parkinson's had power, but the Malfoy's had more. Pansy was physically perfect in every way, and Draco was undeniably handsome. She had been pleased with the match anyway, and Draco seemed equally satisfied. Until Marigold was born, he'd remained dutiful to her. And then, the child had stolen his heart. Pansy could see why. Marigold had looked exactly like him, down to her soft silvery hair to her gray eyes. Who couldn't love a mirror image of themselves? She wouldn't have killed the girl for taking the attention that belonged to Pansy. Most assuredly she would have resented her for it, but she wouldn't have done anything about it.
It had been... gratifying, she supposed, to find that his perfect angel was a squib. She'd kept her suspicions to herself for awhile, let the Death Eaters slowly become suspect of the girl. Then, she'd slipped a small bit of a sedative in Draco's wine at dinner, and watered the seed of doubt that was resting in the back of all their minds. It hadn't taken much, and then the girl was dead.
So her perfect husband had gone into mourning for a few years, and she'd paid enough money to have the marriage dissolved. It was ridiculously simple. She'd waited a bit, made it look like she was mourning over her dead daughter, and then she was gloriously free of him. Jet was insanely wealthy, and had made an agreement with her. They were both forgiven their dalliances, and he had an excuse as to why he couldn't marry the women he seduced. She had money, and the power of the Frangoso name.
All in all, Pansy had a fairly rewarding existence.
Still, in the back of her mind was this nagging little voice, telling her she'd been rejected. When Draco returned, he hadn't come looking for her at all. She'd expected something, a bit of fireworks or even just a note, telling her where the little wretch had been buried. Then she'd seen him at the Minister's Gala, and he'd spent the entire night looking at that little bit of do-gooder-fluff. He'd practically taken Jet's head off just for dancing with the little chit.
What got under her skin the most was not that Draco was courting the Weasley woman. It was the way he was going about it, as if he weren't doing it for the minimal bit of power the girl possessed. When he looked at her it was as if no one else in the room was there. She hadn't cared for him much, but it grated on her that he cared for someone else.
A fly buzzed onto the edifice of the building and Pansy smiled. Another benefit of Knockturn Alley was that anything at all could be bought for a price. Even information.
Glin stretched lazily out on her bed. She'd sent Ron packing last night, and he'd been terribly upset. It was the sort of thing she'd done before, nothing terribly new about it. Sending someone away made things absolutely delicious when you allowed them to return. Still, she felt a twinge in her chest. Almost like she felt guilty about it...
Which was ridiculous. It wasn't like she was toying with his emotions. She really was busy this time. One of her modeling friends had begged her to watch her son this afternoon, and she really couldn't entertain a child after spending the night entertaining Ron. Although, when she thought about it, it probably hadn't sounded like a very good excuse to Ron at the time. She just hadn't thought to explain that she'd never done this sort of thing before, and was already a bit nervous about doing it.
The doorbell chimed, and Glin pulled on a robe. Fawn was standing there, with a small child in her arms. "Desmond's asleep. He'll probably wake within the hour. I've brought along a carton of vitamin-d milk. It's all he's to have to drink. You'll know he wants it if he makes little fists with his hands. Don't let him have more than two full bottles of it though, or you'll be knee deep in messy nappies before lunch. He wears only cloth nappies, I've included ten in the bag, but you probably won't need more than four or five. I'm trying to wean him from the pacifier, so if he's a bit more scream-y than usual, that's why. He can have a banana cut into bits and some cereal for breakfast, let him feed himself though, or he wont eat at all. For lunch, try whole wheat toast cut into squares, and grapes cut into fourths. You can try him on the broccoli cheese baby food, but if he gets too fussy, just clean him up. He usually has a nap after lunch, but he hasn't been sleeping well, so just let him play until I come back. I expect the shoot will be done by four at the latest. Bye!"
The woman deposited the infant in Glin's arms, dropped a huge bag on the sofa, and beat a hasty retreat. For her part, Glin just looked horribly confused. The infant in her arms stirred a bit, and his eyes fluttered. A set of killer baby blues focused on her, and the child began to cry. Glin jostled the child, reassuring it. "I'm Auntie Glin, and we're going to have lots of fun today!"
Somehow, the child wasn't reassured.
With great trepidation, Ginny rang the doorbell at Malfoy Manor. The door slid open, and she stepped in.
"It works now," she called to no one in particular. Draco didn't seem to be lingering about anywhere, so she decided to visit Marigold first.. She walked up the grand staircase, and made her way through the dark passageways of his house. She was about to open the door to Marigold's room when she heard voices inside.
"Missus Merriwether, would you like some more tea?" Marigold's small voice made it's way through the wooden door.
A falsetto responded. "Certainly, Marigold. Could I have a biscuit, too?"
"May you have a biscuit," Marigold corrected. "And yes, you may."
"Delightful," the falsely high voice crooned. A few moments later, the same voice, though now considerably lower screeched. "Blast!"
"You've spilled tea on yourself again, haven't you father," Marigold's voice now rang with disappointment. "You're not very good at this."
"As evidenced by the third degree burns," he agreed.
"If only you'd marry Aunt Ginny..."
Ginny blushed and felt her face move into a grin.
"It's not that simple."
Ginny frowned.
"Courting someone takes a great deal of time Marigold. Besides, I'm not even sure she'd say yes."
"But she would!"
"For right now, we're both just going to have to settle for seeing Ginny on occasion, rather than all the time. That's just the way it has to be for awhile."
"What about after awhile?"
"I don't know about that any better than you do, darling."
Ginny decided she'd had quite enough of eavesdropping and opened the door. "Hullo!"
Draco's face fell, and somehow Ginny couldn't blame him. Draco, or "Missus Merriwether" as he was evidently known on the tea and biscuits circuit, couldn't have looked more ridiculous if he had tried. A large, floppy-brimmed white hat adorned with begonias was, by far, the most prominent accessory. In addition to the hat, he was wearing a pink feather boa, a pair of white satin gloves with little bows, and was holding a rather large purse with the word "princess" embroidered upon it.
In retrospect, she probably should have laughed as hard as she did. She collapsed to the floor, and tears were streaming down her face as she rolled back and forth. "I...sorry...so ridiculous," she panted in between giggle fits.
Draco looked at Ginny, rolling about on the carpet and laughing at him. "I don't think Ginny here has the proper respect for Missus Merriwether," he told Marigold.
"Missus Merriwether is very dignified, Aunt Ginny," Marigold told her sternly. "She may be a bit clumsy at times, but she's very sensitive."
"Sorry Missus..." Ginny said before collapsing into another giggle fit.
"That's it," proclaimed Missus Merriwether in her trademark falsetto, as Draco removed the gloves. "The gloves are off."
Draco and Marigold pounced upon Ginny, tickling her until she begged for mercy. "I can't breathe."
They let her up, and she caught her breath before saying, "oldest trick in the book." She began to tickle them both simultaneously. Unfortunately, one handed tickling was tricky, and in just a few minutes, she'd been flipped to her back. "Ok, I give up!" She cried.
"Say the magic word," Draco chided her as Marigold went to work on her feet.
"Please! I'm sorry! Uncle! Peanut Butter! Pretty please with rainbow sprinkles on top!!!"
They let her go and she sat up. "Which one was it?"
"I suppose you'll never know," Draco said with mock sympathy.
"Are you staying tonight?" Marigold asked out of nowhere.
"In the manor, yes. In this room, no." Marigold's eyes began to tear up. "Now none of that. I can't be sleeping in your bed all the time. I'm staying in the manor, and that's a special treat anyway."
The child smiled and yawned. "I suppose that's all right. I better not take my nap today, so I can play with you. Besides, I'm not tired at all."
Draco opened his mouth, but Ginny handled it. "You just yawned, you're tired. Now hop into bed so you don't fall asleep in your dinner." The child grumbled, but did as she was told and was asleep within minutes.
Draco and Ginny retired to the study downstairs. After a few breathless kisses, Draco pulled away. "How long were you standing outside that door?"
"I suppose you'll never know," Ginny said, before pulling him to her.
Ron was attempting to walk off his anger again. It really wasn't working this time. She'd completely blown him off, and she'd done it with an exceedingly lame excuse. "I have to baby-sit." What was she, fourteen? She was independently wealthy and she was picking up extra knuts watching babies?
Inexplicably, he found himself heading in the direction of Glin's flat. Even more disturbing was the fact that he was now standing outside the door of Glin's flat. He'd only really ever been there once, yet he was sure this was it. He pondered knocking for a moment before deciding to just burst in.
Glin was sitting in a leather recliner, rocking back and forth. Sprawled across her was a sleeping child, a large, wet spot of drool on her chest directly under it's mouth. Her hair was streaked with bits of green and pale yellow.
"I'm not sure I care for your hair," he told her truthfully.
"It's not a style. It's bits of banana and broccoli cheese baby food," she replied matter-of-factly. The child in her arms stirred. "Don't worry Dovey. It's only Uncle Ron."
"Uncle Ron?"
"For some reason I feel the overwhelming need to refer to everyone this baby is unacquainted with as his Aunt or Uncle. I also keep calling inanimate objects 'Mister.' D'you think I'm crazy?"
"Undeniably," he told her, before kissing her brow. "When's this pot of trouble leaving?"
"He was supposed to be gone an hour ago. D'you think maybe Fawn's leaving him with me forever?" Her voice sounded hopeful.
At that moment, Fawn walked through the open door to collect her child.
When she was gone, Ron turned to Glin. "I think if you're going to take on dirty diapers for the rest of your life, you're probably best off having your own little one."
"But that's going to take a really long time, Ron. I'd have to find someone to be it's father, even if he's only willing to contribute a few moments of his time. And then a whole nine months... I want a baby now, Ron."
"You only want a baby now because you've just been holding a sleeping baby. They're a little bit like narcotics that way. You only really want them when you've been exposed to them for too long."
"You could be it's father..."
"Don't get started on that. I'm not going to be a father to some child that I'll never see. All of my children will be produced during a marriage." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. "But I'm not so heartless that I'll let you go out looking for sperm when you haven't even practiced..."
Pansy preferred Knockturn Alley, with the shopkeepers who were more than content to contend with rats and actually preferred to locate their business in dark corners. With Knockturn Alley, you could expect a spot of trouble if you didn't keep on top of things. Poor man or rich man, it didn't matter when you were down there. They'd soon as steal your life as steal your wallet. That was the thing that the Polly Perfects of Diagon didn't realize. Knockturn Alley wasn't about earning a profit. Knockturn Alley was about power. The power to take something that didn't belong to you, whether it was a cookie from a child or a coin from an unsuspecting blind beggar.
Pansy's life had been a simple one. She'd had everything she'd ever wanted, save beauty. Her parents hadn't cared about her physical imperfections, but had assented to a competent glamour-specialist working a bit of magic on their only daughter. After a few hours, and a great deal of pain, Pansy Parkinson had been perfect. Certainly perfect enough to finally be married to Draco Malfoy. Neither party had had any illusions about their marriage. The Parkinson's had power, but the Malfoy's had more. Pansy was physically perfect in every way, and Draco was undeniably handsome. She had been pleased with the match anyway, and Draco seemed equally satisfied. Until Marigold was born, he'd remained dutiful to her. And then, the child had stolen his heart. Pansy could see why. Marigold had looked exactly like him, down to her soft silvery hair to her gray eyes. Who couldn't love a mirror image of themselves? She wouldn't have killed the girl for taking the attention that belonged to Pansy. Most assuredly she would have resented her for it, but she wouldn't have done anything about it.
It had been... gratifying, she supposed, to find that his perfect angel was a squib. She'd kept her suspicions to herself for awhile, let the Death Eaters slowly become suspect of the girl. Then, she'd slipped a small bit of a sedative in Draco's wine at dinner, and watered the seed of doubt that was resting in the back of all their minds. It hadn't taken much, and then the girl was dead.
So her perfect husband had gone into mourning for a few years, and she'd paid enough money to have the marriage dissolved. It was ridiculously simple. She'd waited a bit, made it look like she was mourning over her dead daughter, and then she was gloriously free of him. Jet was insanely wealthy, and had made an agreement with her. They were both forgiven their dalliances, and he had an excuse as to why he couldn't marry the women he seduced. She had money, and the power of the Frangoso name.
All in all, Pansy had a fairly rewarding existence.
Still, in the back of her mind was this nagging little voice, telling her she'd been rejected. When Draco returned, he hadn't come looking for her at all. She'd expected something, a bit of fireworks or even just a note, telling her where the little wretch had been buried. Then she'd seen him at the Minister's Gala, and he'd spent the entire night looking at that little bit of do-gooder-fluff. He'd practically taken Jet's head off just for dancing with the little chit.
What got under her skin the most was not that Draco was courting the Weasley woman. It was the way he was going about it, as if he weren't doing it for the minimal bit of power the girl possessed. When he looked at her it was as if no one else in the room was there. She hadn't cared for him much, but it grated on her that he cared for someone else.
A fly buzzed onto the edifice of the building and Pansy smiled. Another benefit of Knockturn Alley was that anything at all could be bought for a price. Even information.
Glin stretched lazily out on her bed. She'd sent Ron packing last night, and he'd been terribly upset. It was the sort of thing she'd done before, nothing terribly new about it. Sending someone away made things absolutely delicious when you allowed them to return. Still, she felt a twinge in her chest. Almost like she felt guilty about it...
Which was ridiculous. It wasn't like she was toying with his emotions. She really was busy this time. One of her modeling friends had begged her to watch her son this afternoon, and she really couldn't entertain a child after spending the night entertaining Ron. Although, when she thought about it, it probably hadn't sounded like a very good excuse to Ron at the time. She just hadn't thought to explain that she'd never done this sort of thing before, and was already a bit nervous about doing it.
The doorbell chimed, and Glin pulled on a robe. Fawn was standing there, with a small child in her arms. "Desmond's asleep. He'll probably wake within the hour. I've brought along a carton of vitamin-d milk. It's all he's to have to drink. You'll know he wants it if he makes little fists with his hands. Don't let him have more than two full bottles of it though, or you'll be knee deep in messy nappies before lunch. He wears only cloth nappies, I've included ten in the bag, but you probably won't need more than four or five. I'm trying to wean him from the pacifier, so if he's a bit more scream-y than usual, that's why. He can have a banana cut into bits and some cereal for breakfast, let him feed himself though, or he wont eat at all. For lunch, try whole wheat toast cut into squares, and grapes cut into fourths. You can try him on the broccoli cheese baby food, but if he gets too fussy, just clean him up. He usually has a nap after lunch, but he hasn't been sleeping well, so just let him play until I come back. I expect the shoot will be done by four at the latest. Bye!"
The woman deposited the infant in Glin's arms, dropped a huge bag on the sofa, and beat a hasty retreat. For her part, Glin just looked horribly confused. The infant in her arms stirred a bit, and his eyes fluttered. A set of killer baby blues focused on her, and the child began to cry. Glin jostled the child, reassuring it. "I'm Auntie Glin, and we're going to have lots of fun today!"
Somehow, the child wasn't reassured.
With great trepidation, Ginny rang the doorbell at Malfoy Manor. The door slid open, and she stepped in.
"It works now," she called to no one in particular. Draco didn't seem to be lingering about anywhere, so she decided to visit Marigold first.. She walked up the grand staircase, and made her way through the dark passageways of his house. She was about to open the door to Marigold's room when she heard voices inside.
"Missus Merriwether, would you like some more tea?" Marigold's small voice made it's way through the wooden door.
A falsetto responded. "Certainly, Marigold. Could I have a biscuit, too?"
"May you have a biscuit," Marigold corrected. "And yes, you may."
"Delightful," the falsely high voice crooned. A few moments later, the same voice, though now considerably lower screeched. "Blast!"
"You've spilled tea on yourself again, haven't you father," Marigold's voice now rang with disappointment. "You're not very good at this."
"As evidenced by the third degree burns," he agreed.
"If only you'd marry Aunt Ginny..."
Ginny blushed and felt her face move into a grin.
"It's not that simple."
Ginny frowned.
"Courting someone takes a great deal of time Marigold. Besides, I'm not even sure she'd say yes."
"But she would!"
"For right now, we're both just going to have to settle for seeing Ginny on occasion, rather than all the time. That's just the way it has to be for awhile."
"What about after awhile?"
"I don't know about that any better than you do, darling."
Ginny decided she'd had quite enough of eavesdropping and opened the door. "Hullo!"
Draco's face fell, and somehow Ginny couldn't blame him. Draco, or "Missus Merriwether" as he was evidently known on the tea and biscuits circuit, couldn't have looked more ridiculous if he had tried. A large, floppy-brimmed white hat adorned with begonias was, by far, the most prominent accessory. In addition to the hat, he was wearing a pink feather boa, a pair of white satin gloves with little bows, and was holding a rather large purse with the word "princess" embroidered upon it.
In retrospect, she probably should have laughed as hard as she did. She collapsed to the floor, and tears were streaming down her face as she rolled back and forth. "I...sorry...so ridiculous," she panted in between giggle fits.
Draco looked at Ginny, rolling about on the carpet and laughing at him. "I don't think Ginny here has the proper respect for Missus Merriwether," he told Marigold.
"Missus Merriwether is very dignified, Aunt Ginny," Marigold told her sternly. "She may be a bit clumsy at times, but she's very sensitive."
"Sorry Missus..." Ginny said before collapsing into another giggle fit.
"That's it," proclaimed Missus Merriwether in her trademark falsetto, as Draco removed the gloves. "The gloves are off."
Draco and Marigold pounced upon Ginny, tickling her until she begged for mercy. "I can't breathe."
They let her up, and she caught her breath before saying, "oldest trick in the book." She began to tickle them both simultaneously. Unfortunately, one handed tickling was tricky, and in just a few minutes, she'd been flipped to her back. "Ok, I give up!" She cried.
"Say the magic word," Draco chided her as Marigold went to work on her feet.
"Please! I'm sorry! Uncle! Peanut Butter! Pretty please with rainbow sprinkles on top!!!"
They let her go and she sat up. "Which one was it?"
"I suppose you'll never know," Draco said with mock sympathy.
"Are you staying tonight?" Marigold asked out of nowhere.
"In the manor, yes. In this room, no." Marigold's eyes began to tear up. "Now none of that. I can't be sleeping in your bed all the time. I'm staying in the manor, and that's a special treat anyway."
The child smiled and yawned. "I suppose that's all right. I better not take my nap today, so I can play with you. Besides, I'm not tired at all."
Draco opened his mouth, but Ginny handled it. "You just yawned, you're tired. Now hop into bed so you don't fall asleep in your dinner." The child grumbled, but did as she was told and was asleep within minutes.
Draco and Ginny retired to the study downstairs. After a few breathless kisses, Draco pulled away. "How long were you standing outside that door?"
"I suppose you'll never know," Ginny said, before pulling him to her.
Ron was attempting to walk off his anger again. It really wasn't working this time. She'd completely blown him off, and she'd done it with an exceedingly lame excuse. "I have to baby-sit." What was she, fourteen? She was independently wealthy and she was picking up extra knuts watching babies?
Inexplicably, he found himself heading in the direction of Glin's flat. Even more disturbing was the fact that he was now standing outside the door of Glin's flat. He'd only really ever been there once, yet he was sure this was it. He pondered knocking for a moment before deciding to just burst in.
Glin was sitting in a leather recliner, rocking back and forth. Sprawled across her was a sleeping child, a large, wet spot of drool on her chest directly under it's mouth. Her hair was streaked with bits of green and pale yellow.
"I'm not sure I care for your hair," he told her truthfully.
"It's not a style. It's bits of banana and broccoli cheese baby food," she replied matter-of-factly. The child in her arms stirred. "Don't worry Dovey. It's only Uncle Ron."
"Uncle Ron?"
"For some reason I feel the overwhelming need to refer to everyone this baby is unacquainted with as his Aunt or Uncle. I also keep calling inanimate objects 'Mister.' D'you think I'm crazy?"
"Undeniably," he told her, before kissing her brow. "When's this pot of trouble leaving?"
"He was supposed to be gone an hour ago. D'you think maybe Fawn's leaving him with me forever?" Her voice sounded hopeful.
At that moment, Fawn walked through the open door to collect her child.
When she was gone, Ron turned to Glin. "I think if you're going to take on dirty diapers for the rest of your life, you're probably best off having your own little one."
"But that's going to take a really long time, Ron. I'd have to find someone to be it's father, even if he's only willing to contribute a few moments of his time. And then a whole nine months... I want a baby now, Ron."
"You only want a baby now because you've just been holding a sleeping baby. They're a little bit like narcotics that way. You only really want them when you've been exposed to them for too long."
"You could be it's father..."
"Don't get started on that. I'm not going to be a father to some child that I'll never see. All of my children will be produced during a marriage." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. "But I'm not so heartless that I'll let you go out looking for sperm when you haven't even practiced..."