Standard disclaimers apply!

I do not own Harry Potter. I have nothing to do with Scholastic, Warner Bros or Bloomsbury. I'm not JKR and I am certainly not making any profit out of this.

23rd December, 1998

Stella had been quiet after dinner. Stan had noticed, definitely, although he'd said nothing other than a concerned "Alright love?" as they'd prepared for bed.

She'd smiled at his reflection in the mirror as she completed her evening toilet. "I'm fine, darling. Just a little tired."

But she wasn't fine at all, as she lay awake in his arms while he slept. It had all come rushing back to her; the rejection, the loneliness, and most of all? The confusion.

All of that, just from a throw-away remark Kingsley had made over dinner.

She'd laughed at herself, the first time Stan had bought Kingsley home for dinner, at the way her stomach had tightened over the coincidence. Then she had pushed that little niggle to the back of her mind and he had become a good friend to the couple; and introduced them, in turn, to a good friend of his.

Andromeda was a widow, and had also lost her daughter and son-in-law thanks to the recent wizarding war, and was now bringing up her infant grandson. There was nothing aside from friendship between them, Kingsley and Andromeda, but Stella held high hopes for the future – they rubbed along quite nicely together, and obviously held each other in esteem ... and she suspected that Kingsley held just a little bit of a torch for Andromeda, although now certainly wouldn't have been the appropriate time to make any kind of move.

Stella had a dim memory of Kingsley as a boy. Well ... considering she'd been hardly five years old when she'd last seen him, perhaps it wasn't a surprise she'd not even known his last name at the time. He was just a lanky, cricket-mad 10 year old boy.

She'd never made the connection! Why would she?

She'd made it now though, and she really needed to talk to Stan. Turning in his arms, she watched him, peaceful and asleep.

No need to wake him. They'd need to up in a few hours anyway, it could wait.

oOo

Just how did a clever, confident, independent and attractive woman get herself into such a situation?

35 years old, no family alive in the UK and utterly alone with a 3 month old baby.

She could go back to the islands, to her aunty and cousins ... but every fibre of her being was against it. She had a life here; friends and a good job that she loved. It's not like she was desperate and broke! OK, so she'd have to go back to work sooner than she'd wanted, but it could have been worse. Harvey had told her only last month that she was welcome back at the travel agency whenever she was ready. Unfortunately there was now no question of going back part-time, as she thought about doing when Dean was a little older, not with cost of living, a mortgage and child-care ... but they'd be alright.

But this was the last time! Oh yes!

Never again would she be sucked in by a silver tongue and a dashing smile in a sharp suit!

She just couldn't understand it. They'd been planning the wedding for months ... and even now, she knew, after two weeks of ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, if he walked through the door that very second she'd forgive him and welcome him with open arms.

She stared hard at the door, willing it to happen.

God! So pathetic!

Win had left her – left his own SON – without a word.

They'd made love at dawn and then he'd given Dean his bottle while she made breakfast. She wracked her brain, searching for some sort of hint ... anything at all ... but there was nothing.

Then again, he HAD seemed a little pre-occupied. Trouble at work, he had said, shrugging casually.

"I'll see you at 6," he had kissed her goodbye and then blew a raspberry on Dean's fat little cheek. "Be good for Mummy, and both of you have a good day."

And that was it.

At first she'd though he'd been in an accident. Checked with the hospitals and the police.

Absolutely nothing.

So here she was, on the eve of the wedding that would never be, and she had to face the fact that the bastard had abandoned them.

Well ... they didn't need him anyway! FUCK HIM! They'd manage on their own, thanks very much.

oOo

Stan gaped at her. "Are you sure about this, love?"

Stella nodded and fiddled with the rim of her coffee cup. "Quite sure. Who else could it be? How many people from Montserrat do you know by the name of Winston Shacklebolt?"

He chuckled and patted her hand. "You make a fair point." Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes for a few moments, clearly thinking.

"Stan ..." she chewed her lip pensively.

Opening his eyes, he smiled sadly. "I can tell you one thing at least. Win didn't abandon you by any choice of his own."

Stella frowned. "No?"

"No, love, he didn't. Kingsley said those Death Eaters were putting the hard word on him to help them out, but he wasn't having a bar of it. He was murdered."

"Oh ..." her eyes filled with tears, "all those years I hated him ... poor Win."

Stan leaned over and kissed her gently. "You weren't to know."

"I suppose not," she shot him a watery smile. "You're a good man, Stanley Thomas, and I don't know what I did in life to deserve you, but I'm glad of it."

"Leave off, woman," Stan grumbled with a blush.

"It's true!" Stella laughed quietly. "The day you walked into the agency wanting a ticket to the islands was the luckiest day of my life." Then she sobered again. "We're going to have to tell them."

"Kingsley would like to know," Stan said, looking thoughtful, "and Dean-o. He's never said anything about it, but it can be a good feeling to believe that your own father didn't love you enough to keep in contact."

Stella nodded. "We'll tell him first."

"I think that's best," he agreed, and then he glanced at his watch and gulped the rest of his coffee. "I need to make a move! Arthur and young Ron'll be down at the house getting a start on the last of the downstairs toilet and bathroom." He grinned suddenly. "Arthur's keen as mustard, but he gets a bit distracted with the tools."

"You'd best go and supervise, in that case," she followed him to the door and kissed his cheek.

"Why don't you come down at lunch?" Stan suggested. "Come and have a look at the place."

"Too much to do," Stella said, with some regret, "I'll have to wait until I see it at the party tomorrow night. I promised the girls I'd take them into Chelsea today ... and Dean if he wants to come along."

"Need a porter, do you?" Stan teased.

"Something like that," Stella wrinkled her nose, "any special requests while I'm out and about?"

"Wouldn't say no to a nice roast dinner," Stan suggested hopefully.

"Consider it done," she told him, "will you come home early, do you think?"

"I should be back by four at the latest."

"Good," Stella bit her lip. "Can you be here when I talk to Dean?"

Stan nodded quickly. "'Course I will, love. Now, you have a good time shopping with the kids and I'll see you later."

They kissed goodbye and Stella shut the door quietly behind him, pondering about the funny turns life always seems to take.

I posted a chapter! I posted a chapter! I poster a chapter!

Now I'll try and work out the next one. LOL