For a Pound of Flesh
For Ron, waking up was a process of deduction. Was the couch he stretched out on his? A casual hand brushing across the cushion beneath him told him no. It was slick and cool, like leather. Not warm and scratchy like the polyester-print sofa his parents had given him and Hermione when they moved into a place of their own. Next, was he wearing pants? No, but he was wearing shorts, his shirt, and a sock on his left foot. Not a great sign, he had to admit. Finally, sucking in a deep breath, he prayed that when he opened his eyes he'd see Harry's living room. Carefully cracking his eyes open, Ron grimaced at the stabbing pain it caused him as light filtering in from some nearby window hit his retinas.
"You're awake," someone – young – said.
Turning his head, Ron blinked at the sight of a vaguely familiar girl dressed in what appeared to be an adult's jim jam top. Slowly sitting up, Ron mumbled, "Uh, yeah."
"Mum says you were smashed and that's why she brought you home from work," the girl told him.
Ah, now he remembered who she was, this was Pansy's daughter. As soon as the thought was finished, Ron flushed in both embarrassment and shame. Pissed as he may have been last night, it'd not been enough to black out what he'd done with Pansy Parkinson in that little muggle exam room. Averting his eyes, he replied, "Erh, yeah, I guess so."
"She hasn't ever brought a man home before," the girl told Ron. Then, puckering her lips, she titled her head and said slyly, "Well, except for Daddy. But that was before he married Astoria."
Ron's mouth fell open. Merlin! This kid was Draco's? "Um," Ron said dumbly.
"Freesia!" Pansy snapped from behind them. "What did I tell you about waking him?"
Standing up, Freesia crossed her arms. "I didn't!" she argued. "He did it all on his own!"
Ron heard Pansy make an angry noise and the girl, still pouting, stomped away. Watching her slim form walk down a hallway adjoining the room, he gave a pitiful moan when she disappeared and a door slammed shut.
"Oh, she didn't slam it that hard, you baby." Pansy sneered as she sat down in the spot on the coffee table her daughter had previously resided in.
Ron scowled. "Tell that to my head," he grumbled.
Rolling her eyes, Pansy crossed her legs and said, "Last night was… fun."
Once again, Ron felt the heat of shame creep up his neck.
Grinning like a cat with its cream, Pansy leaned in so close that her lips were nearly touching his ear. In a husky whisper, she asked, "Want to do it again?"
Throwing himself as far from Pansy as he could while still remaining on the couch, Ron shook his head frantically. "No! Last night was a mistake!"
Pansy gave a deep, throaty laugh. "Thought so," she said, still smiling.
Ron frowned, now confused. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
"You don't want anyone finding out about what we did, do you? Especially that shrew of a wife you have."
"She's not a shrew! And yes, no one needs to know about this. I was pissed, okay? There's nothing else to it," Ron told Pansy, praying that this was the end and that the glint in her eyes was just amusement.
Pansy tapped her chin with a manicured nail. "What will you give me for my silence? I'm sure, if I liked, I could take this little tale to The Daily Prophet and make a small fortune."
His hands cold and clammy, Ron shakily said, "You wouldn't."
"You might be trash and a Mudblood-fucker, but you're still pure. I have nothing to be ashamed of, only you," Pansy replied, smirking.
Lips curling into an angry snarl, Ron hissed, "You are such a bitch."
"Why, thank you!" Pansy cooed.
Getting up, Ron started to look around for his pants and shoes. When he couldn't find them anywhere nearby, he turned to the watching woman and demanded, "Where are my pants and shoes!"
Pansy brought out her wand from her robe and with a flick of it, his shoes and pants zoomed into the room. "I had them in my bedroom," she said. "Free's a nosey kid and would have taken a lot of interest in your wallet."
"You're raising a thief?" Ron gasped.
The woman crossed her arms. "No," she spat. "There are pictures of your children and wife in that wallet, Weasley."
It took a moment for his tired brain to figure it out, but when he did, Ron gave a brief smile. "Asks a thousand and one questions, does she? Sounds like my Rosie."
Pansy's own eyes were a little softer as she nodded. "That she does," she agreed. "On the topic of Freesia, I don't want you to say a word about her to anyone you know. That's what I'm asking for in return for my silence. Some day soon people are going to realize she's my daughter. What I want is for it to be discovered on our, no, Freesia's, terms."
Ron considered this. He had thought, once or twice, about mentioning running into Pansy to Hermione before, but it wasn't something he'd felt he had to share either. Keeping Pansy and her daughter a secret seemed far too easy, far too simple a request for Pansy to be making. "What else do you want?" Ron asked.
Pansy grinned. "One hundred and fifty pounds," she proclaimed happily. "I need the money for a trip I promised Free."
"Why can't her father pay for it? Last time I checked, the Malfoys still have more money than three fourths of the population," Ron said.
The woman's face flashed with shock before settling into stony resolve. Obviously she didn't think he knew who Freesia's father was. It made Ron smirk; he almost wanted to taunt her for failing to teach her daughter how to be a secretive Slytherin like herself. Before he could, however, Pansy was on her feet again, nose crinkled in disgust.
"I'm not asking him," Pansy snapped.
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why not, but he decided against it. "Fine, fine, whatever. In return, though…" Ron turned his gaze away from Pansy, wracking his brain for something that could ensure that Pansy didn't tell a soul about their affair. Some kind of a contract, perhaps? Maybe a–
"An Unbreakable Vow!" Ron burst out, feeling lips lift in triumph.
Pansy crossed her arms, looking uncomfortable. "You want an Unbreakable Vow? That's a bit much for something like this, wouldn't you say?"
"No, not at all," Ron disagreed. "I don't trust you. If you're life hangs on your promise, though, I'm fairly sure you won't break it. Not with a daughter who needs you."
She glared.
Ron stared right back.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, Pansy nodded. "Fine," she said. "Can we… We just need to wait a little bit. One of my daughter's schoolmates will be stopping by to pick her up for dance lessons soon. Then we can make it."
"What's wrong with now?" Ron demanded. "I need to be getting home."
Pansy stamped her foot. "I won't do it with Freesia here!" she snarled.
Ron put up his hands. "Okay!" he said, bewildered by her ferocity.
Relaxing some, Pansy called out, "Free! Come eat breakfast! The eggs are done."
Moments later, Freesia walked out her room, dressed in sweats and hair tied in pigtails. "Did you put cheese on 'em?" she asked.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "When don't I?" she asked.
Hurrying past her mother on her way to the kitchen, the girl said, "You forgot once."
"Just once!" Pansy yelled, tone exasperated, "and because I did, you're going to doubt me every time after?"
"Yes!" Freesia shouted back.
Ron began to chuckle.
Spinning around, Pansy, faced twisted in irritation, snapped, "What?"
"Nothing," Ron said. At her raised eyebrow, he elaborated, "Well, it's just you sound so… Ordinary. Your kid too. I imagine in another year or two Rose will talk to me the same way. She's sharp, you know? Like Freesia."
Frowning, Pansy slowly lowered herself down in a chair kitty corner to the couch. Rubbing her knees as she stared off in the distance, Pansy mumbled, "I'm not sure if I should be insulted or take that as a compliment. I always imagined that one day I'd marry Draco and any child we had would be raised as I was. House Elves mostly tending to our child's daily needs. We'd have our part in their life, of course, but…" she trailed off, one finger beginning to trace her lower lip.
Ron stared. He hadn't noticed before, but her lip was quite pouty. Attractive even. Recalling how he kissed and sucked that lip last night, Ron had to bite his own to resist the urge to repeat the act.
She shrugged. "This wasn't what I envisioned for my life, but I'm glad for it – if only for the fact that Freesia and I are closer than I ever was with my mother when I was her age."
"That's – nice," Ron replied stiltedly.
Lips flickering into a smile, Pansy called out, "Free, why don't you come out here and eat with Mister Weasley and I?"
A moment later, the girl flounced into the living room, plate of eggs and fruit in hand and fork in the other. Taking a seat beside Ron, she asked, "Where do you work, Mister Weasley?"
Startled by the question, Ron answered honestly, "I help my brother run his joke shop."
Glancing to her mother, Freesia said, "That's sweet! You know what I want to be when I grow up? A ballet dancer."
Pansy's head fell back, a loud sigh leaving her. "Freesia, that's not a practical profession."
Ron knew he was being set up, but couldn't help himself from saying, "Neither is running your own business sometimes. But it's what I do. If Freesia sets her mind to ballet…"
The woman scowled at him. "Keep your ugly nose out of this, Weasel!"
Ron just shrugged. "Fine," he said. Turning his head a little so he caught Freesia and Freesia's gaze alone, he mouthed to her, "Follow your dreams."
A wide grin splitting across her features, Freesia turned her head toward her plate and began to shovel her breakfast into her mouth. Looking toward Pansy, he saw that she was staring off into space, rubbing at her forehead. Feeling out of place and nervous once more, Ron began to scrutinized Pansy's apartment.
It was of decent size, he realized now. Roomy, even. The furniture was of a more traditional variety, but modern, even Muggle accents infringed on what was nearly a passable Magical abode. Tucked into one corner of the room was a computer and hanging on the wall beside it, a phone. Casting his eyes over the rest of the walls, he found even more Muggle attributes.
Unmoving photos of Freesia lined the walls. There were photos of her from a bald infant, to a messy-faced toddler, to a pouty, tutu-wearing six or seven year old, to a grinning nine or ten year old proudly holding a medal out for the photographer to capture. Turning his gaze back to the mother and daughter, Ron mused that the pair lived much more like Half-bloods than the Purebloods that they were.
"Freesia, how old are you?" Ron asked, wondering how long it would be until he could start listening for mention of her when Neville shared his funny Hogwarts anecdotes.
Putting down her empty plate, Freesia proudly declared, "I'll be eleven in two months! I start at Hogwarts next fall."
Ron gave a low whistle. "Pretty exciting stuff, huh?"
"Oh yeah!" Freesia agreed with a bob of her head. "Mum says I can get a familiar for my birthday."
Leaning forward in interest, Ron asked, "What do you think you'd like? I had a rat," Ron said while leaving out the part that his rat never actually was one.
"I was thinking about getting one of those, actually," Freesia told Ron, a twinkle in her eyes. "One that has a grey spot on his back, because then I can call him Greyback."
Ron didn't understand why she'd want to do such a thing, but made a noise of approval. "That's a wicked idea."
"Rats are rather useless, though, Free. Are you sure you wouldn't rather have an owl?" Pansy asked.
Her jaw going rigid in stubbornness, Freesia shook her head. "No, Mum," she said. "Rats are cute."
Pansy's expression lost all patience and her lips pulled back into a sneer. But, suddenly, an artificial chime filled the air. And with it, the threat of what Ron feared would have been a loud and vicious row was gone. Perking right up, Freesia shouted, "That's Daniela! See you, Mum! Mister Weasley!"
Grabbing a bag Ron had not noticed before from behind the couch, the girl bent to give her mother a kiss before racing out of the flat, leaving Ron and Pansy alone.
Crossing his legs, Ron positioned himself toward Pansy. "So, whom should we call to make this vow?" he asked.
Pansy scowled. "Is this really the only way you'll agree to my terms?" she demanded.
Ron said, once more, "I don't trust you, so, yes."
Starting at him for a long, nerve-wracking moment, Pansy sighed. "I'll call Draco."
"Draco?" Ron hissed, distaste for the idea twisting his lips into a frown.
"Who else would you suggest?" Pansy snapped. "How about one of your friends? Oh, wait, they'd tell your shrew of a wife wouldn't they?"
Ron threw his hands up angrily. She was right and he hated it. Even more than that, he hated that it had to be Malfoy to officiate it if he wanted to ensure Pansy would keep her damn mouth shut. "Fine!" Ron spat. "Just make sure he knows he'll be taking a vow of his own as soon as he makes ours!"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Of course," she said.
Weasley was now twenty minutes gone and Pansy still couldn't bring herself to look directly at Draco. Instead, she stared down at her toenails. The mauve color she had painted them just two days ago was already chipping away. Perhaps she should clean them and paint them something darker? Burgundy, maybe. She was in quite the mood for something deep and aching.
She wondered what Draco thought of all that had occurred. Was he amused by the trouble she got herself in? Was he angry with her? It had, after all, been rather idiotic of her to sleep with Weasley. He was one of the Wizarding World's heroes. Even if she sold the story of her affair to the highest bidder, not everyone who read it would turn against Weasley. Some of them (no, most of them) would have blamed her and her Slytherin wiles. They would have called her a home-wrecker and a whore.
In all the vitriol that would have flown around, what would have happened to Freesia once she was discovered? Pansy was afraid to ponder the possibilities.
She was lucky, Pansy realized with no small amount of surprise. Weasley may not be an overly intelligent man, and easily manipulated, but his knowledge of who Freesia's father showed he was more attune to others than she previously gave credit for, as did his rather astute decision to insist on an Unbreakable Vow between them. She had been pondering one herself before Weasley mentioned it, because it at least promised satisfying revenge if Weasley failed to keep his side of the deal. Pansy, far cleverer than Weasley ever would be, though, did play up and misdirect her surprise so that he would insist for it to be done sooner rather than later.
Pansy was glad she had. Now all the What-Ifs she imagined could have happened to her and Freesia were impossibilities she would (hopefully) never have to fear. Weasley couldn't speak a word, if he didn't want to leave his children fatherless after all.
(She suspected that was the last thing he would do as well, given how fondly he spoke of his daughter).
"So, when did gingers become your poison?" Draco asked suddenly.
Pansy frowned as she met Draco's gaze for the first time in an hour. She was relieved by what she saw in them. They were bright and crinkled at the corners with amusement. It did not seem he was at all angry with her for what she had done. Maybe it had yet to sink in, how terribly it could have ended for herself and Freesia? Either way, all Pansy wished to do was smile at him. In the end, though, she did not in favor of keeping up the usual biting repertoire that they had.
"When did prudes become yours?" she countered.
Draco's glee bled away and he sighed. "Ronald Weasley, Pansy?" he chided. "Really?"
"It's better than me shagging a Muggle, isn't it?" Pansy returned.
He twiddled his thumbs in his laps, averting his eyes as he hummed, "Mmm."
Gritting her teeth, Pansy said, "Don't give me that, I know you're not as reformed as you want everyone to think you are."
Draco looked up sharply, frowning. "It doesn't mean I'm not trying to be," he argued. "Change is not instantaneous."
Pansy scoffed.
Rolling his eyes, Draco said, "Come off it, Pansy. You live side-by-side with Muggles, surely your views have been altered these past ten years?"
Pansy's views had changed in some ways. In particular, she thought the Muggles were perhaps even more innovative than witches and wizards (E-mail was so ingenious! No communication system wizards had was as easily kept private or so fast or allow for the same brevity or lengthiness that it did for the E-mailer) and not the dullards she was raised to think they were.
That was the last thing she was going to admit to, however.
Putting on an airy smile, Pansy replied, "No, not really."
Draco snorted. "You are such a liar."
Uninterested in having her lie pecked away at until she was forced to admit the truth, Pansy pursed her lips and changed topic by asking, "How is Scorpius?"
"You don't care about him," Draco declared, narrowing his eyes at her.
"Freesia does."
Glowering at her now, Draco sat up a little straighter and grumbled, "Then why doesn't she write me to ask about him?"
Looking to her nails once more, Pansy told Draco in a distinctly smug tone, "Because she's convinced there's no point in sending letters because your wife will only intercept them before they get to you."
"Who told her that?" Draco demanded. "Astoria would never."
Frowning, Pansy said, "Astoria isn't the sweet wifey you think she is."
"Why must you pit my daughter against her?" Draco asked.
She made a derisive noise and leveled her ex-lover with an angry stare. "Why must you ask inane questions? You know why!" Pansy snapped
Draco sighed. "Pansy."
Still glaring at him, she hissed, "Draco."
Gaze annoyingly tender and sorrowful, he questioned softly, "How long will you stay bitter? How long will you let your hate fester? Until it turns you into an ugly crone that has no one in the world?"
She stood up. Pointing toward the door, Pansy said, "You can leave now."
"Pansy…" he pleaded.
Pansy only crossed her arms. "Now, Draco."
Slapping his hands down on the arm of the sofa, he stood up and snapped, "Fine!"
Feeling a twinge of guilt as he stalked toward the door, she called, "Draco?"
Whirling around, he demanded, "Yes?"
Biting her lip, Pansy took a moment to take a deep, calming breath. Staring down at her toes, she told him, "Freesia has a dance recital next Friday evening. She would be over the moon if you could come."
"I'll clear my calendar," Draco promised, voice more neutral, almost kind.
Glancing up, Pansy said, "Goodbye."
"See you soon," Draco returned with a small smile.
Once the front door closed behind him, Pansy rolled her shoulder and said to no one, "Thank Merlin that's done."
Now things could go back to normal. In another month, Pansy would have the money from Weasley and she could buy the plane tickets for Australia. Freesia was going to be beside herself with joy when she opened them for her birthday and realized that she was finally going to get to ride in an airplane and go to Australia. The best part, however, was that there was no way Draco could intrude on their little holiday with his family because she didn't have to ask him for the money to buy Freesia's gift and tell him about it in the process.
There was no chance she and Free would run into him by chance at their hotel or on the beach, no, for the first time in years, Pansy would be able to relax and just enjoy what precious time she had with her little girl. Not fighting the smile that wanted to burst from her heart, Pansy gave a happy sigh as she swayed toward the kitchen in a half-remembered waltz.
For once, things were finally going her way!
Unlocking the front door, Ron was ready to tumble into his bed for another hour or two of sleep. But upon spotting the couch, he decided it would work just as well as any bed (it was also much closer). Flopping down on it, he kicked off his shoes and threw an arm over his eyes to block out the light coming in from the windows. With another hour of sleep, maybe Pansy's place and what he did with her would feel more like a dream. However, just as Ron was about to doze off, the front door opened. Hearing a pair of tiny feet running toward him, Ron twisted onto his side and pleaded with all the powers that be that he was just imagining the sound of the door and his little girl's feet.
But when a little hand began to pinch his cheek, Ron cracked open an eye and mumbled, "Rose?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw her grin. "Daddy!" she cheered.
"What are you doing home already?" Ron groaned, batting away his daughter's tugging fingers.
A moment later, a sharp finger digging into his side caused Ron to sit up. There, he was confronted by the displeased countenance of his wife. "What are we doing–" she started, only to stop and give an irritated growl. Beginning to pace, she asked, "Where have you been, Ronald Weasley! You look like–" Though, before Ron could know exactly what he looked like to her, Hermione stopped. Swooping down on him with a pained expression, Hermione cried, "Oh, Ron! What happened to your hand?"
Ron glanced to the kids. Rose was watching them intently, fingers in her mouth. Hugo, on the other hand, was far more interested in playing with the laces of Ron's shoes. Hugo was too little to know how to tie them, but he liked to pretend to. The same way he liked to wobble around in Hermione's heels and wear Ron's ties. His mum said many little children liked to play with their parents' things and called it the "I want to be Mummy and Daddy" phase. Eventually, Hugo would want to pretend to be others – like Rosie did – but for now, he and Hermione were his heroes as well as all he wanted to be.
The last thing Ron wanted to do was end his son's adoration early by having a row in front of the toddler. Gently extracting his hand from Hermione, Ron said, "I'll tell you, just…" Turning his head, he called, "Rosie? Can you play nicely with Hugo over there for a minute while Mummy and Daddy go have a little chat in the kitchen?"
Rose looked to the corner where Ron was pointing. She smiled when she realized it was her play corner he was talking about. "Yes, Daddy," Rose agreed.
Smiling at the face that was so much like his own, Ron got up and gave Rose's nose a kiss. "Thatta girl," he praised as he let her go. Standing there a moment longer, he watched her take Hugo's hand and lead him from Ron's shoes to the other corner of the room. There, they sat down together. Handing Hugo one of her Quidditch-player dollies, they began to play some make believe game that Ron was sure couldn't be much different from the ones he once played with his own siblings.
Behind him, he heard Hermione clear her throat. Sighing softly, Ron let his head tip downward and gave his wife a hangdog expression. Rolling her eyes, she jabbed her finger toward the kitchen. Ron followed her.
Once in the room, Hermione turned around and glared. Ron walked past her to hover by the sink. The farther they were from the doorway the better. Rose, while curious, was usually very good about not snooping in on "grown up talk". Though, he suspected that was going to change sooner or later, especially given his and his siblings records as sneaks. He'd leave casting a Muffliato to Hermione, however.
If he cast one now, she might very well get the wrong impression about what had happened to him.
"So, Ronald?" Hermione demanded.
Leaning back against the counter top, Ron turned his head to stare out the window above the sink. Gathering himself, Ron decided the simplest explanation would be best. Hermione didn't need every embarrassing detail that occurred up until Pansy. "You know how I get when I'm upset," he reminded her slowly. "After you told me to leave, I went to a pub to get smashed. I did. While I was smashed, I broke a window and the police picked me up for it. I just got released twenty minutes ago."
When he ventured a glance back toward Hermione, he saw she had her lips pressed thin. "I see," she hissed.
"Don't make that face at me!" Ron snapped. Pointing a finger at her, he told Hermione, "You're the one who told me to go! If you hadn't, I never would have gone to the pub! Why are you home anyway? I thought you were staying with your mother until Monday!"
Narrowing her eyes and flaring her nostrils, Hermione began to stomp away, poised to leave him all alone in the kitchen once and for all. "This is so typical of you, blaming me for what you brought on yourself!" she snarled over her shoulder. "I don't even know why I bothered to come home early…"
Ron grabbed Hermione's arm before she could leave him. "Okay, okay," he grumbled, "it's not your fault – not completely." Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron felt the need to tug his wife even closer as he insisted, "I'm sorry, okay? Can you just tell me why you and the kids are home? Did you and your mum get in a fight?"
"No, there was no fight." Hermione sighed and looked up at Ron with sad, apologetic eyes. "I just realized, after a night to sleep on it, I may have been a little irrational last night. I have been working much later than usual these past couple months. While you had no right to accuse me of having an affair, I understand where you're coming from. I get why you might feel jilted."
Ron swallowed thickly, feeling even guiltier about what he'd done last night. "You know I don't actually think you and Gianni are having an affair, right?" Ron lied. He knew he should trust Hermione, she was far less ruled by her emotions than he was by his own. Even if she was attracted to Gianni, Ron should believe Hermione when she said she had the control not to act on feelings she may or may not have for those she worked with and for.
Sometimes, though, when Ron went to see Hermione for lunch at the Ministry, the way he would find them together made him uneasy and jealous. He hated seeing Gianni and Hermione with their heads bent close over papers or that smarmy bastard touching his wife's arm to sooth her as she vented her frustrations to him. Ron hated it so, so much because he felt it should be him who got to be so close to Hermione, him who soothed her after an irritating encounter with someone or after something fell through.
Not that damn Gianni.
Abruptly, Hermione squirming out of his hold pulled Ron from his thoughts. "I know," she said, sounding doubtful.
Seizing on the chance to elaborate, Ron told her, "I just wanted to hurt you last night. I'm sure you remember, but I've been getting a very upsetting impression these past few months from seeing you two together. I know you said Gianni wouldn't be the reason if we did separate, which, while nice to know now didn't really help in the moment. I just thought it meant, still do, a little, that you were thinking about a divorce."
"Oh Ron," Hermione whispered. "I'm sorry, I never meant to make you think I wanted a divorce. I don't, love. It's just… Sometimes, you do think of reasons for why you should, you know?"
Ron didn't. Not in the way Hermione meant, anyway. He thought of hypothetical scenarios that would lead to him divorcing Hermione. What she was thinking of were reasons for why she should divorce him now. No catalysts situations, just plain facts that already existed.
He didn't say this, however. Instead, he said, "I know your work is important, I know you can't just take time without a reason, but the kids are always asking for you. They miss you. I miss you, Hermione. Seeing you for a handful of hours a week isn't enough for any of us. I don't want to sound like Mum, here, but the kids won't be young forever. Soon they aren't going to want us around." Licking his lips, Ron reached out once more and took Hermione's hand in his. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I… If there were ever a reason for why I'd take the kids and leave, it'd because you get too wrapped up in Ministry stuff."
Hermione took a staggering step back, mouth forming into an 'o'. He winced. It was at times like these that Ron wished he knew how to speak more sensitively. Hermione needed to know why he'd leave her, because it was becoming a more and more plausible scenario with every passing day.
Ron thought of Pansy, of other women he'd felt tempted to be more than just friends with, of how Rose would stomp through the kitchen at dinner time when Hermione wasn't there for it, the way Hugo shied away from kisses that Hermione gave him. They were warning signs of the impending spark, Ron was sure, if nothing was done soon. He then told Hermione, "With how things are right now, you might just wake up one day and find yourself alone. No, no, don't say anything yet. Let me finish, Hermione! I'm not saying this to upset you, I'm saying this because I'm trying to get you to see that the kids and me are just as important as work and if you don't do something soon, we'll think we aren't. We'll get that divorce neither of us seem to want!"
Hermione, her hands slack by her side, just sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. Stepping forward, she brought Ron's face down for a soft, lingering kiss. When she pulled away, Hermione whispered, "You're right that I work too much and don't show how much you all matter to me very well because of it. How about this? We both know I can't take off anymore time from work right now, we're in the middle of finalizing our proposal for a change in House Elf laws, but… Why don't we start planning for a trip in about two months time? A holiday to Australia could be fun, don't you think?" Outright smiling now, Hermione teased, "Maybe we can reenact a bit of our Honeymoon then, hm?"
Grinning, Ron embraced Hermione tightly and said, "Yes, let's do that."
Freesia's most important birthday gift in hand, Pansy slipped into her daughter's still dark room and grinned. Weaving around dirty clothes that were scattered across the floor, she reached her daughter's bed and took a seat at the foot of it. Taking a moment to just stare at the soft, sleeping face of her daughter, Pansy thought of when her little girl was just a baby. She'd been a darling. So lovely with her chubby cheeks that were perfect for kissing and her sweet brown eyes which glittered and twinkled with endless wonder.
(It was almost a shame Freesia, and all babies, really, couldn't stay as one).
Leaning forward, Pansy brushed a hand down her daughter's face. "Wake up, birthday girl," she whispered into her ear.
Freesia's eye cracked open. Then, with a sleepy huff, she turned away and whined, "Muuum, g'way!"
Pansy sighed dramatically. "I guess I'll just to find some other birthday girl to give this present to!" she sing-songed, not bothering to smother her amused smirk.
"No!" Freesia, now wide-awake, cried. She twisted around to face Pansy once more. "I'll take it."
"I don't know if you deserve it anymore…"
Freesia made a frustrated noise and sat up. "I'm sorry, Mum. Please, please, please with sugar on top can I have it?"
"Well, if it's with sugar on top," Pansy said. Handing over the green and silver wrapped plane tickets.
Taking the gift, Freesia turned it over in her hands. "Is this my Hogwarts letter?"
"No, you'll get that in a few hours," Pansy told her.
Frowning in confusion, Freesia just stared at the slim gift. "Then what is it?" she asked.
Rolling her eyes, Pansy said, "Just open it!"
Shrugging, Freesia did so. At the sight of the tickets, her eyes grew to twice their size as her mouth fell open. Looking between the tickets and Pansy, Freesia gave a loud shriek before tackling her with a hug. "Thank you, Mum! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Squeezing her daughter, Pansy grinned into her daughter's neck and said, "You're welcome."
How do you feel about things in this chapter? Is Ron a little more IC? I think I may have been a little more consistent with his character this chapter in comparison to last. Thoughts on the "coincidence" that they'll both be going to Australia for vaycay? Neat twist? Eye-roll worthy?
Thanks for reading! All of your thoughts, good and bad, are appreciated :)
