Chapter 4 – P.S. I Disgrace You

I awake with sunlight searing my eyes. God, whoever decided that white gauzy fabric made for acceptable curtains deserves to be hit with a Conjunctivitis Curse!

Slowly, laboriously, I haul myself up until I'm propped against the headboard in a semi-seated position, and try to rub my heavy eyes. My numb fingers manage to stick into my nose instead.

Ugh, I hate this part!

When at last my senses start to become functional and my brain is able to register anything besides the blinding whiteness, my eyes fall on the trey sitting on the night table beside me. It's laden with a huge pile of eggs and bacon, a generous stack of toasts, bowls of fruit and yogurt and cereal, and a nearly overflowing coffee pot.

But my stomach, which only yesterday decided to come out of its long hibernation so fiercely, now gives but a half-hearted stir. Foolish, fickle stomach!

I start to pour myself a cup of coffee, but then I catch sight of the red nightmare that is my hair reflected on the silver teaspoon, and it occurs to me that just because there's no treacherously scrumptious cake does not mean the meal is safe.

"Elf!" I call out.

One, two, three seconds. Nobody shows up.

"Elf!"

Oh, what the hell was that creature's name, again? Something like…

"Boopy!"

No, that's not it.

"Boogie?"

No. But I'm pretty sure it started with a B…

"Booty? Booza? Whatever you're called! ELF!"

There's a loud crack, and suddenly what looks like a ratted burlap sack with flappy ears is curled in a deep bow on the floor beside the bed.

"Master called Loopa, sir?"

L. Close enough.

I point to the trey with the teaspoon. "Who prepared this food, elf?"

Itself, it assures me. So, after I've ascertained that no devious little brats have been anywhere near my breakfast, and had the elf have a taste of everything just to be extra sure, I finally down my cup of coffee and get up off the bed.

"Is… is M-Master not wanting more b-breakfast, s-sir?" squeaks the creature in a wobbly sort of voice, wringing the hem of its burlap sack.

"No, you can take it away." I say with a wave of my hand, and turn to go into the bathroom.

"Is M-Master wanting his l-lunch, then?"

"No, I don't want any damn food! God!"

And then a sudden keen wail like somebody hit with a Cruciatus has me startled half to death.

"Oooooh, M-Master is not l-liking his f-food! Loopa's c-cooking is no g-good!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" I snap, as my heart slowly gets back down from my throat "Don't you ever scream like that again, you brainless creature!"

"Yes, s-sir…" it says in a much quieter whimper. I turn to go into the bathroom, as it goes to get the trey.

"B-brainless indeed… Loopa forgets Master's b-breakfast one day, then d-drops b-bucket down the stairs, then l-loses Miss Tori's p-prized p-possessions…"

I halt in my tracks.

"… then m-makes Master b-bad b-brea…"

"What did you say?" I ask, turning back around.

The stupid creature starts shaking so bad it drops the trey with a crash. Coffee spills onto the carpet, chunks of slippery fruit and greasy eggs, bacon and toast scattering on the floor.

"No, quiet!" I order, as the elf opens its mouth to start whimpering again.

It kneels on the floor, right on top of the shattered porcelain shards that used to be a coffeepot, and starts picking up the mess, tears dripping down its ugly potato-shaped nose. But thankfully quiet.

"Now, don't bawl, just answer my question." I say.

It sniffles "Loopa s-says… says I is a b-brainless elf, s-sir…"

"No, that's what I said, you just agreed. I meant, when you were listing your interminable blunders…"

The elf lowers its bald head so low, its nose could be vacuuming the coffee on the floor. Then starts banging hard against it, face first.

"Bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf!"

"Oh stop it, will you!" I impatiently snap.

It stops.

"God!" I grumble, rubbing my temples. The elf's the one banging its head, but I swear I'm the one getting a headache with this damn conversation.

"Now tell me what you meant about misplacing the br… my wife's prized possessions. And no banging! Or whimpering!"

It resumes wringing the hem of its burlap sack, as it looks up at me with wide, watery eyes.

"Loopa tidied up Miss Tori's things yesterday, sir…" It says, then gulps and starts to wring the hem of the sack faster and faster, its voice going up an octave with every word. "Loopa d-didn't do a good job… Miss Tori was s-seeing Loopa in the kitchen this morning… asked about a n-notebook… v-very i-important, Miss Tori says… And L-Loopa… L-Loopa i-isn't knowing w-where I has p-put it, sir!" it finishes with a wail.

And then its eyes go as wide as saucers, it slaps its hands over its mouth and restarts chanting "Bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf!" in a muffled whisper while positively shaking with the effort not to bang its head.

But it doesn't matter, I already heard what I wanted.

"Alright, off you go, then. No, leave that" I add impatiently, when the elf makes to restart picking up the mess from the floor "You can clean that up after I've washed up and dressed. Just go now!"

And as it bows down low and pops out, I'm already crossing the room toward the walk-in closet.

So the little devil's been asking about her missing little notebook, has she? Thinking – or perhaps hoping – that it simply got misplaced during the elf's absurd tidying up.

Reaching my trunk, I quickly insert the code onto the lock and pull open the lid. Inside, thrown haphazardly among a stack of socks, lies a battered old orange notebook with a little pumpkin-shaped lock.

"Well, well, well" I mutter under my breath as I pick it up and give the little lock a close look "What are you guarding that's got the little demon so worried?"

I've come to the conclusion that the least blindingly bright room in this whole stupid house – after the small lavatory down the hall, which is not exactly a proper place to lounge about and while away the hours – is the game room.

It's still got a stupidly wide window, unfortunately. But at least it looks out onto a line of palm trees, and the gauzy curtains are a much more acceptable deep green to match the top of the card table, which do filter the sunlight somewhat.

So here I am, wand in hand and the little notebook lying on the card table before me.

Tapping the tip to the stupid little pumpkin-shaped lock, I mutter "Alohomora".

The lock twitches but doesn't open. I try again.

"Alohomora."

Again, the stupid thing twitches, but doesn't budge.

"Eh, ginger!" comes a little voice from somewhere on the other side of the room. I sigh irritably. "C'mon, how about a quick game now, eh?"

"Yeah!" promptly follows another voice "Let's smash the teeth off their horses!"

"Make their bishops pray for mercy!"

I follow the ensuing ruckus of threats and war cries to the chess table beside the window, where the little crystal chessmen are in an uproar, hopping restlessly in their squares and brandishing their swords and spears.

"For the last time, nobody's playing anything!" I snap "Now be still and quiet!"

They freeze back into lifeless crystal statuettes, though I know it won't last long. I'd hardly stepped into the room, they were already practically leaping off the chessboard trying to rope me into a game.

I turn back to the little notebook, considering my options.

Then I tap the tip of my wand to the little lock again and try "Reducto."

With a flash of blue light, the little notebook is blasted into the air, sending loosed scraps of paper fluttering to the floor all around, as it lands sprawled open and face-down on the tabletop, a curl of smoke issuing from the charred bits of what used to be a little pumpkin-shaped lock.

And thus the little devil's secrets are thrown open for my perusal.

Curiously, I pick up a slightly stained paper napkin and a tightly folded up piece of parchment that landed on my chair, and sit down.

On one side of the napkin, as it turns out, is an autograph of Myron Wagtail, from the Weird Sisters, dated from the Yule Ball on my fourth year at Hogwarts.

I snort. Big deal; back home, I've got a quaffle signed by the Puddlemere United's entire team from the season they achieved their twentieth victory in the League, given to me by the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports himself.

Back when high-ranked Ministry officials used to come round the manor for Sunday card games and dinner every other night, instead of in official raids every few months following some ridiculous 'anonymous tip' or another…

Whatever, I think with a scoff as I put the stupid napkin aside. If this stupid scribble turns out to be the little brat's supposed 'prized possession', I'm going to be very disappointed.

I almost push aside the folded piece of parchment as well, but just for the hell of it, I want to know exactly how pathetic her autograph collection is. So I go on and unfold it.

Instead of a signature, however, I find a hand-drawn map of Diagon Alley.

One complete with a rude anatomical sketch over the figure of Gringotts Bank, and a few circles marking spots like Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and a little teahouse that I know for a fact won't do much for her gluttony, since they've been closed since the War.

So far, nothing worth a lock. Even a crappy pumpkin-shaped one.

I turn my attention to the notebook.

Picking it up and turning it over, I come upon a slightly grease-smudged, but otherwise blank first page.

And second.

And third.

I flip through the whole book, from cover to cover and, other than a few stains and chocolate smudges, every page appears perfectly blank.

Right.

Turning back to the beginning, I raise my wand again and tap it on the page.

"Apparecium!"

As I predicted, at once lines of small curly handwriting start to fade into the parchment from the tip of the wand outwards, forming words, filling the page with what looks like bullet-point notes scribbled and scratched out and corrected a few times over.

At last, a coloured title at the top of the page reads:

Tippy's Not So Secret (and not so teeth-breaking) Gingerbread Biscuits Recipe

A recipe? How disappointing!

No secret confessions of sneaky little tricks and misdeeds that might give me some leverage against her, no embarrassing childhood stories and girly drama to tease her with, no nothing I'd expect a silly little girl to passionately pour into her secret little diary.

Just a plain ingredient list and detailed preparation method for some stupid biscuits, unless one counts the little note to self that reads 'teach elf to not be so damn humble and to just take the credit! My ears are still ringing!'

I skim another page.

Firewhiskey Sponge Cake

(a.k.a. how to make Grandmother smile and giggle like a schoolgirl)

Though the parentheses is crossed out and corrected below with 'NOT when she finds out who baked it!'

After that is:

Dad's Old Favourite Chocolate Fudge Cake

With the caption 'PROHIBITED! Mum's crying, Grandmother's screaming, and I'm wishing to just bloody go to Hogwarts already!'

And then:

Mini Friendmaker Tarts for Mean Tarts

(Provided the Carrow sisters never find out there's no such thing as fat-free buttermilk cream)

To which was added below:

TOO LATE!

Who knew the castle provided a secret room especially for hiding! There's even an old oven here! Also a creepy stuffed troll and a sort of tiara that I'm pretty sure whispers every now and then, but let's not be picky…

And a few more pages after that:

Super-Sized Sweet Buns

(a.k.a. the super-sized bully briber. Still to be tested on ferrets, though)

I snap the stupid cookbook shut with a sneer then.

Well, I can see why she'd want to keep her precious little cookbook a secret. It is undeniably embarrassing that she spends her free-time experimenting in the kitchen like a house-elf, and I'm certainly putting an end to such nonsense as soon as I see her next.

"Hey mate, how about that game now?" a stupid knight calls out, brandishing its sword.

I ignore it, as my eyes fall on a flattened roll of parchment with a purple ribbon that looks a lot like the stupid little invitations Zabini used to get from Slughorn. I unfold it with a scowl, which only deepens as indeed it turns out to be a stupid invitation to the stupid Slug Club, dated from last March.

What the hell does the little insolent devil have so special that old Slug would want her in his pseudo elite club?

Then again, he was already half senile when Dumbledore brought him out of retirement and back to teaching, most of his precious chosen had less than nothing special about them.

I push it aside with another sneer and pick up the remaining couple of slightly creased and worn folded up parchments. One turns out to be her Hogwarts acceptance letter; the other one reads:

My dearest Pumpkin,

I don't have words to tell you how happy I was to receive your letter.

No, of course I haven't forgotten you. Not a single day goes by that I don't think of you and miss you so dearly.

Believe me, it is my deepest wish to see you again too, my darling. And we will. We will be together again, Pumpkin, and be a family. I promise you.

Until then, keep me in your heart and in your thoughts.

What the hell?!

I re-read the letter. And then again. The only thing that changes is my fury getting deeper.

'My dearest'?!

'My darling'?!

'We will be a family'?!

Who the hell wants to make a family with my wife?!

In my outrage, I've apparently spoken out loud, because the stupid chessmen promptly butt in "Who's trying to take your Queen?!"

"Send in the Knights!"

"Move in the Rooks!"

I ignore them and scan the letter yet again.

"Take their swords and cut their heads with them!"

It's not even signed! Outrageous little brat that she is, I'll bet it's from some muggleborn or some riffraff of the like!

Oh, the shame of it all! My wife, a blood-traitor adulteress with an elvish complex! If Father ever knew…

"Trample their army, break up their ranks!"

Yes, yes… Break them up… Shove the stupid letter under her nose and demand she write back and end the whole thing!

But then I don't even know his name; little devil that she is could probably address it to a fake one and I wouldn't know the difference!

No, I'd better keep an eye on her post and shred his letters so she'll think he's stopped writing and forgotten all about her…

But then, what if whoever it is figures it out and shows up at the manor looking for her, or something?

No, it has to be done quietly, so no word of this will ever come out…

Oh God, what would Father do?

Lock her in the house, track him down and then… Well, okay, maybe not that. But I could, I don't know, Obliviate her out of his mind or something…

Yeah, that's what I'll do. As soon as we get home, I'm finding that piece of filth and make sure he gets his claws off of what is mine!

First, though, I have to figure out who the piece of filth is.

Sighing harshly, I glare at the stupid orange notebook and pull it open again. It stands to reason that somewhere in here there's a page titled something like 'Stupid Little Heartshaped Biscuits for my Secret Lover Scum', preferably with a name in big, corny, glittering letters adorned with big, corny, glittering hearts and maybe even a picture of his stupid, filthy face.

It was a spring evening in my fifth year, shortly after Dumbledore vanished from the school following my discovery of his precious Dumbledore's Army. The Weasley twins had been wreaking havoc throughout the school, emboldening other students to go the same way, and the teachers were doing less than nothing to stop them.

So it fell on me, as a member and leader of the new Headmistress's Inquisitorial Squad, the duty to catch and punish wrongdoers.

I was patrolling the corridors with Crabbe and Goyle, when I heard a bit of commotion coming from the room at the foot of the Owlery tower that Professor Umbridge had made Headquarters of the Squad, and where we stored the post waiting for inspection.

I silently motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to go in ahead and positioned myself with my wand at the ready as they pushed the door open and peered inside.

At once, there was a flash of light and they were knocked back into me, sending the three of us toppling to the floor. And as I, protesting loudly, struggled to free myself from underneath them, someone shot out of the room and down the corridor.

"Impedimenta!" I promptly shouted.

A thud and a yelp confirmed that my jinx hit the target, so I pulled myself up and smoothed down my robes before walking slowly to the heap of robes sprawled a few feet ahead. An envelope and a pair of broken violet spectacles lay on the floor a little away.

"Well, well, well." I said, and a couple of goofy chuckles approaching behind me told me that Crabbe and Goyle had managed to get up.

A pair of bright blue eyes narrowed at me as the small girl struggled in vain against my well-placed jinx, trying to get to her feet. In a moment though, she seemed to recognise the pointlessness of the effort and instead resigned to a sitting position. And to try to hex me back, apparently, but I was too fast and Disarmed her almost effortlessly.

"Now, little Greengrass, is that the way to treat authority figures?"

Floor-bound, wandless and outnumbered, she still stuck her chin out at me and snorted. "Delusional pricks, you mean?"

"Manners, Greengrass."

"Or what?" she sneered defiantly "You'll take points from your own House?"

"Yeah, five for your rudeness, another five for trying to hex me, five for breaking into the Squad's Headquarters and five for stealing post." And then I glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, standing as usual on either side of me, and added with a smirk "And ten to each of you for assisting me in catching her."

They actually looked very proud of themselves, as though they'd really earned something. Back to her, I said "And don't forget I can also hand out punishments."

"Yeah? Get in line behind Filch; he's still trying to come up with something to top off detention with Snape every weekend until the end of term, the lifelong ban on Hogsmeade visits from Umbridge, and house arrest throughout the entirety of school holidays from my Grandmother."

For a moment, I did consider the challenge of coming up with something extra nasty, just to wipe that smug look off of her little face. But then decided it simply wasn't worth the bother, and merely went on to curiously pick up the envelope that lay on the floor a few paces away. She tensed then, and that was all the encouragement I needed to open it and retrieve the letter inside.

That's when she surprised me by flailing her legs wildly, attempting to kick me in the shins while crying "Give that here! You have no right to read other people's mail! Give me that, Malfoy, or I swear…"

I Silenced her. Honestly, she was lucky I'm a gentleman or I would've kicked her right back! Crabbe and Goyle actually looked at me for permission to do so, but instead, I just smirked at her floor-bound figure vainly thrashing and glaring at me, and set about reading aloud the letter she'd gone to such trouble to retrieve.

"Dear Pumpkin" it read. I looked at her already about to burst out laughing "Dear Pumpkin?! Seriously?" Crabbe and Goyle dutifully chuckled. The look on her face was priceless, she seemed about to cry. I continued loudly.

"Thank you for the cake and pastries you sent last, they were delicious as always. If you could send a few more next time would be great, because these boys here eat like starving wolves."

I looked back at her again and I'm sure I couldn't keep the judgement out of my tone even if I wanted to as I asked "What, are you running some sort of charity food delivery or something?" She didn't answer, of course, and kept her face rudely turned away from me. For a moment I considered calling her out on it, but then decided to just keep reading.

"They can't wait to meet you, by the way. And darling, don't worry because it won't be long now. Things are changing, you know, some don't want to see it but they are, and soon everyone will be where they belong. Much love."

I let my eyes skim through the last part again before looking back at her questioningly. She, however, kept determinedly not facing me, so I was forced to come closer. And she must have noticed how every trace of mockery had vanished from my voice as I said quietly "It's not signed. Who is this from, Greengrass?"

I chanced a look at Crabbe and Goyle for a hint of understanding, but of course their expressions were as blank as the signature line on the letter. They had probably stopped listening after the words 'cake and pastries' anyway, the idiots.

I removed the spells but the girl still didn't answer, so I insisted "Things are changing? What does that mean?"

And that's when she snapped her head back to me and hissed, "Like you don't know exactly what it means!", confirming my first thought.

You see, most people, with the Ministry at the front and foremost, were convinced that Potter was a lying attention-seeker (which he was, of course, most of the time). But a very select few of us had our information from sources far more reliable than either Potter or the Ministry on the matter of the events in that graveyard at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, and what had since then been set in motion right under the stupid Ministry's noses.

In that moment, for the first time, this absurd, obnoxious little pigmy of a girl didn't seem so absurd and obnoxious after all.

Just in that one moment though, because she immediately went and proved me wrong by getting to her feet and stupidly trying to snatch her letter and wand back.

Unfortunately for her, I had the reflexes of a Seeker, so all she managed to do was tear the parchment in half and get taken to the Headmistress's office. And disgusting little thing that she was, swallowed the evidence of her illegal correspondence on the way before I could stop her.

I sit at the dinner table rapping my knuckles on the shiny glass tabletop as I glare at the empty seat across from me.

The lasagna is growing cold on the platter before me but I make no move to help myself.

"Elf!" I call out after another glance at my watch. "ELF!"

Oh, what the hell was that stupid thing's name again?

"Cooka! Boopa! Poopa!"

It's nearly a full minute before the stupid creature pops up in a crouch at the foot of the table.

"M-Master c-called Loopa, sir?"

"Obviously I did!" I snap. "Where the hell is my wife? Go call her for dinner!"

"But M-Master, sir…" it stutters instead of doing as bid, starting to twist the hem of its burlap sack. "I is already t-taken Miss Tori h-her d-dinner, sir…"

"You did what?!" I snarl.

The stupid thing actually cowers with a whimper and begins to twists its hem faster and faster. "M-Miss T-Tori's o-orders, sir! Loopa is to b-bring Miss Tori's d-dinners to the b-beach, sir!"

"That's preposterous! And you've been in bloody cahoots with her, keeping this from me, have you, you sorry excuse for a servant?! What else have you been helping her hide from me, huh?! You better start talking, elf, or else..." I don't realise I've got to my feet and advanced on the quivering mess of a creature that I'm inches away from stepping on, until the sound of the front door opening and shutting redirects my attentions.

"Why miss, that swimsuit again?!" remarks the tinkling voice of the mirror in the hallway "It covers all too much skin; don't you mind your tan lines?!"

I whirl on my feet, very nearly squashing the stupid elf, which just barely manages to pop out of the way with a little yelp, and I growl "Astoria! A word, now!"

For a moment there, I think she's simply going to go on up and ignore me, and I'm already halfway around the table to go bloody pull her by her ears if I have to. But then I hear footsteps coming down the corridor, so I halt, fuming, with my glare fixed on the doorway. Through which the little pigmy saunters a moment later, in her ugly grandma swimsuit and flip-flops, trailing sand all over the place.

Nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe, she shoots me on of her mocking smirks and chirps "Cock-a-doodle-doo."

"What?!" I snap.

"You asked – no, you hollered – for a word; well, that's the one that comes to mind: cock-a-doodle-doo. You even have a nice red crest to go with it." She adds, nodding smugly to my poor, defiled, hair.

I swear I'm sorely tempted to throttle her.

"Think you're so funny, do you, you insolent brat?! Here's another word for you: propriety! You might want to look it up, because the concept is obviously foreign to you! What the hell is this I hear about you having dinner on the beach?! Are you completely incapable of acting like a normal person and sitting properly at the dinner table?!"

"Okay, first, who pissed in your Cheeri Owls today? Second, I'm not going to take lectures in propriety from a prick who sleeps till tea time and ransacks a lady's personal effects…"

I can't help but snort loudly, because from what I found out today, she's as far from a lady as a Dementor from a unicorn.

"… And third, seeing as I have no other clothes left, I take it that in this little tantrum of yours my swimsuit makes for perfectly suitable attire for sitting properly at the dinner table, does it?!"

She makes a valid point, not that I'm about to tell her that. I blatantly look her up and down, taking in the piece in question, which, atrocious as it is, to my mounting vexation, doesn't quite detract from the nice curves she's apparently trying to hide underneath it. Clearly, for the eyes of her secret lover scum only.

I can feel my whole face contorting in a deep scowl. "God, no!" I viciously spit "That very sight's so revolting, it'd ruin anyone's appetite."

"Funny, those are my exact thoughts concerning your face! Well now, if that was all…"

"No, that bloody hell was not all! Don't you turn your back on me!" I positively thunder "You're to sit at the damn table for dinner, I don't care if you have to come in your bloody birthday suit!"

The little brat whirls back around, but hell if I let her utter another sound!

"Also I don't want you baking anymore! Or cooking! In fact, I don't want you in the kitchen at all; you're not a bloody house-elf! And you're certainly not to disappear again whenever you feel like it, for however long you feel like it, doing Merlin knows what! You're to inform me of your whereabouts… No, actually, you're to ask my permission…"

"Oh, simply ask your permission?" the accursed demon sneers across me "Are you certain you wouldn't prefer a written form, submitted 24 hours in advance?"

"Don't you be insolent!"

"Don't you be absurd!"

"Absurd! ABSURD! ABSURD IS YOUR DAMN BEHAVIOUR! ABSURD IS YOU DEFYING ME AND EMBARRASSING ME EVERY STEP OF THE WAY! ABSURD IS YOU BLOODY SLEEPING WI..." I positively have to bite my tongue at this point, before I give myself away, and quickly cover "… WHEREVER THE HELL YOU'VE BEEN SLEEPING THESE PAST TWO NIGHTS! FOR MERLIN'S SAKE, YOU'RE A MARRIED WOMAN; HAVE SOME DECENCY AND STOP SLEEPING ANYWHERE BUT IN OUR DAMNED MARRIAGE BED!"

The blood is positively thundering in my ears as I glower down at my wayward pigmy of a wife. Who in turn is frowning back at me like I'm the one with a few screws loose. Me! Then goes and sticks that impertinent little chin up and says "Okay."

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TEST ME, ASTORIA..." I instantly growl, before my synapses catch up with my ears. Wait, what?

I can't help but to narrow my eyes at her. "'Okay'?"

She rolls her eyes. "What? That bed is the epitome of comfy, and I have as much right to it as you do."

"So you'll sleep in it from now on? In our bedroom, upstairs?"

"Ye-es."she says slowly, as though I'm particularly dense.

I would call her out on her insolence, but I'm momentarily dumbfounded by the fact that little miss rebellious just agreed to my instructions. Reckon I'm finally starting to get the upper hand around here! Might as well make the most of it.

Towering over her, I step closer, putting my menacing glare back on. "Good. Now, be a good, proper little wife..."

"... and go take a shower while my husband dear finishes his meal, so that I don't scatter a dune all over the nice sheets, come bed time? Brilliant idea."

Actually, I was going to order her to sit down at the table while I ate, but considering the puddle she's currently making on the floor, her suggestion is probably more practical. Not that I'm about to admit that aloud. And anyway, she's already heading to the door, so I simply make a point to call loudly as she leaves "You see, I'm not an unreasonable husband!"

Then I turn back to the lasagna that by now must be ice cold sitting on its platter, and take the stupid little orange notebook back out of my pocket. Reckon I can scour it one last more while the little brat takes her shower.

As I climb up the stairs and cross the corridor toward the bedroom, I'm about ready to flush the brat's notebook down the toilet. I've examined the stupid thing cover to cover over a dozen times now. Reckon I've learned more about chocolate and frostings in the past few hours than a house-elf can learn in a lifetime. Unfortunately, there isn't any mention of heart-shaped biscuits nor their intended recipient anywhere.

Cunning little strumpet is quite careful with her precious scum lover's identity.

So, I've compiled a list of everyone mentioned at any point in the stupid book, and tried to narrow down the possibilities from there.

So far, I think it's safe to exclude:

- Tippy, the house-elf;

- Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat – yes, Filch's cat gets its own 'Tuna Tartlets Trap';

- The Carrow sisters – not because I haven't considered that she might play for the other team, but because, from what I gather, those two would sooner send her cursed mail than a love letter;

- The super-sized bullies, who I can only assume are Crabbe and Goyle, and the 'ferret' that is most certainly not a reference to anyone I can think of;

- Professor Slughorn – who gets a Pineapple Cream Pie recipe invented specifically for him with Bolandi's Exquisite Crystallised Pineapple as special ingredient, which I suppose explains the invitation into the Slug Club;

- And anyone in her family.

Which is, basically, the whole list, so I'm still nowhere close to figuring out who the prick is!

All is silent as I cross the corridor and approach the bedroom door. Maybe the little demon's already asleep. Maybe she's dreaming of her secret lover and in her unconsciousness longingly mumbling his name, sparing me the trouble.

God, I can't believe I'm actually hoping that the woman I've married is thinking of some filthy muggleborn prick as she lies in our marriage bed!

Scowling, I strain my ears for any sounds from within, as I close the last couple feet to the bedroom door. Only to be suddenly and inexplicably thrown up into the air and crash to the floor gracelessly on my bum.

What the hell?!

And that's when I notice the thin glittering golden line gouged into the floor in a semi-circle just in front of the bedroom door.

You've got to be kidding me!

A/N: Well, here's the new chapter. Hope you enjoyed :) Thank you for your lovely reviews so far :D Your feedback is very helpful, so please feel free to continue sharing your thoughts.

Happy reads ;)