A/N: Everything except the stuff you don’t recognize belongs to JK Rowling and her utter genius. Many of these characters, however, are of my own creation.
Party Planning
“I’ve been thinking,” Patrick whispered a week later as he sat with Medea in front of the fireplace in his father’s summer house.
“About what?” she prompted when he didn’t continue.
“About Phaedra’s idea for a party. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”
Apparently Medea didn’t quite feel the same way and her face showed it. “I still need to talk to my parents. I mean, you saw how they were when they were just talking about their past to us. Can you imagine how it will be if your family throws it in their faces?”
He nodded. He knew her parents were perfectly happy despite their past, but he also knew that the past still hurt them deeply. He remembered something Medea had told them when they had first started dating; she said that her parents didn’t talk about the past because they were happier that way. He truly understood that now.
“I suppose we could ask them tomorrow at dinner,” she whispered after several moments of silence.
“That’s all I ask. I promise that if they say no, I won’t mention it again.”
She kissed his cheek then nestled into his chest. “Thank you.”
* * * *
Medea wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up. They were in the middle of dinner and Patrick kept giving her meaningful looks whenever he wasn’t answering her parents’ questions. She wanted to ask, she just didn’t know how. It was times like these that she really wished her whole mind reading thing worked both ways.
When there was finally a lull in conversation, Medea took a deep breath and spoke. “Patrick’s cousin had an interesting idea.”
Her parent’s looked at her in unison.
“An idea about what?” Draco prompted when she didn’t go on.
“Er, about maybe having a party to announce our engagement to””
The metallic clatter of a fork hitting the edge of the table then falling to the floor stopped her. Hermione quickly put her hands in her lap, trying to pretend that she hadn’t dropped her fork at her daughter’s words. Draco reached over and took her hand; they both knew what she was trying to say and they both knew what it would mean. And if his daughter’s timid voice was any indication, she knew what she was asking of them.
“I’m sorry, love, go on,” Hermione whispered.
Patrick looked down at his plate, instantly guilty that he had been so insistent about asking them.
“No, never mind,” Medea said quickly. “I know what would happen.”
“Well,” Draco whispered after several moments of awkward silence, causing the other three to look at him curiously. “Maybe…”
Hermione nodded slowly, knowing exactly what her husband was thinking. “Maybe it is time. Merlin knows I haven’t spoken to them in over twenty years. Perhaps if we get it out of the way we could at least be civil to each other.”
“Are you sure?” Patrick asked, more than a little surprised.
Hermione sighed, resigned to her fate. “Yes, we’ve been ignoring it long enough. It’s time.”
* * * *
“My parents said they would be okay with a party,” Medea told Phaedra and Odile over lunch in Diagon Alley the next day.
They both remained silent for several seconds. “They know what it will mean?” Odile finally asked soberly. “We shouldn’t even call it a party. It will just be an argument.”
“They know,” she assured them. “They said it was time. Besides, they know how stressful this whole feud is for Patrick and me. If they can make it better, they will.”
Phaedra nodded. Even though it had been her idea, she wasn’t quite happy with the prospect of it. “We’ll plan it then.”
They went on with lunch, thought the carefree mood they usually enjoyed failed to return.
“So, Odile,” Medea said in an effort to lighten the mood a little. “How is Glenn?”
A pink blush that matched her hair crept up her cheeks. “He’s wonderful, but you knew that all along. I’ve never dated anyone like him,” she said whimsically. “When he looks at me I know he is looking at me, not just a pretty face.”
Phaedra rolled her eyes with a smile and took a sip of her butterbeer. “Does he have a brother?”
“Yes,” Medea laughed. “He’s in his second year at Hogwarts.”
“Blast,” she mumbled. “Well, it’s okay. I’m happy to be on my own right now.” Even as the words were coming out of her mouth, her eyes were following the path of a handsome young wizard who had been a year ahead of them in school.
“Phaedra! He was in Slytherin!” Odile reminded her.
“So? I thought we weren’t supposed to hold grudges against people because of their house.”
* * * *
Draco pressed a soft kiss to his wife’s bare shoulder and tightened his hold around her middle. He loved times like this, when they were completely alone. Medea was supposedly staying at a lake house with Odile and Phaedra Weasley and Jarett was spending the weekend with his Muggle grandparents. He loved his children dearly, but he cherished the times when he could be completely open and affectionate with his wife.
“How are you, love?” he asked softly against her skin. It was the middle of the afternoon, but when they were alone they didn’t care what time of day it was.
She turned in his embrace and snuggled up to his warm, bare chest like she had done since they’d been married. “Perturbed.”
He slowly raised a pale eyebrow, even though she couldn’t see it. “Perturbed? About the party?”
“No,” she breathed.
Well, he was. “What then?”
“Do you think they’re sleeping together?”
In all honesty, he hadn’t really thought about it, what with all of the other issues his daughter’s relationship presented. “I don’t know. We did,” he reminded her.
Her fingertips drew feather-light circles on his heated skin. “I know, but I’m not exactly proud of it. Besides, it was a different time; there was war on the horizon.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think it was the war, Hermione, I think it was love and hormones.”
She pressed a kiss to his chest. “So you’re not worried?”
“No,” he said honestly and pulled her even closer. “I trust Medea. Luckily, she’s got your head on her shoulders. And, to be honest, I trust Patrick. Potter may be a prick, but I don’t think he was a bad father.”
* * * *
Medea tried to relax in Patrick’s sleepy embrace, but her mind was going crazy. Something was wrong”no, not wrong…different. She had never felt quite like this before. And she didn’t mean emotionally…the change was physical.
Patrick hummed in her ear and tightened his hold on her. “Still awake?” he mumbled.
“I am,” she whispered.
“Are you well?”
Her lips formed a small smile he couldn’t see before she whispered. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t fret, love, you’ll feel better in the morning,” he whispered and planted a groggy kiss on her shoulder.
That was his reply to everything when he was tired and she only smiled and let him go back to sleep. She made up her mind to go to Diagon Alley in the morning because somehow she knew she wasn’t going to feel better.