Thirty Minutes, Thirty Years

Pansy sat on the edge of the fish pond, leaning back on her hands and staring into the water. The pond's depths were growing murky in the fading daylight, but she could still see the silver and gold carp which swam languorously around in the deep, green water. The pond had been his gift to her. He'd given it to her five years ago this past April. It was enchanted to stay warm all year round, and she often came down here in the cold of winter to watch the fish swim, their delicate fins moving slowly through the temperate water, unaware of the snow which fell just outside their little oasis. The orchids bloomed all year long as well. One, a showy, dark purple one, was closing in on itself for the coming night.

It was easy to get lost in the dancing images, easy to let the water drown old memories that were best lost and forgotten. Sometimes the silvery fish would reflect the sunlight just right, and she would be reminded of a boy she had once knew, but she would close her eyes and push the thought away.

So much had happened since then. If anyone would have told her as a girl that she would have been happy leading the life she did, she would have laughed. As a girl, her vision had been so limited, restricted to the path her mother prescribed for her: a proper marriage, a honeymoon, and after the appropriate time, children. When she'd found out she was pregnant at twenty, her mother had virtually disowned her. The fact that the father of her child had just been sent to Azkaban hadn't helped either.

But despite all the difficulties the past ten years had brought, here she was, thirty years old today. Now she worried about whether aphids had got into her roses or about problems at her job at Gringotts or whether her son would get into Slytherin house next year when he went to Hogwarts (it was her secret fear the boy had become too much like his adopted grandmother, a Hufflepuff). She'd gone from being spoiled and selfish to having to deny herself that stylish new pair of shoes because 200 galleons would buy their groceries for three months, and she really couldn't waste that money on herself, now could she?

Sometimes though, she wished for nothing more than to be traveling around the world with all her belongings in a leather carrying case; just her, the hot sands of the Sahara burning her feet, or the cool winds of Santiago whipping her hair around her face. Once she could have had that, once her child would have been left in the care of nannies, and she and her husband would have trekked around the world heedless of any but themselves. She couldn't blame Draco, not really. Looking back now, she realized that what they'd had was never really right. It was fortunate for her, really, that he'd not had the chance to grow too much like Lucius. But still, he'd only been a boy, following in the footsteps of his father. He'd not known what he was getting into, but she thought he'd realized what he'd lost at the end. When they'd taken him away to administer the Kiss, their eyes had met, and he had mouthed a single word. At the time, she'd thought it was love. Love, she'd thought bitterly, had he ever even known what that was? If he had he wouldn't have left her three months pregnant, no job, no skills, cast off from her family. It wasn't until years later when she'd been standing in front of a mirror, adjusting the soft silvery folds of her dress robes that she'd realized the word he'd mouthed hadn't been love; it had been live.

Tears fell on her cheeks then, soft warm rain at the end of what had seemed to be an endless drought. Live for me, he had been saying. Live for both of us. At that instant, all the hatred she had ever felt for him had melted away, and when she'd stepped out of the room and walked down the aisle to marry her new love, she could admit she had once loved Draco after all.

A fish splashed in the pond, bringing her mind back to the present. She looked at her watch. Thirty minutes she'd said, thirty minutes to be alone and think before the guests started to arrive. She had another five minutes or so of peace and quiet, and then she'd have to put on her hostess face and go to greet their friends.

Their friends. It still felt strange to say, even after five years. At first, her life had been difficult; she'd had to find a place to live, a job. It was, strangely enough, Professor Dumbledore who'd helped her. He'd given her a recommendation that got her foot in the door at the bank. Things had been tight for a long while, but she'd managed. Her son, Draco's son, was clever from the first. He'd look at her with her own dark eyes, his silvery hair falling in his face, and announce in a serious tone that he'd worked out how to cook the oatmeal so he wouldn't need her help getting ready in the morning anymore. She would laugh and kiss him, which would embarrass him completely. His name was Rigel, and as he grew older, she stopped worrying he would turn out like his father, or worse, his grandfather. He was a boy who laughed and played Quidditch with a recklessness that made her heart pound, but he also loved to read and play with his dog, and he was nothing like his father.

She'd met Miles at work when he'd been transferred from Hong Kong to the office in London. She remembered him from school. He had a few years on her, but Slytherin house was small and tightly knit. At first, she'd merely stared at him discreetly from behind the stacks of papers on her desk, knowing too well that a single mother had little chance compared to the eager, unencumbered girls in the Curse Breaking department. One day though, he'd surprised her. She'd just taken out her wand to enlarge her shrunken lunch bag when he'd stopped by her desk.

"Pansy?" he'd asked. When she'd looked up into his eyes for the first time, she'd felt a funny little squeezing around her heart. She hadn't been able to say anything when he'd asked her to join him for lunch. Instead, she'd just nodded her head and followed him out the door. Somehow, during the course of the meal, she'd been able to regain the power of speech, but by then it was too late, she'd already fallen in love. They were right together; they'd both seen it from the first.

The day she'd taken him home to meet Rigel, the first words out of her son's mouth were. "Are you going to marry my mother?" He'd stared at Miles with all the haughtiness his four year old self could muster.

Her cheeks had instantly burned hot, but that was nothing compared to the wave of heat that washed over her when Miles looked at her and smiled even while he directed his words toward her son. "Of course I am," he'd answered.

That had been enough for both of them. When they'd gotten married, they'd moved to his parents' old estate in Lancashire. It was old and run down, but they'd worked on it together, and that first spring Miles had built the fish pond.

Pansy smiled and looked into the water. It was so dark she couldn't see the fish anymore, and she could see the soft glow of lights from the house reflecting on the surface. Drifting down to her on the heady spring air, she could hear Millie's laugh and Blaise Zabini's querulous voice asking where the gin was.

The sound of crunching gravel made her stand up slowly, using a laurel tree for support. Her body tensed in anticipation of having to speak to a guest then relaxed when she heard Miles' voice. "Time enough to get your thoughts in order?" he asked. "The crowd is getting restless."

"I want to make a grand entrance," she said, her lips curving in a smile. "It's not every year I turn thirty."

"Well, if you're like my mother, it could be," he joked. He pulled her close and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "You look beautiful."

"I look fat," she said.

He pulled back and frowned at her. "You look pregnant and stunning I might add - is that a new dress?"

"My husband bought it for me."

"Lucky man, to have such a beautiful wife." Pansy leaned into him and sighed. She was the lucky one really, and she was grateful for it every day. "Don't worry, Pansy, the party will be fine. You're going to have a wonderful year."

"Oh, I know," she said, her eyes darting ever so briefly to a flash of silver in the water. "I was just sitting here thinking the exact same thing."