Shag & the City

Part One: Cho Chang-Potter

My three best friends and I have been meeting for Sunday brunch at the Diagon Alley branch of Madam Puddifoot's for about as long as I can remember. I'm not quite sure what initially attracted us to it; it certainly isn't the quality of the food or a love of the kitschy decor.

I arrive first, as I usually do, so I order our standard morning drinks: a double espresso for Ginny; tea with milk, no sugar, for Hermione; hot water with lemon for Pansy; orange juice for myself. I occasionally wonder why the waitress even bothers asking me what I'd like anymore. I always order the same four drinks, and I almost always pay. Money's not an object- it's one of the perks of being Harry Potter's wife.

Harry. He's the main reason why I'm so impatient to see the girls today. I've got so much to tell them-

The chimes above the door tinkle, announcing another arrival. I crane my neck to see Pansy, dressed to the nines in a trim, tailored Gucci suit, breeze in the door. I try to suppress a feeling of disappointment that it's Pansy who's come first; I love Pansy like a sister, but she's not the one I'd choose to discuss my problems with.

Pansy grins at me, tossing her Fendi handbag into a spare chair. "I had the best shag of my life last night," she announces loudly. In spite of the fact that Pansy makes comments like this nearly every week, I can't help but wince. I want to talk about my marriage, but the only thing Pansy understands is fuc- Oh, I can't even think the word.

"So, don't you want all the juicy details?" Pansy demands, taking a sip of her lemon water. She wriggles her eyebrows, looking smug. "Guess who it was."

"I- I can't," I say, praying that Ginny or Hermione will come rescue me.

"Blaise Zabini," Pansy says triumphantly. She waits for my awed reaction.

Blaise Zabini.... I should be able to place the name- where have I heard it before? "The shipping magnate?" I hazard.

"The same," Pansy replies. She leans toward me, her expression a mixture of awe and delight. "And let me tell you, Cho, he has the longest, most perfect-"

She's interrupted by the door chimes, and Hermione rushes in, looking harried. "You're late," I accuse, half-blaming her for making me suffer through the tale of Pansy's latest conquest.

"I'm sorry," she says breathlessly, taking the chair next to Pansy. Her briefcase clatters to the floor next to her. "I've got a case before the Wizengamot tomorrow, and an important idea hit me just as I was about to step out the door." Hermione is a barrister, one of the best in Britain. Her current client, Mr. Lucius Malfoy, was recently accused of a number of illegal activities, including importing flying carpets, owl-post fraud, and racketeering.

"How are things with Ron?" I ask hurriedly, not wanting to hear the details of the case but also not wanting Pansy to launch back into her description of the less-that-public parts of Mr. Blaise Zabini.

Hermione frowns, and I can tell she wishes I hadn't asked. "Oh, I don't know. Really, I'm starting to think it's just sex."

"Nothing wrong with that," Pansy says, squeezing more lemon into her hot water. She winks. "It's what men are best for."

I swallow a large gulp of orange juice, trying not to let Pansy's comment hurt. After all, she doesn't know yet; I haven't told anyone. But I'll wait until Ginny comes, since I only want to say everything once.

"Perhaps," Hermione replies, not noticing that I'm hiding behind my juice glass. She glances at the door edgily, chewing on the inside of her lip. "I have to say this before Ginny arrives," she whispers.

"Yes?" Pansy and I reply, leaning in eagerly.

"It's just- well, Ron's- he's the best I've ever had," she whispers, her cheeks reddening. "But-"

"Yes?" Pansy demands impatiently.

Hermione shoves an errant lock of hair away from her face, and fiddles with a bobby pin for a moment before she answers. "He has a terrible time with how much money I make," she sighs.

"Doesn't he make fairly good tips as a bartender?" I ask.

Hermione shoots me a look that plainly says she thinks I'm naive. "Well, decent enough, I suppose," she says diplomatically, "but it's not exactly on par with my salary." She frowns. "If only he weren't so sensitive about it."

"What happened?" Pansy asks.

"Oh, I was invited to a dinner party by some people from work, and I wanted Ron to come with me. He didn't have any decent dress robes, so I offered to pay for a new set, but then he got all defensive and insisted he pay for them himself. But I know he can't afford it, and I don't know how he's going to make his rent this month-"

"Why don't you invite him to move in with you?" I suggest hesitantly. It seems like a good idea to me, but I don't want Hermione to roll her eyes at me again. I tilt my wrist carefully, trying to check the time without being caught. I wish Ginny would hurry up- my best friend is my sole ally in the face of Pansy and Hermione's more cynical approaches to romance.

"I've thought of that, actually," Hermione admits, surprising me. "But you know Ron- he's so stubborn. I don't know if he'd agree or not." She stirs her tea, looking uncertain. I reach out to pat her hand.

"It seems to me that it's more than 'just sex,'" I say softly, and Hermione smiles at me. With the amount of effort she's been putting into the Malfoy case, her smiles have been rare recently, and it's nice to see her look happy.

"Thank you," she says simply.

Pansy turns to Hermione, clearly eager to change the subject. Anytime the topic switches from sex to more mundane things like relationships, she's bored in a heartbeat. I'm almost dreading how she'll react to my news. "Guess what I did last night?" she asks Hermione.

"Here we go again," I mutter, flagging down the waitress.

Fortunately, Hermione and I are rescued from a head-to-toes discussion of Blaise Zabini; Ginny, looking immaculately lovely in spite of the dark circles under her eyes, flies into the cafe and plunks down at our table.

"Morning," she says, looking anything but happy to be awake.

"Ginny, you look exhausted," I say, slipping an arm around her thin shoulders. "Is something the matter?"

"Or did Cedric just keep you awake all night?" Pansy asks slyly, arching an eyebrow suggestively.

Ginny ignores both of us for a moment as she digs through her tiny purse. "Here they are," she mutters, pulling out her cigarettes and lighting one, inhaling deeply. She turns to me, shaking her head. "Nothing's really the matter, I suppose," she says, blowing smoke off to the side as she talks. I wrinkle my nose, but she doesn't notice. "It's just- Cedric keeps badgering me about my smoking, and I don't really know what to tell him. I don't think I should have to choose between him and the way I like to live my life... and besides, it's my flat, damnit."

"That's right," Pansy says, nodding fiercely. "Don't let a man try to change you."

I can't help myself; I glare daggers at Pansy. "Cedric Diggory is the best thing that's ever happened to her!" I snap defensively. "Some things are worth making sacrifices for!"

"Oh?" Hermione asks me. "You've given up your Ministry career to become Mrs. Harry Potter- has it been worth it?" Her gaze is shrewd, and suddenly I'm reminded why she's one of the best barristers in the country. Nothing gets past Hermione.

"I- I don't know," I admit, staring down at my hands. My nails are perfect ovals, painted in the soft pastels of a French manicure. Everything about my life is perfect. My perfect manicure, my perfect Tiffany engagement ring, my perfect penthouse flat, my handsome, perfect husband. My handsome, perfect, impotent-and-doesn't-want-children husband. "I don't know," I repeat, and I can hear the sob in my own voice- I'm ashamed of myself for crying in the middle of Madam Puddifoot's, but I just can't seem to stop the tears.

Now it's Ginny's turn to comfort me, and her arm snakes around my shoulders. "Cho, what is it? Is it something with Harry? What's the matter?"

Considering how Ginny used to feel about Harry, she's always been astonishingly supportive of me and my marriage. I rest my head on her shoulder, glad to have such a good friend. Hermione and Pansy, in spite of their earlier sharpness, are also sending concerned looks my way, and I'm thankful for them, too.

Ginny's still squeezing my shoulders, which helps. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the shuddering, sobby sound it makes. I must look an absolute wreck, and I hope people aren't staring, though I'm sure they are. Harry Potter's wife gets noticed, even when she's just trying to have a private moment with friends.

"Yes," I whisper. "It's Harry." I cast about uselessly for a moment, trying to find a way to phrase what I have to tell them, but there's just no way to say it gently. "He- he doesn't want children!" I say quickly, feeling the tears start to well up again. I swipe the back of my hand across my eyes, and my 2.5-karat diamond engagement ring scratches my cheek.

Hermione seems to find her tea suddenly fascinating, and I realize that she already knew about this. So, Harry's told her and Ron about all our fights, then, has he? Betrayed by my own husband.

Pansy mostly looks embarrassed, but I can tell she's trying her hardest to feel sorry for me. "Are you sure, dear?" she asks. "Maybe you misunderstood him."

"Rather hard to misunderstand the words 'Cho, I don't want children,'" I say, my voice still shaky. Ginny's arm tightens around my shoulders. "Harry was fairly unequivocal about it."

"Did he say why?" Ginny asks softly. Hermione fidgets in her chair- it's clear she knows the answer to this question, too. But then, she always does have the answers, Hermione.

"He thinks children are something that You-Know-Who's former followers could use against him," I reply, anger warring with the despair I feel.

Pansy snorts indelicately. "That's utterly ridiculous!" she exclaims. "I don't mean to offend you, Cho, but I have always thought that man was a fool, and I still do. The war is over. The Dark Lord is finally dead. And Lucius Malfoy spends his time marketing flying carpets and importing illegal drugs-"

"Allegedly," Hermione interrupts quickly.

"-and he even has a Muggle-born barrister! Times have changed. No one wants to waste their efforts on kidnapping Harry Potter's children. Besides," Pansy continues, "with that kind of thinking, Harry shouldn't bother being close to anyone. Someone could just as well try to murder you, Ron, or Hermione."

"I've tried that argument," I say, "but Harry disagrees." I affect Harry's tenor, making it sound patronizing and stuffy because I'm annoyed with him. "'Cho, love, you must be reasonable. You could defend yourself. But our child would be helpless.'"

"But Harry himself defeated You-Know-Who when he was only a baby!" Ginny exclaims.

"I know," I sigh. "I think it's all just a cover for the actual problem."

Hermione looks up, and I can tell this is actually news to her. "What is it, then?" she asks, ever the direct one.

I squirm for a moment. "Well, ah, we haven't, er- you know..."

"Shagged? Fucked? Screwed up against a wall?" Pansy asks, utterly blasé.

"Made love," I say, glaring at her, "in nine months."

"Nine months?" Ginny demands, looking vaguely horrified, as if she hadn't realized one could actually manage to be celibate that long. She frowns for a moment, and I know she's counting up the time in her head. "But Cho, you've been married for three months... and you and Harry only dated for about six...."

"So what you're saying is that you and Harry have never had sex?" Pansy asks incredulously, borrowin from Ginny's statistics.

I start to fidget again. "Well, we did just once, on our fifth date...." I can feel my cheeks reddening as my three friends stare at me. "But I could tell things were going to be special with Harry, so I asked him if we could save our physical relationship until after we were married-"

"What?" Hermione asks, wrinkling her nose in derision. "Cho, why?"

I fidget in my chair; the fluffy cushion is somehow more uncomfortable than plain wood would be. "Well, I read this article in Witch Weekly, and-"

Hermione immediately sits back in her chair, rolling her eyes. She despises Witch Weekly with a disdainful passion. Pansy and Ginny, however, lean in eagerly. "Yes?" they ask in unison.

"Well, it said that if you wait for several months, it's like- well, you can be-"

"Yes?"

I can't meet their eyes. "Re-virginized."

At this, Hermione snorts in a rather unladylike manner, Ginny tries to hide a giggle, and Pansy lets out a shriek of laughter. "Why would you want that?" she demands, finally managing to control her amusement. "Once was enough."

Hermione and Ginny nod, and I feel foolish. "I thought it would be romantic," I whisper.

"Oh, sweetie, we're not trying to be mean," Ginny says, squeezing my shoulders again. "But what I really don't understand is why you still haven't had sex with Harry."

"Because he can't," I say, more to my hands, which are folded in my lap, than to the girls.

Ginny frowns. "What do you mean, 'he can't-?'"

"Savior of wizarding Britain, and he can't even get it up?" Pansy interrupts, making an unsuccessful attempt to contain her mirth. She's silent for a moment, and then her smirk widens. "So good with one wand, and yet so unable to do anything with the one that really matters...."

Hermione and Ginny both glare at her, but neither of them say anything. And for a moment the three of them just sit in silence, and I know they're all trying to imagine a relationship without sex.

"Divorce him," Pansy says finally.

"What?!" Ginny exclaims just as Hermione bursts out with "Pansy!" I feel a tear trickle down my face, and I don't even know why I'm crying again. It could be sadness at the prospect of losing Harry. But it could also be guilt because, much as I hate to admit it, divorce is something that's already occurred to me.

"Why not?" Pansy asks defensively. "If something's broken, you return it and get a new one."

Now I'm crying again, this time in earnest. "But I don't want a new husband," I sniffle. "I love Harry."

Pansy just rolls her eyes, throwing up her hands and looking at Hermione and Ginny as if to say, 'This one's your problem.' To symbolize her departure from the conversation, she pulls out a compact and starts checking her makeup.

"Have you tried any kind of potions?" Hermione asks, pointedly ignoring Pansy. Trust her to be the one to suggest a scientific route. "There are also Muggle remedies-"

"Harry won't take anything," I reply. "I think having Professor Snape turned him off the idea of potions altogether, and he refuses to see a Muggle doctor. I just don't know what to do."

Hermione shrugs, and I can tell what she's thinking- 'Well, if you don't take my advice, then there's probably no help with this one.' She leans back in her chair, and I know she's in agreement with Pansy- I am now officially Ginny's problem.

Fortunately, Ginny doesn't seem to mind. She squeezes my hand, and to my surprise, her dark eyes are sparkling mischievously. "I know what you can do," she says.

"What?"

She grins. "Come shopping with me. Nothing takes a girl's mind off her problems quite like a pair of new shoes."

***

Pansy declines to go with us, because she has plans with Blaise for the afternoon ("Two dates, Pansy?" Ginny asks. "For you, that's a long-term relationship!"), and Hermione begs off as well, saying she needs to fine-tune the Malfoy case.

I shouldn't be glad that it's just me and Ginny, but I am. We walk together, arm in arm, down Diagon Alley, past all the shops where we used to buy school supplies, and towards the ritzier end, where Signor Satini's Leather Goods and Italian Imports is located.

Ginny's talking animatedly about her relationship with Cedric, and I suppress a wave of jealousy. On the surface, Ginny's life doesn't look as perfect as mine- she spends her money recklessly, mostly on shoes she can't afford; her boyfriend has only half moved into her flat; and she smokes cigarettes like there's no tomorrow.

But she's so undeniably happy. Her eyes shine when she talks about Cedric, and even if she won't admit it, I can tell she loves him. He gives her that glow. And I'm happy for her, I really am. She's my best friend, and she's found a sweet, handsome, thoughtful man who thinks the world of her.

None of this, however, means that I'm not just a bit jealous.

"Sometimes I wonder why he loves me, Cho," Ginny's saying. I struggle to pay attention to her. "He's such a good man- too good for me, really."

"That's not true!" I exclaim. "Ginny, you and Cedric are perfect for each other." As soon as the word escapes my lips, I wish I hadn't said it. Perfect. Everyone has always said that Harry and I are perfect. Trying to distract myself, I steer Ginny toward the Gladrags display window- they've got mostly Chanel and Burberry this month.

"Cho- look out-"

I hadn't looked before I moved, and now, too late, I see that I've dragged Ginny directly into the path of a tall blond man. Before I can pull her out of the way, he smacks right into her, sending her flimsy clutch purse flying. Its contents spill everywhere, and Ginny flushes, kneeling immediately to gather up her things.

The man kneels, too, and I can't get a good look at his face. As he stands again, though, his hands full of spare Sickles and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Condoms, I realize I know him- Draco Malfoy, son of Hermione's client, Lucius. My husband's least favorite person.

"You seem to have dropped these," he says to Ginny, handing her the money and condoms. I expect her to blush, but she doesn't; she holds his gaze, a small smile playing about her lips, and the electricity that passes between them is almost palpable.

"Thanks," Ginny says, stuffing everything back into her purse. She seems to have a few spare potions ingredients in there as well, and a slip of parchment that I recognize as a portable birth control spell. Something I haven't needed in quite a long time.

"Well," Draco says, his voice silken, his eyes glued to Ginny as if I'm not even here, "perhaps I'll see you around again sometime."

"Perhaps," Ginny says, her mouth still curved into that infuriating little smile. I could shake her- what is she thinking, flirting like this with Draco Malfoy? Especially when she has someone as wonderful as Cedric?

Draco saunters away, and I turn to Ginny and immediately launch into my tirade, but I can tell she's not listening. "Ginny?" I finally ask.

"That was the most gorgeous man I've ever seen," she says dazedly. "Do you think he was attracted to me?"

I look Ginny up and down, not even bothering to be scrutinizing, because there's truly no point. She's wearing a sleeveless, skintight black shirt with three thin spaghetti straps over the left shoulder, low-slung jeans with a bangled silver belt, and high-heeled, strappy red velvet sandals. Ginny is stunning. "No, I don't think he was," I lie. In truth, Draco's thoughts were practically written on his face, and one would have to be half-blind not to see that all those thoughts involved getting Ginny alone and naked.

She sighs, and I'm sorry I was so harsh. "Oh, well," she says wistfully. "He doesn't know anything about me, anyway."

"He knows you carry a healthy supply of condoms," I tease, and she grins at me.

"As every busy single girl ought," she says. Then she rolls her eyes. "Ignore me, I don't know what I was thinking. I have Cedric, I'm perfectly happy, and I do not need to chase sexy mystery men." She hesitates. "I do wonder what his name was, though...."

I gape at her. "You're joking, right?"

"No.... Do you know him?" she asks.

"Ginny. That's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You know, the Slytherin git that tormented Harry, Ron, and Hermione during their entire time at Hogwarts? The one Pansy always refers to as her 'lousy first shag?'"

Ginny turns and cranes her neck in the direction Draco took. "Cho, don't tease me like that," she laughs. "That was not Draco Malfoy. I remember him, the pointy-faced, nasty little ferret runt. That man did not look even remotely like Malfoy."

"Suit yourself," I respond, shrugging. "Whether you believe me or not, that was Malfoy. Ask Pansy about it."

Now Ginny's frowning- Pansy might keep up a ruse this long, but she knows I'm not the sort to joke around. "Truly, Cho? That was Draco Malfoy?"

"It truly was."

Ginny's eyes search mine, and her expression is very serious. "Cho?"

"Yes?" I ask, wondering why she looks so concerned.

"Promise me that you'll never, ever tell Ron, Hermione, or Harry that I was attracted to Malfoy."

I smile. "I think I can manage that."

***

Ginny keeps me out shopping all afternoon, and then she insists on buying me dinner even when I know she can't afford it, so I don't get home until seven o'clock. The lights aren't lit in the flat's windows, but as I step through the door into the foyer, I realize Harry's home- his shoes are in the front entrance.

"Harry?" I call softly, wondering if he's sleeping.

"In here," his voice replies. 'Here' is his study. Where he closets himself when he doesn't want to be around me.

Recently, he's even started taking his meals in there.

I tiptoe to the door, knocking lightly on the wood as I crack the door open. He's sitting in the near-darkness, the room's sole light a small candle on his desk. "Can I come in?"

He shrugs, causing his shadow to flicker eerily on the wall. "If you want."

I edge into the room cautiously, perching myself on the corner of his desk. "What are you up to?"

He pushes the latest issue of The Quibbler toward me. 'Potter and Wife Caught in Web of Lust and Intrigue,' reads the main headline. I just roll my eyes, especially at the absurdly contrived-looking picture of me and Harry. "Luna never did like me," I say.

"You never were very kind to her," Harry replies. I don't know why, but his response stings.

"We've all made choices we regret," I say before I can stop myself. Harry narrows his eyes at me.

"What choices do you regret, Cho?" His voice is almost brittle.

I can't look at him. "I don't know anymore, Harry." I stand up, not wanting to be in the room anymore. Even the air was stifling. "I'm going to go take a bath."

But he grabs my wrist before I can leave. "Cho."

"Yes?"

"I love you."

For what seems like the thousandth time that day, my eyes start to water. "I know, Harry. That's why this hurts so much." I wrench my wrist away from him and almost sprint for the door, but he's too fast for me; even when he's not on a broomstick, Harry moves like lightning. In my entire Hogwarts Quidditch career, I never did beat him to the Snitch.

His hands are rough on my shoulders, his calloused hands scraping my skin. But it's so painfully delicious to have him touch me, like an echo of the way his diamond ring scratched my cheek this morning. His lips crash down onto mine, and I'm falling for him again, remembering the sweetly forlorn Harry who asked me to the Yule Ball; the arrogantly talented Harry who always snatched the Snitch out from under my nose; the handsome, confident Harry whose searing, soaring kiss first set my blood afire. Harry....

It's been so long since he's touched me, really touched me, and I feel out of control, invincible. "Harry," I whisper, wanting to touch him, give him what he's giving to me. I reach up to fumble with the buttons of his shirt.

And in that breathless heartbeat of time, it's over; as quickly as he was standing next to me, touching me, he's across the room again, and his barriers are back in place.

Stifling a sob, I rush from the room, tears nearly blinding me. I fumble for the Floo powder on the mantel of the front room fireplace and toss a handful into the flames. There's only one person I can think of who will help me; who will take my news in stride, with no judgement or exhortations to rethink my decision.

Pansy's head appears in the flames- thankfully, her assignation with Blaise seems to be over. "Cho? What is it?" she asks, her voice full of concern. I rub at my mascara-stained cheeks, feeling foolish.

"I- I'm going to move out. Harry and I... we need time apart to rethink our marriage. Would you-"

"I can be there in five minutes," she says. "Pack your bag, wait for me outside your building."

"Thank you," I whisper. "And- Pansy?"

"Yes?"

"You'll tell me all about Blaise, won't you?" I take a deep breath. "I could use a distraction."

She smiles lopsidedly, and I know she appreciates my paltry gesture, attributing it more value than it's worth. I owe Pansy so much, and I don't give her enough credit.

"See you shortly," she says.

"Perfect," I respond, and this time, that word actually feels right.

***