The Day After Valentine's Day

The Day After Valentine's Day

***

Ginny should be home by now. I don't mean to pace, but it's like I'm driven by an internal force; I've walked the line between the front door of the flat and our bedroom at least a hundred times tonight. If I knew where she was, I'd still be irritated that she wasn't home, but she hasn't even bothered to Floo call or send a quick owl.

And it's Valentine's Day, though only for another two hours. "Damnit, Ginny," I mutter, glaring at the preparations I'd made earlier today. The candles are guttering, the roses are wilting, and the food Mother's cook sent from the manor has long since gone cold. I'll give her twenty more minutes, and then I'm going to go look for her.

The clock on the mantel ticks loudly, irritating my already frayed nerves. I glare at it for a moment, seized by the irrational desire to Floo Ginny's mother. I can't stand the old bag, and I know the feeling is mutual- she hates that her daughter has anything to do with me- but she could check that special clock she has, tell me where Ginny might be....

The twenty minutes pass like slow torture, but finally I pull the battered old map of London out of a nearby drawer. Ginny hates when I do this, and I know she'll be annoyed, but I'm going to do it anyway. It's Valentine's Day, I want my wife, and I don't know where she is.

You're acting like a spoiled child, Ginny's voice teases in my head; I can picture her rolling her eyes.

"I don't particularly care," I mutter as I smooth the piece of parchment out on the sideboard. Drawing my wand from my pocket and pointing it at the map, I murmur, "Reperire Ginny Malfoy." Light glows briefly at the tip of the wand, and then my hand is tugged forward. The wand wavers for a moment, then lands firmly on a small square in central London, neatly labeled in spidery black ink.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. My mouth goes dry, and though I haven't eaten, my stomach starts to persuasively argue that it would like nothing better than to be emptied. Oh, god, Ginny. My Ginny.

Not even pausing to grab a cloak, I Disapparate out of the flat, arriving in the entrance of St. Mungo's. Ignoring the line, I march up to the witch who's working at the reception desk. "My wife. Where is she?"

The plump blonde doesn't even look up from the form she's writing. "Name?"

"Draco Malfoy."

She glances up briefly to give me an exasperated look. "Your wife's name, sir."

"Oh. Ginny Malfoy. Where is she? Is she alright? What's happened to her?"

Lazily, the witch taps a sheaf of paperwork with her wand. She says some incantations I don't know, and then I hear Ginny's name at the end. An eternity as the witch skims the top piece of parchment. Finally, "She's not a patient here, Mr. Malfoy."

"What?" I demand, gut twisting. "But I did a Locator Charm on her; I know she's here."

The witch raises an eyebrow at me, as if she wonders what kind of a marriage I have, that I've cast a Locator Charm on my own wife. "She was late, I was worried," I say defensively, glaring back at her. "Now tell me where she is." My teeth are clenched, and I lean forward just a bit, trying to look threatening. Where are Crabbe and Goyle when you really need them?

She's not impressed; she snaps her gum, looking bored. "I told you, she's not a patient here. All I've got is back records- a broken arm when she was six, and an unfortunate Spellotape incident when she was nineteen-"

I smile briefly, remembering the Spellotape. It had actually been a very fortunate incident until one of our spells went awry....

"-so I really can't tell you anything more," the witch finished. "Now, why don't you have a seat-"

"Malfoy. I thought you might be showing up eventually."

The receptionist and I both turn toward the sound of the voice- her expression turns simpering, while I try to suppress my gag reflex.

"Potter. What are you doing here?"

"I have more reason to be here than you do, Malfoy, considering my best friends are about to have their first child," Potter says, looking infuriatingly happy. "Ginny and I have been here most of the day," he continues smugly.

Right. I'd forgotten that the Weasel had gotten Granger pregnant. The mental image makes me want to be sick on Potter's shoes, and not just for the satisfaction of ruining the mid-quality leather. In spite of Potter's presence, though, I feel myself relaxing a little. Ginny's fine, she's not hurt, she's not dying. "Where is she?" I spit out.

"Hermione?" Potter asks, deliberately playing stupid. Wait, he needn't play at stupidity; he's so naturally asinine. "She's giving birth, Malfoy, but even if she weren't, I doubt she'd want to see you."

"I meant Ginny, you ass," I snap, glaring at him. "I'll remind you of her- she's about this tall-" I hold my hand next to my ear, "-long red hair, killer legs, looks fabulous naked- oops, not that you'd know that- and, ah, yes, she's my wife. Where is she?"

The tips of Potter's ears are red, and he's scowling at me. Ginny always says that she and Potter have a sibling-like relationship (as if I needed one more wanker of a brother-in-law), but I know exactly how Potter really feels about her. The moment Ginny became mine, he started to want her. And he still wants her, and it drives him mad that he missed his chance.

"I hope you're playing nicely, boys," says a tired voice from behind me. I turn, and Ginny offers me an exhausted smile. She looks as though she's been run through a ringer; her hair is tied in a hasty knot at the nape of her neck, her shirt sleeves are pushed up, and there are shadows under her eyes. Though she's unusually pale from tension, she looks happy; I suppose Granger managed to bring another little Weaslet into the world.

Ginny leans against me, and I drape an arm around her, loving the image we must be presenting to Potter. "Harry," she says, "Ron and Hermione are asking for you." Her smile broadens. "They want you to meet your new godchild."

Potter grins, taking Ginny's free hand and squeezing it- any pitiful excuse to touch her; I'd dearly love to murder him- before sprinting towards the stairs.

Ginny turns to face me, wrapping her arms around my waist and leaning her head against my chest. "Hi," she says simply.

I don't know what to say, so we're just silent for a moment. It feels good to have her in my arms, but finally, I just can't hold my tongue any longer. "So, there's another little Weasley brat, is there?"

Ginny leans away from me, her dark brown eyes narrowed. "I think you meant to phrase that differently, Draco, dear. I think you meant, 'another lovely little Weasley girl.'"

"It's a girl, is it?" I ask. "Well, I suppose the girls aren't too bad."

"Only 'not too bad?'" she pouts. "Well, if you've got such a low opinion of us-" She sighs melodramatically. "And here I'd hoped that a Weasley girl would get to do a bit of screaming tonight."

I frown, confused. "She's an infant, Ginny. I'm certain she'll scream plenty."

"She's not the Weasley girl I was talking about," Ginny breathes, one hand indicating herself while the other slips inside my robes. "And that wasn't the sort of screaming I meant, either."

"Ginny," I choke out as her hand does something wicked that it oughtn't be doing in such a public place, "maybe we shouldn't be doing this at the hospital-"

Though it's what I asked her to do, I can't help but be disappointed when she pulls away. "You're right," she says, eyes still glittering mischievously.

And she Disapparates, leaving me in the middle of the reception area, and also in the middle of something a bit more... personal. Mind conjuring up all sorts of images of what Ginny might already be doing at home, I, too, Disapparate.

***

"Draco? Can you hear me?"

I blink myself awake, and I'm dimly aware of Ginny's concerned face- two faces, actually- swimming in front of my eyes. "There are two of you," I say blearily. "But Potter can't have either one, you're both mine."

"Oh, Draco, you're delirious from what's happened," Ginny and Ginny say in unison. "There's really only one of me, I'm afraid. But I appreciate your concern." They both smile, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

"What's happened?" I demand. "Why are there two of you?"

The Ginnys roll their eyes. "You splinched yourself." They chuckle. "A bit too eager to get home, I suppose. I shouldn't have teased you like that."

I don't understand- my being splinched has created two Ginnys? I should get splinched more often. The possibilities with two Ginnys... they're nearly endless.

"Here's some Clearing Potion for him, dear," says the voice of an older woman. Damn her, why can't she leave me with Ginny and Ginny? The three of us want to be alone!

Both Ginnys smooth my hair out of my eyes. "Drink this, Draco. It should clear both your vision and your head. You're, ah, a bit addled."

"I am not addled, Ginnys," I insist, sipping the potion anyway.

The two Ginnys merge, and I realize my wife is smiling serenely down at me, an amused expression on her face, and I feel like a fool. "Oh."

"Just the one of me now, yes?" she asks.

I nod.

"Good," she says, eyes full of mirth. "Goodness knows the perverted ideas you could conjure up if there were two of me."

I nod again, mournfully, and she smirks. "Just as well," she teases. "You couldn't even manage getting to one of me last night."

"Tell me again what happened," I say. "Are you sure things didn't just get a bit out of hand? Like with the Spellotape a few years ago?"

Ginny shakes her head, but she's still smiling. "I wish. No, afraid you really did splinch yourself."

"Oh." I scowl. "It's the fifteenth now, isn't it."

She nods. "Yes, it is. So much for Valentine's Day. What you had set up at home was beautiful, and I'm sorry I missed it." Her smile fades. "I'm also sorry I didn't contact you yesterday, Draco. It's just, everything happened all at once- one moment, Hermione and I were working on that research project for Dumbledore; the next, her water had broken, and-"

I hold up a hand, interrupting her. "Spare me the details, Ginny. Please?"

Her smile returns, and her fingers slide through my hair. "Of course. I'm sorry," she apologizes again. "I'll make it up to you."

"When?"

Smiling slyly, Ginny pulls out her wand and points it at the door. "Ferme," she says, and the door clicks shut, the lock tumbling into place.

I grin as she gets out of the chair and slips into the bed with me. "You no longer object to the fact that we're at the hospital?" she asks evilly. "Or the fact that it's not Valentine's Day?"

"My answer is no on both counts," I manage to choke out as Ginny rolls on top of me and takes certain liberties with both of our clothes.

"Happy Day After Valentine's Day," Ginny whispers in my ear just before her mouth is occupied elsewhere. One Ginny is more than enough, I realize. But I still wish I could get splinched more often.

***