The Politician's Wife - Dramione

Chapter 13: The Politician's Wife

The faint smell of citrus made me look up. He was leaning against the doorframe of my office; his chin too prominent, his cheeks too hollow. Lingering in the doorway, as if uncertain about his reception, my face must have reassured him because he stepped into the room and closed the door. He cast a Silencing Charm for good measure.

"It's true then. I'd heard rumors."

Color me surprised. He held up a copy of the Prophet, which was turned to the "Announcements" page. Yes, our divorce was one of three granted in the past month. Divorce was rare in the wizarding world, and since there was no property to divide and no children to consider, our petition went through the courts in record time.

Our eyes met. For the first time in four months.

"I assume it's because of that Vane woman."

How did he know everything? It was a little disconcerting.

I shrugged. "Yes and no. You were right. About most things."

"He has appalling taste. Present company accepted, of course. Do you have a place to stay?"

I'd been circling adverts for flats in that day's Prophet when I smelled his aftershave. I held up my newspaper. "Just started looking really. I'm staying with my parents, but it's a bit much Flooing in from Tunbridge Wells every day."

Which must have sounded like a paltry excuse because he Flooed in from Wiltshire every day none the worse for wear. The truth was that if I stayed another week at my parents' house I'd go completely mad. In their eyes I was forty-one going on fourteen. If I stayed up past midnight, my mother would cluck at me at the breakfast table telling me I needed my sleep. To avoid her constant questions about what time I put out the lights, I'd been reduced to lying and using my wand to cast a Lumos so that I could read under a tent of bedclothes. My father, not knowing what to say, took to leaving the table right after dinner, holing himself up in their bedroom with the telly blaring. The nightly tennis matches were now forgotten. If I wanted to play, I had to play by myself with just the backboard for a partner. It was horribly emblematic of my current state of affairs. I had only meant it as a temporary measure anyway, and here we were at twelve weeks. With a shock I'd realized that I'd never lived on my own before. I'd pretty much gone from my parents to a dormitory at Hogwarts to sharing a flat with Harry post-war before marrying Ron.

I had no other friends but Harry, Ginny, and Neville. My world had been work, them, and Ron's family. Which had kept me more than busy. Now? I'd spent my evenings organizing the petition for my divorce, and once that was done, I either played tennis by myself or rehashed family gossip with mother while she knitted sweaters for me that I would never wear.

"Take the flat. I haven't changed the wards. Stay as long as you like."

Before I could even respond, he turned around and left.

Absolutely not.

***

That night at dinner my mother began complaining that I was getting too thin and my father agreed with her, and she insisted that I start drinking milk shakes before I went to bed at night. Instead of screaming at them that I was over forty years old and I could bloody well decide if I was too thin or not, I found myself saying, "I've found a place to live."

The next day I went to Draco's office. Naturally, as a result of his appointment, his office had been moved to Level One, the pinnacle of locations within the hierarchy of the Ministry. The tarted-up secretary had been replaced by an older woman who embodied the term "battle ax," her robes buttoned up to her chin. I hadn't even reached her desk before a memo was scribbled and sent through the transom.