The Idea of Draco

4 - Dennis

Mia is so angry with me that she doesn't talk to me for the rest of the trip.

The following morning, we pack up our stuff in a stony silence, and she says nothing the entire car ride back.

Dropping Jack and Maisey back, we finally arrive home. She goes straight to her room and slams the door.

"Well, thank you for taking me the Quidditch game," I mutter to myself, stropping around the kitchen to find something to eat. "Really kind of you, Mother, after darling, cannot-do-wrong Daddy let me down once again."

I make myself a hot chocolate and curl up on the sofa with my laptop. My intention is to research more cake recipes but I end up Googling Draco Malfoy.

I sit for hours, watching YouTube videos of his games and interviews. I am entranced, not being able to tear my eyes away from him. I close my eyes, recalling how he had kissed me, and how good it felt.

"Mum?"

My eyes fly open, and I look around, discombobulated. I realise I must have fallen asleep on the sofa.

"Did you stay on the sofa all night?"

Shit. I must have fallen asleep watching videos of Draco.

"Uh," I say, rubbing a hand over my face. "I must have forgotten the time."

"Okay, whatever." She's still angry at me. "I'm off to Jack's. If that's allowed?"

"Mimi," I say, sitting up. "I missed your aunt Gina's hen party to take you and your friends to the game. And I don't even like Quidditch."

"Didn't stop you from sticking your tongue down the Seeker's throat!"

"I thought you liked Draco!"

"Draco Malfoy, Mum! Stop talking about him like he's someone familiar to you! He's ten years younger than you - ten years older than me! It's sick."

She storms out of the house before I can yell at her for speaking to me that way. I know she's just angry for me dragging her away from Blaise Zabini, but doesn't she see how this is very different?

Shutting my laptop, I sigh, thinking of Gina and wondering how her hen weekend is going. I wonder how she'll take the news that me and my daughter were snogging half the Quidditch team last night.

Oh god. I'm such a bad influence. Mia's right - what was I thinking throwing myself at a man almost half my age? Tragic, as Mia would say.

I decide to go to the bakery to see how it's running in my absence.

"Hey, Dennis," I say as enter the shop.

My twenty-three year old assistant looks bored, sat behind the counter reading a motorbike magazine. "Been busy?"

"No." He grumbles without lifting his eyes from whatever enticing article he's reading. "Everyone's on health kicks. No one eats cake anymore."

"Rubbish! What about weddings? Birthdays? Any new orders?"

"No, because now it's no longer cool to have cake cake. People want to be different. Last year I went to a wedding where, instead of a sponge cake, it was just great big wheels of cheese."

"Oh. Well, we still have Gina's."

"Speaking of," Dennis says, finally lifting his gaze from his magazine. "How was the hen party? Aren't you supposed to still be there?"

"I didn't go," I grumble, moving behind the counter to dump my bag.

"What? Why? I thought you were her maid of honor?"