Harry Potter One Shots (Vol. I)

Black Widow Witch in Training (Adrian Pucey)

Wifi is up and running and so things should be back to their regular schedule. 

Now, I kind of feel like this one should have a bit of a trigger warning? Some things mentioned in the story might make some readers feel uncomfortable and that is absolutely understandable. If that is the case for you, feel free to stop reading and make click back onto one of the one shots that you favour instead and hopefully the next one shot will make up for it.

Anyway, I hope you like it ~

Very little changed for my family in the aftermath of the war. We had, after all, remained neutral and so managed to avoid the witch hunt that many of our fellow pureblood families experienced in the weeks, the months following the battle. Much of our lives had not changed and Mother and I continued our weekly brunch appointment where occasionally, my brother would join us too.

But today it was just the pair of us walking towards our usual tea room where we would likely be joined by the usual crowd. The tradition had started up after I graduated from Hogwarts almost 3 years ago now as a way of making sure that we both took some time out of our busy weeks to see one another.

Crossing the threshold of the tea room, my eyes roved across the room the way they normally did. And, as nosy pureblood society wives had the habit of doing, their eyes turned towards the door at the sound of approaching voices. Meeting every pair of eyes with a practised smile that was just the right mixture of polite and pleased to see them, I held their gaze for no more than a second before allowing my eyes to move on. But, it was when my gaze met a particular pair of waiting eyes that I almost let my surprise show; I certainly hadn't expected to see him here.

Adrian Pucey sat at a table with a pair of witches that I knew as his mother and his maternal grandmother on either side of him as if his being in a tea room was a thing of the norm. It certainly wasn't. You would sooner find him hovering in mid-air on his broom or with an Arithmancy textbook held in his hands than to see him picking at finger sandwiches over a pot of earl grey.

He held my attention for only a short moment before I turned my focus back towards Mother who had followed after me. She was speaking to one of the staff members that had come to greet us and once they had exchanged their pleasantries, we were being led towards our usual table by the window which overlooked the gardens at the back of the rooms.

As I settled into my chair, shrugging out of my coat and draping it across the back, I heard Mother place our usual order without needing to consult the menu. She waited until the waiter disappeared out of earshot before doing the same.

"So," I began, unfolding the napkin and draping it over my upper thighs. Mother glanced expectantly towards me at the sound of my voice. "How is number twelve doing at the moment?"

"He's happy in love," she said with an indulgent smile and perhaps to those around us she looked happy in love. And why shouldn't she? She was, after all, a newlywed. Only because I was her daughter, did I read the disgust hidden in the depth of those beautiful eyes. I wondered whether my own echoed that revulsion? Number twelve was perhaps the vilest of all Mother's husbands. Each progressive husband seemed to be infinitely worse than the one before.

"Does he not have to leave for business soon?" I asked as our food was brought to the table. The conversation reached a natural pause as we waited for the listening ears to depart.

"Oh yes," Mother agreed finally. "He is to go on an extended holiday – about two weeks from now."

"So soon," I echoed, unsurprised as I reached for a cucumber sandwich. Salazar, I was even trying to hide a smile.