Boxing Day, and I'm alone in the flat because Aidan's spending the next few days with Scorpius and Daisy. With nothing better to do I decide to clean Aidan's bedroom. This doesn't take me long, considering the room is so small and all I really have to do is throw all of his toys into his toy-box and hang up his clothes. And when you do everything by magic, it's even quicker. I even empty out his schoolbag of old food wrappers and pieces of paper. Aidan, like Hugo and I did, goes to a Muggle primary school. I don't have the time to home-school him like most magical parents do. Besides, being sent to a school develops social skills. I'm not quite sure where I went so wrong.

When emptying out his bag, I find a letter with the words 'Mrs Weasley' on the front. I resent the fact that the person writing this letter just assumes I'm married. I open it and find that it has been written over two weeks ago.

Dear Mrs Weasley,
I wish to discuss with you your son's recent behaviour in class. I consider this a matter of some urgency and would appreciate it if you could make an appointment to meet with me, at your convenience.
Sincerely
Mrs L. Murphy

"What did he do now?!" I hiss angrily to myself. This isn't the first time Mrs Murphy has contacted me about Aidan's behaviour, except the first time she rang me to tell me that Aidan had called a fellow pupil a word that rhymed with "banker" ("you mean wanker?" I asked her at the time. She now thinks I'm a negligent mother). James was the one who taught him the word. I wonder what the hell James has taught him now. And now Mrs Murphy will think I'm an even worse mother for not making an appointment straight away. Shit.

A loud knock on my front door makes me drop the letter in fright. It's an angry sort of knock. I creep to the door quietly and look out the spy-hole. It's Draco Malfoy. I open the door – he's fuming.

"Did you know about this?" he spits and barges into my flat.

"Hello Mr Malfoy, won't you come in?" I say ironically.

"You knew, didn't you?"

"Had a nice Christmas then?"

"Do not annoy me!" he shouts. I glare at him and he backs down a bit. I think he's finally realised that I'm one person he can't intimidate. "Did you know?"

"Did I know what?" I ask, annoyed.

He takes a deep breath. "You knew that my son was going to America to get married in some cheap Muggle casino!"

I stare at him. Is he for real? He thinks I knew?

"Oh yeah," I say sarcastically, "I was maid of honour, didn't you know?" He looks at me, as if trying to figure out if I'm being serious. You'd think after knowing me for five years he'd get me, but apparently not. "Of course I didn't know!" I yell.

"Y-you didn't?"

"Why the hell do you think I'd know about it? Did you inform all of your ex-girlfriends when you got married?" It's sort of strange to think that Draco Malfoy ever even had a girlfriend. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he just met Astoria and bribed her to marry him so people wouldn't think he was a big loser.

"Well...no," says Draco, "But it's different! I didn't have a child with any of my exes!"

"That you know of," I add.

"I thought it was just some sort of joke," says Draco, ignoring my last comment and pacing around my living room, "I thought Scorpius had a head on his shoulders. I thought he'd just marry you and be done with it!" Funny, a few years ago Draco Malfoy would have paid anything to cut me out of his son's life. Now he wants Scorpius to marry me 'and be done with it'. "How could he be so stupid?"

"I don't know," I shrug, "Perhaps it was his upbringing." I really do love to wind up Mr Malfoy. He gets angrier faster than Scorpius does.

"He has a child to think about! He can't just go around marrying random women!"

"Thank you!" I cry, "That's just what I said!"

There is a few second's silence. It's the first time Draco Malfoy and I have ever been on the same side. It's a very odd sensation. Have I turned to the dark side, or has Draco finally seen the light?

"So...what should be done?" Draco asks me.

"What do you mean?" I ask, taken aback, "There's nothing we can do. They're married."

"And?" he says, as if marriage doesn't even mean anything, "It's not going to last! It's better she found that out sooner rather than later!"

I can't help but feel intrigued by what Draco is implying. They should be broken up – but no! That's horrible! Surely I'm not that awful a person? But still, the thought of Scorpius and Daisy not being together is very appealing. But do I want them to break up because of something I did? It's not as if Scorpius will thank me for breaking up his marriage and all of a sudden fall in love with me. He'll probably never speak to me again, and win custody of Aidan on account of my insanity and everything. They'll both be much better off.

"What are you suggesting?" I ask.

"I'm simply suggesting that you help me to help her realise that she's made a huge and terrible mistake," he says. Simply suggesting. Why doesn't he just simply suggest we murder her and hide her body in Hagrid's pumpkin patch at Hogwarts? That would be just as 'simple' as what he's suggesting.

"I don't think so," I say, though half of me still wants to hear more. Well, maybe three-quarters of me. "Scorpius would hate us both. He'd never speak to us again." I can't believe I'm referring to myself and Draco Malfoy as 'us' – it's as if we're a team or something. I feel I may be going down a dark road...

"Scorpius would thank us, eventually," says Draco.

"Like the time you thought he'd thank you for bribing me to have an abortion?" I ask, referring to the little meeting Draco and I had when I was pregnant. He looks slightly embarrassed at the mention of it.

"That was an error in judgement on my part," he admits, "But surely you must be just as annoyed as I am? When I first heard, I immediately thought of you and how you must be feeling –"

"Okay, hold up a second," I snap, "A few minutes ago you thought I was in on the whole thing! You can stop the arse kissing – I'm not going to help you break them up. And anyway...I don't feel anything. I'm perfectly fine with it." Draco doesn't believe me. Nobody ever believes me. "And even if I wasn't perfectly fine with it, I would be completely against what you're proposing! Breaking them up would do much more damage than good!"

He narrows his eyes. I can tell he doesn't like to be contradicted. Still, I stand my ground and glare at him until eventually he looks away.

"Alright. Fine. We'll pretend this conversation didn't happen," he says and then walks out into the hall, "I'd better be off now. Happy Christmas."

And with that, he leaves. Who in their right minds ends a 'break-up-my-son-and-his-Vegas-wife' conversation with 'oh, and Happy Christmas by the way'? Daisy has no idea what she's married into. Although maybe she does, considering she's so old she probably went to school with Draco...

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating – slightly.

*

I think that two days holidays at Christmas is completely unfair, but apparently old Healer Wharton doesn't think so. And I'd hardly even classify them as holidays, considering they were the most stressful days of the year so far. It doesn't feel like I've gotten a break at all.

Gladys, Hazel and Linda agree, of course, but I still can't help envying them as they discuss their nice, normal Christmases.

"I was at my sister's," Gladys explains, "I just had a quiet one."

"Our Liam got me this necklace," says Linda, "Isn't it lovely?"

"Brendan booked us tickets to France!" Hazel tells us and we all stare at her blankly. "The Useless Shit," she explains.

"Oh," we chime together. This is the first time Hazel has used her husband's first name since...ever.

"What about you, Rose?" Linda asks, "How was your Christmas?"

"I met Scorpius's wife," I say. It feels weird to say that – his wife. Suddenly Gladys's sister, Linda's necklace and Hazel's husband don't seem so interesting anymore. They all lean in to hear more. "She's..." a cow, "she's..." a bitch, "she's...perfectly nice." Unfortunately, I'm not even lying. That's the most infuriating thing of all. "And she wants to be my friend."

"What did you say?" asks Linda, her eyes widening by the second.

"I told her I have enough friends." It sounds awful now that I say it. Maybe I'm the cow.

"Good for you!" says Gladys and Hazel nods in agreement. Linda looks down at the floor, avoiding my eye. She obviously thinks I was a bitch too. "Why would you want to be her friend? It'd be like me being friends with my ex-husband's twenty-something year old wife!"

"Oh, that's another thing!" I say suddenly, "She's ten years older than him. And his father wants me to break them up."

They all give me the same disbelieving look, as if wondering how much stranger my life can get. I stopped wondering that years ago, because every time I wonder, it just gets stranger.

"Ten years isn't so bad," Linda shrugs, "I wouldn't mind dragging Damien Kennedy off to Las Vegas!"

"Speaking of," says Gladys, and the other two suddenly look very excited, "Rose, we think you should ask him out."

I stare at her. "Ask who out?"

"Kennedy!" Hazel cries, "Get back in the game, girl!"

Wow, this trip to France Hazel's husband booked really has given her a whole new perspective. Two days ago she'd have said 'fuck 'em, they're all just a shower of bastards anyway'.

"I agree," says Linda, "You should definitely ask him out. You're the only one of us who stands a chance."

"I take offence to that, you know," Gladys hisses at her, "But seriously, why not?"

I'm too shocked by this suggestion to even think up a legitimate reason not to ask him out. Aside from the fact that he more than likely has a girlfriend and aside from the fact that I'm me, there is no way someone like Damien Kennedy would ever go out with a twenty-two year old receptionist with a five year old child. Life, unfortunately doesn't work that way.

"You lot are going senile, d'you know that?" I tell them, shaking my head.

"I think you'd be in with a chance!" Linda exclaims, "You know, if you just put on a bit of lippy."

"Yeah, and bought some nicer clothes," Hazel chips in.

"Maybe got a haircut," Gladys adds.

"And lost a tiny bit of weight..."

"Okay! Enough!" I stop them, as they're beginning to sound like Molly and the girls. "I'm not going to ask Damien Kennedy out! I don't care if he has a nice arse," I continue on loudly when Hazel tries to interrupt me, "and so what if he has the most endearing smile in the world? Does it really matter that his eyes could lighten up the darkest of nights?" Okay, I'm sort of losing myself here. "And maybe I do sometimes dream of what it might be like to run my fingers through his silky hair, or what he looks like without clothes on. And yes, I have referred to myself as Mrs Rose Kennedy on ONE occasion, and I was quite drunk at the time, so that doesn't even count! But none of these are reason enough for me to ask out the most gorgeous man in this hospital – possibly in the world – because although I might have horrible hair and a flabby stomach and pasty skin, I also have my dignity!"

Gladys looks away from me, down to the floor and bites her lip. Linda turns scarlet. Hazel has buried her face in her hands and her shoulders are shaking wildly.

"Ahem."

I spin around in my chair. There he is, all six foot three of him – Damien Kennedy.

"You were saying?" Gladys whispers to me and then cracks up.

Fuck. Why does the fucking universe hate me so fucking much?

"Eh, I'm just looking for Ms White's file," Healer Kennedy says, not looking at me. He apparently heard my entire spiel – his cheeks are as red as my hair. Because I can do nothing but sit there, open-mouthed, Gladys grabs the file and hands it to him and he walks off so quickly, I'm not sure he didn't apparate.

There is no way I could be more embarrassed. I think I'm literally going to drop dead.

Gladys and Hazel are roaring with laughter and even Linda can't stop herself from giggling at my misfortune.

Kill me. Kill me now.

*

The next few days are lonely in the flat without Aidan around. He is staying with Scorpius and Daisy until New Years Day now, so I find that I have very little to do and absolutely nobody to shout at. By the time New Years Eve arrives, I've watched five crappy Christmas films, cleaned the flat from top to bottom and eaten two whole boxes of mince pies. So, with the prospect of spending New Years Eve completely alone, I crack open a bottle of wine and sit down on front of the telly with an endless supply of peanuts and my last box of mince pies. I tell myself that I'm doing some good – Aidan is allergic to nuts, so by eating them all I'm eliminating all possibilities that he could get a reaction to them. And he doesn't even like mince pies. See, I'm a fantastic mother.

However, half way through my pies, after sitting for an hour on the couch, completely engrossed in some chick-flick and extremely comfortable in the arse groove I seemed to have made in the cushion, there is a knock on the door. I hadn't planned on leaving this spot, except in the case of a dire emergency - i.e. needing the bathroom or running out of food – so I just turn up the TV and pretend I didn't hear anything. But the knocker is consistent and starts banging again.

"Rose, we know you're in there!" I hear Dom shouting from outside, "We can hear the telly!"

I sigh, annoyed, and pull myself off the couch, leaving scattered crumbs and nuts behind me. I open the door to find Dom, some random bloke, James and James's team mate, Trevor McArdle, a Chaser for the Chudley Cannons are standing there, all looking fabulous and ready for a night on the town. Normally I would try to look presentable around Trevor McArdle, considering Quidditch Weekly named him the third sexiest British Quidditch player (James was second), but seeing as I've already embarrassed myself to the furthest possible extent around handsome men this week, I really don't care.

"Come on, get changed, we're going out!" Dom tells me, "You've got a peanut on your face."

"I'm not in the mood," I tell her, "You go. Have fun."

"We're not taking no for an answer, Red," says James and I shoot him a filthy glare. If he thinks I'm just going to forget the fact that he was Scorpius's best man, he has another thing coming.

"Rose, we've got Al, Jenny and Molly waiting for us," says Dom, "We're going to a Muggle nightclub! You have to come!"

"Why on earth would Molly go to a club?" I ask.

"She says if she has to spend another New Years Eve alone, she'll kill herself," Dom explains, "And we don't want to listen to Auntie Audrey piss and moan about that on top of everything else. You're coming, Rose."

"No, I'm not," I say firmly, "I have a date with my remote control."

"Come on!" Dom pleads, "Laura's going to be there!"

"Laura?" I ask, "As in Laura Phelps?" Dom nods excitedly. Laura Phelps is my enemy, turned friend, turned estranged schoolmate I used to share a dorm with. I haven't seen her in years. The last I heard she was living in Germany. "What's she doing here?"

"I think she broke up with her boyfriend and moved back home or something," says Dom, "Please come out! I'm sure she'd love to see you!"

I'm sure it'd just be plain awkward. Whenever I meet Mark Matthews or Chas Finch on the street it's always very forced and uncomfortable. I'm sure meeting Laura would be no different.

"Come on, Rosie!" Dom whinges again.

"If I say yes will you stop whining?" I ask. I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. I was looking forward to my fat night.

"Brilliant!" she exclaims, "Go get ready! And hurry up!"

Twenty-five minutes later I emerge from my bedroom, my hair still damp, wearing my best pair of jeans and a nice top I bought from Victoire's shop. She gave me fifty per cent off, which was jolly nice of her.

Dom apparently is not impressed.

"You're wearing jeans," she says flatly.

"Yes," I reply.

James shifts uncomfortably. Trevor looks like he really doesn't want to be here. The random bloke is staring blatantly at Dom's exposed legs. And Dom is glaring at me.

"What?" I sigh, "Why can't I wear jeans?"

"It's New Years Eve," says Dom, "And this is a classy place we're going to. You can't just show up looking like you're going out shopping for the day! Come on, I'll help you..."

She drags me back into my bedroom and starts rummaging through my wardrobe, but I'm willing to throw her a party if she finds anything better in there. However, after only about five seconds she pulls out a rather short black dress. I can't stop myself snorting.

"This is fabulous, Rose!" she tells me, "Wear this!" She reminds me of myself when I'm trying to get Aidan to wear his good clothes.

"Were you planning on wrapping it 'round my thigh?" I ask, "That doesn't fit and it'll look crap if we try to adjust it. Can't I just wear what I have on? I don't even want to go out anyway!"

"Put it on," she demands. I pull it on, just to prove to her how shit it looks, and I'm right. I look like a human blimp. Dom points her wand at it and expands it slightly so it's no longer cutting off the circulation in my body, but I still look absolutely awful. "You look great!"

"Dom, you're a shit liar," I tell her, "I can't go out looking like this. Can't I just finish watching my film?"

"I'll tell you how it ends – boat sinks, boy dies. End of," she snaps, "Now put on some shoes and let's get going!"

"He dies?" I cry, upset that she's ruined it for me, "B-but –"

"Rose! We're late!"

*

Sometimes I feel a bit sad that I never really got to do the going out to clubs and getting completely bladdered thing with my friends, due to premature motherhood and everything.

Tonight is definitely not one of those times.

As we queue up – Dom, James, Al, Jenny, Molly, Trevor, the random bloke (whose name is Hector, apparently) and I – outside the club in the freezing cold, watching loads of underage kids get turned away at the door, Dom hands us all fake Muggle ID cards.

"Eh, Dom, we're all over eighteen," Jenny, who comes from a Muggle family, points out, "We don't need fake IDs."

"Well we can't use our Ministry-approved IDs around Muggles," Dom points out, "We might as well just give them driver's licences with pictures of Mickey Mouse on them!"

"Couldn't you have just put our real names on them?" I ask, studying my own driver's licence, which despite having my picture on it displays the name 'Susanna Ryan'.

"This way is more fun," Dom – or Crystal Baudelaire as her ID reads – grins.

When we approach the bouncer at the door, he barely even glances at our driver's licences before letting us inside. Apparently we just don't look under eighteen anymore – it's depressing. Inside the music is thumping, the drunks are stumbling and the alcohol is flowing. I'm starting to wish more than ever that I stood my ground and stayed at home.

I allow Dom to drag me onto the dance floor with everybody else, but after a half an hour or so, people seem to be breaking away from the group. Al and Jenny, tired of dancing, go to sit on a leather couch in the corner and then start kissing like a pair of teenagers, not an engaged and pregnant couple. Trevor is dancing with a brunette girl, while Dom and Hector-the-random-bloke have paired off in the corner. Even Molly manages to partner up with some bloke who doesn't look a day over sixteen. Finally James is the last one to abandon me when a very pretty blonde girl starts dancing seductively around him. So I go to sit at the bar like a lonely old spinster lady.

"What can I get you?" the girl behind the counter asks when I sit down on a vacant barstool. She looks familiar – really familiar. It's -

"Laura?" I ask – well, I shout it because the music is so loud that I have to shout everything in order to be heard.

"Rose?" she cries, "Holy shit, it's you!"

"You work here?" I cry, not knowing that this is what Dom meant when she said Laura would be here.

"Yeah," she shouts back, "It's my first night on the job! So how are you?"

We have a short conversation, leaving us both with sore throats and heads, until she spots her boss glaring at her and has to go collect some glasses. We say that we'll arrange to meet up soon, but we both know it's just one of those dates that neither of us have any intention of keeping.

I sit at the bar for the next hour or so, sipping on what the barman said was a 'Sex On The Beach'. It's disgusting, but I'm drinking it so slowly that it'll last me all night. I know I look pathetic, sitting here in my dress that's too small, sipping on an outdated cocktail and completely alone, thinking about my ex and his wife, and wondering what fun shenanigans they're getting up to with my son. They're probably having the time of their lives, even though they're just stuck inside looking after a five year old. You'd think that they would be the ones who'd be jealous of me. After all, I'm in a hip new Muggle nightclub called 'Fusions'.

"Someone sitting here?"

I jump at the sound of the man's voice yelling over the music at me and turn to face him. He's pointing to the stool beside me. I shake my head and go back to drinking my cocktail. It's only an hour until midnight, and then I can go home without looking completely pitiable.

"I'm Richard," the man tells me, as if I've expressed interest in knowing his name. Still, I don't want to be rude, so I reply:

"Susanna Ryan."

"D'you come here often?" he asks.

"D'you know a cheesier line?" I reply. Apparently Susanna Ryan is just as cynical and harsh as Rose Weasley. He smiles and I notice that despite his frankly awful way with words, he has got a nice smile. And his eyes aren't bad either. Actually, his whole face is quite attractive.

"Sorry, that was a bit lame," he admits, "You're sort of intimidating."

I shrug and turn away from him again, thus ending the conversation. However, he doesn't give up that easily.

"Are you here by yourself?" he asks.

"No," I reply, "My mates are around here somewhere."

"Oh. Mine seem to have abandoned me too," he explains, "So what explains your dark and depressing aura then? Ex-issues?"

"How did you guess?" I ask sarcastically.

"I bet they can't be worse than mine," he says. Suddenly I feel challenged.

"My ex-boyfriend got married in Vegas last week," I tell him, but conveniently leave my son out of it, "Can you top that?"

"My wife slept with my brother," he retorts, "Your issues have been topped."

I look at him, trying to decipher if he's joking or not. He looks too young to be married – then again, I probably look too young to have a five year old. He doesn't look any older than me. I feel bad for him now.

"Sorry," I say, "But I still reckon I have more issues than you do."

"Is that a challenge?" he grins.

We start trading stories – all the while leaving Aidan out of it – and eventually start having fun with our cynicism. I tell him about Draco trying to get me to split up Scorpius and Daisy. He tells me that his wife of four years had been cheating on him for four months before he found out. I tell him I'm a twenty-two year old spinster – he retorts with the fact that he's about to become a twenty-five year old divorcee.

We stop once the countdown to midnight begins.

10...9...8...

"Here's to another shitty year," Richard holds up his glass of beer and I toast him with my cocktail.

"Amen," I reply.

7...6...5...

I'm suddenly reminded of the time Scorpius kissed me on New Years, while he was still with Dom. Now he'll be kissing Daisy. I take a swing of my drink.

4....3...

Richard is cute. He is very cute. And after the embarrassing incident with Damien Kennedy this week, I really need to redeem myself somehow.

2...1...

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

I throw caution to the wind, throw an arm around Richard's neck and pull him close for a kiss. I don't care if Scorpius is kissing Daisy right now. I'm kissing this bloke. And while I'm thinking of Scorpius and Daisy, I know Richard's thinking about his ex-wife and brother. If it eases the pain, then what does it matter?

"D'you want to come back to my place?" he asks me. I nod.

Like I said – if it eases the pain, then what does it matter?