This is for Mena, my dear friend and the mother of my future god-child. If it wasn’t for her, I couldn’t possibly understand the pain a mother goes through.



A problem shared is a problem halved. - Proverb

My mother loved telling me proverbs when I was younger, more so as I grew older. They seemed so pointless to me, especially things like ‘A stitch in time saves nine’. Nine what? Proverbs are perfect for people like Percy; full of common sense and lacking in any imagination. Not for Ginny. I’m left-handed. I’ve heard left-handed people are imaginative.

My husband is right-handed, and unsurprisingly, very practical. He’s also very charming and has a wicked sense of humour. I happen to lack all of these ‘qualities’. People feel sorry for him, to have such a plain wife. To hell with them. After all, don’t they say, ‘opposites attract’? I wonder if that’s a proverb. It should be.

I finger the fleece blanket, enjoying the feel of the texture against my fingers. It’s blue, and as my husband repeatedly reminded me, very unpractical. Bugger him. As if he cares.

He told me this morning, very subtly, maybe I should tell the house elves to change the room back to its original appearance. I refused to acknowledge his words. He gave a tired sigh and left after giving me the usual goodbye kiss. How can he not care? How can he be so detached? I felt like hitting him there and then. Fuck practicality and common sense.

The tears come suddenly, and I feel as if with every tear, a piece of my soul leaves. Yet the tears won’t stop. How long till I have no soul?

I clutch the fleece blanket to my heart, as if it were the child that had, till very recently, been in my womb. I don’t understand. Why did you have to leave? I wanted to see your little face, to count your precious little toes, to see which parent you would take after. I hear my husband return home, with a customary ‘pop’. What had I done all day? Time had passed so quickly, too quickly. I hear him calling my name, but I don’t answer, I can’t. My grief overtakes me and I sink to the floor, not caring to control my emotions, as my husband would prefer. As a Malfoy should.

It is in this state that my husband finds me, his grey eyes full of fear. What does he fear? My mourning for a part of me, forever lost? He stands still, confused, the light of the setting sun, casting a dim light upon him. He walks over to me and gathers me in his arms, and for all the pain and anger he makes me feel, there is also love and tenderness.

I cannot stop telling him, how I feel. He hates emotions, there aren’t very practical. Yet he listens, as I open my heart to him, having kept silent from the beginning. I look up, at his face, expecting fear and pity. There are tears running down his face.

I am shocked. Does my husband really feel the pain too? I didn’t think he would. After all, he is a Malfoy; Practical, controlled and charming. He is right-handed.

So here I am, two months after the death of my beloved boy, holding my husband to me, as he sobs, as he shows me how alike we really are. Surrounded by all the wealth a wizard could want, but devoid of any happiness.

I realise how this room, painted pale blue, suffocates me, and it is the memories that are tearing at my soul, rather than the ever-lasting tears. Standing up, I tell Draco, bluntly, that maybe it would be a good idea to change the room back. Life goes on, even though we might not want it to.

And as I stand here, trying to comprehend the shift in our relationship, two things come to mind. Firstly, a proverb my mother once told me on how sharing sorrow lessens the pain and secondly, that I might be ambidextrous. Both practical and imaginative.