Draco walked into the kitchen and saw his wife furiously stirring a bowl of orange goo. He noted that the fine china was out on the sideboard and looked freshly washed. Fearing for his life, he ran through the list of important dates he’d committed to memory. He came up empty.

Ginny looked up and spotted him in the doorway. She gave him a huge grin. “Don’t panic. You haven’t forgotten anything.”

“Thank goodness.” Draco walked over and sat at the kitchen table. “What’s all this about?” he asked indicating the dishes and the bowl of orange goo.

“Do you know what tomorrow is?” Ginny asked, as she tasted the orange goo.

Draco gave her a blank look. “It’s Thursday.”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Ginny supplied happily.

“Ginevra, we’re British. We don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”

Ginny shook a bottle of cinnamon over the bowl of goo and continued to stir. “I know that. But, I like the idea of our families getting together and sharing a nice, loving dinner.”

Draco scooted his chair back from the table. “Whose families are you planning on inviting? If it’s yours and mine it will not be a nice loving dinner. It will be chaos.”

Ginny tasted the goo again, and Draco scowled. “Are Harry and Ron still pretending to be just friends? Are we still pretending to believe that Ron is dating Hermione?”

Ginny poured the orange goo into a pie shell. “Well, yes.”

“Are both of our mothers still harping at us about having grandchildren as soon as possible?”

“Probably,” Ginny admitted. “I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to your mother since she accused me of forcing you to live in squalor.”

“When was that?”

Ginny put the pie in the oven. “Two months ago when she finally realized that there were no wings on the cottage.”

Draco snorted. “I can’t believe we tricked her for that long.”

Ginny dusted her hands off on her apron. “I don’t understand why she thinks we’d need more than three bedrooms.”

“The Manor has two hundred and seven bedrooms if I remember correctly.”

Ginny walked over and sat on his lap. “I’m sure most of them are filled with cobwebs.”

“You’re probably right,” Draco told her as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

Ginny responded enthusiastically to his kiss, and then leaned her head against his chest. “Can we have everyone over for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

“Can we run up to bedroom number three while the pie bakes?” Draco asked.

Ginny stood up and took his hand. “I do love negotiating with you.”

***

The next day, Ginny opened her home to her family and friends. Ron and Harry arrived with Hermione. Narcissa came by herself. The Weasley clan showed up in force. Fred and George dressed like Indians.

Ginny ushered everyone into the living room, which they’d enlarged for the occasion.
Narcissa turned to Molly Weasley and said, “You look happy. Why shouldn’t you look happy? You have grandchildren.”

Molly pulled a photo album out of her pocket and enlarged it. “Would you like to see my latest grandchild?”

“I suppose it’s the closest I’ll ever get to having grandchildren. Why not?” Narcissa said with an exaggerated sigh.

Draco walked back into the kitchen and refilled his glass of wine. “The grandmother saga has started already,” he informed his wife.

Ginny patted him on the bum. “It’s good to get that part of the day over with early. Would you go to the pantry and grab the brown sugar for me?”

Draco opened the pantry door. The sight of Ron and Harry with their faces pressed together made him jump back and shut the door. He then made exaggerated stomping noises with his feet and yelled, “I’ll get the brown sugar out of the pantry for you.”

When he opened the door, Harry was scanning the shelves while Ron appeared to be tying his shoe. “We were looking for a bottle of wine,” Harry lied with a completely straight face.

“It’s out on the back porch. Could you pass me that bag of brown sugar?”

Harry handed him the sugar and walked on by. Ron stood up, nodded and followed suit. Draco wondered why the two were still trying to hide their relationship after all of these years. The biggest mystery was why Hermione went along with it.

Draco walked back into the kitchen to see Ginny hugging Hermione. The bushy haired girl looked like she’d been crying. “What’s going on?” Draco asked.

Hermione gave Draco a beaming smile. “I’m pregnant.”

“You’re...but how...who?” Draco was having trouble forming coherent sentences.

Ginny stepped in. “The baby is due in six months.”

“Congratulations,” Draco managed to get out.

He walked past his wife and the mysteriously impregnated Granger. He saw Ron and Harry sitting next to each other on the porch swing. He walked over and raised his glass. “Who do I congratulate?”

Ron shrugged. “Me, of course.”

“Congratulations, Weasley. When’s the wedding?”

Harry frowned. “We can’t find anyone who’ll marry all three of us.”

“All three of you?” Draco asked as he rubbed his jaw. “Well, that makes much more sense.” He turned and walked back into the house. Molly Weasley was jumping up and down hugging Hermione.

Draco scanned the room for his mother. She was nowhere to be seen. Fearing the worst, he walked into the kitchen and found Ginny pointing a butcher knife at his mother.

“I am not the soulless harpy in this room. Draco and I will have children when we are damn good and ready. If you expect to see them, I suggest you stop all of this name calling.”

Narcissa turned and saw her son. “Pansy would have been a much better choice,” she hissed as she brushed past him.

“I would have hung myself by now, but believe whatever makes you happy.” He turned to look at his wife who was mashing something in a bowl. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right. I may be fantasizing that your mother’s head is in this bowl, but that is only natural.”

“Why don’t I go tell everyone to take their seat? I’ll help you levitate the food into the dining room, and then we can eat.”

Ginny teared up. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ginevra. Happy Thanksgiving.”