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?"

"Fucking Bill, that's why."

"Fuck, what's he done now?"

"You know that Quidditch game I told you about, the one where Mimi and her friends get to Meet and Greet the Wiltshire Wanderers?"

"Lucky lady," Dennis says, his eyes glinting dreamily.

"Well, it turned out Bill couldn't take her and - at the last minute - told me that if I didn't take her then I'll have to let her down."

"Sucks," Dennis shrugs. "But, you did get a free game and a Meet and Greet out if it. Do you know how expensive those tickets are?"

"I HATE QUIDDITCH!"

"You're like the only person in the wizarding world who does."

"So everyone keeps telling," I grit, pinging open the till and sighing as I see all it contains is the previous day's float money.

"So... don't keep me in suspense, did you manage to have a nice little convo with anyone on the team?"

I had a bit more than that, Dennis.

"Um, well..." I say, trying to decide how much I should be telling him. "They were friendly enough. In fact, they invited us back to party in their tent."

"GET OUT!" Dennis splutters, dropping his magazine to the floor. "Did you go? Oh my god, please tell me you went."

"Yes, but we didn't stay long. I found Blaise Zabini all over my fifteen year old daughter, and now she's not talking to me because I dragged her out of there."

"Shit. He's hot though. I wouldn't kick him out of bed."

"I'm sorry, but did you miss the part when I said my fifteen year old."

"Oh, come off it," he smirks, "like you weren't getting some at that age."

"No, I wasn't. I waited until I was sixteen and then ended up pregnant and married by the time I was nineteen. She is too young for all of that."

"She's not you, Sol. And anyway, what about you? Anyone on the team catch your eye? I'm a fan of Zacharius Smith, of course. Man, I remember watching him play during my Hogwarts days. Definitely my gay awakening."

"I had a drink with Draco Malfoy," I say lightly, "he seems like a nice boy."

"NO." Dennis gives a low impressed whistle. "Now he's so hot, I could cry. I just- I don't know, I just find him a bit, intimidating, you know? After all that shit with him in Hogwarts. Man, he used to hate people like me and my brother."

I blink at him. "What do you mean?"

"Col, bless him. He was a great big brother, gentle as fuck. All he wanted to do was take pictures of Harry Potter with his camera. And one day, Draco Malfoy smashed it to pieces and called him that word."

"What word?"

"Mudblood." Dennis whispers it, a fierce look flashing in his eyes.

There is an uneasy stirring in the pit of my stomach as I recall Gina saying something about Draco having a Death Eater past. And then I remember that faded tattoo on his arm. It wasn't a tattoo at all, I realise, but the Dark Mark.

"I guess people change," I shrug, really suddenly not wanting to think how Draco could have been such a cruel bully.

"You do know Draco Malfoy was the student responsible for letting all those Death Eaters in on the night Dumbledore was murdered," Dennis explains slowly, "including Greyback, the one who almost turned your ex-husband into a werewolf?"

"He was?" I ask, frowning and thinking back to that night.

I remember getting a phonecall telling me Bill had been attacked trying to defend the castle. But I was at home with a six year old and in the middle of trying to start up a business so I didn't really take in the details. I was used to him getting into trouble being in that silly gang of his: the Order of the Phoenix, whose main purpose seemed to be getting Harry Potter out of a pickle.

Hey, darling wife, do you mind if I arrive late back from the Quidditch World Cup? Someone threw a Dark Mark into the sky and they're accusing Harry Potter.

Hey, darling wife, do you mind if I pop over to the Ministry? Harry Potter is there and being attacked by a load of Death Eaters. Won't be late back, give Mimi a kiss for me goodnight.

Hey, darling wife, apparently some kid let in a load of Death Eaters at Hogwarts. Do you mind if I pop over to help save Harry Potter?

Hey, darling wife, I know we've got a young daughter at home who needs both her parents, but do you mind if you Polyjuice into Harry Potter and fly a thestral across the country in the hope that Lord Voldemort will think you're the real Harry and try and kill you instead?

Yes! I should have said. I do fucking mind, Bill!

But I never did. I was a good little wife who did as my husband asked, and even offered to forgive and forget when he revealed he was screwing his colleague across his desk.

Hey, darling wife, do you mind giving me a divorce so I can continue fucking this much younger, prettier witch?

"Are you okay?" Dennis asks me as I angrily slam the till back shut.

"Why did I let him walk all over me all those years, and why am I still letting him?"

"Who, Draco Malfoy?"

"No! Fucking Bill! Draco Malfoy may have been mixed up in some crap when he was younger, but at least he knows how to treat a woman."

"I KNEW IT! YOU SO GOT OFF WITH HIM!"

"It was just a little kiss."

A wonderful kiss.

"Details, I need details." Dennis says, hurriedly running towards the kitchen. "Quick, let me put the kettle on."

"There's not much to tell," I sigh as I follow him through. "There were drinks, we were dancing, and I guess we just got caught up in the moment. Besides, he's too young for me."

"No, he isn't." Dennis scoffs, grabbing a couple of mugs from the cupboard. "He must be, what, twenty-five? And you're hot. If I wasn't gay, I'd sleep with you in a heartbeat. And I'm younger."

"Uh- thanks... I think?"

"So, is he a good kisser?"

"Between you and me, Dennis," I say, opening the fridge door to get the milk. "I've never had a kiss like it. But then I've only ever kissed Bill."

"What?! That's madness. You've been divorced for over a year now. Why are you only just getting out there?"

I shrug. "Sometimes it's hard to move on."

"Bill's moved on." Dennis says gently as he stirs a teaspoon into the two mugs. "Maybe you should, too?"

"I don't have time for a relationship, Dennis."

"You mean you don't have trust for a relationship."

I glare at him, grabbing my coffee and taking it to the office at the back.

"Just think about it!" He calls after me. "After all, we all have needs!"

*****