I believe in manicures. I believe in overdressing.
While Pansy truly loved her fiancé -- and Merlin only knew that referring to him as such was going to take a little while to get used to -- Lysander had a tendency to limit the time she spent with her girlfriends. Astoria would always be the dearest to her heart, but over the past ten years, she’d grown genuinely fond of Romilda.
Of course, it wasn’t entirely her fault she hadn’t seen the erstwhile Gryffindor in some time. Romilda had existed in a constant state of pregnant, post-pregnant, or about-to-become pregnant. The lure of a foot rub and fresh pedicure had been enough to convince her to leave her growing group of spawn with a nanny elf and join Pansy for an afternoon at the spa.
Said friend, though, was late. Pansy was feeling benevolent, though, and given Romilda’s advanced state of pregnancy, she didn’t overly mind. Until the other woman arrived, she had a glass of champagne and a copy of Wizarding Vogue to occupy her time.
It was fifteen minutes past the agreed upon time when Romy waddled into the spa. With four children aged 3 and under and a fifth due to arrive in just over a month, getting anywhere in a reasonable amount of time was a challenge rarely met. Just in the last hour she’d had to contend with Duff, who’d managed to summon the miniature broomstick his da had given him for his third birthday and get himself and it stuck in the chandelier in the great hall. JD had decided he was a big boy who didn’t need a nappy and subsequently relieved himself from between the railing of the upstair hall overlooking the foyer. At twenty months, Isla had developed a love of hiding, and she was very good at it. It took half the morning to find her, and another hour to properly ward up the elves’ passageways that she’d found her way into. Only sweet little Ewan had given her no trouble, playing happily with his stuffed dragon in the nursery while Poppy helped her mistress wrangle the other hellions.
“I’m sorry, Pansy. It’s been quite a day. Already. Is it noon yet?” Collapsing into the chair beside her friend, the mother of many sighed heavily. “Merlin, I needed a spa day. Thank you for calling.”
Pansy merely raised her brow and took another small sip of champagne as she peered at her winded friend. Setting the flute down on a small side table, she smiled and leaned over to brush a kiss over the other woman’s cheek. “Surely your well behaved little brood of angels doesn’t have you this bent out of shape, do they?”
With a chuckle, Romy glanced sideways at her companion. “My little angels are very young and very active, and descended from Oliver Wood. Once this one is born, Oliver is cut off until he has gone to the healer and rendered himself incapable of creating more. I love my husband, and my children, but five is plenty. Five is already exhausting.”
The older woman hummed noncommittally. “We’ll see. I happen to agree, but you’ve always been a bit soft in the head where these sorts of things are concerned.” Her lips twitched, belying her amusement. Silently, a spa attendant approached and set down a flute of sparkling lemonade down next to Pansy’s champagne.
Taking said champagne in hand, she raised her flute in toast. “To a well deserved day away, for the both of us.”
Romy raised her glass with a hearty, “Hear! Hear!” She loved her life, but the indulgence of a day like this was very much needed. For the moment though, she didn’t want to think about what waited for her back at home, and the younger woman turned to ask what was happening in Pansy’s own life. That was when she saw it. Right there on the third finger of the left hand.
“You’re engaged?!” she exclaimed, more loudly than she’d intended. She hadn’t realized Pansy and Lysander were even close to that sort of thing. “When did that happen? How did it happen?”
Despite Romilda’s outburst drawing several stares from other spa patrons, Pansy’s lips curled. “It happened...oh, I don’t know, two weeks ago.” She placed her left hand in Romy’s outstretched one and let her inspect the ring up close. “As for how... well, let us just say it’s not a story we might share with children, should we have them.”
Raising a brow at Pansy’s evasive, yet illuminating, answer, the mother of nearly five snickered softly. “How very… passionate of him to choose that particular time. Lysander certainly doesn’t hesitate once his mind if made up.” Her grin turned crooked. “Even if it does take him a long time to get there.”
Pansy gave Romilda a look, one brow arched. “Indeed. Do hold December 14th on your schedule, and dust off Oliver’s dress robes. And while I am fond of your children, perhaps they might visit their grandparents that evening?” Her smirk deepened. “Can I trust you’ll manage to keep your rampant fertility in check until then? It would be a shame to miss out on such fine champagne.”
“Not a problem. I told you, this is the last one. Oliver should even be healed from his little procedure to ensure this is the last one by then.” It was months away, but Romy was a bit giddy at the prospect of a proper adult event. She might even be able to fit in a somewhat slinky dress if she worked at it. “For the first time in years, I might show up to an event and look hot.”
Giving Pansy a sheepish look, she added hastily, “Not as hot as the bride, of course.”
Pansy's lip twitched, but whatever reply she might have made was cut off by the spa attendant, ready to usher the two women back to their pedicures and foot massages. Picking up her glass -- no sense in wasting a good Moët, after all -- she followed Romilda back into the spa.
Once they were settled with delicate feet (or somewhat else in Romy's case) soaking in perfumed hot water, conversation resumed. "So tell me, have you had time to do anything apart from your expansive menagerie of children?"
Romy sighed contentedly as the swirling water soothed her perpetually swollen feet and thought a moment before answering Pansy’s inquiry. While she loved being a mother, her children did take up most of her time. All four were busy little bees, and only Duff was out of nappies - although the occasional nighttime accident still occurred - and she was determined to be the sort of parent she wished her own mother had been. Oliver helped, but he was also coaching these days and spent a good amount of time away from home. There wasn’t much time for anything else.
“We went to the monthly Wood family gathering this past weekend, and Jules watched the children for a bit so Oliver and I could have dinner out several weeks back. The children do keep me on the go most of the time, though,” she replied at last with a resigned smile. “I’m sure you’ll know what I mean before too very long.”
Shooting her friend a look, Pansy replied, “Not all of us have an immediate desire to be buried nose-deep in nappies and baby carriages. We’ve not yet discussed the idea of having children, nor am I in a rush to do so.”
Most women adored babies. Pansy did not. They had their own unique charm, she supposed -- if one looked past the crying, the drooling, and the soiled nappies. But the sight of a babe-in-arms did nothing for her. If there was a maternal instinct inside of her, it was buried deep, deep within.
“I suppose you have a few years left before you need to worry about it,” the Gryffindor teased, chuckling at the expression on her friend’s face. “You and Lysander will make pretty babies, though. You shouldn’t deprive the world altogether.”
It wasn’t a surprise that Pansy was hesitant about having children. Romy had been the same way at the beginning of her marriage, and no matter how many people promised that ‘it’s different when they’re your own’, only experience could prove it to a person who wasn’t especially keen on small people.
“Of course we would,” she remarked in an offhanded way, taking a sip of her champagne. It was hardly vanity -- the fact that she and Lysander were a striking couple was common knowledge. But the idea of sharing him -- especially so soon after he’d become hers -- was not an idea she particularly relished.
Romy hid her grin behind the glass in her hand. Her friend was not known for her humility. That wasn’t an area Mrs. Wood could throw stones though. When she wasn’t very round with child, the only person whose opinion of her attractiveness exceeded Romy’s own was her husband.
A low moan escaped her as the attendant lifted her foot from its bath and began to massage. At the moment, she was very round with child, and this spa day was a very much needed indulgence.
Pansy snickered. “Come now, Romilda, we are in public.”
Dark eyes twinkled as a mischievous grin curled Romy’s lips. “Since when has that ever stopped me?”
Summary: Pansy and Romy catch up over pedicures.
Of course, it wasn’t entirely her fault she hadn’t seen the erstwhile Gryffindor in some time. Romilda had existed in a constant state of pregnant, post-pregnant, or about-to-become pregnant. The lure of a foot rub and fresh pedicure had been enough to convince her to leave her growing group of spawn with a nanny elf and join Pansy for an afternoon at the spa.
Said friend, though, was late. Pansy was feeling benevolent, though, and given Romilda’s advanced state of pregnancy, she didn’t overly mind. Until the other woman arrived, she had a glass of champagne and a copy of Wizarding Vogue to occupy her time.
It was fifteen minutes past the agreed upon time when Romy waddled into the spa. With four children aged 3 and under and a fifth due to arrive in just over a month, getting anywhere in a reasonable amount of time was a challenge rarely met. Just in the last hour she’d had to contend with Duff, who’d managed to summon the miniature broomstick his da had given him for his third birthday and get himself and it stuck in the chandelier in the great hall. JD had decided he was a big boy who didn’t need a nappy and subsequently relieved himself from between the railing of the upstair hall overlooking the foyer. At twenty months, Isla had developed a love of hiding, and she was very good at it. It took half the morning to find her, and another hour to properly ward up the elves’ passageways that she’d found her way into. Only sweet little Ewan had given her no trouble, playing happily with his stuffed dragon in the nursery while Poppy helped her mistress wrangle the other hellions.
“I’m sorry, Pansy. It’s been quite a day. Already. Is it noon yet?” Collapsing into the chair beside her friend, the mother of many sighed heavily. “Merlin, I needed a spa day. Thank you for calling.”
Pansy merely raised her brow and took another small sip of champagne as she peered at her winded friend. Setting the flute down on a small side table, she smiled and leaned over to brush a kiss over the other woman’s cheek. “Surely your well behaved little brood of angels doesn’t have you this bent out of shape, do they?”
With a chuckle, Romy glanced sideways at her companion. “My little angels are very young and very active, and descended from Oliver Wood. Once this one is born, Oliver is cut off until he has gone to the healer and rendered himself incapable of creating more. I love my husband, and my children, but five is plenty. Five is already exhausting.”
The older woman hummed noncommittally. “We’ll see. I happen to agree, but you’ve always been a bit soft in the head where these sorts of things are concerned.” Her lips twitched, belying her amusement. Silently, a spa attendant approached and set down a flute of sparkling lemonade down next to Pansy’s champagne.
Taking said champagne in hand, she raised her flute in toast. “To a well deserved day away, for the both of us.”
Romy raised her glass with a hearty, “Hear! Hear!” She loved her life, but the indulgence of a day like this was very much needed. For the moment though, she didn’t want to think about what waited for her back at home, and the younger woman turned to ask what was happening in Pansy’s own life. That was when she saw it. Right there on the third finger of the left hand.
“You’re engaged?!” she exclaimed, more loudly than she’d intended. She hadn’t realized Pansy and Lysander were even close to that sort of thing. “When did that happen? How did it happen?”
Despite Romilda’s outburst drawing several stares from other spa patrons, Pansy’s lips curled. “It happened...oh, I don’t know, two weeks ago.” She placed her left hand in Romy’s outstretched one and let her inspect the ring up close. “As for how... well, let us just say it’s not a story we might share with children, should we have them.”
Raising a brow at Pansy’s evasive, yet illuminating, answer, the mother of nearly five snickered softly. “How very… passionate of him to choose that particular time. Lysander certainly doesn’t hesitate once his mind if made up.” Her grin turned crooked. “Even if it does take him a long time to get there.”
Pansy gave Romilda a look, one brow arched. “Indeed. Do hold December 14th on your schedule, and dust off Oliver’s dress robes. And while I am fond of your children, perhaps they might visit their grandparents that evening?” Her smirk deepened. “Can I trust you’ll manage to keep your rampant fertility in check until then? It would be a shame to miss out on such fine champagne.”
“Not a problem. I told you, this is the last one. Oliver should even be healed from his little procedure to ensure this is the last one by then.” It was months away, but Romy was a bit giddy at the prospect of a proper adult event. She might even be able to fit in a somewhat slinky dress if she worked at it. “For the first time in years, I might show up to an event and look hot.”
Giving Pansy a sheepish look, she added hastily, “Not as hot as the bride, of course.”
Pansy's lip twitched, but whatever reply she might have made was cut off by the spa attendant, ready to usher the two women back to their pedicures and foot massages. Picking up her glass -- no sense in wasting a good Moët, after all -- she followed Romilda back into the spa.
Once they were settled with delicate feet (or somewhat else in Romy's case) soaking in perfumed hot water, conversation resumed. "So tell me, have you had time to do anything apart from your expansive menagerie of children?"
Romy sighed contentedly as the swirling water soothed her perpetually swollen feet and thought a moment before answering Pansy’s inquiry. While she loved being a mother, her children did take up most of her time. All four were busy little bees, and only Duff was out of nappies - although the occasional nighttime accident still occurred - and she was determined to be the sort of parent she wished her own mother had been. Oliver helped, but he was also coaching these days and spent a good amount of time away from home. There wasn’t much time for anything else.
“We went to the monthly Wood family gathering this past weekend, and Jules watched the children for a bit so Oliver and I could have dinner out several weeks back. The children do keep me on the go most of the time, though,” she replied at last with a resigned smile. “I’m sure you’ll know what I mean before too very long.”
Shooting her friend a look, Pansy replied, “Not all of us have an immediate desire to be buried nose-deep in nappies and baby carriages. We’ve not yet discussed the idea of having children, nor am I in a rush to do so.”
Most women adored babies. Pansy did not. They had their own unique charm, she supposed -- if one looked past the crying, the drooling, and the soiled nappies. But the sight of a babe-in-arms did nothing for her. If there was a maternal instinct inside of her, it was buried deep, deep within.
“I suppose you have a few years left before you need to worry about it,” the Gryffindor teased, chuckling at the expression on her friend’s face. “You and Lysander will make pretty babies, though. You shouldn’t deprive the world altogether.”
It wasn’t a surprise that Pansy was hesitant about having children. Romy had been the same way at the beginning of her marriage, and no matter how many people promised that ‘it’s different when they’re your own’, only experience could prove it to a person who wasn’t especially keen on small people.
“Of course we would,” she remarked in an offhanded way, taking a sip of her champagne. It was hardly vanity -- the fact that she and Lysander were a striking couple was common knowledge. But the idea of sharing him -- especially so soon after he’d become hers -- was not an idea she particularly relished.
Romy hid her grin behind the glass in her hand. Her friend was not known for her humility. That wasn’t an area Mrs. Wood could throw stones though. When she wasn’t very round with child, the only person whose opinion of her attractiveness exceeded Romy’s own was her husband.
A low moan escaped her as the attendant lifted her foot from its bath and began to massage. At the moment, she was very round with child, and this spa day was a very much needed indulgence.
Pansy snickered. “Come now, Romilda, we are in public.”
Dark eyes twinkled as a mischievous grin curled Romy’s lips. “Since when has that ever stopped me?”
Summary: Pansy and Romy catch up over pedicures.