Harry Potter 1. Prologue

A/N: Dedicated to Zeft and Lindsical.

Disclaimer: HP and associated characters belong to Rowling.

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PROLOGUE

Millicent was still swearing to take revenge on her best friend as she was photographed, glowering like a thundercloud, at the entrance to the luxury cruise liner like all the other stupidly excited Muggle tourists. Shoving the fake and stupid life saving white hoop-looking thing into the arms of the elderly gentleman following her, she stomped onto the boat and looked neither right nor left as she sought out her cabin. Pansy just did not understand that she could NOT take a vacation. And she did not LIKE hot places, anyway. It was all asinine, and Pansy needed to get into her perfectly coiffed little banker head that listening to the Muggleborns who passed through Gringotts to exchange Galleons for Muggle currency was a BAD idea.

It had been bloody Terry Boot, who Millicent recalled as an overly sociable Ravenclaw who'd probably talk the ears off a rock if said rock HAD ears, who'd mentioned hearing on the Muggle radio about some drawing for prizes, the grand prize being an all-expenses-paid cruise to the Caribbean, and Pansy had entered HER name on a lark, casting a subtle charm to tilt probability in her favour.

Millicent had not known a thing about it until Pansy had marched into her office in the back of the practice stadium of the Montrose Magpies and slapped the ticket and itinerary on her desk, triumph in every feature. Had Millicent not been in the process of responding to roughly two dozen pieces of fanmail, she likely would have taken the time to hex her best friend unconscious.

But Pansy worked quickly and with typical, ruthless Slytherin acumen, and by the end of the day, before Millicent had even finished with the stack of owl post, had secured the time off from Millicent's boss, strutted smugly away only to return an hour later with a bikini the likes of which Millicent would NEVER wear in public, and a strict injunction to have fun. And so Millicent found herself glowering at the little plastic card thing that was supposed to work like a key. It looked very flimsy and stupid, but even she did not feel up to facing Magical Law Enforcement for using her wand on a very large, very populated Muggle boat.

The cabin was rather nice, though, when she'd finally figured out how to use the card thing, and in the privacy of her room, she quickly changed out of the girly-looking sundress that Pansy had made her wear, into her favourite pair of jeans and a black tank top. There was a nice selection of chilled beverages, she discovered, though most of the non-alcoholic ones she didn't recognize. Opening a bottle at random and taking a cautious sip, she quickly felt her bad mood abate, and decided that she'd suggest to Madam Rosmerta to stock the Three Broomsticks with this Coca Cola stuff next time she was in Hogsmeade.

The boat, contrary to her expectations, didn't rock or quake at all when it pulled away from shore, and after amusing herself for a while trying out several drinks at the bar, she decided to leave her cabin and explore the ship. After all, it would be boring to stay in her room by herself for a long time.

It was in the strange, dark room filled with odd machines with bright lights and knobby protrusions and buttons that she unexpectedly came across a familiar face.

She had just walked past one of the machines when the young man seated in front of it pressing buttons and nozzles with great gusto gave a cheer, and the familiarity of the voice jarred her into a halt. Blinking and thinking that perhaps the dim light of this strange "arcade" place was making her see things, she stared at his back for a few moments before stepping forward to get a closer look, and it was at that exact moment that the young man triumphantly turned around, apparently finished with his game, and both of them started in recognition.

Millicent was the first to recover her... equanimity. Glare firmly in place upon her features, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"What the bloody fuck are YOU doing here, MacMillan?" she barked. ---------------------------------------------------------------


	2. Day One

DAY ONE 

He paused in his game at her exclamation, and in that moment, there was a bright red-and-orange explosion on the screen of his strange machine, and she could have sworn that he pouted when it appeared.

"Millicent Bulstrode," he stood after a few moments of recovering from the surprise and the random thing go boom on the screen, and politely proffered a hand. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You're on a Muggle tourist boat thing," she scowled, ignoring the hand he held out. "What are you doing here?"

"Vacationing," he said simply, raising an eyebrow. But there was something in his tone that implied that perhaps it wasn't completely so simple, and it raised her hackles.

"A likely story," she drawled, poking him in the chest with a finger and watching him stumble back a step, half in surprise. "You don't happen to be acquaintances with Pansy Parkinson, do you?"

"Well, I knew her in school," MacMillan said in his infuriatingly calm, serious Head Boy voice. "She was one of the Slytherin Prefects, after all. But I don't cross paths with her nowadays, though that was a random question for you to ask."

"Why are you hedging?" she snapped, half-realising that she sounded ridiculous and paranoid, but the gobsmacked expression on his face at her accusations made it almost worth the self-deprecating, humiliating thoughts.

"I'm not," he insisted, before giving her a slight scowl, lips pursing upward. "I was having a perfectly grand time playing Air Combat before you startled me, actually."

"Air combat?" THAT was what the weird machine thing was called? What an idiotic name. It was bolted to the ground and looked wholly inanimate. Certainly not something that would be effective in any sort of combat in the air.

"Yes," he seemed unaware of her derision, and pointed at the screen with renewed enthusiasm on his face. "It's a great deal of fun, and you should try it! It's like... like Muggle Quidditch!"

How could anything be like "Muggle Quidditch"? Muggles didn't have anything LIKE Quidditch. She narrowed her eyes at the machine in suspicion, but the pull of trying something new (and possibly being better at it than Mister High-and-Mighty) was present.

"Well, if you expect me to listen to you, you're going to have to explain how this is like Muggle Quidditch and why you enjoy it," she ordered him imperiously.

He scoffed at that, but patiently sat down in the empty chair by a machine close to that one. "Well, it's like this... Muggles have these machines called aeroplanes, and they fly in the air to transport goods and people..."

She listened with half an ear to his earnest, nerdy rambling, undoubtedly picked up from his friend that upper-class Muggleborn kid Finch-Fletchley. But she also felt herself relaxing a little. Ernie MacMillan had not grown less formal or formidable through the years... but the MacMillan who was waxing eloquent and enthusiastic over some sort of Muggle eckertronic game was certainly more human and palatable than the MacMillan with the shiny silver badge and the holier-than-thou expression and the word "detention" at the tip of his tongue.

Two hours later, she had beaten his score by a hefty margin on the game, whooped in uncharacteristic excitement, and then promptly felt so embarrassed that she refused to crack a smile for the rest of the afternoon, despite his best efforts.

The ship was not due to reach the Bahamas until some time tomorrow, and that evening, all entertainment was to be taken on board. Millicent sat by herself in the galley, which was large and luxurious and had far too many laughing people seated at linen-covered tables decorated with flowers, and contemplated ways of hoarding cocktail umbrellas and poking Pansy with them after she returned from this trip.

"You shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach, you know," a smooth, slightly disapproving and definitely far too solicitous male voice reached her ears. "Especially if you came alone, because then there'd be no one to take care of you if you became inebriated."

"Was that an offer of your services in case that unlikely scenario occurs?" Millicent inquired acidly, glaring up into damnably guileless blue eyes.

Said blue eyes widened into that expression of earnest, bemused innocence tinged with slight indignation that must have been as peculiarly characteristic to Hufflepuffs as a conniving smirk was to Slytherins. "I'm merely saying that you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach, because it's not good to be intoxicated in public while surrounded by strangers, and then if you were to get alcohol poisoning..." The explanation trailed off as she clapped a hand over his mouth and rolled her eyes, turning halfway to flag the bartender.

"Bring me a menu," she barked. "Please," she added as an afterthought, and as the young girl hurried off, she took a healthy swig of her Absolut and lemon and raised an eyebrow at Ernie. "Fine. I'll get food. Now go and return to your adoring wife or girlfriend or family or whatever."

When she removed her fingers from in front of his mouth, he gave her an abashed sort of half-grin, shuffling his feet and picking at a loose thread at the bottom hem of his shirt. "I'm not here with anyone, actually," he told her. "Just taking a vacation now that I've finally earned the time to do so."

Both of her eyebrows rose at that, and she crossed her arms, barely aware that the bartender had laid a pair of menus in front of them. "So it's just a mere coincidence that YOU are on this cruise, and I am also on this cruise, and both of us are here alone and keep running into each other." Her eyes narrowed at him. "Are you sure you don't know Pansy?"

He gave her a wounded look and sat down in the empty seat next to her, crossing his arms. "I already told you that I knew her, but she doesn't have anything to do with me coming on vacation, and why do you keep asking, anyway? Does Pansy have some sort of designs about me that I don't know about?"

"She roped me into coming on this vacation, telling me to let loose and have some fun," Millicent grumbled, glowering at the memory of her friend's imperiously spoken words. "Pish. HER idea of 'fun' is shagging Miles Bletchley on his desk at Gringotts on their lunch break, and I don't want to have THAT kind of fun, thank you so very much."

"Well, I'd imagine not; if she's involved with him, then it would be unseemly for you to be, as well," Ernie said in a completely serious tone, and didn't seem to notice when she cocked her head at him and stared as though he had just landed on Earth from some alien planet. "But if she DOES have some sort of plans or machinations for you, I don't think that they would have anything to do with ME. I booked this vacation two months ago. I even have the itinerary and papers to prove it in my cabin, if you needed to see them."

Millicent shot him a glare. "Nice try. But I am NOT going to your cabin."

Ernie sighed, and gave her a disgruntled look. "Let's just order some food and drop this, hmm? I'll be having the tip steak with portobello mushrooms and creamy wine sauce, with a side of garlic mashed potatoes and green beans, along with a glass of Pinot Noir," he carefully read each item off the menu and glanced at the bartender, who nodded and turned with an expectant smile to Millicent.

"Lobster and salmon salad on the side," she said curtly, not bothering to read the description the way that he had. "And a refill on my drink."

And THAT was how she found herself spending time with Ernie MacMillan for dinner that night, feeling slightly more benevolent after her second drink and a truly delicious lemon-basil lobster tail, followed by a decadent chocolate mousse which they shared. Millicent tried not to smile or reach out to rub the slight smear of chocolate at the corner of his lips and told herself that it was just a fluke. Just like that afternoon.

Nothing to it at all.

* * *

As dinner concluded and MacMillan finally realised that he had a bit of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, he licked at it until it was gone, and then took advantage of her distraction to fire off his question about what they were to do next.

Had she NOT been distracted, she was sure that she would have taken exception to his complacent expectation that she'd spend the rest of the evening with him. But she was, and she vaguely expressed an interest in checking out the ship casino, which he vetoed at once with that stern, infuriating Head Boy pouty mouth thing.

"We could always check out a show," he suggested instead. "Gambling is dangerous and irresponsible and silly. You could lose a great deal of money doing so, which I'm sure isn't your intention."

Millicent gave him a dirty look and a shove. "You just want to see booby Muggle girls in feathers and sequins," she said accusingly.

His eyes bugged out slightly at that. "What? What do you mean, booby Muggle girls in feathers and sequins?"

"You look like a fish, which really isn't becoming," she told him curtly. "And Muggle pageants feature strippers. Duh. Everyone knows that."

Apparently it was everyone minus one, from the genuine look of shock and slight horror on MacMillan's face. Running his fingers through his hair and mussing it up considerably, he shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Hrm. Well, I don't want to see strippers," he said stolidly. "Maybe we should just go to the spa. It's the point of a vacation to relax, after all."

Millicent looked at him suspiciously even as her feet moved without her brain's permission and followed him out of the galley and down the corridor. "I'm not putting any of that green sludge goop that Pansy swears by on my face," she snapped.

"Well. You could try other things?" he beamed in a little boy manner at her.

By then, they had reached the entrance to the spa, and he was holding the door open for her, and it was too late to back out of it. She squared her shoulders and strode in determinedly. She could do this. And then he'd have nothing to say and would leave her alone.

An hour later, she was in a state of quiet bliss and at complete peace with the world. The masseuse, whose English was decidedly dodgy-sounding, slowly and methodically worked out every kink and sore muscle in her back and shoulders, leaving her like putty on the table. MacMillan was nowhere to be seen, but that was good, because though his suggestion of this place was definitely spot-on, she didn't fancy him seeing her without a shirt and a scowl on. It wouldn't be right.

She was just waiting for her newly polished toenails and fingernails to dry under some sort of Muggle ultraviolet light when he appeared, toweling off his damp hair, an expression of benevolence on his face as he plopped down in the chair next to her.

"So, did you know that Muggles have something called a 'jacuzzi' that's kind of similar to the Prefect's Bath?" he asked cheerfully. "Brings back happy memories, it does."

Millicent slowly turned to face him, a bit shocked at his audacious admittance of such a thing. "You were getting shagged in the Prefect's Bath?!"

Ernie blinked, turned the precise shade of pink of Pansy's infamously awful Yule Ball dress robes, and sputtered for a few moments. "Nooo... but I did come up with the solution to the Arithmancy puzzle that I'd been working on for days after a nice long soak, though."

"You said happy memories," Millicent said flatly.

"Well, I didn't mean THAT..."

Their bickering was interrupted by the manicurist, who gazed from Millicent to Ernie with interest. "Getting ready to go to the dance tonight, I take it?"

Millicent and Ernie glanced at each other in confusion, and when they opened their mouths, they spoke in perfect synchronisation.

"...Dance"

* * *

Millicent detested balls of any sort, had snarled a refusal that had sent even Goyle recoiling when the Yule Ball had come around during 4th year, and had managed to avoid every gala event that Pansy tried dragging her to in the last three years... and yet, here she was, in her cabin, glaring daggers at her reflection in the mirror as she rifled for red lipstick and wondered if she could get away with wearing boots underneath her dress in lieu of stupid ankle-busting heels.

When the manicurist at the spa had mentioned the dance, she had seen Ernie raise his eyebrows in interest a split second before he'd politely asked the woman about said event. He was duly informed, then, that it was a part of welcoming all the guests on board the first night. "It's a great deal of fun for those who are looking for a peaceful, romantic evening," the manicurist had told him, blithely oblivious just as Ernie was to the horrible face that Millicent made at that particular phrase. "You and your wife should definitely consider it."

"I'm NOT his wife," Millicent had snapped, startling not only Ernie and the manicurist but several other passengers, who gave her shocked, scandalised looks until she'd glared them all down. "And I'm not going to some stupid prissy-arse dance anyway."

"Oh, why not?" Ernie had asked, cocking his head to the side. "What else are you going to do this evening?"

"Go to my cabin and plot ways of making Pansy suffer," she muttered darkly. "Not that it's any of your business or anything."

"But plotting against your friend isn't nice, and you should experience everything that this cruise has to offer," he had started in his calm, pedantic tone, and then he trailed off for a few moments, as though in thought, staring at her until she felt the urge to punch him.

"What are YOU looking at?" she snapped.

"Nothing... I just realised," His voice was all solicitous sympathy and understanding in such a way that it made something crawl up and down her spine. "You must not want to go because you didn't bring a suitable dress, right? I think they have shops here. I mean, you're in jeans right now..."

And he hadn't meant it tauntingly, because his face was sincere and guileless when he said it, but it was a challenge nonetheless and Millicent had felt her hackles rising.

"I do TOO have a dress!" she cut him off, leaping to her feet, eyes blazing. "And I look DAMN good in it," she added as an afterthought. Or so Pansy had said, anyway. Whatever. Before she quite realised what she was doing, she'd shoved a slip of paper into his surprised hand. "Cabin 3B. Eight o'clock. Don't be late."

And then she'd flounced off, stormed into her cabin, slammed the door, pulled a simple, no-nonsense sexy floor-length black chiffon number out of her garment bag... and THEN realised what she was just about to do.

Buggering fucking damnation.

He knocked on her door five minutes early, and she, giving up the battle with her hair, left it flowing down as she yanked it open none-too-gently. The first thing she noticed, of course, was the almost comical way that his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open a bit, cheeks turning pink as he surveyed her. The dress WAS flattering. She'd always done better with dark colours and simple cuts than the pastels and dressier styles that Pansy seemed to favour. And then she noticed that he was in a Muggle tuxedo and unabashedly stared for a few moments.

He'd always struck her as rather pudgy and stout in Hogwarts, but in a stark black and white tuxedo, he looked broad-shouldered and strong, the cut of the fabric emphasizing the muscles of his chest and arms. The pristine white of the shirt made a nice contrast to his slightly tanned skin, and on one lapel was a white rosebud. The black and white made his eyes seem bluer, and then she shook herself when she realised that she'd been staring and that he was holding his arm out to her.

"We're not making some grand entrance to St. Mungo's charity Christmas ball," she remarked snippily. "Why the pomp and ceremony?"

He gave her a genuinely confused look. "I'm being a gentleman. That's all. Would you rather hold hands?"

She crooked her arm through his without a word and matched his pace as she stalked towards the ballroom.

* * *

The ballroom was filled with soft beams of light that floated here and there and couples that twirled dreamily to the music, and Millicent's scowl was very out of place in such amicable surroundings. In one darkened corner of the room was a band with a trumpet player, a pianist, a bassist, a drummer and a singer. In the opposite corner, there was a bar, where guests taking a break from the dancing lounged and flirted. The dreamy ambiance was raising her hackles, and Ernie's warm fingers on her arm did NOT help.

"Well, this is nice, isn't it?" His voice broke through her thoughts, startling her a little. "Certainly better Muggle music than that Britney Swords character. Lavender Brown sent Hannah a disc of that, and oy... it was almost INTOLERABLE to be in the same house!"

"Britney... Hannah... house?" Millicent was fairly sure that the singer's name wasn't Britney Swords, but right now, she had a more important issue to deal with." Narrowing her eyes, she scoped the room for telltale taffy-blonde hair. "If you're living with Hannah, why didn't you take her on this cruise?" She had never pegged MacMillan as so fiendishly selfish as to spend the amount of money necessary on a vacation like this without bringing along a significant other. SURELY she hadn't thought him nicer than he actually was?! That would be insupportable.

Ernie gave her a strange look even as he smoothly (if sedately) steered her into position for a dance as a new song started. "Hannah was my flatmate about a year and a half ago. All the way up until she and Wayne finally decided to tie the knot. But I was just reminiscing. Why would she be on this cruise with me?"

Now she felt foolish and fuddy-duddy for jumping to THAT conclusion. People of opposite genders shared living space often-times these days, without a whit of inappropriate activities going on. Right next door to her own flat, Roger Davies and Angelina Johnson shared a two-bedroom flat and she had never even considered that the two ex-rivals might be living in sin. And what was with the strange, sudden twinge of irritation rising from her stomach at the mention of Abbott, anyway? She made a mental note never to get a manicure again. It was obviously an unhealthy activity that caused acid reflux disease.

Caught in these wonderings, she barely noticed until she was nose to fabric, smelling soap and aftershave, that she was in his arms, one of her hands gently held in his. And if he hadn't been turning her, she likely would have yanked herself free. "I hate to dance," she glared at him.

"You look nice doing it, though," he said meditatively. "You were right about the dress. The looking damn good in it bit. And of course about HAVING an appropriate dress. That too."

Oddly, his slight stutter in the last rambly remark and the pink tinge in his cheeks set her a bit more at ease, and with exaggerated magnanimity, she let out a deep breath and set one hand on his shoulder.

"Fine... for the sake of you NOT living in sin with Abbott after all, I suppose I could dance with you for a few."

He gave her a beaming little-boy smile and pulled her just a little bit closer, and she focused on the steps of the dance in order to not focus on, say, the fresh, clean scent of his aftershave, or the way his eyelashes were a shade darker than his hair. He danced well, if a bit slowly and placidly, but it was a nice, mellow sort of slowness. The songs bled into each other like honey, and they swayed languidly in the dim, bluish light. Sometime perhaps five songs later, Millicent felt herself leaning her head against his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind.

She hadn't any idea of how much time had passed when she noticed that she was stifling yawns. Pulling away unceremoniously from him, she ran one hand through her hair.

"I'm going to bed," she said simply. "Tired. Go and get some rest too."

And then she turned around and that would have been that... one single day of non-animosity with ex-Head Boy. But a moment after she started to walk away from the couples still twirling about on the dance floor, she felt his hand on her arm, and then he was falling in step next to her. She mustered up just enough energy to glare at him.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, quickening her steps.

"Escorting you," he said firmly, lengthening his stride to match hers, a faintly indignant expression on his face. "I counted at least five blokes in there who were giving you the eye!"

That made her laugh, even as he scowled. "And what did you plan on doing about that?" she snickered. "Threaten them with detention?"

He did that half-pouty mouth thing, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. "I was just going to make sure that you reached your cabin safe and sound," he said very seriously. "It's only proper and gentlemanly and all. It wouldn't do if you were harassed on your way back, you know."

Privately, Millicent thought that she could handle a potential harasser far better than anything HE could do. She'd certainly never seen Ernie MacMillan get into any fisticuffs, but SHE at least knew how to throw a proper punch. Walking in silence, lips twitching at the mental image of Ernie engaged in a horrifically girly-looking fight, she soon reached the door to her cabin, and after a few fumbling tries, managed to unlock it with the stupid plastic thingie.

Ernie MacMillan gave her a genuine, sweet smile, and took a step back as she walked inside. "Well, it's been nice spending time with you tonight," he said sincerely, and for a moment he raised his hand almost to level with her face. She froze, and his hand abruptly changed path for his collar, which he adjusted unnecessarily. "Good night and sweet dreams, then."

She shut the door as he walked away and for a moment, wondered crazily if he'd been about to kiss her.

Where did THAT come from?


	3. Day Two

DAY TWO 

Millicent stumbled into the galley for breakfast early the next morning, making a beeline for the coffee dispenser like a desert traveler towards an oasis. She was NOT a morning person, and an hour of tossing and turning last night wondering whether Ernie MacMillan had ACTUALLY been about to kiss her at her door had not helped the situation.

And THAT, of course, was the reason that she sat down across from the man in question himself without quite realising it until he'd looked up from his paper to take a bite of his buttered toast. His eyes widened in surprise for only a moment, and then he smiled welcomingly.

"Good morning," he greeted her, setting the paper down on his lap for a moment and making no notice of the expression on her face. "Sleep well?"

"No," she said flatly, biting down the urge to add "And it's all YOUR fault!" at the end of it.

"That's too bad," he said with genuine concern in his voice, a furrow appearing between his brows. "You'll be needing some coffee, then. There are a lot of activities planned for today, after all. Nassau is the capital of the Bahamas! It will be a lot of fun!"

"Are you always this chipper in the morning?" she deadpanned, cocking her head to the side and surveying him bemusedly. "You sound as though you've just gotten laid last night."

This made him sputter on a mouthful of coffee, and THAT undignified movement jolted her out of her stupor long enough for her to laugh. He gave her a sulky sort of look as he coughed.

"You know that I wasn't... that I didn't... do that!" he hissed, cheeks turning pink at the idea.

"No, I don't know," she replied insolently, taking a bite of her pineapple slice. "For all I know, you had one of the Muggle strippers in a harem girl outfit waiting in your stateroom after the dance last night. It's not like I'm staying in your cabin or anything. Anything's possible."

"But I wouldn't do that," he insisted, spreading his butter on his toast with unnecessary vehemence. "I don't know anyone on this ship aside from you, really, and I'd certainly not partake in any sort of sexual activity with someone I didn't know. I'm not that sort of bloke. That would be terribly uncouth."

"Do tell me more about your sexual habits, MacMillan," she drawled in between bites of fruit salad. "I'm dying of curiosity."

"I... that's not appropriate to talk about while eating," he said at length, his cheeks scarlet as he stirred his coffee with excessive dignity.

"We didn't get a chance to cover it last night, so this is just making up for lost time," Millicent returned with a smirk. It was much easier to converse with MacMillan when he was discomfitted and blushing, she found. If this continued on, she might have to keep in touch with him, even.

Ernie took a bite of toast to spare the necessity of response, and it was only after he'd chewed thoroughly and swallowed that he spoke again. "So, we're going to dock at Nassau in about half an hour. You should put on some sunblock if you're going to spend the entire day outside."

"I'll be sure to place a charm," she said dismissively. "Muggle sunblock is too hard to manage."

He opened his mouth as though to offer help, then shut it again, his ears turning pink. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am," she grinned charitably as she spread honey on her slice of toast and took a bite. Bantering with him, along with the first cup of coffee, had succeeded in waking her up and putting her in a more benevolent mood. Covertly glancing at him over the rim of her coffee cup, she saw that he was wearing a particularly heinous shirt with a pattern of palm trees and beach balls all over it, and shook her head.

"Look, if we're going to spend the day together, you're going to have to put on a different, more tasteful shirt," she blurted out. "That one looks like a reject from the Weird Sisters school of fashion."

His eyes jerked up from his paper to meet hers again, bright and wide and guileless.

"We're going to spend the day together?" he asked in a friendly, almost-eager sort of way.

Oh, bugger. That was NOT what she meant. But it was too late to retract. Millicent glared at the bacon on her plate as though it was somehow responsible for what she'd just said, and took a deep breath.

"You need to change into something else," she said firmly.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, before nodding. "Very well. We do have another half hour before docking, after all." Setting down his empty coffee cup and paper, he stood up. "I'll go change, and meet you by your cabin in thirty minutes."

Millicent watched his retreating back and growled to herself. How did she get herself into these situations?!

* * *

When Ernie knocked on her stateroom door half an hour after breakfast, she'd fully expected him to have changed into something prissy and stuffy and highly mockable. And then she could laugh at him and watch him wilt like a marigold in the heat and feel a bit better for him roping her into spending the day with him.

But it was damnably not the case. Ernie was clad in khaki shorts and a pale blue shirt with short sleeves, a pair of sunglasses hanging out of said shirt's pocket. The only consolation that she was able to take at all was the way his eyes widened at her dress. It was comical, mainly because she would NOT admit that it was flattering. Crossing her arms over her chest, she peered out at him from beneath her sun hat.

"You're still looking chipper. Even without the ugly shirt."

"It's vacation," Ernie beamed in a benevolent fashion at her. "I'm supposed to enjoy it as much as I can, right? This promises to be an exciting day."

"What, are you expecting to get into a life-and-death swim competition with sharks or get gobbled by pirates or whatever?" Millicent had read somewhere in the brochure that Pansy had given her that Nassau was a pirate port back in the time period of Uric the Oddball. "Better hide a bottle of rum and a few pieces of eight in your pocket to fend them off, MacMillan."

"But carrying a bottle of rum would be inconvenient while snorkeling and swimming," Ernie replied, giving her an odd look. "And it would be no protection against sharks."

Millicent rolled her eyes. What a dork. "Maybe you could use it to hit the shark over the head and disorient it."

He actually paused for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face, and Millicent groaned. "No, forget I said that. I don't want to spend the morning debating the plausibility of that action. Let's just go, then."

It was just a preventative measure, she told herself, that she grabbed his hand and dragged him away from her stateroom. She didn't want to hear him wax pedantic about methods of repelling sharks, and she also didn't want him to see the rather skimpy black lace bra she'd accidentally forgotten to take off her bedspread.

The cruise ship docked at Nassau, and Ernie and Millicent exited amidst all the other tourists. They all climbed aboard one of several buses, and Millicent listened with half an ear as the bus driver chattered on in a practically unintelligible accent about coral reefs and the creatures found therein. The scenery WAS rather nice, she had to admit. Royal blue skies and palm trees and colourful bazaars, smiling faces all around. It was a nice sort of departure from rainy London weather, to be sure. Maybe the pirates had the right sort of idea to enjoy this place. And a life of boozing and swinging cutlasses at annoying people had its appeal.

"We're here!" Ernie's voice broke through her thoughts, and it was only then that she noticed two things.

Firstly, that the bus had come to a stop at a place bearing the sign "Blackbeard's Cay", and several passengers were standing up, cameras on the ready.

Secondly, that he was still holding her hand like they were soppy lovers or something.

Millicent stood up abruptly and yanked, and instead of him letting go of her like she'd expected, she merely succeeded in pulling him up as well. There was no dignified way to extricate her hand in this crowd, and pouting slightly, she allowed him to link his fingers with hers as they exited the bus.

* * *

Millicent had almost hexed Pansy weeks ago when Pansy had insisted on making her purchase a bathing suit for the cruise, but right now, solely due to the interesting shade of pink that Ernie was turning, she was feeling almost benevolent towards her friend for that same suggestion. It was almost the same shade of pink as her mum's prize roses, but looked slightly less frou-frou on him. It actually complemented the shirt he was wearing, and she smirked. 

"It's adorable how your blush and your shirt match like a co-ed nursery."

"Wha--?" Ernie's eyes were still a bit wide and unfocused and glassy-looking. The random thought occurred to Millicent that he'd probably make one of the most attractive drunks she'd ever meet, if this was the sort of look he gave. She quickly quashed that thought, and then glared when she realized just what 'feature' his eyes had just skimmed over.

"My face is UP HERE," she pointed before crossing her arms over her chest.

"Er, you shouldn't do that," he blurted out in a weak voice, blush darkening considerably as he gestured helplessly with his hands. "Just... it squishes them together and up... when you cross your arms and... ummm..."

That made her face-fault, and she quickly uncrossed her arms and covered her surprise by scowling at him. "We'll not talk about them again, please. I know that I can probably smother you with my tits, but hasn't your mum ever told you that it was rude to stare?"

"Smother..." Ernie's voice broke just a little, squeaking at the end, and then he abruptly changed the subject in an overly bright voice. "Er. So the water looks very nice, doesn't it? You DO intend to go swimming, right?"

"If it would get you to stop thinking lewd and decidedly un-Hufflepuff thoughts about my boobs," Millicent retorted. "I'll even be daring and try that weird Muggle snorking thing."

"Snorkeling," he corrected her habitually, ducking her swat. "So, are you sure that you don't need someone to put sunblock on your back?"

"Nice try," Millicent chortled to hide a rebellious shiver that crept down her spine at the thought of him rubbing cool, coconut-scented lotion on her bare back. "You just go wank in the loo while I take a dip, then, Casanova MacMillan."

He was still spluttering indignantly at THAT suggestion when she ducked her head under the water.

Millicent was having quite a bit more fun than she'd expected to have with the ugly orange-rimmed googles or whatever they were called, and the breathing tube thing. The water was clear and pleasantly warm, and every once in a while, when she peeked above the surface, she'd see Ernie sitting in a beach chair, sunning himself and mostly at peace with the world. A few fishes whisked about in the water lazily, more colourfully patterned than any fish had a right to be, and she wished idly that she'd brought money for one of those waterproof cameras.

Something brushed up against her leg, and she glanced down, her vision slightly distorted through the google things, and saw something large, black, flat and shaped like a triangle with a tail.

Fifteen seconds later, she'd thrown herself most recklessly and disgustingly damsel-in-distressishly into Ernie's arms, whimpering in terror. His fingers brushed over the length of her tangled, stringy wet hair, and he muttered nonsensical things into her ear as she blubbered on about the scary black thing.

"They're harmless, love, just a stingray," he soothed, but she merely clung tighter, not at all caring that her boobs were mashed against his chest, shivering half because of the breeze that was hitting her wet skin, and half because of lingering terror. The snorkeling equipment had been abandoned somewhere by the shoreline, and some disgruntled Muggle beach employee was collecting them. He somehow managed to unbutton his shirt, take it off, and wrap it around her shoulders all while she was still clinging to him. Talented, really. No wonder he'd been Head Boy. "All right, all right. Chin up. I'll buy you lunch if you stop sniffling."

"Deal," her voice was muffled against his now bare (and very warm and nice) chest. Slowly, burningly aware of how silly she'd seemed for the last ten or so minutes, she pulled away. He beamed at her and offered her his arm.

She bit down a remark that since they'd had a conversation about her bosom, they were probably on informal enough terms that such a gesture was unnecessary.

* * *

There was a slight debate over what to have for lunch, of course. Ernie had been totally into the idea of having very authentic island fare, but Millicent wasn't so keen on dining on curried goat. It had taken a little while and a bit of totally un-Millicent-like pouting before Ernie had magnanimously found a stand that sold something more to her taste.

There weren't any tables on the beach, but they laid down a pair of towels on the sand and sat across from each other as though it were a proper meal, and as Ernie waxed eloquent about the itinerary of the afternoon, Millicent tucked into her surprisingly delicious jerk chicken sandwich and mellowed out after her earlier scare into a fairly easygoing mood, plopping her bare toes down into his lap as she stretched.

"...And fancy, this bucolic, tropical paradise was a HAVEN for pirates a mere four centuries ago!" Ernie grinned at her as he gestured with one hand and held his glass of pineapple juice with the other. "Apparently one of them who made this very spot his home port came up with the original skull and crossbones design of the flags..." He trailed off a bit as she absently arched her back while reaching for a napkin.

"Mmm, pirates?" she murmured, wiping her fingers clean and licking her lips. "Sounds horribly bloodthirsty for a sweet Hufflepuff like yourself to get excited over, or is there something that you're not telling me?"

"Er... pirates were bloodthirsty, I'm sure, but all this is very interesting history, and what does my being a Hufflepuff have anything to do with anything?" he asked in a bemused fashion, his eyes flitting from her mouth to her eyes before he quickly picked up the gigantic three-scoop banana split that they'd bought as dessert. "Well, anyway... want some ice cream?"

"Of course, but only if I get the cherry on top," she smirked in a friendly fashion at him. "You can have all the whipped cream if you wish."

He looked as though he'd wanted the cherry, but nodded and gave her a sweet smile, and she decided to be magnanimous about it. Leaning a bit closer, she ran her big toe along his waistband. "I can tie a knot with a cherry stem with my tongue," she said confidingly.

He raised his eyebrows at that. "That sounds rather... silly. Why would anyone want to be able to do that? Are knotted cherry stems more useful than regular ones?"

She rolled her eyes and plucked the bright red maraschino cherry off the top of the sundae, daintily licking the flecks of whipped cream off its surface before slowly sticking it into her mouth, her eyes fixed upon his. When she was quite sure that the pinkness of his face had very little to do with the sun, she made a slight sucking motion, and a moment later presented him with a knotted cherry stem.

"That's... really interesting," he said faintly, staring at the tiny stem in between her fingertips. "Er... right. That's a very... unique talent."

"Thank you," she said imperiously, digging her spoon into the scoop of strawberry. He seemed to have trouble trying to figure out how to shut his mouth, and she quietly dug into the ice cream without paying him much mind. "Mmm, this is delicious."

"Right..." he murmured, staring a little as she licked the spoon clean before dipping it into chocolate. "I'll... try some, I guess."

"You'd better. I'm not going to eat all of it," she remarked laughingly. "My arse is big enough as it is."

"It's... very nice," he blurted out a bit squeakily, and then turned the colour of a tomato as she roared with laughter.

"Good to know that you've been staring at it all day," she cackled, swallowing another spoonful of ice cream. "Aren't we just becoming excellent buddies, then? First a conversation about my boobs, then about my arse. Next thing we know, we'll be eloquently discussing your c-----"

"ACK!" Ernie's mouthful of vanilla ice cream flew out from between his lips, dribbling messily onto his chest. "SHITE that's cold!"

"Well, it's better cold than oozy and runny," Millicent jibed, helpfully dabbing at the spot with a napkin. "Did I alarm you?"

"Er. Kind of," Ernie ran a hand through his hair and avoided looking at her. "Soooo... when we finish the ice cream, we can pack up all this beach stuff and visit Fort Charlotte? And Fort Fincastle? And the Water Tower? And Bay Street? And the Queen's Staircase?"

Millicent gave him a look of disbelief. "Do you plan to Apparate in between all those places to save time?"

Ernie looked startled, then slightly abashed at her question. "Weellllll... no."

"We may not have time to see every single nook and cranny on this island," she said slowly. He pouted, and she sighed deeply, in the air of someone making a great concession. "But... pick which places you want to go to the most, and... I'll accompany you, I suppose."

The pout disappeared like snow in June, and the smile that replaced it was almost blinding in its brilliance. Millicent narrowed her eyes and turned back to her ice cream in silent avoidance of the smile's megawatt power and made a mental note to ask him later what brand of toothpaste he used.

* * *

To make up for being slightly mean in a way that made it apparent that she'd been spending far too much time with Pansy, Millicent let Ernie pick the first attraction they went to, and then regretted it immensely because for the next hour, he wouldn't stop talking in a growly way that he insisted was the vernacular of pirates.

Millicent thought that she COULD see the appeal of a life of boozing and crime sprees and scaring people and swinging cutlasses at those who got all annoying and stuff, but the ending every sentence with "ARRRRRR!" got old after the first fifteen times. Particularly since he really didn't have the right sort of voice for it. Smooth and meditative didn't lend itself well to snarly rum-drinking desperado talk.

To make him pay, of course, she took a picture of him swinging a plastic cutlass and wearing a three-cornered hat as though he were some sort of lunatic, and threatened to owl it back to Hogwarts to have it hung in the Hufflepuff Common Room. That finally got him to calm down a bit, and it was only after an extensive amount of begging and pouting on his side that she allowed him to choose the next destination as well.

To be sure, she skimmed through the tour guide brochure's information section on Fort Charlotte, and it said nothing about Blackbeard.

They reached the Fort, which covered an impressive span of ground on a hill, and Ernie's eyes lit up like birthday candles as they stepped towards it.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he demanded, his fingers warm on her arm as he led her along. "It was built more than two hundred years ago, in 1788 to be exact. This is the largest Fort on this entire island, and yet they've never fired any of the cannons in an act of aggression."

"Then what's the use of having cannons?" Millicent scowled. "Cannons are there to shoot people with."

"It's just symbolic of how a place may have the capacity for violence, but does not choose to partake in it. More people should follow such an example," Ernie said in a rather pedantic, Head-Boy-ish way, and she couldn't help laughing.

"So you mean to say that more people should be hundreds of acres large when spread out on the ground, have dungeons in their stomachs, and cannons sticking out of every orifice?"

He made a face, and sighed. "Let's try to find a few hidden passages in here, hmm? The tour guide says that there are hidden passageways underground."

It didn't seem very necessary for there to be a tour guide at all, Millicent thought. Ernie was on a roll, and he expanded and elaborated on the history of the fort with truly impressive amounts of knowledge and detail.

It was probably not a good thing that the sudden thought of how sexy that knowledge was happened to strike her when they were touring the DUNGEONS, of all places to get hot and bothered in.

She'd REALLY been spending too much time with Pansy. Or out in the sun. Her brain was obviously getting increasingly addled as the day went on.

* * *

After the excursion into the land of supreme nerdiness, they wiled away the afternoon at a lazy pace, browsing around on Bay Street, and if she'd noticed that he held her hand as they walked together, she didn't remark on it at all.

After all, if they could talk about her boobs and he could protect her from stingrays and she could make him blush by tying a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue, a little thing as holding hands could be overlooked. They weren't seven years old and afraid of cooties, anyway.

They looked through a large variety of souvenirs, and while Millicent perfunctorily bought a packet of postcards for everyone, Ernie took his time to meticulously find "the perfect gift" for each and every one of his friends, and made an additional effort to bargain said gifts down to acceptable prices with the vendors.

Of course, Millicent didn't quite understand how a monkey carved out of a coconut shell was the perfect gift for Finch-Fletchley, but she didn't remark upon it out of tact. She supposed that if one had enough alcohol and squinted really hard, one could figure that the coconut husk was the same shade of brown as Finch-Fletchley's hair. Or something.

But she totally wasn't expecting it when, as she was idly turning a coral paperweight over in her hands, him going up to her with that little puppy-like smile, holding a brown paper bag out to her.

"What's this?" she asked suspiciously.

"It's a present for you," he said in reply, beaming at her in an affectionate way. "I saw this, and I thought of you, and I didn't see YOU buy yourself anything, and I thought that you should have something commemorating this vacation, and I think that we've had a very good time together."

She raised an eyebrow at that. Not all blokes would consider being knocked to the ground by a stingray-phobic female to be a jolly good time, but there was no accounting for taste.

Plucking the bag from his hands, she reached a hand into it and extracted something dangly and chiming, and found herself looking curiously at a necklace made of seashells and tiny starfish that tinkled as the wind blew on it.

It was utterly useless, not at all something she could wear to work or whatever, but... the gesture was oddly sweet, and he was giving her the just a tiny bit apprehensive smile, and she relented and put it on her neck.

"I really don't know what I'd ever do with it," she said.

"You're doing well right now," he told her with a wide smile. "It looks nice on you."

"Yeah, because that conch shell just happens to be right between my boobs," she deadpanned.

He had no response for that, but the expression on his face was enough. She gave his hand a squeeze and they walked back together towards the ship, silhouetted by sunset.

* * *

Millicent spent an hour and a half telling herself that it was stupidity to the nth degree. Unnecessary. Girly. Inane. Of course, that didn't stop her from putting ON the dress. And nearly poking the eyeliner pencil into her retinas twice. And spraying on the sandalwood perfume. And so on and so forth blah blah blah ad nauseum. And then Ernie knocked on the door and she was fairly sure that HIS jaw hit the floor first, and that made it all okay.

His eyes skimmed over the sleek, burgundy satin of her dress, and when he realised that he was staring, quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, his ears turning pink. "Er. Nice toenails. That's a very pretty shade of red."

His staring DID give her ample time to hide the fact that she had been gaping at the way his shoulders looked in the tuxedo jacket, and one corner of her lips quirked up. "Now, of all things that you could compliment me on, I'd never have thought that it would be my toenails," she drawled. "It's almost as unique a compliment as when Blaise remarked in fifth year that if he ever needed someone to be an assassin, he'd pick me. I reckon he just wanted to see me in tight black clothing, carrying a sword."

The ears were a colour that would have looked totally in place on the lights of a Muggle fire engine, and Millicent burst out laughing.

"Sooo... once you're quite finished staring, I believe we're headed to dinner?"

"Er. Right. Dinner. Umm, you look very nice, by the way," Ernie babbled in an overly bright voice, not at all meeting her eyes. "And I wasn't staring. Just... lost in my thoughts."

"And here I never thought Hufflepuffs were capable of deceit," she deadpanned, then snickered at his affronted look. "The dinner's formal tonight, I heard. Didn't want to look like a slob. Don't get used to it."

"I wasn't lying!" Ernie protested, and so the conversation continued in this vein as they made their grand entrance into the dining room and were seated at an intimate table for two by their hostess. In fact, it degenerated into a rather amusing exchange of "was NOT", "was TOO!" and could quite possibly have gone on all evening long had their waiter not approached the table and asked them what they wanted to drink.

Millicent had been about to order her usual vodka and lemon when Ernie, a thoughtful expression on his face, interjected, "It should be something to commemorate this trip, I think. Something fun and suiting for a vacation."

"You want something girly and pink and frou-frou with umbrellas?" Millicent scoffed.

"Er, well, perhaps not pink?" Ernie looked pleadingly at their server for help.

The waiter, whose expression looked as though he was trying not to laugh, nodded. "Two margaritas coming up."

She had no idea just then what associations she'd have with that drink in the months and years to come.

* * *

For all his adventurousness in the selection of alcoholic beverages, Ernie Macmillan was really rather boring when it came to selecting food, and Millicent told him in no uncertain terms that really, he could slurp oysters anywhere. Just because they were on the menu's appetizer section didn't mean that he HAD to select them.

He gave her a weird look as their appetizers arrived then, and cocked his head curiously to the side. "They're actually good," he told her. "You should try one."

"No thanks. I'll pass on the slimy booger-looking things," she deadpanned, dipping her grilled shrimp in the lemon-saffron sauce that accompanied it. He made a face at that.

"I think I'm going to need more margarita to wash out THAT mental image," he proclaimed, and she smirked even as their server came to refill his glass.

"Mission accomplished," she smirked, taking a sip of her own margarita and sneakily kicking off her sexy but toe-killing shoes under the table. "So, you never told me what the reason was for you to come on this trip."

Ernie looked a bit uncomfortable at the question, and shrugged. The server arrived with her soup and his salad, and for a few moments, he picked at the rabbit food porcini and celery creation in silence. Millicent half expected him just to not answer at all, when his quiet voice broke through her thoughts.

"I just needed a bit of a break," he said finally, a bit wistfully. "Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I'm very good at it, too. Hippocrates had nothing but good things to say about me the week I interned in the Dai Llewelyn ward. I'm just..."

"Getting a bit burned out by long shifts and drama and questions and busting arse?" Millicent finished for him.

"Yeah," he nodded eagerly as he cut up his filet mignon. "Though I'm sure that I will be glad to be back as well, once this vacation is over. It's good to work some place where I am well-liked."

"I'll be sure to visit St. Mungo's and have everyone there write you fan mail," Millicent drawled as she took a bite of her salmon. "Gilderoy Lockhart has nothing on you."

Ernie scoffed, and tried to hide his blush by tossing a bit of wadded up cocktail napkin at her. She raised an eyebrow.

"If you start a food fight here, they may decide to throw you overboard. Or use you as a prop for the stripper show."

His face turned a dark shade of pink that somehow didn't clash too horribly with his tuxedo, and he abruptly changed the subject and asked her about HER recent goings-on.

Feeling a bit sorry for baiting him when he'd been so sweet to her all day long, she indulged him and told enough funny anecdotes that by the time their desserts came around-- cherries jubilee for him, tiramisu for her-- he was relaxed and smiling again, the bowtie nowhere to be seen, top button undone on the stark white shirt, watching her with warm eyes.

It was a bit of a weird feeling to be liked, she thought.

She should've been more creeped out by the fact that she didn't mind so much.

And she really, REALLY should've been disturbed by how long they lingered after dinner was finished, over their drinks, just talking about anything and everything and LAUGHING together until she was struggling to stay awake.

And she should've been horrified by the way she let him wrap an arm around her in a proprietary manner and wordily tell off some strange bloke who leered at her and commented her on the fit of her dress, before proceeding to walk her back to her cabin, still holding her close.

But Millicent ignored or didn't notice any of these warning signs, and right after she unlocked her door with the silly plastic card thing, she leaned up slightly and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, leaving a faint whisper of red lipstick.

"Good night," she murmured quietly. "See you tomorrow. Sweet dreams."

She should have thought more about it.


	4. Day Three

DAY THREE 

Millicent had never expected that she'd sleep so well on a ship, but perhaps a day of stingray-fleeing and listening to Ernie growling like a pirate and tying cherry stems in knots and so on made for sound slumber. In any case, she awoke feeling refreshed, pleasantly surprised by the shocking and novel sensation of NOT being completely and utterly murderous before her first cup of coffee.

Ernie was already in the dining room when she got there, once again sipping his coffee and reading a paper, taking leisurely bites of his buttered toast. This morning, it just seemed natural to seat herself across from him, swat at the paper until he saw her, and watch the scowl of annoyance change into a smile.

"Good to see you again," he greeted her as she poured herself a glass of orange juice. "Are you ready to tour The Abacos? To see the boating and sailing capital of the world, explore the beaches and coves and watch the sun set over the ocean as a lighthouse flares in the distance?"

"If you stop using that tour guide tone of voice, I'm ready for anything," she rejoined sweetly, and he had the grace to blush faintly. "So, have you ever sailed before?"

"Not exactly, though Justin once invited me over for a week during summer hols and we went out on the water in the yacht that his family owns, and it was nice," Ernie explained. "I suppose that it can't be too difficult. I mean, I got the most NEWTs our year after Hermione."

"And knowing how many uses Fir needles have in potions has a great deal to do with sailing, I'm sure," Millicent said sagely. "Blaise has a yacht in his villa in France. He's let me sail a few times when I visited last. Perhaps I'll start it up and show you how it's done, hmm?"

Ernie pouted a bit at the idea of not getting to do it first, but gentlemanly impulses (or perhaps Millicent's leaning across the table slightly to reach the jar of strawberry preserves, displaying her decolletage to excellent advantage) won out, and he agreed to the plan.

It had not been at all difficult to quickly figure out how to make the sleek white speedboat that they rented move forward. Millicent smiled broadly, adjusted her sunglasses, revved up the motor, and within a few moments, it was zooming across the water like a dart, and next to her, Ernie gave a yelp and clung onto his seat for dear life.

"YOU'RE GOING TOO FAST!" He shouted over the noise of the motor, and she merely laughed as the wind picked up and blew her hair away from her neck. Making a quick, sharp turn in the water, she did a few loops before taking pity on his manfully suppressed expression of terror and leading them back to the shore. He tightened the straps on his comically bright orange life jacket and wobbled as he stood.

"I'll drive a bit, please," he said tightly, and she agreeably switched seats with him. He fussed and fiddled with the dials before taking off, and then he acted as though steering it through a crowd of other boats even though there was nothing but cool water and cloudless sky for miles around.

She laughed at his meticulousness and the expression of utter concentration on his face and just sat back and enjoyed the ride. He'd be so sore later from holding his arms so tensely and making constant, minor adjustments. But she'd not tell him that... not yet.

He really was kind of cute like this.

* * *

They ate conch fritters and coconut shrimp at little white picnic tables along the water, and it was really surprisingly easy just to sit on the beach and watch the bustle of excited tourists around them. It was what the tour guides called a bucolic paradise, or at least it would be had it not been for the one family full of shrieking toddlers whose mother seemed content to let them do whatever they wanted. 

"Y'know, one of these days, those brats are going to piss off the wrong person and then they're going to get thrown to the stingray things," Millicent commented, glowering as the youngest of them shrieked yet again because the older ones were throwing sand at him. "And no one will miss them. People like that woman should not be breeding."

Ernie gave her a bit of a reproachful look. "It's normal for some children to be spirited and lively."

Millicent gave him a patented Slytherin eyebrow raise. "You can't honestly tell me that you chucked starfish at people when you were four-ish."

"Well... no. I was well-behaved when I was young."

"And that's just changed SOOOO much, hasn't it?" she sniggered, and he gave her a sulky look which made her laugh. This new... friendship-type-thing with him aside, baiting him was still fun. And he looked cute when he was blushing and pouting in a blokey-no-I'm-NOT-pouting way. Not that she'd tell him that to his face.

She popped the last shrimp into her mouth and sidled up to him, leaning her head against his shoulder and patting his arm. "I'm sure that you've an inner hedonistic demon that enjoys smoking big cigars and riding motorcycles and getting tattoos and having lots of wild, kinky sex. In public places. Surrounded by liquor bottles."

His eyes glazed over a bit at THAT mental image, and she took the opportunity to snuggle just a bit. It wasn't weakness, she decided. It was natural. He'd been nice to her the last few days. More than. He'd made her laugh and have fun and ENJOY this vacation, even though some of the laughter was at his expense. And he'd not had any reason to do it, really. And he looked really good. The tropics agreed with him, the sun bringing out highlights in his hair and the summery attire showing off a surprisingly muscular form for someone who'd always been so nerdy in school.

She didn't really notice that he'd wrapped an arm around her and cuddled back until she felt his fingers caress her hair, and then she only stiffened for a moment. Surprise was quickly replaced by comfort, and really, she should have been more disturbed at how easy it had gotten for him to cross through her barriers and get close to her.

But this was comfortable and she barely noticed the waiter bringing away their dishes and the hellions finally shutting up.

They remained sitting like that for quite a long time, not talking, and yet the silence and the stillness didn't bother her at all.

They roused themselves long enough to play a game of beach volleyball with a few of the other tourists, Millicent picking up the game after a few moments and viciously spiking the ball over the net again and again, while Ernie sometimes ducked when it came hurtling at his head. After her 'team' had cleaned out the opposition though, the other vacationers had given them quite a quantity of tequila, ice and margarita mix, and Millicent made the mental note that when she returned home, she'd give a suggestion to Blaise that he should learn volleyball if he ever wanted free booze from strangers.

Before they knew it, both of them were quite relaxed, and they'd been walking barefoot along the pristine beach for hours, his arm still around her waist, her head still leaning against his shoulder. Cool water lapped at their toes, and a breeze picked up from the sea, blowing her hair away from her face. In the distance, the sun was setting, and the candy-striped lighthouse flared up its beacon.

Maybe it was the alcohol that gave her the courage to do it. But when Ernie took off his shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders as the air grew slightly chilly with the breeze, Millicent drew herself up to her full height, turned slightly so that she was facing him, cupped his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his.

And it didn't feel strange at all. Not even in the split second it took for him to respond, to wrap both arms around her waist and pull her to him. To tease the seam of her lips with his tongue and swallow the little moan that passed through her lips. To pull back only briefly to get a breath of much-needed air into his lungs before kissing her again, and brace himself as she pushed him down onto the sand.

No, even when he slid that shirt off of her shoulders again, even when they were both clothed in nothing but the sea air and the dim light of dusk, it felt like everything was supposed to happen.

Her last coherent thought was that it felt like it'd been a long time in coming.

They eventually made it back to the ship, barely in time, and paused every five or so steps to snog, and then they went to her room because it was the closest, scrubbed the sand off their skin in her jacuzzi bath before making love in there as well.

She had no idea when they finally made it to the bed, and at that time, it really didn't matter.

* * *

Millicent awoke feeling languid and boneless and warm, the sort of 'sliding into a hot bath after a long day' contentment settled in her limbs. And maybe that was why she didn't freak out, like she should have, when she noticed a fair head of tousled blond hair on the other pillow and a muscular arm wrapped around her torso. Of course, that was not to say that she didn't blush when she saw exactly where his hand had settled. 

Her slight movements roused him, and he blinked sleepily for a few moments before coming to and realising where he was. His cheeks turned pink and he smiled a bit bashfully, removing his hand from over her breast and running it through his hair. "Umm. Good morning," he greeted her. "Sleep well?"

"Wonderfully," she drawled, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms, laughing internally as his eyes flickered towards her chest as she did so. "I mean, aside from the wet spot on the bed under my arse, but I figure that's a small price to pay, hmm?"

"Wet spot?" he started to ask, before comprehension set in. "...Oh."

"Yes. And the 'oh' face was pretty endearing, I have to admit," she couldn't resist saying with a smirk, watching his mouth fall open and his blush deepen from pink to crimson, spreading to encompass his neck and chest as well. She leaned over and kissed him, uncaring that neither of them had brushed their teeth yet. "I'm hungry."

"Me too," Ernie glanced around the room, and his eyes fell on the room service menu resting on the bar.

Millicent crawled out of bed, wrapped a sheet around herself, and picked it up before returning to the bed. She paused at the foot of the bed and took in the sight of Ernie, sleep-rumpled and sweetly smiling at her, his hair a horrid mess and his face still bearing faint remnants of her lipstick from last night.

"We're going to be staying in all day and ordering room service at sporadic intervals," she declared imperiously, tackling him back down on the sheets.

* * *

The day passed in a blur of chocolate covered cherries and finger foods and margaritas and sex and, much to Millicent's should-have-been-mortification-instead-of-satisfaction, new and creative uses of Nutella chocolate spread. Day bled into night, and they watched the sunset through the window of the stateroom, both clad in nothing more than terrycloth bathrobes. 

They toasted the twilight in the jacuzzi bath, and neither seemed to care that they were splashing water all over the place and getting all pruney. But they'd gotten a bit messy and sweaty earlier during the day, and besides, Ernie had offered to wash her hair.

They finally emerged, wet and a bit chilly, after the water became cold. Clinging to each other for warmth, they made their meandering way back to the bed, and after a day of wild sex, it seemed fitting to wind down and cuddle, sharing a kiss every few minutes, his fingers caressing her damp hair, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Millicent's body felt languid in a way that she knew meant that she'd be sore the next day, but she felt content, muscles relaxed, deliciously lethargic. If she weren't so sleepy, perhaps she would've thought more about what all this meant, the ramifications of 'hooking up' as the vulgar would've put it. But his heartbeat was lulling underneath her ear and she didn't feel like moving an inch from her spot. He'd probably have pins and needles in his arm in the morning, but really, that wasn't her problem when he seemed not to mind holding her like this at all.

* * *

In the morning, though, it was slightly more awkward, because she was sore and did NOT feel like packing, and really, if SHE wanted to laze around in bed, he should suffer with her instead of awkwardly apologising about having to leave her to put away his things so that everything was in order by the time the ship docked. But common sense prevailed, and she grumpily let him go. Tossing on the first blouse and pair of trousers she found, she sat back down by her dressing table and listlessly sent her belongings packing themselves with flicks of her wand.

She told herself she was only cranky because Pansy was going to be picking her up and it would be OBVIOUS what she'd been up to all last night. Day. Night before that. Whatever. All right, so it was the best sex she'd ever had and totally worth the soreness and not walking normally today. But Pansy would still be annoying about it and tease and pry until Millicent wanted to throw her to the grindylows.

Because that silly ex-Head Boy prat was undoubtedly packing his things the Muggle way and organising his underwear by colour and so on, and because there was no way that SHE would go and visit him and then have to resist the temptation to ask for one last snog or five, Millicent did not see Ernie again until the ship docked and all of them were disembarking. She saw Pansy not too far off, looking chic and glamourous and disgustingly complacent, as typical. She had apparently dragged Miles Bletchley along, which Millicent considered a small blessing. The fact that she was walking funny could, at least, remain unspoken and undissected until Miles had left, because Pansy was not one to gossip and poke on about such matters as the sex lives of her friends in front of her boyfriend.

A warm, now-familiar hand clapped her shoulder, and she half-turned, her own hands encumbered by bags and parcels. Ernie's face was serious and very sincere, and he gave her that adorable little-boy smile, and Millicent wanted to curse him because he had no right to make her feel melty and girly IN PUBLIC!

"Hey, I... I'm really glad I ran into you on this cruise," he said quietly, apparently unaware that annoyed people were shoving past the two of them and kicking at his luggage as he stood in the middle of the ramp. "And not just because of... you know. But it was really fun, and I couldn't think of anyone else I'd rather have done it with."

Millicent wanted to kiss him. Wrap her arms around him and never let go. But Pansy was waiting, and real life, and SHE was aware that others were glaring at them. "Thanks, I need to go," she muttered, and it really wasn't what she meant to say.

Ernie fumbled around as he dug one hand in his pocket, and came out with a business card. "Here, this shows you which ward of St. Mungo's I work in. Keep in touch, all right?"

She took it and stuck it in her pocket, making a noncommittal noise. She could practically feel Pansy's eyes burning holes in the back of her neck, and turned around abruptly. "Night, Ernie," she muttered, continuing down the ramp with her things.

"Who was that?" Pansy's curious, drawling voice asked without preamble when Millicent reached them. "He looks vaguely familiar."

"No one," Millicent answered shortly. "I'm sleepy. And cold."

"Yes, yes, ye olde British weather can't compare to the Bahamas, I'm afraid," Pansy said indulgently as she helpfully took a few parcels out of Millicent's hands and handed them to Miles, who'd obviously been roped into playing bellhop. "I'll let you off the hook today, sweeting, but don't think I won't get the dirty details out of you later."

It was on the tip of Millicent's tongue to indignantly protest that it wasn't THAT dirty! Really! But that would have been damning, and so she kept silent. "Whatever. Nothing to tell, never will be."

"You're dead wrong, I know it," Pansy said smugly and knowingly.

A month and a half later, Millicent would be cursing Pansy AND Ernie under her breath, panicking internally, and wishing that the smirking bint who was supposed to be her best friend wasn't RIGHT all the time.


	5. Epilogue

EPILOGUE 

All right, so the first month she had chalked up everything to her body readjusting to a vastly different climate and the stress induced by missing work and the drama of hearing of Tracey Davis getting married, as opposed to ending up as a main attraction of a Sensu Alley brothel. That had been her reasoning when she'd expected her monthly to come, and yet it didn't, and certainly of the achiness and fatigue. Nothing to it. Anyone could have that happen.

Another month brought more disturbing symptoms, and when she'd missed three floo calls from Pansy one Sunday morning while she was in the loo retching until she was dry-heaving because somehow the scent of coffee and the scent of scrambled eggs turned her stomach violently, Pansy had flooed over in high dudgeon, found her crouched over the toilet, and all but frog-marched her to St. Mungo's. That is to say, Pansy had wrapped one shiny pink-nailed and surprisingly strong hand around Millicent's wrist and Apparated them both along, and THAT just did more wonders for the nausea. Had she anything else in her stomach, it likely would've ended up on Pansy's designer dragonskin stilettos, so it was probably best that she HADN'T eaten, because death by puke-covered spike heel was not a pleasant situation to contemplate even when one was in the pink of health.

"I don't know what the devil is wrong with you," Pansy glowered and bossily tugged her along, and had Millicent not been feeling so wretched, nor had she not known that Pansy was doing it out of concern, there would have been far more struggling on her part. "But you haven't been yourself since you've returned from that cruise, and you STILL haven't offered up any dirty details about whoever you were talking to on that ramp."

A sudden, chilling thought struck Millicent, as she had a dim recollection of her own mother's symptoms in the months before her brother was born. She didn't have time to panic, though, because Pansy had whisked her into the office of a smiling, dark-haired mediwitch whom Millicent vaguely recalled as a Gryffindor. "Hullo, Alicia. This is my friend Millicent Bulstrode," Pansy told the mediwitch without preamble. "I found her in the loo this morning puking as though she'd been drinking like a right Irish boozer on St. Patrick's Day. Check her out and figure out what's wrong with her, hmm?"

If Alicia had any issues with Pansy's bluntness, she didn't say anything, and to Millicent's utter relief, didn't start bringing out scary metal instruments of doom or needles or potions. She calmly waved Millicent to a squashy chair, indicated that Pansy could wait outside, and asked Millicent a few questions, nodding to herself and scribbling a few notes on a sheet of parchment.

Millicent choked a little when Alicia blandly asked if she'd been sexually active lately. Her scarlet face and the fact that instead of meeting Alicia's eyes she fixed a fascinated stare at the framed photograph of the mediwitch, a smirking bloke whom she recalled to be Terence Higgs and a dark-haired tot holding a plushie fwooper certainly didn't escape the Gryffindor's attention. She didn't persist in that line of questioning, and simply stood up with a smile, taking out her wand.

"I'm going to perform a quick diagnostic spell," she said calmly. "You may sit right there if you wish, as long as you remain still."

A whispered incantation, and there was a faint feeling as though of light fingers brushing from her head to her toes, and then there was a faint golden glow surrounding her. Alicia nodded, said something under her breath that might have been 'just as I suspected', and turned to Millicent with a kindly, compassionate smile.

"Miss Bulstrode, you're pregnant."

The chair she was sitting in and Pansy's shriek from the door where she'd apparently been shamelessly eavesdropping were the only things that kept Millicent from slumping to the ground in a dead faint.

Bursting into tears seemed the only thing to do, so Millicent buried her face in her arms on Alicia's immaculate desk and proceeded to do so quite thoroughly. She was dimly aware that over her head, Pansy and Alicia were making some sorts of arrangements, but she paid no attention.

Stupid cruise. Stupid margaritas. Stupid Ernie and his stupid unique brand of dorky sexiness and his stupid solicitousness and his stupid admiration of her boobs and his stupid stamina. Now what the fuck was she supposed to do?

* * *

In the end, there wasn't much to do but to make the best out of the situation. Thankfully, she could still work despite her condition, and even more thankfully, Pansy, perhaps struck with sympathy that Millicent was going to become waddly and hormonal and a Mum, didn't ask too many questions about who the father was, and even picked up an order of chicken tenders with a side of gooseberry jam one day when Millicent was having that particular craving. She bought Millicent a few frilly, pastel-coloured maternity garments that Millicent wouldn't have used for doilies, let alone actual clothing, but Millicent appreciated the thought nonetheless. She dutifully went for a check-up every month with Alicia, and it was three months later, when she was starting to show, that she inadvertently ran into Ernie again.

She'd been sitting in the small waiting area outside Alicia's office while the mediwitch conferred with whichever patient was on the roster before her when a tall, dark-haired bloke, coming apparently from the direction of the tea shop with a coffee, sat down a few seats away. There was something oddly familiar about the fellow, and when he looked up, her eyes widened in recognition.

"Flint?" she called out, and he gaped at her for a moment before chuckling and walking over.

"Well, well, if it isn't Millicent Bulstrode," he drawled, sitting down next to her. "Congratulations are in order, I suppose."

Her expression darkened. "No. Not really." But she didn't want to talk about it, particularly not to Flint, whose favourite people certainly didn't include Ernie MacMillan, she was willing to wager. Deciding to change the subject, she clasped her hands over her swollen belly. "So, what are you here for?"

"Wife has a checkup," he said laconically, though his expression came as close to a smile as she'd ever seen on him. "Yay for twins," he said wryly. "She's going to eat me out of house and home. But at least she's craving stuff that isn't just rabbit food."

"I don't think she's appreciate you talking about her this way, whoever she is," Millicent remarked. The idea of Marcus Flint married and a father kind of scared her, but then again, so did the idea of she herself being a mum.

"You'd remember her as Penelope Clearwater," Marcus' face split into a grin. "Lovely witch when she's not being all disapproving of my reprehensible habits and inability to remember to leave the seat down."

Now THAT was surprising, and so she told him, and he agreed, even as he explained about shared Auror patrols and reaching an understanding and quipped about their elopement and so on, and then Penelope exited Alicia's office and she offered her congratulations to the former Ravenclaw, who definitely looked all the better since the last time Millicent had seen her (though it might've been that back then she'd been attached to Nerdy Weasel) despite her budgeoning waistline. And Penelope was really quite helpful in giving advice about pregnancy and motherhood, and THAT was why Millicent didn't notice the time, didn't see Alicia standing at the door of the office waiting, didn't see Ernie pass down the hallway, pause when he saw her, then freeze.

She DID, however, hear him call out her name in a tone of utter shock, and she turned drastically pale, feeling sicker than she had during the worse of the morning sickness fits. There was no way to hide her condition, even if her presence at the mediwitch's office wasn't damning enough. She gasped, feeling tears sting at her eyes, and would've run if she could have done so.

Dimly, she was aware that Marcus and Penelope had stepped away, and that Alicia had discreetly withdrawn back into her office. Ernie was at her side in an instant, his expression discombobulated.

"You're pregnant," he remarked flatly.

Suddenly, she lifted her chin proudly, a bit angrily, the tears vanishing in an instant. "Yes, but that's none of YOUR business, now is it?" she spat, glaring at him. "I'll have you know, MacMillan, that I'm perfectly capable of looking after a child by myself."

"So it's mine, then," he stated more than asked, his voice soft and stunned. She didn't answer, but her silence seemed enough of an answer to him. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked at length.

Millicent mumbled something about it being none of his business again, and how no one was obligated to do anything, and he needed to bugger off because she was supposed to see the mediwitch, but then Ernie went up to her, clasping his hands on the two ends of her chairback, and gave her that beseeching blue-eyed look calculated to turn her into putty and want to demand more sex, even if that had been the cause of this whole big mess in the first place.

"I just..." he blew out a breath in a sigh. "I wasn't expecting this. I mean, I don't usually... I've never-- you've got to understand that you're the only woman I've ever... well, done all that with."

"That's comforting," she glared at him. "Good to know I'm your first one-night stand."

"But that's my baby, and I'd like to be a part of its life," he continued earnestly, as though she hadn't interrupted. "I'm not expecting you to be obligated to do anything. It's just that it would only be fair to both of us to share in this responsibility and experience equally."

"Her life," she said automatically, a bit dully. Alicia had told her a month ago that the baby was a girl. Millicent had told Pansy that the baby had better not end up some squeeing, giggly twit like Lavender Brown, and therefore Pansy was NOT allowed to buy the sprog anything pink and frou-frou. Ernie seemed dumfounded, but otherwise quite damnably sincere. Millicent mulled it all over in her head for several moments, rather not aware that Ernie was turning a bit blue from holding his breath.

"All right," she said grudgingly but resignedly. "I suppose you can visit now and then."

He beamed, and suddenly he wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a hug that should have been decidedly awkward and yet didn't feel so, to her. "We'll get through this," he promised in his best competent Head Boy voice, and Millicent had to admire his fortitude. She was sure that most blokes who found out that they were to become fathers after a random shag with some random bird would've pissed themselves or shrieked like a little girl or fainted. Perhaps a combination of all three.

And that's why she placed her hand in his and let him help her up from her seat before squaring her shoulders and walking next to him in as dignified a way as possible considering she was as big as a house and waddling like a duck. He shortened his stride to match hers and opened the door for her, and Alicia looked up at them and smiled.

So perhaps it would be all right.

* * *

Okay, so the last way that she'd EVER figured for herself to bond and become close to a bloke-- really close, not just attracted-- was this way, with him rubbing her swollen ankles every night and filling her icebox with such delicious concoctions as chocolate-covered sauerkraut and habanero pepper smoothies. And alternatively hugging him til he was blue in the face or throwing things at his head in the never-ending rollercoaster of pregnancy-induced hormones.

She really shouldn't have let him visit as frequently as he did. It was off-putting. He upset her daily routine by alphabetising all her Marietta Edgecombe mysteries by title and doing her laundry the Muggle way wearing nothing but trackies and a singlet. He even visited her at work one day on his lunch break to bring her pizza because she'd been craving it that morning, and somehow managed to remember that she wanted black olives and pineapples and bacon on it. Wearing his hospital gear! She was fairly certain that her boss would never recover from the sight of a young man in glorified lime-green pyjamas walking in with a dorky smile and a pizza box. He also insisted on playing Muggle classical music on some machine that had been gifted to him by his friend Finch-Fletchley, telling her that it would make the sprog smarter and more eloquent. And then in the evenings when she was resting on the settee, he insisted on crouching down next to her and placing his hand on her belly and doing a little excited squeak thing every time the baby kicked while he talked to her tummy as though giving Head Boy speeches.

She'd ridiculed him the first time he did that, but he just HAD to pout, so she'd rolled her eyes and let him do it, and to her dismay, after one particularly long day at work made lengthier by the new necessity for going to the loo every five minutes, she'd fallen asleep on the settee, lulled by the sound of his voice talking to their unborn baby, and it had been the best sleep she'd had in ages. The next day, they'd moved the little ritual to her bedroom, so in case she was to fall asleep again, it would be on her own bed.

He was disgustingly honourable throughout it all, too. Aside from a few kisses on the cheek and the occasional cuddle, his behaviour was courteous almost to a fault, beyond reproach. He didn't even make any sort of mention the time he caught her blatantly ogling his arse when he was doing her laundry.

Of course, none of this was on Millicent's mind at this precise moment, because right now all she saw was a red mist as stabbing pains shot through her body. She was barely aware as they entered St. Mungo's and she was placed on a stretcher and carted towards Alicia's domain. She was barely even aware of Alicia's Slytherin husband perched impudently on her desk when they moved her in, though Higgs cleared out soon enough when he realised what was going on. Alicia cast a spell for the pain and together with Ernie, brought her in towards the maternity ward at an almost-run.

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU AND FEED YOU TO HAGRID'S BLAST-ENDED SKREWTS!" Millicent shrieked at Ernie as another contraction wracked her body, the mediwizards hovering around her muttering something about dilation and crowning and other mumbo-jumbo as Alicia encouraged her to push. Blue eyes wrathful, Millicent grabbed hold of the hand that Ernie had lain on her arm, and squeezed as tears came to her eyes. What the frell were women like the Weasel-mummy THINKING, to have multiple babies?! This hurt like shit.

"OWW OWW OWW MY HAND," Ernie moaned as an ominous sort of crack came from his fingers. "OWW OWW OWW I love you will you marry me OWWWWWWWWW?"

She barely heard the question through her pain and his whinging, but she answered it immediately and emphatically as she pushed again, certain that she was being ripped apart. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, ERNIE MACMILLAN! AND DAMN RIGHT I'M GOING TO MARRY YOU AND MAKE YOU SUFFER FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE FOR DOING THIS TO ME!"

"And the shoulders are out," Alicia's jubilant voice cut through her tirade even as Ernie managed to smile momentarily through his wincing. "Just one more push, dear."

With the last of her energy, Millicent pushed. A few minutes later, a tiny little wail broke through the air, and then they handed a tiny, purplish bundle wrapped in a pink blanket to her. It opened misty blue eyes and blinked.

"Congratulations," Alicia said calmly, as though this was all NORMAL or something. "You've a healthy baby girl, Miss Bulstrode."

"Mrs MacMillan to be," Ernie corrected her with a jubilant grin. He touched a finger to the baby's wispy black hair, then winced again. "Er, can someone fix my hand?"

It was a few hours later that Madeleine Deirdre Bulstrode-MacMillan, 22 inches, seven pounds and eleven ounces, was put in the nursery and Alicia wheeled Millicent back to her hospital bed before bidding the new parents goodnight and leaving with her husband. Millicent was half-propped into a sitting position in her bed and drinking a tall glass of pumpkin juice. A small smile that she couldn't seem to get rid of tugged at the corners of her lips. A pear-shaped diamond winked in the hospital ward's lighting as she brought the glass to her lips.

"You actually bought a ring." She was still in a bit of disbelief. "I almost thought you were just asking because you wanted me to stop breaking your hand."

He gave her a diffident little smile that made her feel all warm and fuzzy and un-Millicent-like, and shook his head, wrapping his arm around her and pressing his cheek to her temple. "No, it's because I thought that if I could enjoy your company so very much in the time that we had together on that cruise, and find myself caring so deeply, that it would only be natural to come to the conclusion that I've fallen in love, and of course the fact that you were having my baby just made it more permanent. And then you were wonderful and strong and gorgeous and interesting while you were pregnant, even though from what I've studied it's not a fun time in general, and it made me admire you even more. So it stands that it'd be best to try to make you agree with me and you agreeing to marry me has made me very happy."

It was so oddly cute that he could ramble like this, and that he thought she was gorgeous even when she was hormonal and fat and eating perfectly horrid things. So now, even though she was in a shapeless hospital gown and her boobs were hurting (something that Alicia had warned her would happen) and her hair was a sweaty mess, she cupped his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. All right, so maybe she'd allow him to have sex with her again. Their new daughter was awfully cute. Must take after dad.

He kissed her back and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and it was warm and perfect even if she couldn't taste a trace of margarita on his lips. And then a shrill female voice rudely interrupted the moment, and Millicent pulled away slightly to see her best friend at the door of the ward, a bouquet of tasteful carnations and orchids in her hands, a scandalised expression on her face.

"You two are so sickeningly cute and in love and sappy that I think I'm going to go and vomit," Pansy said disgustedly. "I'm never putting you on a cruise again, Millicent!"

Ernie paused, beamed, walked over to Pansy and shook her hand vigourously. "For putting her on that cruise on the first time, I must thank you very sincerely, from the bottom of my heart," he exclaimed buoyantly. Pansy rolled her eyes and retracted her hand after a moment, and Ernie, not deterred, returned to Millicent's side and kissed her temple.

"It's okay," he whispered into her ear. "We'll go on another one for our honeymoon."

Millicent had to admit that she rather liked that idea.


End file.
