18th December, 1893 — Winter Festival, Hogsmeade

The holiday season hit Ester hard sometimes – she never thought of herself as lonely until Christmas crept around the corner to remind her of the life she had once had. Of course, they had always been stifling before – James’ parents had inevitably been critical and loitering and generally insufferable, and arranging for the same tedious dinner and decorations every year had lost some of its novelty – but now that her habits were more desultory, she did miss the mania of it, just a little.

She had been in Hogsmeade that afternoon, so before she left Ester had wandered into the park which was all lit up for winter, and full to the brim with families. She found herself people-watching almost longingly in spite of herself, and was near the gingerbread stall when a child close by caught her attention. Their face crumpled in disappointment as their gingerbread man fell apart and into a patch of snow, dirtied and dismembered. Whether upset was looming, or they just looked so forlorn, Ester couldn’t help herself: they were peering at her now.

“There, there,” she said kindly, and, since their adult supervision seemed to be otherwise preoccupied, Ester stepped up to the booth herself to buy the child another. “Now, how’s that?” she asked, peering back at them once she had presented them with the new gingerbread man.

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Gwen would be five in a few weeks, and Art was mourning the toddler she used to be. She was so charming now, though — chatty and swiftly becoming more adept at her toy broomstick, and the mop of curls she had inherited from her mother were always escaping from her hair ribbons. He loved her so much, and he was savoring every last day of four —  so he intended on bringing her to the Winter Festival every day.

He was paying a few coins to the vendor in exchange for Gwen's gingerbread man, and then got side-tracked by speaking to a former teammate for a minute. Arthur turned around — Merlin help him if he had lost Gwenog at a holiday event again — only to see a familiar woman presenting her with another gingerbread man. Art's face twitched — he felt as if the wind had been swept out of him.

"Montgomery," he greeted, in a weak voice — because Ester was too intimate for a place like this.

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   Ester Montgomery

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set by MJ <3

She was far too taken by the adorable girl to pay much attention to her parent – instead leaning down a little towards her, watching patiently to see whether the girl would be satisfied by the replacement; whether she would be bright and loud or tentative and shy – that she hadn’t noticed him turn around, not until Montgomery.

“Arthur,” she said sweetly, smiling at him even as her eyebrows quirked up in surprise. It was difficult to reconcile Arthur as – well, this apparent man, strolling about the park with his daughter, when to her mind, he would eternally be the kind of man who was high on her couch, or else seduced into the likes of Emrys Selwyn’s parties.

Though she was surprised by his appearance, she didn’t falter as he did. Her smile merely broadened as her gaze drifted leisurely between him and his daughter. “And who is this little sugarplum?”

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While Art thought things were too intimate, Ester clearly had no such qualms — he should have expected as much, but he couldn't hide the little grimace that fluttered across his face.

Gwenog was beaming up at Ester, having already bitten the head off of her new gingerbread man. Arthur ruffled her curls with an affectionate hand. "This is Gwenog," he said, "My daughter. Gwen, did you introduce yourself to Ester?"

She shook her head, and gave a friendly little wave.

  

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set by MJ <3

She didn’t miss his discomfort this time, that little grimace. She was too used to such things to be overtly offended by it, but it did make her contemplate just how gracious she could (or could not) be in return. Everyone else had their dirty little secrets that they were too afraid to air: Ester, at least, was free of all fear. And Gwenog, thankfully, was much too young to be ruffled by her; she crouched down to admire the little curly-haired girl. (She imagined her little Temperance would have grown up to look a little like her, wavy dark hair and bright eyes and perhaps a small proclivity for mischief.)

“Oh, I see the likeness,” she murmured, punctuated by a wave of her own and a cooed, crouched-down, “I’m enchanted to meet you, Gwenog.” She glanced up at Arthur from where she was, insouciant. “And who does she take after more in character,” she inquired casually, “– you, or her mother?”

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   Reuben Crouch

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The question felt dangerous, but Art smiled at it — it was impossible for him not to be charmed by Gwenog, even though he was worried to be talking to Ester in any situation that bordered on public. He couldn't hold his breakdown against her, but the association was still there — and he would have bet money that she had laudanum somewhere on her person. (Worse, even — what if Emrys had told her about them?)

"Me, we think," Art said, forcing brightness into his tone, "But luckily she's got her mother's sense." And even more luckily, Gwen was a girl — harder to do as much financial damage.

  

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set by MJ <3

She had to give Arthur – dear old Art – credit for standing near her long enough to have more than a three-word-exchange, which was the most she sometimes got if she were not blanked completely once recognised; he was a good sport.

Entirely lacking in self-preservation, but a very good sport. And at least Gwenog had a gingerbread man as consolation for the moment.

“Bless her,” Ester said, and then took her opportunity to make him squirm. “Her mother’s still in the picture, then?” she asked, with the air of being pleasantly surprised. “I can’t say I’d have wagered on you still being married by now.” Fortunate that she didn’t have enough money to be a betting woman, probably. She arched an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.”

But Ester knew full well how these things went. He might still be clinging to marriage and to his own respectability as best he could, but they both knew that was little better than painting over cracks.

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   Arthur Pettigrew

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She succeeded — Arthur visibly squirmed, his face pulling an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. He glanced down at Gwenog, who was still happily focused on the gingerbread man.

"Of course we're still married," Arthur said — pleasant, but in an undertone, because he particularly did not want to be overheard in this moment. It was one thing to talk to Ester Montgomery; it was another to talk to Ester Montgomery about his marriage.

Neither were particularly good.

And because Arthur's mouth had always run faster than his sense, he added: "Why wouldn't we be?"

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   Ester Montgomery

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set by MJ <3

Of course, he said – be that as it may, Ester was not so convinced of the assurance of that. To her ear, it sounded almost defensive. The end of her own marriage had clouded most other people’s for her; she usually felt like a sighted woman in a kingdom of the blind.

Her eyes narrowed at him a little, and her smile became something more dangerous, knowing. Because he had asked a question he already knew. Was he pretending he had forgotten that Easter she had sheltered him in his laudanum haze? He had not been happy with his life then. In her experience, happiness once lost was not to be regained. (Like Adam and Eve in the garden, original sin; there was no undoing the fall that came with the knowledge of it. There was no real return to naivety, no matter how one tried.)

But here Arthur went, trying.

“Because you’re a free spirit, and free spirits oughtn’t be stifled,” Ester said, in a friendly tone. Between them, she brushed a loose lock of Gwenog’s hair back off her forehead, so that it didn’t get in her mouth as she ate. “Are you still playing with brooms?”

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Playing with brooms. Had Emrys told her? Art's face froze in the nervous-but-bright expression he'd been wearing when he squirmed. He slept with Emrys less than he had before Emrys was married, but they did still sleep together — and they'd ever actually discussed not telling people.

(The part about their wives went, Art supposed, unspoken.)

But Ester was being so kind to Gwenog that Art couldn't be sure. "Haven't retired yet," he managed, tone stiff — it worked for either answer.

  

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set by MJ <3

She let the moment linger, smile spreading further into a smirk the more uncomfortable he became. Hadn’t retired, he said. “Of course you haven’t,” Ester agreed. “Never too old for that sort of thing.” She wasn’t sure, strictly speaking, that that was true of quidditch – but she didn’t know enough about the sport to guess how much more play he had left in him.

“Your wife must be happy for you,” she continued, because for all she knew about Art (from some of his lowest moments, which made him an easy book to read), she knew as little about the mother of his child. She had known that other side of life, though; knew how miserable motherhood, a wife’s unforgiving life, could be. “And what does she do?”

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Some of the tension in Art's shoulders released; talking about Desdemona didn't feel safe, but it did feel safer than talking about broomsticks. (He still wasn't sure which kind of broomstick they were talking about.)

"She used to play and coach Quidditch," Art said, "She retired a few years ago." Money had been tight since Desdemona's retirement — but Arthur had never been willing to broach the subject of her miscarriage.

  

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set by MJ <3

Ester fancied herself rather better at reading people by the general aura they gave off, rather than by knowing facts about them – because her mind was like a sieve through which none of the most mundane ingredients of anyone’s life ever sifted. So she hadn’t known or remembered that about his wife, a former quidditch player; and she was not sure if she was surprised or if that made perfect sense.

What didn’t surprise her was the injustice of it, though: of course she had made the sacrifice, retired first, presumably at the point of having children; and of course Arthur was free to run amok. Ester couldn’t fathom whether Mrs. Pettigrew could be a happy wife. (She couldn’t fathom it of most women, though most seemed steadfastly unaware of their own discontent.)

“I was married once, did you know?” Ester said conversationally. “Though I retired from that a few years ago.” (Well – more than a few, but the message still stood. That there was a way out, if one wanted there to be: for Art or his sensible wife, maybe. Whoever was the braver.)

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Back in dangerous territory yet again. Art glanced down at Ester's shoes. "Right," Art said, trying to sound casual. "I had heard that." Ester was divorced, and a model in pornography, and had abandoned her son.

Art wondered about that, now — she seemed very interested in children, for someone who had left her own.

It seemed rather dangerous to bring that up, now — like he was baiting her. Art was just trying to make it through this conversation. Other people, he knew, would have wandered off by now — but Art liked Ester, and he didn't want to be outright rude to her.

  

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set by MJ <3

“All I mean to say,” Ester said, making no effort to keep her tone low, even as she leant in and pressed a hand to his shoulder, as if to impart this wisdom directly in his ear, “is that I understand.” Him; and probably his wife, too. His wife would be battling the soul-destroying life of a housebound wife and a neglected woman, and Arthur was obviously battling his own desires. And occasionally succumbing to his own desires, if that laudanum trip when first they’d met had been any indication.

“And I’ve never been happier, that’s all.” She tilted her head at him. “Are you happy?” She saw all the death rattles of unhappiness in him, and – that kind of deep-buried crisis couldn’t be saved by even the presence a little angel like Gwenog. In fact, Ester thought, glancing down at his daughter – still too young to have any concept of anything beyond the taste of gingerbread – Gwenog would probably come off all the worse for it, to be raised by a father who lied to himself about who he really was.

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Was he happy? Art looked down at Gwenog, who was nearly finished with her gingerbread man, and back up at Ester. He stilled his shoulders — his impulse was towards honesty, at least in his physical cues, and he could not admit his failings this close to public.

He had not been happy since his mother died. He could not be certain that he had been happy before then, but certainly he had not been happy since.

"Gwenog is happy," Art said. Gwenog was happy, and she had parents who loved each other as best they could managed, and Art thought that mattered more than his happiness.

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   Ester Montgomery