Through His Mother's Eyes - Updated 10-17-04

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Wed Apr 14, 2004 2:32 pm

Disclaimer: Unless you've been living under a rock, you should already know I have no rights to anything from the world of Harry Potter. That happy priviledge goes to Ms. J.K. Rowling, the fine folks at Bloomsbury, Scholastic, etc., and those movie wizards at Warner Bros. Sadly, I own nothing. But don't shed any tears for me...just read and enjoy my fan fiction. :)

Rating: TEEN

Summary: This is the tale of James Sirius Potter, as seen through the eyes of his mum, Ginny. We begin his tale in his infancy...

***

There was no denying it. The boy was his father’s son. But this story is told through his mother’s eyes…

***

Chapter One – Bundle of Joy

Ginny tried to position her head so that she could get a good look at the small, sleeping form she held in her arms. Her baby’s penchant for sleeping in strange positions had made this task slightly difficult, however. He was burrowed into her right underarm, completely hiding his face from view, but not disguising the fact that his three-and-a-half-month-old head was covered in a mass of unruly, jet-black locks. It made her recall the first words uttered by her Obstewizard in the delivery room at St. Mungo’s on the day James Sirius Potter was born.

“Would you look at the hair on that baby’s noggin? What a mop!”

Ginny recalled thinking that, if it weren’t for Harry’s elation at becoming a father, he would have sent the mediwizard straight to the Spell Damage ward with a good hex. And so it continued to be the first comment everyone made upon meeting James Sirius Potter. An observation about the hair, followed by the remark of how much he resembled his father…and, as some pointed out, his grandfather (and namesake).

Baby James was quite the spitting image of Harry. Ginny had made comparisons to Harry’s own baby photos when they brought James home from the hospital. The only truly noticeable difference – and it was the same between Harry and his own father – was in their eye colour. Harry’s eyes were a dazzling green, like his mother Lily, whereas baby James had beautiful blue eyes, like his maternal grandmother, Molly.

“They’ll change,” assured the witch who was the nurse on duty after the baby was born. “All babies are born with blue eyes, but they change soon enough.”

But the witch was wrong. It was almost four months later and James’ eyes were still as blue as ever.

Little James shifted in Ginny’s arms. His tiny body had scooted farther down Ginny’s torso, and he was now practically balancing halfway on her belly and halfway on her leg. Ginny didn’t let herself get too comfortable with his new position – she knew her son far too well to think he was finished squirming. With a push-off with both little feet, he positioned himself higher up, until his right ear was over his mother’s heartbeat. He let out a contented sigh and Ginny reckoned she was safe to relax. She leaned her head to the side of the rocking chair and nodded off.

A few moments later, Ginny’s eyes opened as she heard the nursery door creak ajar. She would have gestured for the person entering the room to do so quietly, but both arms were currently out of commission.

Harry took a few steps towards the rocking chair and held out his arms. He whispered, “Let me move him to the crib…you look uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” Ginny said in an assuring whisper. “But I am a little thirsty,” she added.

Harry was gone and back again in what seemed like an instant, holding a bottle of Iced Butterbeer in one hand and a straw in the other. He placed the straw into the bottle and held them both to Ginny’s lips so that she could take a few swigs.

“Mmm,” she said in an undertone after she swallowed the drink. During her pregnancy, Ginny had developed a fondness for drinking the normally warm concoction frozen – and her liking for it had not diminished one bit after the baby was born.

“Your arms are turning purple,” Harry said in a soft voice after setting the Butterbeer bottle down on the corner of the changing table next to a stack of clean nappies. “Let me take him to his crib…you can’t sit with him like this all night.”

The fact that Ginny could no longer feel from her elbows down convinced her to hand James over to Harry. She sat in the rocking chair, while Harry carefully laid James on his back on top of the lion-cub patterned sheet that covered the crib mattress. Ginny slowly began to wiggle her fingers as they tingled with the sensation of feeling coming back to them.

Harry stood over the crib for a moment, observing that James was not going to open his eyes or wriggle uncomfortably away from his parents’ arms. When the baby remained still, Harry took his wand from his back pocket and pointed it at the lamp that sat upon the chest of drawers.

“Nox,” he whispered, then tiptoed over to the rocking chair. He held out a hand for Ginny and led her to the nursery door.

“G’night, sweet little boy,” she whispered as they departed. “Sleep tight.”

***

A week later and Ginny was planning James’ first Easter festivities.

“We leave for Grandmum’s and Granddad’s following breakfast tomorrow…after we see what goodies you’ll have to open first thing in the morning, that is!” Ginny said all of this to little James as she bounced him up and down in her arms – he was never completely content unless he was moving. Harry always joked that it was because he was anticipating his first broomstick ride. Ginny always joked that it was because, while she was pregnant, she was constantly dashing to kneel in front of the toilet.

“I wonder when Daddy’ll be home from work,” commented Ginny, more to herself than to James, as she bobbed him in front of the kitchen window so that he could see the neighbour’s cat chasing a gnome out of their garden.

Harry Apparated home from Auror Headquarters a half hour later and found his wife and son in a familiar position. Ginny was sitting in an overstuffed armchair in the living room with James nestled on her chest – Ginny’s arms, which were supporting the baby, had turned an unnatural shade of plum from lack of circulation.

“I’m going to have to figure out a way to charm his crib mattress into sounding as if it has a heartbeat,” said Harry as he returned from the nursery where he laid James down for the remainder of the nap. “Otherwise he’ll soon have a mum with no arms.”

Ginny got up from the chair, walked over to Harry, and wrapped her numb arms around her husband. She kissed him gently on the end of his nose. “We can’t have that,” she said tenderly. “There are too many things I’d miss doing without them.”

“Like holding your handsome son?” Harry inquired.

“Yes,” said Ginny, squeezing Harry tightly. “And like holding his handsome father.”

Harry leaned his head in and softly brushed his mouth over hers.

“You’re distracting me,” Ginny murmured after a moment.

“My apologies,” said Harry insincerely as he went to kiss her again.

Ginny giggled. Sometimes he could make her feel like she was sixteen again and newly in love.

She took a hand a brushed away a stray bit of his fringe that was covering a portion of his glasses. “I wanted to show you what I’ve got for James’ basket tomorrow,” she said with a grin. Ginny had gone to great lengths to make sure her son’s first Easter would be memorable…in any case, if not for James (he was, after all, still an infant), then memorable for his parents.

Ginny scurried over to a closet in the hallway and returned with a large basket, a bulging paper sack, and a menagerie of stuffed toys. Harry grinned broadly as he stared at the excess of holiday paraphernalia his wife was strewing across the living room rug. As Ginny set the swollen sack down next to a stuffed lion, the word Honeydukes became visible.

Harry laughed aloud and said, “Don’t tell me Honeydukes has a new line of sweets for babies?”

Ginny looked sheepish. “Well…no…that stuff’s more for us than for James.”

Harry laughed again as he peered inside the bag. He took out a large chocolate egg wrapped in pastel-coloured foil. “Ahh, the memories this brings back,” he said with a wistful look in his eyes.

Ginny nodded. “I think I still have an impression in the back of the head from where my copy of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 struck me.”

“Good old Madam Pince,” said Harry. “No one can ever accuse her of having poor aim.”

Ginny laughed.

Harry picked up an armful of the stuffed toys and looked at Ginny curiously. “Couldn’t decide on just one?”

Ginny got the sheepish look back again. “Well…initially, I got the conventional stuffed rabbit…” She showed Harry a toy rabbit, whose fur was a blend of every springtime-colour imaginable. “But that seemed a bit cliché, so then I picked up this adorable lion…” She squeezed the lion’s tummy and it emitted a soft roar. Harry grinned. “But when I saw the sweet little owl, I was reminded of Pigwidgeon…and the cute ginger kitten made me think of Crookshanks…”

Harry’s grin dissolved into a puzzled expression. He held up the stuffed cat and said, in a grave tone, “But this cat is cute…Crookshanks, on the other hand, is anything but.” His expression went jovial again and he chortled.

Ginny snatched the cat from him and smacked him playfully in the ribs with it. “If you bribe me enough, I may resist the urge to mention that to Hermione!”

“And what about this?” Harry asked, ignoring the comment about Hermione, and picking up what appeared to be some sort of technicoloured sea creature. “What possessed you to buy this…er…what would you call this?” It seemed as if he was having trouble deciding on a name to give the toy he was presently holding.

“I’m not sure exactly what it is myself,” admitted Ginny. “But it reminded me of the giant squid.” She looked at Harry for some sign that he concurred. When she didn’t get one, she went on to say, “At any rate, it’s completely submersible and it actually propels itself when placed in the water…James’ll have loads of fun with it once he’s able to sit up in the bathtub.”

“That he will,” Harry said earnestly, pulling Ginny into a hug. “And in the morning, he’ll have the finest Easter basket a baby could ever wish for.”

***

At the crack of dawn, Ginny went to James’ crib to find him gurgling and cooing, kicking his feet and arms in the air and gazing cheerfully up at the Quidditch-themed mobile that hung above him. As Ginny lifted him up, his fingers grazed the soft toy Snitch on one of the mobile arms and he let out a sound of pure delight.

“Getting quite the early start, aren’t you my wee little Seeker?” she said in a sing-song voice she reserved just for him. “First things first, though…”

Ginny laid him down on the changing table and grabbed a clean nappy.

When he was changed and dressed in his Easter finery (a sweet little light-blue, seersucker outfit from Baby Gladrags), Ginny brought James into the living room for a first glimpse at his plunder. Harry sat beside the overflowing basket and called out to them both, “Happy Easter!”

James let out a string of blissful sounds that were comprehensible only to him…the gist of which both Ginny and Harry gathered to mean that he was well pleased with the bright basket of goodies.

Ginny could have sat with James and Harry all day long, as James laughed at the sound of the lion’s roar and tugged on the ginger kitty’s tail…but she knew Mum would be expecting them soon. And since the Wizarding World didn’t offer travel techniques that were baby-safe, they’d have to resort to slower methods of Muggle travel to get to the Burrow. Which meant that they were already running late.

“I’m skipping breakfast,” Ginny informed Harry. “I’ll go ahead and feed James, then hop in the shower, get dressed…and we may make it before Mum sets out afters!”

She scooped James into her arms and whisked him into the nursery. She emerged a half hour later and gave the baby to his father, then hurried into the bathroom for the world’s quickest shower (which was quite a feat…her showers were never long to begin with since James was born). Afterwards, she toweled off, charmed her hair to look halfway decent, and slipped into a brand-new gauzy blue dress that unintentionally coordinated with the baby’s new outfit. She slipped on a pair of sandals before dashing into the living room to find Harry and James ready to travel.

“You look remarkable,” Harry said, smiling.

Ginny grimaced a bit, but said, “Thank you…I wasn’t sure of this dress at all, you know…my figure isn’t what it used to be.”

“Looks fine from where I’m standing,” said Harry, with a sly expression.

“Carry on like that and I may just keep you,” Ginny said playfully, kissing him on the cheek and taking James from him. “Now let’s load up the car and hit the road…Mum’ll have a fit if we’re late.”

***

Despite their attempt to get to the Burrow on time, they were still behind schedule, but all was forgiven when Molly Weasley laid eyes on her grandson.

“Oh, my…isn’t this the sweetest baby you’ve seen in all your life?” Mrs. Weasley rushed across the garden and relieved Harry of James. Ginny emerged from the car holding a satchel full of baby items. Her mother didn’t seem to notice Ginny at all as she showered James with kisses. “Isn’t he the handsomest…isn’t he the most precious…isn’t he…?” She continued on in a similar vein as she toted him back into the house to show off the rest of the Weasley family.

Ginny sighed and looked at Harry. “And I was worried about what I was wearing?” She laughed, though rather mirthlessly. “I don’t know why I bother…no one ever sees me when the baby is around!”

“That’s not true,” Harry said, taking her hand and squeezing it.

“Ah, well,” said Ginny, quickly getting over her momentary lapse into self-pity. “I wouldn’t have it any other way…let’s go in before everyone starts to worry.”

Harry laughed. “You think anyone actually noticed we’re not in there with the baby yet?”

Ginny winked and said, “Wasn’t that my point before? But I’m sure someone’s bound to realize we’re about…James is too young yet to have Apparated here alone!”

They both entered the house laughing heartily. But soon their merriment turned to mild distress as a gaggle of little people intercepted them at the door.

“Aunt Ginny! Uncle Harry!” A chorus of small – but very shrill – voices greeted them. Two identical redheaded girls and a smaller dark-haired boy skipped out of the small kitchen and nearly trampled down several adults to get to them. They threw outstretched arms around both Ginny’s and Harry’s legs and chorused repeatedly, in screeching voices, “Happy Easter! Happy Easter! Happy Easter!”

“I told Angelina to lay off the chocolate, but would she listen?”

Ginny heard her brother Fred’s voice above the commotion of the children, and she looked up from where they were squeezing her to see him grinning broadly at the scene.

“I can’t account for the girls…you’ll have to ask George what he gave them…but Angelina gave Artie at least two dozen chocolate eggs this morning. It’s a wonder the kid hasn’t slipped into a diabetic coma.”

“He had two chocolate eggs this morning, dear,” said a firm voice from behind Fred. “But I noticed quite a few Twitchy-Toffee wrappers on the kitchen floor after breakfast…care to explain that?”

“Er…Angie…darling…” Fred was stammering while trying to come up with a plausible excuse. “I dunno where he’d have gotten those…they were test-market items…”

“If you’ve been testing products on my son…”

“Our son, dear…”

Ginny and Harry shook Artie and the twin girls loose and left Fred and Angelina to their discussion, only to find Alicia (George’s wife) cornering George in order to find out what he gave their children that morning for breakfast.

“Mental note,” Harry whispered to Ginny. “Never leave James alone with your brothers.”

“At least not those brothers,” Ginny agreed, laughing.

They tried to make their way over to where Mrs. Weasley was bouncing James upon her knee in the living room, but were again intercepted.

“Happy Easter, Harry… and Ginny!” Ron flung his arms out and hugged both Harry and Ginny together, knocking their heads together in the process.

“Oof…Hermione!” Ginny called desperately. “Come get your husband!”

Hermione laughed and tugged Ron backwards. “He’s just overexcited today…you’ll have to forgive him.” She gave Harry and Ginny each more civilized, individual hugs.

“What’re you so excited about?” Harry queried, but was interrupted by greetings from Bill and his wife, Fleur; Percy and his wife, Penny; followed by a hearty welcome from Charlie; and finally a hello from Arthur.

“Don’t know if we can pry little James from Molly’s clutches,” said Mr. Weasley, “but we’ll never eat if I we don’t try.” He winked at Harry and Ginny and led them over to the sofa, where Molly was singing a boisterous medley of nursery tunes to her grandson.

“Time to get this lad back to his parents, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley.

“Oooh, no,” crooned Mrs. Weasley fretfully. “Jamsie and I are having too much fun…aren’t we my wee little Tadpole?”

James giggled with delight.

Ginny was trying not to cringe. “Jamsie” and “Tadpole” were only a couple of the silly nicknames her mother had come up with for the baby. At first it was endearing, but now she thought it was just downright silly…after all, James was at risk to grow up thinking his name was actually “Squirt” or “Mr. Shortpants.” The poor child could be affected for life…

“Have it your way,” Mr. Weasley said to his wife. “I’ll just take it upon myself to finish cooking then…”

This had done the trick.

Molly Weasley promptly handed her grandson over to her daughter and said to her husband, “Oh, no you don’t, Arthur Weasley! I’ll not have this whole family in St. Mungo’s as a result of your abysmal cooking…you stay away from my stove!”

She hastened into the kitchen, muttering about food poisoning as she went.

“Works like a charm every time,” said Mr. Weasley, in an undertone and with a wink.

***

Ginny was thankful for her father’s efforts in getting her mother to finish the meal when she laid eyes on the enormous spread a short time later.

The meal was set upon floral tablecloth-covered tables in the garden, and everyone agreed as they sat down to partake of it – Molly had quite outdone herself with this feast. The meat dishes of lamb, ham, veal and pork sat surrounded by bowls of cheese and herb dumplings, mushy peas and celery baked in cream. Hot-Cross buns were stacked in a basket, encircled by a vast array of other baked goods, including Easter biscuits (made from spicy fruits and a generous amount of Brandy), cakes, scones and many puffed pastries. And this was not even to mention the sweets and desserts which sat displayed upon their very own table – butterscotch and truffles; fudge drops and treacle nut toffee; flan and custard; trifle and clotted cream.

Ginny was so hungry, she took a bit of everything. Harry was patient and held James as she wolfed down her meal. He bounced James on his knee, making sure to keep the baby’s curious little fingers away from his cup of pumpkin juice.

“Mum,” Ginny managed to say after she’d chewed up a large bite of dumpling. “This is wonderful!”

Everyone agreed, and Mrs. Weasley blushed to match the crimson Easter egg her husband was handing her.

“Time for a time-honoured, Weasley Family tradition,” announced Mr. Weasley as he handed everyone a dyed Easter egg.

“Egg knocking! Egg knocking!” chanted Beatrice and Bianca (George’s twin daughters), who had apparently not come down from their Twitchy-Toffee high yet.

“Yes,” said Mr. Weasley, handing each of the girls their own dyed egg. “As my granddaughters were so keen to point out…it is time for a round of Egg Knocking…winner is the one whose egg stays intact…”

“Loser cleans up the mess!” announced Fred.

“What mess?” said Percy indignantly. “Mum hard-boiled the eggs.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” George whispered in Ginny’s ear.

Ginny looked at her own yellow-dyed egg suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, little sis,” assured George. “Only special people got our special eggs.” He shot a scheming look in Percy’s direction. “Hope Penny’s dress isn’t Dry-Charm Only…”

Ginny gave a wide-eyed look at Harry and said, “Some things never change!”

***

Penny’s dress (thankfully) was not Dry-Charm Only; Hermione knew a spell involving club soda that cleaned it right up. After an old-fashioned scolding for Fred and George from Mrs. Weasley, the family made their way to the grassy slope a ways behind the house and lined up at the top for egg-rolling festivities.

Percy and Penny sat this amusement out; Ginny suspected it was because of their fear of more raw eggs, though Percy assured everyone it was because they were too full from the meal to run down a hill after an egg.

Ginny sat out as well, more of a mind to sit with James and allow him to watch the fun than to participate.

Arthur and Molly stood at the base of the slope, acting as referees.

“On the count of three,” shouted Mr. Weasley. “One…two…three…go!”

A barrage of coloured eggs came careening down the slope like an army of rainbow orbs, all coming to rest at the feet of Arthur and Molly. James laughed merrily.

“And we have a winner!” announced Mrs. Weasley with satisfaction.

Fred came bounding down the slope towards his mother, skilfully avoiding the cluster of eggs and looking at her with a glint of pride in his eyes.

“And it’s not you,” said Mrs. Weasley, scowling at her son.

“What?” said Fred, astonished. “My egg got down first!”

“You know the rules…no magic…and we could all hear you say Mobiliovum after your father said go!” No one was denying this accusation, not even Fred. “Your son is the winner,” Mrs. Weasley pronounced.

Artie beamed as his Grandmum handed him a gigantic chocolate Easter egg.

***

But the day’s crowning moment had to have been when Ron and Hermione finally announced the reason for Ron’s (and Hermione’s, at that) excitement…sometime around Christmas, Ron declared proudly, Hermione would be making an addition to the Weasley clan.

“Oh…bless you, both!” Mrs. Weasley had said with tears in her eyes.

Ginny beamed as she hugged both Ron and Hermione. “With any luck,” she told them, “James and his new cousin will be celebrating birthdays on the same day!” James’ birthday was just two days before Christmas.

Harry clasped Ron around the shoulder, “If you ever need practice changing nappies, I have a volunteer willing to assist you.” He gestured to James, who was being doted over by his Aunt Fleur at the moment. As if on cue, James gurgled at his Uncle Ron.

“Thanks, mate,” Ron responded, an inebriated sort of look crossing his face.

“I have some clothes you’ll need in a few months,” said Ginny, gesturing to Hermione’s still-flat tummy.

Hermione beamed. “I’m so excited,” she said to Ginny. “I see you and Harry with James, and I think Ron and I are in for the time of our lives.”

Ginny couldn’t help but to agree.

***

As the sun began to set on what had been an eventful – yet very pleasurable – day, Ginny and Harry began to gather their things for the trip home. James yawned and rubbed his eyes as his grandparents kissed him goodbye.

“We had a fantastic time, Mum,” Ginny told Mrs. Weasley as she took James back. He whimpered a bit and snuggled into the curvature of his mother’s arms, utterly exhausted after the day’s events. “Thank you for making James’ first Easter so wonderful.”

“Oh, for that little bundle of joy…it was my pleasure,” replied Mrs. Weasley, bending over to kiss the top of his downy head.

Ginny thought, as Harry pulled the car away from the Burrow, that “bundle of joy” was one pet name that she and her mother could definitely agree on. She closed her eyes after she’d observed that James was asleep in his baby seat, and drifted off into dreams of how her “bundle of joy” was the joy of her life.

***

Author’s Note: I couldn’t have written this chapter about Baby James Potter without the inspiration given me from my sister and her own sweet baby boy. A great portion of Ginny and James are taken from them. I thank them both for being such special influences in my life!

And a side-note…the names of George and Alicia’s twin daughters were plenty challenging to come up with! I had it “narrowed” down to seven choices, but finally decided to go with Beatrice and Bianca. Their names come from Shakespeare plays – Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing and Bianca from The Taming of the Shrew. I was sad to see some of the other names turned down, but who knows when I’ll need more female names? ;)

I hope everyone enjoyed the first installment of this piece. Stay tuned for more chapters from the life of James Sirius Potter, as seen though his mum’s eyes!

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Thu Apr 15, 2004 5:02 pm

Chapter Two – A Brave New Toddler Ginny caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror that hung in the foyer. She’d plaited her hair hastily that morning and hadn’t given it a second thought until now. Wisps of ginger hair fell down from the braid carelessly, and the elastic band that held it in place had slipped down several inches from its original placement…one more inch and it’d be out altogether. Until she’d just looked, she hadn’t even realized which tee shirt she had pulled on in the dark at 5:15 AM (an old Hogwarts one that read Gryffindor Quidditch on the front and on the back, in all capital letters, CHASER). And she had no clue that she had dried mashed bananas speckled across her forehead, though it did explain the stiff feeling she had been noticing since breakfast time. Such was the life of the mother of an almost one-year-old boy. Ginny opened the front door to retrieve several packages dropped off by the morning post owl. It was nearly noon now, but this was the first opportunity she’d had to get them. James had just gone down for a nap. Flurries of snow blew in as she quickly rescued them from the front step. She quietly closed the door as she brought in the last one – a small box from Quality Quidditch Supplies. She knew just what was in that one. James’ first birthday was a week away and Harry had been hinting for about six months straight that he thought his son would love a toy broomstick for a first birthday present. It wasn’t that Ginny didn’t think this was true – James had shown inclinations of being a Quidditch enthusiast at a very young age – so Ginny had a sneaking hunch that the toy broomstick was more of a desire for the father than for the son. But after reading the packaging on the “Junior Nimbus, Stage One” in the Quality Quidditch Supplies Holiday Wish Book, Ginny had yielded. It was appropriate for children ages one to three years, and had received a safety rating of five Golden Snitches – the highest of any Quidditch-themed toy. And as an added bonus, it was equipped to project a cushioning charm to the ground within a six-foot radius around the broomstick, which was more than ample for a three-foot long broom. She took the box containing the broomstick, along with the many other boxes, and stacked them in the spare bedroom. She sighed as she looked at all of them, knowing that within them were more birthday presents for James, in addition to Christmas gifts for friends and family. If James’ birthday was a week off, that meant Christmas was a mere nine days away. There was a lot to be done in a very short space of time. And there was also the fact that Hermione was set to deliver a baby at any given moment. Ginny and Harry were keeping one eye on the fireplace at all times these days, expecting to see Ron’s anxious face pop in, announcing that he was a father at long last. Ginny had always thought that no one could have been a more doting husband than hers during a pregnancy, but her brother Ron had given Harry a run for his Galleons. There wasn’t anything Ron wouldn’t do for Hermione. If she was craving Pumpkin Pasties, Ron would Apparate to the nearest shop to pick some up. If half an hour later she had a yearning for Cauldron Cakes, Ron was back in action. He was known be up at all hours of the morning shaking bottles of Pumpkin Fizz so that they’d go flat (Hermione loved Pumpkin Fizz…minus the fizz) if his wife awoke and announced she was parched. He gave her foot massages when her feet went puffy at the end of the day and rubbed her temples after she’d pored over her lesson plans following dinner. Hermione worked hard even as her body swelled to encompass the growth of the life developing within, but at the beginning of the month of December, she was forced to take a sabbatical from her position as Arithmancy teacher at Hogwarts – she’d gotten Professor Vector, the witch who formerly taught the class, to substitute in her absence. Teaching classes had just gotten to be too taxing after eight months of pregnancy, and her Obstewizard had threatened to put her on bed rest if she didn’t take it easy. It took some persuasion, but Ron had finally convinced Hermione that it was all for the best. So, for the past sixteen days, Ginny had been getting a note a day via Pig from Hermione, telling about how concerned she was about her students, and how she hoped Professor Vector was adequately preparing the fifth years for their Arithmancy O.W.L. and the seventh years for their Arithmancy N.E.W.T. Ginny had calmly pointed out that she thought Professor Vector could manage. She had, after all, taught the class for forty years herself. Hermione was also concerned about the birthing room conditions at St. Mungo’s – she wasn’t at all convinced that the staff had placed the proper Purification Charms on the equipment the Obstewizards used. Ginny had written back that James hadn’t come out of St. Mungo’s with any foreign diseases brought on by improperly charmed equipment, so she felt secure in telling her that wee Baby Weasely was going to be safe as well. And so it went on, each day there was a new concern, and Ginny calmly replied in order to ease her sister-in-law’s anxieties. After all, a year ago, Ginny recalled being a little anxious herself. It was nice to be able to reassure Hermione about things. “Muuuuuummy! Muuuuuummy!” A little voice broke Ginny away from her thoughts of Hermione with great urgency. James had awoken from his nap. So much for wrapping gifts this afternoon, she thought. Ginny traipsed into the nursery and found James standing at the railing of his crib, tears flooding his eyes. His bottom lip pouted out and he muttered one solitary word over and over until Ginny relented and picked him up, “Mummy…Mummy…Mummy.” “Come here, sweetheart,” Ginny said as she lugged him out of his baby blue prison. His expression brightened and he hugged Ginny, saying the word “Mummy” again, this time with much more enthusiasm. “You little scamp,” Ginny said, hugging him back. “Twenty minutes does not a nap make, James Potter!” “Nap?” James mimicked in a questioning tone, as if the concept was completely unfamiliar to him. “Yes,” Ginny answered her son. “You know…it’s when you actually go to sleep and stay asleep…for at least an hour so Mummy can wrap Christmas presents!” “Kiss…miss…” echoed James. “Yes,” Ginny said again. “Christmas…you know, the holiday we’ll have to cancel if you don’t nap long enough to let me wrap the presents! Not to mention, your birthday…we’ll have to cancel that, too!” James beamed at the mention of the word “birthday.” Ginny and Harry had spoken long enough about the fact that the big day was approaching for James to recognize that it was something very, very good. “Cake!” James said, suddenly recalling the many times his parents mentioned birthday cake in his presence. “Dunno where you could have gotten that sweet tooth of yours,” said Ginny, raising one of her coppery eyebrows at James and grinning. “Neither your daddy nor I like sweets…” “Daddy!” James chimed in, clapping as he spoke. “Daddy…home?” “Nope, love,” said Ginny, kissing James’s forehead and carrying him into the kitchen. “Daddy’s still at work.” She plopped James into his highchair and opened one of the kitchen cupboards. “So, what’ll it be for lunch…Mummy’s famished.” “Cake!” James suggested eagerly. *** Much to his chagrin, James did not receive cake for lunch, but much to his delight, his daddy came home from work early. “Things were quiet at the office today,” said Harry after he Apparated into the living room around two o’clock. Ginny smiled and gave him a welcome home hug. “It’s our lucky day, then,” she said. James tossed down the stuffed lion he was playing with and crawled over to Harry’s feet. He tugged on the hem of Harry’s work robes and said, “Daddy…home! Daddy…pick up me!” “Sure thing,” said Harry, and in one fluid action he had scooped James up and was feigning the motions of flight with him. James laughed as Harry lifted him into the air. “Higher?” Harry asked. James squealed. “Higher?” Harry asked again. James squealed even louder. “Higher?” Harry asked a third time. Above James’ squeals of delight, Ginny broke in. “Any higher than that and he’ll be through the ceiling!” She wore the expression many mothers do when fathers play the game of Toss-The-Baby – one of mingled panic and alarm. “Mummy wins,” said Harry, though in a slightly disappointed tone. “Let’s bring this broom in for a landing.” Harry gently set James down on the rug with a movement that strongly resembled the touchdown of a racing broom. James gave him a sullen expression. Harry responded with a sympathetic look, but distracted him by raising one of his son’s chubby arms and saying with gusto, “And James Potter single-handedly wins the Quidditch World Cup for England! Bravo, son!” James lifted his other arm in the air and said, “Yay…yaaaaay!” His laughter sounded through the house like delightful music. *** Six days later and James had managed to get a few good naps in…and managed to allow his mother time to gift-wrap the horde of presents that were currently occupying her spare bedroom. “It’s a good thing we’re not entertaining anyone at our house this week,” Ginny said to herself as she tied a purple satiny ribbon onto a Christmas gift for (she checked the gift tag) Luna Lovegood. She sighed and wondered how in the world she was going to manage to get all of the gifts to the appropriate recipients in the next few days. She and Harry had declined the invitation they’d received for the annual Gryffindor Alumni Holiday Bash (this year being hosted by Seamus and Lavender Finnigan), so that’d mean she’d have to send any former Gryffindors their Christmas gifts by owl post. She could bring Luna’s gift to the Burrow on Christmas Day…Luna’s parents lived near Ottery St. Catchpole. And most of the other presents would go to the Burrow as well, since they were be received by family who would be there anyhow. “When am I going to find time to go to the post office today?” said Ginny frantically. She thought of the birthday cake she had yet to bake, and the rest of the housekeeping that needed to be taken care of before the day was over. “Maybe Hedwig could manage these deliveries,” she said. But as if on cue, she heard a loud HOOT! come from Hedwig’s perch in the sunroom. “I take that to mean no!” Ginny shouted from the spare room, but regretted it a moment later when she heard James start to bawl from the nursery. She went to calm him, thankful that he’d at least been asleep this time for a good hour and fifteen minutes. “How would you like a trip to see the owls?” said Ginny, after changing James into a fresh nappy. She had reconciled herself to the fact that a trip to the post office was unavoidable. It looked like cakes were going unbaked and the house was going un-Scourgified for the time being. *** She had never seen the queues for sending post and parcels so long in her entire life. And from what Ginny could see, out of the nearly three hundred owls that were typically employed by her local branch of the Wizarding Post Office, only a small amount remained perched and ready for service. Occasionally she observed, while waiting in line with a trolley-full of Christmas packages and a grumpy baby boy, an owl would swoop in through a window looking frazzled and dazed. “At least twelve hours rest,” one of the postwizards would declare as he sent the weary-looking bird to a perch for a respite. “Our busiest time of the year,” said a grey-haired postwitch when it was finally Ginny’s turn at the counter. The postwitch had a sort of manic glint in her silver eyes and Ginny thought that she’d like to hurry the proceedings along a bit…send her parcels off and get home to bake James’ birthday cake…without a run-in with a mad postal worker. “I’ve got quite a few packages to send off today,” Ginny told the witch, beginning to plop them in turn onto the counter (she had to pry a particularly brightly wrapped one from James’ fingers). “But they’re all clearly marked with the names and addresses of each recipient…” The grey-haired witch squinted as she read the address label on the parcel closest to her. “This address says Hogwarts School.” Ginny looked at the label and concurred. “So it does…it’s for a former professor of mine…” “I’m sorry, Miss…local deliveries only today.” Ginny blinked stupidly. “Excuse me? Local…only?” It was as if she heard the words, but didn’t quite comprehend them. The witch spoke very slowly this time, as if she were explaining the situation to James instead of Ginny. “Local…deliveries…only…today.” She pointed to the perches where several miniature owls were roosting. A sign above them read: Local Deliveries Only. “But,” Ginny began in protest, “this office does long-distance deliveries…I’ve used it before for…” “All of our other owls have been decommissioned for the holidays, Miss,” said the postwitch in a bored tone. “We’ve been overrun with people who leave things for the last minute.” James had begun banging the brightly wrapped package on the counter-top (Ginny had sat him next to the pile when her arms had tired of holding him). “Home! Home! Home!” he was chanting with each bang of the box. “If you’re not sending any of these locally, I will ask you to move along so I can assist the next customer in line,” announced the witch unsympathetically. Ginny heard a great deal of huffing coming from the witches and wizards standing behind her in the queue. “I don’t believe this,” Ginny said with a sigh. She pushed the trolley back out onto the sidewalk and stood there for a moment shaking her head while James began to whine. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?” she asked her son. “We’ll be home soon and you can have something to nibble on.” James made due for the time being with chewing on the corner of the brightly wrapped package. *** “How was your day?” Harry asked as he Apparated home later that day. “Other than the fact I found out that quite a few of our acquaintances will be getting New Year’s presents as opposed to Christmas presents, it was fine,” said Ginny, whose red hair was concealed under copious amounts of all-purpose flour, giving her the appearance that she’d swallowed an Aging Potion while baking the birthday cake. “They’ll live,” said Harry nonchalantly, walking over to her and dusting the flour from her hair. “How was your day?” Ginny asked, twitching her nose as she did (clouds of flour were tickling her nostrils). “Better now that I’m home…and my holiday from work has officially begun.” He kissed her gently, but when he backed away Ginny laughed…some of the flour covering her hair had travelled and come to rest in his jet-black hair, giving him the appearance of someone who had gone prematurely grey. “Quite a pair we make!” Ginny said, laughing some more. “James won’t recognize us!” James, who had been playing on the floor with a set of wooden alphabet blocks (they had been given a spell that made them say A is for Apparate! B is from Broomstick! C is for Cauldron! and so on when each one was picked up), had pulled himself up and was balancing by the side of the sofa. “Daddy! Mummy!” he called, finding his flour-covered parents odd-looking, but very amusing nonetheless – he giggled as he gazed at them. And then – before either Ginny or Harry realized what was happening – it happened. James took his very first steps. *** After watching their brand-new toddler wobble around the living room for a good half hour after seeing him take his momentous first steps, Ginny and Harry took it in turns to inform family members of the significant event. They’d used up nearly three-quarters of a brand-new container of Floo powder by the time each and every Weasley had been notified. And just when they thought it was safe to snuff the fire out of the fireplace, a familiar face popped in. “Harry! Ginny!” It was Ron, looking frantic. Ginny’s heart leapt. It had only been a few minutes since she’d spoken with her brother, but she knew only one thing could be causing him to need to talk to them again so soon after… “Can’t say much…only I’m taking Hermione in…to St. Mungo’s, that is…it’s time!” His head dissolved as quickly as it had appeared. Harry grinned. “What a day!” was all he could say as James took three more shaky steps towards him, and then collapsed into his lap. Ginny, still dusting the remnants of flour from her face and hair, was inclined to agree. *** Author’s Note: Initially, I hadn’t planned on ending this chapter at this point, but the longer it went on, the more I realized I’d be splitting James’ toddlerhood into two different sections. With so many things going on (his first steps, first birthday, the birth of his cousin and Christmas), I couldn’t see any other way around it! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> <center><img src=http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-4/1 ...

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Fri Apr 16, 2004 6:19 pm

Just a quick word before you read on...this fic is also posted over at ff.net...hence the author's notes at the end of each chapter that seem to be speaking to a group in particular! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> Just so you don't think I'm crazy... <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/tongue.gif ALT=":b"> ~*~*~ Chapter Three – Gifts of All Sorts A very bleary-eyed and exhausted-looking Pigwidgeon tapped his beak on the living room window of the Potter house late that evening, a sky blue piece of parchment wedged in his beak. Harry got up from the sofa, lifted open the window, and allowed the little owl entrance. Pig spat out the piece of parchment and tumbled flat onto the sill. Ginny’s eyes widened as she rushed to check Pig’s vitals. “Pigwidgeon!” she said. “Speak to me!” Pig emitted a pathetic, “H-h-hoot” as he waved a wing at her, as if to express that he merely needed to take a breather. Ginny scooped the little owl into the palm of her hand and brought to him to rest beside Hedwig in the now darkened sunroom. When she returned, she found Harry reading the blue parchment with a pleased expression on his face. He handed it over to his wife. Ginny read it aloud: <div style="text-align:center">There's nothing like a baby boy to change the way you see things, to make the world a better, brighter place. There's nothing like ten tiny toes, bright eyes and little ears, or the sweet expressions on his little face... Ronald Bilius & Hermione Jane Weasley are pleased to announce the birth of their son, REID HEWITT WEASLEY Born December 22 at 11:46 PM 7 lbs. 7 oz.</div> Ginny couldn’t help but grin. And she suddenly thought…if he had waited just fourteen minutes more, little Reid would be sharing a birthday with James. She looked at the clock. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning – officially James’ first birthday. Well, not officially…after all, James had been born in the afternoon… “I imagine a trip to St. Mungo’s is on the agenda for tomorrow,” said Harry, stretching his arms and then yawning. “What do you reckon we get some rest so we don’t scare the new baby with zombie faces?” “Sounds like a plan to me,” said Ginny, suppressing a yawn as she did. “We can have James open birthday gifts in the morning, go to St. Mungo’s around noon, and eat the birthday cake in the evening.” “Brilliant game strategy,” said Harry before opening his mouth into another cavernous yawn. *** Of all days to allow his parents a lie-in…the next morning, James slept until the clock read 10:42 AM…quite a sinful thing to do on a day when there was no time to dally. And Ginny had made the mistake of faithfully allowing to her son to be her morning alarm. “Oh…James’ll have to open his gifts when we do cake this evening!” shouted Ginny as she started the water in the shower. “We just don’t have the time now!” As it had been for the past three hundred and sixty-four days, today Ginny, Harry and James found themselves speeding along at a rapid pace, so as not to be quite as fashionably late for their destination as they usually were. *** “I don’t know how Mum and Dad did it with seven of us!” cried Ginny as Harry dropped her and James off in London, in front of a dilapidated-looking, red brick building that had a sign hanging above an untidy display window, which read Purge and Dowse Ltd. “We’ll meet you inside!” she called to Harry as he pulled off down the broad street, looking for a place to park the car (it was a difficult task since the street was chock-full of desperate, last-minute holiday shoppers). St. Mungo’s had once simply been a hospital for those witches and wizards who were unfortunate enough to have fallen victim to magical maladies or injuries, but nowadays the hospital offered much more. Reform had come to many areas of the wizarding community (not least of all, the Ministry of Magic, where Harry worked, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with a team of highly skilled Aurors), and St. Mungo’s had been on the top of the list for development and improvement. So now, in addition to offering treatments for magical woes such as dragon pox and unliftable jinxes, St. Mungo’s also offered such things as birthing facilities with highly trained Obstewizards and witches. All changes are usually met with skeptics, however, and when the first Weasley grandchild (Fred’s son, Artie) was born, Molly was incredulous. “In my day, I gave birth to my babies right in my own bed!” she’d said, clasping a hand over her nose and mouth as she made her way through the corridors of the hospital to Angelina’s birthing suite. “Ugh,” Fred had responded as he led his mother and other various family members to his wife’s room to view his newborn baby boy. “The visual you just gave me…Mum, please!” “It’s true!” cried Mrs. Weasley emphatically. “When I think of all of the things that have gone on in this hospital…it’s a wonder these babies aren’t coming home hexed for life!” She had eyed the floor and ceiling ominously, as if something was going to appear out of nowhere, hexing her for life. But Ginny knew just how old-fashioned her mum could be. It was one of her most endearing qualities. She supposed that her mother wouldn’t be quite so emphatic about giving birth in a hospital at this point…Reid was her fifth grandchild, after all. Ginny browsed the map of the hospital in the reception area while she waited for Harry to join them. She amused James with the bell at the reception desk, much to the annoyance of the reception witch, who glared at them. The witch wore a red-and-white striped knit stocking cap with a sprig of holly attached where the base turned up and a green button on her uniform that read, St. Mungo’s Wishes You A Jolly Holiday! Ginny couldn’t help but think that the witch looked anything but jolly. Finally, after another five minutes of being glared at, Harry joined them. “What is your destination?” asked the grumpy reception witch as Harry went to lead them away. Ginny wasn’t sure she was speaking to them at first, but she realized they were the only ones in the lobby at the moment. “We’re heading up to the Maternity Ward,” said Harry, hoisting James up onto his shoulders. James tugged at his father’s hair, giving it an even more rumpled appearance than it normally had. “Not with the boy, you’re not,” stated the witch matter-of-factly. “St. Mungo’s has rules, you know…no children under the age of eleven allowed in the birthing area. They may carry…germs.” She said the word “germs” as if she could see microorganisms swarming all over James, anxious to hop off onto the first baby they encountered. “Well, couldn’t you make an exception…just this once,” said Harry through gritted teeth. “It is Christmas, after all.” “It’s December 23rd, unless my Appleby Arrows calendar lies…Christmas usually falls on the 25th…and I make it a point never to make exceptions, sir.” Ginny almost laughed out loud at what Harry did next, but apparently he was desperate. He brushed the fringe from his forehead with one dramatic motion, revealing his scar. Then he said to the witch, “Are you certain about that?” The witch, looking rather unimpressed, said, “Quite certain, indeed.” Accepting defeat, Harry took James over to a sofa in the waiting area and told Ginny he’d see her later. Ginny tried to convince him to go up first, but Harry insisted that he’d wait. *** “He tried to play his trump card,” announced Ginny as she met her family in the Maternity Ward. “He didn’t flash her the scar?” laughed George in disbelief. “Bold move!” “Yeah, well, this witch was having none of it…Harry Potter or not, she wasn’t bending.” “I’ll go down and sit with James,” offered Alicia pleasantly. “I’ve already been in to see the little darling.” “Oh, we all know Ronniekins is cute, but I thought I was your little darling,” quipped George. Alicia ignored George and told Ginny, “See you later!” Ginny thanked her sister-in-law and followed George into Hermione’s birthing suite. She could barely see the top of Hermione’s head upon entering the room, as a vast crowd of people – Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred, Angelina, Percy, Penelope, Charlie, Bill, Fleur, and Hermione’s parents, Drs. Granger and Granger – surrounded her, with Ron right at her side on the bed. Ginny parted the crowd, conjuring up a bouquet of baby-blue roses as she approached Hermione’s bedside. “Congratulations!” she said, handing the roses to Ron and peering into the bundle of blankets Hermione was holding. Hermione beamed proudly at her and asked, “Would you like to hold him?” “You even have to ask that question?” said Ginny, reaching her arms out to hold the tiny, sleeping newborn. When she took hold of the baby, she noticed the thin layer of crimson-red down that topped his head. “What a Weasley!” she said affectionately. “Where’s your husband?” Ron asked Ginny, looking around the room with a disappointed expression on his face. “He should be here any second now…Alicia went to look after James in the lobby.” “We should have warned you…no children allowed,” commented Mr. Weasley, who was absentmindedly wiping his glasses clean with an unused nappy. Fred raised an eyebrow at him and George let out a mock cough that sounded an awful lot like “nutter.” Harry did arrive just seconds later and Ron had the time of his life showing off Reid Hewitt Weasley…and by the time Ginny and Harry made to depart, Ron had already predicted his son being the recipient of the Order of Merlin (first-class) by age ten and becoming a world-class Quidditch player not too long afterwards. “They seemed overjoyed,” said Ginny on the trip home. “I’ve never seen either one of them happier,” agreed Harry as he turned the car onto the street leading back to their neighborhood. When they finally reached the house, Ginny carried a sleeping James inside and whispered to Harry, “You get his birthday things together…I’ll lay him down on the sofa.” Harry obeyed, fetching a stack of packages swathed in Chudley Cannons gift-wrap from the spare bedroom and arranging them on the coffee table in the living room. “As if getting a brand-new cousin wasn’t birthday gift enough, he’s got all of this to look forward to,” said Harry, finally setting down the box containing the Junior Nimbus. “It was a shame he didn’t actually get to meet little Reid,” sighed Ginny. “He’ll get to see him on Christmas,” said Harry. “And truth be told, I don’t think the little chap knew what he was missing…when I was leaving for the Maternity Ward, he was begging Alicia to take a fake wand out of her handbag, caling ‘Waand! Waand!’ at her.” He chuckled at the recollection. “Don’t have a clue why he’d think Mrs. George Weasley would have a fake wand in her bag, though!” *** By the time James had torn into all of his birthday presents, an overwhelmed expression had been plastered across the toddler’s little face. His eyes were as big as saucers and a goofy grin played across his mouth as he tried to determine which toy to try out with first. “I said I’d never do this,” said Harry, watching James reach one hand out for the Hungry the Happy Hippogriff figure (“You can really feed him with these realistic toy ferrets!”), only to snatch it back in reconsideration, reaching out again to grab the Junior Nimbus or the Young Wizard’s Anthology of Fairly Exciting Tales: Collector’s Edition. “Do what?” asked Ginny as she tossed a plastic ferret into Hungry’s beak. “Spoil my child,” sighed Harry, suddenly looking miserable. Hungry let out a squawk of glee and James clapped merrily. He grabbed for another ferret and made a clever toss, allowing the toy Hippogriff another snack. “If you think James will turn into your cousin, you’ve got another thing coming!” said Ginny as she sat down beside Harry on the sofa; James continued to play with the Hippogriff. “Look at all of this stuff…and look at his nursery while you’re at it! All of the things he’s got, and he’s only just a year old…” “The difference between James and your cousin Dudley is how James is being brought up…your cousin was never taught to appreciate any of his things, so he never did come to appreciate them. Your aunt and uncle never taught Dudley honor or humility, so he grew up to be disrespectful and an arrogant git.” Harry sat quietly, letting Ginny’s words seep in. “You, on the other hand, Harry James Potter…” she paused for emphasis here. “You appreciate everything you have. You are honorable, and humble…well, except when you’re trying to get reception witches to let you take your child into Maternity Wards…” Harry’s serious expression cracked at her last comment. “My point is, we are bringing James up the right way…okay, so we lavish him with a lot of material things sometimes,” Ginny said, her arm around her husband now. “I think that’s due in great part to the fact that we both didn’t have much to call our own as children…” Harry leaned his head to rest on Ginny’s shoulder. “You’re right, you know,” he said softly, watching James awkwardly mount his Junior Nimbus. “But is it okay to live vicariously through a child…are we going to hinder him by doing that or help him?” “My only answer is that we have to give him more than just the material gifts throughout his life…and make sure he knows which ones are most important.” They reclined together on the sofa, watching James ride his Junior Nimbus as it looped at a cautious pace around the coffee table. Ginny knew which gifts were most important in her life, and they were right there with her in the living room – one was zooming around the room like a miniature Quidditch-pro on a baby broomstick and the other had his arms wrapped tightly around her, softly whispering the words, “I love you,” into her ear. *** Author’s Note: Apparently Ron and Hermione buy their birth announcements at Hallmark! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> The verse before the actual announcement was “borrowed” from a Hallmark card I purchased at the birth of my nephew. And little Reid’s name wasn’t chosen without purpose. The name Reid means “red-headed” and the name Hewitt means “little smart one.” Quite appropriate for the child of Ron and Hermione, don’t you think? And the added bonus is that he’ll have his parents’ initials! Don’t you just love babynames.com?? They make “shopping” for baby names a breeze! *grin* Some of you may be asking yourselves, “What happened to Christmas?” Well, the simple answer is that Christmas was just too much for this chapter to hold. But, for those of you out there who are fanatics about Christmas, there may be another instance where I’ll be able to work the holiday in! Last but certainly not least, THANK YOU to those who have left feedback! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"> It’s a proven fact that oodles of feedback can fuel a writer! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> Keep it coming! Stay tuned for another chapter update sometime soon…we will find James a wee bit older in chapter four… <center><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-4/1 ... poster.gif" /></center>

Post by **majiklmoon** » Fri Apr 23, 2004 9:03 pm

awe...a new ficlet from Bisty <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"> WTG Bisty...New shampoo???? to quote Mickey D's - I'm Lovin it! <center>It all started with a boy, a girl, and a silver handprint.</center><center><a href=http://pub84.ezboard.com/bmajiklmoonsrealm><img src=http://members.aol.com/majiklmoon/image ... a></center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Sat Jun 19, 2004 12:13 pm

Chapter Four – Cabin Fever Ginny didn't want to fully admit it, but lately the role of housewife and stay-at-home mum was making her feel somewhat restive. It had been a gorgeous May afternoon, and she and four-year-old James had spent the better part of it out-of-doors – until the rain moved in, that is. Then it was back inside to face the domestic music. Ginny trudged into the kitchen and helped James out of his sodden trainers. She whipped up a snack for her son, then set off to mop up the muck they had both tracked in. "Accio dishrag! " she called, summoning a red-and-white checked cloth out of a kitchen drawer. The cloth whizzed across the kitchen and into her outstretched hand. As she slowly wiped up the mess, her mind began to wander… For the past few months, Ginny had secretly been harboring a desire to return to what she did before becoming a mother – painting. She hadn't picked up a paintbrush since James' birth, save the one time she hadpainted a mural on his bedroom wall when he was two years old, but even then she used a template she'd found in the Witch Weekly home-makeover edition, plus she used a charmed technique to speed up the process, so it really didn't count. She'd been too busy at the time to consider applying any of her own personal ingenuity to the painting. But before James came along, Ginny had painted quite a bit. She had been commissioned by her very own brothers to design original promotions advertising many of their unique products for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They gave her free creative reign over the designs, trusting her uncanny ability to capture the spirit of whichever joke shop gem she was promoting with her painting. She had never been nominated for any sort of awards for her ads, but the sales of Canary Creams tripled the week after her colorful advert was seen in the Sunday trade section of the Daily Prophet, and her depiction of the twins' Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs made a permanent transition to the product's packaging after being seen on a billboard in Diagon Alley for a fair few months. Ginny had caught the creative bug early on in life, but hid the fact that she loved to draw and paint for some time. Only occasionally would she show hints by offering various individuals her handcrafted cards (one she gave Harry her second year stood out in her mind, probably because she had also charmed it to sing quite shrilly). But it wasn't until the brief spell she spent as Dean Thomas' girlfriend at the beginning of her fifth year that she really began to show anyone her talent. Hogwarts had held a contest for the students to design a banner promoting school unity. Each house was allowed one submission for the challenge, and Ginny submitted a banner to be considered by the Gryffindors. She had listened to so many hours of Dean mulling over ideas for the contest that she couldn't avoid coming up with a few of her own. Her housemates ended up choosing her banner over Dean's (although his was quite good too) and their relationship fizzled out shortly thereafter, maybe because he didn't quite know what to make of having such an artistic competitor as a girlfriend, but more likely because one of his dorm-mates had become quite visibly (though at the time openly denying it) smitten with her. At any rate, her knack for art had burgeoned, and she found that there was no turning back. By the time she was in her sixth year at Hogwarts she had designed her first advertisement for her brothers (a blood-chilling painting promoting Nosebleed Nougats for the Halloween edition of The Quibbler – Luna Lovegood's father ran the ad on the house) and just two years after she left school, she was actually being courted by some of the establishments in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley for her work – most notably, Zonko's, whom she'd turned down flat. "Finished, Mummy," said James. He was standing over her with a crumb-laden dish, staring in wonder at his mother, who was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor with a muck-covered dishrag in her lap. Ginny had been totally immersed in her thoughts and had neglected to notice the fact that James had finished his snack. "Oh, sweetheart…put your plate in the sink. Are you thirsty? Would you like some pumpkin juice?" Ginny suddenly had a tremendously guilty feeling. She looked at her son with shame all over her face; James merely shrugged. "Okay," James answered and he trotted back over to his place at the table while Ginny fetched him his favorite vivid-orange tumbler – the one his Uncle Ron bought for him at a Chudley Cannons match last fall. It had speeding cannonballs all over it. Ginny dispensed a serving of juice into James' Cannons tumbler. As he sipped, Ginny found her thoughts trailing off yet again… She began to wonder if Fred and George were considering updating any of their advertisements any time soon. Lately, they had been using some flashy photographer to capture young, frolicsome witches and wizards partaking in joys wrought from the use of products that could be found only at 93 Diagon Alley. The twins' last catalog featured a photo collage of eleven-to-seventeen-year olds dressed in garish Muggle-style clothing; some were shown vomiting, owing to the fact hat they had ingested Puking Pastilles; others were depicted minus their heads as a result of wearing Headless Hats; and still others were portrayed shooting off a variety of fireworks that were colliding with each other in the sky, showering them with colors even more flamboyant than the ones they were wearing. In Ginny's opinion, it was an unabashed disaster. She supposed it did appeal to their target audience, however she found herself imagining other ways she could appeal to them, in a less repulsive sort of way. *** The next day, while she was walking James to his three-day-a-week class at Madam Scholastica's Day Nursery, Ginny found herself pondering how she'd broach the subject of returning to work with her husband. She honestly didn't think she'd have any trouble convincing Harry that going back to work was a good idea; it was more like trying to persuade him to help her figure out how they could make the plan succeed. When she worked on commissions for her brothers before, her studio was located in the room James was currently occupying. She reckoned it was conceivable that they could convert the spare bedroom into a studio, but that would leave them without a place for guests to sleep. The sunroom was an option, but James liked to play out there – turning it into an art room would make it an off-limits zone for him (Ginny imagined a paint-splattered rug and many-colored handprints adorning the sunroom windows). On the walk back from Madam Scholastica's, Ginny thought back to the batch of letters she'd received when she was only eighteen-years-old. The ones from Zonko's and Gambol and Japes had practically pleaded with her to do commissions for them, too. She'd promptly written back to them, expressing her regrets and telling them in no uncertain terms that she worked exclusively for Fred and George. But her requests didn't stop with the joke shop vendors – a witch from the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley had written a fairly enticing letter that almost convinced her to change her exclusive status to semi-exclusive. It read: Dear Miss Ginevra Weasley, I recently had the great pleasure of viewing the dramatic painting you did for the fine merchants at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. You know, the one that was featured in the highly underrated, yet deeply profound periodical, The Quibbler. The way your brush strokes conveyed the distress that poor bloke was feeling stuck at his mother-in-law's Halloween feast. And when he swallowed that sweet – what was it called again, a Bloody-Something-Or-Other? – he gushed like he'd been skewered with something sharp right up his nostrils! At any rate, it was a modern-day classic. I'll be so bold even to say it matches up to that timeless gem Flourish and Blotts put out about thirty years ago. You know the one, don't you? The one with the troll, and the wizard, who says, "The quill is mightier than the club!" In any case, I could praise your work until the Hippogriffs came home, but I feel doing so would keep you from your brushes, palettes and enchanted canvases, and I realize that a prima donna of the paintbrush like yourself mustn't be kept from her art for too long! So before I digress further, I'd like to try to sway you into painting something for my own humble establishment. You may have heard of it – Magical Menagerie, which is located in London's premiere shopping district, Diagon Alley, and which offers unlimited varieties of magical creatures fitting the tastes of every consumer, Galleon-back guarantee! I could match whatever sum the brothers Weasley are paying you, plus throw in adiscount on your next purchase. Please reply as soon as possible! Sincerely and with extreme admiration, Madam Zoë Ziegler, Shop Owner Ginny's head had practically swollen to Percy-like proportions after reading Madam Ziegler's gushing tribute to her artwork, but she promptly had her ego punctured when George pointed out that the letter reeked of groveling and arse-kissing. "It's not that you're not good, little sis," George had told her after being deeply amused by the letter. "It's just…'prima donna of the paintbrush?' Could she do any more kowtowing? Oh, wait…there was also when she said the Nosebleed Nougat ad was a 'modern-day classic!' Can't forget that!" Ginny had considered being offended by George's comments, but she re-read the letter and ended up convincing herself that what he said was absolutely true. After all, Madam Ziegler did refer to The Quibbler as a "deeply profound periodical." There was just something off about that statement in and of itself. When Ginny reached the house, she shirked off the domestic responsibilities she normally took care of while James spent time with his playgroup. It's not as if Doxies will start nesting in one afternoon, Ginny thought as she rifled through the closet in the hall. She pulled out a black satchel, which was bulging to capacity. She unzipped the silver zipper and peered in – countless tubes of paint filled the bag; some were squeezed nearly dry and others looked brand-new. "Wow," breathed Ginny. "You lot haven't seen the light of day in years!" She cradled the bag as if it were a treasure chest. Then she got a brilliant idea. *** When James arrived back home following his afternoon at Madam Scholastica's, he found that his mother had set up at temporary art studio in the sunroom. An easel much like the ones his teacher had in her classroom was facing the large windows that opened up into the back garden. The grand windows allowed loads of sunlight to stream in. "Would you mind if Mummy draws a picture of you, James?" asked Ginny as she observed her son inspecting the art supplies that were set up in his usual play area. "Of me?" asked James. A smile was creeping across his mouth. "I like to draw pictures, too, Mummy…I didn't ever know you liked to draw pictures. D'you wanna see a picture I drew today, during arts and crafts time at school?" "Of course," said Ginny. She was always thrilled to see the masterpieces her son would bring home, and she always enthusiastically put a semi-permanent sticking charm on them in order to display them on a special wall in the kitchen – the wall she and Harry had affectionately dubbed as James' Gallery. James pulled out a sheet of manila parchment from his backpack and proudly showed his mum his work of art. Ginny beamed as she looked at the drawing on the parchment – a depiction of a father and son riding broomsticks together in the bright-blue sky, with fluffy white clouds beneath them. The expressions captured on their faces were exquisite, in Ginny's opinion – the dad wore an ear-to-ear grin while the son's mouth was open, as if whooping in excitement. Ginny tapped the parchment with her wand and the scene played out; Ginny giggled. "I love when your teacher allows you to used the enchanted crayons…this is splendid!" James grinned. "Now draw me, Mummy…please!" "Certainly," said Ginny, setting James' drawing aside and picking up a drawing quill. She began to lightly sketch outlines onto the heavy sheet of parchment that hung from her easel, capturing with each movement of the quill her son's distinct features. She sketched the shape of his eyes and began to contemplate which shade of blue she'd mix for his eye color later on. She smiled as she illustrated his cheerful expression, and waved her wand over her first sketch of his hair to make it disappear, not being satisfied with the degree of untidiness she'd given it. When, at last, the rough sketch was complete, she called James to come around the easel and take a peek. For a few seconds, he merely stared at it unblinkingly, then he spoke. "Wow…that looks loads like me," said James, clearly in awe. "'Cept…" "Except what, dear?" asked Ginny curiously. "'Cept I have more colors on me than that…maybe you can use some of my crayons if you want, to add colors." Ginny smiled broadly. "Oh, don't worry…I'll add colors in just a bit, only I thought I'd use paints instead of crayons." She gestured to the black satchel she'd rescued from the closet earlier. James gave her an approving look, and she set off to work. *** By the time Harry had Apparated home from work, Ginny's portrait of James was nearly complete; Ginny was merely adding some last-minute touches to define some of James' skin tones, and to emphasize where the sunlight had highlighted his hair. As she dabbed a bit more paint onto her brush, she heard James' eager voice announcing to Harry, "Did you know that Mummy is an amazing drawer?" "A what?" answered Harry. "A drawer!" answered James, sounding a bit exasperated. "And a painter…she can paint really amazing too!" Ginny heard a sound that conveyed her husband finally comprehended James' four-year-old phraseology. "Wanna see, Dad? Wanna see what Mummy is painting? Betcha can't guess!" he said, and he walked into the darkening sunroom pointing at himself. Ginny lit a lamp with her wand, laughed out loud, and said, "Oh, you'll never guess, Harry." James was practically tap-dancing on the spot. "Hmm," said Harry in mock-contemplation. "I dunno…has your mother been painting pictures of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?" Ginny giggled. James looked at his father as if he were a nutter. "Dad," he said, intoning that his father please be serious. "Okay…not Crumple-Horned Snorkacks…perhaps a portrait of her one, true love?" Harry said with a proud grin. "Who'll that be, then?" asked Ginny, teasingly. "Kirley McCormack, lead guitarist for The Weird Sisters?" Harry furrowed his brow at her and answered back, "No…that'd be Barny, the Ballycastle Bats' mascot!" "I'll have you know, Barny's quite adorable, Mr. Potter!" said Ginny, in her own defense. But James was having no more of his parents' unbearable squabbling. "Mummy painted a picture of me, Dad! Look…look! It's amazing!" "So I've heard," replied Harry, who was adjusting his glasses as he positioned himself to look at the portrait. "Wow," Harry breathed as he looked at the easel. After a moment or two, he said, "Amazing!" "Told you!" James said, with pride. *** After James had been tucked into bed, read to from Quidditch Through the Ages, and finally drifted off to sleep, Ginny snuggled with Harry on the sofa. "What inspired you to get your paints out again?" asked Harry as he stroked back some wisps of Ginny's hair. "To be honest, I wasn't certain you even still had them." Ginny shrugged. "I don't know what exactly brought on the urge," she answered. "I can't remember if there was something in particular that made me want to paint again, but the feeling just kept getting stronger, until it was almost all I'd think about during the day. I'd be doing something completely simple, like making a snack for James, and I'd catch myself remembering when I did stuff for Fred and George." "You really enjoyed painting, and not just for business…I remember that portrait you did of your parents." Ginny nodded. That particular painting hung in the Burrow, above the mantelpiece in her parents' living room. She'd given it to them as an anniversary present the first year she and Harry had been married. It was one of the last personal things she'd worked on, though – the last being a portrait of Ron. She'd given that to Hermione and made her promise not to throw kitchen utensils at it when they rowed. "I've been thinking I'd really like to take it up again," Ginny commented. "And maybe do a little of both – for pleasure and for profit." Harry continued to stroke her hair. "I'm not sure Fred and George are even interested, mind you," she continued, "but even if they aren't, I'm sure I could do some work for someone else…" "Magical Menagerie, perhaps?" said Harry, with a chuckle. Ginny sniffed. "Perhaps…or someone. Maybe not even in advertising, either. Maybe I could paint portraits…I mean, what I could charge for sitting fees alone would more than cover an addition…" "An addition?" Harry inquired. "To the house," Ginny said quietly. Harry stopped stroking her hair, and for a split second, Ginny thought he might be tempted to pull it in frustration. But she took his pause for frustration, when in reality it had been a contemplative pause. "What'll we be adding, then? It seems as though the sunroom makes a decent studio." "But James plays out there…and can't you just see it now, I'll have Gobstones floating around my paint palettes! Not to mention when he decides to try out a few techniques on the walls, and Merlin help him if he tries to give your Firebolt a coat of…" "Okay, I see your point," said Harry nervously. "How about adding a playroom on for James, and keeping the sunroom as a studio for you? You can't beat the light you get in there…that was one of your chief complaints about the room you were in before, wasn't it? Poor lighting?" "It was," agreed Ginny. "So, is it safe to say you're on-board with this little venture?" "It's safe to say that," said Harry. He craned his neck and gave Ginny a soft kiss on her cheek. "You owl Fred and George in the morning, and I'll see about hiring a construction team for the new room." ** Author's Note: And just a "coming attraction" for further updates to the story – Aggiebell mentioned wanting to read a chapter about James during his "terrible twos," and you may have noticed that I sort of glossed over a couple years with chapter four (one minute he's a toddler, then next he's in preschool). Rest assured that in the near future we'll get to see a flashback sequence to that "terrible two" period – think about the bedroom makeover mentioned in this chapter. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> Hopefully, it'll be good for a few laughs! <center><a href="http://www.phoenixsong.net/symphony/stories.php?psid=23" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-4/1 ... ps.net.gif" /></a></center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Sat Jun 19, 2004 12:35 pm

Author's Note: A portion of this chapter is about as PG-13 as things have been thus far in the story. The flashback sequence has a scene that was inspired by an article I read in this month's Parenting magazine. One sentence in the article really inspired me: Having toddlers is like living with the sex police – they're worse than my parents. That about sums it up for poor Ginny and Harry! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> This chapter is dedicated to those who had the desire to see James as a two-year-old… Chapter Five – Date Night Ginny sat in her studio, amidst three unfinished paintings and a stack of orders for several more. She glanced out of one of the many windows and saw the new addition to the house gleaming in a stream of warm sunlight – James' playroom, which had been built on as an extension of his bedroom, jutted out into the back garden and stood parallel to Ginny's art studio. As she gazed at the new room, she couldn't help but to start contemplating ideas for the mural she wanted to paint in there. She'd probably go with Quidditch as an overall theme, but which teams to paint would be the next dilemma. She knew whom she favored, at any rate, as she imagined painting a team wearing black robes with a scarlet bat displayed across each player's chest. Then Ginny's mind began to wander, back to the last time she planned a mural for James' room… *** "Isn't this the most adorable little boy's bedroom?" Ginny held up the copy of Witch Weekly she'd been perusing for her husband to see a photo of a brightly colored, magical-creatures-themed bedroom. A chipper young lad was bouncing on his Hungarian Horntail-shaped bed and smiling a little too widely, revealing the fact that his front teeth were missing. Harry lowered the sports section of the Daily Prophet and observed. "Hmm," he said and nodded. "Very adorable, especially when comparing it to the other children in the family…you know, Artie's hasn't got anything on it…and Reid's? Forget it. Not a single, adorable article in that kid's entire bedroom…" Ginny tossed a sofa cushion at him. "You're being impossible," she said teasingly. "I do try, dear," said Harry, grinning behind the page of Quidditch scores and tossing the cushion aside. "And you do succeed," said Ginny, moving to sit down on the arm of Harry's chair. She craned her neck to read the results of the Cannons/Bats match – Chudley Cannons, 20; Ballycastle Bats, 160. "Ahh, Ballycastle eked out a win I see…Ron won't be speaking to me for at least a week, though I can't see what I had to do with it." "I'm sure he'll come up with some far-fetched plot you've conjured in order to generate another loss for Chudley," Harry said jokingly. Ginny shook her head glumly and gave the sort of look a five-year-old with her hand caught in a jar of Every Flavor Beans would give. "Yeah…he'll find me out. It wasn't Ian Jefcoate, Ballycastle Bats Seeker, who won the match. It was I, Ginny Potter, devious mastermind, determined to make my brother's life miserable by taking Polyjuice Potion, thereby transforming into Seeker Jefcoate and enabling me to become the Impostor Jefcoate, thus succeeding in my evil plot to ruin said brother's life forever!" Ginny allowed a wily expression to linger for a moment before giving in to a fit of laughter. "Ron has such an overactive imagination," she said when her laughter finally died down. Harry grinned. "I dunno about that," he said, putting his paper down and pulling her onto his lap. "Exactly where were you last night, madam?" "I have an alibi, Mr. Potter," said Ginny, folding her arms haughtily. "I was having dinner with you…unless you've forgotten, in which case I'll be sending you an owl from my legal representative—" "Oh, no," said Harry as he uncrossed Ginny's arms and replaced them so that they draped over his shoulders. "It's all coming back to me now. But there are parts that are still a little foggy…maybe if you did something to help jar my memory." Ginny was tempted to jar his memory with a swat over his ridiculously charming, untidily groomed head. The copy of Witch Weekly lay only inches away, but she resisted the impulse when faced with the more advantageous option of snogging. After all, Harry'd be in a much better mood after a good snog, and therefore more apt to give in to redecorating James' bedroom. Devious mastermind, indeed. It was highly distracting having her neck nibbled while trying to reach for Witch Weekly's annual home-makeover edition; she had intended to broach the subject of the room redo at that point but, for the moment, Ginny had forgotten what in the world she wanted it for in the first place… Your one and only son's bedroom…redecorating…domestic transformations, a little voice in the back of Ginny's mind told her. A more persistent part of her brain, however, told her, Later…this is much more gratifying than pestering Harry about room makeovers…and, after all, talking would divert him from what he's doing right now, which is quite nice actually… Harry had decided to nibble other places, and Ginny suddenly had a flashback to when she was seventeen years old and would furtively try to find places to steal kisses (and the occasional grope) from Harry, away from the prying eyes of her family (especially her mum); after all, James was just asleep in the other room, and since he'd graduated from his cot to his "big boy bed," he was known to burst into the living room, totally unannounced, at any hour of the day or night, just as he pleased. Okay, Ginny told herself. I'll talk about room redecorating later…because we might not get a chance for this later… Harry had somehow managed to get himself and Ginny comfortably to the rug in front of the fireplace, and he muttered "Incendio!" before going back to that clever trick he was doing with his… But before Ginny could allow him to finish that oh-so clever trick, and before she could even say, "Smooth one, Potter!" in reply to his technique with the fireplace, they were both apprehended by the local authority of Interrupting Intimate Situations… James Sirius Potter: Toddler. "Mummy…did you fall down?" James' sleepy voice brought Ginny back to earth with one swift jolt. Ginny got to her feet quicker than a Billywig in a hurricane. "Oh, yes," she lied. "Mummy fell down and Daddy was seeing if she – if I – was okay. And I am. I'm okay. Do you need anything, love?" She hastily made certain all of her garments were in the right place, and shifted to stand in front of Harry, who was haphazardly doing up the buttons on his shirt. "I'm very firsty," said James, before letting out a ferocious yawn. Ginny knew very well what being "firsty" meant; James needed a drink, and it only seemed he got very "firsty" when she and Harry showed signs of wanting to have some Mummy/Daddy Time. "C'mon, big guy," said Harry, scooping James up in his arms and carrying him towards the kitchen. "What'll it be? We have three very fine choices…room-temperature water, chilled water or iced water." James let out a giggle. He's getting him all wound up, thought Ginny. So much for Mummy/Daddy Time. She picked up the copy of Witch Weekly and studied the template provided – patterns for dragons, griffins, hippogriffs and winged horses were included. Instructions told the "amateur design-witch/wizard" to "tap once with wand and template will increase in size, then tap twice when template has reached desired size." Ginny grabbed her wand and tapped the pattern for the Norwegian Ridgeback. The dragon pattern swelled until it would fit over half of the wall, then Ginny tapped it twice and admired it. "This'll be a cinch," Ginny said to herself. The instructions also advertised the fact that a special charm was included in the painting article (page 74), and would allow the amateur design-witch/wizard to use a technique that would cut painting time down to a mere five minutes. "What'll be a cinch?" asked Harry, returning from the kitchen with a wide-awake James in tow, but he realized what when he saw the near life-size representation of Norbert in his living room. James whooped appreciatively at the sight of the dragon template, reaching out for it eagerly. Ginny tapped it gently with her wand, shrinking it back to its compact form. "You'll find out all about that tomorrow, young man," Ginny told James as she set the template down on top of the magazine, then she took James from Harry. "For now, it's off to bed!" * Harry had agreed straight away about doing the changes in James' bedroom, but as Ginny struggled trying to get the temporary sticking charm to work on the dragon template, her mind had become preoccupied with the fact that she and Harry hadn't had any real "alone time" in forever. She loved her son with all her heart, but she felt like if she didn't get Mummy/Daddy Time soon, she'd begin to forget completely what it was all about… "Stick, stick, stick!" Ginny shouted as the dragon pattern flopped to the floor. She waved her wand at it threateningly, to no avail. "Is that the incantation?" asked Harry, peeking his head around the doorway. Ginny flushed. "Er…not really…but I think the sticking charm the magazine gave is defective. I can no more get that bleeding dragon to stick to this wall than…" "Careful," scolded Harry, but with a smile. "Little ears—" Mr. Little Ears had just whizzed into his bedroom on his Junior Nimbus and was looking quizzically at the template that was lying on the floor. "What happened?" James asked as he hopped off of his tiny broomstick. "Mummy is having technical difficulties," said Harry, who was glancing at the temporary sticking charm instructions in Witch Weekly. "This doesn't seem right," he said, shaking his head. "What do you say Dad sticks his head in the fireplace and asks Auntie Hermione how this rubbish is supposed to work?" He was talking to James, but the comment was clearly intended for Ginny. "This is more her area of expertise than mine," said Ginny with a sigh. "I'm about to give up all together…" "Don't do that," Harry said. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Harry disappeared from the hallway and Ginny sat down on the carpet with a sigh. James plopped down in his mum's lap and wrapped his wonderfully soft two-year-old arms around her waist. "You know just how to make me feel better, d'you know that?" she asked as she stroked the messy mop of hair atop her son's head. James shook his head and said a dignified, "I reckon I do." He gave his mum a tighter squeeze. "What do you think about plain walls after all?" Ginny asked after a fashion. "You didn't have your heart set on dragons and hippogriffs, did you?" James looked at Ginny in utter disbelief. Ginny feigned a smile. "Of course, Mummy is only kidding." She sighed again as she eyed the stubborn Ridgeback template lying uselessly on the floor. "Look who's here to translate the ancient runes in your magazine, Ginny." Ginny turned around at the sound of her husband's voice at the door. With Harry stood Hermione, her frizzy brown hair pulled sloppily into a ponytail. Her grey tee shirt (which read Arithmancer in navy blue letters on the front) wasn't tucked in, and her jeans had splotches of dried food (green peas, if Ginny was to venture a guess) all over the left leg. Been there, Ginny thought. "Harry told me all about the trouble you were having," Hermione said at once. "I'm sorry about looking like I've been through the mill – I just finished giving Reid his lunch, and Ron just went off with him to the Burrow – Reid's spending the night with your parents." Ginny felt a pang of jealousy. She wondered if her mum and dad wouldn't like two grandchildren this evening. "How'd you manage that?" asked Harry, who had probably had the same fleeting feeling of envy Ginny had. Arthur and Molly hadn't turned out to be the reliable babysitters Ginny had imagined they'd be when James was born. Now that her father had retired from work with the Ministry, her parents had become quite the world travelers – in Portugal one week, Japan the next, then off to Brazil for a fortnight… "Ron caught them at a good time," said Hermione as she picked up the now well-worn copy of Witch Weekly in one hand and a corner of the dragon template in the other. "They're due to leave for Morocco in a few days, but in the meantime they said they'd love to have Reid over…" "…and who were we to go against Mum and Dad?" Ginny turned to the door of the bedroom just in time to see Ron's lanky form stride in. "What's all this?" Ron said, looking at the templates and instructions for Quick Painting covering the majority of the flooring in the room. "How'd Ginny twist your arm to get into this, mate?" He looked at Harry with interest. Ginny blushed. She didn't recall any arm-twisting per se, but twisting in general… "That wasn't necessary," Harry said evenly, taking the edge off of Ginny's noticeable embarrassment. Hermione waved her wand at the template, murmured an incantation, and easily stuck it to the wall. "Does this look good to you?" she asked, referring to her placement of the dragon. "A little to the left…don't you think so, Harry?" Harry nodded. "I'm going to pull James' chest of drawers back in that spot" – he pointed to the right side of the wall – "so, in order for Norbert not to get covered up by a piece of furniture—" Hermione un-stuck the template and replaced it when Ginny gave her the thumbs-up. James clapped and asked for Ginny to make the dragon appear. "Not now, sweetheart," she said, patting his head. "Mummy is going to take a break." She thanked Hermione for her help and asked if she and Ron would stay for tea. * James zipped around the living room on his Junior Nimbus as his parents, aunt and uncle sat at the kitchen table, chatting and enjoying their steaming cups of wildberry tea. They had been discussing the dilemma of never getting what Hermione called Grown-Up Time. "We call it Mummy/Daddy Time in the Potter household," said Ginny, taking a sip of her tea. "Honestly, I think Reid is a highly advanced Legilimens," said Ron. "What do you mean?" asked Harry. "I mean, he reads our minds…and when our minds are on certain things, he starts wailing." Ginny couldn't help but snicker, but Hermione shot Ron a dirty look. "It's not as though we didn't expect things to change after Reid came along," said Hermione with a sniff. "But it's not as though we expected it to go from feast to famine, either," said Ron, setting his empty teacup down with a clunk. Ginny squirmed in her chair and tried not to get a visual of the feast portion of Ron's comment. Ron picked his cup up quickly and peered inside, then he showed it to Hermione. "Look here…that's a sun, that is. And if you'd finished out your career in Divination…" Hermione scoffed. "Ron, you didn't so much as earn an O.W.L. in Divination." "…you'd know that the sun is a sign that great happiness is on its way." He waggled his eyebrows in a way he clearly thought was becoming. Hermione stood up and smiled, in spite of herself. "I'd best get this one home before he really starts embarrassing me." She leaned over to hug Harry, then Ginny. "And besides, if it's date night tonight, I might consider getting out of these Mummy Clothes." Ron hugged Ginny and whispered in her ear, "Thanks for not mentioning the Quidditch scores." Ginny grinned and squeezed her brother back. "What Quidditch scores?" Hermione and Ron said their last good-byes and Disapparated with a distinct pop. "Would it be rude to owl your mum and dad to ask when we get our date night?" Ginny laughed, but thought it would be kinder if she didn't answer. If her parents were off for an excursion in Africa in a few days, Mummy/Daddy Time might be put off for… Ginny sighed deeply. For longer than she wanted to think about. * This Quick Painting should be a piece of Cauldron Cake, thought Ginny as she reread the spell carefully. She lifted her wand ceremoniously and spoke the incantation clearly. The dragon outline magically transformed. Its scales turned an inky shade and the ridges that ran along its back turned a deep, jet-black. The streams of flame it was breathing became brilliant hues of red, orange and gold, and when Ginny tapped it with her wand, the dragon breathed fire towards the ceiling again and again. Ginny would have liked to have added some other touches to the mural, aside from what was included in the other templates, but she looked at her watch and decided there just wasn't the time. She sighed regretfully and started to position the hippogriff template on the opposite wall. "Bless you, Hermione," said Ginny as the template stuck to the wall on the first attempt. The hippogriff on the wall was in a low bow, and Ginny secretly lamented over the fact that she wouldn't have the time to paint a little jet-black-haired boy opposite him, bowing back. She raised her wand again, and opened her mouth to say the incantation… …just as James' sped into the room on his Junior Nimbus. SMACK! If Ginny hadn't initially been shocked past the point of uttering a sound, her first inclination might have been to gasp in horror, but after a moment of realizing James was unharmed, her next inclination would probably have been to laugh. He looked like someone who had been Disillusioned and who was standing in front of a dappled hippogriff, except that there was no hippogriff… James looked down at his arms and yelled. "Mummy hexed me!" Harry appeared so quickly in the bedroom, he could have been shot from a cannon in the living room. Ginny had finally found her voice. "Oh, dear…I didn't hex you!" She was shaking with laughter, yet tears were running down her cheeks. "You got in the way of my painting charm…and now look at you!" James couldn't stop looking at himself. "I don't like this," said James matter-of-factly. "It doesn't hurt, does it?" asked Ginny urgently, suddenly feeling quite panicky. "Should we take him to St. Mungo's?" She rounded on Harry. "I don't think so…let's consult that sodding—" "Little ears, dear," said Ginny automatically. "That niggling magazine for an erasing spell." Harry flipped through the pages and stopped after a few seconds. "Here…" He pointed at page 76. "Here's the incantation for erasing mistakes." He raised his wand and opened his mouth to speak. "WAIT!" shrieked Ginny. Harry dropped his wand to the floor in surprise. "Merlin, you gave me a heart attack…wait for what?" "What if…what we erase James?" Ginny mumbled. James started to bawl. * Four-and-a-half hours later, the Potters arrived back from their trip to St. Mungo's. "That reception witch has it in for me," Harry said as he plopped down on the sofa. He had just come back from laying James in his bed. "Oh, your just still sore at her from when Reid was born…" "Perhaps," said Harry, stretching lazily so that he took up the length of the sofa. He removed his glasses and sat them to rest on the end table. "Budge over," said Ginny, who lay down alongside Harry after he made room. "Well, no one can say our life is dull," she commented after they both lay in silence for a few moments. Harry chuckled. "I haven't known dull for a fair few years," he said. "But I'll taking accidentally painting our son any day over certain other alternatives." Ginny sighed. "I hear you." They lay silent for another few moments, Harry holding Ginny close. She had her hands clasped with his, and after a while she was certain he had drifted off to sleep – his breathing had become quite even. But she discovered she was wrong when he finally spoke. "D'you think this would be too forward? Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Your daughter and I are greatly in need of some alone time…Do you think it possible that you could look after your grandson the day after tomorrow so that Ginny and I could take a tumble?" Ginny laughed so hard, her sides ached. "I think we'd have to bury Mum on the spot!" said Ginny through snorts of laughter. "Honestly, Potter…you have such a way with words! 'Take a tumble!'" Several minutes later, the flames in the Potters' fireplace glowed green, and Arthur Weasley's head appeared. "Harry! Ginny! I tried to contact you lot two hours ago, then an hour ago, but no luck. I almost gave up trying…" "What is it, Dad?" asked Ginny urgently. "Is Mum okay?" "Molly's fine, dear," said Arthur. "But my knees are killing me, so I'll make this quick…your brother said something about your mother and I looking after James for a bit." "When would you like him?" chorused Ginny and Harry together. "Tomorrow evening, then?" said Arthur. "We're off to Morocco not too long after that, so…" "It's a date!" said Ginny. *** Ginny laughed out loud at the memory as she sat on her stool in front of her easel; a nearly-completed painting for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was propped there, staring back at her, begging to be finished. "You can wait," said Ginny impishly. "I'm going to owl mum and dad to set up another date night." <center><a href="http://www.phoenixsong.net/symphony/stories.php?psid=23" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-4/1 ... ps.net.gif" /></a></center>

Anonymous · Post by **Anonymous** » Sat Jun 19, 2004 10:21 pm

Excellent <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"> More of this please

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Sun Jun 20, 2004 3:39 pm

Thank you, HermioneGranger1980...more is on the way. Chapter 6 is in the works and should be ready for reading sometime next week. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"> I'll keep extra shampoo on-hand however, just in case my muse wants to make trouble for me! <img src=http://www.majiklmoon.com/ezboardsmilies/lol.gif ALT=":lol"> <center><a href="http://www.phoenixsong.net/symphony/stories.php?psid=23" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-4/1 ... ps.net.gif" /></a></center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Thu Jul 01, 2004 1:06 pm

Chapter Six – Be Mine The envelope Ginny held in her hand was snow-white, bordered with dancing, primary-colored letters of the alphabet. The handwriting upon it was the neatest she had ever laid eyes on; each letter had been meticulously formed to spell out her name. Just to the right of the word “Potter” was drawn a tiny, ruby-red apple. She knew straightaway this was correspondence from Miss Wicket, James’ nursery school teacher. Ginny opened the envelope and began to read the letter: Dear Mrs. Potter, As you may have heard, our Room Mother, Mrs. Felicity Cartwright, has come down with a most unfortunate case of throbbing hives. In her spare time, Mrs. Cartwright is a volunteer potion-tester at the Madam Morgana Personal Hygiene Potion Plant in Berkshire, and sadly bathed in a substandard tub of bath salts during last week’s analysis of products. This is an ill-timed happening indeed, because the children are in the process of planning for their next big affair: Valentine’s Day. In Mrs. Cartwright’s absence, I am finding myself in a bit of a bind. I am currently without a hostess for the children’s Valentine’s Day bash and without a pair of hands to make decorations and treats for that same event I’m afraid it just won’t be the same. I implore you to help your son’s class and me. I have it on good authority that you are clever and creative, and that is just the sort of mum I’d have step into Mrs. Cartwright’s shoes! Please say you’ll be willing to take the place of Room Mother! Regards, Miss Cordelia A. Wicket Ginny absentmindedly scratched the end of her nose and gave Miss Wicket’s proposal proper consideration. Even though her artistic endeavors were just a wee bit backed up at present (“Where in Merlin’s name is that sketch for the Headless Hats hat box?”), Ginny found herself tempted by the teacher’s offer. After all, she had wanted very much to volunteer in James’ class when he started at Madam Scholastica’s the previous autumn, but Mrs. Cartwright had hastily written her name down in every category on the volunteer list – from Room Mother and Field Trip Chaperone to Friday Afternoon Storyteller and Christmas Pageant Director – not leaving much else for any of the other parents. Harry called her the Mum From Hell. “Oh, she’s not all that bad,” Ginny lied. “She does do a good job at whatever it is she’s doing. Maybe you could just call her the Mum From Purgatory instead?” Harry laughed quite a bit at Ginny’s forced diplomacy. But now, with Felicity Cartwright in the Potion and Plant Poisoning Ward at St. Mungo’s, Ginny had an in. She picked up a quill and began to scribble her response, accepting the position of Room Mother. *** “Guess what?” Ginny asked James when he arrived home from nursery school later that afternoon. She was grinning broadly, ever so anxious to share the exciting news with James about her promotion from Plain Old Mum to Room Mum. “What?” sighed James as he tossed his backpack aside. His little face looked weary. Well, this won’t do, thought Ginny as she gave her son a puzzled look. This wasn’t how Ginny imagined the scene to play out at all. She was supposed to ask James to guess what, James was supposed to guess (wrongly, of course), then Ginny was supposed to reveal the big news and receive showers of congratulations and praise from a thrilled little boy. The scene was not supposed to involve a boy who looked like his favorite Puffskein had just bit the dust. “Never mind,” said Ginny. Her news could wait. “Why do you look so miserable?” James frowned. He wasn’t saying a word. Sometimes getting information out of him was like pulling dragon teeth. “Sweetheart…you can tell me…you know you can.” Silence. “Okay, if you’d rather I didn’t know—” James heaved a big sigh and summed it up in five words. “Amanda Barton thinks I’m cute.” Ginny bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She wanted to say, “You are cute, dear!” but she didn’t want to seem patronizing. Instead she said, “That’s awful.” “It’s very awful,” James moaned. Nice save, Ginny thought. “It’s the awfulest thing that’s ever happened to me.” He picked up his backpack and lugged it to his bedroom. Ginny heard the bag slam into his closet. “Ever!” he shouted with emphasis. Such a tough life, Ginny thought. “Care to tell me about it over a glass of pumpkin juice?” Ginny offered as James moped back into the living room. James shrugged, then sighed again. Such a heavy burden to bear, being cute, Ginny thought as she poured two glasses full of chilled pumpkin juice. She smiled as she set a glass in front of James at the kitchen table. He picked up the glass, drank half of the juice and set the glass back down with a solid thunk on the table. A ring of orange encircled his little mouth and Ginny fought hard to keep from giggling. Amanda Barton knew of what she spoke. “So, tell me your troubles, laddie,” said Ginny, giving her best impression of a barkeep. “All I did was give her a Chocolate Frog card,” said James miserably. “And what did she do?” prompted Ginny. “She said, ‘Thanks, you’re cute,’” grumbled James. “And you don’t think she’s cute…is that it?” James looked utterly scandalized. “Yuck!” he bellowed and began to guzzle the rest of his pumpkin juice down, perhaps to settle the uneasiness in his tummy due to the suggestion that he possibly could have thought a girl was – gasp – cute. “I suppose not,” replied Ginny. James set his head down on the table and made a pitiful noise. “Well,” said Ginny quickly, wanting to brighten James’ dark mood, “I have a bit of news that might cheer you up!” James slowly picked his head up. “We’re moving?” “No, silly!” Ginny laughed, but she gathered that his comment was no joke. “No, your teacher – Miss Wicket – owled me this morning. She wants me to be the new Room Mother for your class at school!” Whatever response Ginny expected from this announcement, it couldn’t have been further away from what she got. James let out a low moan; something akin to the sound an injured animal would make right before snuffing it. “You can’t be Room Mother!” he said, his eyes full of tears. “You can’t because I’m never going back to school again!” He ran from the kitchen, down the hall and into his bedroom. Before slamming the door behind him, he shouted, “Ever!” *** “Where does all the drama come from, Hedwig?” Ginny stroked the snowy owl’s feathers gently as the bird sat upon the perch in the studio/sunroom. Hedwig had just delivered a reply from Miss Wicket. Ginny tore open the familiar envelope and read: Dear Mrs. Potter, I am thrilled that you’ve accepted my offer to become Room Mother! Please come up with some ideas for the Valentine’s Day bash and put them in writing by next Monday evening. All of the Room Mothers will be giving reports on their proposed plans at the monthly Home and School Organization meeting, which is being held at seven o’clock in the Thornfield building. I look forward to hearing your ideas! Regards, Miss Cordelia A. Wicket Ginny’s face went sheet-white. What had she got herself into? When accepting Miss Wicket’s offer, she hadn’t got the impression that the teacher was going to ask her to do a presentation in front of the entire faculty, staff and parent population of Madam Scholastica’s Day Nursery…and what was the point, really? She had reckoned, when Valentine’s Day rolled round, all she’d have to do was bring some red and pink streamers, a few lace hearts, and a dozen or so Valentine-themed fairy cakes to school and she’d be done with it, but Miss Wicket (or Miss Wicked as Ginny had just begun to think of her) had asked for these ideas in writing. Surely she’d want more written down than streamers, hearts and fairy cakes. What in the world did this woman expect from her? Card-carrying dwarves in Cupid costumes? She was giving serious consideration to letting James become a preschool dropout. At any rate, it would give her a reprieve from all of this Valentine’s Day nonsense. *** Over dinner that evening, Ginny told Harry about Miss Wicket’s offer, how she had accepted it and the subsequent noose that had been slipped around her neck in the form of a H.S.O. presentation. “Picture them all in their knickers,” said Harry as he took a jacket potato from the serving plate in the middle of the table. “Great lot of help you’re being!” exclaimed Ginny as she thrust the butter dish under his nose. “Thanks,” said Harry. He pointed meekly at the dish of sour cream and Ginny thrust that at him as well. He dolloped a bit onto the potato and swallowed very slowly before speaking again. “Would it be too much to ask for some grated cheese?” “I’m sorry,” said Ginny. She gently handed him a dish full of finely grated cheddar. “I’m just a little edgy over the prospect of having to speak in front of all those people about doilies and cake…I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.” James, who had silently been eating his dinner this whole time, finally piped up. “You don’t have talk about cake, Mummy.” He set his fork down next to his half-eaten, cheese-covered, jacket potato. “You don’t have to because I’m not going back to Miss Wicket’s class, or to Madam Slapsticka’s school, ever again. Even if it means I never get to be a proper wizard.” Ginny couldn’t even smile over James’ mispronunciation of Madam Scholastica’s name. He looked too miserable, the poor boy – not to mention Harry, who looked like he had the day he discovered his Nimbus 2000 had been pulverized by the Whomping Willow. “Wassthis?” asked Harry, with a mouthful of potato threatening to be spewed across the table. Ginny hadn’t had the time to fill Harry in on the Amanda-thinks-I’m-cute crisis when he Apparated home from work. She’d barely had time to fill him in on the H.S.O. predicament since dinner had just been set upon the table. So, she settled on giving him the abridged version of events then and there, before he choked to death on his food. Harry chugged down half a glass of water before clearing his throat and offering advice to his forlorn son. “If your mum can get up in front of a vast assembly of school people and parents next Monday, you can face Amanda Barton in school tomorrow.” Both Ginny and James blanched at Harry’s proclamation. “Where’s your Gryffindor courage?” he declared before strolling over to the counter to help himself to a slice of bread. For the first time in her life, Ginny had a sudden, fleeting thought that she wished she’d been a Hufflepuff. *** James had faced his crisis with a supply of guts that would have made Godric Gryffindor weep with pride. Ginny, however, felt that her Gryffindor card was about to be revoked. James had come back from his next day at school after the Amanda Incident with a skip in his step, a smile on his face, and the news that Amanda now thought Robbie McCafferty was cute. What a little tart, Ginny had thought savagely. After all, Amanda had caused James a good fifteen hours of misery, and she didn’t even have the decency to think twice about him the next day? But James was over the moon about it and that was all that mattered. But today was the acid test for Ginny. At seven o’clock, she’d be expected to captivate an entire audience with her clever plans for the three-day-a-week, four-year-old group’s annual Valentine’s Day bash…but with what? Pink-frosted fairy cakes with glittery sprinkles? Red-lace hearts? Stunning topics, those were. Hopefully there’d be a Healer or a pub keeper among the lot of parents, because Ginny knew she’d need a shot of something before all was said and done. *** “I don’t think I can go through with it,” said Ginny fretfully ten minutes before it was time to Disapparate from the house. She had her crumpled speech in her left hand and beads of sweat were accumulating on her forehead. “I think I’m ill…honestly, I think I’ve come down with a fever.” “It’s just nerves,” Harry reassured her. “I’d usually get that way before a Quidditch match, but it all went away once I got on my broom and the game began—” “This is not like Quidditch,” Ginny spat. “I don’t recall ever having to talk to the crowd during a match!” “Would it be better if I came along?” asked Harry. “I could see if we could get someone to look after James—” “No,” said Ginny miserably. “We haven’t the time.” *** Pop! Ginny Apparated on to the school grounds of Madam Scholastica’s Day Nursery and looked around at the mini-campus for a moment. There were three pretentious buildings on the property – Fairfax Hall, where the students had classes; Rochester Dining Hall, where the students had their lunches; and the Thornfield Auditorium, where assemblies and school programs were held. Thornfield. Ginny recognized the vine-covered facade of the Georgian-style structure immediately. A notice was posted outside the building that read: Annual Valentine’s Bash Presentations At Tonight’s H.S.O. Meeting! Top billing, thought Ginny as she scuffled towards the entryway. As she entered, she noticed a few witches and wizards were milling around the vestibule, sipping paper cups filled with pumpkin juice and eating biscuits, but most of the crowd as proceeded into the jam-packed auditorium. Inside the auditorium, voices echoed around like claps of thunder and Ginny felt her pulse quicken. She was certain her robes were soaked through with perspiration by now. She began to wonder whether eating dinner earlier that evening had been such a clever idea – she could feel the remains of her food rocketing around her insides like a bunch of bewitched Bludgers… “Mrs. Potter!” Ginny heard a cheerful voice calling from the first row of seats. Miss Wicked! Ginny felt like answering. James’ teacher was waving at her madly, beckoning her to join the group of witches sitting in the first row. A little sign was posted at the end of the seats: Reserved Seating: Room Mothers Only. “I’m so glad you made it, Mrs. Potter,” Miss Wicket said as she ushered Ginny to the end of row one. “Let me introduce you to the other Room Mothers.” Ginny gave an artificial smile to the other witches sitting beside her. “This is Perpetua Joye, Room Mother for Miss Blanchard’s two-day-a-week four-year-old group.” Miss Wicket gesticulated towards a chirpy-looking, well-dressed blonde witch at the beginning of the row. “And this is Glenna McGivens, Room Mother for the three-day-a-week three-year-old group.” Miss Wicket motioned towards a brunette, curly-haired witch sitting next to Perpetua Joye. Ginny heard herself muttering, “How d’you do?” over and over to the entire row of Room Mothers before Miss Wicket finally turned to Ginny and announced, “And this is Ginny Potter – you all have heard of her husband, haven’t you?” The row of Room Mothers turned to Ginny and cooed in unison, “Harry Potter?” I’m going to be sick, Ginny thought. I’m going to heave right here and now, all over Mrs. Whatsherface’s freshly-pressed Madam Malkin’s Exclusive Designer robes. She looked at the witch sitting next to her apologetically. She was certain her ham and potatoes were going to come up any second now – Oh, why did Miss Wicked have to mention Harry in all of this? For one brief, shining moment she was just Obscure New Room Mum, but now she was New Room Mother Extraordinaire, Wife of the Wizarding World-Renowned Harry Potter…they’d expect a stunning, brilliant speech from her now! Just look at the stupid expressions on their faces! “Pssst…Mrs. Potter, you’re the first one up, after Madam Scholastica gives her speech.” First! Ginny clasped a hand firmly over her mouth. Dammit, stay where you are ham and potatoes! She could visualize tomorrow’s Prophet headlines now: Traumatized Wife of Famous Harry Potter Vomits on Gaggle of Room Mothers at Nursery School Assembly! Photos Below. Not happening, Ginny thought as she choked down her nausea. Her palms sweat profusely during the whole of the headmistress’ speech. She groaned as she realized the ink had run on the piece of wrinkly parchment she had clutched in her hand. Not such a big deal. After all, how difficult was it going to be to remember streamers, hearts and cakes? “…and now, on to the main item on our agenda this evening – the annual Valentine’s Day bash!” The auditorium erupted into tumultuous applause. Ginny thought it wasn’t too late for her to Disapparate. “Our first presenter this evening, representing Miss Wicket’s three-day-a-week four-year-old group, is Mrs.—” Madam Scholastica squinted through her spectacles to read a note on the podium in front of her. As she read it, a look of delight spread across her face. “Our next presenter is Mrs. Ginny Potter, stepping in for Mrs. Felicity Cartwright, who I hear is doing well as she recovers in St. Mungo’s!” More applause, and Ginny wasn’t sure if it was for her or for Mrs. Cartwright’s progress in the Potion Poisoning Ward. “Go on!” whispered the row of Room Mothers, and Ginny realized it was time for her to take center stage. *** “So, how was the meeting?” inquired Harry as Ginny appeared in the living room. “I survived,” Ginny said as she plopped down upon the sofa and kicked her shoes off. “That makes me very happy,” said Harry, plopping down beside her. “I’d have a hard time explaining to our son that his mum was swallowed up whole by the audience at a school assembly.” Ginny scowled at him. “Too early to make jokes?” “You’d better believe it, mister,” said Ginny, burrowing under his arm. “You’re very brave, you know?” said Harry, giving her a squeeze. “I am…it’s true,” replied Ginny. “If not for my Gryffindor courage, I would not have been able to go on telling the whole lot of them about hearts and cakes after—” She paused. “After what?” asked Harry. “After taking the stage and kindly thanking Madam Slapsticka for allowing me to come!” Harry remained still and quiet for a moment, then said – very soberly – “You’d have made old Godric very proud.” Ginny thought about telling him it was okay to laugh, but she thought better of it. There’d be plenty of family gatherings later on for that – she was quite certain this incident would give Fred and George ammunition until kingdom come, and later on she wouldn’t care at all if they joked – Merlin, she’d probably laugh at herself as well – but right now it still stung just a bit too much, and it was good to have a husband who understood that. *** “Tomorrow’s the big day, huh?” asked Harry on the evening of the thirteenth of February. Ginny nodded as she placed the last of the two-dozen, pink-frosted, red-and-white sprinkle-covered fairy cakes into a take-along container. She had a bulging sack of decorations for James’ classroom sitting on the kitchen table, including some balloons and sparklers George had brought by earlier. “Are these safe?” she had asked her brother with an eyebrow raised. “Would I give them to you if they weren’t?” retorted George. “Wait, don’t answer that—” Ginny’s eyebrow didn’t budge. “I solemnly swear…” said George. “…that you aren’t up to no good?” George laughed. “This is Valentine’s Day, little sis…not April Fools!” “This coming from a man who thinks every day is April Fools!” George threw his hands in the air. “Guilty as charged, but I promise you, none of the kids will be harmed while sharing in the fun these Weasley products have to offer.” “Can I have that in writing?” George kissed Ginny on the forehead, said, “Have fun at the Bash!” and Disapparated with a loud Crack! before Ginny could say another word. Harry rummaged through the sack and saw the triple-W emblems on the package of balloons and the box of sparklers. “Did you mention these items in your speech the other evening?” “No, but if I had, it would have made my three-and-a-half minutes on stage much more interesting.” They both laughed; a lot of the sting had dulled since the disastrous H.S.O. meeting. James wandered into the kitchen, wearing pajamas and dragging his backpack behind him. He plopped down on the tile and unzipped his bag. He took out a couple of picture books; some ancient pieces of already-chewed Droobles wadded up in old wrappers; a mangled-looking peacock quill; a ball of twine (Ginny wondered what James intended to do with that); and a wrinkled piece of parchment that had a bit of old gum sticking on one of its corners. He handed the parchment to Ginny. After smoothing the creases out and being careful not to get her fingers caught in the gum, Ginny noticed the date in the top left corner of the paper. The letter – and indeed, this was another letter from Miss Wicket – was dated two weeks prior. Dear Parents, The students will require a set of Valentines to bring to school with them on 14 February, addressed to each of their fellow classmates. I do hope I’ve allowed enough time for you to put this project together! Regards, Miss Cordelia A. Wicket “James, dear,” said Ginny through clenched teeth. “How long have you had this little note in your backpack?” James shrugged. “Dunno.” He was busily wrapping twine around his ankles. “Miss Wicket didn’t just send this note home today, did she?” James didn’t answer. He was concentrating on getting the twine wrapped to shin-height. “Give your mum an answer,” said Harry in a your-father-means-business tone. James paused as the twine had reached his knees – he was nearly to the end of his rope, in more ways than one. “No,” he said. “I think…I think she put it in my bag a while ago.” Ginny’s grip on the note was very firm. So much so that her hand was shaking. “Okay,” she said very slowly, in a very anguished tone. “There’s nothing we can do about that now…what we have to do now is write Valentines for all of your little schoolmates.” James breathed a sigh of relief, but looked a little panicky, as he was bound with an entire ball of twine and pretty much stuck on the kitchen floor, and at the mercy of his mother (who looked like she was ready to crack at any given moment). Ginny looked at Harry. “We’ll need parchment…I have some fancy stuff out in the studio. And some quills…there are bottles of red and pink ink in the studio as well.” Harry nodded and went to retrieve the items. “James…how many children are in your class?” James looked up at the ceiling as he pondered this question. “There are a lot of us,” was his final answer. Ginny groaned. “Let’s do it this way…can you tell me all of their names?” “Sure!” said James excitedly. “Okay then,” said Ginny, equally as excited to have made some progress. Harry returned with parchment, quills and ink and Ginny was ready to start a list of the kids in James’ class. James began holding up his fingers as he ticked off the names of Miss Wicket’s students. He held up one finger and said, “Well, there’s me…” “We gathered that much, sport!” said Harry, grinning. Ginny ignored Harry and told James to go on. “Brian…Anna…Andrew…Zachary…Samantha…Lucas…Alex…” Ginny scribbled the names down. “Anna…” “You already said that one,” said Harry. “There are two people named Anna, Dad!” said James in exasperation, as if Harry should have known that already. “Robbie…Spencer…and…” James breathed an enormous sigh. “…Amanda.” “And that’s it then?” “I think so,” said James, who was trying to disentangle himself from the twine. Harry tugged his wand from the pocket of his jeans and helped him loosen the binds. “Well, if not, the others are out of luck…this is the best I can do on such short notice.” Ginny had her own wand in hand and aimed it at a pile of scarlet parchment Harry had retrieved from the studio. She muttered something under her breath and in next to no time the stack had transformed into a stack of scarlet paper hearts. “Shall I just write Happy Valentine’s Day! To: Whomever, From: James on each one?” asked Ginny as she dipped her quill into some glowing-pink ink. Harry smiled devilishly. “Oh, I reckon you can do better than that!” Ginny gave him a warning glare. “Do you fancy being covered in pink ink, sir?” Harry looked a little nervous all of a sudden and shook his head fervently. Ginny’s other hand was clutching the ink well threateningly. “Then don’t you dare even suggest I write any poetry on these cards!” *** It was Ginny’s great fortune that the Fates had finally managed to smile down upon her the next day. James had successfully remembered all of the names of the students in his class the evening before, so no one was without a Valentine card at the Bash. The fairy cakes were a huge sensation, as was the gallon of pink-tinted pumpkin juice Ginny had brought along. Miss Wicket was greatly impressed with Fred and George’s throbbing, heart-shaped balloons that crooned love songs, as well as their “I’m Holding a Torch For You” sparklers that rained down oodles of magenta and silver twinkles and sparks. All in all, it was as successful as a preschool party could be expected to be. And Ginny’s luck didn’t run out when she and James arrived back home after the school day was finished. Molly and Arthur Weasley were sitting on her sofa in her living room. “Pack James’ things…we’re having all of the kids at the Burrow tonight!” said Mr. Weasley brightly. “But…it’s Valentine’s Day,” stammered Ginny. “Sure is, and we’re giving our children a treat,” said Mrs. Weasley. “But what about you and dad?” said Ginny, utterly confused. “Oh, we’re off to Paris next week…we’ll have plenty of time for romance then,” Mrs. Weasley replied with a wink and a nudge to her husband. “That’s right,” replied Mr. Weasley, nudging his wife right back. “So pack James up, and get yourself together. Your husband left you a note, by the way.” Ginny eyed a sealed envelope on the table. She blinked a couple of times and considered pinching herself, but instead took James by the hand and led him to his room. James did a dance of joy while Ginny tossed clothes into an overnight case for him. As she plopped a couple of pairs of socks on top of the clothing, he said, “Will Reid and Artie be there, too?” “And Beatrice and Bianca as well, I expect,” said Ginny, folding James’ pajamas neatly and planting them into the case beside the socks. James stuck out his tongue. “Be nice!” scolded Ginny. She looked at the case. “Anything I’m forgetting?” “Mr. Snuffles!” shouted James as he grabbed a tattered stuffed dog from his bed. “We can’t forget him!” acknowledged Ginny as she tucked the well-loved dog into the case and zipped it shut. *** Dear Ginny, Meet me in front of the fire at seven. Bring lots of poetry. Love, Your Inordinately Devoted Husband Ginny laughed out loud as she read Harry’s note. Poetry, indeed. And under a living room ceiling Harry had enchanted so that it reflected every star in the heavens, the two made poetry together well into the night. <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... annons.gif" /></a> <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a> <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... dforge.gif" /></a></center>

Post by **majiklmoon** » Fri Jul 02, 2004 9:31 pm

Oh, Harry and Ginny having wizard nookie <img src=http://www.majiklmoon.com/ezboardsmilies/lol.gif ALT=":lol"> <center>It all started with a boy, a girl, and a silver handprint.</center><center><a href=http://pub84.ezboard.com/bmajiklmoonsrealm><img src=http://members.aol.com/majiklmoon/image ... a></center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Tue Jul 06, 2004 10:11 am

Tracie - Well, they are a happily married couple. It's only natural. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"> <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... annons.gif" /></a> <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a> <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... dforge.gif" /></a></center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Fri Jul 09, 2004 6:12 pm

Author’s Note: I must take a moment to acknowledge my good friend Tracie. She got me out of quite a bind with this chapter. Thank you, dear! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"> I hope you approve of the changes I made, including the title – the old one didn’t quite fit, but I’m reserving the right to use it in future. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> *** Chapter Seven – Catastrophes for All Occasions Ginny stepped out of one of the many fireplaces in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic building in London, patted the dust from her robes and set off to locate her husband. As she boarded a lift, she wondered if maybe she should have contacted him first that she was coming; it’d be just her luck that Harry and Ron would have decided today was a good day for lunch away from the office. When she reached the second level, where the Auror Headquarters were located, she walked to where Harry’s and Ron’s cubicles were situated, and glanced inside. She noticed first that their desks were unoccupied, then that Ron’s was an utter mess. Parchment was practically stacked ceiling- high in several chaotic piles and about seven or so interdepartmental memos were fluttering about just above Ron’s chair, awaiting his return. Ginny laughed as she read the small sign posted on the wall behind her brother’s workstation, alongside his Chudley Cannons calendar and a family photo of he, Hermione and Reid: You don’t have to be mental to work here, but it helps. Harry’s desk, by comparison to Ron’s, looked quite orderly. Ginny knew better, however; Harry had the habit of making piles of things so that they displayed a neat appearance, but just ask him where something was in those tidy piles and he would have to shuffle through them for about an hour. It was a blessing that his and Ron’s jobs weren’t balancing on their ability to file paperwork. Ginny strode over to a woman with honey-gold hair who was leaning against the outside of one of the cubicles, hiding behind a copy of The Quibbler and reading quite intently. “Excuse me,” said Ginny. “Can I leave a message for my husband with you?” “I imagine so, but why not just hang around here with me until the old bloke gets back?” The woman didn’t budge from behind the magazine, but Ginny recognized her voice straightaway. “Tonks!” “Wotcher, Ginny!” Nymphadora Tonks lowered the magazine and grinned. Today, her eyes were sparkling violet and her nose was a cute button-shape. “I didn’t recognize you!” said Ginny. “I get that all the time,” said Tonks, shrugging her shoulders as if she hadn’t the slightest notion why, on occasion, people failed to recognize her. She winked a long-lashed eyelid and grinned. “But honestly – don’t just leave a message! Stay here and have a chat until Harry gets back. He’s off with everyone else, taking lunch ...and I would have joined them, but I had to meet a witch in Berkshire about an investigation at a potion plant. Some tosh about poisoning and malicious intent, but I reckon they had some git forget to put ingredients in a batch of bath salts or something. At any rate, I only just got back, and lucky for me I had some Chocolate Frogs stashed in my desk or I wouldn’t have had a thing to eat!” Ginny’s mind flickered to the letter James’ teacher had sent her mentioning Felicity Cartwright’s condition and wondered if she was the witch Tonks had gone to Berkshire to interview or not. But she forgot all about that when Tonks flashed the article she’d been reading in The Quibbler at her. “Have you seen this?” asked Tonks. “Just came out today...these are friends of yours, aren’t they? Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom?” Ginny looked at the title of the article and wasn’t surprised a bit: Planning the Wedding of the Century: A Fairy Tale Come True for Editor’s Daughter. “I haven’t read or even seen the article, but I got this from a post owl about an hour ago,” said Ginny, reaching inside her robes and retrieving a silver envelope. “It’s a wedding invitation...it’s actually why I’m here to see Harry.” She pulled out a piece of silver parchment and handed it to Tonks to read. “Oh, a hilltop ceremony!” exclaimed Tonks as she read the invitation. “I love outdoor weddings.” She sighed. Ginny looked at her in surprise for a moment, then laughed. “I never imagined you were such a romantic!” “Ah, well...” said Tonks, getting a faraway look in her purplish eyes. “So, Stoatshead Hill...where exactly is that? I’ve never heard of it.” “Right outside the village where I grew up, Ottery St. Catchpole,” said Ginny, taking back the piece of silver paper. “Luna’s from the area, as well.” Tonks nodded and glanced back to the magazine. A look of dawning came upon her. “Hmm...I just caught that part,” she said, pointing to midway through the very lengthy Quibbler article. “And you and Harry are mentioned—” Tonks continued to survey the article. “Did you realize you were Matron of Honor and Best Man, respectively?” “Er – let me see that,” Ginny said in surprise. She had no prior knowledge of such a thing, and it wasn’t that she objected. It was just that it would have been a good thing if she’d been made aware of it first. She scanned the words: Choosing the proper attendants is a must for any nuptial ceremony, as Luna Lovegood well knows. Sources confirm that Ginny Potter will serve as Miss Lovegood’s Matron of Honor; Ginny’s husband, Harry Potter, will stand in as Mr. Longbottom’s Best Man; and the Potters’ son, James will be ring bearer. Other attendants include Hermione Weasley as bridesmaid and her husband, Ronald, as groomsman. Ginny stared at the magazine in awe. “Fifty Galleons says Ron and Hermione haven’t got a clue about all of this either!” “A clue about what?” Ron’s voice cut across the Auror offices. Ginny turned to see her brother and her husband striding over to join them. “About the fact that we’re in a wedding,” she said. “Whose wedding?” asked Ron incredulously. “Don’t tell me Charlie’s finally settling down...” “Not that I know of,” answered Ginny. Though, she knew, when Charlie finally did settle down, her mother would be a completely happy woman. Harry gave Ginny a quizzical look and asked, “Who is it that’s tying the knot, then?” Tonks held up a two-page, color photo of a nervous-looking Neville and a languid-looking Luna, holding hands in front of a huge display of white dress robes at what Ginny recognized to be Gladrags Wizardwear in Diagon Alley. “Longbottom!” shouted Ron. He gave a loud whoop. “It’s about bloody time!” “All right over there, Weasley?” said an Auror who had just arrived back from lunch and was walking by. Ron ignored him. He grabbed The Quibbler from Tonks and grinned at the photograph. Then he closed the magazine abruptly and scowled at Ginny. “What’s this about us being in the wedding...news to me, that is!” “News to me, too,” agreed Ginny. “Reckon we ought to get to the bottom of this?” asked Harry. “I reckon so,” replied Ginny. “We’ll take care of it after work,” Harry confirmed. *** Neville’s flat looked like a cross between an antique shop and a greenhouse. Thick, green vines hung from hanging pots and draped across the back of an old-fashioned sofa that had lion’s claws for feet. An array of small, traditional-looking tables stood in front of the large picture window; some of them displayed pewter picture frames with sepia-toned photographs inside; others displayed hand-painted porcelain teapots which were used not for serving tea, but for potting odd varieties of plants. Ginny took a seat in the middle of the sofa; Harry and James sat on either side of her. “Luna should be here any time now,” said Neville, wringing his hands. “Can I get you something while we wait? Tea? Pumpkin juice?” He made his way to the tiny kitchenette and rummaged around; Ginny heard the clatter of glassware and next second, a crash as something shattered on the marble countertop. “Damn!” Neville muttered. “Reparo!” “Can I give you hand with anything, Neville?” Ginny called. “No, no – everything’s under control!” Neville called back. “The day’s not complete until I’ve broken something. Honestly, some days I feel as if I should just toss a dish or something on the floor at breakfast, just to have it done with it!” Harry chuckled, and reached over to seat James on his lap; James was beginning to get antsy and had tried to pull Neville’s hanging vines onto his head. “So, what’ll it be?” Neville called again. “I’ve found some butterbeer, if you’d prefer that.” “Tea is fine,” answered Ginny, looking at Harry to make sure he concurred. “And some pumpkin juice for James, I think.” A few moments later, Neville emerged from the kitchenette, balancing a silver tea tray on one hand and holding up the other so he could check the time on his watch. Ginny held her breath as the teacups and glass of pumpkin juice wobbled, but she was relieved to find out (as Neville set the tray upon the coffee table), that not a drop of the beverages had spilled. “Help yourselves,” said Neville, checking his watch again. “Where is she?” he muttered under his breath. “Relax,” said Harry, before taking a sip of his tea. Pop! “Hello,” said a serene voice. Luna had arrived. Neville looked immensely relieved. He dodged over to her side, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “I’ll get you a cup of tea while you explain everything.” He was into the kitchenette again so quickly, Ginny could have sworn he’d Apparated in there. Luna slid into an ancient-looking armchair and sighed. “Work was very difficult today,” she said, sounding not the least bit miffed by her own statement. “Neville tells me you’ve read the newest copy of Daddy’s magazine, have you?” Ginny looked at Harry. His face was unreadable, except for his eyes, which had turned into two very large, green orbs. She could tell that Luna’s nonchalant-ness was getting to him. The same went for Ginny. It wasn’t exactly customary to ask people to be in your wedding by way of printing it up in a magazine article. What was Luna thinking? Ginny was about to find out. “It was a faux pas, having that article published in this month’s edition,” said Luna calmly as she toyed with an unusual strand of beads (tiny turtle- shaped ones) that hung around her neck. “A what?” asked Harry, allowing James to plop down on the floor – James had discovered an interesting book called Magical Plants in Mountainous Regions that contained loads of pictures and was keen to leaf through it. “A mistake, right Luna?” asked Ginny. Luna nodded. Neville came back clutching two cups of steaming tea. He handed one to Luna and began to nervously sip the second one himself. “I spoke with the witch who wrote the article last week – I wasn’t aware she was interviewing me at the time.” Luna took a long swig from her teacup, then continued in a calm manner. “I told her whom Neville and I were planning to ask to be in our wedding and naturally your names came up” – she beamed at them – “but never in a hundred years did I think she would publish that. My father is planning on having a little chat with her about decorum when it comes to putting things into print. You see, he wasn’t aware that certain things were off the record when her approved her piece.” She took another long swig from her teacup. “We’re really sorry it got printed before we had a chance to ask you!” blurted Neville. “Oh, it’s all right,” said Ginny. Harry nodded consent. “We understand, mate – it was just a little bizarre—” “A little unusual – to have read it before we heard anything about it,” said Ginny. “Well, what say you?” said Luna in a very languorous tone. “What say?” spluttered Harry (he was mid-sip). “Would you lot mind...I mean to say, we would agree if you’d be honored...” Neville was botching his words marvelously, and Harry’s tea-dribbling wasn’t helping matters. “What Neville and I’d like to know is, would you do us the honor of being in our wedding?” asked Luna in her ever-placid voice. *** Of course, Ginny and Harry could do nothing less than agree to be in the wedding ceremony. Ron and Hermione agreed as well, after the matter of The Quibbler “faux pas” had been all cleared up. The following weekend, Ginny and Hermione (with James and Reid in tow), met Luna in Diagon Alley for an afternoon of trying on bridal frocks. Georgette Gladrag (wife of Simon T. Gladrag, IV; owner of Gladrags Wizardwear) herself met the band of shoppers at the doors and grinned. Ginny noticed that Madam Gladrag’s cherry-red lipstick had been applied with skillful precision, broadening the woman’s mouth so that it appeared almost clownish. Her cheeks were blushed a rosy-pink, and her eyelids were dusted with a turquoise shade that matched her long robes (she was quite tall) quite faithfully. Her sleek, black hair was yanked back into a tight bun that perched proudly atop her head (adding to her height), and Ginny observed that several straight-pins stuck out of it as if it were a pincushion. “Welcome, Miss Lovegood! We’ve been expecting you!” cried Madam Gladrag, oozing with excitement. “I see you’ve brought your attendants and” – the clown-like grin ebbed away – “children with you.” She eyed James and Reid as if they were specimens in a Potions experiment. “Well, we were going to have my son try on dress robes while we were here, as he’s part of the ceremony too,” said Ginny, glaring at the clown-faced woman. “And my son, Reid, had to tag along, as well,” said Hermione, looking slightly mortified. Ginny wanted to tell Hermione that Reid had every right to be there as well, so long as he was well behaved. It was, after all, a public place. “You see, it’s Interdepartmental Quidditch League day at the Ministry, and the Aurors are taking on the lot from the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, so my husband...” “Very interesting,” said Madam Gladrag dismissively. She waved an impatient hand in the air and beckoned them over to an area in the rear of the shop where a semi-circle of floor-length mirrors surrounded a carpet- covered pedestal. Two uncomfortable looking chairs sat in the area, in between a table that had several copies of Witch Weekly: Bridal Edition scattered across it. “Prudence will be assisting me today,” said Madam Gladrag airily. A gaunt young witch with platinum hair floated to Madam Gladrag’s side and bowed her head obediently. “Prudence will be bringing Miss Lovegood a selection of bridal robes to start off with, so if you ladies would like to take a seat” – she looked at Ginny and Hermione and gestured to the uncomfy pair of chairs – “and in the interim if you’d be so kind as to keep your brood out of trouble.” Ginny was seething. Two little boys were not a brood. She and her brothers, now there was a brood. No wonder Mum never brought us in here when we were little. That and the fact they couldn’t have afforded to buy the buttons off of one of Gladrags Wizardwear’s over-priced robes... Ginny plopped down onto one of the chairs – an action she immediately regretted when she was nearly skewered to death by several loose springs. Apparently, Hermione had been likewise impaled by her chair – she wore a very pained expression on her face as she tugged Reid by the neck of his tee shirt to keep him from leaping onto the bridal pedestal. “This is boring,” moaned James, who had similarly eyed the very tempting pedestal and been maternally tsk-tsked away from it. “When can we go?” “When we’re finished,” snapped Ginny, who wasn’t any more thrilled about being in a pretentious robe shop with the high and mighty Madam Gladrag looking down a foundation-slathered nose at her. “Do we have to stay here and watch ladies try on dresses?” James asked his mother, looking utterly disgusted at the very prospect. “No, I don’t reckon you do,” said Ginny in a hushed tone. “Why don’t we let James and Reid amble around the shop a bit, so they’re not right under Madam Toffee-Nose’s high-heeled feet?” she whispered to Hermione. Hermione gave Ginny a do-you-think-that’s-such-a-clever-idea look, but finally nodded in agreement when Reid began to squirm fitfully in her grasp. Ginny took James firmly by the shoulders and, in a stern, Molly-Weasley- like whisper, said, “Conduct yourselves like gentlemen, and you be a good example for your cousin by staying out of trouble...you’re older!” With those words, Ginny seemingly had a bout of short-term amnesia, temporarily forgetting the proud lineage of troublemakers James (and Reid, for that matter) came from. Her current irritation with Madam Snooty had clouded her usual good judgement. She swatted James playfully on his backside, ushering he and his younger cousin away from the bridal robe area. The two children sauntered away, as quietly as a pair of dormice, and Ginny watched them as they stopped to look at a display of brand-new Hogwarts robes. She smiled as she saw Reid look gleefully at the mannequin (which was approximately the size of a first-year) donning a jet-black set of school robes embroidered with the very familiar crest of Gryffindor house. Well, at least Madam Gladrag has some taste, Ginny thought as she turned around to observe Prudence clutching an armful of ivory frocks. “Miss Lovegood,” announced Madam Gladrag. “If you would kindly step inside your fitting room.” She pulled back a mirror-covered door and showed Luna into a spacious dressing area, complete with more mirrors and a cushiony (and much less painful looking than the ones Ginny and Hermione had to contend with) chair. Prudence glided into the fitting room and hung a vast array of gowns up for Luna to sort through. “Can I give you a hand with anything?” Ginny asked of Luna, suddenly remembering Matron of Honor etiquette from when she shopped for bridal things for her own wedding, and for Hermione’s. “Clasps, button hooks...?” But Madam Gladrag waved her hands again, this time (Ginny could have sworn) in disgust. “No, no, no...Prudence will assist Miss Lovegood, dear.” Well, pardon me, Ginny thought as she began to develop a distinct loathing for the color turquoise. “For you two,” Madam Gladrag pointed a long, magenta polish-coated fingernail at Ginny and Hermione, “I have another task.” “And that would be?” inquired Ginny apprehensively. “That would be to try on bridesmaids’ robes, of course!” she said, a note of excitement trilling on every word. “Okay,” agreed Hermione, looking uneasily in Ginny’s direction. “Where shall we go to try them on?” Madam Gladrag whisked a wand out from within her turquoise robes and whispered, “Alohomora!” as she pointed it at another mirror-covered door, this one positioned right beside Luna’s. The door swung gently open. This fitting room couldn’t have been more different than Luna’s if it had tried. It had about an eighth of the floor space, the only mirror it possessed was on the outside of the door and even if it had had one of the murderous chairs in it (for it had none), there wouldn’t have been enough room left within for a person. “Who would you like in there?” asked Hermione timidly. “Both of you, naturally,” said Madam Gladrag in a disdainful sort of way. Her brain has been pickled, thought Ginny as her mouth fell open. She’d be trying to yank her elbow out of Hermione’s eye socket all afternoon if they had to attempt to dress and undress in that cubby hole. “Couldn’t we just take turns?” asked Ginny, using extreme effort to sound calm. Hermione nodded in agreement. “Oh, no,” simpered Madam Gladrag. “No, we have other appointments to keep this afternoon and I’m afraid that would take too much time.” She snapped her well-manicured fingers sharply and ordered Prudence to bring a selection of robes for the bridesmaids’. Prudence (who Ginny thought needed a trip to The Leaky Cauldron’s all-you-can-eat Sunday buffet) whisked her bony legs off to fetch some frocks, and returned in record time with her scrawny arms loaded down with a multihued assortment of robes made from all sorts of luxurious materials. She hung them on a stand outside the fitting room, since the room itself would have had to undergo a vast amount of transfiguring before anything else could have hoped to fit into it. And so must Hermione have realized this. As Ginny and Hermione crammed themselves into the puny room and shut themselves in, Hermione tugged out her wand and said, “This is preposterous!” She waved her wand, apologized to Ginny for nearly gouging her eye out with the wand tip, muttered an incantation, and transfigured the tiny fitting room into one the size of Luna’s. “Impressive,” said Ginny, stretching her arms out just because she finally could. Hermione tucked her wand away, blushing. “I didn’t get an ‘O’ in Professor McGonagall’s class for nothing.” Ginny cracked the door ajar and reached an arm through the crack. She called to Madam Gladrag. “We’ll take all of the robes at one time, if you don’t mind...we know how you have other pressing engagements this afternoon, and we’d like to be as quick as we possibly can.” Ginny felt a load of satin, chiffon, crepe and taffeta being draped across her outstretched arm and she muttered a thank-you and pulled the stack of robes in. Hermione eyed the robes suspiciously. “Some of these don’t look half bad, but” – she pulled the skirt of a bright red one up for Ginny to see – “some of them leave a bit to be desired.” Ginny sneered at the red robe. “Hmph...you wouldn’t catch me dead in that one...who does she think we are? Scarlet women?” They burst into a fit of laughter. “Is everything all right in there, ladies?” asked Madam Gladrag doubtfully. “Just dandy,” chirped Ginny. “But we think we’ll pass on the red one.” Ginny heard Madam Gladrag scoff through the closed door. “That’s not red, my darling...we call that one Bordeaux!” “My mistake,” said Ginny as she rolled her eyes. Hermione chose to try not-too-bad satiny robes in a color called Whisper (it looked pink to Ginny). The flattering box pleat and lovely beaded v- neck looked quite nice on her. Hermione said (and Ginny agreed) that she could have lived without the color, however. Ginny’s choice was satiny a- line robes with a high, sleeveless bateau neckline that plunged into a deep v-back with a modest train flowing behind. It was in a color Ginny approved of very much called Dusk (she would have called it midnight blue). The pair of them left the confines of their transfigured fitting room to model the robes for Luna, who was wearing a wispy chiffon bridal robe and a veil that completely hid her long, blond hair from view. “Oh!” Luna cooed when she saw them, in her always-dreamy way. “You two look just like angels.” Ginny smiled. Sure, if angels go around wearing pink and blue satin and trip because the hems of their robes are too long. As if on cue, Ginny tripped over the hem over her too-long robes. Madam Gladrag yanked a few straight-pins from her pincushion hairdo and began to pin up the hem of Ginny’s Dusk-colored robes several inches. “You’re quite a undersized little thing, aren’t you?” she said as she worked. Ginny had to really contain her anger not to reach for a few of those pins herself to stick into Madam Gladrag’s... “Ginny’s petite, Madam Gladrag,” said Hermione with a nervous chuckle. Clearly, she was afraid the ol’ Weasley Temper was going to flare up. Madam Gladrag eyed Hermione’s hem and said, “And I see you’re not much better off.” She laughed disdainfully. Hermione bit her bottom lip and Ginny noticed it turning purple. When they had both been pinned, they turned to Luna. “That’s a lovely gown...is it the one you’ve decided on?” asked Hermione. “Oh, no,” said Luna vaguely. “I think I’ll be wearing the robes my mother wore at her wedding, but this veil is quite nice, don’t you think?” “But it covers all of you hair,” said Ginny in protest. “Which isn’t such a bad thing,” said Madam Gladrag, butting in. She pulled up part of the veil and allowed some of Luna’s long, dirty-blond hair to show. “Kind of lackluster, isn’t it?” “I’m certain Luna is going to style it on her wedding day, aren’t you Luna?” said Ginny, her blood pressure rising. Luna gave Ginny a wistful smile and said, “I had planned on brushing it.” Ginny gave up the fight. “How about we try on something else?” she asked Hermione. Hermione nodded. The next robes in the bridal fashion show weren’t as pleasing as the first. Madam Gladrag had all but forced Ginny into donning the Bordeaux-Scarlet- Woman robes (which wouldn’t have been so bad in another color), and persisted until Hermione tried on ugly Seamist (also known as pale green) robes in taffeta, complete with rosettes, ribbons and ruffles. When they emerged from the fitting room feeling like two contestants on Badly Botched Witch Makeovers, Luna spotted them and began to laugh hysterically. “You two...” – snort – “...look...” – rib clutching – “...dreadful!” Luna plunked down in one of the torture-device chairs and laughed even louder. “Oww!” she moaned between bellows of laughter. “That hurt!” Serves her right, thought Ginny unsympathetically. Though, she is probably more amused with Hermione at the moment. Hermione was presently occupied with trying to figure out to keep the multiple layers of ruffles on the neckline of her robes from creeping up her nostrils. “I think these are a 'no,' then,” said Ginny flatly. “And I don’t know about Hermione, but I really liked the first pair, so maybe we can narrow it down from those two, and in the meantime, have James try something on.” Ginny was keen to depart the premises. “Where is James, by the way?” asked Luna, still with tears in her pale eyes from laughing so hard. “And Reid?” asked Hermione, glancing around the shop. “I don’t see them anywhere.” She was beginning to get a frantic look in her eyes. “They’ve got to be here somewhere,” said Ginny, trying not to get overly anxious. “James!” she called out. “James!” Madam Gladrag looked blisteringly disturbed at the prospect that the two children were at large in the shop, but before she could utter a sound, Ginny waved a furious piece of red satin at her and said, “Don’t get your turquoise knickers in a twist – we’ll find them!” She stomped off calling her son’s name – Bloody hell; the store wasn’t that big after all, where was he already? – with Hermione in pursuit, shouting for Reid. She eyed a section of the shop where many racks were displaying tons of brand-new, long robes and got the notion she had been wangled into a game of hide-and-seek. Ginny muttered a litany of well chosen swear words under her breath as she plowed her way through the racks of robes, searching for her son. She tripped over the hem of the Bordeaux satin robes she was wearing and nearly toppled the Hogwarts mannequin to the ground. Hermione – clad in Seamist taffeta – couldn’t stop herself in time and collided with Ginny’s satin backside, sending the trio of them (dummy and all) careening into a Wizard Workwear display on the other side of the robe shop. One of the arms of the Hogwarts mannequin had come loose and Ginny held it in her hands, ready whack herself in the head with it for being such an oaf. Just then, two little heads poked out from within the curtain of robes adjacent the mannequin disaster scene – one with flaming red hair, and the other with a mop of untidy black hair. Both faces looked sheepish, but tried to pull off innocent-looking expressions. No such luck. As the band of unfortunate shoppers traipsed back towards The Leaky Cauldron (“No, James I will not explain why we aren’t stopping by Florean Fortescue’s for ice cream!”), one thing became crystal clear – all further robe-shopping endeavors would have to be held at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. *** Author’s Note: The next couple of chapters will essentially be extensions of this one, covering the many interesting aspects of Neville and Luna’s impending nuptials and, of course, the wedding itself. From the irregular start of everything, we can rest assured things will not be NORMAL for this couple. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> And we can all certainly look for more antics from the littlest Potter in all of that. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> I almost hate for him to grow up anytime soon, but I know I’ll eventually have to get there. Furthermore, I feel the need to say that I solemnly swear I wrote the idea for a “hilltop ceremony” before I saw Spider-man 2! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> I got the idea from reading Goblet of Fire (the Lovegoods lived in the vicinity of Stoatshead Hill) and not from Pete Parker’s suggestion that M.J. would get married on a hilltop! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/tongue.gif ALT=":b"> And finally, this chapter was an absolute, positive pain in my arse to write! If you love it, thank Merlin. If you hate it, please be kind enough not to verbally thrash me too much – it would hurt me more than you know. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... annons.gif" /></a> <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a> <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... dforge.gif" /></a></center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Tue Jul 20, 2004 5:58 pm

Chapter Eight – Something Blue, Something Orange “Thank goodness Madam Malkin’s carries the robes we wanted!” said Ginny, waving a piece of parchment under Hermione’s nose. “Two sets of Dusk-colored bridesmaids’ robes were ordered yesterday, but…” – Ginny’s expression changed as she stopped waving long enough to read – “…it’ll be extra for alterations. Dammit, sometimes I hate being only a head taller than a house-elf!” Hermione shot her a ferocious glare. “Oh, you know what I mean…I hate being short!” She stood up on tiptoe. “I wonder what it’d be like to be tall like the grandiose Madame Gladrag.” She strutted around on imaginary high-heels and idly waved her hands about. “Nice impersonation,” said Hermione, still scowling. Evidently the house-elf comment had struck a nerve. “Are you almost done marking those papers?” Ginny asked impatiently. “We’ve got to meet Harry and Ron in…” – she consulted the clock hanging over the mantelpiece – “six-and-a-half minutes.” “I’d be finished if my concentration wasn’t constantly lapsing,” said Hermione through slightly clenched teeth. She sighed, wrote a large “P” on Gretel Pritchard’s paper, and tossed aside her quill. “That’ll do for now…let’s collect the boys and get over to Diagon Alley.” Ginny and Hermione stopped James and Reid midway through a quasi-match of chess; even though James was older, Reid was already showing his father’s aptitude for the game, albeit he still had a lot to learn (he was chucking a knight at James’ head when Ginny and Hermione walked in on the them). “They’re really too young to be playing chess,” said Hermione as she snatched the chessmen from Reid’s clutches (he was threatening to toss a bishop at James next), “but Ron insists on letting Reid play with his old set.” She whisked the chessboard away next. “No throwing chess pieces at your opponents, young man!” “But it’s not as if this young man is allowed play with anything else for the time being,” said Ginny as she rubbed the knight-shaped dent on James’ forehead. “Harry and I decided no broomstick – or anything else he’s particularly fond of – for a week, since he decided to be such a rogue at the robe shop!” James emitted a low moan. “How’s the head?” asked Hermione in a soothing voice. James contorted his expression. “I don’t care if my head falls off,” he said miserably. “I want my Nimbus back!” “Tough luck,” said Ginny, trying to muster a heart of stone. She looked quickly away from his baby blues before she melted and felt the need to relinquish the confiscated broomstick to her little miscreant. She found that delegating parental authority was a tricky task at times. On occasion, she could be as much of a saber-toothed tiger as her mother ever was, but then other times she was an absolute patsy – and that was usually about the time her young son began to widen his sweet little eyes and pop out his cute bottom lip. “C’mon you two…it’s time to go,” said Hermione. “Your fathers will think we got lost.” “Really?” asked James in awe. “But we know the way…we wouldn’t get lost.” He picked up a bright-orange set of pint-sized Quidditch robes and went to put them on over his jeans and T-shirt as Hermione made a comment about how literal small children were. “Hold your hippogriffs, James,” said Ginny. “No Quidditch robes on this trip.” James crossed his arms defiantly. Ginny turned to Hermione for aid. “He wants to wear them everywhere! Ever since your husband…” “Your brother!” “…brought them back from the last match!” “Well, Reid has a set as well, but he doesn’t seem as keen to show them off as James!” said Hermione, trying not to laugh. “Pick your battles, Ginny,” she advised sagely. Ginny shook her head as they departed. *** “Off to a match?” asked Ron, grinning widely as his nephew strutted into the Leaky Cauldron donning the bold colors of the Chudley Cannons with aplomb. “Nope,” James told him as he plopped down at the table. “I’m gonna have dinner, then Mum’s gonna take me to look at wedding clothes.” Ron chuckled. On their way to the robe shop, the grown-ups exchanged wedding tales while the boys traipsed in front of them playing a game of “How Long Can You Hop On Just One Foot Before Falling Down and Giving Your Mum Heart Failure,” and if the objective of the game was to see who’s Mum actually got heart failure the most, the undisputed winner was Reid. By the time they reached Madam Malkin’s, Hermione was frantically clutching her son in her arms, scolding him for taking at least seven years off her life (which was roughly the number of times he had collided with the pavement before she snatched him up and refused to let him walk any further on his own). At the door of the shop, Ginny made James solemnly promise not to knock over any displays or engage in games of any sort while inside. “We’ve got business to take care of,” said Harry to James in his most authoritarian voice. “You’ll have time to play later, but not in here…do you understand me?” James nodded. “Yes, sir.” And James kept his promise. He did not knock a single display to the ground, nor did he engage in Hide-and-Seek or any of the numerous other games small children might be tempted to play in a boring robe shop. Ah, but no one made him promise not to have a temper tantrum. That was Harry and Ginny’s first mistake. Their second was asking him to swap his bright orange Quidditch robes for a set of boring blue dress ones. “You’ll just need to take them off for a minute, James,” said Ginny pleadingly, tugging at his Cannons outfit. She wasn’t ready to be kicked out of two robes shops the very same week. James whimpered. “No! I won’t do it!” “The nice lady only wants to make sure these robes fit…these are the ones you’ll be wearing in the wedding,” said Ginny, holding up the dark blue dress robes for James to see, but her patience was running thin – as was Harry’s. “Lookit, James,” he said, trying not to cause an even larger scene than they were already working on. “I’ll hold on to your Quidditch robes, you slip on the robes your Mum’s got, and Madam Malkin will just put a few pins in…” “NO!” “Why not?” shouted Harry, who looked to be on the verge of taking his offspring by the scruff of his neck and bodily removing him from the premises. James crossed his arms in a rebellious manner that keenly reminded Ginny of herself. “Mum only said we had to look at wedding clothes. I don’t wanna wear them.” Hermione stepped in. “James, you’re taking things adults say quite literally…it’s common for a child your age to be that way, but what your mother meant was that, in addition to looking at the clothes, you’d also be expected to try them on.” James gaped at Hermione as if she had three heads. “No,” he finally said softly, clearly not understanding the majority of what she’d said, but getting the general picture. Ron shook his head and said, “Nice try, dear,” then he squatted down in front of James and said, “How about if your dad and I get fitted for our robes, then you’ll see how easy it is?” James shrugged his shoulders. Ginny looked at him cagily – he’d agree to anything at this point to get everyone off his back about him trying on a set of dress robes. After both Ron and Harry had been measured, dressed and pinned, the time of reckoning had come for James at last. Madam Malkin gave him a nervous will-he-or-won’t-he look as Ginny made to grab for the little set of blue dress robes. James gripped his orange Quidditch attire firmly and bellowed, at the top of his lungs, “NOOOOOOO!” *** Ginny had agreed to send James’ measurements to the shop via owl so that Madam Malkin could cut the robes to his specifications. And in the meantime, James was enjoying an additional week off his Nimbus. “You wouldn’t believe the grief he gave me,” Ginny told Luna a few days later over tea. “I’m tempted to burn those Cannons robes of his, but he even wants to sleep in them lately! Isn’t that bizarre?” “Oh, I don’t know,” said Luna, “there are these animals called Spotted Cantlehooks that live in the forests of Germany, and they don’t change from stripes to spots for years and years.” Ginny took a long swig from her teacup and firmly reminded herself whom she was talking to. “Well, I’m just afraid he’ll want to wear them in the wedding…I’m visualizing myself having to full Body-Bind him to get him into his dress robes on the day you get married!” Luna gave a peaceful smile. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to do that…after all, it’d be terribly tricky getting his rigid little arms into the sleeves of his dress robes, now wouldn’t it?” Luna had a fair point. Ginny started racking her brains for an alternative solution. *** Much to Ginny’s mortification, James’ yearning to be clad like the flyers from Chudley hadn’t desisted by the time Neville and Luna’s wedding day had rolled around. Ginny and Hermione had just finished enchanting each other’s elegant coiffures so that they had a spray of Ever-Blooming Bluebells encircling the alluring knots that their hair was styled into. Luna had insisted on three varieties of flowers at the wedding; apple blossoms for good fortune, lilies of the valley for happiness and bluebells for everlasting love. Since her bridesmaids were in blue gowns, she decided the bluebells would go in their up-‘dos as well as in her own bouquet. As Hermione coaxed a wayward blossom into settling around Ginny’s gingery locks, an ear-splitting yelp resonated through the walls, causing Hermione to send sparks flying from the tip of her wand. Just in the knick of time she’d managed to point her wand away from the vicinity of Ginny’s hair. Ginny glanced at Hermione with eyes full of gratitude for not setting her head ablaze, then looked towards the door of Luna’s bedroom, where they were getting dressed. “What was that?” she asked, though, deep in the pit of her stomach, she already knew. A mother always knew. Hermione gulped. “It sounded like…your son.” Of course it was her son. Harry was probably sitting on him in Luna’s father’s bedroom, insisting that he wouldn’t budge until James wised up and put the proper garments on for a wedding – garments that weren’t the not-so-subtle shade of neon carrot. “If Luna comes out of the bath, tell her I’ll be right back,” said Ginny before pushing up the sleeves of her blouse (she still hadn’t put her own dress robes on yet, thank Merlin) and marching determinedly down the hall to the room which sounds like a bleating calf emanated from. She knocked firmly on the door. “Who is it?” asked a panicky voice. Neville. “It’s Ginny,” she answered. “Oh,” answered Neville’s voice in alarm. He was speaking loudly, to be heard above James’ yowls. “Harry’s in here, you know…I’m not sure it’s okay if he sees you before…” “We’re already married, Neville!” Ginny shouted impatiently. “I can see my own husband…it’s Luna who can’t see you!” “Oh,” barked Neville in reply. “C’mon in then.” He swung the door open with much trepidation, possibly in case Ginny was hiding Luna behind her back. Ginny saw that her predication about what Harry was doing with James wasn’t too far off the mark, but instead of sitting on their son, he had two hands firmly holding him down atop Mr. Lovegood’s bed, though James was giving all his effort to wriggle free. Ron was holding James’ feet until the boy let his right leg thrash extra hard, giving his uncle a solid kick to his nose.” “Oof!” exclaimed Ron, clutching his face and staggering several steps backwards. When Ginny saw that blood was starting to ooze through her brother’s fingers, she had had enough. She thrust her wand into the air, allowing the wand to emit a thunderous BANG! and hollered, “ENOUGH!” at the top of her voice. “You…” she pointed her wand at her son, not so sure she’d be able to restrain herself from transfiguring him into a flower arrangement for the ceremony (though, with his current prickly personality, she was sure he’d turn out looking more like a cactus). “I want you in your dress robes…NOW!” Her wand hand was still aimed in James’ direction. James opened his mouth, as if to protest, but a saber-toothed tiger with bluebells in her hair was not to be messed with. Slowly – very slowly – James sat up on the bed and unclasped the hooks of the Cannons robes. Even more slowly he pulled his arms out of the sleeves, then very solemnly he handed them over to his mother. “If you’re lucky, you may get to see these again one day,” growled Ginny. The corners of James’ mouth twitched. “But that day won’t be any time soon!” she amended. James’ eyes couldn’t meet those of his vexed mum, so he looked at his shoes instead. “Now, while I make certain your Uncle Ron doesn’t hemorrhage to death from the bloody nose you gave him, I want you in those dress robes—” James wasn’t moving swiftly enough for Ginny’s liking “—PRONTO!” Ginny waved her wand so as to stop the blood streaming from Ron’s nostrils, then left them all – Ron looking grateful, Harry looking impressed, Neville looking uneasy, and James (her oh-so stubborn son) looking very humble. Without a doubt, when Ginny wanted to, she could summon her inner-Molly Weasley quite nicely. <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... annons.gif" /></a> <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a> <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... dforge.gif" /></a></center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Sun Oct 17, 2004 1:51 pm

Chapter 15 - A Christmas Quarrel The best remedy for a short temper is a long walk. – Jacqueline Schiff Author's Note: In this chapter, Ginny takes a long walk down memory lane to soothe her mind after her quick temper flares up. In her defense, the poor woman was suffering when her temper flared… <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> This chapter is kind of a snapshot I wrote before several of the more recent chapters, so you won't hear mention of the picture book. James is nearly seven-years-old and the twins are ten-months-old. *** From the instant Ginny peeled her eyelids apart that morning, she knew the day was going to be hell. It wasn't that she had even an ounce of Seer blood running through her veins, it was just that she could already feel the onset of the all-too familiar warning signs; her head was experiencing a dull throbbing sensation (as if someone was gently whacking her brain with a ten-ton mallet), her belly was puffed-up to the size it had been when she was she was several months into her pregnancy with the twins, and her disposition was such that, if anyone dared cross her today, they risked losing an eyeball (at the very least). As she came to that morning, she could smell a sickening scent wafting down the hall, invading her nostrils… What in the bloody hell is that awful stench? she wondered. She heaved her elephantine-like body out of bed and squinted at the clock. Five o'clock in the morning. No children crying and I'm out of bed at five AM? I must be delirious… Ginny stumbled down the hallway to find her husband sipping – no, slurping – from a huge cup of malodorous grog. "What are you doing?" barked Ginny. He looked at her in surprise. Shocked to see a whale drifting into the kitchen at this hour, mister? Ginny thought fiercely. "Well?" she said. "Having coffee," said Harry. Coffee? Is that what he calls it? Well, in about half a second I'm going to drown myself in a cup of it, just so I don't have to smell it any longer… "I'm off to work this morning," said Harry, setting his coffee cup into the sink. "But, it's Saturday," Ginny said, eyeing the cup insanely. Is he just going to leave it there? "I know, but it's important…I'll talk to you later." And the idiot Disapparated. Just when the twins began to wail in discordant unison. And without giving her a good-bye kiss. "Like he wanted to kiss an unsightly whale like myself anyhow," she moaned. She eyed the abandoned coffee cup maliciously and aimed her wand at it like a weapon. After taking care of the offending coffee cup, she tripped over a bevy of Quidditch action figures and almost slipped and fell to her demise on a pile of Chocolate Frog cards on her way to the girls' bedroom. "James!" her voiced boomed. If the rest of the house was awake, what gave him the right to sleep in? Especially when he just nearly killed his own mother with a lot of strategically placed toys? The girls continued to wail, and no sign of James. "I'll sort him out later," Ginny decided and entered her daughters' bedroom for morning damage control. *** The day was on a downward spiral. Both Molly and Lily had fevers, and James (once he had emerged from his bedroom) didn't look much better. And on top of it all, Ginny was experiencing the prequel (to end all prequels) to her monthly agony. She thought viciously how the wizarding world had come up with advances in magic that could ease the monthly suffering of bloody werewolves, but they couldn't come up with anything to ease a woman's monthly psychotic behavior? "Where's my sodding Wolfsbane Potion, I'd like to know?" she shouted to the room at large. Bad idea. Lily started to cry again, which triggered Molly, which triggered James to moan that his tummy was starting to ache. Ginny was ready to yank some tinsel from the Christmas tree in the living room and stuff it into her ears to block out the noise. And where was Harry in all of this? At the office, probably having a game of chess with Ron and laughing over how fat his wife was looking today. The idiots, both of them. Then James set his breakfast loose all over the carpet. The breakfast he had eaten an hour ago. "That's it," Ginny growled after getting the mess cleaned up and rendering her three children unconscious with a children's strength anti-flu potion. "I'm doing it—" She marched over to Hedwig's perch and announced to the bird, "I'm sending him a Howler." So she did. She wrote the nastiest, most bile-soaked, spleen-spewing Howler ever written – and after taking a well-earned nap that afternoon, Hedwig returned with a note clutched in her beak. It read: Dear Ginny, I'm so sorry you've been having a rotten day. If I'd known the kids were going to be sick, and that you weren't feeling well either, I wouldn't have gone into the office at all today. It's just that there were some pretty urgent things going on with some teenagers doing some pretty dark stuff – well, I don't need to get into all of that right now, but I've called Ron in to take over. I'll be home as soon as he gets here. Hang in there until then. Love, Harry  Ginny felt like a sack of dragon dung. He didn't have one cross thing to say, even after she'd exploded like a mad woman at him, and now she felt the guilt seeping in. And it wasn't as if he'd been hanging about the office playing chess with Ron – he'd been trying to save innocent bystanders from the disreputable youth of the wizarding world's darker society. Dammit, she felt like a heel. "He has every right to serve me with divorce papers when he gets home," she wailed to Hedwig. "And Ron…Ron has every right to disown me." She had presently recalled the fact that Ron had just taken several days off from work to spend with his family, since Hogwarts had just gone on holiday for Christmas and Hermione would be home full-time. And now, thanks to her, he had to go back to work. Just because Ginny had been a miserable, whiny, semi-psychotic baby who couldn't handle a few hours on the weekend without her wonderful, unselfish husband. "Well, I guess the next time we see you will be at the Ministry Christmas party," Ron had said to both Ginny and Harry the night before his leave from work began. He, Hermione and Reid had come over for dinner. The recollection of Ron's proclamation suddenly struck a memory in Ginny's mind – a memory of the first Ministry Christmas party she'd ever attended and the first time she and Harry had ever kissed. The memory soothed her mind and soul. She'd only been fifteen years old at the time… *** Ginny could see why Ron had protested coming; an evening spent with Cornelius Fudge glowering at everyone over a fishbowl-sized snifter of brandy wasn't exactly promising to be a fun time for one and all. She was especially astonished when she saw Harry trailing behind Ron and Hermione, but she reckoned her parents' influence might have been a factor in his decision to join them for the Ministry's Christmas party. "It's usually an annual thing we do in London, but this year the party planners chose to do it up in Hogsmeade," announced Arthur Weasley as his head bobbed amid green flames in the Gryffindor common room's large fireplace. "I'd like it if you and Ron would come," Mr. Weasley said to his daughter, adding quickly, "and be sure to let Ron know, Harry and Hermione are invited as well." Harry won't come, Ginny thought. You'll have to slip him a befuddling beverage before he'll agree to go to anywhere over the holiday, let alone a party. But Ginny did the dutiful thing and let Ron know. Ron, of course, objected and complained. "Fudge is a dung-faced git," Ron said. "What makes you think I want to spend Christmas Eve in the same room as him?" "I dunno," said Ginny, definitely in agreement with Ron's evaluation of Fudge. "But Mum and Dad are going to be there, and I couldn't imagine not seeing them if they're going to be in Hogsmeade." Ron sighed, clearly being of the same opinion, but not wanting to own up to it. "You're right," he said grudgingly, but added, "I doubt we can talk Harry into coming though." Which is why Ginny found herself in such awe when Harry slowly walked through the doors of the Three Broomsticks, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He was wearing last year's Christmas gift from Mum – a handsome garnet-colored jumper – and the expression on his face looked revolted (at best) at the prospect of the evening ahead. Molly Weasley pounced onto the trio first, giving them all a round of hugs and kisses and wishing them Happy Christmas. Ginny – as she slowly took a taste of the butterbeer Madam Rosmerta just brought her – overheard her mum say, "And Ginny's already here." Mrs. Weasley gestured to where Ginny stood and an odd sensation came over her when she locked eyes with Harry. Must be the butterbeer, thought Ginny. It always gave her a warm feeling in her stomach after the initial few gulps. But she read something in his eyes that almost screamed, "Rescue me!" When the trio joined her, Ginny tried convincing them that the party didn't seem all that awful. She said she'd hardly noticed Fudge since he was spending most of his time either at the bar or else drinking obscene amounts of brandy with Ministry officials ("Ministry wankers, more like," Ron said.) "And besides," Ginny added, glancing at her watch. "Dad said Fred and George are coming." "That ought to liven things up," said Ron, looking mildly pleased. He left to see Madam Rosmerta about a round of butterbeers, when the twins arrived. Ginny grinned at their taste in holiday attire. Both wore nicely tailored Muggle-style jackets and pants in jet-black, but Fred had on a red-and-green stocking cap their mum had handmade for him years ago (Ginny was certain her mother was probably regretting the day her knitting needles ever crossed for that creation right about now) and sported a long strand of blinking red-and-green Christmas bulbs draped around his neck; George had donned a cowboy-style hat with a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the brim and had an old Molly-Weasley-Homemade knit scarf wrapped around his neck with a large button pinned to it, which read: Kiss me, I'm Drunk. A wave of murmuring crossed the room and Ginny noticed her mother turning beet-red. Much to Mrs. Weasley's relief, Fred and George checked some of their odd paraphernalia at the door, but Fred insisted on keeping his blinking bulbs and George would not relinquish his hat. "What if it should come in handy later?" George protested, keeping his eye out for any young, single Ministry witches who might've had too many Christmas cocktails. "You're a scoundrel!" said Ginny, laughing. "It's true," said George, winking. "So before I go out on the prowl, what do you say about having a dance with your favorite brother?" "I don't see Bill anywhere," said Ginny, glancing around the crowd with a devious grin on her face. "I'll pretend not to have heard that," replied George, grabbing Ginny by the hands and knocking several people aside until they reached a small clearing in the crowd. There wasn't a dance floor, per se, but George didn't seem to care. He twirled Ginny round and round until her head was swimming. An upbeat holiday song was blaring from unseen magical speakers located in each of the four corners of the room. When Ginny's dizziness finally ceased, she noticed George had succeeded in getting several other couples to join them in dancing. Always the life of the party, thought Ginny fondly. She saw Fred two-stepping his way closer with a very buxom and very inebriated-looking witch wearing a flaxen up-do and a microscopic black dress. "She has a friend," mouthed Fred before lowering the intoxicated little trollop into a dip. "Oooh, that was fun," chuckled the witch as Fred whipped her back up. Ginny noticed her eyes were glassy and blood-shot, but she was sure it wasn't her eyes that had attracted Fred to her. George was spinning Ginny from side to side as he scanned the crowd for Miss Well-Endowed's friend. When he spotted her near the bar – an almost exact replica of Fred's dance partner, except with brunette hair instead of blond – he jerked Ginny off of the dance floor and dragged her alongside him. Ginny yowled as she heard her wrist crack. "George!" she shouted. George looked at Ginny and cringed. "Oh, bloody hell…I'm sorry!" Apparently, in his haste to chat up the little vixen at the bar, he'd forgotten he was still attached to his baby sister. "It's only my wrist, you idiot," said Ginny, rubbing it gingerly. "I have another one." George looked genuinely remorseful, but Ginny swatted him away. "Go on…do your thing…shake your mistletoe in her face before some other bloke gets there first!" "You're the best!" exclaimed George. He kissed her on the cheek, and swaggered over to the bar, tipping his ridiculous cowboy hat at the witch and making some comment Ginny couldn't hear, but which got a gleeful response from his target audience. Ginny stood on the edge of the crowd, still massaging her sprained wrist. She noticed Ron and Hermione had made their way to the newly created dance floor and were swaying to a slower melody. She suddenly thought of Harry. Where was he hiding? Had he managed to sneak out? Her questions were promptly answered when she saw Harry on the opposite side of the room, standing beside Mad-Eye Moody. Ginny hadn't noticed Moody earlier, but wasn't all that surprised at his presence. It stood to reason that if Harry was there, Auror security would be too. Ginny took a seat at the end of the bar and hummed along to the tune being broadcasted to the crowd. She thanked Madam Rosmerta when she brought her another butterbeer. She watched the dance floor again and smiled when she saw her father leading her mother in a surprisingly graceful gait. She wished she had someone to dance with, but didn't have the desire to dance with any of the Ministry idiots she saw mingling around the party. She took a swig of butterbeer and almost gagged on it when she realized Harry had taken the stool beside her. "Oh!" she said, snatching up a towel Madam Rosmerta had left on bar top and wiping away the butterbeer that came spluttering from her lips. "Hi, Harry." "You looked like you could do with some company," Harry said. Ginny thought about saying she was okay, but stopped herself quickly – Harry might get the impression she didn't want him there. But she stopped herself before she could respond that she could do with a bit of company – she didn't want him thinking she was desperately pathetic either. She settled on trying to appear charmingly aloof, but the stupid grin on her face succeeded in canceling out that attempt. "So…how much did Ron have to pay you so that you'd come tonight?" Ginny asked, waving to Madam Rosmerta so that she'd bring Harry a butterbeer. "He said he'd take notes in Potions for me for two weeks," answered Harry. He expressed thanks for his butterbeer and chinked his glass bottle to Ginny's before taking a gulp. "Cheers," said Ginny, taking another sip. "So…is it worth it?" "Is what—? Oh, is the bargain worth it? I reckon it'd be better if I could skive off Potions for two weeks, but as that seems highly unlikely, I'm taking what I can get…though I'm not sure I'm getting the better end of the deal. Ron's note-taking ability isn't exactly celebrated as being first-class." He chugged a bit more butterbeer. They sat in companionable silence until their butterbeer bottles had been drunk dry. They watched the couples dancing to several songs, then had fun laughing over Fred and George's high-spiritedness. Ginny rested her elbow against the bar top and propped her face in her hand. The bubbly Christmas tune that was playing had ceased and a slow one had replaced it. The tempo of the music coupled with the hazy atmosphere of the party was making Ginny drowsy. That is, until Harry spoke. "You wouldn't like to have a go, would you?" He nodded towards the dance floor. Ginny looked at him in awe. Will wonders never cease? she thought. Harry Potter was sitting beside her at a party, asking her if she wanted to have a dance. And a slow one, at that. Her insides lurched as if they were a tiny rowboat at sea in the middle of a hurricane. Ginny heard her voice say, "Sure," then felt her feet trip awkwardly behind Harry as they inched their way towards the other dancers. With less elegance than she'd always imagined (and she'd spent a fair amount of time in her past imagining being in Harry's arms on a dance floor), Harry put his arms around her shoulders. Ginny noticed how tense he was and her stomach clenched. Relax, she tried to tell herself. If you're uptight, he's going to be uptight – if you relax, he'll relax. What she wanted to do was lay her head against his chest – his scent was intoxicating and she wanted nothing more than to feel the comfort of the soft garnet jumper under her cheek and to hear the gentle thumping of his heart in her ear. But those sorts of things only happen in Witch Weekly romance stories. The song ended all too soon and they cleared the dance floor with so much haste, Ginny reckoned Harry would have rather been dancing with a Blast-Ended Skrewt. When the party was over, they bid Fred, George and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley goodnight. "We'll see you in the morning," Mrs. Weasley said as they headed back towards Hogwarts. "We've taken rooms here at the Inn!" The walk back to the castle was a chilly one. No snow had fallen as of yet, but everything in the air foretold of an impending snowstorm. Ginny thought of how wonderful it would be to wake up to snow-covered grounds in the morning. Ron and Hermione walked several paces ahead, leaving Ginny and Harry to bring up the rear – or so Ginny initially thought. A telltale, offbeat clunk informed them they were not alone. Mad-Eye Moody – under the guise of his Invisibility Cloak – was escorting them back to Hogwarts. The moonlight on the path revealed Ron and Hermione with hands clasped as they walked along; they were speaking to each other, but in whispers too low for Ginny to hear. Ginny got a sudden longing to reach out for one of Harry's hands, but when she turned to glance at him, she noticed they were stuffed into his pockets again. Ginny crossed her arms against her chest and really began to feel the cold. Harry turned to her and said, "Are you all right?" "Yes," replied Ginny brusquely, noticing she could see her breath in the moonlight. "You look cold," said Harry. Ginny noticed that he had taken a couple steps closer to her. She pretended not to notice and said, "I'm not cold." It was a total, unabashed lie. She was so cold she thought she'd never feel her toes again. "You're frozen," said Harry. "Here –" Ginny almost fainted dead away at what Harry did next "– take my jumper." In a swift motion, Harry pulled the jumper off and handed it to Ginny, leaving his top togged in nothing but a thin, Gryffindor Lions T-shirt. "But you'll freeze," Ginny protested, trying to hand the jumper back to him. "I'm fine," Harry said, but Ginny knew he was just being noble – it was eve-of-a-blizzard weather out there. She went to pull the jumper over her head and breathed in deeply as she did – Eau de Harry, she thought rapturously. She wondered if it'd be too bizarre if she buried her face in the wool and whimpered with pleasure… "How does that feel?" asked Harry. Ginny pretended not to notice that Harry had sidled a bit closer. "Damn good," seemed too enthusiastic a response, so Ginny settled on, "Better." The lights of the castle were looming ever closer. They were nearly to the grounds. Even though it was cold enough to freeze your arteries, Ginny was disappointed they were so close. As they walked up the drive towards Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione seemed farther away, as seemed the dull clunk of Mad-Eye's wooden leg on the ground. Ginny suddenly felt a hand grabbing hers – Harry's fingers intertwined with her chilly ones and the cold seemed to melt away. She kept looking straight ahead, as if turning to look at Harry would dissolve the moment. She did however give his hand a squeeze as feeling began to come back to her hand. Glowing torchlight illuminated their path as they drew closer to the steps of the castle. Ginny wondered if Harry would drop her hand now that they were in plain view. After all, if Ron or Hermione were to turn around, they'd clearly see the two of them strolling along, hand in hand… But it didn't seem as if Ron or Hermione could have cared less about what was going on behind them. Ginny began to inwardly grumble over the fact that Mad-Eye was still clunking along in their wake, although he was a good bit behind them. She was having slightly unbidden fantasies of Harry yanking her aside and snogging her brains out before they went back into the castle…there was a patch of shadow right there beside the stairs…he could pull her to the side and snog away…Moody wouldn't know a thing until it was too late…they'd be lost in the shadows… As Ginny felt herself being pulled towards the icy castle wall in the darkness, she had a fleeting thought. Albus Dumbledore is teaching Harry Legilimency now! Again, with less elegance than she'd always imagined, Harry pressed his mouth to Ginny's. Not that it was unpleasant, Ginny would have eagerly admitted. There was a sense of urgency in his kiss that sent sparks throughout Ginny's body such as she had never experienced before with the whopping two other boys she'd ever kissed in her life. His mouth was cold from the frigid December air, as was hers, but they both soon warmed from the sufficient work out they were getting. Ginny was practically being flattened against the wall by Harry's body; his hands were clutching her face so desperately that, were she in her right mind, she'd have been concerned he was going to leave handprints. But she didn't care, until… Clunk…clunk. Harry released his hold and gave her one last desperate kiss on her forehead, then tugged her back into the torchlight. "Potter," a disembodied voice growled. "Get in the castle." Ginny noticed Ron and Hermione had already gone inside. *** It was as if Ginny could still feel the fire from Harry's lips on hers, even all these years later. Some time after that Christmas Eve night, he had confessed that he had been wanting to kiss her like that for many months. And he never could pinpoint what gave him the courage to pull her aside on the walk back to the castle that evening and finally plant one on her, but Ginny could have told him it was because she willed it to happen. Just like now, as she was willing him to not want to toss her in the bin when he got home. While her precious babies slept, Ginny went into her bedroom. She caught sight of her reflection in the floor-length mirror that hung beside the closet. "I'm not fat," she decided. "A little swollen at present, yes…but I look pretty decent for someone who's given birth to three children." She took a quick shower, put on a decent (yet comfy) outfit and went to wait for her husband in the living room, where (when he returned home) she was prepared to apologize for being a demon and confess just how desperately in love with him she was and always would be. Even on the days her hormones were acting up. *** Author's Note: My inspiration for this chapter came from Catherine Barry's short story, The Twenty-Eighth Day. If you haven't read it, check it out. It is a complete and utter hoot, especially if you're a woman. (Maybe not so funny for men who have to put up with women during their fitful time!) <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> At any rate, you can find it in an anthology of short stories by Irish women authors called Irish Girls About Town – a great read! Also, I wish I could lay claim to the clever chapter title, but I found it on a google.com search while trying to come up with something witty. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/tongue.gif ALT=":p"> I rarely (if ever) come up with witty chapter titles on my own. <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a></center> <center>I tend to think that if someone is sufficiently engaged in one of the books, he's not going to be too disappointed if, at some point, his hero holds hands with a little girl. - Jo Rowling</center>Edited by: <A HREF=http://p199.ezboard.com/bmajiklmoonsrea ... boo1974</A> <IMG HEIGHT=10 WIDTH=10 SRC="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v344/ ... izard4.gif" BORDER=0> at: 10/17/04 1:53 pm

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Sun Oct 17, 2004 2:33 pm

Chapter Nine - I Feel Pretty <div style="text-align:center">And her hair was like the sunshine. Day by day he gazed upon her, Day by day he sighed with passion, Day by day his heart within him Grew more hot with love and longing For the maid with yellow tresses. ~*~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</div> "What was all the commotion about?" asked Hermione warily. "Oh, the usual, but it's all settled now. And Ron's nose is back to normal, which probably isn't cause for rejoicing, but..." Hermione's eyes bulged. "Ron's nose!" she exclaimed, clasping both hands over her mouth. "Yes," said Ginny calmly. "James decided to get rather animated with his feet, and Ron provided quite an ample target with that nose of his." "James kicked Ron in the nose?" said Hermione in awe, her eyes still large and horrified. "He did," said Ginny apologetically. "And you'd better believe he's going to be sentenced to quite a few hours of domestic servitude for it as well...along with a lifetime ban from Quidditch." Hermione's eyes - if possible - got even larger. "You're joking!" she exclaimed. "Well, yes," said Ginny, unbuttoning and removing her blouse. "I am, but you'd better believe he'll have forgotten what Quidditch is by the time he gets those blasted robes back!" She kicked off her shoes, yanked off her socks, wriggled out of her jeans and stepped into her Dusk dress robes. "Merlin knows I was never that stubborn as a child!" Ginny secretly hoped Hermione would never decide to have Ron elucidate for her the vast degree of Ginny's stubbornness as a child. Certain incidents popped up in her mind as examples, but Luna's emergence from the bathroom wearing a fluffy violet dressing gown cast them conveniently aside. "It's time to do your hair," said Ginny brightly, all thoughts of having once been a pint-sized mule vanished from her mind. Luna had washed her blond mane of hair and it was currently resting limply, draped over shoulders, sopping wet and dripping a little flood onto the carpet. "If we must, we must," said Luna serenely. She took the length of blond tresses and twisted them tightly, wringing a deluge on top of the puddles that had already formed there. Hermione cast an odd look Luna's way, whipped out her wand and sighed before saying, "Evanesco!" The pond at Luna's feet evaporated. Ginny tossed a pale green towel over to Luna and said, "Towel it off before I dry it...it always helps to get all of the excess water out." Plus, I don't want my dress robes ruined with water spots, thought Ginny. Luna obliged, then sat down in a chair next to her vanity table. Ginny stood beside her, raised her wand and muttered an incantation. Soon, a strong whoosh of warm air was gusting from the tip of the wand and, within seconds, Luna's hair was dry. Ginny rummaged through the paltry selection of hair-care products adorning Luna's vanity table. None of them looked of much use to the cause and they all looked to be quite a few years old - probably things aunts or grandmothers gave her when she was younger, and which Luna found absolutely no use for, since she never did more than wash and brush her long locks. Ginny sighed, realizing Luna's assortment wasn't going to suffice. Hermione poked around her bag and lifted out a tiny blue bottle. "Try this," she said proffering the bottle to Ginny. "All you'll need is one squirt." Ginny took the lid off, held the bottle over her left hand and pressed the small dispenser. A tiny amount of clear, oily liquid landed in the palm of her hand. "The potion is an emollient," said Hermione. "It'll give Luna's hair quite a nice shine, but be careful not to use too much or else..." "...she could end up looking like Professor Snape?" Luna snorted with laughter at Ginny's remark. "Yes," said Hermione, grinning broadly. "Something like that." Ginny worked the Lustre Potion into Luna's normally dull hair for a few moments, then stood back to admire the result. "Not too shabby," Ginny said, grinning. "Now to the style." She tapped the end of her wand thoughtfully on the back of the chair, then - as a scheme for a hairdo popped into her mind - she lifted the wand and slid it under the top portion of Luna's hair, sectioning it off from the rest. She set the hair in motion of its own accord and it twirled itself into a graceful knot and perched itself carefully atop Luna's head, glistening like gold. Ginny then lightly brushed her wand over the other section of hair (which was flowing gently down Luna's back to her waist), right down to the edges. The sunshiny strands immediately rearranged themselves so that they were no longer straight, but so that they had soft rippling waves of curl. "I think it was the right choice, doing without the veil," said Hermione approvingly, looking over Ginny's effort. "I'll just put some flowers here and there-" Hermione flicked her wand around the knot of hair balanced on the pinnacle of Ginny's Cosmetological Masterpiece and deposited a sampling of the trio of flowers to enhance the 'do. "Smashing!" said Ginny, admiring Hermione's handiwork. "You know, if the teaching profession ever gets dull, I think you may have a second calling as a florist...those flowers are quite lovely." Hermione blushed and looked at the clock. "You'd better get your palette ready, Miss Artiste," she said, all of a sudden sounding a little panicky. "We only have a half hour 'til the ceremony begins!" Ginny opened up a cosmetics bag and began to peruse her color palette. Her media of choice would not have been rouge, lipsticks and eye shadows, and her canvas preference wasn't the human face, but Ginny was going to give her best effort to coax some exuberance from Luna's features by means of a little cosmetic application. After short deliberation, she decided on sheer, natural colors - she tapped her wand on the little tray of light, neutral eye shadow, tinting it a bit darker, rationalizing that defining Luna's eyes wouldn't be such a bad thing. She tried a few things, erased what she didn't like and improved what she did. After finally tinting Luna's lips a soft shade of rose-petal pink, Ginny was satisfied. "Now...it's time for your gown," said Hermione, handing the beautiful dress over to Ginny, who was ready to help Luna slip into it. Luna truly did look angelic when she was finally in her mother's ivory satin wedding gown. The gown may have been considered unfashionable or outdated by Witch Weekly's standards, but Ginny thought the simple sophistication of it suited Luna quite adequately, especially with the adornment of her long luminous hair gently draped over her shoulders. The tiny crown of flowers made her look akin to some sort of nature deity, and Ginny was sure Neville was going to be rendered speechless at the sight of his bride. "You make quite a fetching bride, Luna," said Ginny, beaming. Hermione nodded her head in agreement. "You really think so?" asked Luna seriously, staring at her own reflection in the old mirror that hung above the vanity table. "Indeed," murmured the mirror in response. "Rather pretty you are, m'dear...as pretty as I saw your very own mum on her wedding day." Tears welled up in Luna's eyes and Ginny suddenly remembered she'd better put a Water-Proofing Charm on Luna's eye make-up. "We'd better get prepared to clear off," said Hermione in almost a whisper. "Wait," said Luna, sniffling slightly. "There's one more thing." She reached inside an old wooden box on her bedside table and pulled out an old pendant that hung from a very fragile-looking golden chain. Her hands were shaking a bit as she handed the necklace to Ginny. "Will you help me fasten the clasp?" she asked. All of a sudden, Ginny felt her own eyes grow moist. She fastened the delicate gold clasp and Luna straightened the pendant so that it gracefully rested on her breastbone. She sighed as she took one last glance into the mirror. "How do you feel?" asked Hermione quietly. Luna sighed serenely. "I feel-" she paused as she pondered her answer "-pretty," she said finally. She smiled, her rose-petal pink lips glimmering with the sheen of fairy dust that Ginny had powdered on her during the cosmetic application earlier. "Shall we go then?" she asked, and when Ginny and Hermione nodded their consent, they all Disapparated to their rendezvous point on the side of Stoatshead Hill. Tomorrow, Luna would probably go back to her no fuss manner, but for today - her wedding day - she was radiating like a star. *** Author's Note: The title of the chapter comes from a song of the same name in the musical West Side Story. The excerpt at the beginning is from The Song of Hiawatha, and proves that I've spent way too much time in the local Cineplex this summer seeing movies other than Harry Potter! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> If you've spent as much time as I have, you know what I'm getting at! Also, Luna's pendant was inspired by one of my good friends, who was recently married. She, like Luna, was without a mother on the day of her wedding. Though we all knew her mum was definitely there in spirit, a little part of her was close to my friend's heart on that special day as she wore her mother's cherished cameo necklace. I was her maid of honor, and I had a hard time not leaking tears (thereby causing my non-Water-Proof Charmed eye make-up to run!) as I helped her fasten the clasp. BIG thanks for being such a special friend and for inspiring me in this chapter. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"> And thank the saints above that I chose not to use any of the outrageous and slightly scandalous stories from that wedding! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> I took a solemn oath that some of those tales would go to the grave with me! <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a></center> <center>I tend to think that if someone is sufficiently engaged in one of the books, he's not going to be too disappointed if, at some point, his hero holds hands with a little girl. - Jo Rowling</center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Sun Oct 17, 2004 2:36 pm

Chapter Ten - One Hand, One Heart Ginny hadn't climbed Stoatshead Hill in years - she had been thirteen-years-old and on her way to the Quidditch World Cup the last time - and never in her life had she been silly enough to wear high-heeled shoes while climbing it. It was difficult enough under the best of circumstances. "Tell me...again," Ginny said, her voice feeble from wheezing, "why we...couldn't have...Apparated to the summit?" "Because-" said Hermione, who was panting and gasping twice as hard as Ginny was. "Because-" She paused and put her hands on her knees for a moment, then held up a hand to let Ginny and Luna know she was only pausing. Clearly, she was desperate to explain why they couldn't have Apparated to the top of the hill, but it was nearly impossible for her to make intelligible sounds through all of the huffing and puffing. Her spirit was willing, but her lungs were evidently quite weak. "Because," Luna went on for her, "the bride and her attendants can't just appear out of the clear blue...we have to process." Ginny's eyes widened. Oh, and what a procession it will be, too! she thought. All three of them were damp with perspiration, and Hermione looked like she could do with a mediwizard. Ginny felt her own heart pounding inside her chest and considered whether or not she'd be seeking a Healer's counsel by the end of the ceremony herself. Miracle of all miracles, the trio of once pristine-looking ladies made it to a spot near the peak. They all paused to catch their respective breaths, then Luna whipped out her wand and bade Ginny and Hermione to do the same. She whispered, "Wouldn't want all of your hard work to go to waste, would you?" She murmured an incantation and patted the top of her head gently with her wand tip, allowing the Refreshing Charm to do its thing. All signs of perspiration and exhaustion promptly faded, leaving Luna as she had been when she'd appeared at the bottom of the hill, before the precarious climb. Ginny and Hermione repeated the charm on themselves, and Hermione smiled as hers took effect. "Thank Merlin for small favors...I could kiss the wizard who came up with that one!" She brought two fingers to her wrist and felt her own pulse. "Normal!" Ginny could hear stringed instruments playing a beautiful tune from the hilltop. The notes hung on the air as if the wind itself was humming them. A group of four people rushed to meet them as Ginny felt herself momentarily lost in the music. "Oh, there you lot are!" said the anxious, low voice of Luna's Aunt Clair. Clair Lovegood had been recruited by her niece to be Official Wedding Director, although she was quite a jittery woman and probably would have been better suited for something not requiring a cool head. "Okay...okay," Aunt Clair said, biting her nails. "Let's see how we'll do this." Her eyes were dashing from Luna to Ginny to Hermione, and then to James, Mr. Lovegood, and little Kylie (one of Luna's cousins who was serving as flower girl), then back over to Luna once more. "Who shall we send out first?" Hermione raised her hand politely, as if she were back at Hogwarts and Aunt Clair was one of her professors teaching them all a lesson on marriage ceremonies - and as if they all weren't going to be late if Hermione kept the decorum going. "Er, yes Hermione...what is it?" said Aunt Clair anxiously, surprised at seeing the hand in the air. "We went over this yesterday, when we rehearsed in Luna's back garden," said Hermione calmly, obviously hoping it would rub off on Aunt Clair. "Remember? You said this was the sequence we'd follow: Me, Ginny, James, Kylie, then Mr. Lovegood escorting Luna." "Oh!" said Aunt Clair joyfully, as if it had all just occurred to her for the first time. "Smashing plan! Let's do it!" She ushered Hermione to the edge of a white carpet that would lead them all past the congregation of guests, and ultimately to where Harry, Ron and the nervous groom-to-be were waiting. Just as Aunt Clair was about to launch Hermione down the runway, James gasped and looked desperately at the thick grass that blanketed the ground. "The rings!" he bellowed and Aunt Clair shrieked in alarm. Ginny saw several guests on the back row of chairs look over their shoulders and down the crest of the hill at the scene James had fallen to his knees, searching frantically through the deep turf for any glimmer of gold he could find. Hermione sighed and took out her wand. She looked at everyone and said, "Am I witch or not?" She took James aside and pointed her wand at the ground and said, "Accio rings!" The rings zoomed into her outstretched hand and she stooped over to secure them back to the little pillow James was clutching with sweaty palms. Luna and Ginny laughed. As she watched her little boy sigh with relief, Ginny beamed. All was suddenly forgotten regarding the semi-cataclysmic events leading up to that moment and she felt a lump forming in her throat. She wondered if saber-toothed tigers got lumps in their throats... Kylie (who was all of two-and-a-half-years old) was eating a bluebell when it was time for Ginny to go. As she walked away, Ginny heard Mr. Lovegood promise the little girl an extra-large slice of cake if she promised not eat any more of the flowers. The music was slow and languid, and Ginny felt like she'd drunk a slug-based potion before she'd started walking. Her feet were keeping time with the measured tempo of the tune being played, and she thought that she might never make it to the end where Hermione was waiting so patiently. She felt as if her Refreshing Charm had run its course and was now leaving her feeling more worn out than when she'd first climbed the hill. But she wouldn't allow herself to pass out. How humiliated would Luna be if she did that? She raked her eyes past the many guests who were staring at her and fixed them upon Harry's. Ah, there he was. His brilliant green eyes were gazing at her in wonder - perhaps he was wondering why she was about to keel over, but no - his face broke into a broad smile as she stumbled nearer and finally took her place beside Hermione. James followed, and then the music changed; instead of the airy tune the strings had been playing for the procession of the lesser folk, they switched to a dignified melody announcing the arrival of the bride. Little Kylie, the flower-eater, led the way, dropping half-chewed petals in her wake. Mr. Lovegood - sniffling and trying desperately to suppress full-blown sobs - clung to his daughter's arm as he led her down the aisle, and Ginny was distinctly reminded of her own dad, who had done the same thing at hers and Harry's wedding. "Take care of my little girl," Arthur had said to Harry before giving him Ginny's hand. Any other time and Ginny might have flinched at being called a little girl - it was a label she'd never cared for - but in this case it was so endearing that it had brought more tears to Ginny's already flooded eyes. She could feel her eyes welling up even now, as Mr. Lovegood gently placed Luna's slender hand into Neville's plump one. Mr. Lovegood whispered something inaudible to Neville, and Ginny had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering. She looked at the pair of them - Neville and Luna - and their hands clasped together so tightly they appeared to be one. One hand, one heart. Ginny looked over at her husband. Her heart - the heart she shared with him - pounded deep within her chest. *** "What a beautiful ceremony!" everyone kept saying as Ginny mingled through the crowd at the reception. "Such a blessing it didn't rain!" others proclaimed as she picked up several slices of wedding cake - one for Harry, one for James and one for herself. Ginny hadn't exactly felt like herself since the trek up the mountainside - er, hillside - but she was hesitant to mention it to Harry. She didn't want him to worry. She was fine. She probably should have had more than half a piece of toast for breakfast that morning. Tomorrow she'd have eggs. She felt her stomach lurch at the very notion. Okay, maybe a whole piece of toast instead. James was looking at her like a miniature werewolf as she approached the table loaded down with cake. "Here, darling," she said, placing a plate of wedding cake in front of her son. "Take bites," she reminded him when he began to wolf down the first couple of forkfuls. Harry took a bite or two of his own cake, but all Ginny found that she could do with hers was look at it and think of how repugnant the notion of consuming blue frosting was. Suddenly she remembered little Kylie gnawing on bluebells like a baby cow and she felt positively sick. One of Neville's great-aunts teetered over to their table and told her what a lovely vision she was in blue. "Thank you," Ginny responded, amazed that the little old lady's sense of sight was still operational. "Eat your cake now," the ancient great-aunt said before she tottered away. "They say wedding cake is symbolic of fertility!" And it suddenly dawned on Ginny, as a fresh wave of nausea flooded her, that no cake would be necessary. She'd felt this way before. Just one other time, but she definitely knew this feeling. *** Author's Note: Once again, I've nabbed a chapter title from West Side Story. The title of this chapter bears the same name as one of my favorite songs from that musical. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"> It seemed appropriate since this is the big wedding chapter. <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a></center> <center>I tend to think that if someone is sufficiently engaged in one of the books, he's not going to be too disappointed if, at some point, his hero holds hands with a little girl. - Jo Rowling</center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Sun Oct 17, 2004 2:38 pm

Chaptr Eleven - Better Living Through Potions Ginny was pretty certain what the end result was going to be, but felt the need to do the test anyhow. She snuck the little potions kit into her shopping basket during her last shopping trek into Hogsmeade with Hermione; they'd gone the day after Luna and Neville's wedding, while their husbands looked after the kids. Ginny had been feeling awful, but reluctantly agreed to go. After all, she reasoned she'd be able to slip into the Apothecary with the excuse of having to pick up some headache remedy and a few ounces of rat spleen - then nonchalantly slip a pregnancy test into her basket while Hermione browsed through the teeth whitening solutions. And her reasoning panned out to perfection. She purchased a test kit and Hermione was none the wiser. The kit had a picture of a very plump witch on the front, ripe and looking ready to deliver quintuplets at any given moment. The witch was smiling benignly, as if the prospect of giving birth to five babies in one shot was nothing at all. On the other side of the kit were instructions for use: 1 Fill cauldron with four cups of water and bring to a boil. 2. Mix in potion ingredients (included) very carefully. 3. Let ingredients simmer in cauldron for fifteen minutes. 4. Add one drop of blood from test-subject to mixture. 5. Allow entire concoction to simmer for one hour. 6. If the solution turns green, the result is positive. Congratulations - start picking out nursery colors! If the solution turns red, the result is negative. Try again. Ginny peered around the living room and kitchen. Harry was at the office. James was playing in his bedroom. She could casually make her way into the kitchen to throw the potion together. She found a silver cauldron, filled it with water, set it on the cooker and lit a flame. When bubbles began to dance vigorously inside the pot, Ginny gently tossed in the assortment of pre-packaged ingredients, one by one. Finally, she reached for the last items - two freeze-dried rabbit feet. They made her cringe, but she gritted her teeth and chucked them in with the rest of the lot. She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and sat down as she waited for fifteen minutes to tick by. When the time had come, Ginny gripped a sewing needle she'd found while rifling through the old embroidery kit her mother had given her when she was ten - a kit that was meant to distract her from being miserable about being the only child left at home once Ron left for school, but Ginny seemed to recall embroidering many items with a large Hogwarts crest. Pillowcases, tea towels, tablecloths, handkerchiefs - the sky was the limit. The Weasleys were the proud owners of a vast array of Hogwarts-themed items by the time Ginny was ready to start school herself. Ginny continued to grip the needle, feeling the perspiration from her hand making it slippery. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand - not think about old needlework - or else she was going to poke herself and send droplets of blood spurting hither and thither in the kitchen. With her luck, that'd be the exact time James would stroll in seeking a snack, only to discover his mum inflicting wounds upon herself. Feeling as though she'd probably wasted enough time and that the potion would be a failure if she wasted much more, she pricked her finger and squeezed. One fat, crimson bead of blood dropped into the cauldron and hit the mixture with a loud hiss. The red droplet was lost among the murky grey recesses of the rest of the simmering solution, and all that there was left to do was wait. Ginny plopped down on the sofa with her wand in hand. She set the tip against her pricked finger and muttered an incantation. The tiny wound disappeared. She thought vaguely that she ought to check on James, but she found it hard to exert the extra energy involved in such an undertaking. She opted for shouting down the hallway instead. "James...everything okay in there?" "Yup," was the ever-so enlightening reply she received. He could have been setting his mattress on fire for all she knew, or any number of other frightening alternatives. She felt that she really should check to make sure no bonfires were being lit (not that her son was a pyromaniac by any means, but a parent could never be too sure), but finding the power to get up off the couch was quite inconceivable at the moment. She opted for sniffing the air for traces of smoke instead. No smoke, but the hideous odor emitting from the kitchen was enough to make her retch. She clasped a hand over her mouth to hold back being sick. Ginny was willing to bet her eye-teeth that the potion was changing from icky grey to bright green even as she sat there feeling like her stomach was about to be wrung out like a wet towel. *** The longest hour of her life had finally lapsed, and Ginny discovered that her eye-teeth would safely remain in her possession. A brilliant jade-green solution was brewing in the cauldron when she peered inside. By that time, James had emerged from his blaze-free room and was interested in filling his tummy. This was an unfortunate turn of events, as Ginny was feeling a fresh wave of nausea and was interested in emptying hers. She opened up the doors to the cupboards where junk food was stashed and did something she'd never before done in her entire existence as a mother - she gave James free reign to chose whatever he'd like. She set out a plate for him and allowed him to serve himself, knowing full well she'd regret the decision later on, but if she had to face one crumb of food after dumping that green gunk down the sink... "What was that green stuff?" asked James as her began to unwrap a Cauldron Cake. "Potion," Ginny said glumly. Her face was probably the same shade as the discarded brew. "Mummy's not feeling well." "Was that stuff to make you feel well again? Did you drink it?" He looked aghast as the very notion. "No, I didn't drink it," Ginny assured him. "It was to tell me why I'm feeling sick." "Why are you feeling sick then?" James asked wisely. Ginny didn't know how to answer. The last thing she needed was for James to be the one to announce the impending arrival of a new Potter when his father arrived home from work, so she decided on telling him, "Stomach ache," for the time being. After all, it wasn't exactly a lie. "You should lie down and drink something fizzy," said James firmly, doing a very good impression of his dad's I-Mean-Business voice. "That's what I do when my tummy hurts," he added knowledgably. Ginny grinned, in spite of the queasiness in her unsettled stomach. "Good advice," she said and allowed herself to be shepherded into the living room by her little boy. She reclined on the sofa and leaned back on a pillow James had punched and squished until fluffy. James marched purposefully back into the kitchen; Ginny heard a lot of clattering going on, but hardly felt inclined to get up to see the source of the noises. So long as nothing sounded like it was breaking. A few minutes later, James emerged clutching a glass full of what Ginny expected was Pumpkin Fizz. She took the glass graciously and mustered up enough courage to take half a sip. "Thanks, sweetheart," she said, meaning it. "Mummy feels much better now." She didn't mean this so much (the Pumpkin Fizz seemed like a hostile invader to her already antagonized insides), but she'd never let on to her doting son. She gazed at him and let herself wonder - just for a moment, while there was a pause between the queasy feelings - if the little life growing inside her would be a sweet, tousle-haired, knobbly-kneed creature like the one standing over her right now, patting her sweaty forehead with a soft touch and telling her that she'd feel better after a nap. What a sweet little boy, she thought before drifting off to sleep. *** "Ginny! Ginny...wake up! Wake up!" An urgent voice and someone's hands on her shoulders jostled Ginny awake. She sat up slowly on the sofa where she'd been sleeping for Merlin only knew how long and looked through bleary eyes into the troubled face of her husband. His glasses were askew and his hair looked frightful, as if he had been running his hands through it over and over again. "Harry?" Ginny said bleakly. She was too groggy to comprehend why he was looking half out of his mind. "You're sick!" he blurted out to his wife urgently, as if she hadn't the slightest idea about her own condition. "Someone should have contacted me!" He looked over at James desperately. "Don't you remember how to contact me if there's an emergency?" James nodded. "But there wasn't an emergency," he said very calmly. "I gave Mummy a fizzy drink, just like she gives me when I've got a tummy ache...an' then I told her to take a nap." He looked very proud. "But...but..." Harry stammered. He turned to Ginny. "You look...you're very ill...and James said...when I Apparated home...you were just lying there...so still..." He looked sheet-white and Ginny gripped his hand firmly. "I don't feel too well, that's true...but I'm not dying," she assured him. She cupped his pale cheek with her hand tenderly. "Quite the contrary, actually." Ginny slowly got up from the sofa and walked into the kitchen. She rummaged through the rubbish bin and returned to the living room clutching the crumpled package that had contained the pregnancy test potion kit and held it up for Harry to see. As comprehension dawned, his jaw went slack and he stared at her in disbelief. "Honestly?" he asked, blinking faster than normal. "You're really...we're going to..." "...have a baby," Ginny said, smiling as she did so. It was the first time she'd spoken the word "baby" aloud, and it sound really quite lovely. Harry threw his arms around her, giving her a tight squeeze then, regretting his actions immediately, loosened his hold on her and whispered, "Congratulations," softly into her ear. He touched her belly lightly and a silly grin began to play across his lips. "Congratulations to you, too," Ginny whispered back as she placed one of her hands atop Harry's. "Baby?" said James, jerking Ginny and Harry out of their baby-induced giddiness. "A baby what?" "A baby brother or sister, son!" said Harry proudly. James had an unreadable expression on his face. All pride from being Healer-In-Residence had faded and his mind seemed to be working something through. "A baby brother or sister?" repeated James slowly. Harry nodded as James' brow began to furrow. "I'd rather have a dog...can we get a puppy instead?" Ginny chuckled nervously, but James was absolutely sincere. She could sense a long talk in her future. *** Hermione was bursting with joy when Ginny told her the good news. "Oh, I'm so happy for you both!" Hermione exclaimed. "What did your parents say?" "They don't know yet," admitted Ginny. "I'm waiting to tell them until after the appointment with my Obstewizard, just to be certain everything is going as it should." "I'm sure everything's just fine," said Hermione in a reassuring tone. Ginny nodded. "Me too. I mean, if being sick as a dog is any indication - " She looked sullenly at the pile of soda crackers and cup of Pumpkin Fizz in front of her, as Hermione was nibbling on a piece of apple pie and had a steaming mug of coffee in front of her. Hermione nodded sympathetically. "And speaking of dogs," Ginny said, her expression changing to one of mild amusement. "Let me tell you how my son took the news!" Hermione laughed as Ginny recounted the tale. "But finally, Harry and I were able to convince our son that having a sibling could be just as enjoyable as having a pet - and since growing up Weasley is the perfect testimony for the fun of siblinghood..." Hermione laughed some more. "You know of what you speak," she said before taking another bite of pie. "Indeed," said Ginny. She picked up a soda cracker and bit off a small corner. "I wonder when I'll be able to enjoy food again," she said, sighing. "I remember being ill at the beginning with James, but it seems twice as bad this time..." "You should ask your Obstewizard about a potion mine gave me when I was carrying Reid - it's a nausea remedy and it works wonders. The only down side is that, once I started taking it, my queasiness was gone, but my appetite was back and then some! I think I was eating more than Ron was at that point!" Ginny's eyes widened in amazement. After all, her youngest brother could put away food like a champion. "Ask about it, at any rate. You'll feel better if you take it." Hermione lifted her fork and took the last bite of pie. Ginny glanced down at her cracker crumbs. On her visit to St. Mungo's, she'd be sure to ask. *** "All's well, Mrs. Potter," assured the Obstewizard after her exam. He began scribbling down instructions for the witch in the St. Mungo's Apothecary. "This potion will tidy up those nasty feelings you've been having in your belly." He chuckled and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his long nose. "Just give this parchment to Madam Prescott and she'll have the potion ready in no time." After Ginny had thanked the Obstewizard and was getting up to go, he peered through his glasses at her and said, "Incidentally, Mrs. Potter...do you have any multiples in your family?" "Multiples?" repeated Ginny thickly. "Multiples of what?" "Multiple births, Mrs. Potter," said the Obstewizard. "Oh," replied Ginny, wondering why he was asking. Did he know Fred and George? "Yes, I have twin brothers." She thought about it for a second. "Actually, twins run in the family...one of my twin brothers has twin daughters, and my mum's side of the family is..." "Hmm," said the Obstewizard, smiling broadly. "That explains." "Explains what?" asked Ginny, starting to feel needled. "Of course, we won't know for certain until all of my test results are finalized, but sometimes I just know." He tapped a forefinger to his temple and raised an eyebrow at her. Ginny nodded at him and left his office. As she walked down the corridors of St. Mungo's, she began to wonder just how she was going to convince James that two siblings were even better than one. <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a></center> <center>I tend to think that if someone is sufficiently engaged in one of the books, he's not going to be too disappointed if, at some point, his hero holds hands with a little girl. - Jo Rowling</center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Sun Oct 17, 2004 2:44 pm

Chapter 12 - Dream On Convincing James that it would be a great adventure to have twins in their family was an easier challenge than Ginny had ever dreamed of. Visions of his very own miniature versions of Uncles Fred and George flooded his brain and James was agog at the very prospect (he talked of little else, with the occasional exception of Quidditch rankings). Both Ginny and Harry did nothing to dissuade their son's fantasies - after all, he was finally excited about the fact that his mummy's belly was swelling, and had stopped all negotiations for a canine addition to the household. Harry's enthusiasm didn't hurt the cause, either. One evening, Ginny caught Harry and James leafing through Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland together, discussing which team members' names sounded good in pairs. "How about 'Kevin' and 'Karl'?" suggested Harry as Ginny floated a basket full of laundry down the hallway. "They were a pair of Beaters who played for Falmouth way back when." Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Since when do I want to call any of my children after a pair of maniac Falcons Beaters?" Harry shrugged and turned a few pages. "We could dub one of them 'Barny,' after your team's adorable mascot." Ginny sent a dirty sock hurtling across the room. It landed atop her husband's head, but he hardly noticed as he swatted it to the floor. He was busily turning pages in his Quidditch guide. "Let's call one 'Chudley' and the other 'Cannon'," suggested James eagerly. Ginny looked at him and laughed out loud, "One more comment like that and we're sending you straight to Uncle Ron's!" As Harry was listing off the names of Walter (founder of the Wigtown Wanderers) Parkin's male progeny, Ginny felt the need to inform her husband and son about one tiny piece of pertinent information they'd both missed. "What if they're not boys," Ginny said plainly. "What?" replied Harry weakly. "Accio sock!" called Ginny and the dirty sock she'd launched earlier came speeding back to the laundry basket. She carried on with her chore, floating the basket until both she and it reached a washbasin located in a small room off the side of the kitchen. She set the dirty clothes to wash with a flick of her wand and called back to her husband, who was sitting speechless in the living room, "Imagine if one or both of them are girls!" She smiled broadly, imagining the shocked looks on their male faces. When she returned, she found Harry giving her a You-Don't-Win-That-Easily look. James flipped quickly through the book, paused, gave a triumphant gleam, then showed Harry what he'd found. Harry smirked and cleared his throat, "Good call, son," he said proudly. He looked at Ginny and said, "Perhaps the names 'Glynnis' and 'Gwendolyn' are more to your liking. And if not, I'm sure any number of the old Harpies rosters - dating back to 1203, mind you - will supply a couple female names that are pleasing." Ginny sniffed indignantly. "Give me that book," she said, snatching the volume from the pair of conspirators. She flipped through and said dramatically, "Oh, see here... you've overlooked 'Catriona' and 'Meaghan'-" "Okay, so are you saying no Quidditch names?" interrupted Harry, who was grinning at his exasperated wife. Ginny raised an eyebrow and said, "Do I really have a say in the matter?" "Probably," Harry said. He had got to his feet and left James to look at the book by himself. He grabbed Ginny from behind and wrapped his arms around her so that they came to rest on top of her great belly. "Don't do that," Ginny fussed, but she made no effort to move. "I'm absolutely huge!" "You are," agreed Harry, and Ginny made a huffing noise deep in her throat. "But you're also absolutely beautiful." He kissed the back of her neck. "Our babies are in there," he whispered, stroking her swollen tummy gently. "Boys, girls, a boy and a girl...it doesn't matter...they're ours...yours and mine." Ginny sighed contentedly and leaned her head back against his chest. Sometimes he was so right. *** Two more months until the blessed day and Ginny and Harry were still in the dark about the gender of the babies. The Obstewizard was positively infuriating during one visit to St. Mungo's for a check-up. He clearly knew the sex of the twins and was just like a teenage girl with a secret, anxious to tell. But Ginny and Harry decided they liked the expectant feeling of not knowing. They enjoyed the mystery of it. They'd wait until the big day and find out the old-fashioned way. But the not knowing was encouraging all sorts of strange dreams. There was one dream last week where Ginny found herself going through twelve hours of excruciating labor, only to discover she'd given birth to a pair of... "Puppies, Mrs. Potter!" announced the Obstewizard in her dream (who looked strangely like Gilderoy Lockhart). "One Irish Setter - aww, her coat looks just like yours - and one black Labrador, whose coat looks quite like his father's!" The wizard handed her a pair of pups who wriggled and writhed in her arms. "Don't forget to have them de-wormed!" he said. Ginny woke up that night in a cold sweat, vowing to never let her son's fixations permeate her subconscious self again. But other things managed to subconsciously find their way into her mind each and every night. The closer the impending due date got, the more off-the-wall her dreams became. "Oh, it's not uncommon," Hermione told her one afternoon. She'd popped through the fireplace between classes for a chat. "During the final bit of the pregnancy, a woman can expect to dream about all sorts of wonky things...when I was expecting Reid, I remember dreaming I was swimming in a vat of chocolate at the place where they make Chocolate Frogs...I resembled a giant beluga whale, bobbing through the chocolate, and every once in a while I'd submerge and take a great, big gulp-" "Sounds like you were well past the nauseous bit by then," said Ginny, giggling. "M-hmm," said Hermione. "The wonders of modern sorcery had allowed me to eat anything and everything I craved at that point...Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, un-fizzy Pumpkin Fizz..." Ginny giggled again, but that very night, a food-related dream of her own had been coaxed into existence. It seemed like nothing was sacred when it came to source material for cataleptic theatre. *** One chilly Sunday afternoon, Ginny had collapsed onto the sofa and drifted off into her typical midday slumber. She knew she was dreaming the moment she looked down - her bloated stomach was flat, but in the middle of the living room were two mint-green bassinettes, one with a large butter-yellow "F" on the canopy, the other with a "G." A symphony of newborn wails was being produced from within the little baby beds, but when Ginny tried walking towards them, her feet wouldn't budge. "Accio babies!" she tried calling, but found she had no voice. After what seemed like an eternity, Ginny found that she could drag her feet slowly, slowly, ever so slowly across the floor. Much to her dismay she found two very hungry babies, both wearing soiled nappies. "Merlin!" Ginny whispered. "No one's fed or changed you for days..." Ginny's eyes sprang open and she gasped. Harry was walking towards the door to the back garden with his Firebolt, James traipsing after him clutching his Junior Nimbus (which he had outgrown long ago, but still held onto until such time his parents saw fit to get him a "real" broomstick). Harry paused as he heard his wife's sharp intake of breath. "Go on out, James...I'll be there in a second." James skipped out the door and Harry squatted beside the sofa. "Everything okay?" "The babies need to fed and changed," Ginny said, but then looked down at her stomach and realized it had all been a dream. Harry looked doubtfully at her. "It's going to be a quandary, getting nappies on them in their present state." He smiled. "Have another weird dream, did you?" Ginny nodded. "I should write a book," she said. "Were the babies at least human this time?" asked Harry, smirking. Ginny nodded again. "And it seems we also managed to get them home from St. Mungo's this time as well...last night I dreamt we left them there." Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he chuckled. "I wish I could siphon some of your odd dreams off to my brain, and allow you a bit of peace...you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a long time." Ginny leaned over and touched her forehead to his. "Here...take them, they're yours," she said quietly. Harry moved a half an inch closer and brushed his mouth to hers. Ginny let her lips linger for a moment, even though she could hear James bellowing, "Dad! Dad! DA-AAAD!" from the back garden, no doubt anxious to take a spin on the Firebolt with his father before the weather turned too nippy. James could wait half a second - Ginny felt she deserved a stolen moment with the father of her children. *** The next morning, Ginny awoke in the very uncomfortable position she'd been forced to sleep in for a fair few months now - flat on her back. It took her a moment to become conscious of it, but when it finally sunk in, she realized she hadn't had a single dream the night before. She turned her head to greet Harry with a good morning and found him with both arms wrapped protectively around his head, as if trying to prevent something getting to him while he slept. She could just make out his eyes - which were almost-but-not-quite obstructed from view by his arms - and they were scrunched closed tightly, almost painfully so. "Pssst," Ginny whispered into his ear. He grunted. "Good morning, Mr. Potter," she said quietly. She was in a terribly good mood after such a lovely sleep. "Eurghmmph," Harry said as he dropped his arms. His eyes remained closed. Ginny (with great effort, as she was as big as a house) moved closer and flipped to her side, so that she was facing him. She tickled his earlobe with her fingertip and stroked his mop of hair, which was looking as though he'd slept through a windstorm. "Slppfrmmrr," was Harry's garbled response. His eyes blinked open just once, then promptly closed themselves tightly again. Ginny probably should have hobbled into the kitchen to start some coffee for her husband, who had clearly not experienced the pleasure of a good night's sleep, but she was having too much fun. And after all, how likely was he to jinx her in her current condition? She inched a bit closer and tickled his earlobe again, this time with the tip of her tongue. "Mmmm," Harry said. "You like that, do you?" she murmured. "Why am I not surprised? It's those sorts of exploits that have led to my present state of girth-" Harry had opened his eyes again, but this time they remained so. He said in a very hoarse voice, "I never hear you complain when we decide to indulge in said exploits, dear." He flipped himself on his side so that he faced Ginny. "Point taken," replied Ginny. "I'm not ashamed to admit...I never seem to grumble when you want to exploit me." Harry gave a gruff laugh. "Sleep well last night?" he asked. "Indeed," said Ginny, beaming. "Although I take it you did not?" "Do you recall when you tried giving me your odd dreams yesterday afternoon?" "M-hmm," said Ginny, noticing how her husband's usually brilliant green eyes seemed a little muted this morning. "Well, I think you actually succeeded in giving me your dreams." Ginny's bright brown eyes grew wide. "Really? Honestly?" "It's the honest to Merlin truth," said Harry as he wrapped a wisp of her ginger hair around one of his index fingers. "What did you dream then?" asked Ginny, her curiosity piqued. "It's too embarrassing," said Harry, dropping the lock of her hair and making a move to slide out of bed. "Oh, no you don't!" said Ginny, grinning. She grabbed Harry by the top of his pajamas and tugged him back down. "It's time for you to come clean...I've told you all of my dreams!" Harry sighed. He had to know he wasn't getting out of the bedroom without confessing. Ginny was not the type of person to let something like this rest. "Oh, all right...I can see you're not one to be crossed," he said, rubbing his tired eyes. "You're a slow learner, Potter," laughed Ginny. "You're just now realizing this?" Harry shot her a look that said, "I think not." He yawned and finally collected enough pluck to narrate the events of his bizarre, adopted dream. *** As Ginny made the morning coffee a half hour later, she was still infected with fits of laughter. She just couldn't get the image out of her mind. Harry Potter, nursing twins. Harry glared at her over his cup of coffee as Ginny continued to giggle. "Never repeat a word," he said. "Never. Ever." Ginny kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, "I solemnly swear, dear." Harry raised a suspicious eyebrow as Ginny patted him squarely on the chest and said, "Have a lovely day at work!" just before he Disapparated. *** Author's Note: This chapter was inspired by another article in Parenting magazine. It was called "What Pregnancy Dreams Are Made Of," and was written by Christina Frank. If you care to read the article for yourself, you'll have to search for the April 2003 copy of the magazine. <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a></center> <center>I tend to think that if someone is sufficiently engaged in one of the books, he's not going to be too disappointed if, at some point, his hero holds hands with a little girl. - Jo Rowling</center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Sun Oct 17, 2004 2:46 pm

Chapter 13 - Father’s Day Thankfully, Harry had recovered from the initial embarrassment of having dreamt he'd had the ability (not the mention the figure!) to nurse not one, but two newborn babies – and much to his satisfaction, the mother-to-be dreams didn't seem to want to stick with a father-to-be. The lactating adventure would luckily be Harry's only adventure as his weird dreams ceased after just one night. But Ginny's pregnancy was nearing an end, and other things seemed to be on Harry's mind. One frigid February evening, while James was sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace sounding out words in Quidditch Through the Ages, Harry plopped down on the sofa next to Ginny, who was busily sketching her young son. For a few moments, he seemed content to watch Ginny draw, but after a while, Ginny got the impression he wanted to say something. "What is it?" she asked quietly as she put her wand tip to the piece of parchment, rubbing out a bit of the drawing she wasn't pleased with. "I dunno," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. Ginny looked at him squarely and said, "You do know, you just don't want to say." She smudged a bit of charcoal on the end of his nose and laughed softly. "I know you very well, my love." Harry wiped away the charcoal, shifted uncomfortably on the sofa cushion, then glanced down at James, who was muttering, "Wuh…wuh…rrr…rrr…" under his breath. Before Harry could begin explaining himself to Ginny, James interrupted. "What's this word, Dad?" He held up the green bound volume and Harry walked over and peered through his glasses at the word in question. "That's 'Wronski,' son," he said. James looked confused. "Oh, like 'Wronski Feint,'" he said, immediately recognizing the Quidditch term. "But why isn't it Wuh-ronski Feint? Mum said double-yoo makes the wuh sound…" "How about I explain that to you tomorrow, sweetheart?" said Ginny. She discreetly gestured towards Harry, who was again sitting beside her, looking mildly troubled. James seemed to take the hint. "Okay…I'm going to my room…I wanna play chess with Mr. Snuffles anyhow," he announced. "I hope you win," Ginny said brightly as James ambled out of the room with his Quidditch book in hand. Ginny turned to Harry, who had reclined back against the arm of the sofa, his legs hanging slantways, propped up by the coffee table. "Okay…now spill your guts." She set her drawing materials down on the table and crossed her arms – a slightly funny gesture, since they came to rest across her colossal abdomen. Harry took a deep breath, removed his eyeglasses, rubbed his eyes, then replaced the glasses. He was clearly dawdling. Ginny was getting anxious. "You're starting to really worry me, Harry," she said, scooting towards him and reaching for one of his hands. He tried to pull her against him, like he would normally do during non-pregnant times, but she wouldn't let him. "I'll crush the life out of you," she said. "C'mere." She pulled him close to her instead. He tilted an ear to her swollen stomach and sighed. "What if I don't end up loving these two like I do James?" he whispered. "How is it possible that I could love any other children as much as I do him? Ginny didn't know how to answer right away. So, this was why Harry was looking like a shell of himself all of a sudden? No wonder he appeared semi-traumatized – out of the blue and without warning, these doubts had obviously tainted his proud Future Daddy of Twins mind and left him drowning in a sea of misgivings. She had to reassure him. She had to tell him there was no possible way he could have less love in his heart for these two babies. "Harry," she said in a soothing voice, caressing his head as he leaned against her. "Oh, Harry…don't even think that. Of course you'll love them…and you'll see, you won't be able to imagine how you could love them more once they come, you'll love them that much…oh, Harry…" Her eyes were flooding and a knot had lodged itself firmly in her throat, preventing her from saying more. Those damn Dursleys! She felt like Apparating to Little Whinging that very instant and walloping both Vernon and Petunia for being the root of the problem when it came to Harry's view on families – a tainted view that was apparently still haunting him as the birth of the babies drew nearer: Adore, indulge and pamper one child with all your corroded heart; maltreat, neglect and disregard the next with whatever's left of your rotting soul. She'd reckoned Petunia Dursley probably had that stitched on a pillow, displayed in the middle of a plastic-covered sofa in her stuffy lounge— "You think I'm being unreasonable?" Harry asked, almost inaudibly. "I think there's no way on earth my husband won't love his babies, that's what I think," said Ginny softly, but firmly. "Really?" he murmured. "Really," she echoed. "Good," he said, "because I didn't know…I wasn't certain…I mean, how unjust would it be if I didn't—" "You will," Ginny said stubbornly. "I'll bet you already do." He nodded slowly, no doubt starting to realize that Ginny had a point. "Your parents…" Harry began to speak but faltered. Ah, there you go, dear, Ginny thought. Family values at their best – she owed her parents so much, not least of all that they had opened their hearts to an eleven-year-old boy who had no memory of being loved by adults. From that first Weasley jumper and box of homemade fudge on, Harry had begun to experience the first hints of parental love and caring since he was fifteen months old. "I'll bet your parents didn't love Charlie any less when he came along just because they loved Bill so much," he said. "And I reckon Percy didn't suffer because of their feelings for Charlie—" The corners of Ginny's mouth twitched into a grin. "No, but Percy did suffer when Fred and George were born, just not at the hands of Mum and Dad!" Harry actually let out a loud laugh at that, which made Ginny very happy. "You see, it is possible…I'm the last out of seven, and Mum and Dad loved me just as much as the rest," said Ginny. "And I love you," said Harry, kissing the summit of her round belly. "And you two, too," he added, giving it two more kisses. Ginny's eyes widened and she swallowed a great breath of air. "I think you're going to get to love them live and in person very, very soon," she said with a suggestion of anxiety in her tone. "Harry…I think it's time!" *** It was always good to have a plan – that was something Hermione had once told her anyhow. Hermione told Ginny how she should pack a bag and have it ready for when it was time to go to St. Mungo's. Ginny sighed and told Hermione this wasn't her first time at this and that she knew that much already. Hermione also said that it'd be a good thing to have James' things ready, along with a timetable of what he did on a daily basis, since he'd be staying at the Burrow during the hospital trip. Ginny reminded Hermione that her mother had raised seven children and that taking care of her grandson for a couple of days would be a cinch – no timetables, schedules or agendas would be necessary for seasoned professionals in child rearing such as Molly and Arthur Weasley. So, needless to say, Ginny neglected to take any of Hermione's suggestions to heart until it was too late. "There's no time!" Ginny had shouted, sitting in a pool of amniotic fluid on the sofa as Harry raced to grab Ginny's things and cram them in a bag, while at the same time trying to expedite his son into packing his own things. "James'll have to come to the hospital with us…Mum and Dad can fetch him in the reception area!" Harry hustled into the living room, his arms full of two stuffed bags. James was at his heels, clutching his stuffed dog and looking gleeful. "The babies are coming?" James asked excitedly. "Yes," answered Ginny, "and they may well be coming right here in the middle of the living room if we don't get a move on!" Harry dropped a bag and gestured for James to take it. With his free hand, he grabbed a fistful of Floo powder and tossed it into the fire. "Let's get cracking…you first, Ginny." He walked to the sofa and helped Ginny to her feet; her legs were about as steady as a newborn colt. She wished she could Apparate. It certainly would have been a great deal quicker, but it wasn't safe since she was ready to deliver. She'd have to ready herself for a lovely trip through the Floo Network. "Keep your elbows in, Mum!" cried James as he gamboled around the living room, waiting for his turn in the fireplace. It was the last sight she saw before being whisked off towards the admitting grate at St. Mungo's Hospital. *** Many hours later, after it was all over with, Ginny let herself sigh at last and take it all in. She was currently experiencing a bit of post-delivery contentment as she looked to the foot of her bed, where Harry was perched, grinning from ear to ear. One tiny bundle was lying asleep in his arms and he cooed at it softly, letting it know that he was Daddy and that he was so pleased to make its acquaintance. The bundle in Ginny's arms was nursing at the moment, but barely – eyes were shut tight and the little mouth only suckled occasionally. Finally, with the smallest sigh Ginny had ever heard, the little infant finished nursing, satisfied enough to slip into a peaceful snooze. A minuscule bubble rested on the indent of the baby's lips as sleep settled in. Harry looked up and beamed. "So…" he said, looking at Ginny, his whole being awash with joy. "So," Ginny repeated. "Do you think we ought to name these two beautiful creatures?" he queried. "I think that's a brilliant suggestion, dear," Ginny replied. "Otherwise, it could get a little tricky getting their attention after a while…though, by the looks of it, it may be tricky figuring out who's who after a while, even with names." To be sure, both babies were exact likenesses of the other. Both heads were covered in a soft down of red fluff and both had bright wide eyes, very much like their very proud mother. "I think we should call them Ginny 1 and Ginny 2," offered Harry. "After all, they are exact replicas of you, dear." Ginny furrowed her brow. "I vote 'nay' on that," she said in objection. "Besides, wouldn't I be Ginny 1? And anyway, I'm Ginny only…it'd get too confusing with three Ginnys running around the house!" "Good point," said Harry. "There's always the old Quidditch name stand-bys…this little beauty looks like a 'Glynnis,' don't you agree?" He gestured toward the infant he was holding. Ginny's brow furrowed ever deeper. "Don't even joke about that!" she exclaimed, causing the bundle in her arms to squirm momentarily, before drifting back into baby dreamland. "I was thinking – but only if you agree – perhaps we could call them after our both our mums. I mean, I always thought it'd be a good idea if it turned out they were a pair of girls." Harry pondered the suggestion for a moment, then nodded his head. "I think that's a fantastic idea," he said. He looked at the baby girl in his arms and whispered, "Hello, Lily." *** Lily Evans Potter and Molly Prewett Potter were introduced to their older brother the next morning, when he and their grandparents came to visit. "Do you think you can live with two sisters, James?" asked Arthur. "I reckon," said James, who was leaning over baby Molly's bassinette giving her an appraising stare. "So long as they don't bother my stuff and they like Quidditch." "How did you smuggle James up here, Dad?" asked Ginny, who was handing baby Lily over to her grandmum. "If I recall correctly, St. Mungo's has a strict no small child policy…don't tell me they changed the rules!" "Err…" Arthur shifted uneasily on the spot where he was standing and looked at Harry with what Ginny thought was an expression seeking approval. Harry nodded at his father-in-law and Arthur cleared his throat, then spoke in a whisper, "Harry packed a certain something in James' bag that allowed him access to your room, darling." He winked and gesticulated towards a chair, where Ginny noticed a very familiar item wrapped in a bundle. "Harry James Potter!" Ginny said, flabbergasted. "You had the presence of mind to pack your Invisibility Cloak for James, but forgot to pack me my nightgown?" She laughed in spite of herself. "Well," said Molly as she settled Lily into a bassinette and prepared herself to pick up her namesake. "It's quite providential that you'd have a pair of daughters on a day when pink balloons are so easy to come by." She looked around the room, which was bedecked with pink balloons, flowers and an army of stuffed toys. "What a lovely Valentine's Day gift you two received this year." Ginny looked at her husband, who had James on his knee, explaining ways they could identify Molly versus Lily – James made him laugh when he suggested they give one of the twins purple hair. Ginny smiled. What a lovely gift indeed, and even lovelier still was watching Harry enjoy this very impromptu father's day. *** Author's Note: I owe so much to Parenting magazine. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> An article in the October 2002 issue called "Loving Another" was a great inspiration for this chapter. Also, the official birth date of Lily and Molly is February 13 – the day before Valentine's. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> And in case I haven't made it clear, James is now six years old. He was four years old during the autumn he started at "Madam Slapsticka's" school, but turned five that December. Therefore, he had his sixth birthday during his mum's pregnancy with the twins. And a side note about his schooling – he's done with preschool, and he's now doing a home schooling sort of thing with Ginny, but that may all end up changing now that she'll be having her hands full as a mother of three! <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a></center> <center>I tend to think that if someone is sufficiently engaged in one of the books, he's not going to be too disappointed if, at some point, his hero holds hands with a little girl. - Jo Rowling</center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Sun Oct 17, 2004 2:48 pm

Chapter 14 - Tempus Fugit Time flies when you're having fun – it's cliché to say, but Ginny knew it was true. It seemed just the other day she was toting her baby girls home from St. Mungo's, and now she was watching them play at eight-months-old. Lily was doing a sort of leap-scoot-leap crawl, where she'd bound forward then pull herself along a ways with her elbows before bounding again – she looked like a redheaded tadpole. As for Molly, she had made her father very proud the other day by saying her first word – dada. She loved to giggle and coo – she was going to be quite an orator, of that her parents were sure. And Lily was going to be the inquisitive one. She was constantly leap-scooting herself into all sorts of mischief. At present, the girls were being entertained by their big brother. James was performing action replays of a Cannons match with Mr. Snuffles as Seeker and Molly's pacifier as the Snitch. Molly garbled at the scene and slapped her chubby hand against her knee in approval. Lily tried to leap-scoot into the action herself, but James held up a warning finger. "No, Lily…you're too little for Quidditch right now, but when you're big like me, I'll teach you." Amazingly, Lily paused at her brother's caution and rested on her tummy to watch the rest of the play-acted match while her sister continued to cheer the proceedings on. James was quite an exuberant re-enactor, and Ginny found herself caught up in the moment, until she got an idea and tiptoed into her studio to fetch some paper and some drawing materials. The sight was too tempting not to capture. Gently, she sat down on the sofa and began to sketch. Thankfully, Lily was absorbed in her brother's dramatics for the time being, allowing her mum time to draw the charming trio of siblings at play – otherwise, Ginny would've had to hide the tempting pastels from her very curious and extremely mobile daughter. Before bed that evening, Harry found the drawing. Ginny had slipped it in with a collection of other drawings she'd done over the years, and left the lot of them on the coffee table in the living room. Most of them were of James, but a few of the newer ones included the girls as well. Harry had hardly seen any of the sketches, as Ginny didn't think they were her best work. "I didn't know you'd drawn all of these," said Harry, holding up a sketch of James at age five donning (what else?) his Chudley Cannons robes. "These are remarkable." He flipped through a couple more and paused. Ginny noticed him turning slightly red. "You could have left this subject out, though." He showed her a sketch of himself with James in the back garden. He was pointing to himself in the picture. Ginny had made sure to be extremely realistic in the depiction of his hair in that particular drawing – it was raging in all directions as the wind whipped around him. She grinned sheepishly. "That's actually one of my favorites," Ginny said. "What do you plan to do with all of these?" Harry asked, flipping through some more. Ginny shrugged. "I've never really considered it. I mean, it's not like I have time to consider much of anything when I'm knee-deep in nappies and applesauce!" "One day," Harry said as he gazed at the drawing of James entertaining two red-haired girls on the living room rug, "you'll have to do something more than let them collect dust." "Well," said Ginny slowly. "I've always said I should write a book…" *** "You could call it The Book of James," suggested Ron as he helped himself to a scone. "Seems sort of an irreverent title, Ron," said Hermione as she offered him some clotted cream. Ron shrugged and spread a blob onto his scone, then took a large mouthful. "Ertsissnmm…sssnit?" Hermione sighed exasperatedly and helped herself to a scone. "Yes, dear…it is his name, but…oh, never mind." Ginny grinned as she bounced Lily on her knee. She never could interpret Ron's second language quite as well as Hermione could. Ron's second language was Foodish to everyone who knew him well; it was talking with his mouth full to everyone else. Harry, who was trying to coax Molly into burping (she'd just chugged a juice bottle dry), offered a suggestion, "How about Through His Mother's Eyes? All of the drawings are by you – James' mum – and they show how you've observed him growing up." "I think Harry's on to something," said Hermione, setting her scone down on her plate and reaching for Lily. "Here, let me hold her…you need to eat something." Ron took a cue from Hermione and offered to take Molly. "Finish chewing first," Hermione said to her husband as she tried to cradle the squirming Lily, who was attempting to crawl onto the tabletop. Ron looked like he was going to fume, but instead he chose to animatedly finish his chomping and swallowed with a loud gulp before taking Molly away from Harry. Molly grabbed a fistful of Ron's hair and giggled. "Oww…mind your Uncle Ron's hair, will you?" He tugged it free from Molly's clutches, but not before she relieved him of several locks. "And we're trying to have another one of these?" Ron muttered under his breath. "What?" gasped Harry, nearly letting a blob of clotted cream fly across the kitchen in his surprise. "You are…really?" asked Ginny excitedly. Hermione looked uncomfortable, but she nodded. Her eyes went wide as she gave Ron a We'll-Talk-Later look. "Yes, but with little success at the moment." She sighed and stroked Lily's wavy ginger locks. She didn't appear to want to discuss. "But let's talk about this picture book…I think Harry's suggestion for a title is a good one." Ginny nodded. "I think it definitely has merit," agreed Ginny. She smiled at Harry, who merely shrugged. "It'll do as a working title at least," he said, spreading cream onto his scone at last. "All right," said Ginny, settling matters. "It's a working title with great promise…and since the book is definitely a work in progress, there's no rush to decide for certain right now. Besides, I can't sketch any more childhood scenes until I've finished Fred and George's latest poster for their shop. They've been asking for it for ages, but since Lily learned to crawl, I'm working at a snail's pace. She's just dying to get her hands into my paints! I don't know what I'll do when she learns how to walk!" *** Author's Note: Although it's obvious where my main source of inspiration comes from (Jo Rowling and her marvelous books, of course!), I like to draw inspiration from elsewhere, too. Sometimes it's from my family; sometimes it's from my profession; and sometimes it's from the other literary works I delve into. This time it was from an amazing and wonderful book called The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger. There's a quote from that book that I used as a thread to weave this chapter into being: The drawing is finished. It will serve as a record – I loved you, I made you, and I made this for you – long after I am gone, and Henry is gone, and even Alba is gone. It will say, we made you, and here you are, here and now. The chapter title (which, when translated from Latin, means "time flies") is in honor of this fantastic book. Please read it if you get the chance! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> <center><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/rpg/patronus" target="_new"><img border=0 src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-8/1 ... tharry.gif" /></a></center> <center>I tend to think that if someone is sufficiently engaged in one of the books, he's not going to be too disappointed if, at some point, his hero holds hands with a little girl. - Jo Rowling</center>

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