[ Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
Chapter 1 : Spooked
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 5|
Background: Font color:
“Hello Harry Potter,” Mrs Weasley's voice greeted him from the kitchen. “Can you come to stir this please. I need an extra hand in here…”
He knew then that something was up. No one was allowed in the kitchen when Mrs Weasley was cooking, especially when she was cooking for so many people. There wasn’t room and it interrupted her cooking, stirring and chopping spells. And the spells worked; she didn’t need him to stir nothing. It was like asking him to identify socks. There was an ulterior motive.
So he began stirring the brown mixture slowly on the bench beside Mrs Weasley. She was not doing anything accept watching him, leaning back on the bench right next to the gravy-like mixture he was attending to. He looked at her a few times quickly but after a whole silent minutes, when she still hadn’t said anything he decided to stare into the bowel’s content.
“Did you have fun last night?” She finally asked. It took point four of a second for her meaning to sink in and it took the remaining point six of a second for him to drop the wooden spoon, tip the bowel and flick gravy all over his front.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed, immediately regretting cursing in front of Mrs Weasley. He tried his hardest to contain the mess and to get as much of the gravy spilling off the bench to land into the now empty bowel. Not that it mattered. The gravy on his shirt and shorts where dripping all over the floor anyway. Soaking into his shoes and socks. Giving up he looked up to Mrs Weasley, who hadn’t moved an inch and she had the most humoured grin on her face.
Not that he could see what was so funny about it. At all. He knew Ginny shouldn't have stayed over last night - even after a few too many drinks – but he couldn't let her just apparate home. That's how people get splinched. People don't let people they like, possibly love just go and splinch themselves. His guilty conscience reminded him there was nothing wrong with the floo network but by the time they got to his apartment it was incredibly obvious that she wasn't going anywhere. She didn't want to go home just as much as he wanted her to stay.
“Oh, your all covered in gravy.” It sounded so insincere and he felt himself take a step back. Was she going to kill him? Or at least immobilise him by hexing off his leg? Or hexing off some other body part? He cringed at the thought. “You might need to go get changed.” She shrugged, and flicked her wand. The mess on the bench was gone. “Perhaps, Ginny could help you with it…”
He groaned inside. Maybe even outside. “Mrs Weasley I…”
…didn’t mean to get really drunk last night and have my way with your daughter. Or at least let you find out about it anyway.
“…Sorry?” He smiled at her stupidly; it was the best he could think of. And he felt like a twat. Sorry? Like she’d care he was sorry. Like she would believe him. She didn't.
“Ah-huh.” He nodded solemnly. The gravy was soaked in now. He was a twat. But what would the alternative be? To say ‘Hey, she was with me, and it was fucking great’. Yeah no thanks. He’d stick to the lame answers. Not to mention he really didn’t want to swear in front of her again.
“Well then, I guess when you go out drinking accidents are bound to happen, right Harry?”
He nodded again.
“And I hope it wasn’t too much to expect that you both used some protection?”
He shook his head. No. Should he nod? They used protection didn’t they? Oh crap. “Ah…”
“Not sure?” Her hands were on her hips. He’d never been on the receiving end of her wrath before. Godric, he was dead meat.
No! Ginny took a potion. “Yes! Potion!” He said, probably louder than needed, his voice a few octaves to high.
Her eyebrow rose.
“She takes a potion.” He confirmed trying to keep his voice low, failing miserably.
If it were at all possible her eyebrow rose even higher into the rustiness of her red hair. “Lovely.” Was all she said, although he suspected that she didn't think that one bit.
They stared awkwardly at one another. Well he felt awkward and she looked... scary. He guessed this was what it felt like to be in trouble with your mum, where you know nothing you say will get you out of trouble because you know you did wrong. He'd just have to drink a cup of cement and take it. Ginny was so dead; she could have warned him. It wasn't too much to ask was it?
“I'm a bit disappointed, Harry.”
“Ah..” But even though he had nothing to contribute she never gave him a chance.
“First of all you know Ginny has a curfew.” Yes, Harry knew this. Resented it sometimes too. “And so when she comes in at eight in the morning looking like she's slept in a trash can what am I to think?”
Harry frowned. Trash can? He didn't live in a trash can. “Well I...”
“You what? I've seen the state you and Ron keep that apartment Harry.”
“Not that bad.” Was all he managed to mutter in his own defence. Although he was fidgeting with his own finger nails; it was hardly persuading. So what if they sometimes neglected their washing or dishes? The rest of the place was clean and there was no way his room was half as bad as Ron's.
Mrs Weasley ignored him; he couldn't blame her. “Not to mention the drinking? And the hesitation about using protection.”
Well when she puts it that way of course he was a terrible person. Anyone would think he forced the firewiskey down her throat and dragged her to his place. Not that it mattered, is hole was dug now, Mrs Weasley would be sending him to his grave.
“Can I ask you about your intentions?”
“Yes, with Ginny.”
“I... ah... Ginny... I... crap.”
“You should have seen him,” she laughed. Author Weasley hadn't seen his wife in such a good mood in ages. It did not escape him that it was at someone else's expense. “I... ah... Ginny... I... crap.” she said in an odd voice as she did a stiff kind of robot dance on the spot. He could only assume that this was her impersonation of Harry. A terrible but comical one.
“I'm not overly sure that Ginny would be too impressed by you antagonising Harry like that,” he pointed out to his wife who instantly stopped her stiff dance.
Molly merely shrugged, “So? I can't scare Ginny. It doesn't really work.” She climbed into bed looking quite pleased with herself. “But now, no matter how hard Ginny tries Harry won't let her stay over his place.” She batted her eyelashes flashing her cheesiest smile. “Because he is scared of me.”
“So you spooked him?”
“Good” he laughed, but he meant it.
Other Similar Stories