Chapter 9 : Pillows and Pancakes.
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 7|
Background: Font color:
CHAPTER NINE - PILLOWS AND PANCAKES.
“Excuse me… Coming through… Can I get past please?... Pardon me… OH MY GOD MOVE.”
This is pretty much all that had been tumbling out of my mouth since I got on the train to Hogwarts fifteen minutes ago. Guffawing seventh year boys were too big to squeeze past, so I dropped to the floor and went through their legs, much to their amusement. Giggling fifth year girls didn’t notice when I asked them to move, so I just wriggled my way in between them. Even second years that were sprinting down the corridors got in my way, shoving past me and ramming me into a wall.
I hate being short. It’s not as though I even have an excuse: I’m not fucking Frankie first year. I’m a sixth year.
“Hey, move out of the way, pipsqueak, fourth years coming through.” I was abruptly knocked aside by a group of burly fourth year boys who were all, yep, you guessed it, about a foot taller than me.
I AM A SIXTH YEAR, DAMMIT. I WEAR MY PREFECT BADGE WITH PRIDE.
Okay, so I wear my prefect badge with pride, but I actually had my prefect duties revoked after two weeks when I may or may not have accidentally set Slughorn’s moustache on fire. (Slughorn being the batty old Professor at Hogwarts who doesn’t even teach anymore but pretty much downright refuses to leave and just sort of sits around and farts a lot and definitely should have died about fifty years ago.) They actually confiscated my badge as well but Lysander and I went on a mission to get it back. I’ll tell you about THAT mission impossible escapade (there were a few) another time: it’s a story worth hearing.
“Oi!” I shouted after them. “Watch it, thickos!”
They just laughed with their pretend deep manly voices and kept walking. Gits.
I continued my endless trek down the train, peering through windows until I spotted the familiar red hair that meant I had found Rose.
“Alright, fuckers?” I said as I opened to door to the usual chaos which was the meet-and-greet of my friends when they hadn’t seen each other for a whole summer. I threw my bag at Remy’s head and opened my arms for the onslaught of hugs that were coming my way. They all hit me at once, sending us all toppling to the floor of the compartment in a large, giggling mess. “They” being Remy, Shiraz, Lysander, Rose, Kenzie and Damien, who were all now lying on top of me. “Oh get off, you great lumps!” I wheezed as Lysander was currently lying across my chest and he’s a heavy little shit.
We picked ourselves up off the floor and dusted each other down. “How was everyone’s summer?” I asked, watching curiously as Shiraz and Lysander smiled at each other, blushing profusely.
There was a chorus of “good” and a couple of “I missed you!” and a “don’t even ask me about my summer I don’t want to go into it leave me alone okay?”.
Damien had family issues to say the least.
“Yours?” Rose asked as if she hadn’t seen me three days ago.
“Oh it was crap.” I said sarcastically as I sat down in my usual spot by the window facing backwards. “I spent the whole time with this crazy family and it was just awful.” Rose shoved me and plopped down in the seat opposite me as I smirked.
As the train pulled away from the station, Lysander leaned out the window and waved to his parents. Rose pushed him aside and flailed her hand fleetingly at her parents before sitting back in her seat, opened her bag, and emptied the contents of it onto the floor of our compartment. We all stared in silence at what had come out of the bag.
“Um, Rose?” Damien asked carefully.
“Care to explain why you just emptied an entire bags worth of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans onto the floor?”
Rose grinned. “I have a game.”
“Uh oh.” Said Shiraz while Remy muttered “This can only end in tears.” Under her breathe before hiding behind her magazine.
“Oh, come on!” Rose pleaded. “Look, we each take a bean and eat it at the same time. We all tell what flavour we got, and whoever got the best flavour wins a point! Then we play until the beans are finished, and whoever has the most points at the end wins!”
Everyone gazed at the two foot high pile of Bertie Bott’s boxes with a wary look in their eyes.
“Guys, it’s free food.” Rose said exactly what she knew would get us to agree.
“I’m in!” Lysander said and grabbed a box, along with the general consensus of “YUS FOOD!”
We each took a bean. Mine was blue. I hoped it wasn’t blueberry, I hate blueberry.
“One, two, three.” Rose said, and we all tipped the beans into our mouths.
I grimaced. “Blueberry.”
“Cookie dough!” Shiraz grinned.
Remy looked confused. “I think its bogeys, but I can’t be sure…”
“Broccoli!” Rose screwed up her face in disgust.
“Strawberries.” Lysander grinned.
“Steak…” Remy said, picking bits out of his teeth.
“I win!” Kenzie grinned.
“What did you get?” Remy asked.
“Apple and pumpkin pie.”
The next hour or so comprised of us all stuffing ourselves with beans, several shouts from Rose of “WHY DOES THE BROCOLLI ALWAYS FIND ME?!” and the occasional person spitting one into the bag in the middle which we had placed in case of emergency. The worst were washing up liquid, blood, weed killer, and what Lysander claimed to be elephant poo.
Albus Potter’s room really is quite something. I hope to Merlin that he marries a Gryffindor; otherwise his room and his house pride are going to take a serious knock. Everything was red and gold, and when I say “everything”, I mean everything. His walls were scarlet and covered with our team’s Quidditch posters, featuring ones of just him and ones of the whole team. He had a huge Gryffindor banner above his bed, which had a red and gold design on it. His carpet was a deep gold colour; even his lampshade was a dark shade of red. (Shade of red? See what I did there? Because it’s a lampshade? Ha, I’m so funny.)
“What are you laughing at?” He asked as he exited his bathroom (which also appeared to be red and gold) to find me standing in the middle of his room giggling away to myself.
He rolled his eyes and opened a drawer in his (red) closet. “Here.” He extracted something and threw it across the room at me. I held it up in front of me.
“What do you want me to do with this?” It was his old Gryffindor Quidditch jersey, deep scarlet with ‘Potter’ branded across the back in thick gold lettering.
“You can sleep naked if you really want, I’m not complaining.” He smirked and peeled off his shirt.
OH GLORY HALLELUJAH WHAT IS THAT.
I MEAN, WHAT. IS. THAT.
ABS. ABS EVERYWHERE. I THINK IF I HIT MY HEAD OFF THEM I WOULD BREAK MY SKULL. IF I RUBBED CHEESE ON THEM THEY WOULD GRATE IT.
OKAY. REGAIN COMPSURE. REGAIN. COMPOSURE.
I’m okay. I’m fine, really. It would seem that Al has not lost his Quidditch abs. Not at all. If anything, they are even more washboard than before.
Must. Regain. Ability. To. Snap. Back. At. Him.
Oh, wonderfully intelligent remark there, Asiya. You got him good with that one. Well done.
And this is why it REALLY REALLY sucks being a girl. That and the fact we bleed for a week every month and survive. I mean, what the fuck is up with that? It’s really not very fair at all: can you imagine if guys bled for a month through their peepee? Yeah, they wouldn’t be so critical about it then. Okay, my thoughts during my lady times generally are:
2. My bajingo is falling off.
3. I’m going to die.
4. Wow this is dumb.
5. Oh look, there goes a pair of my cutest underwear.
6. I’m going to kill myself.
7. Why wasn’t I born a boy?
8. Why was I born?
9. I hate you all.
10. Aw cute I woke up in a pool of my own blood.
What on earth would the boys be like? They’re all moody and grumpy as it is, imagine if they got a week every month to get away with being even worse.
And now that I’m done complaining about my girl parts, back to the topic at hand:
“Asiya, that is quite possibly the most intelligent thing to ever tumble out of your mouth.” Albus said to me as I scurried into the bathroom to change. “Seriously, you should spout things like that more often!” He shouted as I slammed the door behind me.
I gave my best evil glare to my side of the door. I hope he can feel it on the other side.
“Stop glaring at the door and get changed!”
I turned and glanced around his bathroom. You can tell a lot about someone just by looking at their bathroom.
His toothpaste, toothbrush, shaving foam, razor etc. were all lined up neatly next to the sink, but there were some toothpaste stains in the sink. He’s tidy, but not clean. His towels were Gryffindor colours. Once again, really hope he doesn’t end up marrying a Slytherin: might be a bit of a shock to the system if he does. White walls, shiny tile floor, fluffy rug in front of a huge bath. The taps were shiny and golden and the shower was paved with marble.
Merlin, this family was loaded.
I wonder if James’ bathroom is like this.
NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? WHY AM I THINKING ABOUT JAMES? WHAT? NO.
After I’d changed into his bloody Quidditch jumper (which was very soft and came down to mid-thigh on me, note to self: find out what fabric softener his mum uses) I puddled about in the little spongebag Ginny had left me beside the sink. Little collapsible toothbrush, tiny tube of toothpaste, folding hairbrush, make-up wipes, Q-tip, and OH MY GOD CHAPSTICK.
Okay, you may already know a hell of a lot about me, because you’re in my head and all, but one thing you DON’T know about me yet is that I have an unhealthy obsession with chapsticks. I would rather leave the house without my wand than without my chapstick. Seriously, if I only had room for one more thing in my pocket my chapstick would be in before absolutely anything else. Except maybe my keys, because I would need those to access the rest of my chapsticks in my apartment. I have a small drawer (right under my “man drawer”, as I like to call it, which I will explain at a later date) that is just full of chapsticks. Mostly apple ones. They’re the best ones.
Once, I left my chapstick at home and had to go cold turkey for a whole day. It was absolute hell: I genuinely thought I was going to die.
I smeared the chapstick reverently on my lips - cherry, not apple, but it will do – and cleaned my teeth with my cute little foldy toothbrush.
“Will you hurry up in there, I think my bladder may be about to explode!”
I rolled my eyes and called through a mouthful of toothpaste: “Well oo shhooud’ve gun beshore!”
“Oo shoood huv guuunn beshore!”
“I don’t speak gibberish!”
I spat and began running the tap to wash my face. Unfortunately my little airline package didn’t contain wipes to remove my whore/clown/actually-pretty-hot make-up. I grimaced at the thought of having to rifle through Potter’s drawers to find soap, but took a deep breath and started with the first one on my right.
Painkillers, bandages, plasters, all medical stuff. Next drawer down.
Holy fucking shit balls this guy has more products in his bathroom than Shiraz’s whole apartment. Hair gels, facial creams, Vaseline, hair wax, moisturiser, oh my Merlin he is practically a girl. I snorted and moved on to the first drawer on my left.
Ahhh, soap at last. Awww, it’s in the shape of a teddy bear! What a cutie patootie!
I started to lather up the soap in the warm water, eying up the final drawer under the sink. I shouldn’t. But I really want to. But I shouldn’t. I shook my head and started to scrub at my face in an attempt to get rid of the ghastly make-up.
Before I knew it my hands were opening the bottom drawer and I was peering inside.
Woah. Woah woah woahwoahwoahWOAHWOAHWOAH.
I snapped the drawer shut. Did NOT need to see that. What the fuck is wrong with him?
I finished washing up and exited the bathroom to find Potter lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“Why on earth do you have an entire bathroom dawer filled to the brim with condoms?” I asked, folding my arms and raising my eyebrows.
“You never know when they might be needed.” He answered without missing a beat, before getting up and walking towards the bathroom. He stopped just as he passed me. “And sweetie?”
I smiled sarcastically at him. “Yes, dear?”
“If we’re going to maintain this darling relationship of ours, you’ve got to stop going through my stuff.”
He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him.
Hormonal teenage girl, much?
“Please don’t make me sleep on the floor.”
I was standing next to Potter’s bed, holding the pillow he had thrust at me under one arm and the blanket in my other hand, looking at him all cosied up in his scarlet duvet with about twelve pillows.
“You lost the coin flip.” He mumbled, snuggled under his blankets with his eyes closed.
I narrowed my eyes. “I could always just go and tell your mother that we were never really together and that I’m going home now.” I threatened. His eyes shot open.
“Oh, I would.” I said and started towards the door.
“Hey, I am not paying you to rat me out to my mum!” he sat up and I whirled around to face him, lobbing the pillow across the room at him.
“You’re not paying me at all!” The pillow smacked him right in the middle of the face.
“Asiya!” he pushed the pillow away. “Please, you said you would do me this favour, don’t ruin it now! It’s only one more day and then we never have to speak of this again!”
Ah, he has my attention. “We never have to speak of this again, yes?”
He nodded fervently. “Never again.” He wrinkled up his face. “Not that I’d want to, anyway.”
“Okay,” I said, folding my arms. “I have one condition and I won’t go running to your mum.”
“I get to sleep on the bed.”
“Fine!” He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation and tossed the covers off him as I grinned and skipped over to the bed. It looked so soft and comfy. “Toss me a pillow, will you?” He said as I snuggled down into the duvet – which was just as soft and comfy as it looked – and I chucked it at his face, laughing as he let out a yelp and promptly fell off the bed and landed on the floor with a loud, resounding thud.
“Fucking Chaser.” Came the muffled grumble from the carpet.
“You definitely should have known not to mess with me then, sucker.” I retorted, pushing a couple more of his dozen pillows over the side of the bed on top of him. His head popped up and he glared at me.
“Watch it, loser, or I’ll-”
“Or you’ll what, seek me to death?” I shot back.
He scoffed. “No. I’ll… I’ll… Shut up.” I smirked as he flipped me off and rolled over, attempting to assemble his pillows into a more comfortable fashion. “Blanket.” He held his hand out and I automatically, being his secretary, had a blanket in his hands within miliseconds. I am so good at my job.
Once he was comfortable, there were a few minutes of silence before either of us spoke.
“Are you sure you’re okay with sleeping on the floor?”
“I mean I-”
“Because I mean that looks really uncomfortable,” I said as I rolled over and looked at him lying with pillows askew and the blanket not entirely covering him. “and I-”
“Merlin, Asiya, do you want me to sleep on the bed with you?”
“You seemed a little bit too eager there, hun.”
I shot him glower. “I was just trying to be nice.”
“For once in your life.” He muttered mutinously. “Alright, seeing as you’re actually being nice for once,” he huffed his way up and onto the bed. “I’ll take advantage of that fact and take you up on your offer.”
I glared at him as he got under the covers next to me. At least I still got the side nearest the window (bonus!).
“So…” I said, looking at his eyes that were peeking out from under the covers. “What’s the deal with your family and Rita Skeeter?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Albus is unavailable for answering that question. Please try again later. Or never.” He rolled his eyes and turned over so he was facing away from me.
“Hey!” I propped myself up on my elbows. “If we’re gonna be “dating” for the next little while, I have to know what’s going on with you and your family!”
“You don’t need to know about that.”
“I was only asking-”
“Not about that, Patil!” Ooh, last names are getting involved. This can’t be good. “Goodnight.”
Anti-climax much? I really don’t get this boy, one minute he’s being all sassy about me asking a simple question, and the next he’s fine and drifting off to sleep. It’s like PRATbamNORMAL. What is going on with him. I really do think that we should know more about each other personally if we’re going to get through the next twenty-four hours or so. Oh well. Guess I’ll start.
“My favourite colour is green.” I said, staring at the ceiling.
Albus rolled over and stared at me. “What?”
“Not the bright kind of green or the Slytherin green, the kind of green that the ground is when light shines through trees.” NO I AM TOTALLY NOT THINKING OF ALBUS’ EYES RIGHT NOW SHUT UP THEY’RE UGLY. “Umm… When all the other little girls I was friends with when I was little took ballet classes, I would rather be running round the park and being on the swings and stuff. I tell myself I’m not allergic to pineapple because it’s my favourite fruit but in actuality it makes my tongue swell up.”
“What are you doing?” Albus was staring at me incredulously.
“I’m telling you about myself. Stupid stuff. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. We need to know more about each other. I love doing the Macarena. I have four siblings, and only one of them is a little shit. I don’t like having flowers in the house because they remind me of funerals.” I paused. “I oly have one photo of me and my dad. I love watching muggle movies. Especially the black and white ones, they’re the best. But The Pink Panther is definitely one of my favourites. And that’s not all you need to know about me but that’s all I can think of right now.” I looked at him. “You okay?”
He had a kind of blank stare thing going on. “Yeah, just processing.”
There was a long pause.
“You actually like pineapple?”
“THAT’S WHAT YOU TOOK AWAY FROM THAT?!”
“I hate pineapple.”
“I hate you.”
“And what on earth is the Macarena?”
“You don’t know the Macarena?”
“You know, ashabandoonanabelalalena hammiunagooforamehaladora yukibolasarnatilamanahena EEEEEEEHHHHH MACARENA!” I started singing the infamous tune.
He started laughing hysterically. “I know what the Macarena is, I just wanted to hear you sing it.”
“You’re a terrible singer.”
“That’s it!” I started violently kicking him until he hit the floor with a very satisfying crash. “You’re sleeping on the floor!” He was still laughing as he gathered his pillows once again and set up shop on the floor.
A few more minutes of silence ensued.
“Like you know the words to the Macarana.” I scoffed at him.
“I could do better than you.”
“Xjsdojwdpowdlwdfwqfkleqfelfkeqofeqfoeieofreqpoekjfcolasdfghjkllodwpoqkaaa EEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHH MACARENA.”
And suddenly we were both pissing ourselves and doing our renditions of the Macarena – dancing and all – while lying down in bed.
I woke up face down in the middle of the bed, arms and legs splayed in proper qwop formation and my face pressed into a pillow. HOLY SHIT HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN LIKE THIS I CAN’T FUCKING BREATHE.
I brought my head up and drew a long breath of air. It felt like I hadn’t had any oxygen for days.
I gazed around the room, which due to my sleepy haziness and severe lack of oxygen, was a sort of blurry red. Where the fuck am I? My room is blue! My eyes rested on what appeared to be a human figure on the floor. Oh shit I killed someone didn’t I? WHY IS IT THAT FIRST THING IN THE MORNING I CAN’T REMEMBER ANYTHING INCLUDING MY OWN NAME?! I blinked a few times to clear my eyes and realised the figure on the floor was none other than Albus Potter. Holy fucking shit balls I killed my boss. I murdered one of the most famous wizards to walk the face of the planet. And, knowing my relationship with him, it was probably violent and bloody too. Oh crap oh crap oh crap.
And then Potter let out a humungous snore and rolled over, and it all came flooding back to me. The party. The bedroom. The fact that I’m currently risking my entire reputation for someone I despise with all my being.
I miss when I forgot who I was and what an idiot I am.
“What time is it?” I muttered and glanced around the room for a clock. There was one on his bedside table, reading half past eight in the morning. Oh it’s fine, it’s a Sunday and I can get away with a couple more hours of sleep. I sighed and lay back down, making sure to face up this time, when suddenly there was a knock on the door.
“Good morning!” Came Nana Molly’s sing song voice through the door. “Can I come in?” Shit.
“One second!” I called back. “Potter.” I whispered at the sleeping idiot. He was on his back, limbs everywhere and his mouth wide open. Wow, he’s almost as inelegant as I am when I’m asleep.
“Potter! POTTER!” I hissed as loud as I dared to before I gave up and thwacked a pillow down on his face.
“AGH! WHAT?!” He sat up with a very undignified yelp and looked at me blearily.
“Your grandmother is at the door, get up here!” I whispered and his eyes widened before he scrambled up, grabbing various pillows and blankets – throwing one very violently back at me – before awkwardly climbing into bed beside me.
“Okay what do we do?!” He said under his breathe.
“Oh I dunno just spoon me for fuck’s sake!” I hissed and turned so I was facing away from him. He put his arm over my middle and HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT PRESSING INTO MY BUTT CHEEK.
“OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT?!” I turned and sat up, pushing him away from me.
“I’m sorry, it’s morning!”
“What do you mean it’s morning?”
He just gave me a look and suddenly it dawned on me. UGH UGH EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW.
“I’m coming in!” Nana Molly warned and the door started slowly creaking open.
“That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.” I said as we finally settled with him half sitting up and me lying across his chest, arms around each other.
Nana Molly popped her head round the door right as Albus awkwardly started stroking my head and I slapped his hand away. “Room service!” She bumped the door the rest of the way open with her hip and entered with two mugs of tea.
“Ooh thanks mum!” Albus said, still sounding very groggy.
“Oh you shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble, Mrs Weasley!” I said, shifting around so I had the back of my head in Albus’ armpit rather than my nose.
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Nana Molly?” She tutted, passing us both mugs of tea. I took a sip. Oooh, lots of milk and two sugars, just how I like it. This woman is definitely psychic and I definitely want her to be my adoptive grandma.
“Sorry Nana.” I grinned. “Thank you for the tea.”
“Is there room for one more in here?” Oh holy crap. Papa Arthur had now decided his input was needed and was ambling into the room towards our bed.
“Oh, really, grandpa?” Albue said exasperatedly. “Is there a need to have a family gathering in my bedroom at nine in the morning? Can we not do this?”
“Oh, mum, I was just about to tell them to come down for breakfast soon!” Oh look, it would seem that Ginny has joined us.
“Apparently we can.” Albus muttered under his breath, in reference to his previous statement.
“Sorry, dear, I just brought them a cup of tea is all.” Nana Molly said to Ginny, who was now right next to the bed as well.
“Okay, well we only just woke up so this is all a bit much first thing in the morning.” I said as politely as I could, and Albus added to that by giving a very grumpy fake yawn and rubbing his eyes.
“Oh yes, we shall leave you two alone to get ready.” Ginny said, beginning to usher her parents out of the room.
“Yes, go.” Albus said, waving a hand at them lazily as they left. “Go… go… go… go…” he said continuously until at last the door snapped shut behind them.
“Uuuggggghhmmmmfffff.” I rolled away from him and faceplanted a pillow.
“You realise that if we’re not down in approximately three minutes they’ll all be back up here wondering where we are, right?” Albus prodded me in the side.
“Are you gonna get up?”
“Two more minutes.”
I never knew that breakfast could be such a fascinating affair.
“Who wants bacon?”
“Someone pass the pancakes!”
“Can anybody see the ketchup?”
“I’ll have bacon!”
“Hugo! Stop throwing scrambled egg at Molly!”
“Can someone please pass me the pancakes?”
“Louis, take those chopsticks out of your nose.”
“Hugo! I’m warning you!”
“Why are there even chopsticks at a breakfast table in the middle of Britain?”
“Will someone PLEASE PASS ME THE PANCAKES?!”
“Victoire, Teddy, no face licking at the table.”
“Hugo Arthur Marcus Weasley! Put that scrambled egg down right now!”
“Lucy, put your iPod away.”
“Does anyone know where the orange juice is?”
“OH MY GOD WHY WILL NOBODY PASS ME THE PANCAKES?!”
Poor Rose, who was sitting next to me, was the one asking for the pancakes. Apparently it’s some kind of unspoken rule in this house that nobody listens to anybody. Ever. And because the Potters were the only part of the Wotter clan to actually live in London, every single one of them was staying here for the weekend.
When at last everyone had what they wanted, Hugo had been banished to eat outside, chopsticks had been extracted from noses and Rose had crawled across the table to get the pancakes, there was a bit of loud chatter as everyone stuffed their faces. Hermione had excused herself to go to the bathroom already, probably just to get away from the noise.
“So how was last night?” Rose asked me quietly while Albus, who was next to me, was preoccupied with having a chop stick sword fight with Roxy.
“We sang the Macarena and he slept on the floor.” I shrugged. She snorted into her pancakes.
“Trust you. How did you manage to get him to sleep on the floor?”
“My amazing powers of persuasion and sexual prowess.”
“How did you really get him to sleep on the floor?”
“Blackmail and brute force.”
“How on earth did you use brute force? He’s twice the size of you!”
“I had control of the pillows.”
I focused on my plate of bacon and scrambled egg for the next few minutes, trying not to get annoyed at the fact that every time Albus moved, his elbow rubbed against mine and it was fucking annoying.
“Open up, you.” My gaze switched to Ginny as she held a syrup-smothered pancake up towards Harry, smiling slightly and obviously using her flirty voice. He looked at the pancake, looked at her, and raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you trust me?” she giggled. I couldn’t help but smile at the high-schoolish relationship they had, even though they had been together for twenty-eight years. Harry rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, waiting for the pancake.
Ginny then proceeded to grin and smush the entire pancake into the centre of his face, splattering syrup everywhere. “YOUR MISTAKE, FUCKER!”
The whole table roared with laughter as Ginny got up and ran off cackling, leaving Harry sitting with his mouth wide open, syrup dripping into his lap and a very disgruntled look on his face.
“My bloody wife.” He shook his head and wiped maple syrup from his nose. “I knew I married you for a reason!” He called after her, licking the syrup off his finger.
She popped her head back around the door, her face still glowing with laughter.
I love this family.
“POST!” Nana Molly shrieked, pointing towards the window. And suddenly there was panic as about eight people rushed towards the window. There was an owl flying towards it at very high speed with what looked to be The Daily Prophet attached to his leg.
“Woah woah woah why is there such chaos over the post?!” I exclaimed as a jug of milk went flying thanks to Fred’s foot, as he was currently climbing over the table in his haste to get to the window.
Right before the owl got to the window, Papa Arthur threw it open and ducked. As did most of the people in the room. I wish someone had warned me as to what was about to happen, because it would have made the next few minutes ever so slightly less mortifying than they were.
The owl that had come at top speed towards the window promptly crashed into the bowl of cornflakes, skidded down the middle of the table – taking out everything in its path in the process – and skidded to a stop directly in front of me, spraying me with orange juice, milk, damp cornflakes and bacon.
“Oh. That’s why.” I said as Ron fished the stupid bird out of the mess in front of me.
“Why, Pig? Why do you do these things?” Ron grumbled, detaching the – somewhat soggy – paper from the idiotic bird’s leg and passing it straight to his wife.
“Shouldn’t that thing be dead by now?” Harry asked Ron, giving the tiny clumsy owl a withering look.
“Definitely. With the amount of trees he’s flown into he should at least be in a coma.”
“Oh no.” Hermione had unfolded the paper and was looking at the front page with a mixture of shock and annoyance. Okay, scrap annoyance. She was downright pissed. “Ginny!”
Ginny came wandering back into the room, having taken shelter in the corridor.
“You know how you hate Rita Skeeter with a burning fiery passion and all?”
“I’m aware of this fact.” Ginny nodded. “Why? What’s happened?”
“Well…” Hermione hesitated, looking between her, me, Albus and James. “I have something to show you, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.” She glanced down at the paper again. “Never mind. You’re definitely not going to like it.”
And she turned the paper so that everyone could see the story that was taking up the whole of the front page. The headline, in large block letters, said: “BOTH BROTHERS?!” and there was a picture taking up most of the rest of the page.
What was the picture of, you ask?
Oh it was of me. On the veranda at last night’s get-together. On the ground.
Straddling James Potter.
It just took me like five minutes to find the squiggly on this new keyboard.
Hi. I'm back. Surprise! It's been a busy few months, I promise I have my reasons and it won't happen again. I don't really want to think about how long it's been since I updated and I am so so so so so sorry. But to make up for it I gave you the longest chapter yet! Yaaaaayy! Lots of drama, some Albus/Asiya stuff! Please forgive me? And thank you so much for not giving up on me and not unfavouriting!
Reviews are love, my darlings! Please please please do leave your thoughts and comments!
Other Similar Stories
A Year to Re...