Author's Note: Posting the writing from my blog is a relief while I work through some issues.

Disclaimer: I own none of it. All of Harry Potter and its subsidiaries belong to J.K. Rowling.

One of those days

It wasn't funny, not at all, but somehow the sight of his wand having snapped made her laugh.

He looked at her, incredulous. He was going to have to get it replaced, and they were nearly short this month on the bills, and the students were awful, asking about the War, the War that still twisted his gut, that sent flares of pain up his side…and he would get bit by the pernicious Ankle-biter from the Louisiana bog, specially brought for the sixth years, and how could she laugh?

She pointed to his wand one more time: slowly but surely, it morphed into a chicken.

He started to laugh too and knew it was going to be all right.


She started to laugh, though she could not tell you how precisely it bubbled up through her chest, making her hiccup, or precisely why.

Maybe it was the rude regular who kept pinching her as she walked by, who, despite the Stinging Hexes she covertly slipped, refused to stop. Maybe it was the Weasley and Potter broods stomping in today, just before holiday and she could swear she saw Hugo and Lily up to something, but she was so distracted she never saw them sneak behind the bar and place the fake wand now held in her husband's hand.

It really just could have been her hair frizzing again, but whatever it was, the wand had snapped, and both had frozen, shocked.

But once she recognized it, she laughed. And laughed even harder as slowly, but surely, the wand turned into a chicken.
He was still staring at her, and she pointed.

When he collapsed next to her, giggling, she knew it was going to be all right.