Ginerva Potter had a splendid life really.

"Oh, were others to be as lucky as I!" She sighed contentedly from her seat by the fire.

Said fire was crackling merrily, throwing distorted shadows on the far walls, and the pear patterned wallpaper (in which tiny pears with legs twirled around the room in an array of colors) was so dreadfully cheerful, she felt as though her face might split in half should she smile!

Speaking of Harold, her darling husband was sitting at his desk, shuffling through a seemingly endless amount of papers. His hands were splattered with ink, and every now and then he would pause to shake out the writers cramp and re-ink his broken quill.

"Oh Harry," she said, turning to face him. "I do love you so much."

Said man sighed and shuffled his papers.

"Harry? Are you alright dear?"

He glanced over in her direction, the firelight dancing shadows upon his face, then moved into the kitchen.

Poor Ginny was of course dreadfully confused by her Harry's actions. She followed him to the kitchen, to find him slumped over the table, his head in his arms.

"I know how hard it's been since the war," She said, massaging his shoulders. "but you simply mustn't worry so!"

Harold groaned and slumped back in his seat.

"I'll put supper on, shall I?" She didn't expect an answer. Splendid though her life may be, her poor husband did get ever so tired from working at the ministry all day.

As she bustled by the stove, enchanting various pots to the range, the doorbell rang.

"Oh, its probably one of those annoying reporters! Oooo' what terrible timing!"

Ginny hurried from the kitchen to the foyer, because dear Harry could not possibly answer to reporter, especially one with a quick quotes quill, in such a state. She had almost reached the door when Harry moved in front of her, and put his hand on the doorknob.

"Really Harold! So rude!"

He stared vaguely at her, and smiled falsely, as though practicing for the witch outside.

As he opened the door, Ginny walked into the nursery, and amused herself by cooing at her delightful green eyed baby.

The front door closed. Harry moved past the nursery and into the lounge. Ginny followed him, and sat herself down in front of a coffee table, adorned with moving pictures of herself, their baby, and the two of them.

"You're not yourself at the moment Harry." Ginny stared at him, though he seemed to be staring blankly at the dancing pears embossed on the walls.

"I'm sorry Ginny. I'm so sorry..." Harry sighed, almost sobbed perhaps.

"Sorry for what Harry?" She moved to touch his leg, withdrew suddenly, fixed her hair.

"Times have been tough since...well...But we're going alright aren't we? We're managing."

"Oh darling, this is about the money isn't it? About the press? Don't worry. Things always work out in the end."

He rubbed his face with his arms, stood, and moved to the nursery. Cooing to their baby, he picked up their darling bundle and carried her back to the lounge.

"Oh Ginny. We miss the ways things used to be. We miss you."

Yes. Ginerva Potter had a splendid life.

T'was such a pity she was dead.


A/N: Well, a short piece, inspired by the ridiculous amount of Katherine Mansfield stories I had to read for english. Also inspired by the sixth sense. Shush, i'm a shameless plagiarist, yes I know.
Read and review, as always flames are used in the baking of suspicious brownies.
Dreamie