Title: Red Balloons
Author: Feather
Category: Harry Potter
Genre: Genera/ *tweensy* angst
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: *smacks self* I have been reading LotR fanfiction, and totally forgot this idea until I sat at my computer, started to read Harry Potter fanfiction, and found this inspiration again. Hopefully this is a bit of fluff, which I am slowly starting to adjust to instead of my ever-present, yet waning, angst. This is, still, a *bit*, but just the smallest bit angst, but only because General is a far to generic term. I am unsure if this topic has yet been clichéd, either. I try very hard to have original ideas, but...I am totally unsure on this one. Please inform me, politely though, if this has been used too many times. Let's see...This is a Harry/Hermione fic, hinted in minor ways. I have grown to know that this, by now, merits some sort of forewarning, lest I be mobbed by Harry/Ginny or Ron/Hermione fans. I really have no preference to which pairing is represented, but here's more Harry/Hermione, so...Thank you, have a wonderful day! ~ Feather =^-^=
The winter rain poured down the cool glass windows, the weather too warm to satisfy his want of snow, yet still cold enough to chill straight to the bone. The little boy sat in the window seat, staring blankly into the raging storm outside the window, listlessly hearing with a half-open ear to the storm that was brewing inside the Potter household.
He actually had not intentionally tried to knock the potted plant off the stand. Unlike other times when his boredom had grown into great mischief and he had purposely spilled the dark soil on the fine carpets, this time it was purely accident that he had upset the plant onto the light cream carpet, when he had been flying his toy broomstick indoors when it had been too cold and rainy to play outdoors. His parents, though highly trained wizards, refused to use magic more than utterly necessary, both being of Muggle descent. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger Potter both had a very respectable reputation among the various wizarding communities, yet when away in their private home after battling Dark Wizards, they preferred to keep their lifestyles minimally magical, relishing in the tranquility that no magic brought. Therefore, instead of using magic to instantly clean the mess, Hermione had to drag out the Muggle cleaning supplies and scrub the dirt from the rug.
His mother, her deep gray eyes sharp, had not scolded him, but blamed it on his father, who had stoically stood until her first blow was complete. "But 'Mione, dearest, I see not how you can blame me for the boy's accident, which it surely was this time. I know that he pines for company while we are away, and we try to give him as much as possible when we are actually home, but I simply cannot complete all my Ministry work done at the office, it is necessary that I at least complete part of the project here. It is no fault of my own that he, driven by boredom and resolving to play Quiddich in the house, upsetted that accursed plant."
"I do beg to differ, Mr. Potter," Hermione parried back, her face set in extraordinary determination. James' mother always called his father 'Mr. Potter' when she was fully upset, which was hardly ever, and therefore was a rather exciting event to watch, "If you hadn't frittered away all that time with Ron and his telephone exploits, then you would have finished that work at the office, and you could have spent more time with James! You know that he gets restless when there is nothing for him to do, and you, Mr. Potter, famous Quiddich star that you were, aught to at least have the decency to teach him how not to fly into to stationary objects!"
His father raised one eyebrow. "My dear, are you sure you are...okay? Is it...that time...?"
His mother's rage resulted in an upturned chair to be suddenly, and rather forcefully, thrown in the general direction of his father with her want, who with lightning-quick reflexes halted it in mid-air. "I refuse to dignify that, especially in front of James, and Mr. Potter, I suggest that you might want to leave this room before another chair is thrown at you!"
His father's own carefully controlled rage suddenly surfaced. "Hermione, I do not have to deal with this right now! The paper on Magical Treaties is going absolutely nowhere in this...this nightmare, with you screaming and throwing furniture at me and James making a mess of things!" This sudden exclamation seemed remarkably childish, as his mother instantly regained her composure and calmly set her face into a cool smile.
"Then where do you propose to go, then, Harry?" This icy statement from his mother made even James look up in surprise. Harry looked startled, but, too, regained some of his dignity and with equal coolness replied:
"I'll go to the office, then, if you will it."
Hermione sent him a questioning look, a sarcastic look of puzzlement on her face. Harry visibly paled at this look. James knew that his mother never went this far. "But I thought that you said earlier that you didn't spend enough time with James? What do you propose to do about that?"
"I-I'll take him to the office with me, then. That's right. Come along James," his father said, finally managing to get and stroke equal to his wife's.
James looked up at the sudden recognition of his presence in the room, shrugged into his coat, and followed his father to the fireplace that stood at the opposite end of the room. As Harry reached for the Floo-Poweder and grabbed James' hand, he managed to whisper, "Did I do anything wrong, Dad?" They stepped into the emerald flames together, and with an instantaneous pull after the words "Ministry of Magic" were uttered by Harry, his father could finally answer.
"No, of course not," Harry said, smiling comfortingly at his son. "Your mum's just a bit...touchy right now, that's all. Come along, then, we had better get to my office and lie low until your mum's cooled down."
James tried to keep up with his father's long strides, which were easily twice as large as his own. As they reached Harry's office, James sighed at the prospect of sitting in his father's office for several hours. It wasn't that the Ministry of Magic wasn't an interesting place, far from it, for it was filled with many magical things that had been confiscated from raids, biting teakettles and other enchanted Muggle things, spells written down that when uttered could bring the destruction of the world, fun practical jokes concocted by the Weasly twins, which had to be taken away from students because they caused too much disorder. It was that his father didn't let him play with any of the things, though James knew he knew enough from what his mother and father had taught him from large, old textbooks containing defenses against the many magical creatures that lay deep in the archives of the old building.
Harry looked down at his son. James' eyes, astonishing gray-green, and his untidy hair, a deep brown, all of the squirming four-year old was trying to accept the prospect of hours in a boring office. Harry smiled for a moment, then said, "You don't really want to be here, do you?" James nodded no for an answer. "I know I'm not here often enough as you or I would like," Harry said, his tone softening, "but today, let's do something special, just you and me, okay? Would you like to go to the museum?"
James' eyes lit up, and a small smiled played upon his lips in delight. "That would be wonderful," he managed to say softly, his syllables quivering with anticipation and delight. Suddenly, the darkened. "But what if mum finds out. She'll be a fit to be tamed."
Harry smiled again. "She wouldn't be a bit wiser if we just told her that we stayed in the office for a couple of hours while Ron showed you around the archives." Interpreting his son's beaming face as a yes, Harry took the small boy's hand and they headed for the museum.
They pair approached the carved marble entrance, both with joyus, youthful gleams on their faces. Harry's face became suddenly serious, though, as he looked at the small boy. "You know, though, that this is a very dangerous place, James. The walls and exhibits like to play tricks and move around, and sometimes whole corridors can stretch on until you've been there for hours yet still are at the beginning. We had best stick together, mind you, or we'll never find each other again." James nodded solemnly, but his father smiled again. "Good boy. Let's go!"
After purchasing tickets, they headed towards the History wing. This caused some protest from James. "Why on earth would we want to go here?" he pleaded, trying desperately to escape from what might prove to be another one of his mother's boring history lessons. Harry shook his head, a secret, knowing smile coming to his face.
"You'll see, James. You'll see."
Many of the exhibits proved, however, to deeply interest the boy. Harry often had to pull him away from them, patiently repeating that they could, in time, come back. "But dad, you heard what the lady at the desk said. A lot of these exhibits are only here once, you know. If you look away, they might not be there again. And some of these are only here Sundays, others only at 3 o'clock, so you have to be careful." And his father smiled, and waited, until 4.30 approached.
"Have you eaten, yet, James? We've been here for a while, since about 1.30, and your mother was in a bit of anger, too much to make lunch?" James looked at his father, clearly saying no without words. He had a way of doing that.
Harry laughed, and they headed toward the cafeteria and gift section of the museum. After having a brief lunch of butterbeer and simple sandwiches, they headed towards the gift shop.
This held many magical toys, textbooks, and other interesting contraptions, along with clothing, food, and small relics of historical value. Staring into the bright splendor and incredible color, James was quickly mesmerized by all the exotic gifts. After laughing for the umpteenth time that day, Harry took his son by the hand and led him trough the rows so he wouldn't get lost in the enormous labyrinth of aisles. James selected a small kite for himself and his father selected a delicate rose.
The rain ceased to a light drizzle, and the sun made a last appearance in a shimmer of gold through the haze. They walked down to the Floo-portals to Diagon Alley, so they could head home through London and take the underground home. While passing the various street vendors that were trying to bargain off the last of their wares, James spotted a vendor who sold bright balloons, non-popping, ever-lasting ones that would only disappear with a simple banishing spell.
James' gaze wandered over to his father, who nodded, and gave him three Sickles. The boy raced over to the man, who smiled and gave the boy a free balloon. Though they made quite a sight at the underground, Harry and James laughed and silently savored the precious hours that they had spent together.
His mother rushed towards them the moment they got home, sweeping up James in her arms and kissing his cheek, then embracing his father, who stopped her, kissed her hand, and presented here with the rose that had been enchanted against wear. Laughing and freezing from the chilled rain, the Potter family headed into their home, happy at last.
As he curled up near the fireplace, the deep oblivion and happiness creeping up through his veins, exhaustion finally claiming him, James saw his mother and father cuddling and whispering to each other. Finally, the deep spell of sleep came upon him, the memory of the perfect day with his father and the red balloon the last thoughts as at last he fell asleep.
Closing notes: Okay, so this isn't angst ^-^'. All work was done conscious of other authors' works. Have a wonderful day! ~Feather =^-^=
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Harry Potter or any related works.