The Sixth Potter

The Potter family discover some things change, some things don't, and some things are definitely hereditary. Next-gen.

~:~1. The Present ~:~

Senior Auror Harry Potter had a problem. It wasn't a violent escaped Death Eater. It wasn't a horde of rampaging Dementors. It wasn't even a nasty stack of Auror Department forms that needed to be filled in the day before yesterday. It was nine years old, red-headed, and sitting on the swing in the garden wearing coat, wellies and nightgown, refusing to get dressed for school.

"She's like I was," said Ginny, glancing out of the kitchen window as she levitated the breakfast dishes into the sink. "I sulked for two whole weeks after Ron went to Hogwarts; wouldn't play, wouldn't smile, wouldn't anything. Eventually, I presume Mum sent Ron a note to remind him to write to me."

"Did he?" Harry asked, his eyes still on the small stubborn figure in the garden, while he racked his brains for a memory of Ron writing anything that first term.

Ginny laughed. "It was all about you! I think he squeezed in a single sentence about the twins and Percy as a post-script, and completely failed to ask about Mum or Dad or I! Still," she shrugged. "Between that and Mum's threat that if I didn't learn long division I'd never be allowed to go to Hogwarts, I snapped out of the sulk."

Harry chuckled, and then sighed. "But you can't really expect the boys to do any more than send a overnight owl-card to say they arrived safely and Al's in Gryffindor, the very first morning of term."

Ginny's reply was drowned out by the splash of dishes plunging into the sink, and Harry carried on staring at their daughter. She wasn't swinging, just sitting there, wellies stuck rigidly out in front, defiance in every red-headed inch. Defiance, and–

Harry turned sharply, and jerked open the back door. There was something so like the small, miserable red-head who had buried herself in an enchanted diary out of sheer loneliness that he simply couldn't stand it any longer.

Lily must have heard the door, but she didn't move. Harry paused, and then walked round to the front of the swing. From this view, you could see that Lily's lip was stuck out nearly as far as her boots. It was not a promising aspect.

"Hello Lily?"

A long silence, and then a very sulky monosyllable. " 'lo."

The direct option seemed the best. "Lily," said Harry firmly, "I've got a problem."

For one millisecond, she looked up, and then jerked back to the rigid sulk without a word.

"Yes," Harry ploughed on. "I have a special Auror mission today, which I need to leave on soon-"

"WON'T go to school!" interrupted the passionate sulk. " 's boring!"

"I'm not asking you to go to school," Harry objected. "I'm asking you to come as my Auror team backup."

The statement seemed to sort of melt across Lily like a defrosting charm. A pair of big hazel eyes were turned up to him as the wellies sank back to the normal influence of gravity. "As a what?"

"My Auror team backup," Harry repeated gravely.

"But you have to go to work."

"I'm on a special assignment today," said Harry patiently, crouching down beside Lily as he had beside Al only the day before. "And I need you to come with me. So why don't you run on in and tell Mum that you need a nice clean dress and your hair brushed immediately, while I send a couple of quick owls?"