29 May 2014
The soft breeze blew pleasantly at their smiling faces, whipping their hair around. Their mild laughter, coupled with the chatter of their children, mingled with the otherwise silent atmosphere, as there wasn't another soul in sight.
The Potters and Weasleys had decided to take a vacation.
It wasn't often, they'd decided, that Harry and Hermione got two weeks' respite from their busy lives at the Ministry of Magic, so the four adults had resolved almost at once to take a small holiday—just to themselves—at a small, almost isolated little beachfront near Cape Cornwall.
At the moment, they were all simmering down at the beach, sprawled lazily across the various blankets they'd laid out on the sand. Legs were tossed haphazardly across laps, arms rested on shoulders, and their sandals lay forgotten, some feet away.
For once, they were all relaxed, completely alleviated of the stress and publicity that followed them almost everywhere. They glanced up occasionally, to ensure that their children, who were gamboling happily at a nearby playground, weren't causing any mayhem—as they were known to. But even these glances were few and far between; it was really quite evident just how much they'd all needed this break.
The children, however, were exhibiting various different signs of boredom. After all, how much longer could five children—all under the age of eleven—entertain themselves at the beach, after spending ten days doing nothing but that? They'd swum, they'd laughed, they'd talked, they'd frolicked—each, numerous times. It was because of their growing disinterest in the sunny, oceanfront environment that they had begged their parents for permission to visit the small, beach-based playground, located just a few yards away from where the adults usually set up camp on the coastline.
Upon reaching the playground, they had all attempted to discover new ways of amusing themselves. Rose flew high in her swing, her red hair fluttering behind her. Albus rocked cautiously in the swing next to hers, leaning against the hand he had coiled around the metal chain of the swing. Lily and Hugo, meanwhile, were feverishly attempting to build a sandcastle. They had, rather unwisely on their part, decided to construct it just a few feet away from the sea. It was much to their disappointment—and their siblings' exasperation—that their castle kept succumbing to the waves.
Only James was sitting alone on the edge of the play structure, arms crossed. Because he was the eldest of his siblings and his present cousins, he was feeling very important, indeed. Swings and sandcastles were far too childish for his refined, ten-year-old tastes.
Sighing, he slipped a finger into his trouser pocket, wistfully fingering the Wildfire Whiz-bangs hidden within. He chanced a glance towards his parents and was unsurprised to find his mother surveying him vigilantly. Only she knew of the wondrous articles concealed in his pocket, and she had drilled into his head, quite clearly, the terrible consequences of lighting them on the beach.
If only there was a loophole…
Suddenly, James's face lit up as an idea occurred to him. Adjacent to the shoreline, there was a small thicket with a smattering of trees—each the perfect size for a ten-year-old boy to climb up and camouflage in. And after all, his mother had only barred him from lighting his fireworks on the beach.
As if on cue, James glanced up to see his mother strolling towards the playground, clutching their family camera.
"Just taking some snaps for Gran and Grandad," she nodded to Albus, who had raised his eyebrows inquisitively.
James suddenly realized this to be the perfect opportunity. With Mum preoccupied with taking photographs, she would never notice his prolonged absence.
"Mum, I'm just going to the restroom—I'll be back in a bit!" James called to his mother, who waved him away from behind the large camera in her hands.
"Fine, but leave your shoes here!" she said sharply, raising the camera to her eyes and pressing the shutter-release catch. "There's no point wearing your new trainers into the beach restroom—you'll just make a mess of them. Go borrow your father's sandals…" she trailed off, focusing the camera on Lily and Hugo's monstrosity of a sandcastle.
James made a face, groaning inwardly as he grudgingly kicked his trainers off and onto the sand. He didn't want to walk all the way back up the beach and ask to borrow his father's sandals; Dad had a knack for seeing right through him. But he couldn't deny it was going to a be a painful experience, running about the forest with no footwear on.
Nonetheless, three minutes later found James settled quite comfortably on a tree branch some ways away from the seashore, a generous handful of Wildfire Whiz-bangs in one hand and a Muggle lighter—one which he had nicked from his grandfather's garden shed, many years ago—in the other. Squinting at the lighter, James flicked the clasp down and smirked smugly as the familiar flame emerged. He briefly touched the flare to the tip of the fireworks before tossing the latter into the air. With a loud, roaring sound, the rocket soared up into the sky, steadily gathering velocity, an array of multicolored sparks forming in its core.
Ginny Potter lowered her camera slightly, gazing confusedly up at the clear, afternoon sky. Immediately, she heard the bizarre, reverberating noises from above. She shielded her face, half-expecting a torrent of rain to cascade down upon the coast.
But then, there was a deafening BOOM, and suddenly, several incandescent rockets—each leaving long trails of silver stars—crackled and erupted loudly around the various clouds. Ginny gritted her teeth, eyes flashing with anger.
She gripped the camera in her hands with such force that shutter snapped. Yet, the accidental photograph epitomized the moment perfectly: Rose, swinging high and staring up at the sky in bewilderment, red tresses flying behind her; Hugo and Lily curiously studying the sparks of silver that had landed upon their sandcastle; Albus, watching the others with a bemused smile on his face, arm still curled securely around his swing's chain; and in the midst of it all, a pair of shiny, new trainers sitting conspicuously by the swing set.
For their owner was perched upon a crooked tree branch, grinning up at the colorful sky.
Author's Note:
This photograph's description is: "Rose swings high in the park, red hair flying. Hugo and Lily build a sand castle of sorts behind her. Albus watches with one arm coiled around the chain of his swing. James is conspicuously absent, although his sneakers lay in the grass a few feet away."
Ari
