A/N
So, here's the second part. Should anyone from London be reading this, I don't own Capital FM, Neil Fox or Caroline Feraday, they own themselves, and nor do I own Harry, Ron, Hermione and company. They belong to JK. Coke belongs to the Coca Cola company, Ford belongs to Ford and Mercedes to Daimler-Benz. These delicious chocolate chip cookies DO belong to me however. Thanks to everyone who reviewed ... it's always nice to know what people think! Some that caught my eye. To Clara200, there might just be a reason why it would be pertinent to behave like muggles. To Cassandra, thanks for the review, I might not have broken Draco as much as you think, I haven't figured out why I called this Redemption yet, or even whose going to redeem themselves ... if anyone. To Pantalaimon, didn't you lift that name from Northern Lights? I voted for Craig 5 times and am really chuffed he won Big Brother. More good news is that this fic now has its very own soundtrack. I suggest you listen whilst reading to Chris Rea's 'Driving Home For Christmas' or Slade's 'Merry Christmas Everybody.' Anyway, enough with the rambling already ... so review more, and make a slightly obsessed Harry Potter fan very happy indeed!
Chapter One. In which Hermione has difficulty with the dinner, and Harry gets a bit stuck.
Hermione had a new toy, a most exciting new toy. It was a metallic red Mercedes-Benz SLK, a late birthday present from Harry. It was a true head turner, what her father would have called a 'stunning motor.' Now, as she barrelled down the fast lane of the westbound A3, heading out of London she could sense the envy of the drivers of the plush executive saloons that she left floundering in her wake. A beautiful girl in a beautiful car.
Music blared out of the stereo, an old hit from her childhood ... before music had become all sappy and electronic. It being mid December, darkness had already fallen across the city, and the harsh glare of the tungsten lights made everything appear a surreal orange.
She checked her mirrors, a large white Ford Transit was approaching from behind her at some speed. She dutifully moved over to let it past.
"...heavy traffic on the M25 between junctions 9 and 10, that's Leatherhead to the Wisley Interchange, otherwise the motorways seem to be moving pretty freely tonight. An earlier accident at the junction..." she lost the reception as she passed briefly through the Hook Underpass, "...is now cleared. Also watch out for maintenance crews in operation on the Hammersmith Gyratory, and there are works in progress on Uxbridge Road at Hounslow, that's just outside Heathrow. For tomorrow, watch out for the planned demonstration that's going to be taking place in and around Parliament Square and Whitehall, best to avoid that if you can. Back to you Foxy."
"Thanks Caroline. We'll be back with the Flying Eye after the seven o'clock bulletin, following that we'll be counting down the songs that you've been choosing online. It's going to be raining tonight, we might even see some snow out in the sticks. Chilly night, so wrap up warm, and remember, it's nearly Christmas ... here's Madonna..."
Hermione turned down the radio. She had left the lights of London's suburbs behind now, and was cruising through the darkened Surrey countryside. Hermione secretly loved her evening commute home from the Ministry of Magic offices. Of course she could have apparated, or even flown, but Harry always worried about her splinching herself, and she found broomsticks too draughty. No, there was a lot to be said for muggle inventions, she thought, and sometimes, hey, it was just nice to spend some time in the world she knew of old.
Tonight she was filled with an especially warm glow. They would be putting up the Christmas tree ... the whole family would be there, and their friends, and no doubt Harry would have come up with some ever more extravagant decorations. She just hoped the house elves' dinner would be up to scratch. She usually cooked herself of course, but tonight she wanted to play the perfect hostess, and it was nice to get caterers in sometimes.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Harry was also driving across London. He had commandeered a Ministry car and used it to pick up the children from King's Cross. The Hogwarts Express had been badly delayed by leaves on the line at Durham, and he had already been standing around on a windy platform for two and a half hours, along with several hundred other anxious parents, waiting for it to arrive. Consequently he was running even later, and was beginning to worry he might not be home in time for dinner. The first guests would be arriving before very much longer, and here he was, stuck in a car with three hyperactive, sugar fuelled children, in a traffic jam on the Marylebone Flyover.
"Dad?" Will asked. He was sitting on the back seat, squashed in between the Weasleys.
"What is it?"
"Couldn't we just get a burger or something?"
"No Will," Harry said firmly, "we're cooking a lovely dinner for you all, and we're decorating the tree."
"I'm hungry," Will whined, "couldn't we just stop, just for some chips?"
"We're not stopping," said Harry, annoyed now, "I want to get home ... we've people coming."
Will folded his arms and glared at his father through the rear view mirror.
"I'll eat all my dinner."
"No!"
"I won't ask for a snack!"
"The answer remains no," said Harry, gripping the steering wheel in his irritation, "I have waited hours for your bloody train, and I'm waiting no longer."
Will kicked the back of the driver's seat hard.
"William!"
The Weasley twins, Andy and Mary, looked embarrassed at being exposed to such familial discord. Harry tried to lighten up the atmosphere.
"Did you all have a good term?"
Andy smiled, "We beat Slytherin 560 to 80."
"Nice one. Who's playing these days?"
"Eric Longbottom left last year, so we got a new beater," said Andy, idly picking clumps of dirt from behind his fingernails.
"Who's that?" asked Harry.
"Chris Goddard," said Andy.
"Is he any good?"
"He's a jerk," said Will, "he deserves to be in Slytherin."
"I think he's cute," defended Mary.
"You would," retorted Andy.
"You got a crush on him then?" asked Harry. Mary blushed to the roots of her hair, "I remember my first crush," he went on. William grimaced, "she was called Cho. She was something."
"Dad!"
Harry grinned, and changed the subject, "What else have you got up to?" in truth, he already had a fairly good idea. The howlers from Headmistress McGonagall had been getting more and more frequent as the term wore on, and most of them had to do with the accusations of one Severus Snape. Though of course, as Snape had always had it in for any unfortunate Potters who strayed into his line of fire, this was not altogether surprising. The day before term started, Harry had bequeathed his son his precious copy of the Marauder's Map, as well as buying him a brand new invisibility cloak from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Judging by the tone of McGonagall's letters, the kids had been putting them to good use.
"We swapped Snape's wand for a trick one," William grinned at the memory.
"He was trying to get it to work all through the lesson. But it kept changing into things," piped up Andy.
"Like what?"
"Um, a toy train, and then Professor Flitwick," said William, "it was really cool, everyone was talking about it for days. Even the Slytherins were laughing."
"We lost twenty points though," said Mary, "and Andy and Will got detentions for it."
"We had to polish Snape's bowling trophies," said William, "yeeuch!"
"And another time, someone let a mouse loose during potions," Andy carried on, "that wasn't us. That was Edwina Parkinson. But Snape took points from Gryffindor for it anyway, even though she's in Slytherin, and everyone saw her do it."
Harry could well imagine. It sounded just the sort of thing Snape would do. He remembered the time he and Draco Malfoy had cursed each other in the corridor outside the potions dungeon. The curses had misfired, and Hermione's teeth had come off the worst. Even though it had been Draco's fault, it had been he and Ron who had got the blame. He wondered vaguely where Draco was now. Nothing had been heard of him for some time. Rumours had been circulating of course, that he was lying low in Romania, biding his time and strengthening the cartel of Death Eaters that the Daily Prophet seemed convinced he had at his beck and call, that he was doing time in Azkaban, even that he was dead, though Harry doubted this very much.
"Interesting to see what he made of his life," he muttered to himself.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Draco apparated behind a large oak tree. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his conspicuous head, and scuttled across the lawn to the gazebo. The swimming pool had been covered up for the winter, but lights were on inside the house, and there were people moving about inside. He pulled his old pair of omnioculars from the inside of his cloak, and focused them on the nearest window. He was staring straight into the Potter's kitchen. There were two large chickens roasting on spits, and someone was chopping potatoes and flinging them into pots. Her demeanour was angry, and Draco couldn't help but wonder why. Other, unseen figures had evidently called her out of the room, for she disappeared from view at that point, only to reappear in another window. She was talking to someone, but Draco couldn't hear what was being said. Then she shut the curtains, and his view was cut off.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Hermione was not in a good mood at all. It turned out the house elf catering service had let her down once again, and were currently 'too busy' to deal with her request. She returned to the kitchen, and continued attacking the potatoes with her wand.
Ginny stuck her head round the door, "Need a hand Hermi?"
Hermione nodded, "If you could watch that saucepan doesn't boil over, that'd be a great help."
"What you need is a good white sauce, and a better spell book," said Ginny, sitting down at the vast pine table that occupied the centre of the room.
"I know," said Hermione, "Harry keeps promising to buy me one. But he never has the time, and neither do I."
"You need 'Quick Recipes For Career Wizards,'" said Ginny, "it's by Bernice McTavish, you can get it in Flourish and Botts. I'll pick you up a copy if you want."
Hermione took up her wand, pointed it at the saucepan, and said, "Salsum."
"Try Salsus," said Ginny.
Hermione lifted the lid of the pan, "Oh no, look, it worked!" there was a thick sauce bubbling away, "Maybe I have got the hang of this thing."
"So dinner won't be a complete disaster?"
"Not likely, not if Harry gets home soon, he can salvage any number of burnt chickens. Do you want a drink."
"Not for me thanks, I'm saving myself for Christmas Day," said Ginny.
Hermione poured a measure of wine into one of her largest goblets, "Well I'm having one. Bloody elves," she said, staring out of the window.
"Did they let you down bad then?" asked Ginny.
"Oh, they were very bloody polite about it," said Hermione, taking a large swig of wine, "it was all, Sorry Mistress Potter, such an honour to serve for such a noble wizard, but when the crunch came, they can't do it."
"You should get a live in elf," said Ginny, "much better than the catering service. Me and Neville had terrible trouble till we got Blinky."
"Little buggers," swore Hermione, "but it's not as if we need to cook often. I usually eat at the office, and Harry's off to God knows where at whatever the hour most days. He's stopped eating breakfast too. He'll waste away, he's already too skinny."
"That boy needs to put some weight on, for sure," said Ginny, "talking about weight, have you heard Fleur is trying a new diet."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. Fleur's diets were legendary in the wizarding world. She had tried everything, from the Two Cucumbers a Day Diet to the ever popular Gilderoy Lockhart Weight Loss video, in which Lockhart, whom Hermione and Ginny both remembered from their schooldays dressed in horrid spangly leotards and jumped around a lot, whilst exhorting his followers to do the same.
"Is she sticking to it?" asked Hermione.
Ginny shrugged, "I doubt it. She won the Titherne and District Pork Pie Eating Competition last year ... remember?"
Hermione did ... it had taken weeks to get the stains out of her summer dress, and all the muggles present had needed to have their memories altered.
"What does it take to make such a beautiful woman get so fat?" said Hermione.
"Pork pies mainly," said Ginny, "now you come to mention it. I think I will have a drink."
Hermione stared out of the window, as if transfixed by something outside.
"Hello?" said Ginny.
Hermione jumped, "Sorry," she said, "I could have sworn I saw the bushes move."
"Probably just a badger."
"Probably," said Hermione, though she wasn't so sure. She was certain badgers didn't wear long black cloaks, unless it was some joke Harry was playing on her. Where had he got to? It was starting to worry her.
A/N
Okay, so the fact Harry is stuck in a traffic jam isn't much of a cliff hanger, but I promise there will be better ones to come. Sorry it's so short and there's not much happening yet, it will get better. My standard disclaimer is that I don't own any of this apart from William Potter and the Weasley twins, all the rest is JK's. Hermione owns her car. Gilderoy Lockhart owns his leotards, they're nothing whatsoever to do with me. Please review. I need title ideas or even plot lines. It is now vital that my little car has petrol! If anyone knows of a garage in the Kingston-upon-Thames area that has some, let me know! I have to make a long journey this weekend and I'm worried I won't make it. Oh well, perhaps I should just stay home and write more fanfic.
So, here's the second part. Should anyone from London be reading this, I don't own Capital FM, Neil Fox or Caroline Feraday, they own themselves, and nor do I own Harry, Ron, Hermione and company. They belong to JK. Coke belongs to the Coca Cola company, Ford belongs to Ford and Mercedes to Daimler-Benz. These delicious chocolate chip cookies DO belong to me however. Thanks to everyone who reviewed ... it's always nice to know what people think! Some that caught my eye. To Clara200, there might just be a reason why it would be pertinent to behave like muggles. To Cassandra, thanks for the review, I might not have broken Draco as much as you think, I haven't figured out why I called this Redemption yet, or even whose going to redeem themselves ... if anyone. To Pantalaimon, didn't you lift that name from Northern Lights? I voted for Craig 5 times and am really chuffed he won Big Brother. More good news is that this fic now has its very own soundtrack. I suggest you listen whilst reading to Chris Rea's 'Driving Home For Christmas' or Slade's 'Merry Christmas Everybody.' Anyway, enough with the rambling already ... so review more, and make a slightly obsessed Harry Potter fan very happy indeed!
Chapter One. In which Hermione has difficulty with the dinner, and Harry gets a bit stuck.
Hermione had a new toy, a most exciting new toy. It was a metallic red Mercedes-Benz SLK, a late birthday present from Harry. It was a true head turner, what her father would have called a 'stunning motor.' Now, as she barrelled down the fast lane of the westbound A3, heading out of London she could sense the envy of the drivers of the plush executive saloons that she left floundering in her wake. A beautiful girl in a beautiful car.
Music blared out of the stereo, an old hit from her childhood ... before music had become all sappy and electronic. It being mid December, darkness had already fallen across the city, and the harsh glare of the tungsten lights made everything appear a surreal orange.
She checked her mirrors, a large white Ford Transit was approaching from behind her at some speed. She dutifully moved over to let it past.
"...heavy traffic on the M25 between junctions 9 and 10, that's Leatherhead to the Wisley Interchange, otherwise the motorways seem to be moving pretty freely tonight. An earlier accident at the junction..." she lost the reception as she passed briefly through the Hook Underpass, "...is now cleared. Also watch out for maintenance crews in operation on the Hammersmith Gyratory, and there are works in progress on Uxbridge Road at Hounslow, that's just outside Heathrow. For tomorrow, watch out for the planned demonstration that's going to be taking place in and around Parliament Square and Whitehall, best to avoid that if you can. Back to you Foxy."
"Thanks Caroline. We'll be back with the Flying Eye after the seven o'clock bulletin, following that we'll be counting down the songs that you've been choosing online. It's going to be raining tonight, we might even see some snow out in the sticks. Chilly night, so wrap up warm, and remember, it's nearly Christmas ... here's Madonna..."
Hermione turned down the radio. She had left the lights of London's suburbs behind now, and was cruising through the darkened Surrey countryside. Hermione secretly loved her evening commute home from the Ministry of Magic offices. Of course she could have apparated, or even flown, but Harry always worried about her splinching herself, and she found broomsticks too draughty. No, there was a lot to be said for muggle inventions, she thought, and sometimes, hey, it was just nice to spend some time in the world she knew of old.
Tonight she was filled with an especially warm glow. They would be putting up the Christmas tree ... the whole family would be there, and their friends, and no doubt Harry would have come up with some ever more extravagant decorations. She just hoped the house elves' dinner would be up to scratch. She usually cooked herself of course, but tonight she wanted to play the perfect hostess, and it was nice to get caterers in sometimes.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Harry was also driving across London. He had commandeered a Ministry car and used it to pick up the children from King's Cross. The Hogwarts Express had been badly delayed by leaves on the line at Durham, and he had already been standing around on a windy platform for two and a half hours, along with several hundred other anxious parents, waiting for it to arrive. Consequently he was running even later, and was beginning to worry he might not be home in time for dinner. The first guests would be arriving before very much longer, and here he was, stuck in a car with three hyperactive, sugar fuelled children, in a traffic jam on the Marylebone Flyover.
"Dad?" Will asked. He was sitting on the back seat, squashed in between the Weasleys.
"What is it?"
"Couldn't we just get a burger or something?"
"No Will," Harry said firmly, "we're cooking a lovely dinner for you all, and we're decorating the tree."
"I'm hungry," Will whined, "couldn't we just stop, just for some chips?"
"We're not stopping," said Harry, annoyed now, "I want to get home ... we've people coming."
Will folded his arms and glared at his father through the rear view mirror.
"I'll eat all my dinner."
"No!"
"I won't ask for a snack!"
"The answer remains no," said Harry, gripping the steering wheel in his irritation, "I have waited hours for your bloody train, and I'm waiting no longer."
Will kicked the back of the driver's seat hard.
"William!"
The Weasley twins, Andy and Mary, looked embarrassed at being exposed to such familial discord. Harry tried to lighten up the atmosphere.
"Did you all have a good term?"
Andy smiled, "We beat Slytherin 560 to 80."
"Nice one. Who's playing these days?"
"Eric Longbottom left last year, so we got a new beater," said Andy, idly picking clumps of dirt from behind his fingernails.
"Who's that?" asked Harry.
"Chris Goddard," said Andy.
"Is he any good?"
"He's a jerk," said Will, "he deserves to be in Slytherin."
"I think he's cute," defended Mary.
"You would," retorted Andy.
"You got a crush on him then?" asked Harry. Mary blushed to the roots of her hair, "I remember my first crush," he went on. William grimaced, "she was called Cho. She was something."
"Dad!"
Harry grinned, and changed the subject, "What else have you got up to?" in truth, he already had a fairly good idea. The howlers from Headmistress McGonagall had been getting more and more frequent as the term wore on, and most of them had to do with the accusations of one Severus Snape. Though of course, as Snape had always had it in for any unfortunate Potters who strayed into his line of fire, this was not altogether surprising. The day before term started, Harry had bequeathed his son his precious copy of the Marauder's Map, as well as buying him a brand new invisibility cloak from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Judging by the tone of McGonagall's letters, the kids had been putting them to good use.
"We swapped Snape's wand for a trick one," William grinned at the memory.
"He was trying to get it to work all through the lesson. But it kept changing into things," piped up Andy.
"Like what?"
"Um, a toy train, and then Professor Flitwick," said William, "it was really cool, everyone was talking about it for days. Even the Slytherins were laughing."
"We lost twenty points though," said Mary, "and Andy and Will got detentions for it."
"We had to polish Snape's bowling trophies," said William, "yeeuch!"
"And another time, someone let a mouse loose during potions," Andy carried on, "that wasn't us. That was Edwina Parkinson. But Snape took points from Gryffindor for it anyway, even though she's in Slytherin, and everyone saw her do it."
Harry could well imagine. It sounded just the sort of thing Snape would do. He remembered the time he and Draco Malfoy had cursed each other in the corridor outside the potions dungeon. The curses had misfired, and Hermione's teeth had come off the worst. Even though it had been Draco's fault, it had been he and Ron who had got the blame. He wondered vaguely where Draco was now. Nothing had been heard of him for some time. Rumours had been circulating of course, that he was lying low in Romania, biding his time and strengthening the cartel of Death Eaters that the Daily Prophet seemed convinced he had at his beck and call, that he was doing time in Azkaban, even that he was dead, though Harry doubted this very much.
"Interesting to see what he made of his life," he muttered to himself.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Draco apparated behind a large oak tree. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his conspicuous head, and scuttled across the lawn to the gazebo. The swimming pool had been covered up for the winter, but lights were on inside the house, and there were people moving about inside. He pulled his old pair of omnioculars from the inside of his cloak, and focused them on the nearest window. He was staring straight into the Potter's kitchen. There were two large chickens roasting on spits, and someone was chopping potatoes and flinging them into pots. Her demeanour was angry, and Draco couldn't help but wonder why. Other, unseen figures had evidently called her out of the room, for she disappeared from view at that point, only to reappear in another window. She was talking to someone, but Draco couldn't hear what was being said. Then she shut the curtains, and his view was cut off.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Hermione was not in a good mood at all. It turned out the house elf catering service had let her down once again, and were currently 'too busy' to deal with her request. She returned to the kitchen, and continued attacking the potatoes with her wand.
Ginny stuck her head round the door, "Need a hand Hermi?"
Hermione nodded, "If you could watch that saucepan doesn't boil over, that'd be a great help."
"What you need is a good white sauce, and a better spell book," said Ginny, sitting down at the vast pine table that occupied the centre of the room.
"I know," said Hermione, "Harry keeps promising to buy me one. But he never has the time, and neither do I."
"You need 'Quick Recipes For Career Wizards,'" said Ginny, "it's by Bernice McTavish, you can get it in Flourish and Botts. I'll pick you up a copy if you want."
Hermione took up her wand, pointed it at the saucepan, and said, "Salsum."
"Try Salsus," said Ginny.
Hermione lifted the lid of the pan, "Oh no, look, it worked!" there was a thick sauce bubbling away, "Maybe I have got the hang of this thing."
"So dinner won't be a complete disaster?"
"Not likely, not if Harry gets home soon, he can salvage any number of burnt chickens. Do you want a drink."
"Not for me thanks, I'm saving myself for Christmas Day," said Ginny.
Hermione poured a measure of wine into one of her largest goblets, "Well I'm having one. Bloody elves," she said, staring out of the window.
"Did they let you down bad then?" asked Ginny.
"Oh, they were very bloody polite about it," said Hermione, taking a large swig of wine, "it was all, Sorry Mistress Potter, such an honour to serve for such a noble wizard, but when the crunch came, they can't do it."
"You should get a live in elf," said Ginny, "much better than the catering service. Me and Neville had terrible trouble till we got Blinky."
"Little buggers," swore Hermione, "but it's not as if we need to cook often. I usually eat at the office, and Harry's off to God knows where at whatever the hour most days. He's stopped eating breakfast too. He'll waste away, he's already too skinny."
"That boy needs to put some weight on, for sure," said Ginny, "talking about weight, have you heard Fleur is trying a new diet."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. Fleur's diets were legendary in the wizarding world. She had tried everything, from the Two Cucumbers a Day Diet to the ever popular Gilderoy Lockhart Weight Loss video, in which Lockhart, whom Hermione and Ginny both remembered from their schooldays dressed in horrid spangly leotards and jumped around a lot, whilst exhorting his followers to do the same.
"Is she sticking to it?" asked Hermione.
Ginny shrugged, "I doubt it. She won the Titherne and District Pork Pie Eating Competition last year ... remember?"
Hermione did ... it had taken weeks to get the stains out of her summer dress, and all the muggles present had needed to have their memories altered.
"What does it take to make such a beautiful woman get so fat?" said Hermione.
"Pork pies mainly," said Ginny, "now you come to mention it. I think I will have a drink."
Hermione stared out of the window, as if transfixed by something outside.
"Hello?" said Ginny.
Hermione jumped, "Sorry," she said, "I could have sworn I saw the bushes move."
"Probably just a badger."
"Probably," said Hermione, though she wasn't so sure. She was certain badgers didn't wear long black cloaks, unless it was some joke Harry was playing on her. Where had he got to? It was starting to worry her.
A/N
Okay, so the fact Harry is stuck in a traffic jam isn't much of a cliff hanger, but I promise there will be better ones to come. Sorry it's so short and there's not much happening yet, it will get better. My standard disclaimer is that I don't own any of this apart from William Potter and the Weasley twins, all the rest is JK's. Hermione owns her car. Gilderoy Lockhart owns his leotards, they're nothing whatsoever to do with me. Please review. I need title ideas or even plot lines. It is now vital that my little car has petrol! If anyone knows of a garage in the Kingston-upon-Thames area that has some, let me know! I have to make a long journey this weekend and I'm worried I won't make it. Oh well, perhaps I should just stay home and write more fanfic.