"Shh!" Mirela hissed, gripping the back of Henry's neck tightly, trying to steady herself in his arms. "If you wake my dad there will be hell to pay." Henry nodded, his face, first red from the effort of carrying her up the winding hill in front of her house, went pale. Just the idea of her father had always scared him. Hoisting her up a bit more, he maneuvered his hand, finding the doorknob. The door swung open and Mirela did a quick spell to keep the alarms from going off. He stumbled into the dark living room, nearly careening into a bookcase but steadied himself. He did succeed in running Mirela's injured leg into the wall however, causing her to let out an involuntary grunt of pain. In an instant, the lights went on, revealing a very angry pair of Weasleys.
"Hullo Mr. Weasley," Henry whimpered, looking down at the floor, what little color he had managed to regain evaporating.
"Uncle Bill, fancy seeing you here," Mirela stated, blushing.
"What's going on? What happened to your leg?" Charlie asked, gesturing at the limb, which was bandaged to the knee.
"What did you do to her?" Bill asked, his eyes narrowed.
"It was nothing really. I just fell out of a tree," Mirela answered before Henry could stutter his way into more trouble.
"Put her down," Charlie ordered, gesturing at the couch and glaring at the tall Ravenclaw. Henry immediately complied. "Now I'm going to give you about five seconds to get out of here before I pummel you." Henry wasted no time and was out the door before Charlie got to three.
"Wuss," Mirela muttered. Charlie and Bill turned to her, their arms crossed over their chests. Bill raised his eyebrows.
"Who was that?" Charlie asked in a low voice, his eyes narrowed. Mirela looked between the two of them, brushing a curl out of her face.
"Henry Fitzgerald, my boyfriend," she answered simply.
"Your boyfriend?" Charlie boomed. "You don't have a boyfriend!"
"Yes I do actually. We've been going out since Christmas."
"How is it that your grandson didn't tell me about this?" Charlie asked, whirling around to face Bill.
"I don't know; I'm just as surprised by this whole thing as you are."
"Remus doesn't know. No one at school knows except Carl and Izzy. I knew you would flip out so I didn't tell you and I knew Remus would tell and Dora couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it so I made sure neither of them knew." Mirela finished with an exaggerated exhale. Charlie began pacing and, in the process bumped her leg which was perched precariously on the coffee table. She winced and both men jumped.
"I completely forgot about your leg," Charlie intoned, mentally kicking himself.
"It's really not a big deal. Henry just, well, he got nervous. He always blows things out of proportion. I can walk just fine."
"We'll be the judges of that thank you," Bill said sternly. "Now let's get a look at that leg." Gingerly, Bill pulled back the bandages. There was a long, narrow cut down the length of her shin, all the way from her knee to a couple of centimeters above her ankle. "Merlin's pants! What did he do to you?"
"He didn't do anything. We were, well, we were climbing a tree," she said, making it clear from the emphasis that they were doing quite a bit more. "I lost my balance; out I fell and landed on a really nasty, jagged rock. Henry freaked out, nearly broke his neck getting down from the tree, bandaged up my leg and apparated me home."
"I'll kill him," Charlie growled. Mirela rolled her eyes.
"That's really not necessary you know."
"I think it's time for a little chat," Bill said, looking at his brother significantly.
"What? No, there's no need for a chat with Henry. No, just, hey, what about my leg?" Mirela asked, trying and failing to sound non-challant. This was not going as planned. Charlie, who was well practiced in fixing small injuries, flicked his wand at her leg. The pain disappeared but she found it very difficult to get up with the tight wrappings and brace that now entombed her offending appendage.
"We'll do it tomorrow," Charlie suggested. "I'll get Harry, Ron and George if you'll get Dad, Percy and Remus."
"Will do. Goodnight sweet pea." He kissed his niece on the top of her curly head, ignoring her muttered protestations. "I will see you tomorrow," he hugged Charlie briefly before disapparating.
"Dad," Mirela began, leveling him with her gaze. "Henry is a really good guy and there is no need to scare him. Merlin knows you frightened him enough tonight."
"We're not trying to scare him. You just hid him and we never got a chance to get to know him. That's all we're doing," Charlie replied, scooping her up in his arms.
"Oh for fuck's sake! I can bloody well walk on my own!" she exclaimed.
"Watch your mouth young lady and if you let Henry Fitzpatrick-"
"Fitzgerald."
"Right, if you let Fitzpatrick carry you home, you won't begrudge your dad, the man who diapered your behind, the same right." Mirela blushed deeply, all the way up to her ears. Once to her room, he lay her down in her bed and smoothed down her curls. "I love you dearest," he smiled. She replied with an irritated grunt.
Her room had changed a lot over the years. The flowered wallpaper and line of dolls had been replaced with rows upon rows of cookbooks. Framed pictures of her and Charlie on holiday, her friends and her at Quidditch games, parties, in the library, etc. hung on the now green walls. She had hung up a large poster of the Hollyhead Harpies Ginny had given her for her birthday. Hermione had given her the S.P.E.W poster that now hung over her bed, a rusty antique brass frame she and Charlie had found in a junk yard at the beach. Her bedspread was a Tree of Life throw Albus had brought her back from India. Her beloved antique, blue 1950 Macleans Featherweight 362-3 club bicycle was leaning against the wall next to a stack of "The Magical Cook", her favorite magazine. In it, Mirela Weasley slept, albeit fitfully.
The next morning, in a last ditch effort to keep her dad from dismembering her boyfriend, Mirela got up early to make breakfast. She was making his favorites: blueberry lemon waffles with honey mascarpone, ham and broccoli omelets; she'd even thrown in a strong bellini. She was just finishing up the last waffle when Charlie stumbled down the stairs. "Good morning Dad," she greeted brightly. He was caught off guard by how grown up she looked in a pair of too-short running shorts and an over-large t-shirt that he did not remember being his own. He shuddered at the thought. Her fly-away hair was pulled back in a messy bun and she had a streak of flower smeared over her cheek. "I made your favorites," she said, setting the fizzing bellini before him.
"It smells delicious," he replied appreciatively. He took a sip of the drink. "That's rather strong," he mused, looking at her curiously. "You wouldn't be trying to soften me up with alcohol before I speak to Fitzpatrick now would you?"
"His name is Henry Fitzgerald Dad and, in answer to your question, of course not. Can't I do something nice for my father once and a while?"
"No, not really, though I appreciate it none-the-less. It doesn't matter anyway; nothing you do or say is going to keep me from doing exactly what I was going to do in the first place."
"Get to know him right?" Mirela asked, putting down his plate a little too forcefully. She set the bowl of mascarpone in front of him a little more gingerly.
"Right. Now, are there any modifications I should be looking for?"
"There's a new spice in the waffles and I used a little bit of heavy cream in the omelet." She spat, trying to sound irritated. She sat down across from him, glaring at him as he ate. He had to admit that it was distracting him a bit from his otherwise delicious meal.
"What?" he asked finally, setting down his fork.
"Why are you doing this Dad? Why call in the inquisition? Don't you trust me judgement?" Charlie groaned.
"You wouldn't understand would you?! Of course I trust your judgement! I just don't trust him. I don't trust him the slightest. I was seventeen once too."
"Henry is perfectly wonderful. If you must know, anything we've done, I've initiated. He wanted to take things slow, hold hands but, well, I didn't. If you want to blame anyone, blame me." She finished with her eyebrows raised, challenging him to say anything more. Charlie felt like he was going to be sick. He began to feel the waffles churning in his stomach.
"Please don't tell me anymore. I'm going to be sick."
"Are you still going to interrogate him?" Mirela asked.
"We were never going to interrogate him. We were just going to get to know him." It was Mirela's turn to groan.
"Bullocks! You're trying to scare him away! I'm happy with him. He makes me happy and you're trying to spoil everything!"
"If he's worth his snuff, he'll be able stand a bit of a chat," Charlie shot back irritably.
"You don't understand! He's already deathly afraid of you and he's got asthma for Merlin's sake! I found that out the hard way."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Charlie boomed, standing up and upsetting his chair. Mirela blushed, realizing what she'd said.
"'S nothing. We, were, well, we were on the couch and, well, one thing led to another and it ended with him locked in the bathroom with his inhaler." Mirela replied, examining her hands.
"Ugh!" Charlie exclaimed, beginning to pace. "I can't believe my daughter . . . and a boy," it was then that his mumblings became incoherent. Mirela followed his pacing with her eyes. She couldn't help but think that she had just made matters worse for Henry Fitzgerald.
Two hours later, Mirela was at the Burrow, trying to focus on anything other than what was happening in the yard. Charlie, without informing her ahead of time, had owled Henry, asking him to dinner with the family. Mirela later found out that he had written that they should meet properly, that he had feigned penitence, calling his behavior the previous night out of line. He had then sent their family owl, Nascha out on a trip to Romania and had kept Mirela away from the fire.
She was now cutting carrots for a large salad. Henry was in the backyard with the Weasley men, though Dora had promised to keep an eye on them and make sure they didn't physically harm him in anyway. "Mirela, Mirela," her grandmother's voice brought her back.
"Yes Gran?" she asked, shaking out of her stupor.
"When did you meet Harold?"
"Henry Gran, and we met in the library." Victoire, who was sitting at the table braiding five year old Emily's hair, snorted. "Hey, I go into the library!"
"Your marks would suggest otherwise," Mrs. Weasley put in sternly. Mirela blushed.
"Yes, well, I was looking up a book on magical herbs and he was looking in the same section for a book on botony and we bumped heads."
"That's so sweet!" Victoire exclaimed, tugging a little too hard on Emily's hair eliciting a yelp from the little girl. "Sorry love," Victoire apologized. "Teddy and I never really got to do that whole meet for the first time thing. We'd known each other forever!"
"We always knew you were going to end up together, Arthur and I did. You two fit like puzzle pieces," Mrs. Weasley beamed fondly at her granddaughter. "Do you and Henry fit together like puzzle pieces Mirela?"
"I don't know. I lo- I mean like him a lot. He's different then the others. I just hope Dad and all of them don't scare him off."
"Don't worry love. They all go through it."
"Teddy didn't, not really." Mirela said.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Teddy was pretty scared of your Uncle Bill," Victoire replied. "I believe your dad threatened him a couple of times as well."
"Yeah . . . " Mirela looked out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the goings on.
Meanwhile, in the garden, Henry Fitzgerald's throat was tightening as he stared at the menacing group of men. He recognized several of them of course. Ron and George he knew from the WWW advertisements. Harry Potter was, well, Harry Potter. He recognized Charlie and Bill from the night before. He backed up slowly, feeling the wall of the garden shed against his back. He was cornered.
"What business do you have with my daughter?" Charlie asked coolly.
"Well, she, she's my girlfriend. We, well, we l-l-like each other." Henry had never been one for confrontation. He avoided it whenever possible, preferring the comforting straight forwardness of books.
"What have you done with her? Have you had sex with her?" Percy asked bluntly. Charlie visibly paled.
"No! N-no, of course not! We haven't done more than kiss," Henry answered, his voice rising an octave.
"You kissed her?!" Remus exclaimed, flexing his muscles menacingly.
"Don't lash out right now Remus," Bill ordered. The "right now" was threat enough for Henry. He could feel his airway constricting and he fished around frantically in his pocket, his fingers closing around his inhaler. He brought it out and took a long puff.
"What is that?" Arthur asked, not able to hold his menacing façade.
"I-it's my inhaler. I have asthma and they haven't really found a magical cure for it. My mum is a muggle," Henry explained, happy not to be talking about what he did and did not do with Mirela.
"Is she indeed?" Arthur asked, grinning from ear to ear. "And what did you say you had? Athma?"
"No, asthma. It's this disease that makes it hard for me to breathe sometimes," Henry stated nervously. "Especially when I get frightened or startled.
"Dinner's ready," Molly called from the house. Henry breathed a sigh of relief and started toward the house, only to be intercepted by a very angry Charlie.
"You may have gotten out of bodily harm for now Fitzpatrick but I swear to Merlin, if I catch you pawing my daughter or hurt her again in anyway, I will find you and neuter you." Henry shivered. He certainly didn't want to be neutered. He also had a sinking suspicion that Charlie Weasley was not joking either. But Mirela was worth it, wasn't she?
A/N: Hey kids! I hope you're doing wonderfully. I am supposed to be studying for my last exam (Environmental Science if you must know) but I decided to finish this instead! I hope you liked it; please, please, please tell me what you think!!