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After Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows


"…and you wouldn't believe the line, twenty minutes for that toad spleen, and it's only going to be used if the flu comes back," Ginny Potter said, dropping her shopping bag onto the counter. Hermione Weasley entered after her, smirking.

"If being the countable word. It cost way too much," the brunette said, looking around for their husbands. Neither was in the vicinity, however. Hermione frowned. "Harry! Ron! Where are you guys?"

"Probably holing up discussing a new Veela," Ginny said, snorting. She started sifting through her shopping.

Hermione smirked back. "Maybe they're discussing work?"

"Yeah, like the Ministry's had anything good to look into this month. All Harry's been doing is trying to avoid those letters…somehow there's a curse in quite a few of the envelopes turning one's hair green. It's a nice shade on him, but I think he disagrees," Mrs. Potter said, grinning in amusement.

"Oi! You two! In here!"

Hermione and Ginny both shook their heads in mock laughter at the sound of Ron Weasley's irritable voice. "Coming!" they called, and, leaving the countertop covered in half-unwrapped packages and potion ingredients, went into the study. Ron and Harry—his hair indeed a brighter shade of green than his eyes—were staring glumly at a magazine laid out on the desk.

Hermione took one look at the magazine and scoffed, rolling her eyes and sitting down away from it. "You called us in here to discuss this again?"

"Hermione," Ron responded, not looking up, "you may not get Quidditch, but this is a very serious problem."

"How so?" she countered as Ginny took a seat next to her husband. "I've been to enough matches…no offense, Gin, but it's just a sport. No political backing, no importance in the wizarding world but as entertainment…"

"But it's great entertainment!" Ron said, looking at Harry. "We've been discussing this while you were gone…"

"All four hours of it?" Ginny asked innocently. Ron glared at his sister before continuing.

"…and we still haven't reached a decision."

Ginny pursed her lips together, half frowning, half smiling. "You don't even fly that much, Ron. Nor you, Harry."

"Look at it!" Mr. Potter said, speaking for the first time since the girls' arrival back. " 'Stardust L3. 0 to 360 in 10 seconds, firmer grip than the Firebolt, gotta admit, it looks a bit sportier…" He gestured to the two-toned tail of the broomstick on the page. It shone under the light, reflecting a brown handle, complete with grip pads, and what, according the advertisement, was a very aerodynamic tail with increased smooth braking features.

"Harry, you already have a nice broomstick," Hermione said pointedly. His broomstick had been recovered from the Ministry five years ago, after having fallen during his escape from Privet Drive.

Harry leaned down, glaring at the paper as if it had done him a personal fault. "I know. That's the problem."

"And we stopped ourselves from mooning over the Thunderstrike," Ron admitted, referring to the last 'state-of-the-art' broomstick model out.

"Temptation too great for this one, huh?" his wife asked, nudging the two boys. They simultaneously groaned.

"Here's the big question," Ron said, throwing the paper into the fire. Multiple other waxen magazines were lining the flames beside it. "Why do they have to keep on creating new models when we already bought the last one?"