Ch.9

AN: well, after reading the reply of a review I left for a story, I feel like writing a new chapter. Unfortunately, it will be the second to the last in this story. Much sadness, I know. Thank you to my two reviewers, and 900+ hits!

Hugo circled around his latest masterpiece. There was something wrong with it, something missing. The scene was seemingly perfect, but he had to figure out the last touch that would make it completely perfect.

Hugo worked as a landscaper. He was good at his work and proud that the majority of the Wizarding World went to him when they wanted a beautiful yard to look at. Although many of the wizards in the Wizarding World didn't have yards, he was still called in to work with what he had to offer. Hugo doubled as an interior designer to make up for the lack of business. He knew just how to make the lime green wall couples thought would look good and then regretted the wall, regret ever not wanting to paint that wall lime green. He was gifted. There was no question asked.

As Hugo stared out at the memorial landscape he made for the 20th anniversary of the Battle at Hogwarts, he didn't notice his uncle surveying him from behind.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Hugo whipped around and saw Harry. His head was cocked to the side, trying to make out what Hugo had made.

"It's a duck pond," Hugo answered.

"Where are the ducks?"

"There aren't any ducks."

"Then how is it a duck pond if there are no ducks?" Harry asked.

"Because I said it was!" Hugo wasn't in the mood for his uncle's antics

"No need to get snippy, angry aardvark. It was a simple question."

"Well, I don't have time to talk. I need to figure out what this is missing," Hugo kicked a nearby bucket. His uncle was distracting his concentration. He needed to find whatever was missing from his perfect memorial.

Hugo knew he should have just been an interior designer. Matching carpet with sofas is easy peasy. He focused more on landscaping because his father didn't like it. He wasn't going to admit his father was right when he was so close to stardom.

"How about ducks?" Harry suggested.

"Forget about the ducks! It's a duck pond, but that doesn't mean it has to have ducks."

"Then why call it a duck pond?"

"Because I want to."

"You can't call something a duck pond when it isn't a duck pond," Harry said. In his mind, he knew what he was talking about, but he wasn't quite sure if Hugo knew what he was talking about.

Harry could remember having a similar conversation with his eldest son, James. James was going to be a wizard cop, like his father, but Harry could see that he didn't want to be an Auror. After an intervention held in his basement, James went on to open a smoothie joint. Now, since the basement intervention went so well, Ron asked Harry to hold one for Hugo. Ron would've done it himself, if only Hugo would listen to him.

So, Harry stood before Hugo, a borrowed beater's bat from George hidden behind his back. His plan was to knock Hugo over the head, drag his unconscious body into the basement, tie him to a chair, and politely tell him that the direction he was going in life. They would then enjoy a hot fudge sundae with gooey brownie chunks and a game of exploding snap.

"Just because there aren't ducks in it now, doesn't mean there won't ever be," Hugo defended.

"How long has this pond been here?" Harry was going to wait for his nephew to look down before making his move. He gripped the bat, ready to strike.

"About two months," Hugo's gaze didn't budge. Damn.

"Well, don't you think, being as it's mating season and all, that they aren't coming?"

Hugo looked over at the pond and back at Harry. Suddenly, there was a beater's bat in his uncle's hand. It was almost raised above his head. Harry held his amused look on his face.

"What's with the bat?"

"Uh,"Harry's mind was racing. Hugo was Hermione's kid. He was smart. Too smart to fall for the ol' 'look at the pond while I whack you in the head' ploy. He needed a new plan. Maybe he should try the lesser known 'I'm done talking to you and am going to walk away not, but not before whacking you in the head first' ploy. Yeah, that'll work.

"I was just going to invite you to a game of quidditch," Harry lied.

"No thanks. I need to finish this," Hugo picked up a pot of chrysanthemums.

"I'm telling you, Hugo. You can't make something true by word of mouth," Harry fake concluded. "If it's a duck pond, I want to see some ducks. If not, then don't call it a duck pond."

Hugo took a deep breath. He finally understood what his uncle was telling himself. He wasn't a landscape artist. He was an interior designer. It was high time he traded in his spade and garden hoe, for wallpaper and paint samples.

"I get it now," Hugo said. "I won't try to be something I'm not anymore, ok?"

Harry, in the middle of executing his back up plan froze. "What did you say?"

"I won't be someone I'm not. I'm an interior designer, not a landscaper. Lesson learned okay? Can you give the ducks a rest now?"

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. This, this...punk had taken a literal concern for a lack of ducks in a duck pond and turned into a philosophical lesson. Now, he had no basement intervention!

"Damnit!" Harry cursed. "What am I supposed to with this?" He held up the bat.

"I thought you were going to play quidditch?" Hugo had a harrowing thought. What if Harry was planning to do to him what he did to his cousin, James?

"I was. I just remembered that the family was meeting for hot fudge sundaes," Harry lied again. Since his intervention was technically over, he just had to settle with hot fudge sundaes without the basement.

AN: another chapter down! How is my writing? Leave a review by clicking the button below!