"Nurse!" Molly cries frantically as she runs into the hospital wing, "where is Harry? Call him forth to me."

Earlier that week Harry had gotten in a rather bad Quiditch accident and Madam Pomfrey had been extremely keen on keeping him there. It was only a little while ago that she told Harry that she, Madam Pomfrey, had actually been his mother's midwife and had been taking care of him up until he left to go live with the Dursleys. She wanted to become his legal guardian. Dumbldore, however, had other plans. At that time it didn't make any sense, but now she can see why he did what he did. It was better that Harry grew up away from a society that revered him as almost a god. Even after he had been sent of to his uncle and aunt's, Madam Pomfrey had been secretly watching over him through the years up until he got to Hogwarts.

"Now, by my gentlemen at twelve year old, I bade him come," she sighs, "What, boy! What strong young wolf! God forbid, where's this boy? What, Harry!"

Harry hears the calling and steps out from behind the curtains where he is forlornly watching a Quiditch practice that he is not allowed to participate in and says, "How now? Who calls?

"Molly does," Madam Pomfrey tells him.

"Molly," he says, grabbing the woman's attention, "I am here. What is your will?"

"This is the matter," she starts telling Harry something but turns to the Nurse and says, "Nurse, give leave awhile, we must talk in secret."

Nodding, Madam Pomfrey starts walking towards her office to leave them to their business.

Realizing who she is in the room alone with, Molly screeches for Poppy, "Nurse, come back again; I have rememb'red me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou knowest our Harry's of a handsome age."

"Faith," Poppy sighs happily, "I can tell his age unto the hour."

"He's not sixteen."

"I'll lay sixteen of my teeth - and yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but six - he's not sixteen. How long is it now to Lammastide?"

"A few months and odd days."

"Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas Eve at night shall he be sixteen. Susan and he (God rest all Christian souls!) were of an age. Well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me. But, as I said, on Lammas Eve at night shall he be sixteen; that shall he, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now fifteen years; and she was weaned (I never shall forget it), of all the days of the year, upon that day; for I had then laid wormwood to my dug, sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall. James and Lilly were then at Bristol. Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I said, when it did taste the wormwood on the nipple of my dug and felt it bitter, handsome fool, to see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! Shake, quath the dove house! 'Twas no need, I trow, to bid me trudge. And since that time it is fifteen years, for then she could stand high-lone; nay, by th' rood, he could have run and waddled all about; for even the day before, he broke his brow; and then my husband (God be with his soul! 'A was a merry man) took up the child. "Yea," quoth he, "dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, boy?" and, by my holidam, the handsome wretch left crying and said "Ay." To see now how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an should live a thousand years, I never should forget it. "Wilt thou not, boy?" quoth he, and, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay'." At this Poppy is clutching her sides in laughter. Here last words barely intelligible through her hysterics.

""Enough of this," Molly laughs right along with her before regaining her composure, "I pray thee hold thy peace."

"Yes, madam," Poppy giggles, "Yet I cannot choose but laugh to think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' And yet, I warrant, it had upon it brow a bump as big as a young cock'rel's stone; a perilous knock; and it cried bitterly. 'Yea,' quoth my husband, 'fall'st upon thy face: Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; wilt thou not, boy?' It stinted and said 'Ay.'"

"And thou stint too," Harry says, "I pray thee, nurse, say I."

With a nostalgic smile on her face, Poppy cups Harry's face with her hands and sighs, "Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed. An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish."

"Marry," Molly cuts in, "that 'marry' is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, truthfully Harry, how stands your disposition to be married?"

Somewhat startled by the question, Harry shrugs and says, "It is an honor that I dream not of." He knows that his sexuality kind of gets in the way of the white picket fence dream. Marriage, or legal marriage at any rate, is impossible for him.

"An honor?" grins Poppy, "Were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst sucked wisdom from thy teat."

"Well, think of marriage now. Younger than you, here in England, young men of esteem, are made already husbands. By my count, I was a mother much upon these years that you are now a man. Thus then in brief: my daughter Ginny seeks you for her love," Molly explains."

"A girl, Harry!" Poppy exclaims, "Harry, such a girl as all the world - why she's a girl of wax."

"Hogwarts' summer hath not such a flower," Molly tells him.

"Nay," Poppy agrees, "she's a flower, inn faith - a very flower."

"What say you?" asks Molly.

Harry sits there, his mouth opening and closing while he looks for words to come to him.

"Can you love my daughter?" Molly continues, "This night you shall behold her at our feast. Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, and find delight writ there with beauty's pet; examine ever married lineament, and see how one another lends content; and what obscured in this fair volume lies find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, to beautify him only lacks a cover. The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride for fair without the fair within to hide. That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, that in gold clasps locks in the golden story; so shall you share all that she doth possess, by having her making yourself no less."

"No less?" Poppy snorts, "nay, bigger! Men grow by women."

Again, Harry shrugs, not sure how to process the information thrown at him and says, "I'll look to like, if looking liking move; but no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly."