Muggle Mom
By: SnitchBitch
Summary: The parents of muggle-born witches and wizards don't get nearly enough credit. Along with worrying about drugs, sex, and alcohol, they have to worry about their kid accidentally blowing up the house, or being kidnapped by dark wizards, or…
Author's Note: My fanfiction policy is to write a story I'd want to read--the perfect balance of humor, romance, and intrigue. I'd love some reviews, but know that flames will be used to form the fires that will forge the weapons that will be used to torture the flamers! (manic gleam leaves eyes) Ahem…anyway…between school, sports, and community service, I actually have a pretty busy life. I will update when I can, but if those updates are ever few and far between, know that I won't abandon this story (I hate it when authors do that)!
Disclaimer: If I owned it, Harry wouldn't be emo, Ron would hit purberty, and Hermione would tear her nose out of Hogwarts, A History long enough to snog Draco. Eh? EH? Nope…guess it's not mine. Damn.
Chapter 1: Rare Show of Emotion
I, Gypsy Weasley, come from a long line of women with strange names. My mother, Spirit Devon, my grandmother, Celestial McCarthy, and my great-grandmother, Carrot Conroy, all illustrate this point. I'm not sure about my great-great-grandmother's name, but if she vengefully named her daughter "Carrot," I can only imagine she must have carried quite a formidable forename.
Now, looking at my newborn daughter, I finally understood what each must have felt when choosing to christen their daughters with such awkward titles. This feeling consumed me—the feeling that a regular name just wasn't enough; "Catherine," or "Mary" could never even begin to describe the tiny, yet immense bundle I held.
"Something with a 'y' in it…" I murmured, kissing her forehead softly, so as not to wake her from her slumber.
I looked up at my husband, Charlie, and smiled at him. He stared at our daughter with the look of a man who'd found the grail, and, looking back at her, I knew that we had.
He cleared his throat after a pause. I knew he was uncomfortable with so much emotion—it's one of the things I loved about him. Charlie was a real man—strong. The type of guy I could be the woman around. He embodied chivalry in every sense.
When I was still looking for "the one," I couldn't standing sitting through too-long dates with guys who wanted me to comfort them when they cried because their latte that morning had been a bit on the cold side.
Just when I had lost hope in the male gender on a whole, I ran into Charlie. I know, you'll roll your eyes, but yes, it was in the literal sense. Straight out of an old slapstick movie, I was walking down the street with my nose in a book and suddenly I'm lying on top of this incredibly handsome red-headed English guy who, before I can apologize, has me back on my feet and is asking me if I'm hurt. He then insisted on treating me to an ice-cream (if one more sensitive guy had tried to woo me via Starbucks, I would have screamed, so you can imagine how nice it was to be offered ice cream instead), and after I discovered that he too had a passion for pineapple sherbet, I knew it was going to work out.
When he told me six months later that he loved me, I believed him. It was a big difference from when Starbucks Boyfriend #6 told me he loved me, for a man not prone to bursts of emotion, when finally expressing some, seems a lot more serious than a man who confesses his undying devotion two minutes into your first conversation.
I'd only seen Charlie cry once, and that was when I asked about his family, and learned that he was an orphaned only child. I held him while he cried, and after a moment he gruffly apologized and returned to being my Charlie—the big, strong man in my life.
Feminists must loathe me.
Don't get me wrong, I loved the opportunities we as women have in America! I had a job—every day I trudged to the local high school and taught biology! But I liked to come home and cook dinner for my husband and clean up while he read the paper. I liked him to be protective of me; I liked him to hold me when I cried; and most of all, I liked it when he did show a bit of emotion, because it was so very powerful.
Now was one of those times.
"Can I hold her?" He asked, his voice cracking a bit.
I smiled, and carefully handed her over.
He looked down at her, and she opened her eyes for him. Deep blue eyes.
"You won the bet." He said, looking down at me and showing me the roguish grin I fell in love with.
I smile back. "I know."
Everyone in my family had dark, dark, dark, dark brown hair. Everyone in his, apparently, since I'd never met anyone, was crowned with flaming red. Our daughter took after my side, with dark curls winging from her head in every direction.
He heaved a dramatic sigh, and I giggled. "You know what this means, right? You get the ultimate power and final say in the naming of our daughter." He gave me his best serious look, perhaps the one that'd gotten him so far in corporate America in such a short time, and I attempted to mimic it back at him.
"I accept this grave burden."
His expression lightened. "What about Ginevra?"
I frowned.
He tried again. "Molly?"
"No…neither of those names can sum up the gloriousness that is…"
He looked a bit hurt, but then stared back at our daughter and nodded, clutching her a bit tighter.
"…Mystic."
"Mystic." He tried. "Mystic Weasley." He smiled. "Can I call her Missy?"
I grinned at his acceptance, but frowned when the doctor walked in.
"Alright, Dad. Mommy needs her rest. You can come back tomorrow at seven a.m." With a smile, he turned and left the room so that we could say our goodbyes. Charlie made a face at his back, and I laughed.
"Dad." He said. "It sounds so…" He searched for the word.
"Right." I finished for him.
He smiled and handed me Mystic. He kissed both of us softly on our foreheads and looked back once more at us at the door.
"Drive carefully." I said, for the streets of New York City, even this late, could kill.
He smiled one more time. God, he was so happy that night.
"I love you, Gypsy."
I laughed. There was my chance and I laughed. "Gosh, Charlie, didn't you hear the doctor? I need my rest." I said sarcastically.
He made a show of walking very slowly, and blew me one more kiss from the door. I laughed at his antics, and then he was gone.