DISCLAIMER: yes, this is a disclaimer.

REAL DISCLAIMER: I don't CLAIM to own any of the HARRY POTTER characters in DIS story. (Get it? DIS? CLAIMER? Disclaimer? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Okay, I'll shut up now) Oh! But I own JASMINE and OAK.

Chapter 6 – The wisdom of Oak Wood and Dr. Fred

Geoffrey Granger was feeling rather pleasant today. Jasmine had noticed it too.

"What are you up to, Geoff?" Jasmine asked, struggling to get her comb through the tangles of her thick, grayish hair. Geoffrey made no effort to reply, but simply broke into a wild, boyish grin.

Jasmine was old, yes. But old age does come with wisdom, and she knew the symptoms of love. And Geoffrey? He was down right in love.

"What do you plan on doing for today, dear?"

Geoffrey sighed happily. "Go out."

"Where?"

"Out."

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. Geoffrey was acting like he did in his teen years. Jasmine had always said Love made one younger.

"Where, out?"

"Out, out."

"With?"

"Someone."

"Who someone?"

"A girl someone."

Jasmine was getting tired of Geoffrey's childish behavior, though she found it adorable. But, still. A mother never liked incomplete information, and Jasmine was that kind of mother.

"Luella Wood?" she asked. Geoffrey choked on his coffee. "L-Luella? Why her? What made you think that I—"

"It's her, isn't it? Nice woman, she is."

"Mother!"

"Well, isn't she? Lovely too."

"Moooother!"

"And her sons are just delightful! Shows what a splendid job she's doing as a mother."

"Yes, and well you aren't."

"Aren't what?"

"Doing such a good job, being a mother." Jasmine laughed and set her comb down. "Go and have fun, Geoffrey. I'll take care of Hermione."

Geoffrey, clad in his best threads, set off. As he drove to the Wood residence, he thought about Luella. About that wonderful, gorgeous Luella.

About her radiance, her sweetness.

Geoffrey sighed. He'd never met such a perfect woman in his life—not even Hermione's mother was as great as her.

Night and day, day and night, Luella was on his mind twenty-four-seven. He liked her a lot, possibly even loved her. They had been seeing each other ever since the incident at platform 9 ¾, and he enjoyed her company very much.

He also loved spending time with the Wood boys. They were like the sons he never had. He loved everything about them—about Luella and her boys. He also loved the fact that they got along so well with Hermione and Jasmine.

Hmm… Hermione sure acted weird last week, when they had the picnic with the Woods.

Ah! He was here at last!

Ding-dong. He waited anxiously.

"Hey Mr. Ginger!" Oak beamed up at him. Geoffrey ruffled the boy's hair. "H'lo, Oak. Your mother ready?"

"Nuh-uh. She's still getting pretty." Oak led him inside, to the living room, to the couch. Oliver was seated on the couch, busily reading a book.

Geoffrey sat down on an armchair across him. "Hello Oliver."

Oliver looked up, nodded in greeting, and went back to his book. Geoffrey thought he was acting weird too.

"What are you reading?" he asked, trying to strike up a conversation. Oliver looked up again. "Girls for dummies."

Geoffrey laughed. "Girl trouble?"

"You might say that."

"Oh?"

Oliver grinned. "Well, there's this girl, see?" Geoffrey nodded, secretly elated at the fact that Oliver was telling him about his girl problems. "And well, we were getting along really well. All of a sudden, she starts acting crazy."

"Hate it when that happens."

"Like a maniac."

"The worst!" Geoffrey agreed.

"So I'm kind of confused. It's like I did something to her when I actually didn't, but now I think I did but I know I didn't."

"I don't quite follow . . ."

"Neither do I." Oliver got up. "I'll get mom for you."

"Thanks."

Geoffrey played with his wallet—flipping it—while waiting. He didn't notice Oak plop down on the couch.

"Mommy really likes you." The boy said casually. Geoffrey looked up, surprised. "Say that again?"

"It's true! Mommy talks about you all the time! Sometimes I get real sleepy when she talks about you."

Geoffrey let out a chuckle. "Do you, Oak?" The little boy nodded grabbing a cushion and hugging it. "Mommy says you're real swell and she likes your hair."

Geoffrey raised his eyebrows. "Really?" Oak nodded again. "Sometimes Oliver leaves the room when mommy babbles on about you. He says it's too much for him."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know. Shall I get mommy for you?" Oak stood up, ready to go if Geoffrey would just say the word.

"No, it's alright. Oliver is getting her." Geoffrey smiled at the boy. He was so angelic. Oak shrugged and plopped back down on the couch. "Do you like my mommy too, Mr. Ginger?"

Geoffrey blushed at the question, and Oak looked at him strangely. "Oh very much, yes." the little boy smiled in approval. "Good."

Just then, Luella came into the room—and in Geoffrey's opinion, she lighted up the room. He stood up and beamed at her. Luella smiled back, blushing slightly. "Are those for me?" she asked, eyeing the flowers in Geoffrey's hand.

"Oh! Of course! Yes." he handed them to her, and she took them. "They're lovely." She remarked, smelling them. He watched as she did this, totally absorbed with her.

Luella gave them to Oliver who was standing behind her, stifling a laugh as he looked at a lovesick Geoffrey. Geoffrey immediately snapped out of the trance he was in and ushered Luella out of the living room with the boys in tow.

When they reached the front door, Oliver let out a slight chuckle. "Be good, mom." Luella frowned a bit and took Geoffrey's arm. "You be good, Oliver. I'll see you tonight."

As Oliver and Oak watched Geoffrey help Luella into the car, Oliver couldn't help thinking about his own dad. He felt a little upset about the whole Luella-Geoffrey thing.

It was as if his mother didn't care for his father anymore. She was totally and completely enamored with Geoffrey. Oliver felt a slightly betrayed.

"Ollie?"

Oak was too absorbed in his own thoughts that he failed to notice his little brother staring up at him. "Ollie? Are you alright?"

Oliver nodded and picked his brother up. "I'm fine, Oak. Listen, do you like Geoffrey?"

"Mr. Ginger?"

"Yes."

"Yes! He's the best!"

Oliver frowned and set his brother down. "What about papa? Don't you care about him?"

"But papa's dead."

"Just because he's dead, it doesn't mean mother should just throw herself at any random man that comes her way, Oak!" Oliver was surprised at his sharp tone.

Oak's lower lip trembled. Oliver instantly picked his brother up again. "I'm sorry, Oak."

"Just because papa's dead, it doesn't mean mommy has to be lonely."

Oliver kept silent as Oak rested his little head on his big brother's shoulder. Sometimes Oak surprised Oliver. The little boy knew things.

Geoffrey brought Luella to an old fashioned drive-in movie somewhere in muggle London. As they watched the film—something about a man going through heck just to get the girl to fall in love with him—Geoffrey slipped his hand into Luella's.

Taken by surprised, Luella tore her eyes away from the screen and blinked at Geoffrey. He thought she was offended and quickly jerked his hand away. Awkwardness surrounded them.

"I—I'm terribly sorry, Luella, I—" he sputtered, trying to explain himself. He didn't need to. Luella, for a brief moment, turned pink. And then, the next thing Geoffrey knew was that Luella's soft, moist lips were planted on his.

Cheesy romantic music from the movie filled the air as the two leading characters kissed, the same time as Luella and Geoffrey.

Luella pulled away, looking flushed. Geoffrey blinked ten times before saying anything. When he did say something, it was more of a scream of delight.

He instantly took Luella is his arms and kissed her again.

Oliver tucked Oak into bed. He smiled slightly as he studied his little brother's face; innocent, happy and honest.
Oliver wished he could be more like his little brother. Sometimes he wanted to be Oak.
Oliver kissed the top of his brother's head and tiptoed out of the room.

As he walked into the living room to resume his reading, Oliver decided that he needed to vent. But to whom?

"Weasely residence. Gred—I mean Fred speaking. How may I help you?"

"Fred, is that you?"

"Depending on who you are. . . I could be me, or I could also be someone else."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Knock it off. It's me, Oliver."

"Oliver who?"

"Oliver Wood."

Oliver heard a muffled "Do we know an Oliver Wood, George?" as if Fred had covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Right then."

"You, sir, are in luck. We do know you."

"Hello Fred."

"H'lo, Wood. What's on your mind?"

Oliver sighed. He certainly didn't feel like telling Fred the whole story from top to bottom. He figured he'd just go straight to the point.

"Fred, be honest. Is there something wrong with me?"

"Yes."

"FRED!"

"You told me to be honest!"

"Seriously!"

"Haha, alright! Alright! Can't you take a joke?"

"No."

"Figures."

"Come on, man. Is there something wrong with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like . . .you know, am I retarded or something?"

"Retarded! Why would you say that about yourself?"

"Well . . .see—"

"Stop beating around the bush and just get on with it!"

"Okay. See, there's this—"

"Girl."

"Er—yes. And. . . and she has me quite—"

"Confused?"

"—yes, yes. Now will you let me—"

"Finish?"

"FRED, DARN IT!"

"Sorry!" Fred chuckled on the other line. "Please, do continue." Oliver growled in aggravation but continued. "So anyway, she has me confused. See, we were having a good time talking and stuff when all of a sudden she asks me this question."

"Permission to speak, Oliver sir."

"Go on."

"May I know the question?"

"Right. She asked me—since I've already graduated—what I'd do. You know, like get a job or something."

"So what did you say?"

"I said whatever."

"Whatever?"

"Whatever. Whatever happens. Go with the flow. That sort of thing."

"So?"

"I guess it upset her or something."

"Like did she foam in the mouth? Act like a crazed hen?"

"Er—yyyeeeahhh. Sort of. Except the foaming part. I mean, I ask her if she's okay, and she jumps away from me like I've got a disease."

"I see. And then what did the demented damsel do?" Fred asked, using his psychiatrist voice. Oliver sighed. "I don't know! She. . .she started calling me a distraction and condemning me for being the—what was it—perfect boy and—" Fred cleared his throat. "I know what's up." Oliver raised his eyebrows. "You do?"

"She likes you." Fred said simply. Oliver started to say something but his voice got caught in his throat and all he made was a sort of squeaking-wheezing sound.

"Bless you." Fred said.
"Tha—th—that can't be t-true! That—that is…that…it…would…"

"It is possible. And I bet you like her back, eh?" How Oliver hated Fred's all-knowing tone. How Oliver wanted to smack Fred right on the head. Yet…How Oliver wanted so much for the great all-knowing Fred to be right.

Hermione heard the sound of an engine shutting off. Geoffrey must be back. She glanced at her wristwatch. Eleven thirty-six. She flicked the television off and opened the door for her father who came in with a dreamy look on his face.

"Hi dad." Hermione raised a brow as her father walked right past her and into the kitchen. She followed him.

"How was your date, dad?" she asked. Geoffrey mumbled something as he poured himself a cup of warm milk. Hermione pulled a chair out and sat down, elbows on the table. "Pardon?"

It took a while for Geoffrey to notice Hermione. And when he did, he gave her a disapproving look. "No elbows on the table."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "How was it?" she asked. Geoffrey took a long sip of his milk. "How was what? Oh! The . . .the thing with Luella!"

Hermione nodded slowly. "The thing with Luella, yeah. Have fun on your date?"

Geoffrey turned red. "Date? My dear, it was most certainly not a date!" Hermione grinned. "Dad . . ." Her father raised his hands up in the air. "But if you must know, yes I had quite a good time."

"So are you going out with Luella again?"

"Probably. Possibly."

"Yes?"

"Go to bed, Hermione."

"Daddy!" Geoffrey got up from the table and gently shoved his daughter out of the kitchen. "Go to sleep." Hermione fought back, giggling. "C'mon, dad! Tell me!" Geoffrey chuckled. "Goodnight Hermione."

She gave in. "Alright. You win. Night dad." Geoffrey planted a kiss on her forehead and sent her off to bed. When he thought she had gone upstairs, he did a little dance number. He felt so wonderful. He felt so in love. Nothing, and I mean nothing could ruin the moment.

I am SO sorry for the tremendously long wait! I've been so busy! I hope no one has given up on this fic! I have time to write now, and I really hope you have time to read it! I'm sorry! Sorry! Don't give up on me :D