Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter or anything you see familiar, and if I did you would know because you wouldn't be seeing my fat ass here. I make no profit off this because if I did you would see me on tv. geez.

Chapter three - Obituary

Five years later.

---

Many falls ago I would have told you the world was a fake, the world had no pity upon anyone even the ones who sacrificed the most for it. Imagine what a sight that would have been! Especially compared to now. I look back on the grim day, and I see how foolish I was. If what I wished for happened, what happiness would I have then?

Surly you know that when one commits a selfish death, one goes to the bulging belly of Hell?

Besides, what would I do with myself in there knowing how beautiful of a person my daughter would become? Oh, she is beautiful. At least, as much as a four year old can without being inhuman.

So darling she is. Bloody curls, beguilingly sweet emerald orbs for eyes, precious porcelain skin entwined with a personality that bears of huge heart of gold.

Oh dear, have I given you the wrong impression? Perhaps my descriptions are a bit too.. personal? But honestly, do you take me for a sick weirdo with that kind of time on my hands? Kind sir or madam, apparently you have not tried raising a wild spirit single handedly while protecting the world. Try it, go ahead.

No, that's not satire. I do not have time for that either.

You see, aurors don't have lives. Not even a high ranking one.. with a daughter.. and love interest.. What? No, no love interest! She was only a fling, I swear! Okay, fine, I lie.

Anyway. Why tell you this? Perhaps I should tell you all that has happened instead of rambling on about a sex life I do not have. Not at all.

Right, I was in an emotional rut for the first few years, well acquainted with the back of a certain redheaded grandmother, and not so loved by sleep. If I learned nothing else, I did learn to stay at least five arm lengths away from the newly turned malevolent Molly when holding little Gin. Honestly, who would think a woman of her age had such quickness left in her stiffening joints?

To continue, the years were quiet, except when the little darling of my life caused mischief. Which was every day.. of every week.. of every month.. of every year. I have already started to grow gray hairs from the darling but I love her still.

And of the mischief? I'm sure I am to blame. Heaven knows it is because I am the only one living with her, says Matriarch Molly. Oh, she knows so little. I am not the only one living with her. My other darling, Luna, lives with me and my girly mini-me. You see, we have recently 'hooked up' as these 'mature' teenagers say today.

No, I have not lied. She's not my love interest. More like infatuation. I hope sir or madam knows the difference between an interest and an infatuation. If not, I am not sure how sir or madam goes through life without a dictionary being slammed upside one's head. But perhaps sir or madam has been hit with a dictionary but not hard enough or are one of the few that screams immediately after being hit that one is a diva. If this is so, I hand you a knife now so that you may commit the ultimate sin and rid yourself a very deprived life.

Luna has been a dear to me these past years. Helping despite how much of an ass I was to her. And now my seed grows in her womb and we intended to marry.. sometime. We aren't all that rushed to tell the truth. But to be sure, we aren't at all sure what the Matriarch will say.. or do. I hope you understand my predicament sir or madam, because I know not how to explain it unless you yourself have once provoked a beaver to bite your genitals.

Don't laugh sir or madam, this is common! Many a good auror has lost a bit of his genitals or two by picking up a seemingly dead beaver. Surly sir or madam knew that or is sir or madam as thick as I am beginning to believe? But if sir or madam is how you say.. thick?.. then the knife is still being offered.

To be sure nonetheless, we will have Fred and George stationed next to her when the time comes. And that times grows ever nearer with each mile of country road we pass in this small car. For you see, it is little Gin's birthday and we are heading for the Burrow for her party. Ordinarily we would have flooed , but the spinning is too much on Luna's sensitive stomach.

Speaking of which, the mother-of-my-child-to-be has taken up an odd habit of counting butter beer caps. She tells me that counting the brightly colored caps drives away the nausea. I tried once last month when I had the flu. Needless to say it did not work as there is still a stain in the carpet. But I don't question her methods; whatever makes Luna happy and well is fine with me.

"Daddy! Are we there yet?"

Oh, those dulcet tones. Gets it from her ole mum.

"No dear." I reply, flicking on the turn signal as I crossed into another lane.

"Why not?" she whines, flipping her tiny coloring book about.

"Because" Luna mutters, " your father had to buy this car and not the one I suggested, little one." Her eyebrows knitted into one sleek blonde line as she kept count with her fingers. She seemed really into this counting.. perhaps it was time to stop and let the poor thing have a breather. But we were late enough as it is. She can suffer through another fifteen minutes.

Gin's bloody curls bounced in the rearview mirror in anger; she did not like being called 'little one'. I could imagine her button like nose scrunching up and her eyes flashing in tiny bouts of anger. That, too, she gets from her mother. The anger part, I mean.

"I'm not-" Gin began, but I had cut her off with a song that both ladies joined in happily. I wasn't in the mood for the two to start fighting nor did I want to detour to Saint Mungo's . The healer said not to get Luna too excited over anything. The Book said it would cause the baby complications. Why wasn't I informed of this when Gin was still in the womb? Healers these days..

"-and the babies on the bus go 'waa, waa, waa!" all through the town!"

"No, no! that's not how it goes Luna!"

Oh mercy. They're fighting. Again.

---

"Oh happy birthday pumpkin!"

"Gamumpherrrr!"

Haha. Gin's being squashed by her grandmother. Oh, wait.. I'm supposed to feel sorry. Right.

Oh no! Police! My horrid mother-in-law is squishing the life out of a daughter who wear's my ties as belts! Somebody save her! Quick like too!

Or not.

Serves the little bugger right. She's not the one who has to clean up the mess she made in the back seat. With the graham crackers and such. Besides, she's a Potter kid. She can take a little squishing.

"Oh Gin-Gin!" squeals Molly, petting Gin's head like that old, evil type woman from one of Gin's movies. " You look so beautiful! My you've grown since I've seen you!"

Sure she has, seeing how you saw her just last week. Old bat, and you stole her that time! I suppose it's time to save the fruit of Ginny's womb before it dies from deprivation of oxygen.

"Er, Molly," I interrupt hesitantly, "perhaps we should let Gin go. I'm sure she'd like to go play with her fie-cousins." And no, I am not taking her out this time..

At this Gin's eyes lit up almost in an instant. She adored her cousins, the six year old twin fiends Marlow and Gideon George and Katie's children. Yes, I'm a bit hesitant. The distinct memory of Gideon calling the dead manticore we found last Easter 'kitty' and his twin sister squealing with joy came floating by my mind's eye. I'm not so sure whether or not Gin should go. But it's too late. Gin was already on her way out the door.

Silence feel upon the room. It's only myself, Luna, and Molly now. I feel Molly's eyes drifting over the two of us and her hand is twitching. Oh god! She knows. Damn those maternal instincts. Maybe if I cross my legs now she won't be able to get a hold of my genitals later. Really, wide open legs to a woman is like a sign from God saying "HEY! Rip his genitals out!" Slowly, oh so slowly, I lift my right leg and draped it over the top of my left knee. Molly reached out, I pulled my legs tighter. Oh, no, she was only reaching for her cup of tea. Oops.

"So.." Luna began, almost succeeding in crushing my hand. Oh, that's my wand hand! Why can't she signal conversations like a normal person of society? Right. Luna was never normal. Yes, I am an idiot. But a clever one mind you. "Molly-"

"Lunaspregnantandwearegettingmarried." And no, I'm not repeating that again… Any idiot can plainly tell what I'm saying. Well, the other clever one at least.

Molly looked like she understood that, or maybe the tilted expression is confusion..

"Come again?" She says, staring at me as if I were sprouting lilies from my hair. Yeah. It's definitely confusion. Don't they teach classes on how to talk idiot?

I lick my lips nervously and try to manage a smile. Yes, smile Harry, it confuses them..

"Molly," I say scrounging up as much courage as I can, "Luna is pregnant and we plan to marry."

There, I said it. Take that McGonagall!

The tea Molly had been drinking is now covering my very expensive, clean green pinstripe shirt. Oh, never mind the shirt! My life and the lives of my future children are at stake now.

Molly's face resembled the poor squirrel I ran over a few days back; blotchy, nose askew, and rather scary looking.

"Excuse me?" Molly whispers placing her tea on the table.

Oh god, run Luna, run!

"I'm pregnant, Molly." Luna giggles, smiling happily.

Oh, you stupid, stupid woman! Get yourself and the kid killed why don't you!

I cringe, waiting for my impending doom. Heavenly father save me-

A minute passed…

..and another.

..then another.

Silence. This cannot be good. Where was the screaming, the strangling, the ripping of the genitals? Maybe she's just in shock. She'll start screaming soon. It's coming… now!

But nothing came.

I could feel Luna becoming antsy. Her palm felt sweaty through the sleeve of my shirts. Was she expecting bloody rage, too?

"Hun," Luna whispers quietly, eyeing the quiet matriarch, "shall I start writing your obituary now?"

And then it came. The growl. The growl to signal all growls, and, of course, my gruesome death. Goodbye cruel world!

"Harold James Potter-"

---

"See dear? It wasn't all that bad." says Luna, dabbing some god awful smelling potion over my blackened eye. "And Gin still had a wonderful birthday."

"You weren't in her line of fire." I mumble and wince. Damn, this potion stings as much as it smells.

She and I were sitting in the kitchen of our house. Gin was upstairs, asleep for all we knew, and strangling the new white kitten she received. And she was too quiet; the kitten too. Maybe they died.. No, wait, I hear meowing and contented purrs. Never mind.

"But she didn't rip anything out."

"Yet. She's not done yet, I say! She wasn't done with me until after Gin could walk." I whine, poking Luna's side. She squirms, swatting my hand away.

"I better write your obituary then."

"Thanks."

"What?" She says, pulling away, hands on her hips. No, no, no! Not that stance, puh-lease!

"Nothing, nothing dear!" I say hurriedly.

Her eyes narrow. No, baaaad sign. Talk sweet Harry, these pregnancy hormones love that. I smile and get up, and wrap my arms around her waist.

"Really, darling, I mean nothing. You know how idiots get-"

"Are you saying I'm an idiot?"

"No, no! I'm saying that I'm an idiot!"

"So you're saying that I'm an idiot too because I'm with you?" Blue eyes sparkle with tears. No, nooo. No cry! I hate it when she cries.

Think, Potter, think! Aah.. Yes, of course.

"Darling, if you're an idiot then we're a match made! Idiots can't function without another clever idiot at their side!" I whisper feebly. Oh please- yes! I see no tears! Instead- oh- is that lust? Yes, yes it is. I should personally thank whoever said 'Ignorance is bliss.'

Oh, wait, that's not lust, but anger!

"Fine, but it's your obituary"

Damn. Oh, dear obituary, you and I shall be great and wonderful comrades before these nine months are over.


-le fin

Right, so, this is the last and final chapter. I'm sure you all are about as happy as I am to see this over and done with. I'm so sorry it took me so long! I had a few more deaths in the family, my father uprooted me in the middle of a term and placed me here in Iowa, and my level of stress has sky rocketed. I lost my writing funk in that time, but it returned just shortly after Christmas. I would have had this out earlier, but my teachers find it funny to pile tons of projects on me.

So, I'd like to thank Jazz and Sasha and everyone else that reviewed. And a big thanks to Nate and his weird ways. All of you cause me great insanity. Thanks for putting up with me. I'll be back before you know it, bearing something new and revised. dun dun duuuun.

Right, so, pray that I'm morbidly depressed when I start writing again.

-Kit