Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns the lot of it, including the rights to Harry Potter, and so on. I own the computer and the username.
Author's Note: Firstly, I'd like to thank the readers out there who very graciously didn't flame me for taking three weeks to post Chapter 8. You're all good people.
Secondly, a special mention for Kinsfire who actually bothered to use precious brainpower dissecting, pondering and comprehending my plot and storyline AND offered me some helpful advice to boot.
Thirdly, this chapter is in response to feedback that my last chapter was a bit short. Yes, it is because I rushed it out in fear that the readers out there would think that I've died or something. Here's next week's work to compensate you kind readers.
Lastly, I was surfing the other night and I stumbled upon Plumgirl's story, Must Be Approved By Crookshanks. To my horror, I discovered many startling similarities between my story and hers. I was like, crap, not even the bloody plot's mine!
Luna blinked at Ron, before returning to the letter as he bounded in circles around her, wide blue eyes focused elsewhere before she returned to reality with a jolt.
'Why, Ronald, this…this is incredible!' she murmured almost to herself, running her gloved hand over the Thestral's sleek head after she had finished the letter. 'What were the odds – Ronald! What in Merlin's name are you doing?!'
Ron had finished his dance of joy and had seized the backpacks from the snow where he and Luna had dumped them, stuffing various items inside.
'We're going to North Scotland, where else d'you think?' he roared back over the whine of the wind. I need to talk to Hermione and – '
She had rushed forward, yanking the rucksacks from his grip with surprising strength and grabbing his hand.
'No, Ron,' said Luna evenly, her calm misty blue eyes meeting his astonished brown ones. 'We can't go now.'
'Why not?' he asked indignantly.
'Have you read the entire letter yet?'
Ron shook his head slowly.
She sighed, a deep long-suffering sigh and handed him the letter.
He looked up from Harry's spidery handwriting, confusion furrowing his brow.
'I don't see anything in there from Harry asking us not to go now,' remarked Ron rather bemusedly, holding up the parchment to the light.
Luna jabbed her finger at a passage halfway down the roll.
'It just says that he's only just found out he has a daughter with Hermione and he's going to spend some quality time with her this afternoon. So?'
'That's exactly it,' snapped Luna rather testily. 'Harry wants to catch up with Jessie and he certainly doesn't need you to be there, complicating matters.'
'I'm his best mate –' began Ron, equally as miffed.
'– and therefore you should give him some space to breathe,' completed Luna, her eyes taking on their misty impenetrability that so characterized her eccentricity. 'Let Harry get to know his family better before you step in.'
Ron scratched his bristly beard thoughtfully while Luna turned her attention to Tenebrus, who was pawing the snow in evident dislike.
'In that case, when is the right time for us to go?'
'Harry'll let us know,' she answered brightly, sending off the Thestral.
He pulled a face and rubbed the bridge of his nose clumsily with his gloved hand.
Damn it, thought Ron. The perfect excuse to leave this bloody place and she saw right through it.
Luna tugged the front of her anorak higher, trying and failing to conceal a smile spreading across her face.
'So Jessie, what's your, erm, favourite colour?'
Harry cringed inwardly even as the awkward question left his mouth. God, he sounded like a totally clueless father. Which in actual fact he was.
'Blue, Daddy,' Jessie answered the question almost immediately in that straightforward way all five-year-olds do. 'A nice light blue, like the sky.'
They were sitting side-by-side on the swings in the local children's playground, Jessie lightly scuffing her shoes in the dirt below as she swung back and forth while Harry had great difficulty fitting his six-foot-one frame on the seat.
'How about bluebell blue?'
Jessie wrinkled her nose thoughtfully, apparently comparing the blueness of the sky to bluebells.
'Nope,' she concluded decisively. 'Bluebells are too blue to be nice.'
She hopped off and plunked herself down in the sandbox, prompting him to follow suit.
The conversation died there and then as Jessie turned her attention to the damp sand. Harry rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, struggling to think of other things to say.
'Look, Daddy!' interrupted Jessie, holding up a handful of sand.
Harry stared blankly at the shapeless lump of sand.
'That's nice, Jessie,' he said enthusiastically, prodding it with a finger. 'Erm, what's it supposed to be?'
She opened her eyes wide, blinking at her father in disbelief. 'Why, don't you know?'
Harry shook his head. Oh shit, I'm blowing it, he thought. I should have bought that book on good parenting from the village bookstore.
'No, sweetie, I don't know what it is,' he said rather worriedly, hoping fervently he was saying the right thing.
'Oh,' Jessie scrutinised the sand closely for a few seconds before dumping it back into the sandbox. 'Me neither.'
Harry pulled a face. Mental note No. 1 to self: Never try to fathom five-year-old logic.
The little girl began digging a long narrow trough in the middle of the sandbox using her hands.
'Jessie, don't use your hands, Daddy'll buy you a bucket and shovel…' Harry looked around frantically, jumping to his feet and purchasing a brightly-coloured set he randomly grabbed from the nearby stand.
'Don't bother, Daddy, I'm done already,' called Jessie just as he'd collected his change from the stallholder.
The potbellied man grinned widely upon catching a glimpse of Harry's purchase, exposing a row of nicotine-stained teeth.
'An excellent choice for your kid, sir.'
'Thank you,' mumbled Harry as he walked back to the sandbox, aware how stupid he looked with Bob the Builder grinning from the bucket and shovel he carried in his hands.
Jessie placed her hands on her hips and pouted as he sank onto the sand beside her.
'I don't like Bob the Builder, Daddy. He looks dumb. Barney's so much better. I'm not using that.'
'Alright, Jessie,' replied Harry wearily, tossing the bucket and shovel aside. 'You don't have to use Bob if you don't want to.'
The familiar 'ting-a-ling' of the ice-cream van caught Harry's attention.
'Do you want an ice-cream, sweetie?' he asked.
She brightened up almost instantly.
'Yay! I want a strawberry ice-cream, no sprinkles, with no red bits and a chocolate wafer sticking out of the top.' instructed Jessie authoritatively to her bewildered father.
Harry sprinted over to the van, painfully aware of the amused looks from the more experienced fathers in the playground.
Mental note No. 2 to self: Do not be doormat for Jessie.
By the time he had been served, the ice-cream was rather soft and he was forced to lick it to stop it from dripping over his new jeans.
Harry noticed Jessie was digging happily in the sand with the Bob the Builder shovel on his way back.
Darn kid.
'Here, Jess,' he said, handing the ice-cream to her. 'Your ice-cream.'
She took one look at it and let out a loud 'Yuck!'.
'Daddeee!' she yelped at a taken aback Harry. 'I said a chocolate wafer! This one's a vanilla wafer!'
Hurriedly, Harry yanked out the offending confectionery and popped it into his mouth, ignoring the audible sniggers from the other fathers.
'There,' he mumbled thickly through the wafer, 'now it's OK to eat.'
Jessie folded her arms and stuck out her lower lip grouchily.
'No it isn't, Daddy,' she pronounced regally, giving him her best cool, condescending glare and prompting him to wonder whether she was his daughter or Malfoy's. 'It's contaminated now and I can't eat it.'
Harry sulkily took a massive bite out of the ice-cream, pointedly ignoring the stares of the other kids and their grinning dads.
For a contaminated ice-cream, he thought grumpily, it tastes just fine.
'Mummy!'
Jessie ran up the garden path into Hermione's arms.
Harry trudged wearily behind, exhausted from a whole day of playing with Jessie in the playground.
'Look what Daddy bought me!' she said excitedly, holding out the bucket and shovel to her mother.
'Bob the Builder?' Hermione raised an eyebrow as she held up the gaily-coloured bucket for inspection. 'Jessie doesn't like Bob the Builder, she prefers Barney.'
The heat rose to Harry's neck and face and he groaned, rolling his eyes upward. Hermione barely suppressed a giggle.
'Daddy bought me an ice-cream too, but he contaminated it and he had to eat it all.' Jessie continued in a very matter-of-fact voice.
Hermione lost her composure at this point and began laughing uncontrollably, clutching her sides, her head filled with vivid mental images of him sitting solemnly in the sandbox, eating a strawberry ice-cream with no sprinkles, no red bits and no chocolate wafer stuck in it.
Harry's lips quirked before the absurdity of the situation hit him and he joined in the laughter.
Jessie stared at both her parents in wide-eyed disbelief.
'What's so funny about Daddy eating a contaminated ice-cream?' she asked bemusedly, almost to herself.
Author's Note: This chapter would have been longer if it hadn't been for somebody glares significantly at offender yelling at me to get off that bloody computer.
The Harry and Jessie part is based partially on my diva little sister.