Trouble is a Friend: Chapter Six
Disclaimer: Provide sufficient evidence to prove it's validity. Then, and only then, shall we talk. -bows-
Anozer chapter foe mai wovely reederz (Skeeter's hah). 'Ope you enjoy.
Vast, expansive, and abundant described the British island. Indeed, massive wavelengths fashioned the rising soil; the pretentious land occasionally flaunted as it bestowed its luxury upon the residence of the soil. However, now, a new resident had muffled the bigotry of the land. Nay, this seasonal visitor was all but a stranger. In fact, the land nearly considered this visitor as a cherished family member. As the skies guided the fluffed visitor onto vacant land, the land spread its vast arms and welcomed it. In response, the flakes and snow blanketed the land as it settled contently beside its partner.
Indeed, the British lands were oddly exposed without this frequent visitor.
One consequence to this scene, of course, was, quite unfortunately, the clever creature stumbling and struggling through the several inches of snow. The snow snickered as this particular young man struggled not to curse as he – yet again – stumbled on a stray branch. The wicked blanket watched, detachedly, as the man hastened towards his destination; detecting the soft mutter of a curse, the snow frowned disapprovingly as the young man, bless him, caught the helm of his robe on a branch. Huffing a visible breath, Harry Potter tugged his cloth out and continued, hastening his pace.
The snow merely snickered.
Harry, meanwhile, with his teeth chattering uncontrollably, cast another futile warming charm on himself, and drew his bottle-green scarf closer over his lower face.
He felt numb all over.
And for the fourth time, he cursed himself for his pathetic wards. Indeed, Harry had placed Anti-Apparition wards for about a half mile radius around his home; he had been on a mission, therefore, he hadn't a fireplace to use the Floo network. As he neared his home, he distinctly recalled Ginny's assurance that he will regret it; she had said it quite passively, too, but Harry, naturally, had insisted that it was only necessary for protection.
And now, wincing at the thought of Ginny's smug expression, he regretted his decision.
Sighing wearily, his breath flowing in front of him, he tried to rejoice when he caught sight of the house, but the cold air had numbed his muscles. Dismissing this, Harry quickly approached the oak door. Raising his hand as a plea for help, his knuckles had only met the door before the door had creaked open. Involuntarily, dread – paranoia, rather – seized Harry as he unconsciously drew his wand out. Breathing deeply, with the biting cold wind against him, he warily opened the door and entered the dreary house. The lights, and the fireplace, were extinguished; he could hardly recognize the place he called home. With his heart pulsing madly, he stepped further into the house, the wood groaning audibly under his boots. However, just as he had raised his wand, a small specimen, clad in an oversized cloak, entered the entryway to the house.
Exhaling in relief, Harry shook his head, exasperatedly peering up at his daughter, who, unfortunately, was struggling with the hood of her father's cloak; consequently, she was ignorant to her father's presence. Feeling the small tug on his lip (his muscles still frozen), he turned slightly to shut the door against the devilish wind. As he did, the young imp looked up, startled, when she detected the sound of a click and a shuffle of boots. Craning her neck from beneath the hood, her eyes lit up when she caught sight of her pale and disheveled father.
"Daddy!" Lily exclaimed excitedly, her merry grin lightening her father's weary mood. As Harry clicked the door shut, he smiled at the delightful sound. After ruffling his hair out of the snow, Harry approached his daughter and tugged the hood slightly to peer down at the mischievous creature; she had nicked his cloak again.
"Where are you going?" he asked, feigning a stern tone. Lily, quite experienced with her father's moods, smiled innocently as she tugged the hood out of his grasp. Adjusting the collar, in the same fashion as she witnessed her father doing daily, she adopted a serious look as she pointed to the door Harry had just closed.
"Outside. It's snowing, Daddy," she stated obviously; peering up, she eyed her father with a twist in her lip, and Harry, momentarily, marveled at her resemblance to Ginny.
But as he recalled the ruthless outdoors, his instinct sternly perked up and shook its head hastily. Agreeing wholeheartedly, Harry frowned and shook his head.
"It's freezing out there, Lily."
But Lily, after sifting through her drawers and hangers for nearly an hour, began to protest; rarely did her father disapprove of her decisions. In fact, quite frequently, he allowed her the space she needed and rarely disapproved.
Despite her father's disapproval being a sort of rarity, Lily, assertively, fought in defense.
"But I'm wearing cloths, Daddy," she protested, pouting expressively; and Harry, despite himself, felt his lip tug in amusement, "See, right here." She tugged the cloak in emphasize.
Raising his eyebrows, he scrutinized her expression as he asked: "Did Mum say it was alright?" Blinking, Lily mulled over for a second before she looked up, the twinkle in her eye giving her away.
"Yes . . .?" sounding uncertain, she peered up with a half-wince, half-smile, and Harry shook his head, sighing, "Oh, come on. Can't I go for one minute?" She pleaded, watching in vain as her father hung his cloak, leaving his robes on.
After hanging his cloak, Harry peered from the rim of his glasses at the downcast expression she had adopted. Adjusting his glasses, Harry then swooped the light bundle up and tugged back the hood to expose her fragile features. Just as he expected, her small nose was tinged red, and her freckles stood out fearfully against her pale features. Furrowing his eyebrows in concern, he conjured a handkerchief and swiped it against her dripping nose. When he finished, he awarded her with a stern stare.
Huffing in defeat, Lily tucked her head near her father's cold neck, feeling him rubbing warmth onto her arm. Sniffing against her cold father, she believed him as he led her into the living room.
"You don't want to catch another cold, do you?" he murmured against her flaming hair as he flicked his wand towards the fireplace, sparking it instantly. Conjuring up a comforter, he tucked it attentively around her as he settled onto his armchair. From his place, he could finally hear the conversation – or rather, argument – occurring in the kitchen. Sighing in weary amusement, Harry reverted his attention to the pouting bundle in his arms.
"'M not getting a cold," she sniffed in defense; fiddling with her father's robes, she mumbled, rather irritatingly, "Al and Hugo get colds, not me."
Glancing at her from the rim of his glasses, he reckoned a confession would please her. "Everyone gets colds, Lily. I got one, too. Once." Unfortunately, he was wrong.
Furrowing her eyebrows, with lips pouting expressively, she then retorted, much to her father's amusement. "You're not as strong as me." She mumbled irritatingly, and Harry, despite his exhaustion, chuckled quietly.
Tucking his chin on her small head, he mumbled wearily in response.
"I wish I was as strong as Lily."
Giggling slightly, Lily raised her head and met her father's green eyes, hoping that his statement was her golden ticket. "So I can go outside?"
Raising an eyebrow, he gave her an unimpressed look, and she wilted significantly.
"When you get better . . ." he said, struggling with a stern impression, "I'll think about it." Lily puffed a breath, and scowled.
"But I'm not sick!" she exclaimed loudly, causing her father to wince in his drowsed state; just as she said this, however, a violent sneeze contradicted her words. When she peered back at her father, she caught sight of his satisfied expression before he, again, swiped her nose with a handkerchief. Sniffing, she elicited a small sigh before she plopped her head against his chest again.
After a serene moment of silence, the background arguments faint, Harry found himself drifting off before Lily startled him once more.
"Daddy?"
Blinking his eyes open, he watched the flickering fireplace as he responded, only half-conscious.
"Hmm?"
Fiddling with her father's fingers, Lily bit her lip, reluctant.
"If I drink Mummy's potions," she grimaced at the thought, "I won't be sick, right?"
Blinking awake, he questioned the validity of the statement; rarely, if ever, did Lily succumb to medicine or potions. Like him, she preferred to heal naturally. Now, however, Harry thought that this was probably his only chance to gain her acceptance. Swiftly, before he lost the chance, he slowly answered.
"That's right."
Biting her lip, she continued to fiddle with his hand while Harry patiently waited. Finally, she hurt her pride as she whispered, trusting her father not to mock her.
"Alright."
Genuinely surprised, Harry asked in confirmation.
"You'll drink your potion?"
Scowling slightly, she mumbled. "Yes."
A smile dawned her father's features as he stood up, dismissing his weary frame. Quickly, before she could change her decision, Harry set her down on the armchair, and disappeared to his study. Lily could hear him rummaging through a cupboard before he appeared again, clutching a vial. Lily grimaced at the vial.
"I have to drink all of it?" she asked, questioning her decision.
"No," her father assured; summoning a small cup, he carefully weighed the measurements before he offered it to her. Hesitantly, she grasped it, and glanced apprehensively towards her father. When he nodded encouragingly, she elicited a small smile, and quickly, dwelling on it not for a minute, she gulped the liquid down, grimacing expressively. Harry chuckled softly as he set the vial on a side table, took her cup, and set it down next to the cup. Then, he lifted her again and resumed his position.
Leaning back against her father, she mumbled, suddenly feeling inexplicably drowsy.
"Can't I go now?"
Glancing towards the side window, he felt satisfied when he noticed the dark window.
"It's dark, Lily." He chuckled when she huffed.
"T'morrow?"
"Right," he nodded, catching sight of a small shadow blinking in the light, "If you aren't sick again." He added teasingly; she grimaced.
"'M strong, Daddy." At the statement, Harry inexplicably thought of Ginny; he had noted that trait particularly when she was speaking to her parents.
"Of course," he murmured, watching Albus approach out of the dark. After scrutinizing the boy, Harry furrowed his eyebrows concernedly.
Albus was sick, too?
"'Lo, Al," Albus smiled, albeit timidly, as he approached his father.
Settling down beside his father, who ruffled his hair, Albus peered from under his bangs, and stated, rather hoarsely. "I'm sick, Dad." He pouted, and Harry winced sympathetically.
But before Harry could answer, a fierce lion interposed first.
"It's his fault I had to drink that nasty potion. He made me sick," Lily interposed, glaring at her brother, who scowled; however, at the sight of her father's look, she silenced immediately.
But, fortunately, Harry didn't need to interpose. In fact, Albus, inadvertently, took care of it himself.
"You drank a potion?" he frowned curiously, and Harry, despite his reluctance to choose a side, had to chuckle at her inadvertent confession. Both father and son watched as Lily burned red for a moment before she glared at her brother and hid her face in her father's robes.
Smiling, Harry patted the unhappy lion's back before reverting his attention to his son, who was looking rather guilty as swung his legs nervously.
"Did you like the book Aunt Hermione gave you?" asked Harry interestedly; he could never figure out exactly what type of books Albus liked. Even when he did ask, Albus merely shrugged and admitted he didn't know himself.
And, again, Albus shrugged.
"It was – er," he winced, "Nice, I suppose."
Snorting, Harry turned towards the fireplace, a small smile tugging his lips. Albus noticed this, and he felt comfortable in elaborating.
"It would've great if I could understand what half the words mean," he mumbled, eliciting a small smile when his father chuckled, "I mean, I'm not Rosé." He shook his head in emphasize.
"'Course not."
Absentmindedly, Albus continued. "And Uncle Ron showed me a really neat book. He said you used to read it all the time," and Harry furrowed his eyebrows questionably as he strained to recall a book he had ever indulged in; at the sight of his father's questioning look, Albus elaborated, "I think he said it was about Quidditch or something." Finally, comprehension dawned Harry, and he nodded.
"That's right. Quidditch Through the Ages," Albus grinned, "It's neat, if you fancy Quidditch, that is." Harry knew about Albus's insecurities; he also knew that riding a broom was one of them, but Ginny constantly reassured him that it was still too early to master the skill.
Chewing his lip thoughtfully, Albus then approached a conclusion. "Well, maybe if I learn more about it, I could . . ." and his voice trailed off. Harry let him mull over for a moment. Meanwhile, he glanced down, curious of Lily's state when he caught sight of heavy eyes watching her brother owlishly. He hoped she was thinking along the same lines as her brother.
"It's in the cabinet, Al, in the study," a voice suddenly piped in. Startled, Albus glanced up at his mother, smiled, and went to retrieve it. Meanwhile, two pairs of weary eyes peered up at her, and Ginny chuckled at the sight.
"When did you get here?" she addressed Harry as she plopped herself on the sofa; Harry noticed that she was clutching a lengthy parchment filled with ink. If he hadn't known she liked the work, he would have pitied her.
"About fifteen minutes ago," he responded, and Ginny looked up in surprise. Frowning, she peered up disbelievingly, "Heard your arguing." He added pointedly as two others slouched in: Teddy and James.
Huffing, Ginny glared at the two as Teddy slouched next to the fireplace and James threw himself dramatically on the carpet floor, both mumbling a greeting to Harry.
"Of course," she said disapprovingly, "They've gone and gotten Al and Lily sick, and they still want to go outside. I told them not to. If they go outside, then Lily and Albus will want to go, too. And they know Lily won't drink her potions." At the last statement, Harry felt Lily stiffen.
"It's not our fault they're sick," James lifted his head from the carpet, adamant to argue, "We didn't ask for them to come with us. They just did." And as he said this, Albus reappeared, settled next to his mother on the sofa, and flicked through the book, ignoring his brother's glare.
"Shut up, James." Teddy piped in helpfully, and Ginny felt satisfied with the statement as her eldest son groaned in misery and buried his face back into the carpet.
But to everyone's surprise, a wicked lion decided to roar again.
"I hope you get sick, too." Lily stated firmly, addressing her brother but not looking at him. "Then you'll never go outside, either." Harry chuckled.
"Well I'm not sick now, am I?" James retorted, "Careful, don't get jealou―" but a violent sneeze had interrupted his words, and the occupants of the room burst into laughter as he blushed fiercely, but smiling all the same. "I should've kept my mouth shut," he mumbled into his arms.
"You should have," Albus piped in, and James couldn't even muster the strength to glare at him.
A/N: It's cold, guys.
I know. It's short. It's bland. I know, but it's all I've got now. HP is just my stress-free zone, so I like to indulge in it, when stress has become quite naughty.
Hope ya enjoyed this.
Please, do click the review button. It won't bite, I assure you. Probably the only thing that will bite is the cold. ;)
Until next time . . .