Matrilineal: inheriting or determining decent through the female line.

May 13, 1967

"Jamie, please."

It wasn't really a scold. Grace Potter could rarely bring herself to scold her son. She would often set out meaning to, but somewhere mid-word an undercurrent of gentleness would warm her tone, her mouth would twitch just the slightest bit, softening the lines of her face, and her eyes would betray any façade of sternness.

Across the long, polished oak table, her son ceased scuffing the tiled floor with the toe of his shoe (in a rhythm that sounded suspiciously like the Hogwarts school song, although no one could quite agree on the specifics of that tune). He folded his arms on the table before him and dropped his chin onto them, very bored.

It was supposed to be a family gathering, but as his parents, aunts, and uncles were all around sixty, and the only cousin remotely close to his age was in his last year at Hogwarts, the meal and topics of conversation held absolutely no interest for a seven-year-old. But, as Uncle Crispin (who happened to be nearing his seventy-ninth birthday and wore very thick spectacles) reached for the sugar bowl, James's interest suddenly – and inexplicably – peaked.

The moment the delicate glass top was pulled away, something electric blue and very bright shot out of the heap of white granules, trailing sugar behind like fairy dust… which turned out to be quite fitting. As the jet of blue light ricocheted off the ceiling and spiraled a bit, dazed from the collision, each of the six rather stunned adults caught sight of the fine, pointed features and furiously fluttering wings of a fairy. She chattered angrily at them for a moment before proceeding to rocket around the dining room, knocking pictures askew and making the chandelier sway rather wildly, all the while coating everything in a sticky dusting of sugar.

"I'll say!" cried Aunt Dorea, patting her pile of graying hair and looking more than a little startled.

James, however, licked the sugar from his lips with an impish giggle and smiled angelically at the rest. His mother and father looked at one another.

"He gets it from you," Harold Potter accused his wife, fighting the amused grin that played around his mouth.

She swatted his arm, but as Grace Potter met her son's hazel eyes brimming with mirth, a reflection of her own, she could not refute the point.

May 13, 1986

"I won't!"

Ginny Weasley stomped her foot, her face red and scrunched up in a scowl. She stood on her bed, clad only in the stockings and satiny white slip her mother had left her in upon hearing Ron howling downstairs and her husband's hastened explanation shouted from the kitchen about climbing on cupboards and a bloody nose. And this was how Ginny's other three brothers were charged with the should-have-been-simple task of getting their sister dressed for their grandmother's dinner.

Or more precisely, this was how Percy, the trusted oldest in the house with his brothers off to school, was tasked with getting his sister into a dress. Most unfortunately, his parents had not yet learned that no nine-year-old should be made responsible for such a thing when Ginevra Molly Weasley was the sister in question.

"Gin, you have to," Percy told her earnestly, holding up the disputed garment with a pleading air.

Ginny looked at the explosion of pink taffeta, frills, and ribbons as if it were a freshly skinned deer hide her brother was trying to convince her to wear.

"I won't!" she insisted again, planting her hands fiercely on her hips. "And you can't make me!"

At this, Fred and George, who had been rummaging in Ginny's closet, listening amusedly to their brother's doomed attempts to follow his orders, looked around. Ginny caught the smirks on their faces and began to realize that challenging the twins was always the wrong way to go about things. As one, they vaulted over the bedframe and were on either side of Ginny (who was not only half their age, but also half their height) before she could even make a move for the door.

Ginny shrieked, but Fred had already wrapped the bed sheet around her like a straight jacket and George stuffed a pair of freshly folded socks in her mouth. Percy was too busy worrying that his brothers seemed to make good pirates to take his cue until George shouted at him to 'put the shackles on already!'. He hesitated only a moment longer before reflecting that this did seem to be the only way he would be able to do as his mother instructed.

The moment the fluffy pink dress closed over Ginny's head like a tent, all she could concentrate on was how furious she was and how very much she hated that explosion of pink taffeta… and then there was an explosion of pink taffeta.

The twins let go of her at once, jumping away with yells of shock. Percy actually tripped backwards and smacked his head painfully on the wardrobe behind him. Ginny however, stood calmly amid the streamers of pink fabric floating to the ground around her and (after a moment to realize what she'd done) let a satisfied smile cross her face.

"I won't wear it, and you can't make me," she said smugly, folding her arms across her chest.

A moment later the bedroom door burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley burst into the room, the latter with a rather battered-looking six-year-old on her hip. Ron's eyes widened at the site that met him in his little sister's room.

Molly gaped at the remains of the lovely dress she had purchased that morning for her daughter. Arthur, however, was smothering his amusement with only moderate success.

"What?" he chortled when his wife rounded on him. "She gets it from you."

And Molly Weasley, turning back to see the determined glint in her daughter's brown eyes, could not refute the point.

May 13, 1994

"Oh no!"

The sound of fabric ripping along the seam tore through the hurriedly emptying corridor. Hannah Abbott dropped to the ground, frantically scrabbling to collect the books, papers, quills, and ink jars that had spilled across the stone floor, dodging the straggling students who were by now charging to make it to their classes on time.

"I'll be late!" she muttered to no one in particular, anxiety making her voice squeak. "I'll be late for Transfiguration, and I've never been late to any class in three years! I'll get detention!"

She was practically wailing.

"Need some help?"

The poor girl looked up, brushing the blond hair out of her face, to find a rather bemused Harry Potter kneeling in front of her, trying to hand her a handful of inky homework assignments.

"Where're Ron and Hermione?" was the only thing she could think to say in her near-panicked state. The moment it slipped out of her mouth, Hannah blushed. "Sorry, I mean. Thanks, but won't you be late to your next class?"

Harry shrugged, grinning a little as if she'd said something funny. "I suppose you're right. I might start getting a reputation as a rule-breaker." But he kept helping her gather her rather-worse-for-wear school supplies. "I had to stay back to talk to Professor Lupin about something. So Ron and Hermione went on ahead," he elaborated on her curious look. "We aren't physically joined at the hip you know."

She laughed a little, but the anxiety over the whole late-to-class situation was still obvious in her voice. All of Hannah's things sufficiently stuffed in her ruined bag, the pair stood up.

"See you later, Hannah," said Harry with an amiable wave, turning in the direction of the Charms classroom.

"I hope Flitwick isn't too angry with you," she said, biting her lip worriedly. "I could come with you to explain."

"Then you'd definitely be late for McGonagall," Harry told her over his shoulder, halfway down the corridor already. "Don't worry about it. I think I've faced worse than an angry Flitwick."

With one more friendly smile to encourage her not to bother about him, Harry rounded the corner just as the bell rang.

"You'd better hurry along, Miss Abbott," a voice behind Hannah said, making her jump. She had not noticed Professor McGonagall standing in her open classroom door a few paces away. "Before you're late," she added with the barest hint of a smile.

As Hannah scuttled into the classroom, flushed pink and clutching her inky possessions, Professor McGonagall looked down the corridor Harry Potter had disappeared down.

He got it from Lily, she thought. Looking at the genuine kindness in his bright green eyes, no one could have refuted the point.

A/N: So this was ambitious as far as short little snippets are supposed to go. It was just that I wanted to look at all of these mothers and could not pick simply one scene. Thus you get three days in one! :) I hoped it would make up for my awful behind-ness. I've decided I'm too far buried in catch-up words at the moment for May, so I will have to start fresh and fill in the (considerable) gap later, as with the rest. Sorry! :/

My excuses for not updating yesterday or Friday stand thus: Friday I was too sick to crawl out of my dark bedroom in search of my laptop, so that's legit, but yesterday I mostly wasted my time FINALLY finishing an amazing Marauders' era fanfic I've been reading for like two weeks straight. No joke. But all 34 chapters and over SIX HUNDRED THOUSAND words are well worth the time and effort. It's called "The Life and Times" by Jewell5 (I'm not sure if that's how you spell her name), and while it is described as a Lily/James love story, it is also filled with friendships, Marauders awesomeness, and some VERY well-developed and un-OC-ish OCs. I'm half-convinced that Donna Shacklebolt and Adam McKinnon were really born in JKR's head, got lost, and then were taken in by the wonderful Miss Jewels herself.

But anyway, that's my excuse for not updating my other stories (among other things). I'll quit wasting your time with endorsements (but you know it must be good if I'm telling you to go read another story rather than begging for reviews for this one… although if you wouldn't mind dropping me a line before you hurried away, I would absolutely appreciate it). My A/N is approximately 300 words long now, the length these chapters are supposed to be, so… yeah, thanks for listening!