Of the Unlikely Sort

So this was married life.

Suddenly, you were constantly performing Erasing Charms on your parchment in History of Magic, changing the Pansy Parkinson to Pansy Longbottom.

Suddenly, you were missing Muggle Studies on those days that Neville blew up yet another cauldron in Advanced Potions, and suddenly, you were defending your husband to your Head of House.

"Longbottom, Miss Parkinson? I just don´t understand," Snape groused, genuinely befuddled, his long fingers outlining his chin repeatedly.

"No, I doubt you would," you responded delicately, child firmly in manicured hand.

Suddenly, you had to place a Silencing Charm on your bed, and the bassinet housed at its side, each and every night to prevent Frankie from awakening the others.

And suddenly, you comprehended that the world, in fact, did not revolve around you.

You planned.

You planned time in the morning to fetch the heated milk from the Kitchen for Frankie, you planned time for Trevor´s feedings, you planned time for Neville to complete his homework, you planned time to sit, to sleep.

You planned time to plan time.

"You make me complete," you told him, looking at the blonde gurgling bundle in a bassinet by the fire.

There was a moment, a beat, as your husband stared at you, absolutely unsure of what to say. He looked down at the child, then straight into the fire.

"I-I´m not such a bumbling prat wh-when I´m with you," he stuttered. "Y-you make me graceful."

*****

He said he was happy, and you believed him.

You knew you were happy, and sometimes it was hard to believe.

"We´re married," you exclaimed, frustrated, "we share a baby, and we can´t even share a bed!"

He put a hand on your shoulder. "You know that male students are not allowed to share beds with female students. Marriage does not change that, " he whispered quietly. "Rules are rules, Pansy, my Puffskein."

Searching the top of your husband´s tousled head for the well-hidden halo, you replied, "So they are," resignedly listening to the conscience that came with your wedding dress.

Because you married a Gryffindor, you accepted this.

And because your husband married a Slytherin, he did not.

He stared at you hesitantly and licked his lips before speaking.

"There is always the Astronomy Tower."

*****

Trevor the toad, it seemed, loved you.

Your grandmother-in-law, though, did not.

"Are you sure about her?" you overheard, her bevultured hat bouncing as she spoke. "She is a Parkinson, Neville, darling."

"No, Gran. She's a Longbottom."

*****

Smoke would appear out of Gryffindor Tower every so often, but you were never concerned. He was just trying to conjure new and exotic beverages for your daughter's consumption.

The juice spells never worked correctly for Neville, but then all spells never worked correctly for Neville.

Luckily, though, Frankie was content with pumpkin juice (already present at Hogwarts, thank you), and Neville was content when Frankie was content.

*****

Your husband understood that despite everything - you being a wife, a mother, a student - you at your core, you were still just seventeen.

And you needed time to be seventeen.

It didn´t take long to realize that after you had a child, priorities changed, and so did your relationship with Millicent and Blaise. Tittering about what Draco wore under his robes to Care of Magical Creatures no longer suited its function like it used to, so occasionally, you would follow your husband.

He would take her after Advanced Herbology and together they would walk around the campus, his lips pressed up to her soft, smooth forehead as he whispered things to her he would never say to his grandmother, or to you, or even to Trevor.

"I´ll still love you if you´re a Squib."

"I love you and your mummy more than anything."

"See there? That´s where I punched Crabbe and Goyle, you know, those nasty big blokes with the constipated looks on their faces."

"I don´t know why I´m such a klutz. My gran reckons it´s `cause my dad was one, but he was also an Auror, so those cancel each other out."

"Sometimes, Frankie, you know, I´m scared `bout stuff. Scared that I won´t make anything of myself. Scared that I´ll never deserve your mum. I don´t wanna disappoint her."

Needless to say, he never disappointed you.

*****

The school year ended, and you left Hogwarts, and your childhood and your innocence behind on that rock.

You learned to ignore dirty looks and dirty diapers.

You learned to balance a baby in one hand and a stack of textbooks in the other.

You learned that Frank Longbottom liked smashed carrots more than smashed asparagus, which was fine, because Frankie tended to eat the asparagus for him, and they would sit there together, eyeing one another, grandfather feeding granddaughter as she rocked back and forth in her bouncy chair, fleeting moments of recognition passing between them.

You learned that smashed asparagus did not agree with Frankie; there was proof if you cared to bare witness.

You learned that Slytherin House really was the best House at Hogwarts.

You learned that both Weasley, godfather of your child, and Potter, godfather of your child, had feelings for Granger, godmother of your child.

And you learned that the thought of anyone, godfather of your child or not, having feelings for Granger, godmother of your child, made you nauseous.

You learned that your husband and your child didn´t laugh with just their mouths, no, they laughed with their whole bodies, shaking and giggling as if it started in their toes and spread up to their foreheads.

And making them laugh made you feel good.

You learned how to laugh.

You learned that you were only young once, and that there was no longer time for quiet conversations in dimly lit libraries. Those carefree nights of sneaking out to skip rocks on the water were over because you had a baby, and babies needed their parents always.

There was, however, plenty of time to toad-sit, and instead of locking gazes with your beloved across the Great Hall, you instead sat with him, and talked to him, not caring who saw and what was said.

And when the urge pronounced itself, you touched him, not hesitantly, not ashamedly, but with love, because you wanted to.

Because you could.

You were in love.

And as he wrapped his pudgy hand around your waist, and as the product of that love drooled unabashedly as you three stood on the train platform to leave for good, you knew you were better for coming here, to live under that wretched Dumbledore for seven years.

You were in love.

And that was all there was to it.