A Little Addition

I yawn and stretch, but let myself sink back into the cozy nest of our bed again. The warmth, which is wedged up against my back, squirms and slides an arm round my waist.

"Mmmm, you smell good," Harry murmurs into the back of my neck.

"You always think that, even when I'm fresh off the pitch," I return.

"You smell even better then." He licks the outer curve of my ear.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are a bit off?" I press back against him.

"My husband tells me all the time." He slides his hand up my body to address my left nipple.

"I love you, Harry." I make certain to say it every day, whether he need to hear it or not.

"Prove it," he demands as he slides his hand much lower, finding what he affectionately calls my 'morning glory' and grinding slowly against my arse.

A bit later, when we are sweat slicked and sticky, Harry pants out, "I love you too, Ron." I reckon I've provided enough proof- proven my, er, point. I smile at my own dirty joke.

Still later, Harry runs his hand down my chest, as lay facing each other, putting off leaving the bed. "Ron," he says, in a tone meant to tell me he is serious, "I got an owl last night after you'd fallen asleep." I sleep like the dead, or so I'm told. "My Aunt Petunia sent word that my Uncle Vernon's died."

"Oh," I say, unsure what else there is to say. I'm surprised that she even thought to tell Harry. Moreover, I'm very unsure as to how Harry might feel about Vernon Dursley's death.

"It was his heart. The service is today and I know I don't own him anything, it's not like he was ever the kind of uncle or father to me that he should have been, but I've decided to go. I reckon I just want to see for myself. You never know, without Uncle Vernon around, Aunt Petunia and Dudley could be a bit more bearable."

"Ron?" he asks.

"Sorry, I'm not sure what to say, except that I'll do whatever you want. We can go to the funeral, if that's what you need, Harry."

"Thank you," he smiles, "but, I'm thinking I ought to go alone. You know I love you and I'm proud to have you as my husband but, since I'm not going with the intent of causing a scene, I figured I'd leave my gay, wizard husband home." I hate how the Dursleys can make him into a scared, ashamed eleven year old again, just by existing.

We shower, dress and go to the Great Hall for breakfast together before he has to Floo to London. We haven't much time, as he has to exchange some Galleons for Muggle money and buy a Muggle suit before he finds his way to the service at mid-morning. We return to our rooms and I kiss him soundly before he steps into our fireplace. He's gone in a flash and I ponder the wisdom of letting him face this day alone. I miss him already.

***

I spend the day helping each of the four Quidditch captains with their strategies in turns. I try not to be too biased in helping the Gryffindors and not helping the Slytherins. It helps that the current Slytherin captain is the younger brother of Marcus Flint, who fought on our side in the War. The Flints are tough competitors, but they're no Death Eaters. Yeah, Auggie Flint is an asset to both Slytherin House and Hogwarts in general, just don't expect me to admit that to Old Severus.

After tea, I settle in our rooms, reading and waiting for Harry's return. I wonder what state he'll be in? I can't imagine any turn of events that could bring him home anything but depressed or angry. Just when it gets late enough for me to start considering Flooing to London to check that he is all right, the fireplace flashes and Harry's head appears in the flames.

"Ron, hi. I haven't much powder, so just listen, okay."

"Okay"

"I . . . er . . . there's a bit of a situation here. I need to stay a few days. Don't worry, I'm fine. I will send an owl tomorrow, I promise. I love you."

"Harry, what's so important, that you can't come home?" I ask, but by the time I finish, the grate is empty.

As the next day is Sunday, I choose to wallow. I haven't spent a night without Harry since we got married and I don't' like it in the least. By mid-day, I cannot justify staying abed any longer, so I go to lunch. I'm just starting my meal when Pig wings in, landing excitedly on my plate and leaving tiny claw marks on my plate as he steps through my gravy. I pull off the letter, absentmindedly offering Pig some of my food as I read.

Dear Ron,

Forgive me for not explaining things last night in the fire. Everything is fine. Dudley has offered me something unbelievable that I just couldn't refuse. It's not the type of thing for a letter though, so let me just say, if it works out, it could be the best thing to happen to us in quite a while (since December). Working through the details will take at least a week. Please make my excuses to McGonagall and take on my classes until I get back.

Thanks,

Harry

All right, now I know I should trust Harry, but what could his piggy cousin possibly offer him that could be that good? These people have never given him anything of worth. Instead of being reassured by Harry's letter, I'm even more worried. I decide to take Pig back to our rooms before writing back to Harry. It's not like he could stand to make the trip back today anyway.

Dear Harry,

I'm not sure what to make of your letter. I wish I were there with you, helping you to deal with whatever this situation is. My instinct is to NOT trust anything your Muggle relations say or do, but I'm not there to make a judgment. I hope you are okay and that you can come home soon. I'm trusting you to do this alone, but I don't like it.

I miss you,

Ron

I reread the letter and decide it is too gloomy and desperate. I crumple it up and start again.

Dear Harry,

I miss you. I can't wait until you come home. Good luck with whatever you are working on with Dudley. I hope it turns out as amazing as you hope. I look forward to hearing all about it on you return.

Love,

Ron

That's much better, or at least, erring on the side of optimism. I walk to the Owlery and post the letter with one of the school owls. Then I turn towards the Headmistress' office, trying to come up with a reasonable way to tell her Harry is taking some unplanned leave, but I don't know exactly why or when he'll be back.

Surprisingly, I don't hear from Harry until nearly a week has passed. Teaching both of our classes keeps me busy enough not to brood about my loneliness except at night. At night I lie alone in our bed, wondering what the devil Harry is doing and failing miserably in my attempts to get a good night's sleep. At mid-week, I stop in at The Three Broomsticks for a pint and run into Seamus Finnigan, who I haven't seen since the wedding. We pass a loud and colorful evening together, while he tells me about his recent cases at the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. He was a natural for the job, having spent half his time at school clearing up his own mistakes.

***

The week finally ends and I return to my rooms, after my afternoon classes on Friday, expecting to find a cold, dark, empty room waiting for me. Therefore, finding a crackling fire and Harry dozing on our couch is indeed welcome. I'm across the room and kissing Harry before I realize it is not just a fantasy born of loneliness and frustration. He is warm and familiar and responsive. His arms twine round my neck and I pull him to his feet so I can lead him to the bedroom, still exploring his mouth.

"Ron, I hmph . . ." I stop him. I have much better uses for that mouth than speech. I've got his shirt unbuttoned and am biting his neck as we reach the doorway.

"Ron, wait . . . we can't." He pulls away from me. "Look." He motions to our bed. The covers are mussed and lumpy. Odd, I thought I made the bed this morning. Then I spot what he is pointing to. In the very center of the bed, amid the swirl of blankets, sheets and pillows, lies a child, a small, blond cherub, softly sleeping.

"There's a baby in our bed," I mutter, puzzled.

"Actually Ron, that's our baby in our bed. Her name is Denise," Harry beams.

"Er . . . what?"

"She used to be Dudley's, but she keeps having these magical tantrums and since Dudley's wife ran off to Germany with, er . . . with some German, he can't manage her. So Dud pulls me aside at the funeral and says I can have her, if I want, since she's 'my kind' anyway."

"Harry, how could he . . ."

"I don't know, Ron. It's not like he's ever made sense to me. I just knew, I couldn't leave her to grow up in that family, being made to feel ashamed for how she was born. So, I adopted her. That's what took so long. Actually, Muggle adoptions usually take much longer; I greased the wheels a bit, if you catch my meaning." He made a rubbing gesture with his thumb and fingers to indicate money.

"Blimey Harry, we have a daughter."

"Yeah, we do."

"She's far too pretty to be a Dursley, she must favor her mother."

We spend long moments just looking at her. I hadn't expected anything like this. There are magical ways for two wizards to have a child, but they require changing things I wouldn't want either Harry or I to change, body parts and such.

When we adjourn to the sitting room, Harry tells me the story again over sandwiches and pumpkin juice. Apparently, Arabella Figg had a hand in the whole thing, as if she was trying to make up for not taking Harry away from the Dursleys when he was a child. I never thought of it that way, but it must have been very hard for her to leave him there all those years, knowing how they treated him. We spend the night curled around the newest member of our family, neither of us sleeping very much, because we both keep waking up to check on her.

***

I can feel someone staring at me and it isn't Pig. My groggy brain sorts through the memories from last night and pulls me out of sleep. I open my eyes to see Denise, inches from my face, staring hard at me.

"Good morning, pet." The joy that is a howler is nothing compared to the sound that issues from that delicate, rose-red set of cupid's bow lips, as the very first thing my new daughter says to me is a blood-curling scream. A literal wall of ice shoots up between us as she runs from the bedroom.

I hop from the bed, find my wand and vanish the ice before it wets the bed. It's lucky I didn't wet the bed from the shock of that banshee-like scream. I go out to the sitting room and find Denise clinging desperately to Harry.

"Ron," Harry asks gently, "what did you do to scare her?"

"I said 'good morning'," I answer.

"Apparently she hates that."

"My mistake."

Harry coaxes her over to me and tries to explain that I am not some kind of red, spotted monster (his words, not hers), but she is not having any of it. When she reacts to me offering her my hand to shake by covering it with huge boils and running away screaming (of course), I give up and go take a shower.

***

By the time I'm dresses, Harry and Denise are too, so we go to breakfast. Denny, as Harry insists on calling her, is agog at the sights and sounds of the castle. She is also fearless. The paintings are there to be poked at, the suits of armor make a lovely clanging din, when banged upon and the ghosts are there solely for Denny's amusement. Not one thing worries her, unless I get too close and then it's all screeches and rampaging water buffalos. The latter happened just outside the Great Hall, while much of the school was listening to Harry and I tame wild beasts over their toast and tea. Just as we subdue the last one, Professor McGonagall emerges to see what the commotion is.

"Mr. Weasley, What is that beast doing in my school?" Minerva demands.

"I . . . er, just a bit of accidental magic, little Denny got spooked is all," I reply.

"And who, pray tell, is Little Denny?"

"That would be our daughter," Harry pipes up, gliding across the corridor and presenting our deceptively angelic, little girl to the Headmistress.

"Daughter? Oh my, isn't she lovely?" Denny reaches out to her, asking to be held. "Such a sweet little thing she is too." I can't believe this child loves everyone and everything in the castle save me. McGonagall takes her and carries her into breakfast.

Harry looks at me and says, "Don't worry, Ron. It won't last. She's just been through a lot of changes in the last few weeks. She'll warm up to you; I know I did, eventually." He vanishes the last of the buffalos and goes into the Great Hall.

I stand in the corridor, remembering how to breathe for a few minutes. Somehow, in the space of a night, I have gone from desperately lonely to blissfully happy at both Harry's return and Denny's arrival to overwrought and depressed at my daughter's instant dislike of me. Wait a minute. Nobody dislikes me on sight. Well, Malfoy did, and the Dursleys, but neither of them count as they were determined to hate me due to accidents of my birth. Everyone else gives me a chance, at a minimum. I can make this girl like me; I am the funny one, after all.

My renewed outlook lasts almost halfway through the meal, until I glance at my dear daughter, sitting nearly engulfed in Hagrid's lap, pulling on his beard, and she actually draws down a lightning flash. It strikes the table in front of me, setting my napkin alight. Harry calmly douses the flames as Minerva stands and reassures the students that the sky is not falling.

I take another deep breath and fish a Chocolate Frog from my pocket. When in doubt, have chocolate, that's my credo. I rip open the package and it leaps out, landing on Denny's lap. She grabs it before it gets away and giggles uncontrollably. It squirms and melts in her hands and she bestows on me a smile most unequalled. She looks down at her prize and sees that it has stopped moving.

Before her little pout has fully formed, I tell her, "It's okay, it's just chocolate. Have a bite, they're really good." She looks at the sweet, oozing through her fingers, considers it for a moment, slowly raises it to her mouth and bites it's mushy, brown head off. Did I say the first smile was unequalled? I was wrong, this one is not just its equal, it surpasses it. Five minutes later, she crawls stickily into my lap, as I pull another Chocolate Frog out and we are now fast friends.

We spend the morning walking behind Denny as she explores the grounds. With October coming to a close, the air is brisk and flavored with fallen leaves and damp earth. I can't help thinking how this autumnal smell, along with the taste of half melted Chocolate Frogs will come to represent this day in my memory, just as the mingled smells of Pumpkin Pasties and tea return me to the day Harry first kissed me or fresh-cut pine and eggnog bring back that content-excited feeling of our wedding day. I'll never need a Pensive, just a smelloscope.

We are resting beside the lake, watching the Giant Squid make ripples and waves on the surface, and considering going in for lunch, when lunch appears, like magic, borne by our two favorite House Elves. Dobby and Winky scurry up to us, their arms laden with baskets and thermoses.

"Harry Potter and Mister Weezy, Sirs, it is Dobby and Dobby's good wife Winky, sirs. We is come to bring a meal for Harry Potter and Mister Weezy, Sirs, and the new Miss, too."

"Hello Dobby, Winky, how are you?" Harry asks. Winky starts setting out a blanket and unloading the food.

"Oh, Harry Potter, Sir, it is noble and kind of sir to ask. Dobby is well, Sir, and Dobby's good wife Winky is well as well," Dobby replies.

"Thank you for bringing us lunch," Harry says.

"Yeah, you should join us," I add.

"Oh no, Sirs, Winky and Winky's good husband Dobby could not, Sirs, not on such a day as this. 'Tis not our place, Sirs," Winky answers before Dobby can say yes. She is much saner than she used to be, but still doesn't like the freedom bit.

Just then, Denny's curiosity about the House Elves takes a strange turn and she grabs hold of Winky's rather large, round, red nose and tweaks it hard. Winky screams in pain. Harry, who is nearer, pulls her off.

"Sorry about that, Winky. Are you all right?"

"Sir is too kind, worrying about Winky, Harry Potter is. Winky is all right, Sir, thanking you, Harry Potter, Sir." Her voice comes out nasally. "Winky and Winky's good husband Dobby have much works in the castle, Sir, and must return now, Harry Potter, Sir."

Then they both disappear with a loud crack, which makes Denny cry. Once the baby is soothed with tickles and kisses and another Chocolate Frog, she falls, quite suddenly, to sleep, while leaning against me. We pack up the remains of the meal, I wrap Denny in the blanket, and we go back to the castle.

Harry returns the dishes and baskets to the kitchen, while I settle our baby on the couch in our rooms for her nap. By the time Harry returns, Denny is well settled. I find myself staring at this little . . . person, a person who has just become dependant on me, well, on Harry and me. Me, a father, who'd have imagined that? Harry comes in, but I can't take my eyes off of her.

"All right, Ron?"

"Yeah, Harry."

"Are you sure? I mean, I didn't give you any warning she was coming, let alone ask you if you wanted to take this on." I look at him with what I know is a wistful smile and he relaxes.

"Harry, don't be a dolt; you couldn't have left her there. What were you to do? Let them put her in a Muggle orphanage?" He frowns at my reference to Riddle. "And, she's family." I feel myself smile over-wide. "She's family, enough said."

"I'm glad you understand it, Ron, why I did things the way I did."

"Oh no, I don't understand why you did things the way you did, just why you did them. Honestly, did the whole of Surry run low on Floo Powder? Did the owls all come down with Spattergroit?"

"Er . . . I,"

"I'm not angry, Harry," I reassure him, pulling him into the bedroom so we don't disturb Denny, "I just, could have prepared things here, or listened to your concerns and complaints about the Dursleys."

"I . . ." he slumps down on the bed. "I reckon I didn't tell you until it was done in case you didn't want her. I didn't want to have you try to talk me out of it."

I offer him my hand to shake and say, "Hello, I'm Ron Weasley." He takes my hand and smiles wryly. "Let me tell you a little about myself. I'm a tall, red and very handsome young wizard, who likes Quidditch, Sugar Quills and midnight walks in the snow. My hobbies include chess and Harry Potter trivia. I can't stand spiders, dark lords and anyone named Malfoy, and the two most important things in my life are family and Harry Potter's happiness. Now, do you really think I would have said no to this? Do keep in mind who rescued you from the Dursleys' when you were twelve years old," I tease.

"You do know what a turn-on I find your sarcasm, don't you?" he says.

"Seriously, Harry, you can't go off making life-changing choices without giving me a heads up. Marriage doesn't work like that. Just remember, if it's that important to you, it's that important to me too. I'd merely like to be included."

"Okay."

"Okay. So," I incline my head towards the bed, "we haven't," I waggle my eyebrows, "in a week and the baby's asleep. I bet you a Galleon I can strip faster than you," Harry's never been one to refuse a challenge, so the competition is er, stiff. I'm not sure which of us is naked first, but then again, I don't really care.

Later as we lay together, bodies cooling in the afternoon sun, I say, "I think we really can do this, Harry. Parenthood, I mean."

"And if we have questions, we can always ask at the Burrow." I go cold.

"Bloody hell, Mum and Dad! Denny's been here for nearly an entire day and I haven't even sent an owl. Oh, Mum's going to kill me," I whinge.

Harry laughs and says, "I sent one yesterday, telling them we have news. We're expected at the Burrow tonight."

"There you go again, making the important decisions without me," I mock scold. Harry gets a concerned look on his face.

"I am sorry, you know?"

"Shh, it's okay, Harry." I gather him to me again. "Just live and learn. We have the rest of our lives to get it right." A wail from the other room has us both up and dressing in seconds. It's amazing how that sound brought us from relaxed and basking to alert and scurrying so fast. I reckon we'd better get used to that.

After a snack and a clean nappy, (That was an experience. Harry's had a week more to train than I have, so I'm still a bit useless at it.) we go into Hogsmeade to buy a few baby supplies not available in the Muggle world and some pudding to take with us to the Burrow. We decide on a cake with 'Welcome Baby Denise Potter-Weasley' written on it. The baker's head looks like it will explode when he realizes who we are and just what the cake means. Then there are photos of us and the cake and Denny and the cake and the baker holding Denny in one hand and the cake in the other. We are lucky to get out of there alive.

We return to Hogwarts and Floo to the Burrow, Denny strapped to Harry in the Safety-Floo Travel Sling TM. How the merchant can ask twelve Galleons for two yards of cloth with cushioning and anti-squirming charms on it is beyond me. Harry, however, thought it was the best thing since his latest racing broom (The Quantum Phoenix). We arrive to find not just Mum and Dad, but the whole family waiting and looking somber. I wonder what Harry put in that letter?

Mum pulls me into a tearful embrace, as I hear Harry landing in the fireplace I just stepped from. "There, there, Ron, it will be all right. All couples have ups and downs. The important thing is that you love each other. You can work everything else out, given time, so I won't hear of a divorce."

"Mum, what are you on about?" I ask in surprise.

"What your mother is saying, Ron, is that we will be here for you, both of you." Dad looks to Harry half hidden behind me. "We'll help you through this in any way we can." I pull out of Mum's arms.

"Wait, what makes you think Harry and I are having marital problems? Divorce? How could you think we were considering something like that?"

"It's all right, son, we know about the separation."

"The what?" Harry asks.

"The trial separation," Mum repeats, handing me a copy of 'Witch Weekly' bearing a photo of Seamus and I at The Three Broomsticks, his arm around my shoulders and us both laughing. The headline reads 'A Hero's Secret Heartbreak- Harry Potter Seeks Divorce from Cheating Hubby'. I blink at it, aghast.

"It's rubbish," I blurt out. "I could never cheat on Harry and we are not . . ." I stop because nobody is paying me the faintest bit of attention. They are all staring at Harry, who has just retrieved Denise from inside his cloak.

"I don't know what that article says and I don't care. Our news is this; Mum, Dad, the rest of you lot, may I present Denise Potter-Weasley, our new daughter." The room erupts in joyful chaos.

Later, after a meal full of Denny stories, and during which, our charming daughter spent time on every knee in the house, Fred and George do a dramatic reading of the 'Witch Weekly" article and Mum's reaction to it. Fred, as always, does a spot-on impression of Mum. Since Mum is currently entranced with her first grandchild, Harry and I get up and serve tea and cake. In the semi-privacy of the kitchen, I feel the need to push Harry up against the wall and press our mouths together vigorously. Reassuring him, without words, that I would never do any of the nasty things the news article said.

When we break apart, Harry presses our foreheads together and whispers, "I know, Ron."

"Good."

***

I wake Sunday morning in an entirely different place than a week before. Much like our first night with Denny, we have her snuggled between us in our bed. I'm sure that, at some point, we'll get her her own bed and even her own room, but right now, it feels right to keep her between us, as thought we are protecting her from the world. Harry is still asleep and Denny's head is pillowed on his arm, her blond curls seeming to glow against the black of his T-shirt. Harry's eyes flutter open and we smile foolishly at each other with how very important this type of eventless moment is in the grand scheme of things. We doze.

The sound of Harry's laughter mixed with tinkling bells lulls me to wakefulness. "Where is your nose?" Harry asks. That's an odd question.

"Noss," the little bell voice responds. Oh, it's Denny.

"Where is your mouth?"

"Mout," she chirps.

"Where are your toes?"

"Toss." I open my eyes and watch her little legs swing up in the air and her impossibly slender fingers pinch at her feet, missing and trying again until she catches the requested body parts. Harry is sitting up facing the center of the bed where Denny is laying.

"Where is your tummy?"

"Tumtum," she laughs.

"And where is my tummy?" She sits up and reaches out, touching Harry.

"Tumtum."

"What about Ron's tummy?" She turns to me and pokes me gently.

"Oi pet, what do you think you're doing?" I tease, pulling her over and tickling her. We laze about in bed with tickles and giggles and every silly song I remember from my childhood. Harry doesn't add any silly, Muggle, children's songs and I try not to wonder if he even knows any.

When we get up, Harry showers while I dress Denny. Well, I should say attempt to dress Denny. She is apparently very attached to this particular set of pajamas, as they have the image of what some Muggle artist thinks Fairies look like on them.

"Come on, Denny, you'll feel much better with a clean nappy, won't you?" I cajole.

"No." Her little face is scrunched up determinedly.

"We can't go to breakfast with you in your pajamas. Aren't you hungry? Let's get ready for breakfast," I coax.

"No."

"Denny, little girls who don't get dressed, can't have pudding after lunch," I threaten.

"No."

I count to ten, take a deep breath and dig through the valise full of her clothes for something with Fairies on it. I have no luck. She is staring at me, waiting for my next move so she can refuse it. I use the only resource I have left.

"How about this; I'll give you a lovely Chocolate Frog, if you let me change you?" I bribe. She doesn't answer, just scurries over to grab the sweet from my hand and lays down on the changing mat I had set on the couch at the beginning of all this. I won, I think. Harry emerges from the bedroom clean and dressed. I can tell he just brushed his hair because it is slightly more unruly than usual.

"Ron, is she eating chocolate before breakfast?"

"Er, yeah," I admit.

"Don't you think that's spoiling her a bit?"

"It was the only way I could get her to let me change her nappy. Besides, what does it hurt? Look how happy it makes her."

"Ron, remember what Dudley looks like?" Oh!

"Come on pet. Let's get you a nice, scrummy piece of fruit for breakfast."

After breakfast, we go down to the pitch and take turns flying around to amuse Denny and each other. After the little one has fallen asleep on my shoulder, we get to talking. "I'll be glad tomorrow when I get to go back to only teaching flying. Two subjects is just too much work."

"Ron, your Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons consist of telling stories of when we used to sneak about the castle after hours. How much work is it to do that?"

"Well, one has to choose the appropriate story for each lesson."

"Ah, and what does the story of us sneaking out to duel with Malfoy during our first year teach exactly?"

"Not to take your opponent at his word. Really, Harry, they're good stories. We did learn a lot of Defense Against the Dark Arts on those nights."

"I don't think it's a good idea to allow the students to think we condone sneaking out after hours, do you?"

"Harry, it makes you real. To these kids you're the all-powerful Boy-Who-Lived, the man who saved us all from Voldemort more times than they can count. You're mythic, like Merlin or Dumbledore. Don't you think it is better if they see that you were a naughty kid, just like them?" I argue.

"Would you like Denny sneaking around like we used to?" he counters.

"Frankly? I think Denny would probably be able to take care of herself," I answer, remembering ice and boils and water buffalo, not to mention lightning.

"Well, maybe. She can't now, though," he changes the subject, abruptly. "We have to decide what we are going to do with her tomorrow. I was thinking it would be best if we hired on a nanny."

"What and leave her with a stranger?"

"Okay, not a nanny. How about Arabella Figg? Denny already knows her and I bet she wouldn't mind living in or maybe getting rooms in Hogsmeade. It's not as though there's anything left for her in Little Whinging, now that all her cats have been returned to their human forms."

"What about accidental magic? Arabella wouldn't be ably to reverse anything dangerous Denny did. Her magic is unusually strong for such a little thing."

"Er, I'm sorry Ron. I seem to have forgot to tell you something rather important about Denny. It struck me as strange that Denny didn't show signs of magic until she and Dud moved into Privet Drive after her Mum left so, between solicitor's meetings, I managed to do some research at Flourish and Blotts."

"And?"

"And, she's not just unusually strong, I'm fairly certain she's a Magidux, she draws on the ambient magic from a place to cast. That is why her tantrums were not magical when she lived in a Muggle house, but got decidedly magical and more frequent when she moved to where I used to live. She was using the magic from the wards and charms cast on the place to protect me as a boy."

"Now she's doing it here too. That's why a child who should only be able to conjure a few sparks can bring lightning," I cotton on.

"Exactly. Perhaps we could set up some null zones, where she and Arabella could be, where Denny would have no ambient magic to draw on. We could do our rooms and the little courtyard outside our sitting room. It wouldn't even take very long to set up."

"Don't you think that might be a bit like charming the claws off of a cat? As long as you keep it inside, it can't scratch the furniture, but if it ever gets out, it can't defend itself or go mouse hunting. If we keep Denny in a place with no magic, she'll never learn how to use her gift and it will just be harder once she has to try to at school."

"I reckon you're right. Anyone else you can think of?"

"There's a certain highly experienced witch near Ottery St. Catchpole who's a likely candidate. If she could handle the twins at two years old, she can handle Denny."

"Of course, Mum would be ideal. Do you think she would mind Flooing back and forth every day?"

"Harry, you saw her last night, Denny is the new center of the universe to Mum."

"Great, I'll send her an owl now." He retrieves pig from the cubbyhole, he likes to hide in, next to the fireplace and starts writing.

We have a lunch date with Remus, so we pack up a truly unreasonable amount of baby 'essentials' and walk to The Three Broomsticks, Denny clinging drowsily to Harry. We spot him chatting up Madam Rosmerta's new barman. The barman is tall, lean and handsome in an understated way. The glint in Remus' eyes as they are talking gives me pause. I never thought he'd get past losing Sirius. Looks like I was wrong. Bully for him. Harry calls to him and he makes his way over, smiling broadly, a folded copy of The Daily Prophet under his arm.

"Harry, Ron, so good to see you. And who is this little one?" he asks, tickling Denny's cheek. She reaches for him, unprompted, and he takes her automatically.

"She's our daughter, Denise," Harry says, strangely sounding a bit nervous.

"Ah, yes. The pictures don't do her justice."

"What pictures?" Harry and I ask in unison. By way of an answer, he hands us The Daily Prophet from under his arm and walks to a table, cooing at his de facto granddaughter. The three of us are smiling out from the front page, Denny's face smudged with whipped cream. It must be one of the pictures from the bakery yesterday. The headline reads, 'Potter-Weasleys Adopt Muggle-born Witch.' That sound quite good to me.