Author's Note: I didn't get this update up as soon as I wanted…(I have to catch up on my summer homework before school starts. Ack.) But I'm halfway through the next chapter already so I expect to have it up before school starts again. Thanks for the reviews!
P.S. This chapter starts off in the present and later goes back into the flashback, just so there's no confusion.
Nine More Months To Go
Chapter Six
In my vocabulary, 'Doctor' is one of those words that are better feared than welcomed (Much like Grace Granger actually), probably because, no number of apples for any day would keep any of my doctors away (and mind you, these were the cheap, overcrowded doctors hoarding dull needles and rusty syringes the Dursleys would hire only while I was on my death bed, lots more times then you'd imagine for a tot) and I don't suppose I had much of a better experience being held hostage by Madame Pomfrey in my later years either.
Having this said, you can only imagine my bewilderment when I discovered that people actually found joy in 'playing' doctor…Yes, yes, I'm referring to the dirty little children's game given a much dirtier meaning by dirty adults with dirty minds. Quite…Er…dirty if you ask me…that is unless you're-ahem-happily married…or considerably acquainted…or at least know the person's first name, I suppose. A little rub there, a tiny caress there, a startling poke there, I sometimes wonder why I didn't guess this was some class of sex game until now, while I'm watching my three-year-old daughter flaunt around the Weasley's garden with that little imp Ron Jr. in tow, giggling madly as if they hadn't a care in the world (should they?) playing their 'children's games'.
Tell me, if you were three and your Mum was right and ready to bring another wailing child in the household, and the only person who could understand a word you're saying half the time is a slobbering five-year-old with an unhealthy obsession to phallic symbols, what would there be to giggle about?
"D-Do you see that? I think he's-Ron, look-at-where-his-hand-" I stuttered out between gritted, interrupting the idle conversation floating between Ron, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, who obviously weren't seeing what I was, looking out into the garden.
"-Quiet down, they're only…playing…" Ron responded to me nonchalantly, returning to his sweating cocktail drink, like it was no big deal.
"Oh, it's no big deal, why Ron used to play like that all the time with little girls his age," Mrs. Weasley followed-up on his statement, nearly causing me to choke on my biscuit.
'Ron used to play that way…' she says, well look how he turned out, probably planning a divorce with his third wife…not that I mind appearing as a best man at so many weddings…
"…Hmm…that's odd…where's she going with those…pants…?"
"So Harry," Hermione started in a business-like tone, completely wrecking my train of thought, "I've narrowed it down to Francis, Benjamin, and Leonard-"
"Harry Jr.…James," I reminded her aptly. It was only fair seeing as Harmony's second name was Lily.
"-James, Nicholas and…Paris," She finished, cutting a frosty glare at Ron as he let out a particularly loud snort. "What is it Ron?" she growled exasperatedly, stroking her hair back in place.
"Hm? Oh nothing, nothing…it's just…you know that saying, Gay Par-ree?" Ron snickered into his drink like a ten year old who still got a kick out of potty humour and sex jokes…which is pretty much what he was if you added about four feet in height and a rather ridiculous looking goatee.
"-Anyway then, about names, I'm quite partial to Ron 2.0 and…Rhonda, and you Herm?" Ron questioned, twiddling with his shirt collar nervously, noting how Hermione was glaring at him dangerously from across the table. Hmm, and some people called him slow.
Eurgh. I'd rather think about this traumatizing doctor business than imagine having my first son named after Ron (I mean, no offense to Ron-he's my best mate-but seriously, could you imagine what life would've been like for me if my parent's would've called me Sirius Potter? Not only would people have confused me with an escaped convict but Malfoy sure would've had fun with that one…). And believe me, I don't have many pleasurable memories when it comes to doctors…though, I'm sure I can dig up one…
- - -Back in 2005- - -
"Daddy? Daddy…you're fine now-you just fainted. Stop being such a drama queen…" The faintest of voices called out at what seemed a distance as I groaned forebodingly and wrestled gravity to rise up from the unfamiliar bed.
My head was beginning to whirl and the creeping sensation of having to vomit was lurking in my throat as I strained to make something of the blurred image of this…person feeling up my…leg. Something was wrong. Hmm…All I could recall was eating…fishes…Hermione being pregnant…and…-Bloody hell! I paused to think about it for a moment; Hermione declared to be pregnant and then I blacked out and now somebody's calling me Daddy…Not to mention the fact that there was an unexplainable breeze coming in down there if you catch my drift. Something was definitely wrong.
"Ack!" I screeched girlishly (And I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true…) flinging the strong hands off my thigh. The strong, manly hands.
"Och!" the impish little man squeaked in response, recoiling drastically and rearranging his rounded spectacles nervously, his mouth repeatedly flopping open and closed as if he were to speak. "J-J-Jasus, you gave me quite a fright, you did. Your wife told me you gave your noggin quite the bump on your fall b-b-but you're okay now, Daddy," The man in the white coat stuttered out buoyantly flashing a shaky grin as he ran his tremulous hand through his wiry copper hair.
"Daddy…? Just who the hell are you…and where in bloody hell are my pants?"
Oh yes, there were so many important questions whirring about in my mind, oh yeah, and I meant to ask of the whereabouts of Hermione and who exactly were those people stirring behind the curtain and exactly what this bandage was doing besides cutting off the circulation of blood to my head.
But those were to be answered soon enough.
"Aye, Daddy, don't be gettin' your knickers in a twist-" he said soothingly, as if I was purposely intending to come off as some deranged madman in a gown. Which I was, may I remind you.
"-That's my point -I'm not wearing any- they're gone! Er…not that I actually wear any woman's knickers that is…Wait, why do you keep calling me daddy?!"
"Well your children seem quite shook up over your condition and all…"
"Children?! What condition?" I questioned helplessly, though the meek man had taken my leg in hand again and resumed molesting me.
"-Calm down, by this rate you'll throw yourself into a muscle spasm…Bad enough tempting a heart attack and all."
"Oh for Merlin's sake you bloody codger get-the-hell-off-of-me!" I resorted to the first bright idea I got: attempting unsuccessfully to beat the man senseless (even more so) with a get well teddy bear on my side able along with my glasses addressed to somebody named…Adonis G.? Only then did I realize my (and the balding psycho's) mistake…I wasn't the 'Daddy' who had nearly had a heart attack, it was none other than-
"-Where is that no-good fornicating bastard?!" Some vicious, beast-like exhibit of some raw, unhindered force of evil bellowed in a volume inappropriate for any hospital as the beast went absolutely berserk and mauled the thin curtain in a rampant frenzy, glowering at me with its fierce crimson eyes, foaming at the mouth and ready to crush my delicate neck between his bulging claws, leaving me in a position where I could either piss my pants or cry… (For personal reasons, I won't tell you which action I chose).
That's from my point of view though.
Years later, I would here from many sources who claimed to be eyewitnesses that in reality it was a rather calm controlled growl as my ever so serene Father-In-Law took a firm and harmless wrap hold on my neck in a dazed and confused moment before Dr. McCormick (the balding loon feeling me up) managed to rationalize with him. And by rationalize they meant administer a morphine booster.
"Mr. Granger, sir? You're in the hospital…and you're…not dead yet…" I pointed out shortly watching the very disturbing man slide of the side of my bed in a relaxed heap, cooing slightly. With the privacy curtain drawn I noticed there weren't just two completely mad people in the room- in fact, all of Granger clan were present, including Hermione. "Which is a good thing…?" I tacked on swiftly though everyone still shot me suspicious glares.
"I'll continue murdering…you in a…second…oh, what pretty colors…" Mr. Granger murmured out in a spaced-out manner, gazing at the back of his hand.
"I wouldn't doubt him about that, mate…and I'm not referring to the colors either…" Gordy said in a freakishly serious mode that didn't suit him at all though breaking the silence nonetheless. And suddenly, as if snapped out of a trance, I was bombarded-not the brutal bombardment either of the elder Granger men would enjoy, the 'oh I'm so happy to see you let's have a sappy happy- go-lucky- family' moment. I liked those…To bad we could only have them while Mr. Granger was under the influence or unconscious.
"He's right, you know," Dr. McCormick responded, looking quite out of place.
"Get out of here!" I hissed bitterly, there were enough men in the room giving me the creeps without him hanging about.
"Oi, Potter! You old sly dog you…" Artemis squealed out merrily as he clasping me around my neck. Sometimes I worried about that kid…maybe it was the copious amounts of times he was dropped on the head as a wee tot…
"Artemis…you're…looking…um, cleaner from the last time I saw you," I said truthfully. "So…how's the quidditch going?"
"-Oh Harry," Mrs. Granger said in a gushing, warm manner which made me wonder if she had a hit of morphine as well though it's pretty hard to tell with her seeing as she's been in hippy-mode since 1967. "Hermione's been taking care of you, I hope,"
"-Or it seems you've surely been taking care of her…" Nestor threw in gleefully, munching on an overly greasy chicken-leg.
"You know, one could swear that's sexual innuendo you're using…" Gordy stated in a sarcastic manner, still pounding me in a hardy way on my back, despite my clear lack of clothing and the raving lunatic at the foot of my bed.
Nestor looked up from his bucket of chicken innocently.
"Oh no, I wouldn't dream of it…"
"Really, because it sure sounded like-" Grace began to say before Gordy threw her an exasperated glare.
"Here's a couple quid, Grace. Next time you go shopping splurge a bit and buy a dictionary and make sure you look up some big words like sarcasm, you know, the ones obviously not in your vocabulary,"
"-Harry, guess what! I'm gonna try out for the house team! Maybe you and 'Mione could bring your baby and watch me play…once she squeezes it out -"
Hold it, that statement didn't seem right…unless…that really wasn't a dream! I thought maybe this hospital episode was just one of those "It's A Wonderful Life" sequences, just instead of waking up from a dream of a world where I didn't exist I had woken up from an Alternate universe where Hermione had just randomly decided not to take her pill at the wrong time.
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, so that wasn't a dream?"
"-Of course not Harry!" Hermione's little outburst startled me (a reflex, I suppose). It suddenly got freakishly quiet for a room that was currently occupied by lovable psychos as they all looked back and forth between a fuming Hermione and myself all vulnerable and…pretty much in the nude, expectantly.
What the hell was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to run over to her, exposing my pale arse, and comfort her so she wouldn't have to run a distance to strangle the hell out of me? Or was I supposed to hang about, gob smacked, desperately searching Gordy's (The only family member that had the skill of calming Herm, which was surprising seeing how infuriating he could be) eyes for support.
A word to the wise, always go with the first choice. To bad I'm not wise.
Before I knew it, she had sporadically burst into tears and headed straight for the toilets, located right across from my bed. And crying in the loos was never a good sign.
"…Is it just me, or has Hermione been going into a lot of these dramatic mood- swing episodes where she ends up in the corner some where, crying?" Grace asked in her best innocent manner she could muster, which came off as just spitefully evil in our opinion.
"Oh darling, it's the hormones," Mrs. Granger explained to me sympathetically yet all I heard was, 'Oh darling, it'll be like she's PMS-ing for nine months straight…' but in this scenario, there were less objects to be thrown, thank Merlin.
"So…um…Mum," Nestor said reproachfully, nodding his head towards Gordy.
"Gordy," Mrs. Granger voiced over Hermione's silent sobs coming through the closed bathroom door as she nudged Gordy, hard as she motioned discreetly to me.
"Oh, er…Harry," Gordy said, giving me a meaningful glance.
"…" I had no words.
"Harry?"
"…" How was I supposed to know how their conspiracy thing worked?
"Harry!"
"…Erm…Grace," I said, attempting to continue the trend before Mr. Granger flung an IV sack at my forehead. Apparently, the man could absorb his drugs quickly.
"You get your candy arse in there before I shove my foot so far down your throat, it'll-" He snarled, straining to regain his composure.
"I'm up!" I said frantically, scrambling to follow Hermione's suit.
"…Wow, Mum," I heard Artemis behind me, "Hermione's right, Harry really does have an extremely pale arse,"
- - -
I entered the small room and immediately spotted Hermione hovering over the sink, attempting to dry her very puffy, red eyes. I hated seeing her cry. Even more so, I hated making her cry. It made me feel like the pathetic, lowlife scum my father-in-law always accused me of being.
"H-Hermione…" I said silently, hoping she didn't see or hear me, which would give me a fleeting chance to sprint out of there and call in Gordy. Of course, my luck had fluttered out of the window behind me.
She looked up abruptly, sniffling. Oh why did she have to sniffle? Like a miserable…vulnerable…child and I'm the one that made her do that. Yes, yes, I predicted that would become my new title- a very disturbed man who goes around causing children to cry.
"Harry, I-I didn't know, I'm sorry, I didn't think you would…you would…" she sobbed before collapsing into my chest with her body wracking with heavy cries.
What did I do? If this was her reaction to me fainting-
"-I'd hate to see your state when I die…" I mumbled into her hair, trying to resist the urge of pulling a Ron (Laughing at the completely wrong time, i.e. a funeral or patting someone on the head as some pathetic means of comfort).
"What?" She sniffled, looking up at me as if I was as mad as her father.
"Well…I can't help the fact that I fainted- you sort of…shocked me. And it's not like we ever, you know, discussed the idea of having…Er…little people…"
"-Children, Harry,"
"-Yes, that. Is just that, I'm not sure I'm ready to do such a thing- I mean, I'm still a kid myself, I need you to keep me from watching too much television or burning down the kitchen still. I wasn't expecting that you would expect me to raise another child so soon,"
There was a problem here, I thought wincing. I was speaking truthfully. That's another rule; never speak truthfully in a scenario when Hermione's crying. But, after no hard objects came crashing into my sensitive areas I looked down where the sobs had receded and Hermione was staring up at me, looking at the edge of agreement.
"S-so, what are we going to do?" she inquired bluntly after a while of staring at me as if I'd grown two heads.
"Well…after I retrieve my clothing I suppose we'll go home…start picking out baby names, in a while Ginny will be dragging us about buying baby clothes. Then I suppose Ron Jr. can spend some extra weekends with us so I can get some hands on training with kids," Slowly slipping out of Ron mode,
wrapped my arms tightly around her waist. "Soon we'll be able to attend those classes where they teach women to breathe like mad cows-"
"Lamaze?" She breathed faintly, snuggling closer into my chest in an adoring manner. I struggled to suppress a grin as I encircled her waist gingerly. This whole kiddy idea wasn't so bad.
"-That's the one. And after long hard years of spoiling him and realizing children are very useful in getting chores done, I suppose we'll end up having another," I finished.
Hermione peered up sharply. "…You do realize it could also be a 'her' right?"
"…Really? But Ron said if you do the deed standing up it's guaranteed to be a b-"
"Never mind Ron…besides, we weren't really standing- I was sort of positioned on top of the kitchen counter-" Hermione mumbled off bashfully into a series of blushes. My meals had been oh so much sweeter after that particular rendezvous. "So…you're not angry or anything like Grace predicted?"
In my personal vocabulary, Grace is just this. Grace (grAs), N.: An evil slag who has no real use except for fornicating and instigating; a common vector of syphilis and Chlamydia.
So anyway, that gives you my opinion on the evil twin, as I knew her as. It was hard believing she'd come out Mrs. Granger the same time as Gordy, her complete polar opposite.
"Why would I be?" I was truly shocked anyone as smart as my Hermione would believe *see my personal definition of Grace* "I love you." I put my hands on her shoulders firmly and forced her to look me in the eye, preparing myself for the Ron technique (the good one). I lowered my face to the grove of her smooth, creamy neck- yes; I was administering Ron technique #5, the 'Kiss and Make Up', just one technique before Ron's infamous 'Crawl back on Your Knees like a Bitch'.
"I love everything about you," I brushed my lips slowly up an imaginary line starting from the base of her neck just as Ron had coached me, (I won't go into the actual lessons…or Ron's interesting methods…) steadily making my rounds around her tear-streaked jaw line which bought me back to disturbing memories of Cho who Ron now assumed was part whelk after I gave him the details of the night she assaulted me in the Room of Requirement. "And that goes for anything that comes out of you,"
…That statement sounded much better in my head. Rest assured, I'm not a coprophiliac…most of the time.
"-Especially when it's something I put in you,"
Smooth. So now it sounded like I was in love with my own…never mind…
"Do you understand?" I asked, thinking it better to stop saying anything that had a double meaning altogether. I offered a light grin, trying not to do that…that…thing that makes my mouth all…lopsided and awkward looking. Finally, Hermione cracked a smirk in return.
"You're trying not to do that…thing with your mouth, aren't you?" she questioned sweetly, stroking the side of my face affectionately.
"…How did you know?"
"Because, whenever you do that your nostrils start flaring, you always quirk the top part of your lip just a bit and your left eye sort of twitches, so you look ridiculous," was the last thing she said before she collapsed into a violent fit of giggles.
Oh Merlin, pregnant women and their mood swings…This evening alone I had already seen Pensive Hermione, Furious Hermione, Weepy Hermione, Insecure Hermione, Paranoid Hermione, Giggly Hermione…the list goes on.
"Oh Harry, you're…" her cinnamon eyes twinkled maliciously with mirth as the normal healthy color began returning to her façade. Slightly positioned on her tip-toes, she gracefully delivered a peck to my cheek." You're a laugh…"
A laugh, she says. Yes, a laugh, I'm a bloody riot, I am.
"I mean," I started, shifting slightly so I was leaning completely on the sink and not smothering Hermione, "we're having a baby," I tentatively stroked her belly, which bore no sign of the little stranger just yet. "That's exactly what we need to fulfill the typical 'happy home' stereotype," I started matter-of-factly.
"And what, pray tell, is that?" Hermione chuckled lightly, grasping my hand abruptly and bringing them up to cup her face.
"You know…" I slight grin broke out across my face, "The typical young lovers that get married and proceed to have rowdy, mind-blowing sex in thier comfortable humble abode for the early years of their life. Soon, they progress into parenthood and have about 2.5 children before resuming the rowdy, earth-shattering sex which then would be forced to take place in their bedroom seeing as the children would be traumatized for life if they saw their parents doing the naughty bit on the dinner table,"
Hermione let a small, melodic giggle escape her lips before turning to question me. "Only 2.5 children, Harry?" She sounded a tad bit disappointed.
Well, I expect I would have scared her off if I voiced my initial thought of 5-7 children.
"We can work on that I suppose. Now, the best part, "I silenced her with a finger, "Is the part where all six- er…2.5 children grow up, skipping that nasty rebellious, hormone driven teenage stage and form happy homes of their own, leaving the parents- us, alone in our identical rocking chairs with our pitcher of lemonade, free to have all the playful nookie we want in our old age…except when the grandchildren are about."
I wasn't sure that Hermione was even listening to me at that point as her eyes had drifted closed in the middle of my little speech, leaving that impish, sweet grin upon her lips.
"You left out that part about you freaking out when you find your first gray hair, your stubborn denial of the obvious fact that you're slowly but surely going bald, senile and impotent at the same time-"
"Hermione!" I glanced at her slightly appalled, though all the while nervous considering the possibility of her prediction being true. "How could you wish such things on the man you love?! Honestly…me, impotent." I shuddered visibly. As if any course of nature could ever manage to tame my raging libido.
"There are good points too! The kids' first steps…their first words… - there's just so much to look forward to," she assured me brightly.
Yes, and did I mention the rowdy, mind-blowing, sex?
"Yes, Harry, you did."
I really needed to take care of that bad habit of saying what I'm thinking...
"Er…I love you," I said meaningfully, doing the horrid lopsided grin thingy Hermione seemed to enjoy so much.
"I love you too," she said genuinely to me, thrusting the door open, managing to topple over the tower of nosy eavesdroppers that had assembled at the door including that raving loon (the Doctor one), Gordy, Grace, Artemis and Mr. Granger.
- - -
"…Remember to get your regular prenatal check-ups…" Dr. McCormick continued babbling on even though I saw no need, I had nothing more to say to the loon now that I'd gotten back my clothes (There was no need to strip me seeing as I only had a slight concussion).
"-I can't believe you guys would intrude on our privacy like that," Hermione fumed aloud, apparently still outraged. I couldn't help but lovingly smirk at my fuming wife while taking her hand solemnly before placing a silent peck on her forehead. It's always like that. Whenever she gets mad, I kiss her once or twice and everything's forgotten.
I know she hates that.
"Mione, did you two really do it standing up…?" Artemis questioned in a somewhat innocent manner looking quite astonished at the prospect of doing something like that.
He had no business fathoming the mechanics of things like that anyway, the precocious little sod. I, along with Mrs. Granger frowned slightly as Artemis continued making random awe inspired comments while slightly bouncing on my unoccupied hospital cot.
"Love is a beautiful thing," Mrs. Granger claimed briefly before Mr. Granger had a chance to rupture another blood vessel or something of the sort… "It can be expressed in many ways…words…-"
"-And positions," Gordy finished for her, shooting me a highly entertained beam from over his shoulder. I couldn't help but marvel at his resemblance to his female counterpart, though I highly doubted Grace could master the particular skill of looking positively happy for someone else…or giving a genuine smile for that matter.
"I'm not hearing this, I sure as hell am not hearing this…" Mr. Granger chanted ceremoniously, massaging his temples.
"-So, shall I schedule a future ultrasound, then?" Dr. McCormick went on, ignoring the conversation as he scribbled furiously across his clipboard. "In…August, aye, that should be your three month mark…"
"I take it you'll be needing this," Grace stated nonchalantly, tossing Hermione a brochure sporting a pregnant woman looking horrid with a bright blue banner reading 'It's Not As Fun as Your Mother Made it Out To Be'.
"Shouldn't they be getting a…a…specialized doctor, you know, the kind that deal with maternity and all that business and don't walk around the trauma ward?" Nestor suggested brushing his untidy curls aside. He always managed to achieve that relaxed, 'I-Just-rolled-Outta-Bed' (which was probably true) hair style that I had been working for years to manage. Of course, after years of wrestling my hair in the mirror about every morning for who-knows-how-many years, we, my hair and I, reached a compromise. Now, I only had about 172 really bad hair days of the year (A huge improvement from my school days). Now match that with Hermione's bushy hair genes…oh hell, that poor, unborn child of ours…
"Oh don't worry, I'm versatile," Dr. McCormick said in what was supposed to be a reassuring voice, I'm sure. "I'm a nurse,"
"…Well then…about my husband's condition-" Mrs. Granger spoke up, interrupting Gordy's and Nestor's little spout of sniggers.
"Yes, the problem is there's nothing physically wrong with him- it's all in his screwed up little head," Nurse McCormick noted. "It's like there are little masochistic messengers in his brain telling his heart to have another failure."
Well put, I say.
"-I'm seeing my real psychiatrist about this, not my failure of a son who's methods only go as far to counsel little prats who whine about hating their fathers-"
"-Well that is what my diploma implies…" Donnie muttered, gathering his coat.
"-There's no rule about counseling siblings, is there Donnie?" Gordy questioned in a genuine manner.
"They're just teasing dear," Mrs. Granger assured her husband.
I highly doubt they were. Gordy and Nestor had often been eager to share their 'horrors' of childhood (None of which compared to mine of course, but horrible enough considering Mr. Granger was their patriarch…) including being forced to share a room with Grace for the early years of life, frequent hunting trips with their father and grandfather in which a form a premature warfare usually ensued, being cooped up in a Dentist's office for their summers, sugar-free snacks, and of course the principle of living under the same roof as Grace Granger and having absolutely no say whatsoever.
"-But, your psychiatrist is on holiday in France, remember? Calais, I believe, visiting relatives. That restraining order is in affect until he returns…" Donnie pointed out sharply in attempt to keep his father in check.
"Well then, I'll leave Artemis at home!" Mr. Granger said with an air of finality, rising from his seat (Thank Merlin he was leaving). "I'll take leave from work and spend a week in Calais-"
That was it. I didn't need to hear the rest for I was on cloud nine or seven or whatever the heck they call it…All I knew was I wouldn't have the bitter dragon breathing down my neck for a whole week. It would be nice…surely 'Pregnant Wife' was a reason to take off from work for a week, Tonks surely wouldn't mind-
"Calais, isn't that where Grandfather lives?" Hermione voiced, putting down the depressing brochure. "We can surely visit him, can't we Harry?" She tugged excitedly at my sleeve. Of course, I didn't dare voice my own opinion in fear of setting of yet another mood swing. "I haven't seen him since Easter and this way I'll be able to tell him in person. Isn't it a good idea Harry? We'll spend the week with him and Dad,"
Ouch. My bubble had burst and once again I had landed on my arse. My extremely pale arse…
Hermione's Grandfather, David Adonis Granger the II, I believe, was most likely the evilest thing since the Gong Show became syndicated (believe me, watching repeats of idiots under the influence giving up their dignity for a measly amount of cash is torture)…okay, he could be eviler than that, but so bitter, rude, and snappish that I can't describe it. He even made Mr. Granger quiver in fear, seeing his own father cock an eyebrow in discontent, and that's saying something. It was said that D.A.G. II had lost nearly every limb fighting in some war, I think WWII, and for every limb or body part he killed a man and stole a replacement. And those were the bedtime stories he told his grandchildren. Though of course, like every other person, D.A.G. II had soft spots…such as cakes, sweets, his granddaughters (and of course his great-grandchildren) flowers…or as Mr. Granger saw it, anything besides his youngest son, Mr. Granger himself, and male hippies or anything that particularly pissed him off.
It's odd that a man so fierce and cold could harbor such a gentle light to the rest of the world. Mr. Granger didn't resent the fact that he shunned him so, it was merely the fact that he'd taken quite a shine to me. (And that made one steamed off Mr. Granger) And this leads to my equation, Mr. Granger + Poor Harry + D.A.G. II = Poor, poor, damaged Harry.
Merlin forbid we did a bit of hunting (D.A.G. II's mind had been wrapped around sick war games since his return from the battlefield. He seemed to get really heated while playing a seemingly innocent game of battleship as well…) .
"Well…" I said at last, "At least we'll get some shopping done,"