Perception

Disclaimer: I own Caesar and Constantine, but the creatures themselves are figments of JKR’s imagination. J

Author’s Note: I know I have writer’s block, but this fic bunny was so completely random and unnatural that I just *had* to write it. I have no clue whatsoever where it came from; all I know is that it’s very fluffy. That’s all.

Thank you Shannon for beta-ing! I promise I’ll get back to my smutness soon…but this ficlet is for the kiddies. Or maybe not. There is naked Harry…can’t resist naked Harry…

*****

Harry entered the foyer of his relatively comfortable home to hear the shrill sounds of his lovely wife shrieking like an infuriated banshee.

“If you think for one second that I shall allow you to give my daughter a Jarvey, you are seriously mistaken!”

Ahh, thought Harry. Ron must be over.

Sure enough, Ron’s voice answered hotly. “But Hermione, she’s been simply despondent over the death of her Puffskein!”

Hermione’s voice replied, equally incensed. “Which, by the way, wouldn’t have died if your rascal of a nephew hadn’t…”

“It’s not my fault his father before him was a Beater! Fred did the same thing to me when I was younger!” A resentment, that, to the day, Ron held on to tightly.

Harry walked into his living room, which was, at least to him, a tasteful mess of very expensive yet comfortable furniture that Hermione had spent the better part of a year purchasing. Like every woman, she had used to sex to get her way. And like every man, Harry had happily complied to her every whim.

“What seems to be the problem here?” he asked rather amusedly. Whenever he entered his house and Ron happened to be there before him, there was almost always a problem.

Immediately, both of them started pointing and throwing accusations.

“She is such an ungrateful, inconsiderate, wraith of a woman! Thank bloody Merlin I never married her myself…”

“-a Jarvey, Harry. A JARVEY! Imagine the colorful language our daughter will be spewing with this thing crawling around…”

“Has she seen this alleged Jarvey?” Harry asked in all seriousness. Scenes like this one always reminded him of being back at Hogwarts, where he was always stuck in between the both of them like a net during a tennis match.

Ron nodded. “She’s even named him already: Caesar. Where does she get these bloody names? Anyway, she’s off with Fred and Richie right now, presumably finding out how long this little excuse of an Emperor will last against a bludger…”

“Shorter, I hope, than poor defenseless Constantine did,” Hermione interrupted with a smirk.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione, for the last time, it was an accident! Richie didn’t-”

“Oi! Both of you, just shove it!” Harry yelled. As amusing as he found them, sometimes he couldn’t help but think them completely ridiculous.

With a sigh, Harry walked over to his wife, plastering a toothy grin on his face. “Darling…” He began, with the voice he used whenever he wanted something from his wife.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Hermione replied, with such syrupy sweetness that Harry at once understood that she already knew his request, and that tonight he would in fact be sleeping in his study.

Poo!

“Alexandra has seen it already, which means that we can’t very well-”

“Oh yes we can! We’re her parents!” Hermione shrieked, causing Ron to cover his ears with his hands teasingly. “We’re supposed to keep her from things like this!”

“Hermione! It is a sodding creature that talks! What is so wrong about it, besides its…colorful vocabulary?”

“That is precisely what is wrong with it! Do you want our three-year-old daughter to walk around saying such things? She-”

“Spends half her day with Fred and George Weasley,” Harry interrupted. “She’s bound to pick this language up eventually…”

Hermione’s hot temper cooled significantly, which was actually a bad sign in Harry’s well-experienced Husband Radar. “Very well Harry James, do as you like. Let your daughter keep her Jarvey…but mark my words. You’ll regret it soon enough!”

She sauntered out of the room, and Harry realized with a pang that she hadn’t given him his customary ‘welcome home’ snog.

Damn Ron.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry let the warm water fall over his naked body, relaxing his over-taxed muscles, and gently caressing his cuts and bruises. It had been a hard day at work today, (not that it wasn’t hard every sodding day…) and he had been looking forward to this shower since noon. In fact, he had seriously hoped that Hermione would join him, but alas, after this evening’s spat, that did not seem at all likely.

Bloody Ron. Last time he was named godfather of his children…

Of course, he couldn’t really blame Ron entirely. That daughter of his…she was just as stubborn as her mother! Maybe even worse, since she probably inherited his stubbornness as well! Though Remus says she reminds him of Lily more than anyone…although in Mel and Helen Granger’s eyes, there was hardly an ounce of Potter in her...

Aside from Hermione, Alexandra was the one person in the world that he loved most. It is amazing how quickly one can fall in love with a human; he didn’t even have to know her to love her. The second the Healer had said that Ms. Granger was in a “delicate condition,” Harry’s heart expanded in ways that have yet to be understood by the most well-versed of Unspeakables.

He remembered the day clearly; he was at the ministry, which was most unusual as his job normally entailed…hands on application. But he was in his office when word came that someone had suddenly collapsed in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Not thinking that this had anything to do with Hermione, he went down to investigate; a further example of his savior complex.

Lo and behold, he saw Hermione sprawled on the floor unconscious, and he almost exploded in rage. Who had done this to her? What had happened exactly? SOMEBODY GET HER TO ST. MUNGO’S!

He was practically livid; adding to that a sharp pain in his chest - which he seriously thought was the beginnings of a heart attack - he wasn’t in the best of tempers. Luckily Ron appeared like a knight on a white horse to help his friend through everything; he made sure to calm Harry down before apparating them both to St. Mungo’s where they could find out exactly what was going on with Hermione.

And of course, Ron was there to hold his hand when the Healer told him he was going to be a father. The pains in his chest turned to a wonderful feeling of elation, and Ron gave out the loudest WHOOP! known to mankind. He immediately started babbling on about naming the child Ron, Ronalda, or something of the like, and outlining the precise duties of a godfather; but Harry hardly listened. Suddenly he was aware that not only one, but two people now depended on him. Could he do it? He loved this little person so much already…was he worthy? And why weren’t they letting him see Hermione? Was she ok? Did she want this child? Was she happy?

As if some sort of alarm system was worked out, random Weasleys began appearing at the hospital, each with Wizard Cigars, (they change tastes according to your fancy) and pats on the back for Harry.

“Well Harry…I see you’ve been busy,” said George, with a lecherous grin.

“That’s the way to reel them in mate. Sprog ‘em up…” added in Fred with a snicker.

“Wizards are such bastards!” exclaimed Ginny, seeing the male solidarity all around her.

“You will marry her, won’t you dear?” asked Mrs. Weasley delicately, trying not to sound too prudish as she inquired. Mr. Weasley just smiled and shook his head slightly.

Yes, the day he found out he was going to be a father was great; but that didn’t mean he was at all prepared for actually being one.

Hadn’t he read somewhere that children lowered a person’s marital bliss? He was beginning to agree with this sentiment…

Harry sighed as he got out of the shower, finding to his great chagrin that there were no towels anywhere to be seen.

Blimey! He thought to himself. Isn’t the house elf doing a fantastic job?

Harry tried not to be sarcastic, but he couldn’t help himself. It was lucky enough that he had one; Hermione wanted none of it, but relented when she found that she really couldn’t cook or keep house. She only agreed to the whole thing after Harry promised to pay Winky – the elf in question - what could amount to be the Gross Domestic Product of a small principality. (Though Winky, being the good little elf that she was, gave most of the money back to Harry; she kept only enough to sustain herself. Hermione knew nothing of this arrangement.)

“Hermione!” Harry yelled, walking out of the bathroom completely naked. “Where are the towels?”

There was no answer; she was probably waiting for Alexandra to come home. Or maybe she was just ignoring him? When she was really angry, she did that sometimes…

“Hermione?!” Harry yelled again tentatively. “Darling…”

Instead of hearing a reply, a miniature bushy head of black hair careened itself into the room carrying a small, frightened, cream-colored creature in its arms. “Daddy!” It exclaimed, shoving the scared little creature in his face.

Harry laughed at his daughter, taking the furry little thing into his hand and scrutinizing it carefully.

“Is this Caesar?” he asked, staring at the funny, oversized ferret-looking thing quizzically. The color of its fur reminded him of Draco Malfoy…

But Harry heard no reply. In fact, it was so quiet; he would’ve thought his daughter had fled the room entirely if it wasn’t for the fact that she was planted firmly in front of him, staring straight ahead with a most curious expression on her face.

“Daddy…what’s that?” She didn’t point, as she had learned since birth that it was impolite to point. Yet Harry knew immediately what the ‘that’ in question was.

Harry looked up to see Hermione standing in the doorway, a batch of fresh towels in her hand. She was grinning, though she was doing a fabulous job of trying to hide it with her hand.

Of course, both parents knew that one day a question like this one would come. They – well Harry – had hoped that this day wouldn’t come for at least another sixteen years…but given the curious nature of his daughter, it was no surprise that it had come sooner.

Damn Winky! That’s the last time he would let a house elf stock his bathroom with towels!

“Er…” Harry said in form of reply.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, urging him to remember the conversation they had about this.

“When the time comes to explain these things to them,” she had said. “We should be entirely truthful, and not complicate things with euphemisms or funny ‘birds and the bees’ metaphors...”

“Daddy…I’m waiting,” little Alexandra chided gently. She was stomping her tiny foot, hands on her hips, staring intently. She was completely enthralled by the oddness before her; she didn’t see any of those anywhere on her body. Mum certainly didn’t have one either…

“Er…” Harry articulated again. He gave Hermione a desperate look.

She’s YOUR daughter! He seemed to be saying with his eyes.

I didn’t make her alone, she replied silently. Besides, she’s asking YOU this question…

“Oh daddy, what is it already!” Alexandra snapped; Caesar was long forgotten, and was presently cowering in a corner.

“Its…its…” Harry stammered. Be calm Potter, he said to himself. She’s only three years old…what harm could it do to be completely honest with her?

“Its…?” Alexandra echoed, her lips in a small smile. Like every three year old, she was perfectly aware of when she was giving her parents a hard time. And this was one of those times.

“Its…my penis?” Harry said sighing in relief that he had gotten it out. Now both he and Hermione waited with bated breath for her reaction. Would she ask yet another embarrassing question?

“Oh…” Alexandra said, not quite knowing what to do with this information. She was only three, after all. In the end, she decided that she was completely satisfied with the answer.

Well, at least, for the moment.

“Its cute!” she squealed, beaming at her father, and rushing over to Caesar. Her father, and his penis…were now quite forgotten.

“Alex, Winky has your bath running,” Hermione called out to her daughter.

“Ok mum!” she replied, taking Caesar and stomping out of the room, not even looking twice at her naked and bemused father.

Once she was out, Hermione closed the door and walked over to her husband. “I brought you towels,” she said with a huge grin.

Harry glared at her reproachfully. “A little too late, don’t you think?” He ignored the towels; he was thoroughly dry by now.

Hermione giggled. “Why are you upset? I think she took it rather well…”

“You wouldn’t be laughing if you had to do the explaining!” he cried, resentfully.

Hermione’s eyes softened, and Harry couldn’t help but look at them and feel his anger dissipate.

“You know…she is right though…”

Harry raised his eyebrow quizzically.

“It is cute!” she exclaimed, cupping her husband’s penis and shoving him onto the bed.

*~*~*~*~*

“Winky has surpassed herself today,” Ron sighed, rubbing his belly lazily.

Ron had been invited over to dinner, Hermione finally having forgiven him the ‘Jarvey fiasco.’ She was now totally convinced that her daughter, and her knackerhead of a husband, would never give Caesar up. She would hear them sitting in the living room, giggling madly over some new rude word or phrase that Caesar had picked up, and would sigh dejectedly.

That was the end of an angelic daughter…

“I would give her a raise, if she let me,” Harry said, grinning.

At that moment, Caesar came crashing into the dining room, jumped on the table, screamed PENIS! at the top of his little lungs, and quickly bounced away.

“My daddy has a penis!” exclaimed Alexandra excitedly. She rarely got to say anything informative when her parents and godfather were talking. “I’ve seen it.”

Hermione hid her smile behind a handkerchief; Ron looked like he was about to explode from laughter…while poor Harry morosely shoved his plate aside, and dropped his head on the table. An image of Hermione yelling, “Let your daughter keep her Jarvey…but mark my words. You’ll regret it soon enough!” popped into his head.

Merlin, he hated it when she was right.

“Do you have a penis too?” Alexandra asked Ron curiously. Ron stopped laughing at that, and Hermione was practically shaking with laughter behind her handkerchief.

Well, thought Harry to himself, a grin tugging at his lips. Perhaps I don’t regret all that much…