These Dreams - Drabbles
Dream Drabble #1
A drabble set in the These Dreams universe — about 15 years subsequent to Ginny’s funeral.
Samantha looked at the calendar as she entered his workshop, but she really didn't need to know the date. She knew already what time it was. What she didn't know was what Harry thought about the idea, which was why she was in the workshop. Next week was Harry's birthday, which he detested, and the annual Weasley family get-together, which he loved. Several years back Bill had managed to sneak a prank onto Gred and Forge without being caught, much to the amusement of all involved. Harry was working on his contribution to this year's prank, which involved bits of Muggle technology and some very sophisticated charm work. At the moment, her husband was using a jeweller's loupe to guide his wand as he moved bits of light into a small white sphere.
"Harry," she purred, using a pleasant voice.
"Yes, love?" he answered in an absent minded tone.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
"Talk as in tell me something, or talk as in you need my undivided attention?" he countered.
"The latter," she said, leaning up against the doorway.
Harry secured the sphere in a small mesh net that was anchored to the workbench. The ball started to lunge at him, restrained only by the net.
"Well, I haven't seen that outfit for quite some time," he said, looking up appreciatively.
Samantha smiled. It was nice to know that certain things still worked.
"I need to finish this now, or I'll have to start all over. What do you say you make a pot of tea and we can talk over tea and biscuits in the atrium?" he asked.
"Can we talk in your parlour? I don't want to be overheard — or interrupted," she said, giving a lazy half-wink.
"Er, yeah, biscuits, ten minutes, parlour, locking and silencing charms," he said, placing his hand over the sphere which was now thrashing about like a miniature Bludger.
Ten minutes, of course, turned out to be half-an-hour, but when he appeared his hands were clean, he'd been freshly shaved and he carried the oh-so-faint scent of her favourite aftershave. The door squelched when he closed it. The room was already impervious to all known forms of eavesdropping, Muggle and Magical.
"So, wife of mine, what are you thinking?" Harry asked as he sat down in a comfortable chair where he could watch her face as she talked.
Samantha poured his tea and set biscuits out on a plate before she answered.
"Daphne is going to be in fourth year at school this fall and Gideon will be starting school," she began.
"So, you thinking of saying yes to Tonks and going back to the Training Centre?" he asked.
"Not really," she replied. "I'm going to ovulate tonight and I wanted to know what you thought about another baby," she said, biting her lip as she waited for his response.
"Are you sure you want to go back to nappies and nursing and sleep deprivation as a staple of life?" he asked, swirling his cup gently. "Is this what you want, or are you uncertain about your life now that both kids are going to be in school?"
"You didn't answer my question," Samantha said.
"I'm not the one that carries him or her for nine months, pushes him or her out of a ridiculously mismatched tube and then nurses said baby every few hours for a year or so," Harry said quietly.
"Yes or no — do you want another baby?" Samantha asked, her eyes shining brightly.
"I'd love another baby," Harry said.
Samantha paused, reaching for another biscuit. "How about twins?" she asked.
"What?" Harry asked, screwing up his face in disbelief.
"How — about — twins?" she asked slowly and distinctly.
"I heard you the first time, I just didn't believe that you were asking that question," Harry replied. "Speaking strictly academically, why are you asking about twins? I've never known of Veela twins."
"Identical twins, no, they're quite rare among the Veela — but we can control the number of eggs we release when we ovulate," she said, looking at the amused expression on Harry's face. "Sorry tiger, no triplets, I can do one or I can do two, but no more."
"Blame the first human who convinced a Veela to mate with him, I guess, this version of Veela-mammal hybrid is only equipped with a pair of the proper equipment. If I were a dog, I could do a litter of six or so, but primates seem to be short-changed in the mammary department," Samantha said clinically.
"I've never had any complaints about your mammaries," Harry said with a straight face.
"Yeah, except for when I won't let you play with them because I'm sore from nursing," she said tartly.
"I'd forgotten about that part," Harry quipped. "So, why twins?" he asked seriously.
"So baby Potter wouldn't be alone — most of our friends have gone out of the baby hatching business. If we had twins, they'd always have each other," Samantha explained.
"Is that important?" Harry asked.
"You tell me, I didn't grow up alone. Would things have been different if you'd had a brother or sister who went through everything with you?" Samantha asked.
"Yeah," he said wistfully, "it would have made all the difference in the world. Okay."
"You're still driving me mad," Samantha said. "Is that 'okay, let's have a baby' or 'okay, I understand what you're saying' or 'okay, let's go conceive some twins?'"
"Uh, the last one," he said, looking thoughtful. "Boys or girls?"
"Not my call, husband, I just provide the eggs, you're the one who fertilizes them and decides whether they're little Veela witches or little wizards," she answered.
"We'll just have to try and see what we get," he said, giving her a conjugal wink.
"The window's pretty broad, we might have to try a few times just to make sure," Samantha said, returning the wink.
"Are you challenging me, Mrs. Potter?" Harry asked.
"Who? Me? I'm the old married lady here — I'd never challenge my husband -- unless that was the only way to motivate him," she said.
"Gabrielle was right," Harry said.
"What?" Samantha said innocently.
"You are full of mischief," he said.
"Come over here and say that," she retorted.
"And what will happen if I do?" he asked.
"I might make it worth your while," she said with a grin.
Copyright © 2006 — J Cornell — all rights reserved.
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