#gryffindormischief

I really do love the liberty with AUs, imagining the characters I love in all sorts of interesting scenarios. People have asked (Mr. Naru included) me why I don't just take those ideas and write original fiction. Some have said Harry Potter without magic isn't Harry Potter.

I get where people are coming from, but my goal with AUs/fanfiction isn't to have a publishable original story. It feels disingenuous to write a story based on another author's characters and then just change the names and say this is mine. These ideas are often inspired by a love of the original work and the characters, and part of fanfiction for me is to continue to indulge and enjoy this work with others, and it's such a delight when others enjoy the same characters with me.

Philosophically, it's interesting to consider whether Harry Potter without magic is the same character, but just like I don't think his trauma defines who he is, nor do I think him happening to be able to use a wand defines who he is. But that's just my opinion. And I've always been way more interested in the characters (Ron's humor, Hermione's loyalty, Harry's reckless bravery) than the magical world.

Wow, rambled a lot. If you stayed with me all the way through that, I'd be super curious about what you think!

1. What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

Dunno if this is a quirk or interesting, but I very rarely write a fic without food coming into it somewhere. Maybe it’s because I’m always a little hungry or maybe I can’t think of anything else for people to do. Hopefully I haven’t spoiled the magic.

2. What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your stories?

Honestly, that I can write creatively. Not sure if that’s what this question means, but I was really surprised to find I actually enjoy writing fiction and fluff at that! I spent a lot of years (all the way through college) thinking I was only an academic/non-fiction writer. So give it a shot! I am so glad I did.

3. Do you have any suggestions to help others become a better writer? If so, what are they?

I think reading other people’s work - fanfic and books and short stories and poems all help me learn new things about writing. I’ll see a stylistic thing that I find interesting, or it’ll spark an idea for something else, or sometimes just get me out of my own head. Also sometimes I feel like I break through a block or get to a new better version of a story by just writing out all my ideas and not critiquing before it gets out of my head. So just drop all the words in a document and maybe it’s inconsistent or not all the ideas are compatible, but eventually something connects and then another something and then you throw out the rest.

4. What do you think makes a good story?

My favorite stories have some small kernel of relatability. I had a teacher who called it a “universal truth” where there’s some nugget of stuff that anyone can find a connection with. I don’t know how to explain it beyond that...

5. What is the first book that made you cry?

HM Have I ever cried at a book?? UM. I think I cried when I read Little Women. Maybe. I am not a big crier, my feelings are secrets,

6. Does writing energize or exhaust you?

Depends! If I am trying to push through (struggling to write) then it’s exhausting. If I feel super inspired and that’s why I’m writing, then energy!

7. Have you ever gotten reader’s block? If so, what are your tips to overcome it?

YES! And much as part of me hates it and wants to be like NO finish the book all books must be finished before starting more sometimes I just have to popcorn around to different books until one triggers that need to binge read it in a day. I’ll hop back and forth through genres and whatnot until something gets me going.

8. Do you think someone could be a writer if they don’t feel emotions strongly?

If I count as a writer then yes. I think feeling emotions has a lot of weird assumptions/stereotypes that end up getting interpreted as you have to feel them a certain way to certain results to be truly feeling them. But I am a more stoic person, I don’t cry much, and I tend to be a bit “logical” about feelings but I have learned (and am still learning) that there’s no right way to feel things or have emotions. You show sympathy or mourn or be happy or whatever the way you feel it.​ And with writing, if you can empathize and imagine how someone different might fit into a scenario then you can write. And that’s not a some can some can’t thing. I’m always growing in that and honestly exploring that through writing has helped me grow as a person too.

9. If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

Don’t be afraid of fiction! Do it!

10. What was your hardest scene to write?

There were a few scenes in hiraeth that gave me some trouble. That fic was odd because I’d get a great flow going while I wrote and then suddenly it would just vanish.

11. What is your favorite childhood book?

I read the Little House on the Prairie books about a billion times.

12. How long on average does it take you to write a one shot or a chapter of a fic?

That is a difficult one to answer. I honestly don’t really know!

13. A fic that inspires you?

HM. I love Homerun by fightfortherightsofhouseelves because it captures the playfulness of Harry and Ginny but also how attracted they are to each other...I go back to it to get re-inspired for canon Hinny. And The Yeast I Can Do by elanev91 is always really special to me (and as a result inspirational) because when elanev91 posted that it was like they peered into my soul and decided to write a fic about it so I would stop feeling so bummed about life.

14. How do you edit your work?

POORLY. I kid but also...iIf it’s something like a little drabble or one shot that came out of nowhere, I honestly do not edit much. If it’s a mutlichapter or a one shot that’s long & a little more involved I’ll write with no going back for edits. Then I let it rest and don’t look at it for a little bit (usually overnight). Then I go back and I read through it slowly and pretend I’m reading someone else’s writing and look for grammar. Then I go through again and see if there’s anything inconsistent, or things that feel missing. One of my weaknesses is sometimes I take for granted certain things that are in my head and think “oh everyone gets this” but maybe I haven’t really put it on the page.

15. Where does inspiration come from?

For me? A lot of places. Sometimes it’s another piece of fiction. Sometimes it’s a song. Sometimes it’s something someone says in real life that my brain goes “but what if…” and then I dream up this new scenario.

16. Who has been helpful for you as you write for the fandom?

@fightfortherightsofhouseelves and @petalstofish are just the most encouraging friendly welcoming supportive friends who will talk to me about everything including but not limited to fandom and fic and ideas and ugh they’re just the best, I can’t believe how long we’ve been friends. Also I will occasionally loop my sister in on a fic I’m really messed up on hehe. Honestly there are so many kind warm people in the hinny and jily fandoms that help me just by sharing their thoughts or comments or their own fics! That’s the inspiration!!

17. What is your fav POV to write from?

Not first person!! Probably 3rd person sorta omniscient comes easiest to me.

18. What is a fic you would love to write but are worried you won’t be able to accomplish it/nervous it wouldn’t work out?

Historical spies with Jily. I am petrified of this one.

19. Do you ever self insert in fics?

Only to the extent that sometimes I’ll live out a situation and then think that it would’ve been a cute fic idea. So I’ll take something I said or thought but then reimagine what Harry would’ve done or Lily or whoever I think fits it.

20. What is the story you are proudest of?

I think the statue james fics just because those are some of the ones that feel the most like I made them from scratch...if that makes sense.

21. Do you prefer writing canon jily or muggle au?

OH I think I write Jily muggle AU most...so I must prefer it. I don’t think I’d ever want only one or the other.

Harry’s feet led him to the office without any guidance from his mind. Then his fist rattled the door without any forethought.

Professor McGonagall opened at the third knock, her teaching robes still on, even though the lateness of the hour would have presented her with more than enough chance to relax.

“Potter.” Her tone was as sharp as ever, but her eyes shone with curiosity. “What’s happened?”

“Noth -” Harry’s voice betrayed him as it cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to prevent his face from flushing. “Nothing, professor.”

“Students don’t come to my office for nothing.” She moved out of the door frame. “Come in a take a seat.”

Harry did as he was told, perching on one of the empty stiff back chairs across from McGonagall’s seat. McGonagall took her position, pulling open the tin of biscuits on her desk. Harry politely refused with a shake of the head.

“Alright then, Potter.” McGonagall watched him. Her gaze always seemed to draw words from his mouth. “Care to explain why you’re here?”

“I don’t know anything about sex.” Harry’s could feel his eyes become the size of saucers. He hadn’t meant to blurt it like that! Damn that McGonagall stare!

In her defense, McGonagall didn’t look away or even look surprised. She simply kept her attention on him. “And?”

Harry wanted his chair to become sentient and man-eating and swallow him whole. It was a better way to die than by the complete and utter embarrassment slowly destroying him. He couldn’t look at her, his eyes focused on the corner of the desk where an ink stain seemed permanent.  

“Harry.”  That made him look up. It wasn’t often she called him by his first name. Her face was kind as she held out the biscuit tin again. “Take one.”

He followed her order this time, taking the shortbread with no intention of placing it in his twisted stomach.

“I’m guessing Sirius never got to have this… talk with you, huh?” Her tone was soothing, and honestly, that freaked him out almost as much as the topic… almost.

He shook his head once.

“Alright then.” She seemed to square her shoulders. “Once we finish this discussion we never speak of it again. Got it?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Harry moved his lips across Ginny’s jaw down to her throat. He loved the way her body seemed to hum as his attention moved south. This was their hidden part of the Burrow, their hideaway in the months since everything had ended. A place where no war had ever touched. Sadness didn’t thicken the air.  And best of all, no brothers around to glare daggers at Harry for touching their sister.

No; here he was free to kiss Ginny whenever he wanted and he wanted to now. His mouth glided across her semi-exposed collarbone and over to her shoulder. His hands, which had a mind of their own, had already reached up under her shirt and were steadily moving north.  Apparently, being this close to Ginny brought out the cartographer in Harry.

Just as his hands were about to touch the underside of the cotton that covered her breasts, an unwelcome voice popped into his head.

When a woman is aroused -

Harry tore his lips away from Ginny’s skin.

“Harry?” Her voice was confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Shit!” Harry murmured as he backed his body away from hers as if she were hot flame, “Shit! Damn it!

“Harry?” Ginny sat up from her indented section of grass. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“She’s in my head!”

“Okay…” Ginny tilted her head. “What ‘she’ are you talking about?  Because I should be the only she in your head when we’re snogging.”

Harry groaned, falling backward onto the ground. “Bloody McGonagall!”

There was silence. Harry covered his face with his hands. Then Ginny spoke in a tone full of suppressed mirth. “Well, I guess she’s hot in a stately way.”

That made Harry tear his hands from his face to look at her. The glee in her expression matched her earlier tone. “Ew, Gin! That’s not -” Ginny let out a snort. “Shut it. That’s not what I meant. She gave me the…”

“She gave you the?” Ginny’s brow quirked.

Maybe it would be easier to claim he had a thing for McGonagall’s glasses.

“The talk.”

“The talk? Like the talk?”

Harry wished he had the power to make a sinkhole appear, or maybe that the chair in McGonagall’s office had gotten a taste for humans. “Yeah. That talk.”

The silence returned. Harry didn't know how long they remained quiet. Finally, Ginny let out a giggle, then a another, and another, until she was full out laughing.

“Stop!” Harry groaned. “It was the worst moment of my life!”

“You've died twice.” Ginny reminded him.

He sat up. He looked her dead in the eye before saying, “Worst. Moment.”

Ginny let out a final cackle. She moved her body close to his, letting their breaths mix. “Maybe I can make it better.”

Summer is strange, perhaps it’s conditioning from school days, or maybe just the laziness that seems to settle over everyone when heat waves wriggle on the asphalt, but everything feels relaxed and comfortable. Well, except wearing anything denim and sitting on vinyl seats.  

Harry’d fully bought in to the whole atmosphere, taking a week off work to stay at home with his wild little family in their cozy country home.

Albus and Lily were spending the day at the seaside with Bill and Fleur’s brood, and Harry had become one with the hammock in the yard.

All in all, Harry was the most relaxed he’s been in a while. Especially after the way Ginny wished him a restful sleep the night before, and then the way he woke her up that morning. God being married was even better than he could’ve imagined.

Not that it’s all shits and giggles. Something he was reminded of when James wandered into the yard with a dramatic sigh, the one that always preceded a headache of a conversation and often a subsequent firecall with McGonagall.

“Dare I ask, James?”

The eldest Potter son flopped down in the soft grass next to Harry’s lounging spot with another sigh. “When did you get the - the talk?”

Tension wriggled up and down Harry’s spine, but he forced his voice to remain calm. “We - do you have more questions?  It’s not just the one talk and then we’re done. You can come to me whenever you have questions or ideas or - ”

Face scrunched, James flinched backward like he’d been slapped.  “Yeah but, Dad, it’s so... Who gave you the talk?”

Ah, even my least emotionally aware child doesn’t want to blurt out that my parents are dead.

“You mean since my mum and dad were gone?”

James grunted. “I was trying to be less-- abrupt. Mum said, well she said if I wasn’t careful I was going to say the wrong shite to the wrong person and get punched.”

“And?”

“And that it’s good to be nice,” James parrots.

“Right,” Harry agreed, letting his leg dangle over the edge of the hammock to set it swinging, “So, anyway. Back to your original question... not that I can really answer it.”

James pushed up on his palms and blinked at Harry, biting at his lip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not allowed to say who gave me the talk.” Or more accurately, I swore to myself I wouldn’t.  For my own sanity.

"Was it Sirius?"

Harry snorted, I wish. "Sure, we'll go with that. Not that anyone would believe the truth."

Wind rustled the trees, carrying the scent of mint from the flourishing bushes tucked on either side of the back door, and Harry took a deep breath as James grumbled, “Dad. Why do you have to make this so awkward?”

“Your life could be so much more awkward,” Harry grunted, “Count your blessings cupcake.”

And despite a somewhat rocky start, Harry did manage to dig James’ current romantic troubles out of him and provide some measure of clarity on the subject.  Being a teenager is a minefield even without homicidal fascist maniacs trying to kill you. Harry, at least, comforted himself that his kids had it better, safety wise and in terms of trustworthy adults on hand.

But there comes a point where even the most loving parent has to let their little chicks spread their wings and fly, even if it’s just to Hogwarts. And that little flight means Harry can shield them from things only so long.

Which meant when James returned to Scotland in the fall, he was a year older, twice as sarcastic, and trying on adult humor for size. They’d been studying long term effects of transfiguration on the human body and he’d just delivered a highly witty (or immature, depending on whom you ask) one liner when a throat cleared behind him.

Since when do professors linger near the student’s tables during dinner? Dad would say it’s the height of stupidity to rely on assumptions based solely on usual activity. He also probably would have laughed because the joke was funny. Mum would probably say doing anything under McGonagall’s watchful eye was a gamble and the joke wasn’t quite enough to risk it.

But, spilled milk, glare ice, and such.  He was now facing down not just a Professor, but Headmistress McGonagall and all that office entails, while she eyed him with an inscrutable expression.

Grinning nervously, James maintained eye contact - a tip from Uncle George - while his supposed mates inched toward the opposite end of the table. The loser speaks first - that’s from Uncle Percy - so James holds his tongue.  

McGonagall quirked her brow as her lips tightened almost imperceptibly before she murmured, “I see your father has passed on my lesson.”

“I - what?”

The hours pass in a haze and around ten, James penned a vague letter and sent it off with his owl, Matilda, with explicit instructions to deliver it to his dad immediately. The common room had long since cleared, save a few seventh years waist deep in NEWTs prep, and James laid across the plush rug in front of the fireplace in a sort of malaise.  

Until the flames flared green and his dad’s face looked up at him worriedly. “James? Are you alright?”

James rolled onto his side. “You didn’t go through McGonagall?”

“You said not to. I had to use the fireplace in my office at the Ministry to get in.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

Harry smiled. “S’alright. So long as you’re alright. Hopefully there weren’t any members of the press lingering around to get a shot of Harry Potter in his pants.”

“You didn’t put on trousers?  It’s not that important,” James nearly shrieked, lowering his voice when he gets a few death glares from sleep deprived students.

That earned him a loud bark of a laugh from his dad and a rueful shake of the head. “James, your letter was almost unreadable and said, and I quote, ‘It is a matter of the utmost importance, please contact me by floo at your earliest convenience.’”

Shrugging, James ran a shaky hand through his hair. “What? Gran says young gentlemen should use good grammar and letter etiquette.”

“Yes, but your dad is an auror and knows his kids,” Harry put in, “And you never use complete sentences unless you’re terrified. And then the whole ‘avoid McGonagall thing’ - you know where my mind jumped.”

“Such a drama queen, Dad,” James teased, feeling the tension begin to leave his body at the familiar banter.

“Hm. It’s hereditary.  Do with that what you will. And now, let’s get to the guts spilling part.”

“Well, at dinner tonight I was with my friends and McGonagall - ”

“How much trouble are we talking?”

James raised his hands defensively. “No trouble! Just. How did we get here?”

Harry frowned. “We? You mean - did you not get the talk we had?”

“I mean how in the world did you,” James winced and sent a glance over his shoulder before continuing in a whisper, “shag when McGonagall is the one who told you about it?”

Harry’s a really sympathetic parent, almost too much according to Ginny. When James flooded the dungeons with his latest ‘experiment’, Harry argued detention for being caught out after hours was enough.  When Lily Luna’s accidental magic ended with a couple of nasty kids at her birthday party getting a free hair dye, Harry’d said her love for Teddy was admirable and it was good that she protected people she cared about, that she stuck up for bullies.  

Ginny was mildly persuaded on the first, particularly since it seemed James’ foray into potioneering was for academic purposes.  Lily’s was a harder sell, particularly when the Muggle Protection Squad had to show up and subtly alter remembrances of the afternoon.

Comparatively, Albus has been a pretty calm child, except for his tendency to want to touch and poke everything. Wet paint? Check. Neville’s semi-poisonous and highly experimental saber-toothed Snargaluff? In a second. But generally speaking, he’s less dramatic than the other two.  

Which is why when Albus came home during Winter hols in sixth year and threw himself across the lounge seat in Harry’s home office, it was a bit of a red flag. “Dad. Sixth year is horrible.”

Harry glanced up from the folders, papers, and other garbage that littered his desk and laughed. “It’s not all that bad.”

“You don’t understand - ”

“That won’t work until seventh year,” Harry snickered, “And I’ll gladly pass all your final year struggles to Mum.”

“I mean, your seventh year was kinda shitty.”

“Sixth year was worse.”

Albus slumped lower on the couch and twisted his face toward Harry. “Isn’t that when you and Mum?”

“She was a bright spot in an otherwise awful three-hundred-and-sixty-five days,” Harry began gathering up a few of his pens, highlighters, and whatever other tools he’d managed to pile all over his desk in the last day and a half, “I appreciate your lack of mock hurling when I say shite like that.”

“I’m mature. Back to the main issue though, not all of us can have a world saving prophecies hanging over our heads at sixteen. S’not really fair to hold my teen angst to that standard.”

Harry fiddled with the sleeve of his jumper, “Al - that was far from the worst part of my sixth.”

“I feel like that’s a lie, but I’ll bite,” Albus said, “At least I’ll forget about my own mess of a life.”

A shout sounded from upstairs, followed by a thud and more shouting. Harry wondered if he’d need to pause this heart to heart when Ginny’s own voice joined the fray.  God she’s amazing.  They could really use a night off...or maybe a weekend.  A long one.  And he could visit that little shop in London with the lacy bits she likes…

Harry cleared his throat and refocused. “Mess? Are you seeing anyone? Is that what you’re having trouble with? I can - ”

Albus threw a cushion over his face and groaned. “Oh God, Dad! Can we not have the talk? We did whatever that was before my second year and I’ve picked up a few things since then so.

“Let’s hope you didn’t pick up anything - we really should have another discussion, there’s more to talk about.”

Punching the pillow over his face, Albus murmured, “I think I might actually die from embarrassment.”

“Trust me, this is a better option than...you know what, I’ll give you a way out.”

Albus sat up and let the cushion fall to the carpet, his hair a ruffled mess around his flushed face. Poor kid. Harry can only imagine what he looked like twenty or so years ago…

“You can hear it from me, or learn how I did.”

They had a staring contest of sorts, Albus considering his father and his options, probably also regretting the chain of events that set him up for the current state of affairs. But life happens and so, inevitably, do hormones. “I want more details before I decide.”

Harry smirked and rounded his desk, settling in the armchair across from Albus.  “Well you know Remus was hardly around and Sirius had…”

James groaned as he crossed out another word in his pitiful excuse for a potions essay. Assigning them three feet on Veritaserum during the winter holidays was just cruel.  Why should he be forced to think about saliva from a chimaera while his brother and sister were free to do whatever?

Crumpling his third attempt, James threw his head back so it thudded against the kitchen wall. He closed his eyes. He only had to complete this one assignment, then he would be free for the rest of the holidays. Next time, he wouldn’t complain about his homework in the car ride home. If his parents hadn’t known about the damn paper…

“You know chimaera’s have the head of a goat not a sheep, right?” James opened his eyes to look at his twelve year-old brother, Albus, reading his most recent attempt.

“Have you ever seen one up close?” James asked sardonically.

Albus shrugged one shoulder. “No, and clearly neither have you.”

James was ready to kick something. First off, he’d been working his arse off for over two hours on this assignment, and now Albus decided to come into his work zone and be a sarcastic little shit. He wasn’t in the mood for this. Yes, he was ready kick something and was definitely leaning toward it being Albus’ arse.

Before he could tell his brother as much, Lily rushed into the kitchen eyes wide with panic. “James!”

She barreled into him. Being ten, she was no light feather. James let out a small grunt. “What, Lily?”

“I think Mummy is hurt.”

That was enough for both brothers to spring into action. “What do you mean?” Albus asked as they heading in the direction Lily came from.

“I think I heard her scream!” Lily moved as quickly as her little legs would carry her. “She’s in her room.”

That made James’ pace stutter. He came to a stop on the first step to the upper floor. “Uh, Lily, do you know if Dad was with her?”

And now Albus paused. He gave his brother a wary look. “Oh… I hope not.”

Lily, however, didn’t know what her brothers silently agreed upon. “Yeah. I saw Daddy close the door earlier when I was reading the book about Hungarian Horntails Uncle Charlie gave me.”

“Ew!” Albus shuddered. James closed his eyes hoping the images of his parents doing -- that -- wouldn’t possess his brain.

But of course, it was at that moment he heard what could only be described as a happy moan come from the direction of his parents’ room.

“Oh! Do you think Mummy and Daddy are okay?” Lily asked, her fear almost palpable.

“If I had to place a bet,” James scrunched up his nose and grumbled to himself, “I’d place a thousand galleons on them being more than okay.”

Albus’ expression had taken on a look of pure, unadulterated horror. “We need to leave!”

“Do you think Uncle George would mind wiping my memory?”

“I know that’s how we got here, but…” Albus’ voice hung off as he visually had to shake off his demons.

“And I thought it was the stork,” James claimed sarcastically.

“Uncle Ron mentioned something about a pumpkin patch when I asked him,” Lily supplied helpfully, comforted by her brother’s lighthearted if odd banter.

“Yes, that works, Lily.”

“Gin.”

James flinched at the tone of his father’s voice. Nope! This wasn’t happening! “Come on!” He grabbed his siblings by their arms and led them to the fireplace. “We’re going to grandmum’s!”  

Harry rolled onto his back, trying to catch his breath. “So did I fulfill your orders?”

Ginny let out a low laugh. “Every box was checked, and then some.”

“Good, I would have hated to - “ Harry paused as heard the sound of the floo firing up. “Who’s here?”

Ginny already had one leg in her jeans. “With our luck it will be Ron. His timing is still the worst.”

Once she threw a shirt over her head, Ginny headed down to the sitting room to greet their visitor. Harry followed his wife’s lead, but no one was there.

“What the…?” Harry looked to the sofa which had a de-crumpled piece of parchment resting on cushion. He picked it up and choked on his own salva. “Gin!”

She came back from the kitchen. “Yeah?”

“No one is here, but… uh…”

“But what, Harry?”

He couldn’t speak any more. He handed her the note. It only took her a few seconds to understand the message, then she started laughing.

Only one word was scrolled in their eldest son’s messy handwriting in big, bold letters. Silencio!

“I think the kids may have heard us, dear,” Ginny said through her laughter, “That’s what we get for trusting our kids to keep themselves busy for a quarter of an hour.”

“Where do you think they went?” Harry asked, “And it was at least three quarters of an hour, Gin.”

“Most likely Mum’s, they know they can get biscuits there.” Ginny set down the note and moved her finger to trace his jaw. “Care to join me back in our room?”

“How does James know that spell? It’s a sixth year lesson.”

Ginny changed tactics. She pressed her lips to his chin then to his lips. “We can talk about what our son is doing in his free time later.”  

Harry lifted up his piece of toast absentmindedly, his attention on the Daily Prophet in front of him. Another quiet morning. Ever since Lily had left for Hogwarts, the Potter household was more often than not relatively calm. Sure, he and Ginny could throw some raging parties (typically consisting of only them, a bottle of cheap wine, and minimal clothing), but kids seemed to keep a house constantly alive.

“Anything interesting?” Ginny asked, taking a sip from her coffee mug.

“Not really.” Harry snorted at the front cover, as he folded the pages back to a convenient size. “Just Chip having another affair again.”

“Chip Greene? The one who -”

“Who would always flirt and try to get you to go home with him after you played against each other? Yeah.” Harry’s annoyance with the old Cannons player was still higher than a kite. “That Chip.”

“I don’t know why he ever thought I would want to become another notch on his bedpost.” Ginny mused as she cleaned up her breakfast plates. “I doubt he had any clue what he was doing.”

Harry grimaced. Now his mind fell back onto his talks with James and Albus. Merlin, those had been horrible… horrible… It was at that moment Harry’s mind started to connect dots. Ginny had forced Harry to have-- that-- talk with James just after he turned twelve. Same with Albus. Lily had just started her second year at Hogwarts. Her twelfth birthday had been right at the end of her first year… Twelfth birthday…

“Gin?” Harry tried to complete his breathing exercises. Percy’s wife had recommended them after a traumatic case. He needed to stop his mind from jumping off the plank into the shark-infested waters.

“Hmm?”

“Did you and Lily ever have the - ” Harry had to swallow the lump expanding in his throat. “The talk.” He lowered his tone at his final words.

Ginny snorted. “You mean the sex talk?”

Ugh! There were two words he didn’t want to be combined. His daughter and sex. He could only nod.

Damn, he wished he didn’t find that smirk on Ginny’s face so endearing.

“Not yet,” Ginny’s tone matched her amused expression. “I figured we could wait a little longer with Lily. I thought the best moment would be when she got her first period.”

And another word Harry had no desire to hear in relation to his daughter. He let out a breath. At least Lily wouldn’t be dealing with boys yet. It was then that a vivid and dreadful imagine appeared in his head.

His second year… Seamus chatting with Parvati Patil in hopes of getting her to kiss him… he had been twelve… just like Lily and her classmates.

“Ginny, we gotta floo up to Hogwarts.”

Ginny paused her motion of putting the now clean mug into the cupboard, and turned to face him “And why is that?”  

“We need - I need -” Harry wasn’t quite sure how to explain that he needed to keep the entire male species away from his daughter without making Ginny roll her eyes. Instead of coming up with a calm, rational explanation he blurted, “I know how they think!”

“How ‘who’ thinks?” Ginny’s was using the tone she used with an upset child.

“Boys,” He spit the word out like venom. “Them and their wandering eyes… I’ll die a third time before any of them looks at my baby like that.”

Ginny’s body started to shake. Harry’s mind, at first, thought she was agreeing with him, that her fear of the heinous boys in Lily’s class made her shiver. This, however, was not the case. Harry’s beautiful, logical wife was shaking with suppressed laughter.

“This is why,” Ginny choked down a giggle, “George calls you a drama queen.”

Harry huffed out a breath. “I never considered that an accurate title.” His fingers started to tap against the table. “We need to get up there and stop any fraternizing.” A cruel thought popped into his head. “If McGonagall talked to them -”

Ginny couldn’t stop her laughter now. “Merlin, Harry! They’re twelve. The worst they’re gonna do is hold hands and maybe kiss once or twice.”

“That’s once or twice too much!”

“You know what, though?” Ginny looked thoughtful. “McGonagall did a good job teaching you. Maybe she should start a sex ed class.”

Harry’s ranting mind came to a sudden halt. “Aw, Ginny. Don’t say things like that!” Chills ran up his spine.

“Like what?” Ginny smirked at him as she took the empty chair beside him. “That McGonagall taught you well? It’s true.” Her expression could only be described as evil. “I guess I should be thanking her for my seventeenth birthday present, huh?”

With a thud, Harry’s forehead collided with the table. He turned his neck so he could make eye contact with his wife. “Ginny! You can’t talk to McGonagall about your seventeenth!”

Ginny clearly wasn’t listening to Harry’s order. “Do you ever wonder how she became so educated in the subject?”

“Ginny.” Harry could hear how whiny his own voice had become, but at that moment he didn’t care. “I’ve become a relatively well-adjusted person all things considered, so I need you to stop trying to hurt me.”

Again, his wife didn’t seem to care about his pleas. “You know what? I bet she was a real hit with the blokes. With that stern attitude and tight bun… then the moment they entered the bedroom and she became a freak in the sheets -”

Harry groaned as he sat up. “Merlin, is this my own version of Hell?”  

Ginny leaned over and flicked his nose. “Don’t be such a baby!”

“Wipe my memory, Gin!”

“Seriously?”

“Never mind.” Harry reached across the table to a blank piece of parchment. “I’m Head Auror. I can order a memory removal.”

Ginny snatched the parchment away from him before he could grab a quill. “Harry, you’re almost forty-years-old. You can’t believe McGonagall is still a virgin.”

Harry took his now vacant hands and covered his ears. “Can’t hear you, Gin!”

“So you are a baby.” Ginny shook her head. Then, her eyes sparkled with a look Harry knew all too well. It was the warning sign to some serious cheek. “You know, I wonder if she has any new tips for us.”

“Stop right there!”

Ginny plucked the forgotten quill from Harry’s side and started to write. She read her words loudly, over-pronouncing as she wrote, “Dear Headmistress McGonagall.”

“Ginny I will divorce you,” Harry claimed weakly.

Ginny snorted. “Sure you will, babe.” But she put the quill down and turned back towards him. Her eyes blazed all to attractively. “You won’t be able to resist me after my tutoring sessions with McGonagall. I bet she’s even updated her curriculum, you should ask if her class had a lifelong guarantee.”

“Hey!” Harry protested. “I think I’m rather competent. I certainly didn't hear you complaining last night!”

Ginny gave him a coquettish grin. “Come on, you can’t tell me your not even slightly enticed by,” she confiscated his glasses off his nose, placing them on her own so the lenses made her bright, brown eyes wider than ever, “Professor Weasley.”

“First off, it’s Potter. And second, no.”

Ginny stood from her chair and took up residence in his lap, his hands automatically held her steady by the waist. She moved her mouth up his jaw and to his ear. Harry sucked in a breath as her teeth grazed his earlobe. “While you do exceed expectations, Mr Potter, I think you could benefit from some,” one of her hands threaded into his hair, “One on one lessons.”

Harry couldn’t prevent a moan from escaping his lips as Ginny ran her tongue back down his jawline. “Why - Why are you doing this?”

Ginny leaned back, so Harry could take in her full glory. “You know the glasses are hot.” Her gaze could have melted his insides to mush and her glasses-- his glasses-- Wait a moment.

“When did you transfigure my glasses to look like McGonagall’s?”

“Ah, I knew you’d remember these old things.”

“Ginny!” Harry moaned again, in a different manner this time.

Ginny placed her hand on his cheek, her lips twisted in a small smile. “It’s alright, Harry. I know she was your first love.”

“Please…”

“I mean,” Ginny shrugged, “Who didn’t have a naughty dream about her at least once or twice.”

“Why…”

“Harry, it’s really okay.” She patted his cheek. “I mean, I understand completely. If you could have only seen my dreams of Flitwick,” she made an exaggerated fanning motion her hands, “Hot damn!”

“Ginny, I -” It was then his brain started to comprehend what she had just said. “Wait. What? Flitwick? What the fuck?”

“That was the idea.”

“This is - Flitwick?”

“Don’t get me started on Sprout.”

“Ginny!”

“Merlin, when you got Sinistra out in the moonlight.” Ginny deliberately licked her lips. “Damn.”

“Just -” Harry’s mind had left, unable to keep up with Ginny’s words. “Just - not Snape, right? Please.”

Ginny shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. “Oh no! That snooty upturned nose was such a turn-off, and don’t get me started on his apparent aversion to personal hygiene.” She then smiled dreamily. “But Slughorn. Now there was a potions professor.”

“Well, now you’re just being mean.”

“There was no silly wand waving in that dungeon…” She gave him an appeased look. “They knew what they were doing. Do you think McGonagall taught them too?”

Harry let his forehead fall on her shoulder. “Do you want to never have sex again?”

Ginny let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, if you can’t give me what I need,” she sighed again, “I’ll have to go to the source. Do you think Minerva's free tonight?”

And that was Harry’s limit. “You know what.” He lifted his head, placed his arms underneath Ginny’s legs and lifted her into his arms and then up over his shoulder. “There will be no more of this cheek. We’re not leaving the bedroom until you can’t remember who McGonagall even is.”