#harryjpottcr

      The dinner is cooking. She’s not as good as Harry is, who prepares meals by hand and lovingly adjusts spices to his specific taste, but as Ginny flips through that morning’s paper - the one she was just getting too after a long day of practice - she sits at their kitchen table as magic stirs the pasta noodles. 

     There’s an article about a fog that has her stomach twisting uncomfortable - an urge to write her children but she knows she’ll get an “ everything is fine ” in return. Ginny’s pensive, thinking about the years long past when she had roamed the halls. Her second year had also been foggy. Finally the side door opens, much like the one from her childhood home - the front door was always for guests - but she sends Harry a small smile as he enters. 

@harryjpottcr​

Astoria Malfoy did not care for the Ministry of Magic. Even as a child, she had known the Ministry as the enemy -- overseer of the bank that held their shop’s rent; purveyor of those nosy Aurors who just couldn’t bear to leave perfectly respectable businesses alone to conduct their affairs in peace. Now that she carried the name Malfoy around her neck like a blazing brand, it was even less a place in which she felt welcome -- but that didn’t matter today. Today she was on a mission.

That mission stopped in front of Harry Potter’s desk. Astoria slapped the thing she was carrying down upon its crowded surface and said, in a voice that was far too loud and far too demanding in which to be speaking to the Head of the Auror Office, “Excuse me Auror Potter, do you have a moment?” She didn’t wait to see if the answer was yes. “I found this object in my house this morning. I presume it belongs to your son?”