sionnach (karou) wrote in 40forty, @ 2010-02-17 17:05:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | character: ginny potter, character: michael corner, genre: harry potter, type: one-shot, writer: mon_chouchou |
Writer: karou
Type: present tense one-shot
Genre: Harry Potter
Characters: Ginny Potter, Michael Corner, with minor appearances from OCs.
Summary: It had been ten long years since he had set eyes on Ginny Weasley, his first - but not last - love. Michael is not who he used to be, and while his life is in disarray, he is happy. Ginny on the other hand has what seems to be a perfect life, but she seems unhappy. Also I decided to make it present tense because hey, why not make it more difficult?
Rating: PG
Word-count: 2069 words! That'll tide me over because I have to work over the weekend. Boo!
Author's note: Let's pretend 19 years later didn't happen, it's screwing with my continuity!
In 2009, not even the Wizarding World is safe from recession. Michael Corner had long since given up his cushy job working in the Muggle bank, Halifax. It had only been a cover at the time, something safe until the war blew over, and when the world had righted itself he had sought a job more befitting a Wizard with NEWTs as good as his. Often Michael wonders if he should have just sat still and stayed in the bank, but the banks are especially in crisis. It's difficult to remind himself that had he stayed in Halifax, he would have lost his job there, too. Downtrodden and dreary, Michael slouches into a wicker chair outside a once-trendy cafe along one of the many side streets in London. The girl in his company makes the journey to the seat with him, puts her dainty hands on his chest, coos at him. Today he is not job-hunting, not in the mood for rejection, the no-thank-yous, we're-not-hiring, there's-a-recession-going-on speech that has been recited to him daily, as though this were new news. Had Michael been living under a rock for the last year? Was he not aware that the world was in financial turmoil, and that no one was safe, excellent NEWTs or not? Michael would settle now for any job, but there is nothing. Despite this callous fact, Michael is oddly calm. Perhaps it is the knowledge that he is not in this alone, that there are others with no jobs. Terry had stayed on in the bank and was in the same boat as Michael now. They used to job hunt together, but prospective employers worried themselves into a tizzy when they saw two unemployed men coming at them. As he waits, he uncurls a Daily Prophet, discreetly flicks the pages to the sports section. He knows he should look at the job pages, but he is in the mood for a little distraction. Michael skims the page, finding out about the latest match between the Falcons and the Wasps. He turns the page as quietly and discreetly as he can, hoping not to disturb the girl who now has her head against his chest, eyes closed peacefully. The page turned, he sees an almost stationary picture of a stunning girl with a broad, proud smile. Her hands are on her hips, her hair billows in the wind, her Quidditch robes hiding a body that he imagines is still as attractive as it had been in school. Ginny Weasley, no, Ginny Potter, captain of the Holyhead Harpies, has led her team to victory again. Michael closes the paper and presses the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. A waitress wastes no time in coming over to Michael. She smiles her generic service staff smile, speaks at a tone probably higher than her usual pitch, the sing-song voice she uses for customers, "Can I get you anything sir?" She trills, pen poised over her notebook. Michael hasn't looked at the menu, but orders a black coffee, assuming it is the cheapest thing there. "How about your friend?" She nods to the girl resting against Michael's chest. He shakes his head and looks down, a soppy smile transforming his tired face into something wondrous, something glorious. Paternity leave had to be two of the most beautiful words in the English language. It was a pity that paternity leave came around the time of his unemployment, for now he has all the time in the world to spend with his little girl, but wishes he had more money to spend on her. Michael is donning one of those awful contraptions, which secure his baby against his chest, her chubby legs protruding at the sides, her cheek pressed against his chest. She is drooling a little, but this does not upset Michael. He has become accustomed to her penchant to destroying his clothes with her various bodily functions. The waitress returns with his coffee, and Michael hastily shuffles his newspaper together to put it out of the way. He wishes Jasmine was in the buggy so he wasn't putting her life in peril by drinking coffee so close to her tiny, soft head, but Michael dislikes the buggy. He finds it bulky and obtrusive, hates banging people's ankles with it, especially dislikes the way people look at him when he has it. Where is her mother their faces say, why isn't he at work? The contraption - he does not know the name for it - which secures Jasmine against his chest is preferable. Michael can open his own doors, is taking up no room, and has all he needs stuffed in his pocket, shrunk down to a transportable size. Besides, he likes the closeness, and is painfully aware that one day his little girl won't want to hug him, will not rest her head against his chest, and will more than likely scream her hatred for him over some small argument over a boy. Michael glances down at Jasmine, sleeping contentedly, her tiny hand splayed out on his chest. Before she came along, Michael never wanted children. Like all fathers, he felt that his girl was special, different. She was worth loving. When she smiled, it was unlike any other smile a baby ever had. It was not gas. It was a miracle in miniature. Twenty-eight is not old, but he feels every minute of it pressing on him when he looks at Jasmine. She makes him feel as light as air and heavy as a sack of bricks at the same time. Michael looks away as a frown puckered his brow. Love is a complicated thing, trebly so when it is for a little person you had helped to make. "Michael?" So deep is Michael in his thoughts that he doesn't hear the voice until it repeats his name again, this time with a trace of laughter, a lilt of surprise. Michael blinks and looks up, mouth agape when he sees Ginny Weasley, no, Potter, standing in an almost identical pose to that of the newspaper, hands on her hips, lips smiling. "Ginny!" He exclaims, immediately regretting his enthusiasm. Jasmine lets out a tiny cry, a baby's shut-up-daddy. Both Michael and Ginny wince, guilty giants disturbing this tiny being. "Merlin's tit, Michael, is that yours?" She points at the baby like it is the latest broom on the market. "Made it myself," He proclaims, to which Ginny raises a brow. "Got yourself a uterus, did you?" "Borrowed one. I helped make her? Okay, my wife did the hard work. I only gave her a few ingredients." Michael begins to stand clumsily, but Ginny flaps her hand - stay sitting, it says. Ginny comes closer and lowers herself onto her haunches, filling Michael's head with that flowery smell that is uniquely hers. Ginny looks at his tiny baby, and though she isn't an emotional person, Michael fancies a glazing of her eyes. "She is beautiful," Ginny sighs. Michael pats the chair next to him, which Ginny occupies. An awkward moment passes; it has been ten years since they clapped eyes on one another, the year she left school. He had gone to the same party she had, a friend-of-a-friend affair. They had been civil, polite, and maybe even nice. "I saw you in the paper," Michael waves the rolled up Prophet at her, and Ginny makes a face. "I hate the publicity, but it comes with the job," Ginny leans forward so she can see Jasmine. Michael feels a pang of jealousy; though he had never played on his school team, it was every boy's dream to play professional Quidditch. Ginny is practically famous, her fame almost rivaling that of her husband. "How's Harry?" He asks, since he knows they had married. That had been read in the paper too, as he had not been invited. "Good, working hard." She keeps it vague, then her eyes narrow a little, "Who did you marry?" "Padma," Michael smiles, his hand automatically cupping Jasmine's head, "She's every inch her mother." "Wow. Congratulations... when?" "We got married in 2006, and this little lady turned up three months ago. She's our first." "Wow." Another awkward pause. Michael and Padma had debated inviting Ginny and Harry to their wedding, but they had never been especially close. They had socialised a little at Hogwarts, especially in the DA, but after school things petered out. Everyone went their separate ways. "It was a small wedding," Michael explains, though Ginny doesn't accuse him of anything, "Family and close friends. We went out to Dubai, actually. Proper Indian wedding, it was sensational." "That doesn't sound small," Ginny laughs. "Well, it was a three day affair, done properly, but aside from inviting just about everyone Padma was related to... I only really have her, family wise." Awkward pauses are becoming a staple thing in their conversation. Jasmine doesn't like it, lets out another cry, this one longer. Her little face goes red with the effort, her fists balled, clenching and unclenching. Michael shushes and Ginny awws, but to no avail. "Would you mind-?" Michael starts to untie the contraption, and then holds out Jasmine. Ginny falters, then takes Jasmine expertly, supports her head and rocks her gently. Michael stands up and pulls a tiny bottle out of his pocket, looks around discreetly and shuffles his wand out of his sleeve. Michael taps the bottle and it enlarges, warms gently. He squirts some of the milk onto his wrist to test the temperature, then gently takes Jasmine away from Ginny and feeds her the bottle. Michael misses the look of longing that crosses Ginny's face. With his eyes still on Jasmine, he asks, "How about you? Any babies yet?" "None of my own, though I have enough nieces and nephews. Hermione and Ron just had a baby," She says, and Michael detects a subtle note of jealousy. He looks up, opens his mouth to remark upon it and thinks against it - they are not friends, not really, just acquaintances. It has been a long time since he spun her around the dance floor at the Yule Ball, and he does not know a lot about Ginny any more. "That's great news for them," He says, smiling nicely. His coffee is cooling into black tar, and he resents having to pay £2 for the pleasure. Ginny still looks - not upset, but something. Michael wonders if she has anyone to talk to, if he should offer. Once more he reminds himself that they are not friends, but who is to say that they cannot forge some kind of friendship? "Would you like to get coffee some time?" He asks, then glances at his cooling cup, "A planned coffee, maybe?" Ginny is not a weak woman, he knows this, but her cheeks have flushed a little, and the glazing in her eyes looks like tears. Michael melts like the softened butter that is laid out on the table. He removes a hand from Jasmine and squeezes Ginny's hand. She squeezes back. "If you're not doing anything, do you want to come over to mine? Padma will be home in about an hour, I'm sure she'd love to see you. I have perfectly good coffee there, and I'm not parked too far away." "You drove?" Ginny's voice is a little thick, she isn't looking at Michael. "Too dangerous to Apparate with a baby, and she really disliked the Floo. Padma hit me with a stick when I suggested strapping a baby seat onto my broom." This made Ginny laugh, and Michael smiled a little. "I really would love to see Padma again." Ginny says, tempted by the offer. Michael hands Jasmine to Ginny again and stands up, this time so he can go pay for his coffee, which he does quickly, no tip. He cannot afford it, and as much as he resents paying for cold muck, he doesn't want to pay more for it. He returns and Ginny is cuddling Jasmine to her chest, so he puts back on the contraption, carefully puts Jasmine inside it and waits for Ginny. She stands, smiles, but it is not the confident smile that she has in the newspaper. Together they walk to the car park, and Ginny entertains Michael with a blow-by-blow of her latest match. It is the beginning of something, and whatever it is, Michael is happy he didn't job hunt today. |