Future Dates
Joy, August 31, 1990 [age 30]
"Aaaand um um--oh, oh gosh, do you have your quills? And your clean robes, where are--CORMAC MCLAGGEN, DO NOT ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME, THIS IS IMPORTANT!"
The tall, blonde 11-year-old shoved his fingers in his ears from his place on the bed and rolled his eyes again, just for good measure. "Jaysus Christ on a cracker, Mum, anyone ever tell you that you've got the loudest fuckin--"
"LANGUAGE!"
Cormac groaned loudly at Joy's chastisement and fell backwards spread-eagled over his comforter. "Look, I am just trying to tell you that I'll be fine and you should stop coddling me because I'm not a bloody baby," he mumbled agitatedly, just loud enough for her to hear. Not even twelve yet and he already sounded like an unruly teenager. "And stop rolling up my ruddy socks like that, the whole bleedin' school's gonna think I'm some sort of pouf!"
Joy rose from where she was kneeling beside her son's trunk (a pair of the socks in question still in her right hand), and Cormac noticed that her face was very... wibbly. Oh Jaysus, he thought, and before she could start full-out wailing he opened his arms above him, mere seconds later feeling his mum landing on the bed next to him, squeezing him with all her might. In a very professional manner (could you tell this had happened before?), Cormac patted Joy on the back as she buried her face in his hair--oy, if any of his mates ever saw him--well, fuck what they thought, he'd just smack them into the fucking ground! "Oy, Mum, cut it out already, y'don't haveta get all--"
"YES I DO, SO SHUT UP AND HUG ME!"
"Oy," he sighed, but wrapped his arms around her anyway.
Lily, December 25, 1980 [age 20]
"Ah! A stuffed centaur!? Oh my gosh, how wonderful!" Lily exclaimed. "We're going to have so much fun with this, aren't we, Harry!"
It was too bad that the baby in her lap wasn't paying any attention to what his mum was saying--or to the toy she'd just unwrapped for him, either. Not that he could understand her or anything, the kid was still only five months old and didn't really get why there were all these wrapped things or this brightly lit tree sitting in his living room, or why his parents seemed to excited at ripping paper of all things, or why his mum had gotten all teary-faced when she hung the silver doo-dad with his picture in it on the Mysterious Indoor Tree. And he most certainly didn't know what a stuffed centaur was. All Harry was concerned with was this red ribbony thing that sat in the pile of the Supposedly Exciting Ripped Paper.
It was shiny and kind of looked like one of those flowers that sitting all around Godric's Hollow lately that were all red and big and he liked the crinkling noise that Shiny Red Ribbon-Flower made when he reached forward and grabbed it. It tasted even better, Harry thought as he gummed it, even though it was way too big for his mouth, he could still--
"Oh, Harry, cut it out," Lily laughed, taking the bow from him. "Give that here, that's not for eating."
To replace the bow, James set the stuffed centaur in front of the baby, but with an unusually strong arm it was thrown aside a second later, hitting its giver square in the chest. A wail came from Harry's mouth. Thinking for a moment, Lily's hand tentatively came back into the infant's range and he pulled Shiny Red Ribbon-Flower away from her instantly, shoving as much as he could into his mouth again. The look he gave his parents was of divine contentment.
Sam, Winter 1994 [age 39]
"You're taking who?"
"Oy, Dad, only the hottes--" Roger read his father's sudden glare of warning and corrected himself "--the most, uh... gorgeous girl ever to walk the earth!" The way that he looked at Sam indicated that anyone who was anyone knew who Fleur Delacour was, and his father must be infinitely lame and square for being so out of the loop.
"Uh... huh... Delacour, huh? What is she, French or some--oh Roger, you're not taking a Beauxbatons girl, are you?" Sam groaned and put his face in his palm. He couldn't see his son, but could just imagine the agitated 'ugh, Dad' look he was being given at the moment. It was just! Why couldn't Roger go for the nice girls, who preferrably lived within Apparating distance, who weren't just some... gorgeous, foreign floozy who he'd only keep around for a couple weeks at most? "What happened to dating the girls in your year, in your school?"
"Why in the world would I go with girls in my year or in my school when I've got the girl that everyone else wants?" Roger asked and Sam finally brought his hand from his face to see Roger with his arms crossed in a challenging manner. "This is the chance of a bloody lifetime, everyone else is going to be burning in jealousy when I'm snogging her under the mistle--"
"--Roger." The sixteen-year-old's ears turned red and he frowned more. "Please don't tell me you're just taking her to make people jealous and... and feel her up all night."
"Well... um... I suppose there might be some casual conversation involved too?"
Sam smacked his hand to his face again and turned away from Roger, walking out of the room. As he went, he muttered something that sounded strangely like 'I didn't raise you this way' and 'Going to be an early grandfather, I can see it now.'
Ian, September 1, 1990 [age 32]
"... and I want you to write every day, and..."
"... don't forget to say hello to Professor Dumbledore for me..."
"... are you sure you packed all your books?..."
"Holy crap, the train's gonna leave before the two of you are done harping me!" Katie Bell exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood with her parents on Platform 9 3/4 for the first time in her life. Her expression was playfully scolding, however, rather than actually annoyed--she was way too excited today to be annoyed at anything, even the fact that Cormac McLaggen kept glancing over his shoulder and staring at her with that... weird, daydreamy look of his. "I'm going to be fine! I'll write every... well, every other day, how 'bout that, and I'll tell Professor Dumbledore hello twice, once for both of you and yes, Mum, I'm sure. In case you don't recall much of this morning, you packed them for me again during breakfast. Twice. Can I go now, before I miss my ride?"
Ian sighed (still trying to figure out if there was anything else he could say to hold Katie back for even another couple seconds, to be honest), conceding after long last that he finally had to say goodbye. Say goodbye to his daughter, his first and only child, his girl and--auugh, this was just not easy. "Alright. Get going, but you'd better give me a really good hug first."
He didn't have to ask twice. Katie nearly jumped into her father's arms, squeezing him for a long moment with all her might and planting a kiss on his cheek. She let go far too soon for his taste, but Liz deserved a hug too and if Katie didn't hurry up, she really was going to miss the train.
"Remember, Ravenclaw or I disown you!" he called after her as she ran off, jokingly because if he didn't laugh he was going to cry and that was Liz's job... plus, McLaggen was still around, and he definitely wasn't doing that in front of his old captain. Ian smirked over at Liz as she jabbed him in the side with her elbow and edited his comment with a "SOD RAVENCLAW, GRYFFINDOR'S WHERE THE WINNERS ARE!" and he wrapped an arm around her.
Oy, well. At least they got the house to themselves now.
Lucy, December 25, 1982 [age 21]
"Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la la la la laaaaa!"
"Hum hum hummmm hum hum..."
"Almost, Luna, mon chou, you're getting there!" Lucy exclaimed happily, leaning forward over the kitchen counter to rub noses with the giggling 21-month-old sitting there. Leo was out researching for a fascinating new article for the next month's edition of the Quibbler for a few hours that day before they left to visit family and Lucy had taken to making some cookies to mark the occasion. Of course, her darling, sweet fairy princess Luna Solaria had wanted to help the second she'd woken from her nap and whilst they worked, what better could they do but learn some Christmas carols?
So there they were and it was lovely and Lucy was giddy as could be because she was convinced that Luna was going to grow up to have a fabulous voice and learn all kinds of songs! In French and English and she would impress everyone at Hogwarts with them!
"Can you say Joyeux Noel, mon chou?" Lucy asked with a smile as she pulled back to roll out the cookie dough. "Joy-euh no-ell."
"Joyaux Nowel!" Luna repeated in a chirp and even though the pronunciation was horrible, her mother clapped as if she'd just done something fabulous. "Means... Happy Cwistmas, n'est-ce pas?"
Lucy nodded, but her daughter didn't quite catch the motion--not when the front door had just opened to reveal her other favorite person in the world. The brilliant grin on Luna's face told all and she squirmed until her mum helped her off the counter, then ran over and jumped into Leo's arms. "Papa, Joyaux Nowel! Means Happy Cwistmas!"
Ginny, December 25, 2001 [age 20]
Being married was so cool.
You know what was cooler than being married?
Being married and it being Christmas.
Christmas when you were married was like being in that honeymoon stage of your relationship, only better. Like, ten times better because Christmas made everyone happy and that meant that Ginny didn't have to deal with all the condescending 'aw, young love' comments from her family when she got up from the dinner table and kissed Harry's temple before taking his plate to the sink. Because her mum did that during Christmas, and Hermione--well, on occasion, it was either that or smacking Ron with the plate because he'd just made some-or-another stupid comment about her arse--did it, and Fleur did it, and... you got the picture. They had no room to talk, none of them. They could not say a damn---
---"Awwwwww! Just look at you two!"
Molly Weasley's voice sounded from the other end of the table and everyone turned in unison to look at Harry and Ginny, frozen in position with her lips about two millimeters away from his cheek and both burning a bright, bright crimson. Laughing merrily at the horrible embarrassment she'd caused the Potters (because that's what she went around calling them now, all the bleeding time), she clapped her hands together and sighed in contentment. Ginny decided very quickly that she didn't like that look on her mum's face, that one that said she was about to be even more obscenely embarrassing than she already had been.
"You know, if you two want to take this upstairs, I am not opposed to being a grandmother again!"
Ginny turned her face into Harry's hair as he buried his face in his arms on the table to hide the ten further shades of red they'd just discovered. From across the table, Ron burst into laughter while the rest of the table seemed to be embarrassed for them. Oy, if she were any less preoccupied with her own--fucking take the knife and stab him--
"Christmas at home next year, Gin?" she heard Harry mumble (although with a small hint of amusement) and she could do nothing but nod against his head.
Ophelia, June 1998 [age 39]
She knew.
It's what she wanted to scream at the aurors--she wanted to get up from this bloody couch and scream it in their faces, and the more they drilled her, the more the urge to yell something incriminating grew. It was with only her most firm and unyielding grasp of will, and the canvas portrait of her daughter hanging there over Auror Dawlish's shoulder, that kept Ophelia Wilkes' mouth tightly shut.
She would not tell them. She would not admit a thing, not if staying silent meant that Ana got to keep one of her parents.
"You know, Mrs. Wilkes," Dawlish began again through gritted teeth, pacing back and forth in front of her as he had been for the past hour, "that your knowledge--"
"Hypothetical knowledge. You don't know shit about me."
"--hypothetical knowledge of your husband's activities involving the Death Eaters make you a traitor of the government, of the whole of the wizarding world, even. Do you have any idea of how many innocent witches, wizards, Muggles, men, women--children, Mrs. Wilkes... Do you have any idea how many Grayson Wilkes brutally murdered? How much blood stains his name? Blood that paints your own hands just as red as his, if knowing such things were going on you chose not to come to the Auror Department and report these activities of his."
Dawlish waited a few moment, searching Ophelia's face for any emotion at all. She betrayed none.
He sighed, and his visage changed--he was going to try a different approach, playing 'nice auror' all of a sudden with the way that he bent to one knee at her feet. Lia stared down her nose at him in scrutiny, skepticism as he put his hands on her knees, speaking as if she were a child.
"Look... I can make this very easy on you, Mrs. Wilkes. I'm asking you to confess now, and if you do I can promise you that the Wizengamot will give you the least harsh sentence that the law will allow--a couple years, maybe." His face turned solemn again. "I'd consider this very carefully before you say no... It'll only be a matter of hours before the department has procured a search warrant on this estate, and your manor in St. Petersburg and I think you know what we'll find... That won't be good news for you, my dear."
No change.
"So... come on now, what do you say?"
Rather expecting more of her stony expression and silence, Dawlish recoiled when she actually answered--that may have had to do with the livid look she'd given him all of a sudden, or the fact that she had just spit in his face.
"I say get the fuck off my property."
Juliet, 1990, [age 29]
WORKING ON IT!
Juliana, 1981, [age 26]
WORKING ON IT!
Juliana, 1961, [age 14]
WORKING ON IT!
Amelia, 1988, [age 38]
WORKING ON IT!
Children
Matteo, Luciana, & Gwen Llewellyn
"Oh my gosh, Matteo Dai Llewellyn, get out! Get out get out get out get out!"
Much to Luciana Llewellyn's dismay, her screaming didn't seem to be working on her little brother. Instead, the three-year-old pouted, crossed his little arms over his chest and flopped down indian-style on the floor of his sister's bedroom in a dramatic huff. This action only elicited a louder scream from Luciana, only it was now a noise of fury rather than actual protest.
The little blonde clamped her fists at her sides and hopped down from her bed to stalk over to Matteo, glaring threateningly all the while. "I SAID, GET OUT! I AM GOING TO TELL MUMMY!"
Matteo looked back up at her with an equally fierce glare--a fiercer glare than you'd imagine a three-year-old boy could give--and yelled right back at her. His big sister didn't intimidate him, not for a second. She was just a girl. "I SAID, I DON'T WANNA!"
No stranger to this sort of situation, Gwendolyn jumped up from Luciana's bed to step in-between the pair of dueling siblings just as Luciana had jumped forward to do what looked like give her little brother a punch in the face, barely grabbing onto the petite blonde in time to spare Matteo's nose. "Cut it out!" she told the both of them sternly, wrestling Luciana over to the other side of the room. No one could deny that the girl was fierce--she'd never have a problem keeping the boys in line at Hogwarts. "Luciana, let Matteo play with us, come on..."
"No!" Luciana continued to fight against her sister... aunt... sister... aunt's bonds. "He's got cooties, I don't want cooties at my tea party!"
Matteo looked stuck somewhere between stunned and confused for a moment before he huffed once more and got up, stomping out of the room and slamming the door just as Ioan came running up the hallway to check on the fuss. The little boy stared up at his father with a large pout and sniffled a little. "I do not have cooties," he mumbled stubbornly.
Jack, Léa, Morgan, & Nathaniel Sloper
Léa Sloper did not appreciate this situation. She did not appreciate it one bit.
It was just not cool, she had just gotten into her third year, she was just beginning to make her name here at Hogwarts and she was becoming independent and privelaged... and she was stuck being followed around every corner by her little brother and sister. It was so unfair! You could simply not be cool and independent and all that jazz when two firsties were trailing you like there was no tomorrow and infiltrating your time with your friends and asking you stupid questions like "Léa, where's the closest bathroom?" and "Léa, can you help me with my Charms homework?" and just---
She could really kill her parents at the moment. Why five kids, honestly? Three was fine. Three was a lovely number. Three left her without a bloody redheaded little girl tugging at her robes and WHAT THE HELL DID THEY WANT NOW?
Léa's first instinct was to spin on a heel and glare, but she managed to turn that scowl into a smile just in time to face Morgan and Nathaniel staring up at her with identical green eyes. Oh jaysus, really, she hated being a Hufflepuff and being inclined to be generally nice because all she wanted to do was stangle the both of them. "What do you need?" she asked in a tightly controlled voice.
"We heard you were going out to the pitch later!"
"Can we ride your broom?"
"Can I go first?"
"No way, Nate, I asked, I get to go first!"
"Shut up, do not! You never called it!"
"Good as!"
"Nuh-uh!"
"Yeah-huh!"
"Nuh-uh!"
It was just then that Léa tuned out on the conversation as she caught sight of her saviour over their shoulders, clad in Gryffindor red and gold. Morgan nor Nathaniel seemed to skip a beat in their argument as she turned them both around and pushed them down the corridor, until she tapped the Gryffindor boy on the back and the unaware Jack turned around to face them. "Heeeeey look, you know, guys, look's like Jack's going out to the pitch right now---why don't you go with him?"
Jack blinked, confused, and then shook his head quickly as he took a few steps back from the twins. "Uhhh no--wait, no, why can't you take them? Where's Keiran, why can't--"
Léa was backing up in the opposite direction as well, leaving the twins standing in the middle of a widening gap. "Homework! Lots of homework, Jack! Be a good brother and--"
"Léa D'Arcy, this isn't funny--"
"--not a joke--"
"---I need to---"
"--go? Right, bye!"
Léa turned and ran before Jack had a chance to do the same, sighing to herself in relief when she heard the unison call of "Jaaaack, wait uppp!" chiming in the distance.
Mara Doge
"Gryffindor! I can't believe I got into Gryffindor, I was so worried I was going to get like, Slytherin or--or Hufflepuff, no offense, but I don't want to be called a duffer all the time, it's just stupid to have to deal with--and I know I wanted Ravenclaw, like, I was kinda scared that I was in Gryffindor, but they're all--mostly, not McLaggen, oh my god he's just soooo--anyway--they're all so nice and it's so much fun and--guh, am I rambling? I'm really really rambling, aren't I?"
Amelia only gave a smirk in response as she took her daughter's scarf and traveling robes and hung them in the entryway. Mara took a deep breath and blew it out as if attempting to settle herself, but the truth was that she was just so full of excitement that it was useless and she ended in a laugh before grabbing her mother into a tight hug. Mia wrapped her arms around the 11-year-old and breathed in the scent of her dark hair, thinking that she'd never seen a longer four months come to an end in her life.
Mara pulled back, that signature silly grin on her face, and Amelia trailed her into the kitchen as the girl began to rummage through the fridge, chattering excitedly again. "That's not to say I didn't miss you though, of course! Ohhh but I told you all that in all my letters and it's so hard to decide if I want to be here or be back there and speaking of back there, there's a Quidditch match the week after we get back, I'm so excited, my roommate Katie, she's for sure going to be on the team next year--you know her da was a pro? So was Cormac's, but he's so bloody cocky, I hope he doesn't make it---bloody berk tried out this year, like he stood a chance, I mean, really, he---" Mara blinked, turning around at her mother's quiet laughter. "--what? What's so funny?"
Mia shook her head, leaning against the counter and keeping bright eyes--brighter eyes than Mara had seen out of her mum in a long time--on her daughter. Despite the light in her face, however, her voice was much softer than Mara expected, and with a hint of being slightly strained, slightly tearful.
"You just remind me so much of your father."
Katie Bell
WORKING ON IT!
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