war relief funds

So recently I’ve seen a lot of tumblr posts about Ms. Frizzle being a witch in a muggle community (as a teacher of pre-Hogwarts magical students who may not know about the w/w community). I’m 100% on board.

But something I REALLY want is Harry meeting Ms. Frizzle…so I wrote a drabble.

c. Summer holidays 2004 - Harry, Ginny, and Luna aged 24. Hermione aged 25. - The Rookery, the Lovegood Home near Ottery St. Catchpole.

“Harry, come in!” Luna beamed. “Ginny and Hermione are already here.”

“Ron sends his apologies,” Harry fumbled for a moment over the doorstep to take off his shoes and socks. Luna was adamant that he might step on the dust sprites otherwise. “He’s tied up with the Shop. He and George are really working to overhaul.”

“That’s alright,” Luna smiled dreamily. “Dad’s not here either. He’s gone on a fishing trip.”

“Your dad fishes?” 

“Not for fish,” Luna said eagerly. “He sends messages down to the local river folk with a sinking bottle and they write back. He’s looking for the Australian bunyip that’s supposed to have come through the waters over Russia.”

“Of course,” Harry shook his head. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Come into the garden,” Luna beamed. “The weather is gorgeous.”

Harry followed Luna through the new pattern - so familiar now - of the Rookery. Most of it had been destroyed in the Graphorn blast in six years previous, but Minister Shacklebolt - on Hermione’s insistence - had set up a war relief fund to help survivors rebuild. Most had gone into Hogwarts, and for a brief, painful moment, Harry felt his heart squeeze. He averted his gaze as they passed a bright purple wall, covered floor to ceiling in moving photographs of a laughing, blonde haired woman, cooing over a baby, or teaching a young Luna how to pour potions with fire tongs. 

Luna’s scatterbrain hid a deep intuitiveness, and she paused before the wall, sensing Harry’s discomfort. “I do miss her,” she said, staring at the pictures with her bulbous, frost blue eyes. She turned them on Harry. “I miss her every day.”

Harry didn’t know why fhe was blinking so hard behind his glasses but he only nodded, managing. “We all do…we miss them all.”

Luna reached out to touch a framed shadowbox of a lock of hair wrapped around a birch wand. “But remembering is important,” she said simply. “Come on, you won’t believe how big Ivy is getting.”

Harry followed her out the great back of the house, which had been completely folded away for the summer weather. Huge, garage-like paned windows made up the entire back of the Rookery. His heart seized up a moment when he saw her. It still did. Every time.

Ginny and Hermione were sitting at a table under a century old oak tree. The table, like most things Luna owned, was a battered pastel - light blue - and had an eclectic patchwork quilt of a tablecloth spread with tea things. There were places set for animals as well, and Harry noticed one plate was still swimming in blood. He squeezed his bare feet in the cool grass as he crossed over to the table.

“Hello stranger,” Hermione said, wrinkling her nose at him as she pointed her wand at her bushy hair. It cinched into a bun on the top of her head as she fanned the back of her neck.

“Long time,” he teased back. They had seen each other the same morning in the elevator. Harry had exited to the Auror’s offices, and Hermione had continued to the Department of Magical Law where her current campaign was wage equality for Being status creatures.

“You look beautiful,” he told Ginny, who was braiding her own long hair by hand, scowling at him. 

“No I don’t,” she said crossly. “I’m sweating like a troll and I’m fat and I’m hungry.”

“Harry’s here, so we can eat,” Luna promised, waving a wand over the table. The water - which had been drunk dry - was refilled by a steaming kettle. Lemonade and ice filled a waiting pitcher. Peaches, plums, and raspberries filled the cups alongside tea cakes. “And you are not fat,” she added unnecessarily. “You are just very pregnant.”

Ginny leveled a look at Harry, who only laughed, and swooped in to kiss the side of her neck. 

She writhed away. “GET OFF,” she barked. “It’s a thousand degrees and you haven’t shaved!”

“Down girl,” Harry snickered, offering her a plate meekly he had spelled together.

She hissed back at him like an angry cat, but took the plate mollified, while Hermione buttered toast for him and Luna. 

“Any day now,” Hermione said placatingly. “He’ll come any day now.”

“He will not,” moaned Ginny as she spooned loose leaf - collected by Luna herself - into a strainer. “He’ll live in me forever. He’s set up camp. He’s not coming out. I’ll never play quidditch again.”

“You could play quidditch now,” Harry pointed out. “You just might tump sideways off your broom. People might mistake you for the bludger. If you scored you’d count for two! If…”

Ginny chucked a perfectly good bun at his head for that, and it bounced off his glasses and rolled into the grass where it was immediately snatched up by Luna’s puffskein Fauntleroy. Fauntleroy often played with Ginny’s pygmy puff Arnold, but while hers was the miniature version, Fauntleroy was close to twenty pounds and roughly the size and shape of a quaffle. 

“Well I’m never having any human children,” Luna said serenely. “Ivy keeps me perfectly busy.”

“Where is Ivy?” Harry asked curiously, looking around.

“She ate all her steak and snuck off,” Ginny glowered. “She was fed before we were!”

Luna gave a trilling call. “Ivy! Ivy love, come here!”

A long black neck poked up out of the shrubbery. 

“There she is,” Luna said, quite unnecessarily, as the yearling thestral extricated herself gawkily from the bushes and came trotting over eagerly, looking around with white, bulging eyes for any promise of more food.

“No more!” Hermione laughed as Ivy nuzzled her neck. “You’ll get fat!”

Harry returned Ginny a look as Ivy was - as all thestrals - skeletal. Ivy was a gift from Hagrid, who trusted Luna to look after her. Luna often fostered the thestrals that needed a little extra care before they returned to their herd at Hogwarts. Yet Harry suspected Ivy would not be leaving; Luna had been given her the same day Ivy was born to a dead mother, and they were inseparable. He suspected Hagrid was trying to create a secondary herd out in the countryside around Ottery St. Catchpole, as thestrals were widely hunted and endangered. Luna would be the perfect custodian.

They chatted for a time while Luna stroked Ivy’s long neck, but when it became apparent more food that Ivy cared for (besides ivy nettles, long centipedes, and bloody meat) would not be forthcoming, the thestral wandered back into the shrubbery.

“Luna?” It was a woman’s voice, and the three of them looked at one another in surprise as Luna looked about.

“Outside!” she called back, obviously unperturbed that a strange woman was in her house.

“Were you…expecting someone?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“Oh no,” Luna said, smiling as she quartered a peach. “But friends can just drop by.”

Hermione’s mouth looked a bit like McGonagall’s, or as if she had eaten something quite sour. Unexpected drop ins were not the Granger-Weasley way, although Ron would be far more amenable than Hermione.

“What about family?” said the voice again, as a woman stepped out the doors onto the grass.

“Aunt Valerie!” Luna leapt to her feet and dashed from the table, skipping lightly over the grass to embrace the woman.

Harry would not have needed any introduction to spot that the newcomer was related to Luna. Her clothes were even more eclectic - hard to do - as she was wearing a dress covered in a moving pattern of blooming flowers. She had earrings made of literal flower bulbs; they kept shedding dirt on her shoulders. Her hair - like Luna’s - was a mass of wavy hair. Unlike Luna’s, it was a light orange and pushed into a messy beehive held in place with her wand. She had Luna’s same frost blue eyes, pale complexion, and slightly crooked nose. Luna was chatting volubly as she led her by the hand back to the table.

“These are my friends,” and Luna beamed the way that always made Harry’s stomach swoop when Luna said it. Like she was both proud and disbelieving. “Harry Potter, Ginny Potter, and Hermione Granger-Weasley.”

“And?” asked the woman, glancing pointedly at Ginny’s stomach.

“James Potter the second,” Harry said quickly, afraid Ginny might unhinge her jaw and swallow the woman whole. To his surprise, she laughed.

“If you stick around long enough, he might come meet you before dinnertime.”

“Wouldn’t that be lovely!” exclaimed the woman in a loud, sing-song voice. Like Luna, she tended to stress words without seeming rhyme or reason. There was something about the voice that puzzled Harry.

“This is my Aunt Valerie,” Luna introduced, holding out a chair for her aunt as she settled down. “She’s my mother’s sister.”

“Pandora,” agreed Valerie, still smiling. “And what are we doing here?”

“It’s a garden party,” said Luna in delight, and Harry realized guiltily that this set up he had taken for granted had probably taken Luna time to prepare. She might have been planning for days. From the look he got from Hermione - cool approval at his finally noticing - he guessed he was right.

“How marvelous,” said Valerie, and it clicked into place for Harry.

“You’re American?” he blurted. 

“Yes, I live in America,” she corrected tacitly. “I’m a teacher.”

“A professor?” asked Hermione eagerly.

“No, I teach third grade! It’s the most fun I’ve ever had!”

“At a magical school?” Hermione tried again. “I don’t know anything about American wizarding education!”

This was a lie, and it made Harry grin. Hermione knew a little bit about everything, thanks to reading and genuine curiosity. After the Quidditch Cup in 1994, he discovered she had researched the history of Quidditch in Bulgaria and Ireland extensively since its inception after Aztec and Greek wizarding societies met.

“No! I teach at a muggle school!”

Even Ginny looked up from plowing through a third bowl of berries. Harry couldn’t tear his gaze from her stained red lips.“What?” she asked in astonishment. “But why?” 

“It’s so much more fun!” Valerie beamed. “When the students don’t know they’re going to be witches and wizards.”

“You teach a muggle born class?” asked Hermione in mixed shock and amazement. “And you don’t tell them?”

“And ruin the fun?” laughed Valerie. “What good would that do?”

“Auntie V,” Luna interrupted. “They don’t understand your curriculum. Explain it properly.”

“Well,” and Harry could have sworn the bulb earrings glowed for a moment. “What would you all like to learn about here? Moona?”

Luna beamed at the nickname, and looked around. “Oh, I don’t know…how about…the sun?” she turned her eyes back to the table, blinking sunspots away.

“Well we know about the sun,” said Hermione, glancing at Harry and Ginny before faltering. “D-don’t we?”

“I’d like to learn,” Harry said firmly, and was gratified when Luna’s nervousness melted into pride.

“Sounds like,” Valerie said, quickly dabbing her mouth but not touching her wand. “It’s time for a field trip!”

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