Abigail, Chapter 1 - Morning Post, H/R, G
The morning started out like any other. Abby ambled down the steps sleepily, rubbing her eyes, coaxing them to open. Her hair stuck out in several spots. She snagged her nightgown on the nail jutting from the third step from the bottom, just like every other morning. She cursed, as she had every morning since she heard the word uttered at the television in frustration three years prior. And, just as usual, she got reprimanded in a quick, clipped tone by her father.
Ron Weasley, on the other hand, had been awake for quite some time, drinking coffee as he perused the newspaper and shook his head at the asinine babble that these people called news. A building erected here, a dedication there, and the occasional profile of a prominent citizen ("prominent" being the term designated for those who had spent the most amount of money on a city project) graced the front page. He sighed, laying down the paper and leaving his post at the table to take his new position in the kitchen. This morning it was to be eggs and bacon.
"Abby, I told you not to say that word out loud," said Ron, shaking his head. "Next time you're to be punished, mark my words." Every morning this threat was posed, and every morning it was disregarded.
Abby looked at her father with wide eyes. "Sorry," she whispered as she sat at the table. "Is it bacon and eggs, then?"
Ron smiled and looked over at her. "It is, love." He regarded her with more attention and frowned slightly. "Is that a new fashion statement?" he asked teasingly. "What's happened to your hair?"
"It's no use," sulked Abby. "I tried brushing it before bed like you said, and it still ends up like this."
Ron laughed. "Well, we'll set it right after breakfast. Here you are," he said, filling a plate with bacon and eggs and setting it before her. "Tuck in, then. And hurry up. We're running late as it is." Ron glanced at his watch as he served himself a plate, sitting at the table.
"You're running late, you mean. Why don't you just get Colleen to pick me up for school in the mornings so you have more time to get ready?" asked Abby, exasperated. "I mean, you complain about being late all the time, but you wouldn't be if you asked her to come."
"Abby, we've discussed this," said Ron, his words muffled by fluffy eggs. "Colleen is a cashier, not your personal babysitter. I don't trust anyone else with the job of getting you there." He swallowed. "Besides, I rather enjoy spending time with you in the morning, it puts me in a better mood before work."
"You trust Colleen to sit with me when you work double shifts," retorted Abby, giving Ron an eerily adult look.
"Which I shouldn't have to do many more times!" exclaimed Ron. "I'm up for a promotion soon."
Abby's face brightened in excitement. "Are you to be a big boss, then?"
"A general manager, yes," said Ron, laughing. "I'm up for review next week, and I think all the extra hours I've had to work will look very good to the big bosses."
Abby frowned. "I thought you were going to be a big boss."
"Alright, the big big bosses, then." He picked up a slice of bacon, reveling in the comfortable normalcy that had become his life, the warm blanket of day in, day out, Abby's schoolwork on the refrigerator and the remote control to the television in between the couch cushions.
As soon as the thought had formed in his mind, he heard it and froze.
An owl was pecking at the window.
Ron decided that the best thing to do would be to ignore it; who would be thick enough to owl him after ten years? He wanted nothing to do with it. It became abysmally evident that ignoring the owl wasn't an option when Abby started tugging on Ron's jumper and hissing, "Daddy? Daddy, there's an owl at the window. Daddy. What should I do, Daddy? Should I let it in?"
"LEAVE IT!" bellowed Ron, his voice a mixture of three parts fury and one part panic.
Abby shrunk back and went back to her breakfast. Ron never yelled unless it was really important. Abby had only heard him do it two other times. After another ten minutes of persistent pecking, however, she decided it was time to speak again. She cleared her throat and winced.
"Perhaps... perhaps we should let it in," she suggested tentatively.
Ron instantly wished he hadn't yelled. Abby looked almost terrified. He sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Right then, let's let it in." He unlocked the latch on the windowsill and waited for the owl to land on the kitchen table, carefully lifting his plate as he predicted its landing target.
The owl ruffled its tawny feathers, annoyed that it went for the better part of half an hour unacknowledged. Ron held out his hand for the letter it had brought.
"Daddy... is that... is that the post the owl's carrying?" Abby's eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly agape. Ron ignored her.
"Sorry, I don't have anything to give you," he explained to the owl. At this, it hooted angrily and flew back out the window. Ron just shook his head. "Honestly... you'd think the bloody things would have more manners."
Abby, much like the owl, got a ruffled expression, annoyed at having been ignored herself. "Daddy. What is going on? Why was that owl carrying the post?"
"Never you mind." Ron held the letter, turning it over to see the familiar crest on the back. Shit.
"How did you know where it was going to land?"
"I said, never you mind, Abigail."
Silence.
"Has it anything to do with the moving photographs?"
~*~
"WHAT?!" Ron looked up, his face red.
"You know, the moving photographs in that trunk." She winced again after her admission.
"What did I tell you about that trunk?" asked Ron in a monotonous, hushed tone.
Abby blushed. "Never to touch it."
"Right then. Now go to your room." Ron picked up the telephone.
"But I have school in half an hour, and you have to be at work!"
"Not today, Abby," said Ron, his voice conveying the finality of the decision.
Abby sighed and went up to her room, shutting the door with a loud bang. Ron knew this meant she was angry with him, but it didn't matter. He had actually come dangerously close to resorting to corporal punishment on this particular occasion. "How dare she?" he seethed, punching in numbers on the telephone. "Hello, Colleen? Ron. Listen, I need you to cover my shift this morning. No, it's not a terrible emergency. Yes. Everything's fine."
He listened as his co-worker, Colleen, continued to question him. Was Abby sick? Was he alright? What was happening? Ron had only called in to work six times in the past ten years, so he understood her concern. He continued trying to convince her everything was fine nonetheless.
"Are you certain? You sound uneasy..." Colleen sounded unconvinced on the other end.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, Colleen, I promise, everything's fine. Just fine. So will you cover me?"
"Ron," said Colleen, sighing into the phone, "you know I will. It's no problem. Just..." She thought for a moment.
"Just what?" asked Ron. Please, no more questions, he thought.
"Just... make me supper tonight and I'll do it."
Ron grinned. "Whatever you want. I'll even cook your favourite dish."
"Lovely," chimed Colleen, obviously sated. "I'll see you at five o'clock, then." Ron heard her hang up the line.
For the first time in at least eight years, Ron halted as he hung up the phone himself. He touched it gingerly, remembering a time when such an invention had been fascinating to him. He looked around his flat, noting how many of his household items were things he'd only encountered in the last decade - the television, the telephone, even his computer. He had tried so hard to forget the awe he experienced at these things, and he had almost succeeded. Rubbing his temples, he sat back down at the table, determined to put the morning's events from his mind.
The letter glared at him from the table like a nagging parent. Ron picked it up, slumping in his chair dejectedly as he turned it over again and broke the Hogwarts seal. What Hogwarts would possibly want with him at this point was beyond him, but he assumed it might be somewhat important, so he might as well open it. After all, his daughter was probably beside herself with questions at this point - his temper rose again at the thought that she had gone through his school photos - and he had to admit he was more than slightly curious himself as to what the letter contained.
Ron almost choked on his coffee as he read the letter.
Ronald Weasley,
Your presence is requested at the reunion of the Class of 1998 of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The reunion will be on the 8th of July at seven o'clock PM. R.S.V.P.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
_____
Next chapter >> Recollection
Ron Weasley, on the other hand, had been awake for quite some time, drinking coffee as he perused the newspaper and shook his head at the asinine babble that these people called news. A building erected here, a dedication there, and the occasional profile of a prominent citizen ("prominent" being the term designated for those who had spent the most amount of money on a city project) graced the front page. He sighed, laying down the paper and leaving his post at the table to take his new position in the kitchen. This morning it was to be eggs and bacon.
"Abby, I told you not to say that word out loud," said Ron, shaking his head. "Next time you're to be punished, mark my words." Every morning this threat was posed, and every morning it was disregarded.
Abby looked at her father with wide eyes. "Sorry," she whispered as she sat at the table. "Is it bacon and eggs, then?"
Ron smiled and looked over at her. "It is, love." He regarded her with more attention and frowned slightly. "Is that a new fashion statement?" he asked teasingly. "What's happened to your hair?"
"It's no use," sulked Abby. "I tried brushing it before bed like you said, and it still ends up like this."
Ron laughed. "Well, we'll set it right after breakfast. Here you are," he said, filling a plate with bacon and eggs and setting it before her. "Tuck in, then. And hurry up. We're running late as it is." Ron glanced at his watch as he served himself a plate, sitting at the table.
"You're running late, you mean. Why don't you just get Colleen to pick me up for school in the mornings so you have more time to get ready?" asked Abby, exasperated. "I mean, you complain about being late all the time, but you wouldn't be if you asked her to come."
"Abby, we've discussed this," said Ron, his words muffled by fluffy eggs. "Colleen is a cashier, not your personal babysitter. I don't trust anyone else with the job of getting you there." He swallowed. "Besides, I rather enjoy spending time with you in the morning, it puts me in a better mood before work."
"You trust Colleen to sit with me when you work double shifts," retorted Abby, giving Ron an eerily adult look.
"Which I shouldn't have to do many more times!" exclaimed Ron. "I'm up for a promotion soon."
Abby's face brightened in excitement. "Are you to be a big boss, then?"
"A general manager, yes," said Ron, laughing. "I'm up for review next week, and I think all the extra hours I've had to work will look very good to the big bosses."
Abby frowned. "I thought you were going to be a big boss."
"Alright, the big big bosses, then." He picked up a slice of bacon, reveling in the comfortable normalcy that had become his life, the warm blanket of day in, day out, Abby's schoolwork on the refrigerator and the remote control to the television in between the couch cushions.
As soon as the thought had formed in his mind, he heard it and froze.
An owl was pecking at the window.
Ron decided that the best thing to do would be to ignore it; who would be thick enough to owl him after ten years? He wanted nothing to do with it. It became abysmally evident that ignoring the owl wasn't an option when Abby started tugging on Ron's jumper and hissing, "Daddy? Daddy, there's an owl at the window. Daddy. What should I do, Daddy? Should I let it in?"
"LEAVE IT!" bellowed Ron, his voice a mixture of three parts fury and one part panic.
Abby shrunk back and went back to her breakfast. Ron never yelled unless it was really important. Abby had only heard him do it two other times. After another ten minutes of persistent pecking, however, she decided it was time to speak again. She cleared her throat and winced.
"Perhaps... perhaps we should let it in," she suggested tentatively.
Ron instantly wished he hadn't yelled. Abby looked almost terrified. He sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Right then, let's let it in." He unlocked the latch on the windowsill and waited for the owl to land on the kitchen table, carefully lifting his plate as he predicted its landing target.
The owl ruffled its tawny feathers, annoyed that it went for the better part of half an hour unacknowledged. Ron held out his hand for the letter it had brought.
"Daddy... is that... is that the post the owl's carrying?" Abby's eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly agape. Ron ignored her.
"Sorry, I don't have anything to give you," he explained to the owl. At this, it hooted angrily and flew back out the window. Ron just shook his head. "Honestly... you'd think the bloody things would have more manners."
Abby, much like the owl, got a ruffled expression, annoyed at having been ignored herself. "Daddy. What is going on? Why was that owl carrying the post?"
"Never you mind." Ron held the letter, turning it over to see the familiar crest on the back. Shit.
"How did you know where it was going to land?"
"I said, never you mind, Abigail."
Silence.
"Has it anything to do with the moving photographs?"
~*~
"WHAT?!" Ron looked up, his face red.
"You know, the moving photographs in that trunk." She winced again after her admission.
"What did I tell you about that trunk?" asked Ron in a monotonous, hushed tone.
Abby blushed. "Never to touch it."
"Right then. Now go to your room." Ron picked up the telephone.
"But I have school in half an hour, and you have to be at work!"
"Not today, Abby," said Ron, his voice conveying the finality of the decision.
Abby sighed and went up to her room, shutting the door with a loud bang. Ron knew this meant she was angry with him, but it didn't matter. He had actually come dangerously close to resorting to corporal punishment on this particular occasion. "How dare she?" he seethed, punching in numbers on the telephone. "Hello, Colleen? Ron. Listen, I need you to cover my shift this morning. No, it's not a terrible emergency. Yes. Everything's fine."
He listened as his co-worker, Colleen, continued to question him. Was Abby sick? Was he alright? What was happening? Ron had only called in to work six times in the past ten years, so he understood her concern. He continued trying to convince her everything was fine nonetheless.
"Are you certain? You sound uneasy..." Colleen sounded unconvinced on the other end.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, Colleen, I promise, everything's fine. Just fine. So will you cover me?"
"Ron," said Colleen, sighing into the phone, "you know I will. It's no problem. Just..." She thought for a moment.
"Just what?" asked Ron. Please, no more questions, he thought.
"Just... make me supper tonight and I'll do it."
Ron grinned. "Whatever you want. I'll even cook your favourite dish."
"Lovely," chimed Colleen, obviously sated. "I'll see you at five o'clock, then." Ron heard her hang up the line.
For the first time in at least eight years, Ron halted as he hung up the phone himself. He touched it gingerly, remembering a time when such an invention had been fascinating to him. He looked around his flat, noting how many of his household items were things he'd only encountered in the last decade - the television, the telephone, even his computer. He had tried so hard to forget the awe he experienced at these things, and he had almost succeeded. Rubbing his temples, he sat back down at the table, determined to put the morning's events from his mind.
The letter glared at him from the table like a nagging parent. Ron picked it up, slumping in his chair dejectedly as he turned it over again and broke the Hogwarts seal. What Hogwarts would possibly want with him at this point was beyond him, but he assumed it might be somewhat important, so he might as well open it. After all, his daughter was probably beside herself with questions at this point - his temper rose again at the thought that she had gone through his school photos - and he had to admit he was more than slightly curious himself as to what the letter contained.
Ron almost choked on his coffee as he read the letter.
Ronald Weasley,
Your presence is requested at the reunion of the Class of 1998 of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The reunion will be on the 8th of July at seven o'clock PM. R.S.V.P.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
_____
Next chapter >> Recollection