[Fic] "Wish Upon a Star" -- Harry Potter, G/H/D, no theme
Author: Elizabeth Culmer edenfalling
Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter, Ginny/Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Theme: none -- this is an epilogue of sorts
Warnings: none
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Wish Upon a Star
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They have three children -- one for each family, Ginny says, half-seriously, and she insists that they each choose one name. The family name is Fortuna, because it's good for siblings to share a name, it's bad for parents to argue about it, and they're really all ridiculously lucky to have made it this far. Harry gives in first, and halfway through Ginny's first labor, Draco finally agrees -- on pain of a broken hand -- that 'luck' has better connotations than 'bad faith.'
To Harry's surprise, he ends up as the comforter, the good listener, the one the children go to with bruises and tears. Ginny believes in discipline and yelling, and Draco is unpredictable -- sometimes he spoils them wildly, sometimes he snarls like a cornered bear -- so Harry ends up stable and reassuring by default. He grows used to the feel of a small body against his side on the couch, or on his lap while he eats breakfast. He takes to checking on the children when he comes home late, to running a hand just a breath away from their hair and skin, to reassure himself that they're real, they're alive, and he isn't going to wake up from a dream and lose them.
He thinks he might die if they vanished. They're lodged so deep in his heart, they shine so bright in his soul, that he can't understand how he ever lived without them.
When each child turns five -- first Lily, then Belle, then Gawain -- Harry takes them out into the back garden and teaches them to fly. Even if they don't choose to play Quidditch, he wants them to know the freedom of the sky.
Sometimes Ginny joins him and teaches the children to fly blind, or Draco demonstrates dirty tricks with Harry as his test dummy. Ginny shows them how to throw and catch the Quaffle; Draco charms the propety line and brings out a stolen Snitch. Five shapes dance through the sunlit air, laughing, while Harry sits on the back steps and wonders what he did to deserve a happy ending.
"Come up, Harry -- we need you to even the teams," Ginny calls.
"He's just scared that the girls and I will show him up for deadweight," answers Draco, a cheerful sneer audible in his voice.
"Come on, Daddy! Come play with us!"
Harry grabs his broom and soars.
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End
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There.
Now, someone please talk fast and convince me that it would be monumentally stupid to sign up again, for either Kira/Setsuna/Sara or Lucifer/Alexiel/Jibril from Angel Sanctuary. (Or both at once.) Because there's a little voice in the back of my head saying that it would be so interesting...
And that sort of thing never ends well.
Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter, Ginny/Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Theme: none -- this is an epilogue of sorts
Warnings: none
---------------------------------------------
Wish Upon a Star
---------------------------------------------
They have three children -- one for each family, Ginny says, half-seriously, and she insists that they each choose one name. The family name is Fortuna, because it's good for siblings to share a name, it's bad for parents to argue about it, and they're really all ridiculously lucky to have made it this far. Harry gives in first, and halfway through Ginny's first labor, Draco finally agrees -- on pain of a broken hand -- that 'luck' has better connotations than 'bad faith.'
To Harry's surprise, he ends up as the comforter, the good listener, the one the children go to with bruises and tears. Ginny believes in discipline and yelling, and Draco is unpredictable -- sometimes he spoils them wildly, sometimes he snarls like a cornered bear -- so Harry ends up stable and reassuring by default. He grows used to the feel of a small body against his side on the couch, or on his lap while he eats breakfast. He takes to checking on the children when he comes home late, to running a hand just a breath away from their hair and skin, to reassure himself that they're real, they're alive, and he isn't going to wake up from a dream and lose them.
He thinks he might die if they vanished. They're lodged so deep in his heart, they shine so bright in his soul, that he can't understand how he ever lived without them.
When each child turns five -- first Lily, then Belle, then Gawain -- Harry takes them out into the back garden and teaches them to fly. Even if they don't choose to play Quidditch, he wants them to know the freedom of the sky.
Sometimes Ginny joins him and teaches the children to fly blind, or Draco demonstrates dirty tricks with Harry as his test dummy. Ginny shows them how to throw and catch the Quaffle; Draco charms the propety line and brings out a stolen Snitch. Five shapes dance through the sunlit air, laughing, while Harry sits on the back steps and wonders what he did to deserve a happy ending.
"Come up, Harry -- we need you to even the teams," Ginny calls.
"He's just scared that the girls and I will show him up for deadweight," answers Draco, a cheerful sneer audible in his voice.
"Come on, Daddy! Come play with us!"
Harry grabs his broom and soars.
---------------------------------------------
End
---------------------------------------------
There.
Now, someone please talk fast and convince me that it would be monumentally stupid to sign up again, for either Kira/Setsuna/Sara or Lucifer/Alexiel/Jibril from Angel Sanctuary. (Or both at once.) Because there's a little voice in the back of my head saying that it would be so interesting...
And that sort of thing never ends well.