Madison Potter: After the War

Chapter 10: Photographs

Once George and I had finally stopped kissing, we went back to The Burrow, hand-in-hand. Like when we had left the Burrow, our hands were tightly interlocked and our arms brushed against one another's.

"I told Harry, you know. Yesterday. Wrote him a letter for his birthday that declared my love for you. And some Puking Pastels— I told him that I was going to propose to you again, and... Merlin, I love you, and I got you a birthday gift... I wanted to give it to you in person."

George took out his wand and a little bag that was in his pocket. He waved the wand, and out of it came a bundle of fabric.

"It's not much, but I made it myself," he said, his cheeks flushing with pink as he handed it to me.

I took it and held it up and a grin plastered itself onto my face.

It was a purple quilt, with a big white M in the middle. It was definitely homemade— the stitch work was certainly something else.

"You always complain about how people steal blankets from you. Mostly me because I tend to be a blanket hog, but also Fred because he tends to take blankets from just about anywhere. And when you're here I've noticed that Harry tends to use the same blanket each time, and if it's not available then he will take whichever one you're going to use when you're not looking—"

"He does that?" I interrupted.

"Yes, and... I just figured that you would like a blanket that only you could use. I put the M on there to symbolize that it's yours, but I also put a jinx on it so if anyone besides you or me touches it they turn into a ferret."

I wrapped it around myself. "I love it."

"Really?" George grinned.

I nodded and went on the tips of my toes to kiss his cheek.

We continued walking and we had soon reached the kitchen door.

George opened the door to the kitchen, and I caught the green eyes of my brother. He glanced between George and I and I gave him a nod. He gave a soft smile to us, then looking away to look at Ginny. I grinned; the way he and Ginny looked at each other was exactly the same way that George and I looked at each other.

The two of us discretely made our way to the living room, where we were alone. I wrapped the blanket around George so we could share. I looked down at the engagement ring on my finger and smiled. I put my head on his shoulder and he kissed the top of my hair.

"Did you decide what floor you're going to work in?"

"First floor. I'll get to work with injuries caused by creatures, and it's bound to be exciting— never the same case each day."

"I'm proud of you," George said.

I grinned and moved closer to him as much as I could. I placed my lips on his, and much like the kiss we shared earlier in the day, it felt like the world was on fire.

I moved myself onto his lap, the quilt still on me, covering my back. Our lips continued to connect, and it could have been hours that we were kissing, years that we were kissing, eons that we were kissing, or simply just minutes.

George moved his lips to my neck and peppered feather light kisses there before giving me one last peck on the lips. He held me tightly, almost like I was going to be taken away from him by some kidnapper.

"Where'd George and Madison go?" Fred's voice came from the kitchen.

Harry, who had seen the two of us walk in, said, "I don't know, maybe they're outside."

"I don't hear fighting."

"That's because they're in the living room," Hermione voice called out. I looked up and there she was, in the door frame, with narrowed eyes and a small smug smile on her face.

"So I see you two have made up then?" Fred asked as he came into the room.

George and I looked at each other and nodded.

"Fred, come feel this—" I said, holding out the quilt for him to touch. "George made this for me."

I managed to fight a mischievous smile from making its way into my face.

"Don't mind if I do," Fred grinned.

He touched it and there was a flash.

Fred had turned into a ferret.

Laughter burst about the room, and once it got silent again, Hermione, Ron, Harry and I continued to cackle. I laughed so hard that I actually fell off of George's lap and onto the floor, nearly squishing Ferret Fred.

"What is so funny about this?" Percy asked, giving me a pointed look.

"In fourth year—" Hermione began to explain before going back to laughing.

"In fourth year," I said, out of breath from laughing so much, "the fake Professor Moody turned Draco Malfoy into a ferret, and it was one of the highlights of my life."

"Well, is there any way we can turn him back?" Percy asked, exasperated.

Mrs. Weasley shuffled to the front and gave us all a disappointed look. She pointed her wand at Fred and said, "Finite!"

There was another flash and Fred was back to being Fred; his face was full of fear and surprise.

"Bloody hell!"

"Fred Weasley! Do not use that language!" Mrs. Weasley scolded.

"You're not even going to make sure I'm alright? Wow, I see how it is."

Laughter echoed throughout the room, and I can honestly say I don't think I've laughed this much since before my sixth year at Hogwarts.

On August 31st, Harry and I found ourselves in front of our parents house in Godric's Hallow, huddled closely together. The therapist that Harry and I had been seeing together recommended that the two of us go together to the place where it all started, and get some closure.

Harry and I thought that we had gotten closure from our parents deaths long ago, because we had accepted that they were never going to come back. But now, seeing this house? It brought back wishes that I had long since forgotten. Wishes from the days where Harry and I spent our time in the cupboard under the stairs.

Ron and Hermione stood a few yards behind the two of us. Harry and I felt that those two deserved to come with us. They've been with us on nearly every journey we've had, and it felt right to be here with them. It was unspoken between the four of us that they would hang back a little bit, and let Harry and I lead the way.

The house itself was in Godric's Hollow, which was a cute and quaint little village. Cottages and shops lined the streets and from the moment I had stepped foot into the village it felt almost as if I was coming home. In a way I was, I guess.

The Potter family house was more of a cottage. It was small and looked comfortable: it was the perfect place to raise two children. It was two floors and had a little gate in front of it with bushes and grasses growing uncontrollably in the front yard. It seemed as if nobody had taken care of the yard for the past seventeen years. Vines grew up the cobblestone walls, and it was clear treat the cottage was two floors.

Part of the second floor's roof was blown apart, and I assumed that that area of the cottage was where Harry and I slept, and where Voldemort's curse backfired.

Harry and I looked at each other, and I nodded. Harry made a step towards the gate and pushed it open. I winced at the screeching sound it made.

Harry and I made our way up the little sidewalk that lead to the front door. The grass reached my knees, which meant that it reached Harry's mid thigh. The two of us weren't very tall, and whether that was caused by genetics or by our years in the cupboard, I couldn't tell you, because I myself don't even know.

The porch had pots on it, and weeds sprung out of them, and it was clear that there was once flowers in them.

I pulled out my wand and whispered, "Alohomora," at the doorknob to the front door. I pushed the door open and walked inside, Harry following behind me.

We entered the house, and the first thing I noticed was the living room. There was a coffee table that had dust on it and was cracked. Near it was a gray loveseat, with scratch marks and dust and ripped armrests. Next to it was a gray singular seat, which was also scratched. One thing I did notice about the room was the walls: the wallpaper was cracking, but on the walls hung pictures. Some were Wizarding photos and some were muggle photos.

I dragged Harry and walked towards one of the walls, the floor creaking underneath our feet. I was aware on Ron and Hermione at the door, keeping their distance from us.

"Look," I said as I pointed to one of the pictures.

The picture was a muggle picture, and in it sat my mom and dad on the gray loveseat in the living room. My mom was holding me, and my dad was holding Harry. We couldn't have been more than a few months old.

"Look at this one," Harry said, gesturing to another one.

In it was my mom and dad as they had their arms around each other, dancing. My mom was wearing a beautiful white wedding dress, and my dad was wearing a tux. As they danced with each other in the picture, the two never looked away from each other and never stopped smiling.

I pointed to the next one. It was a photo of mom and dad at the Hogwarts grounds. They were sitting by the lake, and they seemed so happy and carefree.

Harry, who had moved to where a little end table was on the other side of the room, called me over.

He handed me a picture frame with a picture of mom.

Her auburn hair fell in little waves down her shoulders, and her bright green eyes showed happiness and a ferocious, sassy spark. Some freckles were on her face, and in this photo she had to be around my age.

"You look just like her," Harry whispered to me.

He was right: I looked exactly like my mom, right down to the shape of the eyes, the shape of the lips, and the shape of the nose. We even had freckles in the same place. We had the same auburn hair, the same skin, the same ears, the same eyebrows.... we shared everything.

I looked at a photo of our dad. It was scary how much Harry looked like him; the only differences between the two being the eyes (Harry had green, while dad had brown), the glasses (Harry's were round and circular, while dad's were rectangular), and the lightening bolt scar on Harry's forehead.

Harry and I continued to make our way through the house, and took in the little details of what our lives were like while our parents were alive.

When we made it to the stairs, I felt my heart come to a stop.

"This is where he died," I murmured.

It was silent, and no words were spoken, because everybody knew what had happened on this stairwell: James Potter had met his death trying to protect his family.

I glanced at Harry and noticed that there were some tears rolling down his cheeks. I touched my face and found that tears were present on my face as well.

"Not today," Harry mumbled as he wrapped me in a hug.

"Not today," I echoed back.

It would take some time before Harry and I would be able to get up the stairs, but whenever that time comes, it is going to be a hell of a ride.