?

Log in

No account? Create an account
Recent Entries Friends Archive Profile Tags Memories
 
 
 
 
 
 
The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it.
~ George Bernard Shaw
Sunday, April 22nd ~ Early Morning



It wasn't a nightmare, but it was close enough. When Harry woke and turned his head to look at his wife who was sleeping quite peacefully, he knew. It was going to be a not good day judging from the anxiety trying to worm its way out of the pit of what could be called a stomach. Taking a deep breath, Harry forced himself to climb quietly out of bed and not pull Daphne's sleeping form close to reassure himself she and the baby were both alright. Stopping only long enough to pull on some sweats, socks and trainers, he headed out to the workshop.

Dobby went away with drooping ears when dismissed, not harshly, but thoroughly. It wasn't the elf's fault even the thought of food made him ill, but it wasn't as if he hadn't seen Harry this way before.

A slight tremble in Harry's hands made him a bit cautious about what tools he chose to work with. He really did care if he ended up slicing one of his fingers off, but he still needed to do something. Deciding the spindles of the cradle would be one task to keep him centered and concentrating, Harry put the first marked block of oak into the vice and powered up the band saw. The whine of severed wood floated out on the morning air. The smell of its anger over being transformed soon followed.
 
 
 
 
 
 
While Harry was correct that Dobby was sad, he was incorrect about why. Dobby knew when and if Harry got hungry or thirsty enough he'd be called or Harry would serve himself. The elf was more concerned about the wizard. He had been hopeful when Daphne became a permanent fixture at Glen Hollow that the bad days were gone for good.

Shaking his head sadly, Dobby peered into the window of the ramshackle building and wondered not for the first time when it would fall over. It hadn't been a priority when Harry had been working on the house, but there had been plenty of time later to fix it up. While Harry had used several spells to keep it intact and not deteriorate any farther, he hadn't done anything to fix the damage years of harsh weather had inflicted except to update the electrical system. A frown crossed Dobby's face as he tried to remember exactly what Harry had told him when Dobby had offered to fix it for him.

"I need a place that's not 'perfect'. Repairs would spoil it and I wouldn't be able to make what I want. It would be too - hobbish and not work oriented. I'd be afraid to mess it up. And I like the idea of something beautiful coming out of a dump."

Shaking his head again, Dobby snapped his fingers and returned to the house. It still didn't make sense to him, but a lot of what humans did - didn't.
When the sharp edges had been blunted and the basic form of the first spindle had been determined, Harry turned off the band saw and removed the butchered block from the vice. Holding it in his hand, he drew it close and smelled the slightly acrid scent of violated wood.

You will bend yourself to what I want, no matter how much you protest.

Strange thoughts? Perhaps. But they always helped and made working with inanimate objects satisfying in a way that harmed no one.

Placing it on a clear workbench near the lathe, Harry started to put another fresh marked block of wood in the vice. After clamping it it, his eyes returned to the one he'd started with. He knew it was more practical and time saving to finish with one step before starting another, but he suddenly didn't care.

I need to see the finished work, he decided, abandoning the untouched block and moving to put the first one in the lathe. Tightening it down and adjusting it until it was centered, he started the slow process of trimming the excess wood off in tight spirals. The pattern was followed precisely as the lathe was moved tirelessly back and forth over its prisoner.

Silent, imagined screams flew out as the curls piled up around Harry's feet. The crunch underfoot was relished and soon he was totally absorbed in his task. Harry failed to notice the slight tremble in his hands was long gone.
Sunday's were Dobby's day off, but he never liked to leave before inspecting the house. Each room was visited and if anything was out of place or - horrors - dusty, a quick snap of his fingers soon took care of it. He always started in the window room and worked his way down. Even the bedrooms with no furniture were inspected, because in Dobby's mind the evil dust bunnies could hide in there and plan to take over the rest of the house if they thought it was safe.

He'd finished up with every room but the master suite and since Mrs Daphne didn't seem to really like being popped in on, he was filling time by inspecting the cupboards for anything they were running out of. A small list had been compiled by the time he moved to the refrigerator and freezer.
Never a morning person, Daphne relished those days when she could sleep in.

She wasn't concerned that Harry wasn't in bed, he often started his day long before she did, and took her time in the bathroom and getting dressed.

Eventually she wandered downstairs to the kitchen and ran into Dobby, who mentioned that Harry was in the workshed and hadn't eaten yet. Daphne thanked him, and assured the elf that she'd take care of Harry for the rest of the day. She set about making breakfast, resolving that if Harry hadn't come back in by the time she was done, she'd take something out to him.
The third spindle had been placed in the lathe and was being honed down when other smells made Harry's hands pause. He knew Dobby wouldn't be cooking since he'd made it a point to tell the elf he didn't want anything.

It's Sunday. No reason for Daphne to be up this...

Catching a glimpse of the clock on the far wall, his eyebrows rose. It was almost eleven and his stomach reminded him quite noisily that it hadn't eaten yet. Turning off the lathe, Harry dusted his hands before pulling his wand and dispelling the sawdust on his clothes and shoes. From past experience, he leaned over and shook his head before running a hand through it.

Good enough for now, he decided before heading toward the house. Opening the door that led into the kitchen, Harry smiled. Walking toward Daphne he slid his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her cheek.

"I was hoping it was you cooking and not Dobby. Now I can buy one of those Kiss the cook aprons."

His arms tightened a bit when the memory of his early morning dream returned, but seeing her up and moving helped. A lot.

"How are you two this morning?" he asked with a cheeky grin.
"We are fine."

She finished dishing out the late breakfast, and then sent the spatula down on the counter so she could lean back against him. "I think Dobby has run off to do - whatever it is Dobby does. I was just about to bring a plate out to you. How are you?"
Nuzzling her hair made him smile as he accepted her weight. About to shrug and tell her he was fine, Harry found himself telling her the truth instead.

"Better. It started out being a not good day, but now - I've got you in my arms and a delicious smelling breakfast in front of me - what more could I ask for?"

Various little niggling doubts had been part of his dreams and now was as good a time as any to bring them forward.

"I know you suggested it, but are you comfortable having Draco as godfather?"
Serious time.

She pulled free from his arms and nodded toward the kitchen table. "Pour some juice and I'll bring the food."

Daphne grabbed both plates and moved to put them on the table. "I'm not sure comfortable is the word I'd use for it, but I am - okay with Draco. I would have said he wouldn't have been my first choice if I wasn't trying to get a rise out of him," she admitted with a sheepish grin, "but once I had a chance to think about it, it made sense. He's your friend, and it's quite obvious that he cares about you, and I think that would extend to your child. If, knock on wood, something were to happen to us, he'd keep our little one safe, and he'd be able to provide for him or her, even without your money."

She sat, and blew some hair out of her face. "Not that I won't be wondering and worrying what sort of things he'll be teaching Junior every time my back is turned."
Chuckling, Harry put a glass of juice in front of her plate and the other in front of his own before sitting down. Picking up a fork, he took a bite while he thought about what he wanted to say.

"S'good," he mumbled around the hot mouthful while waving his hand in front of his mouth. After swallowing he added, "Hot, but very good."

Deciding to let it cool a little, he took a drink of juice and leaned back.

"Which leaves the question of a godmother open. Draco - is Draco and always will be. I have no doubt he'd protect our baby - child's life at the risk of his own, but... What would you think about having Vera as godmother? To counterbalance with a bit of practical stuff."
Draco is Draco. It really was the only way to describe the man.

She smiled when Harry stressed that the baby was theirs, but Daphne knew the only reason Malfoy agreed was because of the Potter half of the little one's DNA.

"That is a brilliant idea. Vera is practical, and rational." And likes me. "The complete opposite of Malfoy. We can ask her at Roger's birthday gathering."

"Good idea. I hope she agrees."

Harry snickered lightly before picking up his fork again.

"You know - they're both going to hate us if anything ever does happen and they end up having to cooperate in raising this child don't you? Endless discussions on Vera's part while Draco will probably be pouting and plotting to get his own way in the end."
Daphne started snickering, and had a hard time stopping. "I don't think she'll be that easy to get around, Vera can be very determined. We'll make sure to get her to agree before we tell her who the godfather is going to be. Or mention Nanny Dobby."

I'm so sorry, Vera. I'll make it up to you some how.

Feeling oddly pleased with herself, Daphne tucked into her breakfast. "Not that anything is going to happen to either one of us. You go get yourself killed and I will find a way to have you brought back so I can smack you upside the head." She wagged her fork at him to emphasis her point.
A genuine laugh broke out as Harry pictured himself - inferi-like - possibly dripping pieces of flesh on Dobby's clean floor while the elf followed behind him cleaning it up.

I hope she doesn't smack too hard. Could knock the head right off my shoulders.

A not good day had been turned around and that's all he cared about at the moment.

"Deal."