The Sugar Quill
Author: Miss Gypsy (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Reminiscence  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

House at Pooh Corner

Reminiscence

 

Disclaimer:  I don’t own anything.  The song, “House at Pooh Corner,” belongs to Kenny Loggins and Jim Messina.

 

A/N:  Here you go, another story similar in format to my last.  Thank you to my wonderful beta reader – what would I do without you?  Well, I certainly wouldn’t be posting on the Sugar Quill… that much is definite.

 

~~~***~~~

 

A little girl climbs into her father’s lap.  She is holding a book and looks up at her father expectantly.  “Daddy, can we read?”  She speaks clearly and intelligently for such a small child, and he smiles back at her.

 

“Of course, love.  Which story will it be today?”

 

“I like the one about the witches,” she giggles. 

 

He smiles, because he knew that she would chose the story about the witches.  She always did. 

 

“Sweetheart, are you sure?  We haven’t read any of the other stories in this – “

 

“The witches please,” she says cordially.  He laughs and opens the book. 

 

Her eyes follow the words on the page, and he wonders if she knows what the words are saying.  It would not surprise him – his daughter had proven time and time again that she was quite an extraordinary child.

 

Pausing between pages, he looks down at the top of her head.  Her long lashes are resting on her cheeks as she breathes softly.  She has fallen asleep.

 

With a smile, he closes the book and places it gently on the floor beside the rocking chair, allowing himself to drift to sleep as well.

 

 

Christopher Robin and I walked along,

Under branches lit up by the moon,

Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore,

As our days disappeared all too soon.

But I’ve wandered much farther today than I should,

And I can’t seem to find my way back to the wood.

 

~~~***~~~

 

She sprints across the garden, chasing a bird that quickly seeks shelter in a nearby branch.  Her innocent laughter floats through the summer heat, and he sits back, watching her in interest.

 

What is she thinking?  She is such a smart child – or maybe she’s not quite as extraordinary as she seems to be.  He does not know, for he has never had another child.

 

“Daddy, guess what I learned in grammar school today!” She suddenly shouts across the garden.

 

“What, love?  What did you learn?”

 

“Guess!”

 

Baffled, he shakes his head.  “How to count to one thousand?”

 

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.  I know how to count to one thousand.”  She rolls her eyes and purses her lips, looking like a very reproachful six-year-old.  He laughs.

 

“Then what did you learn?”

 

“About the owls.”

 

“Owls?”  He is not following her train of thought.

 

“There are owls, Daddy, swooping all over the country.  Nobody knows why.  Isn’t that woooooonderful?”  She spins in a circle, looking at the sky, until she is dizzy.  Then she drops to the ground and sits in the grass, smiling at him.

 

“Yes, I suppose that is wonderful.”  He has not heard about the owls, and wonders if perhaps she is pretending.  She likes to pretend things – she has a wild imagination.

 

“Look, Daddy!” she suddenly shrieks, and he turns.  A large butterfly is flitting across the garden and she points to it.  “Isn’t it beautiful?”

 

“Yes, it is.”  He reaches out and the creature lands in his palm.  Surprised, he holds it out so his daughter can see it.

 

“It’s orange.  And black,” she adds, bending close.

 

“Indeed it is.”

 

Together they look at the butterfly for a long time, with her innocent voice asking question after question and her father doing the best he can to answer.  When it gets dark, he picks her up, carries her inside, and tucks her into bed.

 

“Good night, Daddy.  I love you,” she says with yawn.

 

“Good night.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

She is asleep before the door has clicked completely shut.

 

So help me if you can,

Back to the house at Pooh Corner by one,

You’d be surprised, there’s so much to be done,

Count all the bees in the hive,

Chase all the clouds from the sky,

Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh.

 

~~~***~~~

 

“…Happy birthday, dear Her-mi-oh-neee, happy birthday to you!”  She is beaming as her parents sing to her – the cake is sparkling with lit candles, but not all of the candles combined sparkle as much as the light in her eyes.

 

She makes a wish and blows them out, then looks at her mother.  “Mum – “she begins, and then stops, staring with wide, curious eyes at the window.

 

Her mother and father turn and her mother shrieks, for there is a large owl staring them down through the glass.  A letter is tied to its leg.

 

“Let it in,” says Hermione exasperatedly, as if she can not understand why they have not acted immediately.

 

Her mother unfreezes and moves toward the window, clicking the latch open.  The bird soars in and drops the letter in Hermione’s lap.

 

Hermione’s brown eyes are as big as beach balls as she looks at her parents.  Her father reaches over, concerned.  Could it be a trick?  Some sort of attack?

 

There is nothing in the letter that he can feel besides paper.  He slits the envelope and peers inside.

 

No poison, no razors, nothing harmful.  Just a rather tattered piece of heavy parchment.

 

“Go ahead, darling.”

 

She opens it with hesitation and reads it.  Her eyes widen and she hands the letter to her father.

 

“Dear Miss Granger,” she begins, “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy…”

 

Winnie the Pooh doesn’t know what to do,

Got a honey jar stuck on his nose,

He came to me asking help and advice,

And from here no one knows where he goes,

So I sent him to ask of the owl if he’s there,

How to loosen the jar from the nose of a bear.

 

~~~***~~~

 

She has barely been in the house for a minute and she’s already talking.

 

“…and Ron said, of course, that we needn’t bother studying for it so soon, and I knew that he was just being ridiculous,” she says.  “Of course we study now, we only have half a year –“

 

“Hermione, love, don’t you think it’s a bit early?  I know you want to be prepared, but – “

 

“Heavens, no!” Hermione exclaims.  “You can’t start studying for the O.W.L.’s early enough!  And Harry isn’t being any help either, he and Ron are stupid prats.  I am not going to take ANY of the responsibility when they fail out of Transfiguration.”

 

He interrupts at the first sign of her intake of breath.  “So, Mum tells me you’ve decided not to join us for skiing this year?”

 

She looks at him pityingly, and he sees her acknowledge his disappointment.  “Oh, Dad, I just… skiing… I’m horrendous at skiing,” she says helplessly.

 

He smiles at her.  “I’m not offended, I’m just glad we got to see you at all.  So how are things at Hogwarts?”

 

“Dad, I was just talking about – “

 

“Is there not more to boarding school than grades?”

 

She is silent.

 

“Any boys chasing you around yet?” He asks teasingly, both terrified she will answer yes and terrified she will answer no.

 

“Of course not,” she snaps.

 

He sighs, wondering if his daughter might be a tad bit intimidating.  “What about Harry or Ron?  They’re nice fellows.”

 

“Oh, nooo,” she breathes, “I could never date Harry.  He’s just so… he’s nothing like that to me.  It would be like dating a brother, Dad.  I couldn’t possibly imagine it.”

 

“And Ron?”

 

Her cheeks flush and he smiles to himself.

 

“Ron… is… an idiot,” she says hesitantly.  Her eyes suddenly are shining.  “He’s horrible to me half the time about Viktor, but I know he’s just… just…”

 

“Jealous?”

 

Her glare could freeze the whole of the Atlantic.  “Ron.  He’s just stupid, selfish, lazy Ron.  I’m going to my room.”

 

And in an icy huff, she marches up the stairs, yanking her trunk behind her.

 

So help me if you can,

Back to the house at Pooh Corner by one,

You’d be surprised, there’s so much to be done,

Count all the bees in the hive,

Chase all the clouds from the sky,

Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh.

 

~~~***~~~

 

She is standing in front of a mirror, gazing critically at her own reflection.

 

“It’s far too much white.”

 

“Are you joking?”  Ginny steps forward, standing beside her in the mirror.  “Hermione, you’re beautiful.”

 

Her cheeks flush, and a smile plays at her lips.  He notices her straightened teeth – he never wanted her to perform any sort of spell on herself.  But that was so long ago…

 

“Dad, where’s Mum?”

 

He snaps out of his reverie.  “She went to talk to Molly about the candles.  She wants to know if they’re normal or… charmed.”

 

Even though Hermione has been a witch for over a decade and a half, he still has a hard time wrapping his mind around it.  She can do magic.

 

Magic.

 

But the funny thing is, he realized a long time ago, that he always knew that.  She was magic. 

 

And judging by today, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed this in her.

 

He steps forward to hug his daughter.  “I love you, Hermione.  Don’t forget that if Ron ever snores too loudly, you can come back to your old room.  Just… Apelate?”

 

She laughs. “Apparate, Dad.  And if Ron snores, I’ll hex him.”  As much as she tries to appear to be collected, she’s beaming - positively glowing - and her excitement is contagious.

 

He remembers when her mother looked that way.  He remembers standing at the end of a long aisle in a quiet, creaking church, bouncing on the balls of his feet and sweating.

 

Hermione is, in great contrast, an image of peace and serenity.  She is as calm as her mother was, he remembers, as she walked down the aisle so many years ago.

 

When Eleanor Granger carried her bouquet, there was no wizard quartet playing “Merlin Bless Ye Witch and Wizard,” this he definitely remembers.  An old-fashioned group of violinists, crooning “Here Comes the Bride,” perhaps yes, but Merlin Bless Ye?

 

Hermione sighs and says, “I’m as ready as I will ever be.  Let’s get on with it.”

 

Numbly, he takes his daughter’s arm and they move to the back of the procession.  Ginny whirls around from her place further forward in line to stick out her tongue playfully at her dear friend. 

 

“Treat my favorite brother well,” she says with a smile.

 

Hermione pales slightly, but beams back.  “I’ll do my best, Gin.  I love him, you know that.”

 

Ginny makes a disgusted face and turns back around.  The sanctuary doors creep open, and he catches a glimpse of a vast sea of wizards, witches, and Muggles alike, all glowing with excitement, before the tears blur his vision.

 

“Ready?” Hermione asks him softly. 

 

“As I’ll ever be,” he echoes her. 

 

She smiles at him and turns her attention back to the procession before them.  Her lips purse in her trademark look of concentration and suddenly it’s time, years and years before he’d ever possibly be ready to give her away.

 

Fin

 

A/N:  Corny, perhaps yes.  But I was trying to break my Harry Potter hibernation, so here you go.  Reviews are appreciated more than you realize. J

//
Write a review! PLEASE NOTE: The purpose of reviewing a story or piece of art at the Sugar Quill is to provide comments that will be useful to the author/artist. We encourage you to put a bit of thought into your review before posting. Please be thoughtful and considerate, even if you have legitimate criticism of a story or artwork. (You may click here to read other reviews of this work).
* = Required fields
*Sugar Quill Forums username:
*Sugar Quill Forums password:
If you do not have a Sugar Quill Forums username, please register. Bear in mind that it may take up to 72 hours for your account to be approved. Thank you for your patience!
*Comment:
The Sugar Quill was created by Zsenya and Arabella. For questions, please send us an Owl!

-- Powered by SQ3 : Coded by David : Design by James --