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Fighting Fate | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts Characters:None Genres: Comedy Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 59 Summary: Sequel to Fighting Harry. Fourteen years have passed since Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, and his life is perfect in almost every way. He went on to marry the witch of his dream, become the youngest-ever Head of International Auror affairs, and even have a son who loves flying as much as he does. There's just one problem. And her name is Meridy. Hitcount: Story Total: 42379; Chapter Total: 4400 Author's Notes: So this started several months ago when I was working on Fighting Harry. Very suddenly, I began wondering what the daughter of Harry and Ginny would be like. I decided that naturally she would be very like Harry--and being very like Harry, would probably not being known as the daughter of the Boy Who Lived. Being the daughter of the vivacious Ginny, I thought she might feel overshadowed, and develope some kind of insecurity. And so Meridy was born. And then I started thinking about Harry would react to having such a shy, stubborn, difficult child, and then I started laughing. The story that will follow is the result. I'm really not sure if anyone will like the idea of it or not, but hey, I'll never know until I ask, right? |
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Ginny Potter laid her arm on her husband’s, drawing strength from him. He looked at her with his legendary bright green eyes. His expression was grim. Harry Potter had changed much in the years since Voldemort’s downfall. Once his enemy was gone and vanquished, and the love of his life was once again by his side, he had found himself at liberty to live, and the results had been quite astounding. He had almost immediately married the witch of his dreams, and settled down to become a surprisingly useful and good-natured man. After defeating Voldemort and finishing school, he had started a prominent career as the director of the Department of International Auror Affairs, stationed primarily in Greece. While that meant lots of traveling, he had never minded it, and neither had Ginny. The job was right up his alley, and he had learned to deal with all of the speeches and publicity. There was no getting around it. After conquering the Dark Lord, he was, quite simply put, immensely famous, and Ginny had convinced him to direct all of the publicity to a good cause. When it came down to it, he had even found that he enjoyed it. Ginny certainly did. The wizarding public seemed to view her in the same light as the Muggle First Lady, or the Prime Minister’s wife. The clever redhead had long ago taken advantage of this, and become considerably tangled up in international affairs herself, using her popularity–for she would inevitably be popular, being beautiful, intelligent, and charismatic–to further her own pet charities and issues. Michael had recently commented to his Grandmama that “The Minister of Belgium passed a law outdating werewolf codes for Mother, because he thinks she’s pretty,” and Harry had smoldered as Ginny laughed. Michael. Harry smiled in undisguised pride at the thought of his son. Curly-haired, freckled Michael. He was eight years old and bright, with a distinct aptitude for flying and an open, easy nature. He too thrived as a part of Harry Potter’s family, building sand castles with young Greeks by the Mediterranean, and proudly telling the press that his birthday was in July, like his Dad’s. Yes, between Ginny and Michael, his life was just about perfect. There was just one problem. In a few moments, they would be facing their eleven-year-old daughter, Meredith. Meredith–called Meridy–was Michael’s older sister. Where Michael was a delight, Meridy was a challenge, and seeing her brought mixed feelings for Harry. She was his first born, his baby girl. But she had never seen eye-to-eye with her parents–especially not Harry. She had always been difficult, even as a child. Even now, just after her eleventh birthday, she was stubborn and sullen, uncooperative and temperamental. Harry argued more with her than he did with Ginny–Meredith was provocative and sharp-tongued, and though such fights always ended with her getting sent to her room, she rarely responded to her father’s efforts to maintain a good relationship. The door opened, and his daughter walked in. “Yes?” she said flatly, clearly not in a mood to be polite, though, after their last “discussion,” she had cut the sarcasm. Harry looked at the envelope in his hands and shook his head. Maybe going to school would make Meridy better tempered. He certainly hoped so. * * * * Ginny looked from her daughter to her husband, and fought a smile in spite of herself. They were so much alike, and neither of them knew it. Harry had been young and moody once, when he felt like the entire world was out to get him. He’d been miserable, lashing out at those closest to him. Granted, he had been older than Mer was now, but girls matured faster than boys, and Meredith was old for her age, though she rarely acted like it. It was not easy for Meridy, being Harry Potter’s Child. Where Michael had adjusted to the spotlight of it all, Meridy had hidden from it. But Michael was a good-natured little guy, adorable and intelligent, and enormously proud of his famous parents. The comments of the press, when upon rare occasion they reported something potentially hurtful about him, did not bother him, for he was buoyant and as of yet emotionally thick, as his father had been, once. But Meredith was sensitive, and the wizarding world had never been very sympathetic to her plight. Her feelings had recently been hurt badly by several Greek girls, whom she had thought were her friends, but had turned out just to be extreme fans of her father’s. Michael had never had that problem. Where boys hero-worshiped just as girls did, Michael enjoyed the attention on his father’s behalf. Meredith resented it. Ginny had overheard a reporter ask her daughter once, “Do you ever wish that you were beautiful like your mother?” and, after hexing the journalist, she had seethed for days. Part of Meridy’s discontent, she was sure, sprang up from living in the shadow of her famous and attractive parents, and Meridy had never tried to measure up, probably because it was impossible. Her parents had both had years to grow into themselves before become major public figures–well, Harry had had eleven years, and even then it had been difficult for him–whereas Meridy had been born under the public’s eye, and being prickly and sensitive, she hated it. But back to the matter at hand. “What is it?” Meredith repeated. Harry held up the envelope. “We’ve had an owl from Hogwarts.” To Ginny’s surprise, Meredith continued to look glum. “Have you?” “The term starts on the first of September,” he continued. “Your mother and I looked at the schedule, and we can leave for Britain as early as the twenty-seventh, but we’ll need to stop in Luxembourg on the way for a conference with the head–” “Has it occurred to you that maybe I don’t want to go to Hogwarts?” Meridy interrupted. Ginny felt her eyes widen, and Harry raised an eyebrow. “Don’t take that tone with me, Meredith,” he said warningly. “What do you mean, you don’t want to go to Hogwarts? It’s the finest magical institution around, and it’s where your mother and I went to school.” “Yeah,” Meridy said. “Your names will be fresh on the walls, and everyone will coo and simper ‘Oh, you’re Harry and Ginny Potter’s daughter. How marvelous.’ And then they’ll say ‘Why aren’t you playing Quidditch? Your parents did. Why don’t you smile more? You’re Harry Potter’s Daughter, you should be used to smiling by now. How come you aren’t pretty like your mother? Why aren’t you good at Defense? Your father was. Such a pity. All those good genes gone to waste.’” “Oh, Meridy, they won’t either,” Ginny said. Her daughter’s bottom lip quivered almost invisibly. “Yes, they will,” she said in a small voice. “Well, if you just tried flying, I’m sure you–” Harry began. “Maybe I don’t want to fly!” Meridy said, testily. “Maybe I want to play Gobstones, or something.” “Then play Gobstones,” her father retorted, affronted. “Hogwarts has a team. But for Merlin’s sake, Meredith, do something.” Now the bottom lip was quivering visibly. “But what if I don’t want to go to Hogwarts? What if I don’t want to go to school in a place where all I’ll ever be is Harry Potter’s Daughter?” “Look, Mer, there’s not a lot of places you can go where someone won’t know your dad,” Ginny said, practically, and yet unsympathetically, for Harry’s eyes were registering hurt, that his daughter didn’t want to be associated with him. “You’re going to Hogwarts. That’s just the way it is.” Now Meredith looked hurt, and, as she always did when hurt, she flared up, and stormed from the room, saying as she went, “Then maybe I don’t want to be Harry Potter’s daughter!” * * * * Raw pain flashed in Harry’s eyes, and Ginny felt anger welling up inside her, anger for her daughter, who didn’t appreciate the loving parents that she had. And then she remembered that Meridy was hurting too. “She didn’t mean it,” Ginny told her husband, gently. “She’s just angry.” Harry couldn’t speak. He swallowed, and then forced out “She’s always angry.” Ginny thought about it. He was right. “But she still didn’t mean it.” Harry frowned, but the injury was still in his eyes, and Ginny doubted that Meridy would ever know how much she’d hurt her father with that one simple sentence. She’d virtually told him that she didn’t want to be associated with him, that she didn’t appreciate the place he held in her life, that she didn’t want to be a part of his family. Ginny went to him and sat on his lap. “Baby, she just hates the publicity. The press hasn’t been very nice to her, always comparing her to Michael and–well, frankly, you. She just wants to be known for herself. Those friends of hers destroyed her faith in people, I think, and she doesn’t know who she is, because she’s never had a chance to find out, to be anything but–” “My daughter,” Harry said. “Yes, I got that part.” Ginny closed her eyes. “What do we do?” she asked, in a small voice. “Hogwarts is the best place for her, of that I’ve no doubt.” “We could give her what she wants.” He looked steadily at the wall, a growing anger beginning to replace the hurt. The thirty-one year old mother felt a small stab of apprehension. “What do you mean?” * * * * The young girl flopped on her bed, feeling the anger subsiding, to be replaced by the dull ache of misery. She was already starting to regret her words. True, she hated being under public eye all the time, but that wasn’t her father’s fault. If he hadn’t saved the world and her mother, then she wouldn’t be here right now. And it was hard to save the world without becoming enormously popular. Meridy knew she was moody. She couldn’t help it. Just as it wasn’t Harry’s fault that he was enormously popular, it wasn’t entirely his daughter’s fault that she was miserable. Meredith hated the press. She hated being compared to her parents. She couldn’t have put it into those words, of course. All she knew was that she was unhappy, because she could never be half as good as her parents or even Michael, who was a decent flyer and cute. She wasn’t good at anything in particular, and the newspapers called her “plain,” at best, and one reporter had even called her ugly. Miserably, she stared into the mirror, willing herself to see something pretty, like her mom, or handsome, like her dad, or even cute like Michael. Michael looked a lot like his Uncle Ron, but he had his dad’s eyes, and, being cute as a button with an easy-going grin, he was made much of. Ginny often remarked that the grin had been hers, because whenever the cute-as-a-button youngest smiled and laughed, he or she was likely to be spoiled. Meredith didn’t really look like either of her parents. True, she had her dad’s black hair, but hers was fractionally more orderly. It was thick, and cut above her shoulders in an act of rebellion, for her father liked “his girls,” to have long hair. In decided vengeance, it waved the wrong way. Someone had told her once that she had her grandfather James’ eyes–she thought it might have been Uncle Lupin. That wasn’t a great deal of comfort. They weren’t particularly pretty. They were an odd-shaped tawny gold, and didn’t seem to fit in with their surroundings. Like Meridy herself. Those tawny eyes were hostile now, and sore. She thought back to the day before, when a reporter from the British Daily Prophet had yelled. “Hey, Harry Potter’s Daughter! How does it feel to be the child of two such talented people, and not have anything in common with them? Your brother Michael shares your parents’ love of flying, your father’s eyes and your mother’s face and hair. Why don’t you show us a smile–Melody, is it?” Her mother had thrown the reporter a dirty look, and hustled her away, but the words had stuck. Meridy was the black sheep. The one imperfection in Harry Potter’s perfect family. |
| Reviews 59 |
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