✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Returning home was a much needed trip for Genevieve. She had felt so drained at Hogwarts for longest time ever, and after she had told her father this on the train ride home, he wholeheartedly agreed that it was a good move to go home for Christmas. Of course, there was the exception of spending Christmas at the Potters, but Genevieve had agreed with James for her to arrive on a later date than the rest of them. She wanted to spend some time with her family first.
Being back in Devon was like a heavy weight being lifted from her shoulders. While the scent of earth and greenery that lingered around Hogwarts had always been pleasant, it held no match for her homes scent, as the smell of sea salt from the beach and the lavender that surrounded her gardens was the most comforting aroma Genevieve had ever came across.
Being back home made her feel partially whole again, and despite her several petty arguments with Anna already, she still felt a lot more happier than she had been at Hogwarts. As her dad had said, maybe she just needed a change of scenery.
Sat in the middle of her bed, crisscross applesauce, Genevieve gazed around the room with a sense of familiarity. She could tell Anna had been snooping through her room because the bedside draw had been left fully shut (Genevieve always left it slightly open so she would know if anyone had been it), there were fallen coat hangers and clothes in the bottom of her wardrobe, and her muggle polaroid camera had been moved from the left side of her desk to the right sight. Other than that, her room was still the exact same.
Genevieve noticed that the pictures on her beige walls were getting old. They were all from first year upwards to fourth year. In her fifth year, she had taken barely any photos, and she hadn't taken a single one in her sixth year yet. She made a mental reminder to take her camera back to Hogwarts and take more photographs.
She looked at a photograph of her, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter in their first year deeply. The longer she stared at their younger selves, the more the feeling of melancholy deepened. In the photo, James's had yanked one of Sirius's obsidian curls just as the camera had clicked, and Sirius's hand had flew up to hit Genevieve in the face. Being caught of guard, Genevieve was knocked off her balance and was left to tumble into Peter, whose eyes were wide open with fear. Despite all the chaos around them, Remus stood at the side of the photo with a hand rubbing the back of his neck and a bashful smile gracing his face, blissfully unaware of what was happening. It was a muggle photo as well, which made it all the better.
They were so innocent to second guess anything back then. They didn't know that six years down the line, there would be muggleborn killings, and the world around them would be collapsing graciously yet violently. Genevieve looked up at the ceiling and blinked away the tears gathering in her eyes. It hurt to know that she could never feel the same way as she did back then ever again. That just wasn't how life worked, and she had to get over it. With everything going on, Genevieve decided to pull herself together and live in the present rather than the past.
"Genevieve!" She heard Anna screech as she stomped up the stairs. "Genevieve, mum said that you're going to James's house for Christmas." She appeared in the doorway. "Is that true?"
Genevieve rubbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeve, pretending her eyes were itchy. "Uh— yeah," she said after a moment of trying to remember what Anna had said, "I'm staying at the Potters for a couple of days including Christmas."
Anna's jaw dropped. "But that's not fair!" She cried, her voice high pitched and squeaky with dismay, "You're supposed to spend Christmas here, with us! If I'm not allowed to go to my friends house for Christmas, then you're not either."
Genevieve resisted the urge to laugh at the foot stomp Anna did. "I'm older than you so therefore I'm allowed."
"Just tell James to come here instead of being lazy and staying at his house," Anna said.
Genevieve rolled her eyes and let out a long sigh. "James doesn't want to come here," she said tiredly.
Anna crossed her arms and frowned. "Why not?"
"Because James doesn't like 10 year old girls called Anna Lewis who moan about everything all the time."
Anna's jaw dropped one again, before snapping itself back in place and forming a scowl. "I'm using Owlbert. I'm sending him a letter," she announced furiously, grabbing a piece of parchment from the stack on Genevieve's and desk and the ballpoint pen beside it. She stormed out the room, making sure to slam the door shut behind her.
Genevieve blinked. "Go ahead," she said into the silence of the room.
✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
The next day, Genevieve had hauled herself from the pit that was her room and had made her way downstairs into the kitchen. Next to the refrigerator, there was a shelf that held books full of delicious recipes that had been passed down from generation to generation. Genevieve fished the most tattered book from the shelves, and flicked it open to page 131, a page number she had memorised off by heart. She smiled to herself as she looked at the title: Gingerbread Cookies.
She got to work on getting out equipment and ingredients, and then started following the recipe carefully. She would have invited Anna to help her, but she couldn't deal with anymore arguments with her and the telling off from their mother that followed it.
Genevieve was near the end of the mixture when her dad had walked into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. She had only noticed him when he spoke up suddenly. "You're baking," he observed.
Genevieve had felt her heart lurch at the sudden scare and rested a hand upon her chest to steady herself. She turned to glare at him, but he was only grinning back. "You're baking," he said again and plopped some tea leaves into the bottom of a teapot.
She nodded. "Yep. Gingerbread cookies. It's grandmas recipe," she informed him.
"Very festive," Thomas Lewis smiled and nodded approvingly at her choice in recipe. His mother had been an excellent baker, and her gingerbread cookies were her best creation. He filled the teapot with fresh water.
Genevieve hummed and turned to back to stirring the mixture.
"You've been tense lately." Despite seeming nonchalant, her dad drummed his fingers on the countertop and kept his stare on her.
"I have?" Genevieve asked. When he hummed, she frowned slightly. "Oh."
He smiled kindly. "Are you going to tell me why?"
Out of everyone in the entire world, the complete seven billion people who resided on planet earth, Genevieve trusted her father the most. She knew that no matter what, she would always love her father the most as well, but it was her own pride that prevented her from speaking up. She placed the wooden spoon down in the bowl after realising the dough was perfect, then placed the bowl and dough inside the refrigerator so it could chill. She then shrugged. "Nothing to be told. I'm fine."
"I can tell when you're lying," Thomas replied discerningly. His features and voice softened. "What's going on, Genevieve?"
Genevieve wished it wasn't so easy for her to become vulnerable to others. It only took the right words to be said, and it was like a button was pressed inside of her to make the waterworks start. She bit down on her bottom lip harshly and looked up at the ceiling with shimmering eyes, trying to blink the tears that threatened to flow down her face away. There were so many things she wanted to talk about. The rise in muggleborn killings, Remus, Rosiers comment, her time spent at school, but she didn't know how to bring all of that into words, so she instead she just said:
"I'm just really tired, Dad."
Thomas felt his heart break a little at the crack in her voice. It only took three large strides, and then he had embraced her consolingly in his arms. Genevieve hadn't been hugged like this in a long time, which only made the tears grow larger in amount.
Her father placed a kiss upon her head. "Hey, it's ok," he assured, "You're gonna be ok."
He had long forgotten that cup of tea.
✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
A few days had passed since the breakdown in the kitchen, and neither herself or her father had mentioned it since. A knock on her bedroom door alerted Genevieve from where she was reading at her desk with a gingerbread man in her hand.
"You all packed?" Mary Lewis asked, and without looking up, Genevieve pointed to her bed in reply. Laid upon it were three suitcases filled to the brim with clothes, toiletries, school equipment, books, and a load of other things that she probably didn't need. Mary raised an eyebrow. "Are they packed properly?"
Genevieve slid her bookmark into place and looked up. She smiled sweetly. "Define properly."
"Folded, neat and tidy," Mary replied skeptically.
Genevieve's lips tugged further upwards stupidly. "How would you feel if I said that my suitcases are not, in fact, folded, neat and tidy?" asked Genevieve tactfully.
"Disappointed, but not surprised."
Genevieve whistled. "Ouch," she muttered and placed a hand upon her heart, "It hurts that you have so little faith in me."
Mary couldn't help but smirk a little at her daughters playful comments. "Just like your father," she mused, and marched over to the suitcases to properly organise them, "Always having a laugh in the moment, but you'll regret it later."
"That's so whimsical," Genevieve remarked, "You ought to go up against my headmaster for motivational speaking."
Mary tutted. "Don't be giving me cheek, young lady. There's no wonder where Anastasia gets it from."
Genevieve groaned. She didn't want another 'you're the oldest, you must set a good example' talks this early. There was always bound to be one whenever she came back home. The amount of letters Mr and Mrs Lewis had received from M. McGonagall complaining about Genevieve's behaviour had apparently rubbed off on Anna, and even though Genevieve had said that Anna was her own person and could make her own choices, her parents argued that she just wanted to be like her big sister.
Genevieve had a feeling they were right, but she wouldn't admit to being wrong.
"Yeah, and who do I get it from? You. You made me this way, mother," Genevieve protested pointedly, and only grinned when Mary glared at her.
"Another word out of you," Mary said and waggled her finger at Genevieve jokingly. She then zipped up the suitcases (which were now perfectly organised) and began to walk out the room, "Bring everything downstairs, you'll be going in a couple minutes."
Genevieve did just that, and soon enough she was standing in front of the fireplace with both of her suitcases in her hands.
"I've never understood how this powder works," Thomas muttered. A pot of Floo Powder was in his hands, and he was surveying it with one eye closed. "It just looks like glitter."
"Put the thing down before you drop it, Tom," Mary sighed, but yanked the pot of his hands anyway. Thomas looked pointedly at Anna and Genevieve, "Hypocritical, isn't she?"
Anna nodded and giggled in response even though she didn't know what that word meant.
Mary rolled her eyes and placed the Floo Powder on the mantle. "Quickly, hugs and kisses, then. I bet Euphemia is wondering where you are."
Anna was first to give Genevieve a hug. "I still don't think it's fair," she mumbled into Genevieve's stomach. "But I do think I'll miss you."
Genevieve smiled to herself at this, even if Anna had included the word 'think'. "I think I'll miss you too," Genevieve said back.
"You'll always miss me!" her father boasted and wrapped her in a hug that was barely inescapable. "Just as I'll always miss you."
"Move over, you sappy thing," Mary said and peeled her husband away from Genevieve. She smiled. "I have to get my hugs in too." Just as she said that, she brought her arms around Genevieve softly and shared all of the love within her. "I can't wait to see you again," she whispered.
Genevieve smiled at her mother remembering their phrase. "I can't wait to see you again, either," she replied just as quietly.
Mary smiled and kissed Genevieve on the cheek before ushering her into the fireplace. She held out the pot of Floo Powder, and Genevieve grabbed a handful of it.
"Well I guess I'll... see you all next year," Genevieve said awkwardly. If she was being specific, she was going to see them again at the end of her sixth year, but she didn't want to think about all that time spent without them. "Potter Manor!" she said as clearly as possible, and threw down the Floo Powder.
"All my love, Genevieve!" she heard her mother say as she burst into green flames and was swept from her feet and into mid air. She clutched onto her suitcases with every once of strength possible.
Suddenly, Genevieve felt her hip collide with hard ground and let out a high-pitched yelp. Her eye stung from the Floo Powder. "Godric, give me strength," she muttered into the floor of what she hoped was Potter Manor, the pain in her hip making it too hard for her to get up.
"Right on time."
A burst of laughter. "Why do her legs look like that? And that scream!"
"Shut up, Padfoot."
"How cute, Moony, protecting the girlfriend."
"She's not my—"
Genevieve felt a tap on her shoulder. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see Peter's face extremely close to hers. He grinned. "Hi Gen! Are you ok?"
Genevieve no longer cared for the ache in her hip. She smiled back. "Spiffing, Wormtail."
With a little help from Peter, she got herself to her feet, and was instantly invaded in a hug from James. "Welcome back, Gingy. Did you miss us?"
✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*