Ginny ate enough to satisfy her hunger, but not so much as to slow her down. Kreacher had brought her a nice large mug of wake-me-up tea, (no sissy little china cups for this household). It was going to be a long... morning, she supposed.

  Smiling to herself, she got her P.P.P. out of her purse, and sat down at a clear spot on the table. That happened, oh, so coincidentally, to be beside the P.P., next to the open hatch. The one Al’s legs were sticking out from, trainer toes hanging over the edge of the table. His ankles occasionally crossed as he rubbed the back of one leg with the toe of the other foot.

  Ginny cast Engorgio to get the printer back to its correct size, then pressed the touchplate to get it untwisted, unturned, and unfolded to the proper configuration. Pulling her notepad out of a pocket, she opened it and flipped through it, saying to herself, “Notes, notes, notes...”

  It. Was. Amazing. She could feel Kreacher’s gaze on the back of her neck.

  Behind her, he said, “Young Mister Albus?”

  Al said, “What?” in a distracted tone.

  This got Lily’s attention, and she turned from the whiteboard. The eddies of air around her died, and three coloured markers dropped to the floor.

  “Umm, Al?” she said.

  “What?” he said, a little more testy.

  “Al, you need to see this.”

  “Guys, I am busy here. This thing isn’t going to fix...”

  Lily drew back and hurled the marker she still had in her hand at the side of the P.P. It caromed off the side plate with an entirely excessive BONG sound, which echoed away into the hidden depths of the magimachine.

  “Albus!” she snapped.

  Al pushed open another hatch, stuck his head out and snapped back, “WHAT!?” Then he saw the P.P.P., and froze.

  Ginny froze as well. Al’s head was coming out of a hatch directly above where his feet were going in. His head was facing toward her, while his toes were pointed straight down, from lying on his stomach. Head and feet were less than a foot apart.

  What is that?” Albus asked. “It looks... familiar.”

  “What? This?” Ginny’s voice contained entirely too much smugness for a woman and mother of her age.

  “Yes. (pause) THAT.”

  “Oh, this has always been here.” Ginny sounded indecently, (if childishly), cheerful. Especially for her.

  Albus wide-eyed Lily, who shrugged and went back to her whiteboard.

  “THAT,” he said through a clenched jaw. “Has NOT always been here.”

  “Are you sure? It was pretty small. Maybe you just missed it?”

  “I.., I..,” Albus was taken completely aback. From Dad, this he could have understood. From Mum? Sweet, self-effacing...

  A long-fingered hand gently put one of those long fingers across Al’s lips. “Young Mister Albus needs to be quiet now.” said Kreacher respectfully.

  “But, Kreacher, I have to...”

  “Mister Albus?”

  He looked slantways at the house elf. “Uh. Yes, Kreacher?”

  “Young Mister Albus. Needs to be quiet. Now.” Same respectful tone. Same gentle touch. But there was something in those wide, pellucid eyes...

  Ginny couldn’t stand it any longer. “Al, isn’t that terribly uncomfortable?”

  Albus tore his gaze from the P.P.P. “What?”

  “Sweetie, look to your right.”

  Al turned his head and saw the heels of his shoes and the back of his legs. “Oh. Brilliant.” He pointed one toe and bent his knee slightly, then the other. “Is that a split in the sole of my... left shoe?”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Ginny leaned over to look. “Indeed it is.” She pulled her wand and did a quick Reparo. “That will hold you ‘til we can go shopping. You’re about due for new trainers, anyway.”

  Albus caught Kreacher’s meaningful glance.

  “So, Mum,” he asked nonchalantly. “Whatcha doin’?”

  Ginny smiled to herself. “Well, sweetie, the Prophet gave me this magimachine to help with my commentating for the World Cup. It’s a Portable Protean Printer. Do you know what a Protean Charm does?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Al screwed his face up in pretend thought. “That was what Aunt Hermione cast on your Dumbledore’s Army coins, right?”

  “Right in one,” said Ginny. “I can dictate my news articles into this, and they will print out for me to edit, and then it will send the finished product back to the Daily Prophet.” She was watching Al’s expression out of the corner of her eyes. It was becoming harder to keep a smile off her face.

  She went on, in a deliberately casual tone. “So much more convenient than writing everything out by hand, wouldn’t you think?”

  “Uh, yeah. Handwriting is a pain.” Al’s gaze was running over the P.P.P. frantically. He was obviously comparing the finished form of the smaller magimachine with what changes he had been able to coax from the larger. “Uh,” he said. “It looks complicated.”

  “Oh, it is,” Ginny said cruelly. “And I understand it used to be even worse. They had a non-portable version that was a right pain to get going and keep going. Other than that, they worked exactly the same.” She casually reached into her shoulderbag. “Why, they could even use the old manual, just added a page of minor changes.” She thumped the manual down on the tabletop.

  Al and Kreacher gaped at the good-sized chunk of bound paper. Ginny patted it possessively.

  “Yes, indeed,” she said. “I’m going to be keeping this right where I can lay hands on it. You know how difficult it is to learn anything new without help.”

  Al got a sour expression, Kreacher looked like he wanted to snarl. The two exchanged a glance. They simultaneously seemed to get an inspiration, and their expressions became crafty.

  Oh, no you don’t, thought Ginny. Artlessly, she went on. “Oh, that reminds me. While I was hunting around for this, I ran into Caspahr Wiggleswade down in the Sub-Floors. You know, our Head of Security? He was upgrading the gaps in our protection, due to something being able to get through the old version.”

  Kreacher froze, then looked at Ginny. He croaked in his bullfrog voice, “Upgrading?”

  “Oh, yes!” Ginny rubbed it in. “I pity the poor magical creature who tries to breach the new security. Or magical person, I suppose.” She shrugged.

  Kreacher and Al’s faces fell so hard, there should have been an audible Thump!

  Ginny let them marinate in their misery for a few moments. She finally judged the punishment to be adequate, and went on.

  “No, no, no,” she said firmly. “Can’t take chances with the manual, no indeed. In fact,” she reached into her shoulderbag again, “Kreacher, I need you to find someplace safe to keep this.”

  And she thumped the second manual down by the first. The others goggled.

  Ginny raised a finger to draw their attention back to her. She continued in a very severe voice. “Kreacher, I can not emphasize this highly enough. The security of this manual is a top priority.”

  Kreacher gulped, and then husked out, “Miss Ginny, Kreacher promises that this manual will never be out of Kreacher’s sight.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if you have to go that far.” Ginny looked toward the large, ornate clock on the wall, a gift from her parents. It had all the features of their infamous clock, plus, in a nod to Harry’s Muggle-raised sensibilities, it actually told the time. She frowned as she noticed that the hands representing Harry, Ron and Hermione were flirting with the Mortal Peril area, without actually going into it. Touching her wand inside her pocket, she invoked the Parental Override setting, and the hands moved around the face to point at the Having A Small Oopsy sector.

  Hoping the children hadn’t noticed, she said, “This will have to wait. I have to literally get packing.” She shut down the P.P.P., cast Reducio on it, and stuffed it and one of the manuals in her shoulderbag. A cruel impulse caused her to pick up the second manual. The barely suppressed gasps were music to her ears, before she said, “Oh. I’m leaving this here, aren’t I?”

  As she laid it back down, she caught Lily giving her a look over her shoulder. Straddling that shoulder, giggling, and whispering in Lily’s ear was the newly named Missy. And the look on Lily’s face...

  Well, thought Ginny, surprised out of her smug enjoyment. No eight year-old girl should be able to look that cynical. But it does look familiar.

  It took a minute, but it finally came to her. There was a photo, taken when Ginny had been about that age...

  Her entire family, Ginny in the center, between and in front of her parents. And the circle of her brothers, standing and kneeling, as if to protect their little sister from the world. Bill, handsome and tall, to her Dad’s right, Charlie, square and sturdy, to Mum’s left, each reaching out a hand to lay fingertips on Ginny’s shoulders. Bracketing Ginny, kneeling, were Fred and George, both heads tilting toward her, both faces breaking into their trademark evil grin. And before her, closing the circle, seated cross-legged, were Ron and Percy. Percy’s back was straight, and he kept reaching up to adjust his glasses. His somewhat stuffy countenance seemed to be trying to give the hint that he would rather be in a bureaucrat’s office chair.

  Ginny’s hands were on Ron and Percy’s shoulders. But Ron’s goofy earnest grin was being directed most often toward his sister, and one of his hands was covering hers where it rested on his shoulder, giving it an an occasional pat.

  And Ginny’s face? Ginny’s face was wearing the same expression she saw on her daughter right now, a combination of cynicism, love and determination. The eight year-old Ginny was glancing around before meeting the camera’s eye, and there was only one message to take away from her piercing look.

  We will see who is protecting whom.