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bookishwenchYet another Yuletide Madness ficlet, this time for tjs_whatnon.
No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is made from this fanfic.
When Sugar Goes Sour
“I don’t wish to openly defy the headmaster,” Minerva said, looking uncomfortable. “While I understand his desire not to have Potter’s head swollen from excess adoration in a wizarding family, what I saw on Privet Drive suggests that Lily’s sister and her family are, well, less than ideal candidates.”
“In other words, they’re horrid,” Mary said, sipping her tea from a pale pink cup.
“Yes,” Minerva admitted. “I can’t help feeling there’s some other reason Albus isn’t telling us for why he needs to stay there, but still.”
“But still,” she agreed with a decisive little nod. “Fine. I shall apply for the job of nanny at number 4 and see what I can do to make the situation less hostile towards magic.”
“Thank you,” Minerva said with gratitude.
Mary Poppins was a formidable witch. Even in her days at Hogwarts, she had shown tremendous promise within her first week, and Gryffindor had been happy to receive her. But now, Minerva thought as she watched the prim figure walk smartly down the pavement, she was facing a daunting task.
Three months later, they were having tea again, and with shock Minerva noted the other woman’s hand had picked up a slight shake. The teacup settled into its saucer a shade too loudly, and Mary hadn’t yet spoken very much. She appeared to be steeling herself.
“I apologize, Minerva, but I simply cannot continue with the Dursleys,” she finally said.
“It’s that bad?” Minerva asked.
“I cannot abide that woman!” Mary said, suddenly on her feet, her composure completely lost. “I have dealt with some truly awful Muggles, but this one! She’s a raging harpy!”
“Oh my,” Minerva said.
“And the son! I did all my best tricks, and that little brat ignored everything from a dancing washing machine to a fully animated sequence set in the forests of King Arthur, and he wanted nothing but sweets! Howled like a banshee dawn til dusk. I thought my ears would start bleeding.”
“And Harry?” Minerva ventured. “Is he spoiled as well?”
“No,” Mary said, drawing her dignity back around her and sitting to take a sip of tea. “There is already latent talent. I’ve seen signs of it, not that it’s any surprise, and he quite enjoyed one of my moving picture books and a night time jaunt across the rooftops of Little Whinging, but I’m afraid that if he says a single word that isn’t completely in line with normal Muggle behavior, that uncle of his will slap him into a mental asylum. No, Minerva, I don’t believe he’s in physical danger at this point, but the letter for Hogwarts can’t come soon enough for my taste.”
“And you can’t stay?” Minerva said.
“The wind has changed,” Mary said firmly, then added, “also, I fear I might commit homicide if I stay in that house a minute longer, possibly accidentally. I already smashed an entire cabinet full of crystal without realizing I was losing control.”
“Well, yes, then, you’d better leave,” Minerva agreed. “Do you suppose he’ll remember this at all?”
“He’s only four,” Mary said. “I’d say it’s possible, but not highly probable. I shall keep an eye on him, but from a distance.”
“That’s kind of you,” Minerva said, sorry to see her experiment fail, but honestly not surprised. “Thank you for your attempt.”
Mary only nodded, then put on her hat and left. She did keep her word and looked in on him regularly over the years, at one point putting together a good strong wind, the same sort she had used to blow away the other applicants for the job in Cherry Tree Lane long ago, and used it to lift Harry gently onto the roof of the school when his cousin had been chasing him in a particularly murderous mood, though that had backfired for the boy rather spectacularly. Still, she had caught him more than once humming something about a “spoonful of sugar” to himself, so there was a good deal of hope that the Dursleys would never manage to squeeze the magic out of him.
No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is made from this fanfic.
“I don’t wish to openly defy the headmaster,” Minerva said, looking uncomfortable. “While I understand his desire not to have Potter’s head swollen from excess adoration in a wizarding family, what I saw on Privet Drive suggests that Lily’s sister and her family are, well, less than ideal candidates.”
“In other words, they’re horrid,” Mary said, sipping her tea from a pale pink cup.
“Yes,” Minerva admitted. “I can’t help feeling there’s some other reason Albus isn’t telling us for why he needs to stay there, but still.”
“But still,” she agreed with a decisive little nod. “Fine. I shall apply for the job of nanny at number 4 and see what I can do to make the situation less hostile towards magic.”
“Thank you,” Minerva said with gratitude.
Mary Poppins was a formidable witch. Even in her days at Hogwarts, she had shown tremendous promise within her first week, and Gryffindor had been happy to receive her. But now, Minerva thought as she watched the prim figure walk smartly down the pavement, she was facing a daunting task.
Three months later, they were having tea again, and with shock Minerva noted the other woman’s hand had picked up a slight shake. The teacup settled into its saucer a shade too loudly, and Mary hadn’t yet spoken very much. She appeared to be steeling herself.
“I apologize, Minerva, but I simply cannot continue with the Dursleys,” she finally said.
“It’s that bad?” Minerva asked.
“I cannot abide that woman!” Mary said, suddenly on her feet, her composure completely lost. “I have dealt with some truly awful Muggles, but this one! She’s a raging harpy!”
“Oh my,” Minerva said.
“And the son! I did all my best tricks, and that little brat ignored everything from a dancing washing machine to a fully animated sequence set in the forests of King Arthur, and he wanted nothing but sweets! Howled like a banshee dawn til dusk. I thought my ears would start bleeding.”
“And Harry?” Minerva ventured. “Is he spoiled as well?”
“No,” Mary said, drawing her dignity back around her and sitting to take a sip of tea. “There is already latent talent. I’ve seen signs of it, not that it’s any surprise, and he quite enjoyed one of my moving picture books and a night time jaunt across the rooftops of Little Whinging, but I’m afraid that if he says a single word that isn’t completely in line with normal Muggle behavior, that uncle of his will slap him into a mental asylum. No, Minerva, I don’t believe he’s in physical danger at this point, but the letter for Hogwarts can’t come soon enough for my taste.”
“And you can’t stay?” Minerva said.
“The wind has changed,” Mary said firmly, then added, “also, I fear I might commit homicide if I stay in that house a minute longer, possibly accidentally. I already smashed an entire cabinet full of crystal without realizing I was losing control.”
“Well, yes, then, you’d better leave,” Minerva agreed. “Do you suppose he’ll remember this at all?”
“He’s only four,” Mary said. “I’d say it’s possible, but not highly probable. I shall keep an eye on him, but from a distance.”
“That’s kind of you,” Minerva said, sorry to see her experiment fail, but honestly not surprised. “Thank you for your attempt.”
Mary only nodded, then put on her hat and left. She did keep her word and looked in on him regularly over the years, at one point putting together a good strong wind, the same sort she had used to blow away the other applicants for the job in Cherry Tree Lane long ago, and used it to lift Harry gently onto the roof of the school when his cousin had been chasing him in a particularly murderous mood, though that had backfired for the boy rather spectacularly. Still, she had caught him more than once humming something about a “spoonful of sugar” to himself, so there was a good deal of hope that the Dursleys would never manage to squeeze the magic out of him.
