Holla. So this past week I've been reading muggle-born head-cannons and I've felt a weird sort of Potter nostalgia. It's been fabulous. And then there was our Queen, J.K. Rowling with her Pottemore update and I was like 'shit man, I've missed Willow.' And despite my edited versions of books 1 and 2 (soon to be 3 and 4) I have missed her really hardcore.
Anyway, the only solution was to write more, so I have. I'll upload these sporadically, probably. And they're most likely going to end up being little mini-fics of Willow. Either Pre-book one, Post- book seven or a random inserted chapter somewhere in the middle.
And I'm going to promo people, too. "What the hell, Lucy! You've stated that you're totally against promoting people! What changed?" You ask. And I don't have an answer, I just felt like it for a change.
- Don't read this if you haven't read all the books because A) spoilers and B) it won't be enjoyable -
So, without further ado, I present, Willow.
---
“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!” I shouted. She was crying, screaming in my face.
“Willow, relax,” George said calmly.
“WHY WON’T SHE STOP?”
“Willow —“
“I haven’t slept in four days, George. Four. I’m losing my fucking mind. She won’t sleep. I DON’T SPEAK BABY!” I shouted at the little girl, Lucy, lying in the crib, positively screaming her lungs out.
George leant in the crib and lifted her out, she stopped crying immediately.
“How did you —?”
“I’m a baby whisperer. Aren’t I LuLu?”
“You’re not calling her Lulu, that’s gross.”
“Luce?”
“Never.”
“She’s not even your kid. Why do you get preference?” George asked me and I sat down, rubbing my temples.
“Sorry, shall we call up her mum? ‘Hey Bellatrix, how’s Azkaban? Good? Yeah, about your daughter you had with Voldemort —‘“
“Alright, I get it.” George said shortly, raising his eyebrows at me and placing the now-asleep Lucy in her crib. “You should get some sleep, Will.”
“I can’t,” I said, outraged. “It’s midday. It’s my birthday, everyone is coming over, there’s too much to do —“
“Will,” he cupped my face in his hands. “You’re seventeen, renting a cottage to raise a baby, you saved the world a few weeks ago — I love you, go to sleep.”
“George —“
“You’re a nasty bitch when you’re tired, Will. Go to bed. Harry and I will fix everything, okay?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” I mumbled, giving in. “Thank you.”
I didn’t move, so he grabbed my arm and physically dragged me to my room.
“Sleep,” he commanded.
I wanted to argue, but the moment my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.
--
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Hermione’s voice came swimming to me from somewhere and I opened my eyes.
“Yo,”
