Hey, I like your wrinkles.

“Parvati’s pregnant, did you hear? Her days as a model are long over. It’s no shame, though. She wasn’t any good.”

From where he was stood on one of the struts of the ladder in order to reach the upper-most parts of the back kitchen wall properly, Seamus Finnigan turned to look at his young wife in dismay. She did not notice the look he shot in her direction; or perhaps she did but did not deign to dignify it with a response. No, she merely continued to unpack the cups and such from the boxes that had been delivered two days prior by a currier company that cost far more than they were worth when Royal Mail did an equally good job. Seamus decided to indulge his wife though, desperate to avoid any more arguments. Really, he was looking forward to going back to work. In years gone by he had enjoyed the time off that the Ministry afforded him with. Yet, in years gone by, he hadn’t had to do up his kitchen unnecessarily – or any other part of the house, for that matter. Well, not with his wife present, at least. Lavender usually busied herself elsewhere but this time she wanted to ‘help.’ Heaven forbid it.

“W-who’s the father?” Seamus asked tentatively, unsure whether he really wanted to know and regretting it immediately as his wife looked up to greet his gaze with her own, her eyes alight with the excitement of rumour and intrigue.

Lavender giggled and shrugged her shoulders, communicating immediately to Seamus that he knew but wouldn’t find out unless he paid the two Galleon and sixty-six Sickle fee for next week’s issue of Witch Weekly. The man merely shook his head and turned back to the wall, smearing more canary yellow paint on the wall – the same canary yellow paint that in the weeks after finishing the kitchen that she would come to despise. Seamus heard Lavender tut behind him and he turned, his patience wearing thin as his wife made her way patronisingly towards him through the bubble wrap before holding out her hand for the paintbrush which Seamus eagerly handed over. She then stepped up onto the ladder and set about painting the wall herself, narrating what she was doing so that Seamus could learn the error of his ways. In response, however, Seamus merely rolled his eyes and left the kitchen, trudging through the mess of bubble wrap and packaging until he was out into the hall where he was free from the suffocating presence of the woman he’d married.

“Daddy?”

The light bulbs suspended from the ceiling - that had yet to have the new lampshades that Lavender insisted on having - in the hallway flickered into life and Seamus turned from where he was stood facing the door, contemplating running through, down the road and into the sunset where he could live without Lavender for the rest of his days. But upon setting his eyes on the little girl stood at the top of the stairs, he knew immediately that he could never do it as much as he wanted so desperately to do so. With the lights on he could see her immensely clearly, the darkness of the day making it a requirement for those that lived in Greater London to function with the artificial yellow light from their lamps.

The little girl had been set down for a nap earlier that morning and so as a result she was still in her cotton nightgown that had a picture of Quidditch players on the front. Her dirty blonde, curly hair was left to spill over her shoulders, ending just above her bum, and under her arm was tucked a brown bear which was nearly bigger than her. She only just, though with the help of her tip-toes no doubt, reached the light switch that turned the ceiling. But on her face she wore an expression of anxiety and she looked at him with her wide saucer-sized eyes. Seamus stepped up onto the staircase and the pair met in the middle, the girl launching herself and her teddy into his willing arms.

Millie’s sobs broke immediately and Seamus cuddled her close, continuing his way up the stairs to take her back to his daughter’s bedroom. Lavender had been firm about the twins having separate rooms but Seamus wasn’t entirely sure if he condoned their separation during the night. Yet despite the insecurity he felt, he did not complain and so on the way to his daughter’s room, he stuck his head around the door of Elliot’s room, pleased to find that the boy was still asleep; unlike his younger sister. Seamus closed the door quietly behind him and padded down the hallway to his daughter’s room where upon opening the door he was assaulted by darkness that was not present in his son’s room.

Seamus looked down at Millie who was wriggling in his arms, her little hands balling his paint-spotted t-shirt in her even tinier fists as she struggled to move closer to him. Seamus’ hand began to rub circles into his daughters back and as he passed over the threshold, the girl began to wriggle more furiously in his arms as she grew desperate to escape from the room which had housed her nightmares. Seamus tightened his grip around her, whispering promises to chase those horrid nightmares away, and reached over for the blinds which he quickly twiddled, letting in the much needed light that made the little girl lift her head from his neck. Her eyes were red around the lids where she had been crying and Seamus reached for her cheeks where he rubbed away the tears that were drying there. He smiled encouragingly to her and set her down gently into her crib before lowering himself to the floor.

Sitting himself down on the fluffy carpet, Seamus leaned against the side of the crib before lifting the blanket over to cover his weary daughter with the woollen covering that bore an etching of Winnie the Pooh cuddling Piglet on the front.

“Now, let me tell you a story.” Seamus murmured quietly as she snuggled up with her bear. “When I was your age, I had the most terrible nightmares. I cried and cried and cried and my dad always used to...”
“..still don’t understand why this is necessary.”

Lavender looked up from the bright yellow raincoat that she was buttoning for her wide-eyed daughter and sighed dramatically at her husband who looked back at her plainly, without much feeling at all. Lavender rose from where she was knelt, leaving Millie with an only partially done-up coat, and breezed past her husband into the kitchen where she set about making up the fruit basket that she insisted on visiting their new neighbours with. Seamus meanwhile dropped his hands from his hips and knelt down to his children’s level, making short work of the yellow and green raincoats which he quickly buttoned up before helping them on with their wellies.

It was a dismal day. Somehow, the rain clouds had clambered across the sky in tandem with Lavender’s black mood. It was something that Seamus had sensed in her after he’d abandoned her in favour of their daughter whose nightmare was clearly not nearly as important as the way his wife was painting the kitchen walls. The rain had come just after twelve but so had the last of the removal vans, as Lavender saw fit to inform him, knowledge he sarcastically parroted to Millie who he had been struggling to get into the dress that he was forced to team with a pair of his wife’s brown tights in order to put something on the girl’s legs to keep her warm. Lavender was hardly practical with her clothing choices. She had no idea about the concept of practicality over image. Thankfully, Elliot was not wearing a suit and instead a pair of tan trousers, a button down shirt and a jumper knitted by his grandmother over the top. Upon seeing him in it, Seamus decided to dig out Millie’s jumper and pulled that over her head, deciding that even if it didn’t really go, at least she’d be warm, and set about combing her hair out once more while Lavender painstakingly fixed her own.

Half an hour after the initial dispute pertaining to intruding on the lives of their new neighbours, Seamus was heaving a more than willing Millie up onto his shoulders, ignoring the glares from his wife at his sense of propriety – or lack thereof – and eyeing nervously his boy who was the one to carry the basket of fruit because his errant mother didn’t want to wrinkle her own dress. And so down the road they went, Seamus being careful to keep Elliot on the inside of him despite Lavender’s pouting about not being able to hold her husband’s hand – as if she missed the sight of her daughter on his shoulders that clearly needed to have his attention, and the boy holding the basket that was larger – and no doubt, heavier – than him.

Thankfully, the foursome arrived at the house that was still abuzz with activity before the rain had begun. Boxes were strewn across the porch, the path and around the low brick wall and Seamus couldn’t help but have a glance here and there, towards the car that had its boot open, only half emptied of the boxes it housed. The front door was open – no doubt a result of the overwhelming activity – and that alone was encouragement for Lavender to just waltz in. Elliot made to follow her but Seamus leaned down, hastily tugging at the basket and hauling the boy back to stand next to him. Lavender could make a mockery of herself by all means, but certainly not his children.

“Hello?” She called loudly into the house. “Homeowners? Are you here?”

“Obviously,” Seamus muttered to himself with a roll of his eyes. Could she get any worse? Probably.

“Oh, for F***’s sake, Demelza!”

“What?! He is your responsibility too!”

“I’m busy! The movers just left!”

“Can you not see that I’m busy in the kitchen?!”

A series of muffled profanities followed. The thuds and boyish screams still echoed from one of the bedrooms of the house.

“For the last time, Trenton Seth Thomas!”

An uncomfortable peace followed. Trent flopped to the floor in the empty room, not knowing how Buzz Lightyear could be Buzz Lightyear without flying and his ‘to infinity and beyond’s. He concentrated on the tips of the carpet flooring now, upset that he could not play. Yet, he knew better than to defy his father when the command was said in that way. The last time that he tried it, it didn’t end well. Trent would rather not be spanked. He was Buzz Lightyear, after all. He could certainly wait for the chief’s command before proceeding with the next mission. In the meantime, he was bored. He looked around the room. Even Gerrard the Giraffe looked bored. Shrugging, the boy crawled towards the animal, who was really almost always his only friend. Trent pulled the toy off the shelf, and took pains to ensure that it was sitting comfortably beside him, against one of the legs of his bed. He couldn’t even get into bed without mummy or daddy. It was too high up for him. Trent looked at his bed wistfully.

“Woody!” The boy exclaimed to his Giraffe, lighting up a little before allowing the expression on his face to sink. Nope, that wasn’t much fun either. He reached forward to poke Gerrard in the eye. Then, as if guilty of his action, began to pat the animal’s eye. Downstairs, Dean was busy trying to connect the wires of his television to the speakers. In the kitchen, Demelza was already putting the pots and pans and dishes into the cabinets, after having cleaned the dust collected by the previous occupants of the house. The house had settled into a quiet that suited the adults, but which was barely enjoyed by the child who was silenced by the prospect of getting disciplined by his father. Dean was not one who tolerated the whims and fancies of a child. Over the years, he believed he had matured into one proper adult. He was going to do everything right, and that was also to be said of his family. Swiftly, having settled the shenanigans with the TV, Dean moved towards the kitchen. Demelza certainly couldn’t handle the refrigerator on her own.

Dean groaned at the words that followed. He could do without visitors now, especially when the greeting sounded as if the person was on business. Reluctant to deal with a salesperson at this point of the busy day, he gestured for Demelza to do it instead. She was only too happy to leave the scene of her husband’s displeased presence. He was always this way when he was stressed, and it was really beginning to get to her now. Was he always going to be this way when the goings got tough? She tried to recall their marriage vows, wondering if he did promise to give her an easy time when they he talked about going through the thick of the marriage. Then, the woman shook her head. Now was barely the time to think of marriage vows. Cleaning her hands against the towel near the sink, she ventured out into the living room.

“Seamus? Lavender?” There was a genuine confuddlement at the tone in Demelza’s voice. “Dean, it’s Seamus!” There was a yelp in the kitchen, following a thud that could possibly be a collision of head and cabinet. Dean ran out of the kitchen. “What, even?!” And then, a clumsy go for a bro-hug. Demelza stood by, awkward and smiling at her female counterpart. Lavender was merely an acquaintance, after all. The girl was too … different. Demelza was more interested in Quidditch, and friends who cared less about boys. Still, they were all Gryffindors, weren’t they? There shouldn’t be much of a problem now. A polite cough followed. Then, with a sudden gesture of hands, Demelza offered, “Tea, anyone? I’ll go put the kettle on.” Dean nodded at his wife before turning back to his guests. “Might be a little dusty … but if you don’t mind, have a seat!” He pointed to the sofa, and proceeded to plop onto the one closest to himself. He needed the rest, after all. Trent was forgotten.

Above the golden-headed girl, her yellow curls hidden beneath a pale blue woollen hat, the leaves that clung to the branches of the trees that lined the street were turning ever so gradually from summer’s bright viridian to a deep, autumn bronze. The girl was bouncing somewhat haphazardly as she tried to grope for the branches above her and still stay firmly on her father’s shoulders. Her eyes were uplifted above her, her mitten-clad hands clawing perseveringly through the air in an attempt to get at the trees, not quite realising that it was the mittens that kept her little fingers warm that were preventing her from getting a proper grasp around the leaves.

Millie finally relented with a huff upon realising that there was no hope on the leaf-front. She sighed heavily, leaning forward and dropping her chin into her iddy-biddy palms, her only marginally larger elbows coming down to rest on her father’s crown. Millie’s eyes flicked towards the open front door of the house before them and then lifted her eyes further up down the road towards hers, wondering why they would get dressed so warmly only to walk a few metres down the road to another house; but upon further inspection, Millie decided her mittens might come in handy – the house didn’t look all that warm.

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, the little girl looked up, fear writing across her features as she reached down hesitantly to slip her hands into the waiting palms of her father. He was quick to let her down onto the ground beside him but that was not where Millie wanted to be. She looked up at him, her lips coming together in a little pout and she stuck out the bottom one, making her eyes grow as wide as she could possibly get them before batting at his leg with her mitten-hand. Seamus, much to Millie’s dismay, paid little attention to her. He merely stared ahead of him, prompting Millie to look in the same direction; only, she found nothing worth looking at, Seamus did.

Seamus’ hand came down to meet Millie’s hand she hastily made a grab for it. She tugged impatiently on Seamus’ hand and he glanced down, shaking his head at the request she communicated to him through the insistent look in her eyes. Seamus gestured for her to go in front of him and she did so somewhat reluctantly, eyeing her red-faced brother with distaste before bringing her fearful eyes to the lady that had met her mother in the hall of the house that she had been trespassing in. Thankfully, she didn’t seem too angry; in fact, she seemed to know both Seamus and Lavender.

“Demelza! I never thought I’d see you again after school!” Lavender shrieked, embracing the other woman somewhat awkwardly. Seamus rolled his eyes behind his wife and took the basket of fruit out of Elliot’s hands, regardless of the face of utter indignation that he pulled. Lavender brought herself away from Demelza quite quickly, evidently worried that she’d wrinkle her clothes or something of the like, and smiled brightly, taking the basket and holding it out to the woman. “I got this for you all.” She announced proudly.

Seamus was forced into a hug that he readily accepted – so not really forced at all – and chuckled a little at his friend. “You look good, buddy. Nice place you’ve got here. I like how whoever designed this street kept all the damn floor plans the same.” Seamus smirked a little and shook his head before gesturing to the children, noticing the way Lavender followed Demelza – no doubt to “catch up”; which translated to: time for Lav to boast about her accomplishments. “This is Melissa-”

“Millie!” Came the insistence from the girl with the golden curls.

“And this is Elliot.” The boy in question blushed bashfully and hurried past the adults into the living room to take his seat.

Millie, however, slunk away. She wasn’t interested in big grown-up conversation. No. Instead she decided to climb the stairs, forgetting that it was not her house but climbed regardless with the objective of going to her bedroom. A little trail of outerwear was left behind her. First her mittens, then her hat, then her scarf, then her wellies, then her coat ... until she was left in her dress and her jumper which she had her arms out of when she arrived at what she thought to be her room. Shoving the jumper over her head, Millie kicked at the door, opening it as far as it could go before slipping in through the crack, pausing upon finding that it was not actually her room.

“GIRAFFES!”

Millie bundled into the room, bouncing towards the shelves which held a small array of toys. She buzzed around them before turning around and diving for the giraffe that was leaning against the cot. She giggled as she landed heavily on her bum and she hugged the giraffe tight to her chest before lifting it out and holding it out before her.

“You’re lubbly!” She cooed before bringing the giraffe to sit in her lap.

It was only then that she noticed the boy and upon realising the character that he was dressed up as, she abandoned the giraffe and through herself at the boy with the battle cry of: “To infin-ty ‘nd b’yond!”

It was a little bit unfair, wasn't it? Wasn't he just told not to make a sound? What's with the voices coming from downstairs? Frowning, Trent began to sulk to no one in particular. Gerrard kept on smiling, which didn't help the boy feel any better. What was there to be smiling about? He wished he could be Gerrard, so that even when there was nothing and no one to play with, he could still be happy. Too bad he wasn't, and too bad he couldn't be. Trent unfolded the arms that had crossed at his little chest. He had decided to check out the buzz downstairs. Sure, Dean had said earlier to stay out of the way where grown-ups work. Trent never liked it when his father said those words in that fashion. He wasn't a grown-up; and because he wasn't one, he was always not allowed to do the things that seemed way more fun than what he was allowed. Trent couldn't wait to be a grown-up.

With his hands against the floor, the boy began to push himself up. And then, the strangest thing happened. There was an exclamation, then movements that were actually occurring in his room. At first, Trent could only think of what trouble he was going to be in when his father hears this. Yet, at the next second, his worry was replaced by the sight of Gerrard in the arms of ... Trent could only gawk at her. He didn't know where this ... creature came from, not having seen her enter through his door. It was as if she spawned from the carpet. While he stood there with apprehension, the girl barely looked bothered. In fact, she seemed to have settled herself so comfortably in his room, it was as if she belonged there. Trent wasn't happy to see Gerrard in the arms of another. It was his pet, after all! He frowned now, hoping that the girl would come to realise his displeasure. It wasn't as if he knew her either. Yet, before he could further express his new-found irritation, she exclaimed again. This time, her words pleased him tremendously. She knew who he was!

Nodding excitedly now, Trent began to stand up properly, then assumed a pose that he had seen Buzz Lightyear strike so many times. He felt like Buzz now. After all, she had said it! Even his father never did that, no matter how many times Trent had implored of him to try. Still nodding, Trent stopped posing and began to run around the room with his arms stretched out high in front of him. He was flying! Well, he thought he was, and that was enough. She believed he was Buzz after all, and for that, he had to fly. There was no time to waste. There was no space to worry about what his father thought about running footsteps upstairs.

Dean, however, heard them all. Yet, he had seen Millie ascend the stairs to head to Trent's room. Figuring that it would keep the boy busy, he had not said a word. Besides, Seamus didn't seem to have mind his daughter roaming about. Thinking that to be rather strange, Dean merely smiled and continued with the recent Quidditch game that his friend was talking about, the one that had to be called off between the Falcons and the Magpies due to a sudden violence that had broken out among the fans of the former. He attempted not to get annoyed at the ruckus that could be heard from the child's room. Demelza had returned with tea, and had engaged in a rather superficial conversation with Lavender about home decorations.

Now, it wasn’t that her parents were errant. Well, one was, but the other wasn’t and it is important to note that. Distracted by her own appearance, the dirt under her nails and the paint that had somehow blighted the hem of her new dress, Lavender couldn’t bring herself to care about anyone in the living room bar herself, let alone her daughter who had disappeared under her nose – a pattern of behaviour that would remain the same for many years to come. Seamus by contrast was happy to be amongst friends, even if his wife was there looming over him like a suffocating headpiece, and so did not notice the fact that his daughter had wandered off. He was absorbed in Dean who he was just pleased to lay eyes on; to talk to him was an even bigger pleasure.* So really, it was only Dean that noticed that Millie had disappeared. He and he alone was left to wonder about the absurdity of it all.

Millie, tucked up safely upstairs with a boy that would one day come to mean the world to her, had found a new friend in Buzz Lightyear – a friend that she would not have found had it not been for her curiosity. The girl was somewhat befuddled at first by the Boy Buzz but she found him utterly adorable, words that she could not yet contemplate and were instead only emotions she could feel. She bounced happily, the giraffe still in her little arms, as he struck the pose that she had seen Buzz move into so many times before on Toy Story, a film that Elliot had grown bored of after being made to watch it almost religiously for a week a few months prior. Millie knew every word and every song, though, and felt a bubble well up into her throat, her toes wriggling in her socks with anticipation as she wondered whether or not she should burst into song.

“I always wanted to be Jessie!” Millie told Buzz excitedly. “But my mum said that I didn’t have dark enough hair. She said I had to be Bo-Peep. I don’t want to be Bo! She has to wear a dress!” Millie wrinkled her nose before bobbing up and down again, this time dropping the giraffe. “Oh!” The girl dived to the floor and scooped the giraffe up before landing heavily on her knees. She winced a little before looking up at Buzz again, the landing forgotten almost immediately. “What’s your name?” Millie asked after a moment, cocking her head to the side as she remembered that this wasn’t actually Buzz. Just like she wasn’t actually Jessie even though she couldn’t be Jessie and had to be Bo-Peep. “I’m Millie!” And with that said she shoved a hand between them, just like she’d seen her daddy do before.

*I know, it sounds weird, doesn’t it?