I didn't sleep well last night for some reason so I'm half-dead now, after a long day at the shop - mostly spent researching costs and such for our soup bar plan, but also helping out during the busy periods. But this past weekend Abbie spent with the folks, saying farewell to the old place in Nova Scotia and getting to know the new place in Vancouver, which left me and Harry alone together for the first time since we've been a couple. I made sure to make the most of it. Waited for Harry to come home from the shop Friday night with a candlelight gourmet multi-course dinner and copious expensive champagne to get him tipsy on, a foot massage and new brushed-back cotton satin pajamas for silky cuddly warmth, everything covered in satin and new curtains 'round the bed for ambiance. In return, he charmed himself hairless so as to feel the softness all over - which was a bit odd at first, but definitely appealed to me in short order. No little curly hairs getting stuck in my throat, and lots of velvety expanses of skin to caress and kiss and lick cream cheese off of. Yes, I'm just a tiny bit odd, I suppose. (Hey, I happen to like cream cheese, okay?)

We built a fort under the dining room table of sheets and pillows and played with my childhood stuffed animals there, and then made love in our own cozy little nest. Later on, I pitched my tent outside and we made love there, in the backyard. The whole weekend was luxurious and glorious, and I can't wait to do it again, as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, next week, probably, we'll go up to Vancouver to see the new mansion and help my parents deal with the intricacies of cable television and internet access. Probably be there a week or so, I reckon. For now... the laptop screen is swimming in front of my eyes, so I'm going to go lie down. For a nap or for the night, I'm not sure which yet - will find out when I wake up, whenever that happens to be.

::yawn:: G'night.

It was a great one for us. We left Abbie in the capable hands of the girl from down the cul-de-sac (paid a hefty wage for her willingness to babysit on New Year's Eve) and went out on a dinner-and-fireworks cruise. Mother looked lovely in a champagne gown, and Hermione in her evening dress, and us gents wore our finest Muggle garb, and off we went in the stretch limo I'd hired for the occasion. Dinner was delicious, and I spent the evening slow-dancing romantically with my Harry and gazing into his wondrous forest-green eyes and thinking how lucky I am to have him to look forward to in my future... Midnight came, and we stood on the chilly deck kissing in the light of the slightly abortive fireworks (details of fireworks mishaps here) and then toasted to the New Year with our family. Just a really grand evening.

Today is so far a slow and lazy day, begun with a late morning and a quick and simple breakfast of quiche-from-a-carton and home fries and maple sausages from the freezer, and ending with all of us sprawled on the various couches and chairs, relaxing. Harry wants Japanese for dinner, and I may take Lady out for a walk down the block, but that's about as ambitious as I reckon we'll get. It's a good day for chillin'.

Hope your New Year's was as satisfying! I'm gonna go cuddle with my Harry-dumpling now.

Today I took my father to buy his own laptop computer. I'd figured we'd make that shopping trip later, after they'd moved to Vancouver, to a place that had, y'know, electricity, and an Internet connection; but instead I ramped up the schedule some, because I WANT MY OWN FUCKING LAPTOP BACK, DAMMIT, and prying my father away from the computer, ever since he learned of the wonders the Internet had to offer, has been nigh impossible. I've spent the afternoon installing necessary software - Firefox, Office, antivirus, and so forth - and tweaking settings for him; and now he has his own laptop to gaze intently into, thus leaving mine ALONE. Hallelujah.

Also on the list of things I did today: Ron came on a walk with me and Lady, and very delicately interrogated me as to my intentions toward Harry, seeking to ease his mind, I think, that I'm really a different person now than I used to be, and that I really do care for Harry as much as I seem to. I was pleased to reassure him on all counts, and he seemed satisfied by that. I also gave Hermione a foot massage, the way I learned to do for Miranda years ago, the way I now do for Harry; and now Hermione thinks I am a God. Heh.

Harry spent the day making lasagna, and tiramisu, and the house has smelt incredible. The taste was even more delectable - everyone had seconds and in some cases thirds, and Mother is still raving over the tiramisu, which she adored. I currently feel laden, and rotund. Mmmmm.

So now we're going to gather 'round the TV like a properly American family, and watch some of my collection of classic Christmas cartoons and Claymation specials and things. Most of my collection is new to most of my family, so it should be fun. Good times, good times.

It's funny, 'cause even though we haven't really done that much since my parents got here, somehow I've been busy most of the time. Mostly sitting around talking with my parents and Harry, or playing with Abbie, or showing my father the Internet - in which he is utterly fascinated. He's at the point of surfing the web on his own now, and I'm almost afraid to find out what he's gotten up to. I've given him the crash course on Internet virii - and I have excellent protection software - so I'm just hoping for the best.

Ron and Hermione are here now, and while it still feels a bit strange to be on civil terms with people I spent years of my life feuding with, everything's been swell so far. They've greeted me as if I was an old friend, talking about how good it is to see Harry so happy - the deciding factor in their acceptance of me, no doubt. Right now, they're chatting with my parents (with whom they've become quite friendly, during my parents' recent stay in England - it was Ron who handled the whole affair with the Ministry, and my father was quite impressed by his professionalism and courtesy) while I'm taking this brief opportunity to wrest my laptop away from my father, check email, and dash off a quick post before beginning work on tonight's dinner.

Last night was the traditional Christmas feast, roast goose and all the trimmings, and it came out splendidly, if I do say so myself. Tonight, I'm grilling. I've got steaks, and lobster tails, and huge plump shrimp, and salmon, and flounder, and chicken, and vegetables to be skewered and grilled, and fresh pineapple chunks to be wrapped in bacon and cooked over the coals, and even some peach halves. It'll be a sumptuous spread, that's for sure. I won't be satisfied until everyone's stuffed to bursting.

Both of my new guests were suitably impressed and amused by the extravaganza of lights and Christmas frippery overflowing the front yard, as I'd hoped they'd be. Lady seems to have taken to Ron, keeps bringing him her toys to throw and play tug-of-war with. Abbie's showing off his presents to Hermione, and talking excitedly about his shiny new red bicycle in the garage. The cats are perched on the back of the sofa, regally surveying their realm. Harry's bright-shiny-happy and bouncing with glee, so glad to have his friends here. It's going to be a lovely evening.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Yesterday we all went to see a production of A Christmas Carol, then spent a cozy evening around the fire. I presented Harry with a ring I'd bought him, as a pledge of my love, and he had one for me too - so it's official, now, our engagement and partnership. Feels good.

This morning, we were awakened by Abbie's shrieks of delight as he came running out of his room to behold the mountains of presents under and around the tree. We've been opening gifts ever since, fortified by coffee and tea and croissants and things. It's been lovely. In a little while I'll begin working on dinner, which will be a lavish affair featuring roast goose as is traditional in our family, and maybe Father will take Abbie out to the cul-de-sac so he can try out his brand-new bicycle as he's itching to do. It's good to be together with the family for Christmas again, it really is.

Back to presents. :)

So the 'rents got into town Thursday. ...Calling Lucius and Narcissa "the 'rents" is a bit like calling the Manor "my crib"; it just doesn't fit. But there you go.

Harry was a little nervous about their arrival, I could tell; and I was a bundle of nerves, worrying about the house being clean enough and so forth, since they've never approved of my Muggle lifestyle. But everything went all right. I made a roast for dinner, with little potatoes, and it came out perfectly; Father and Mother complimented me lavishly on the meal. And both of them were only too pleased to welcome Harry to the family; it was a congenial first evening, much more relaxed and mellow than I'd expected it to be.

Abbie was thrilled to see them, of course. Almost knocked Father down with his first hug, and spent hours chattering on about his school, his new friends, and all the things we've done together during his visit. I cringed a little inwardly when he got to talking about the more Muggle things, but the folks didn't say or do anything amiss, or indicate that I'd done wrong; on the contrary, they praised Harry and I repeatedly for the good work we'd done taking care of him. So that was a load off my mind. After Abbie was in bed - after three bedtime stories from Father and repeated hugs - we adults sat around and chatted over tea. Not too long, as Father and Mother were weary after their long day's journey - so I unfolded the sofa-bed for them, which they both found fascinating, enchanted the mattress to be thicker and fluffier, and charmed a set of curtains to hover around their bed for privacy. Still I felt embarrassed that I didn't have a proper guest room to offer them. I'm definitely set on remodeling the house to have more space, now.

Yesterday I showed them around the city some, and brought them to Harry's coffee shop. Father was very favorably impressed by the quality and environment Harry's built, and spent quite some time discussing the shop with him over dinner. (French, expensive - naturally.) And then they dropped the bombshell - that they've been looking for a place in Vancouver, so as to be closer to me. A few years ago, I would have been screaming bloody murder, resenting the infringement on my existence - now, I'm glad. I've missed having them close by, and I definitely will enjoy seeing more of Abbie.

And then Father hit me with an even bigger shock - he thinks it's time for he and my mother to start acclimating themselves to the Muggle world! I just sat there with my mouth hanging open for a little while; I never thought I'd hear words like that from my father's mouth. We spent half the night discussing electricity, and computers, and how cars work, and I felt as if I'd been dropped into some surreal alternate universe, into Bizarro-land; it just felt so unreal.

So this morning I've taught Father - who's always been an early riser - how to operate the espresso machine, and the joys of a good latte. He seems to have taken to coffee immediately, and is currently making himself another. After I finish this, I'm going to show him a few computer basics, and the power of the Internet. The idea of being able to find information on damn near anything fascinates him. I think he'll have a fine time, once he learns his way around. Meanwhile, Abbie came out of his room half-asleep and crawled into bed with Mother; they're cuddled up together the way I remember cuddling with her when I was that age, and the image is adorable. A good start to what I hope will be another good day with my family.

More later.

Ways in which I appreciate my Harry:

1) He's got a lovely bottom. Truly. Most men are either squashy and flat, or else muscular - and muscles are fine on arms and chest, but buttocks should be soft and plump and squeezable. Harry's are. It's a perfectly-formed posterior: gently sloping from the small of his back and curving into beautifully-rounded globes that perch perkily atop his thighs and bounce enticingly with every step. I always want to squeeze him there, to take his buttocks in my hands and savor their plumpness, cover the pale rosy-tinged flesh with wet kisses. And I've never really been an ass-man, toward either gender. But Harry's bottom is irresistibly enticing.

2) He's got marvelous hands. They're strong and square, firm capable masculine hands, and yet they move so gracefully. When he types, he does so with little flourishes between words, as if his fingers are about to take flight, as if his hands are dancing. And he doesn't often "talk with his hands", but when he does, every gesture is infinitely expressive, describing adjectives eloquently. And they're so warm, his hands, when he holds my hand or touches me - except when they're chilled, and when he gives me his hands to warm, I feel as though I've been bestowed a sacred trust.

3) His eyes are amazing, deep limitless pools of expressive emotion. When he gazes at me in that special way, drinking in the sight of me, I feel humbled and awed by the weight of his love; I feel treasured, cherished. And I can be going about my business, doing perfectly ordinary things, and suddenly a vision of his face, those eyes, will swim before my vision - and everything goes warm and fuzzy, and the world is abruptly a much better place.

4) He's got such funny feet, crooked little toes. It's the one part of him that seems awkward, as if put together in haste as opposed to the exquisite craftsmanship evident elsewhere - and I find them so endearing, those funny feet, those crooked little toes. I am charmed by his crooked little toes.

5) He's kind. Not willfully, not with effort, just naturally kind. He's nice. Caring, giving, sympathetic, friendly, nurturing, patient, warm. There's just this natural goodness in him, right down to the core, in the way he acts and reacts and treats people. And not some insipid, bland, boring mild-manneredness - no, the goodness in him is wonderfully complex, textured, intriguing to observe. He's like a nutmeg-scented candle flickering against all odds in a stiff and gusty breeze, his flame blazing brightly against all odds and despite all obstacles. I have a deep and abiding respect for him as a human being.

6) He's a skilled and generous lover, thoroughly well-proportioned - and totally without arrogance in the matter. There's none of the posturing macho pride you so often see in men who know they're all that, and in men who want to bluff you into believing they're all that. Harry simply IS all that, and the closest he comes to blustery bravado is the delight he takes in pleasuring me, in loving me unreservedly.

7) Harry has the rare and precious quality of forgiveness. He's forgiven me my nasty childhood ways, and my craven cowardice during the War. He's forgiven my father for his involvement with the Dark Lord, for trying to KILL him even. He'd rather forgive than hold a grudge, and gives no thought to whether such generosity of spirit might make him seem "weak". Coming from a line of Slytherins as I do, you can imagine how startling and amazing that is to me.

8) I love the way he sits on the couch. Sort of tucks his legs up under himself and arranges his body into these awkward yet languid poses that oughtn't be comfortable. He seems all arms and legs, like a baby giraffe, yet somehow all that tangle of limbs becomes graceful and fluid, like a sculpture, like a work of art. He makes me wish I could draw, so that I could draw him, capture those lines of his body and the way he moves and arranges himself.

Ah, I could do this all night. And Harry's getting restless, obviously wondering when I'll stop "playing" on the computer and pay attention to him...

It's been a good weekend. For starters, it was THE WEEKEND, after a workweek that felt like forever, and just being able to shag Harry late into the night and then sleep late the next morning was a wonderful feeling. And then last night was the cafe's holiday party, which was just amazing. It was at the zoo, with a zoo/carnival sort of theme, jugglers and clowns and fire breathers and game booths and face painting for the kids which Abbie adored, and an up-close-and-personal with one of the zoo's gorgeous hawks, and the most amazing food and free liquor all round. Really a fantastic party. I got a bit freaked out toward the end of the night when Abbie went missing - but then we found him fast asleep under one of the Christmas trees, and all was well. Got home and put Abbie to bed, magicked the tub big enough for two and added herbal oils and had a lovely soothing soak with Harry, and made love allll night. A perfect end to a perfect day.

And today's been very low-key and relaxing, mostly. I got the household bills done, a task I'd been neglecting; and then I decided to do some batch cooking, set up my crockpots and dutch ovens and make stuff to be vacuum-sealed and frozen for easy meals later on. Broth, of course, and a mix of sausage, bacon, onions, mushrooms, red peppers and potato that's easily defrosted for addition to scrambled eggs to make a hearty breakfast with very little work. And I got Harry to put on a batch of his marvelous spaghetti sauce. And then I baked a mince pie, in practice for Christmas dinner when I'll do the same. The filling is just imported mince mix in a jar, but the crust is my own recipe, a buttery sort of crust that's more like shortbread than pie crust. Father's a big fan of mince pie, as is Abbie, so I wanted the practice to make sure everything will turn out perfectly...

Father called yesterday, and yeah, they'll be here Thursday, and staying till after New Year's. I've already ordered the goose, and fresh oysters for Father, and the gourmet champagne-pheasant pate that Mother's so fond of. And a lot of fine steaks and fish and seafood and chicken for Boxing Day, on which I plan to show off my grilling skills. And I've got places booked on a New Year's Eve cruise for all of us - Harry and myself, Mother and Father, and Harry's friends Ron and Hermione - dinner and dancing, and a fine view of the fireworks display. Abbie will get to stay home with a sitter who's being paid handsomely for her work on New Year's, which is more of a treat for him than the (over 21 only) cruise would be - he's never had sitters, only house elves, so it's an adventure for him. Harry seems to be looking forward to my parents' arrival too, so it's all good. They should be here Thursday - I've already asked Harry for Wednesday off, so that I can spend the day cleaning house and preparing for their arrival. This is the first time they'll be staying with me in my Muggle house, and I want everything to be just right.

But for now, I want nothing more than to savor my last few hours of freedom before the onset of the workweek. A cozy spot on the couch with Harry awaits.

Even a part-time shift is exhausting to someone who's not used to working. And my feet are definitely not used to all the standing. To add to the misery, Harry's been busy in the back office working on financial stuffs, so I haven't even been able to ogle his pretty arse as I labour. All combined, well, it's only Wednesday and already I'm a dead thing; Friday evening seems immeasurably far away.

But even so, I'm enjoying myself. I'm getting to know my co-workers and their varied quirks and ways, and I can honestly say I haven't met a one of them who I don't like at least a little. Most of the customers are all right too, and some of the regulars are beginning to get to know me, by face if not by name. Oddest of all is that despite being very circumspect, even though there's not been a word said (to the best of my knowledge) or even a single overtly lascivious look passing between us, everyone at the shop seems to know that Harry and I are an item. I've received several veiled comments from various folks indicating how much Harry means to them, and woe befall anyone who might cause him pain! I never know quite what to say to those, but try to be reassuring without giving away anything Harry might prefer to keep quiet.

Meanwhile, things have been a little tense. Harry is working hard, and I'm adjusting to working at all, and so we're both tired and stressed by the time evening comes, and Abbie picks up on that and gets whiney and/or snippy. His favorite thing to do to express his displeasure with the universe is to tell me that I'm a stinky poop. And it's never Harry who's the stinky poop. No, I'M always the stinky poop, damn it. So that kind of pisses me off...

I ache. A hot bath would do me a world of good. I think I'm gonna go do exactly that.

Everything went splendidly. The hotel room was as delightful as advertised, dinner was delectable, Harry loved the play, and our first night as lovers was both sizzlingly hot and deeply tender - we soaked, we massaged, we caressed, we made love in all sorts of ways, and finally fell asleep from happy exhaustion. Just as I'd hoped.

Woke up today and had breakfast - I didn't have as much coffee as usual as we were in a hurry to get home, which left me a bit headachey - came home to learn that Abbie had been a good boy for his babysitter just as I'd hoped he'd be, and spent the rest of the day quietly nuzzling while Abbie played with Lady out in the snow flurries. We ordered Chinese for dinner so as to have a stress-free night, nobody having to cook or clean up after; and now Abbie's in bed, and Harry and I are getting ready to follow suit. It's much, much nicer sharing a bed with him with no clothes on... :)

I'd write more, but I'm too tired. Good night!

Harry has to work tonight, and both Abbie and I are lonely without him. How did I ever manage so long all alone, with no Harry in my life? Already, I can't remember, nor imagine ever being without him again.

But it's given me the chance to firm up my secret special devious plans for this weekend. We still haven't consummated our new relationship, and now I'm determined to make it special, as romantic as I can. I've already arranged for the girl three houses down along the cul-de-sac to come and babysit Abbie, Saturday afternoon until Sunday morning - it sounds like a long time, but between her parents being only a short distance away and the fact that Harry and I can easily Apparate back if we're needed and Confund later, it's not such a big deal. And Abbie's already looking forward to it; he's never had a babysitter in his life, it's always been house elves, so it'll be like an adventure for him.

Harry knows we're "going away" for the night, but not where. Years ago, now, in the process of exploring the area, I found myself spending an evening in Tacoma, and in the process discovered a little restaurant named Paloma's. It's cozy and relaxed yet still somehow elegant, with waiters and waitresses who burst into song at the drop of a hat and wandering violinists who'll play just about anything from classical Italian music up to and including Led Zeppelin upon request - and a little placard you can display on your table if you'd rather have privacy. Their main offering is fondue - vastly better than The Melting Pot in terms of quantity and quality, though structured along the same lines: your choice of cheeses with bread and crudite as a starter, flavorful broth with your choice of meats and seafood as a main course, melted chocolate and heated caramel with everything from fruit to cake for dipping as a dessert - and any number of little tasting dishes you can order on the side for variety, elegant little gourmet offerings that complement the fondue perfectly. Every table is in its own little alcove, making it intimate and private. I've been there repeatedly over the years just to enjoy the food, each time feeling a bit forlorn that I had no one special enough that I wanted to bring with me - even when I was with Robin and Tamera, I knew it was a temporary thing, and didn't want my mental image of Paloma's to be forever associated with either of them. Now, I can share this special place with Harry - and that will be wonderful.

First, though, we'll check into our hotel. I'd often seen the Silver Cloud Inn on the Tacoma waterfront, and thought it might be a nice place to stay sometime. The pictures of the rooms on the website seem to confirm my thoughts. I've booked us into a King Jacuzzi room - go check out "Premier Waterfront Jacuzzi" under Virtual Tours - the room seems sort of small, but there's a massive king bed and a fireplace and a jacuzzi tub set beside huge windows with a view of the water, and it should be lovely. I've already packed a bag full of special supplies, bath oils and massage oils and lotions and, ah, "intimate lotion", which should serve us well. And I made a few calls; and I have a package paid for and being delivered to the house by messenger tomorrow, from one of my favorite boutiques: two genuine Turkish spa robes and two oversized Turkish bath towels, for wrapping up in after our bath. And I've packed some "wizard's candles" for ambiance, the kind that go out if they get knocked over to avoid fires, and a bottle of my finest champagne, and wine glasses spelled against breakage, and so on, and so forth: everything we might need to make the night complete.

So we'll check into our room and get settled, then head out for an early dinner - and then! the piece de resistance! the perfect capper to the evening, more perfect than I could have hoped to arrange. The Sound Of Music, Harry's absolute favorite musical, is being performed live at the Lakewood Playhouse only a little ways away! Mind you, I have no way of knowing whether the company is any good - and I hope that Harry isn't disappointed in the quality of the theatrical production. I have the feeling, though, that even if it's absolutely awful, he'll still find a way to enjoy himself. He's like that. And... I have heard good things about Lakewood performances, so I'm hopeful. In any case, no matter what, he'll know that I care enough about him and was paying close enough attention to find an evening's entertainment really tailored to his likes.

And then... then, we'll return to our hotel, where we'll sip champagne and soak in the jacuzzi together and explore our newfound intimacy with tenderness, romance and passion, as we do the funky wild thing until we're both too tired to continue. Then, in the morning, we'll have the complimentary hotel breakfast, or order something from room service, and eventually meander the hour back north on I-5 to home sweet home, where I will tip our babysitter generously (assuming the house isn't trashed) and we will then proceed to the wizarding district, where we have an appointment to sit for a set of photographs of the three of us, for Mother and Father at Christmas. And maybe do some more Christmas shopping. Normal, family stuff. But for Saturday... for Saturday, it's just Harry and me, celebrating our First Night Together. And it will be AWESOME.

The only hard part will be - now that we're both feeling more or less well again - keeping him from jumping my bones between now and then. :)

Can't sleep, feel too icky. Crept out of bed so as not to wake Harry. He stirred a little but then went back to sleep - though being an early riser, I won't be surprised if he wakes up soon anyway.

There was a time when all I wanted was to be as far away from my parents as possible. Now, I wish we lived closer together. But I'm settled in Seattle, don't want to move - and they're settled in Nova Scotia, which is way far away from any major city, and never the twain shall meet. Which sucks. It means that we really only see each other twice a year, once when I visit them and once briefly when Mother drops off Abbie to visit me. And my contact to Abbie is limited thusly as well. Aside from simply missing them all for reasons of pure sentiment, it bothers me that I have so little sway in Abbie's upbringing, and so little opportunity to try to bring my parents into the Muggle world to some degree and thus into the 20th century.

Accustomed as I am now to Muggle ways, it seems amazingly antiquated that my mother still uses the fireplace to call me. She can only reach me if I'm home - not if I'm out and about, as she could if she used the phone - and she can't leave a message if I'm not here. What if there were an emergency? How long would it take for her to let me know about it? And computers... My father still does financial records by hand, not even on ledger paper the way I do (being a bit retro myself when it comes to matters of money - sure, I'll use online banking, but my balances and reconciliations are all kept on paper, written by hand in a looseleaf notebook) but on scrolls, in pen and ink, laying out lines and columns with a ruler, the way people did things centuries ago. How much simpler if he could load the data into a spreadsheet and work with it that way - to say nothing of the more sophisticated financial programs available. (And our solicitors do provide such data in electronic format as well as paper - I checked.) Mother loves to shop; she'd find the world at her fingertips on the Internet, any gourmet speciality she could imagine. The classical music my father favors would sound much clearer from CD than his carefully preserved vinyl record collection - or could at least be digitized from same, to avoid further wear and tear to the originals - and television! My father has always been something of a renaissance man, with a diversity of interests of all sorts; he'd find so much interesting material on TV, from movies to documentaries to how-to shows - and Wikipedia, my god, he could spend hours browsing that site alone, simply soaking up information. My mother loves books and plays with intricate, dramatic storylines - she'd have another means of seeking entertainment. Never mind all that's out there in terms of Muggle literature, that they haven't read simply because they don't know how to find or obtain it.

They're missing out on so much. With all their riches, they're lacking simple, elemental things that could make their lives so much easier and richer. I've tried to expose Abbie to as much as possible - but a seven year old raving about the wonders of the Reading Rabbit computer game is not going to make my father see the value in computers, in any way he can understand; and limited as I am to those few weeks every year, there's only so much I can show him, while the rest of the time he's cloistered into the same kind of cloistered wizarding environment I grew up in, shielded from even such basics as electricity. Hell, I couldn't send Abbie an electric toy for a present if I wanted to - their luxurious mansion has no wall plugs. I couldn't even charge my cellphone - and have learned to bring an extra charged battery from home, and keep the phone turned off most of the time to conserve battery life - and forget about bringing the laptop; it'd be a useless brick...

I believe I could bring my parents around, little by little, given the opportunity. Slowly but surely, they've come to accept - maybe not be thrilled by, but accept - the Muggle lifestyle I lead, and the exposure I give Abbie to Muggle things. Mother nags me to shave off my manly beard stubble every time she sees me, but she's stopped making disappointed noises at my blue jeans and flannel shirts and workboots, and has even told me that I look quite handsome in Muggle formal dress. And Father's at the point of being able to ride in a car that I'm driving by Muggle means alone, with only the occasional white-knuckled grip on the armrest when we're on a freeway moving at speed. (Oddly enough, Mother accepts my driving quite serenely. I think she's accustomed to trusting her well-being to the men in her life, and believing we're skilled enough to safeguard it properly.) So they've made progress, in the years since we've renewed close contact. But there's only so much I can do at a distance, and even less that I can do in a wizarding enclave so secluded that it has no electricity. I can't power up my laptop and show Father my financial records, and how quickly I can manipulate the data, creating graphs at a click of a button. I can't pull up a web browser and show Mother the elite shopping sites, or display to either of them the vast array of information and entertainment that can be found online. All I have to persuade them with is words - and not even my most persuasive words (and I can be pretty damned persuasive) are up to the task. It's a bit like describing purple to a man blind from birth. Without seeing it and experiencing it for yourself, it doesn't feel quite real, and the mystique and allure are lost.

But they're coming for Christmas. To stay in my home, for at least a couple of days. I'll have the chance - if I'm careful, if I'm subtle about it, not too pushy, not too eager - to demonstrate some of what they're missing. Books and plays Mother's adored - some have been Muggle-written, which means there must be movies or videos out somewhere; I can find one or two on DVD and rent them. Maybe a documentary on ancient Greece, which is a long-held interest of Father's. Some of his favorite music on CD, maybe even a live production to watch. And I can look up Internet sites they might find relevant and bookmark them, keep them at the ready. The latest set of family financial data is in, via express post from England; I can have it loaded into Excel by then, and show my father just how easy it is to deal with that way. (I've been tracking our family's finances since I was ten years old, parallel with Father - an excellent exercise for someone who'll be expected to actually handle those matters someday.) And with a little help from Harry, I can demonstrate the usefulness of a cellphone, how splendid it is to be able to reach someone no matter where they might be. I'll have to use a very light touch - if they think they're being manipulated or conned, especially my father, they'll close up and throw up walls faster than you can blink an eye - but with careful forethought and planning, I can toss out at least some of those things and let them draw their own conclusions about what they're missing.

And then I was thinking about Christmas gifts. I've already gotten them the standard sort of presents, elegant and wizardly - a crystal inkwell and quill set for my father, engraved with the names and birthdates of both his sons; a bottle of fine perfume and a jeweled hair ornament for my mother. But wouldn't it be fun to buy them Muggle things as well? things they'll never have seen before, much less owned, but which they might find useful? Mother, for example - her feet are always cold, even despite warming spells on her shoes and slippers. But perhaps a pair of those big soft fuzzy slippers might do the trick? And Father - he favors a particular style of wizarding robe, sleek and stylish yet sweeping upon movement - and I can just imagine him in a long black leather coat a la the Matrix, perhaps with a removable fur lining for extra warmth. And I've heard him complain about the wear and tear to his wizarding dress trousers, from playing on the floor with Abbie and giving horsie rides - maybe a pair of blue jeans would prove more sturdy and comfortable? Mother, I think, has never worn a pair of trousers in her life, and the dresses she wears when forced to adopt Muggle-like styles are invariably long ones, closer to evening gowns than everyday clothing - perhaps I can find her an outfit that would meet with her approval while presenting a less formal appearance? Or else a snuggly fuzzy bathrobe to go with those slippers, nice and cozy. There've got to be other interesting things I can come up with, that'd intrigue them enough to at least consider using them rather than choking out a polite thank-you and stuffing them in the nearest closet to be forgotten. I bet a multi-tool like the one I carry on my keychain, with knife and scissors and a variety of small tools, would fascinate Father. I've seen similar items with manicure tools that might tickle Mother's fancy. And the mall near me will take your picture and then laser-etch it into a crystal block that you can display on a small lighted battery-powered spinning stand... that's unique enough to capture their interest, and with a photo of Abbie and myself together, would be irresistible.

Little things, a little at a time. I think, if I just keep at it long enough and carefully enough, I can bring them around, at least a bit. And then... then, maybe, if they've loosened up enough to consider living someplace other than a protected wizarding enclave, I might just persuade them to move a bit closer. Vancouver is only twoish hours away by car and easily close enough to Apparate without breaking a sweat, even with a side-along and luggage, and it's got the highest wizarding population of all Canada. (Seattle is third in the U.S. in terms of wizarding population. The others in the top five are New York City, Los Angeles, Key West and Austin, Texas. In case you were wondering. Yes, I found the fact intriguing enough to memorize.) So they would still be in an area with enough magical culture to feel familiar - wizarding shopping and business districts for their convenience. As far as I know, the residential areas of Vancouver with a high density of wizards are still mixed - and probably not upper-class and luxurious enough for my parents to consider living in. But there are luxury mansions set in acres and acres of land not far outside the city, where my parents could have the sort of solitude they're used to, and not more Muggle exposure than they can handle, while still possessing the wonders of electricity, phone lines, cable TV. (Though I'd want to set them up with satellite TV, and probably DSL if they're not too far from a phone switching station. I've always found cable TV to have fewer options, and cable internet to experience enough speed slowdowns as to be considered unreliable.) I'd be on hand to take them shopping for these new strange things, to explain things and teach them how to use it all, a phone call away if something breaks or crashes, which might also put them at ease with the transition. And Abbie... Abbie could stay at his new school, as wizarding treaties between the U.S. and Canadian magical governments blur the lines of citizenship in weird ways; at least a quarter of his class Portkeys in daily from the Vancouver area - and his school has been consistently in the top three wizarding grade schools in terms of grades for the past twenty years. The only real inconvenience would be the eight-hour time difference in calling England, mostly an annoyance to Father when conducting business - and they're already used to the four-hour difference when calling from Nova Scotia, so it wouldn't be a huge leap.

Yes, I've been thinking about this for some time. Yes, I've investigated the wizarding scene in Vancouver, made casual queries with real estate agencies. Yes, I asked at Abbie's school about the percentage of Vancouver students and the ability to set the school Portkeys for that sort of distance. This isn't exactly a passing fancy on my part. I've been thinking about it for years.

But in the past, I've not pushed the matter too far - I've been unwilling to stir up potential discord between myself and my parents, after years of not speaking to them beyond Christmas cards; and I've always assumed that it's hopeless, that my parents are far too set in their ways - and biased against Muggles - to ever adapt their ways. But there've been small signs of change. When they placed Abbie in my care this time, my parents didn't scold or caution me against subjecting him to undue Muggle influence, barely mentioned it - instead, Mother simply said, "I know you'll take good care of him," and left it at that. And when I mentioned the benefits of Abbie's exposure to Muggle things, they actually seemed to listen, to think about it. Then, when I talked to Father via fire call a few days back, he mentioned the fact that Auror Ron Weasley was handling the matter of his questioning - and displayed none of the old anti-Weasley bias, instead describing Weasley in quite favorable, even (for Father) glowing terms; he mentioned that he'd met Weasley's girlfriend, my old rival for first-in-class Granger, and opined that she'd grown up to become quite an attractive and personable young woman - both opinions that would never have passed his lips years ago, before the War. So it seems that at least some of the old prejudices and biases are fading, at least a little - and maybe they're ready, now, to go a bit further into that unknown and (to many traditional wizards) potentially threatening territory of Muggle technology. Maybe.

But it's all up to me. I'm the key to all this; I'm the one who's immersed myself in the Muggle world, living wholly as a Muggle and learning Muggle ways from the ground up, to the point where if I had to live entirely without magic for an extended period of time, I could do so with only minor inconvenience and aggravation - much less than if I had to live without Muggle technology; the time I spend computerless at the Nova Scotia mansion is bad enough! I'm the one who can take all the strangeness of Muggle things and translate it into terms they can understand, make it all less intimidating and more accessible. Abbie's too young and still too sheltered; his whiny pleas for a TV and computer back home come across as the typical immature demands of a child for something dangerous or unwise, like wanting extra cookies or to stay up past bedtime. And Harry's about to become family, and holds great favor in their eyes nowadays - but he was raised by Muggles, he takes the technology for granted; he doesn't know how to break it down and make it familiar to them the way I do. And I'm their eldest son; just as it's my loving responsibility to ensure their care and comfort in their old age, well, this is my responsibility too. And it has to be done. Because the world is moving forward with ridiculously long strides, and the wizarding world is increasingly becoming saturated with Muggle influences - even in England, traditionally one of the most segregated cultures - and my parents have at least another hundred years ahead of them, and if they don't learn to adapt to at least the basics, they'll be left behind, and swiftly find themselves unable to cope, and unable to find a comfortable space for themselves where the old familiar ways still apply.

So they're coming for Christmas. And first among my priorities is to make it a pleasant and comfortable enough visit that they want to do it again. After that, all the things I mentioned, the little nudges and subtle hints, the "gag gifts" from another world distant enough from their own that it might as well be Venus. And maybe reiterate my concerns about Abbie's future as well. Because regardless of their feelings about Muggle ways and technology - if Abbie isn't raised with these things, to take them for granted, it'll cripple him in future life, leave him at a disadvantage amongst his more savvy peers. Even if nothing else manages to reach them, that one might.

And now, having achieved a measure of resolve, I feel calm enough to go back to sleep. The decision is made, the plan is forming, the actions ahead seem clear; now, perhaps, I can relax.

That's how I've spent the day feeling. Icksuckular.

It amazes me that Harry was so good and sweet during his bout of this plague, because it's absolutely awful. Then again, he didn't actually vomit - I puked NINE HUNDRED BAZILLION times today (okay, twice) and had the worst aches and chills deep in my bones that you can imagine. Harry (who's feeling better, somewhat) was an absolute angel, massaging my aching limbs and fetching me potions and things and being patient with me even though I'm a grumpy, nasty piece of work when I'm feeling poorly. He really is amazing.

At least Abbie had a good first day at school. Harry had to do most of the seeing him off this morning, as I was feeling so wretched, and Abbie was all worried about me being sick; I was afraid it'd overshadow his mood for the rest of the day. But he came home all smiles, and eager to tell us everything: how his teacher is so nice, and how he made three new friends today, and got 100% on the spelling quiz. And he made us a calendar in art class - construction paper, decorated with cutouts and stickers and markers and glitter glue, with a xeroxed copy of the month of December pasted to the bottom. Harry put it up on the fridge, along with the quiz with its shining gold star on top, and Abbie had his after-school snack of gooey Pop-Tarts and milk and settled down to do his homework like a good boy, with no urging. He had two worksheets to do, which excited him because at his old school, it was all scrolls and such. I'm happy to see him so happy - and a little sad, because he won't be at this school but three weeks or so. It'll be a shame to disrupt his life again, when he's so happy.

I'm feeling a little better now - the nausea's gone, at any rate. Which is a blessing, as Harry's spent the day simmering spaghetti sauce and making meatballs for dinner, and the house smells SO GOOD, and if I couldn't eat any of it I'd be miserable. Apparently Italian food is a specialty of my boy's - as well as a favorite of mine. I foresee many delicious dinners in our future.

I am coming down with Harry's plague. This means more time until we can consummate our relationship. Life is not fair.

So I go out in the snowrain to fetch my Jeep and bring it back from the parking garage, and stop at the store on my way back for lunch foods for Abbie's school lunches, staples we need, etc. Simple enough, yeah? Except the traffic was lousy and the store was packed and there were insane lines at the measly three checkout lines that were open, and I ended up getting Chinese food for dinner 'cause I knew I didn't want to cook, and finally FINALLY I was able to slog home and be done with it.

And then I find out that while I was gone, Mother called, and Abbie announced to her that Harry and I are getting married. Not that there's any problem with the folks knowing. I just wouldn't have chosen THAT way to tell them.

Mother's pretty sure that she and Father will be able to make it back in time to spend Christmas at my place with me and Harry and Abbie, which should be nice. On top of this, Ron and Hermione will be in town (staying at Harry's apartment) from Boxing Day through New Year's. So it should be an interesting holiday season all round. I've put an order in for a Christmas goose, and a mail-order for the gourmet plum pudding I send away for every year, and tomorrow I'll call the place where I had a standing reservation for their New Year's dinner and fireworks cruise and see if they have space left for four more. And then I'll start cleaning the house like a mad thing, 'cause of course I want it sanitized for when my folks are here. And I've still got more Christmas shopping to do. Busybusybusy.

But this year I'll have someone extra-special to kiss at the stroke of midnight. This year, and ever after. I go about my business and do all the ordinary things, y'know, just like normal, and then out of nowhere it'll strike me that I'm as good as married now, to someone who I treasure above all others, and the world just sorta spins out of control for a little while as I catch my breath. It's all brand new - yet at the same time, it feels like we've been together for years. So right. So good.

The Chinese food is getting cold. This won't do.

Last night I spent maybe three hours alone in my room, stretched out on the bed staring at the ceiling and thinking long and hard about all the things I listed in my last post. I thought it through, then re-examined my feelings, my motivations, over and over again until I was absolutely, positively sure that I was ready to make the choice, and that it was the right choice, a choice I could stand behind for the rest of my days.

Then I went out to the living room and curled up with my poor sick Harry in the sofabed, and grilled him extensively. Not that the answers would have changed my mind at that point, but they were questions I needed answered. Like, how would he feel about moving back to England in say a decade or two when it comes time for me to take up the reins of the family businesses. And whether he'd be willing to come to my softball games. And whether I could trust him to go to the grocery store and come back with the things I'd listed. And whether he was any good at housework. Simple, basic things, the kind of stuff you have to settle before making a lifelong commitment.

And then I told him I loved him, and that I wanted to be with him forever. I asked him to be mine, and vowed to be his. I pledged myself to him, to share everything I had and was with him, and share his burdens and troubles equally. I promised to warm him when he was cold, feed him when he was hungry, hold him close when he felt alone. I told him that I cherish him, that I treasure him, that he is precious to me, and that I am deeply, passionately in love with him. And then I kissed him, with every bit of tenderness and skill I had in me.

And then... then we did nothing more than cuddle for the rest of the night, because Harry's in the throes of the flu, and so it's going to take a little while before we can consummate our new relationship, infuriatingly enough.

But that's all right. We have forever. All the time in the world.

Once we'd settled things, Harry expressed concern that Abbie might react negatively to the news of our commitment, or my parents. I said, Are you kidding? Abbie's going to be THRILLED. Probably start shrieking at the top of his lungs in that way of his that's both amusing and nerve-shredding at the same time. Uncle Harry's going to be a REAL Uncle now - well, brother in law, more precisely, but no need to split hairs. As for my parents - not only is my intended NOT a Muggle, as they've probably been fearing for years - and not only is he a prestigious member of wizarding society, whose addition to the family can only serve to raise our social standing - but he's the man who saved my life, whose testimony on our behalf during the war trials ensured our freedom and thus indirectly made Abbie's birth possible; despite any and all ill will in the past, they certainly look upon him favorably now. And on top of all that, Harry is utterly charming. Well-mannered, modest to a fault, he's impossible to dislike. Yes, my parents will be over the moon with joy when they find out who I've chosen.

But the thing that really seemed to get to Harry was my mention of our future children. I mean... there are going to be children at some point, no question about that. Firstly, because I'm rich, and a pureblood, and there's gotta be a next generation to hand down the family fortune to. And secondly, because I want 'em. Not right now, but someday. Probably after Abbie's a teenager, at least - right now, he's more than enough child in my life. But someday, yeah, at least one boy to carry on the family name, and it'd be nice to have a little girl to dress up in frills and lace and such - and oh, how Mother would love a granddaughter! And just imagine, children with the incredibly dominant Malfoy blond-hair gene and Harry's gorgeous green eyes... the combination of Harry's bone structure with mine, too, well, we'd have some damn good-looking kids. And smart, too, and magically powerful... yeah.

And so it's just something I take for granted, the prospect of children someday. But when I brought it up, Harry just about burst into tears. I guess he's never had the kind of relationship that looked so far into the future, or was certain enough to consider such things. Just the same way I don't believe he's ever had anyone who really cherished him and treasured him the way I do. Cared for him, sure, but not with the same... intensity, I guess. So I've got my work cut out for me, to really make Harry feel, deep inside, that he's deserving of all that I feel for him.

He's dozing now, thankfully. It's been a restless night, Harry waking up every hour or two with a coughing fit or a bout of chills or just feeling icky. So I've slept poorly as well, sticking close by his side so that I can be there to fetch him tea, broth, medicine, potions, an extra quilt when he's chilly, a cool damp washcloth when he's got the sweats, cough drops, extra pillows, and let's not forget lots of little kisses to remind him he's safe and loved... I'm tired as hell, but I don't mind. This is my Harry, after all.

And Abbie woke up in the night during one of Harry's particularly bad coughing fits, and then didn't want to go back to bed because he was worried about Uncle Harry - and because there's several inches of snow outside that he's just ACHING to go play in! - so he's had a short night too, and is sleeping late. Which is nice for me, as - I don't expect to get any quality sleep, but the peace and quiet with him asleep is at least relaxing. When he awakens and is alert enough to process things, I'll tell him that yes indeedy, I am going to marry Uncle Harry - and then cover my ears against the resultant shrieks. Should be fun.

The only real worry on my mind right now is whether Abbie or I will catch Harry's plague. I'm supposed to go back to work at the coffeeshop on Monday - more importantly, it's supposed to be Abbie's first day at his new school, and he's looking forward to it. I've stuffed both Abbie and I full of Muggle medicine and vitamins and potions to try to ward off disaster - all I can do now is hope for the best. Here's hoping.

In retrospect, the decision to commit myself to Harry was so obvious and so necessary that I can't believe it took me so long to get around to it. Rather like "deciding" to breathe oxygen, you know? But I wanted to be absolutely certain. Harry deserved to have absolute certainty from me. So I'm glad I took that time, because now there are no worries, no questions, no hesitation. Just love and affection and a certain annoyance at wanting to drag him off to bed already! I keep telling myself to be patient, but c'mon, as gorgeous and cuddly as he is, it sure ain't easy. No, not at all.

I love Harry. This is not open to question. His happiness, his welfare, are more important to me than my own. I appreciate him, I cherish him, I treasure him. So that's a given.

I enjoy his company. I like having him around. He's fun to be with, has a great sense of humor and a wonderful way of making you more aware of the world around you and how special it is. He's also easy-going, even-tempered and pleasant. I want to be with him - now, and for the foreseeable future. So that's also a given.

My life is better, happier, more enjoyable now than it was before Harry and I were reunited. The last month has been a night-and-day difference from the time before. Being with him enriches me in some vital way that cannot be matched by any other person or experience. He makes my world a better place; he makes me a better person. So there's another fact.

I want to share my world with him. I want to take him camping, take him fishing, go out to clubs with him. I want us to travel together, around the country, around the world. I want to make meals for him. I want to take him to softball games. I even don't mind doing laundry when he's there to help sort and fold. Everything that makes me who I am, I want to experience with him. So there's something else.

I find him attractive. Handsome. Cute. Endearing. I like looking at him. I like touching him. I try not to admit it lest my composure unravel completely, but DAMN he's sexy, and yes, I want him, oh so much. Another factor to consider.

I respect and admire him as a person. The way he strives for excellence in his coffeeshop, the way he treats his employees. His patience and gentleness with Abbie, with Lady. I can relax and have full faith in him, full confidence that he is by nature a good person who does the right thing, always, to the best of his ability. And that's a very important factor, to me.

He captivates me. He enraptures me. His touch makes my heart go pitter-pat; his smile takes my breath away. He makes me want to sing in the rain, to sit with him in candlelight gazing into each other's eyes, to hold his hand on a moonlit night and count shooting stars together. He makes me want to sing soppy love songs. I do not merely love him; I am in love, hopelessly, with all my heart.

He's a wizard, as I am, and respected in the wizarding world, and so a match with him would be well-regarded, by my parents as well as society in general. And while the approval of others is not my primary concern, when it comes to a permanent relationship, it's not something one should ignore, either. And there'll come a time when I'll settle down, take over the reins of the family businesses and have a family - and when that time comes, I can envision doing that with Harry beside me, and being happy.

And at the heart of it all: I want him with me, now and forevermore. I've had others in the past, but having known him, I am able to say with confidence that I do not now nor will ever want anyone else more. Not even... not even Charlotte mattered to me the way Harry does.

This is right. He's the one.

And when I search my heart and my conscious and subconscious mind, when I dig through my deepest feelings and thoughts as best I can, there's not even the slightest hesitation, not even the slightest doubt.

This is the way it should be. Harry and me.

It strikes me that since I'm as good as courting the man, I might as well change his tag from "harry bloody potter", yeah?

So from now on, he can be found tagged as "harry-dumpling". Which is my pet name for him.

In related news, Abbie asked me, as we were unpacking his things, if I was going to marry Uncle Harry? I told him that I didn't know yet. Which is the simple truth.

I think I'd better decide soon, though.

Yeah, we're home. Yeah, hours and hours ahead of schedule.

The family bedroom we had last night had enough room for Harry and I to each have our own bunk. Instead, we slept curled up together as we have since his sprained ankle. But Harry had a restless night. By the wee hours of the morning, it was obvious he was indeed coming down with something nasty, probably the flu - aches, chills, general malaise, and so forth. Around five a.m., we abandoned any further attempts at sleep, and I began packing our things, quietly so as not to wake Abbie prematurely, so that we could disembark the train at the next possible stop.

Wherein we encountered more problems. I told the porter we were getting off at the next stop. "You can't get off here," was his reply, "you're not ticketed for this stop." So I told him that we damn well were getting off there; and we traipsed down through the train until we reached a car where people were lining up to disembark. The porter followed us, sputtering protests. I told him that we were leaving the train because one of our party was ill and couldn't travel any further, at which point he left us alone and I thought the problems were over with.

Wrong! As soon as we got off the train at Dunsmuir, we were met by a pair of paramedics and an ambulance, alerted by the train crew that there was a medical emergency to be dealt with. As this interfered with my plan of finding the closest secluded spot to Apparate from, I was thoroughly annoyed. Harry, on the other hand, was horribly embarrassed by the whole thing. And Abbie was confused and frightened by it all - so here's Harry being poked and prodded in the ambulance, and here am I standing outside trying to comfort Abbie, who's started crying hysterically and wailing, "But what if Uncle Harry DIES?" We were quite the spectacle, I'm sure.

At long last, the paramedics decreed that Harry had "a cold, or possibly the flu", as we'd known all along. However, they wanted to take him to the hospital, some fifty miles distant, "just to be sure"... At which point I finally lost patience with the whole thing. I Confunded them both, smiled and nodded at them until they went away, hustled Harry and Abbie into the handicapped stall in the train station's men's room, and Apparated us all straight home. I'd planned on landing in the parking lot in Seattle and driving, but I figured, what the hell, I could always pick up the Jeep later. At that point, I just wanted us all home.

Then I had to deal with three anxious furry people and their pleasure at seeing us again, petting and scritching and being nuzzled and licked and whined at and pawed at. Then I had to finish consoling and calming Abbie, who was still overwrought at the thought that something might be dreadfully wrong with Harry. Then I had to pry Abbie away from Harry long enough to get Harry settled in, comfortably ensconced in my coziest flannel pajamas on the opened-out sofabed amidst heaps of pillows and a snuggly quilt, with tea and juice and warm broth and cold medicines and potions to make him feel better. And then...

...Then I shooed Abbie out to the backyard to play and roughhouse with Lady and work off some of that excess energy, poured myself a drink, kicked off my shoes and socks and stretched out on the sofabed next to Harry, and let out a long, long sigh of relief.

So things are settling back to normal now. Harry's dozing, with Lady snuggled up next to him; Abbie's playing; I'm watching TV on the sofabed next to Harry with a cat perched on either side of me. When Harry wakes up, I might leave Abbie in his care and Apparate downtown to pick up the Jeep, and grab something for us for dinner on the way back. There's nothing in the house that I don't have to defrost, so it would be a good time to get a couple of fancy entrees packed to go instead. And perhaps I'll stop by the Market and get some fresh bones and meat to brew some more broth for Harry. I have both beef and chicken broth in the freezer, it's easy enough to nuke, but I think there's something about the scent of simmering broth on the stovetop that is in itself curative. Or at the very least, tasty.

Or if Harry's too ill to leave on his own, I'll pull some broth out of the freezer and order Chinese delivery. Whatever. The thing that matters is that we're home, and safe. Everything else can be dealt with.

Harry keeps apologizing for cutting the trip short. I keep telling him that no, everything worked out for the best - gauging from Abbie's restlessness, I should have planned from the start for the trip to end in Paso Robles or thereabouts, planned to just Apparate home from there. Next time, I'll book an overnight out, or maybe two overnights on the same train, then perhaps some time to explore in whatever town we land in and just come home from there the wizard's way. The trip home is always the hard part anyway, when everyone's tired and the fun's basically past and it's just a matter of enduring the rest. And why go through that with a small child when we don't have to? No, it did work out for the best; if Harry hadn't gotten sick and we'd stuck it out on the train, we wouldn't have gotten back to Seattle until midnight or so, the way we were running late, and it just would have been miserable. I keep telling Harry that, and he keeps apologizing anyway, until I want to kiss him just to shut him up.

Of course, there are better reasons to kiss Harry than that. But I'm refraining. Because I still don't know my own mind, and until I'm sure, well... he deserves for me to be certain before I give him what might as well be a commitment, yeah? And he's got the flu, so kissing ain't on anyway. So yeah.

He's stirring, and might need me, so I'll close this now. Besides, I don't think I want him knowing I have a journal. If he were to read this, I wouldn't be able to talk about him anymore, and then where would I be? ;)

What a day.

It started out well enough. We had an early breakfast in the dining car, quiche and french toast and scrambled eggs, while the sun was still dawning outside. Relaxed in our compartment and packed our things in a leisurely manner, disembarked in Paso Robles right on time. Wandered around a bit, had a light lunch in a restaurant near the train station, and returned to the platform in plenty of time to catch our 4:45 pm train back home.

That was when things started to go bad.

Five o'clock came and went. Five-thirty. Six. A train employee was able to tell us that we hadn't missed the train, it hadn't come early, but couldn't tell us when it would arrive. Harry and Abbie and I played cards, Harry read stories to Abbie, there was a little green area with trees where Abbie was able to scamper around a bit while we waited, but eventually it stopped being an adventure and became extremely tedious. Sunset came, then twilight, dusk, night, and still we waited for the damned train... Finally, just a little bit before eight o'clock, over THREE HOURS LATE, the train arrived and we were able to haul our weary selves on board.

Troubles behind us? Not hardly. The porter in the sleeping car tried to tell us that we didn't have a bedroom reserved, even in the face of our ticket showing a paid-for compartment. From conversation I overheard, I'm pretty sure they sold it out from under us by mistake, to someone who wanted a sleeper after boarding. After much aggravation, and a series of conversations which definitely brought out the Malfoy in me - and mind you, all of this is transpiring while we're stuck standing in a hallway after waiting three hours for the train, so you can imagine the mood I was in - they finally decided to put us in the family bedroom. The family bedroom has four bunks, two child-sized and two adult-sized - so, nominally more room - but it's on the lower level of the train instead of the upper, therefore giving us more train noise, and what was charming last night is getting on my nerves now. Plus we have no private bathroom/shower; we're stuck using the communal ones down the hall, way down at the other end of the car. This is not the end of the world, but it is NOT the service I paid for. At first, the ...don't know what to call him, the chief porter, I guess - was resistant to putting through any sort of credit, as the family bedroom is technically close in price to the bedroom compartment. Then he tried to tell me I'd have to contact the central office. Finally, after much persistence, I came away with a signed and stamped voucher entitling us to two free sleeper compartments, one outbound and one inbound, up to $1200 in value total. Not too shabby. I'll have to validate it at an Amtrak ticket office to make it "real", but having a piece of paper in hand is over half the battle.

And after all that? They tried to tell us it was too late, they had no space left for dinner reservations. To which I said, in my best Malfoy manner, "FIND SPACE." Which they did, possibly due to having learnt that it was pointless to argue with me. By the time we were seated - the very last seating - they were out of the dinner special, and the lamb shank I would have ordered, but the half roast chicken I got instead was tasty, and well, at least it was a hot dinner.

We're now attempting to decompress, Harry with tea, me with brandy, and Abbie with a cup of cocoa and his favorite toy train. Harry's looking unwell - don't know if it's the cumulative stress or if he's coming down with something, and he keeps insisting he's fine. And Abbie, after maintaining admirable composure throughout the train delay, has become whiny and petulant, while simultaneously insisting that he's not tired and doesn't want to go to bed. Even without the delay, I think the length of this trip and the close quarters makes it just that bit too long for a child Abbie's age to deal with comfortably - the overnight trip was fun, but I think we should have planned for a day between outbound trip and return, to relax and recover from the journey, or else simply planned to take the train out and Apparate back. Ah well, next time - and there will be a next time; I've promised Abbie we'll do this again, voucher or no voucher - next time I'll know better, and plan accordingly.

In the meantime, I'm going to curl up with Harry and see if I can't massage away the headache he seems to have, and try to put this whole aggravating day behind me.