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SIYE Time:11:29 on 29th March 2024
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Camping, Muggle Style
By jner

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Category: Post-Hogwarts
Characters:None
Genres: Comedy, Fluff, General, Humor
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Reviews: 5
Summary: *** The author has been reminded via the e-mail address on file that this story is listed as incomplete and has not been updated in over 2 years ***

H/G: This is a humerous short story, in two parts, about Harry and Ginny's first family vacation. Of course, when you involve Arthur, everything must be done the hard way...the Muggle way.
Hitcount: Story Total: 3565



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.



Author's Notes:
This little fic was first scribbled down on loose bits of paper whilst on my own little family camping excursion well over two years ago. It had been a disaster and I spent most of my time hiding away in my hot tent to keep away from the wasps, documenting my misery for such an occasion as this. Anyhow, it turned into this monstrosity; enjoy!

Oh, and I don’t know what the British version of a “pancake” is (if they even eat them), so I just left it Americanized. And I’d just like to say that I’ve eaten enough of those pancakes growing up, to have had them permanently stain my opinion of them. Even when they’re cooked properly, I can’t touch the things.




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“It’ll be fun you’ll see.”

“Dad, I’m not sure now is such a good time for us,” Ginny said carefully. It wasn’t as though she disliked camping, she just knew what it would entail. The only pleasant experience she’d ever had while camping with her family happened to be when she was thirteen —during the Ireland vs. Bulgaria world cup- which had started pleasantly enough, but had ended rather frighteningly. And now, being as large as a house (respectively) at seven months of pregnancy, not to mention having a rowdy three year old boy to chase after, was difficult enough at home. Her temper and James’ inattentiveness, mixed together and set to rise in the middle of who-knows-where, was a recipe for disaster. Harry would certainly agree with her. Now was not a good time at all. Besides, Harry had had enough camping to last a lifetime. Surely he wouldn’t want to go.


“Nonsense!” her father said, waving his had dismissively. The excited gleam in his eyes was already there, but Ginny was determined to ignore it. He did look an awful lot like James though, she thought, frowning slightly. But she had mastered how to say “no” to her three year old; her father shouldn’t be any more difficult to refuse, should he?


“I’m sorry, Dad. What with the baby on the way and Harry’s busy work schedule…I just think that I should stay home and relax as much as I can before the delivery.”


“But it’s a holiday,” he countered. “Harry will have the whole weekend off and he’s only been the once, years ago. I’m sure he’d be excited to get out in nature and–” When he saw that Ginny’s mind hadn’t been changed —evidence of her pursed lips and head shake–he tried a different tactic. “What about little Jamie?” he said, glancing down at his grandson who was turning in tight circles and falling over from dizziness. “He’s never been and I know that he’d love it. Wouldn’t you, James?”


James blinked in an effort to focus his eyes on his grandfather. “Wha-” he asked, trying to stand but only falling over again with a giggle.


“See!” Arthur said, smiling brightly. “Imagine the fun he’ll have.”

Ginny smiled down at her son. He was swaying slightly where he stood on the hearth rug. James would have fun at a cauldron convention. Still, she was unmoved. “Sorry, Dad,” she said resolutely.


_________


Ginny was sulking. A fat lot of good it did to have the titles of “mother” and “wife” when no one listened to you. Her son and husband seemed to ignore her lack of camping enthusiasm as she was now left to do all the packing: food, bedding, utensils, clothing–in other words, everything–for her small family. When she’d come home a few days ago with news that she’d turned her father’s offer of camping down, Harry had expressed a deep desire to go. “Why did you tell we wouldn’t be there, Gin? We’ll have loads of fun…it’d be great to go as a family…build lots of memories for James.”


Ginny groaned as she folded Harry’s clothes into a duffle bag. So she couldn’t say no to her husband. So what?

One look at his eager face at the mention of camping and she’d lost all her reserve. And James, that’d been even worse. When he’d finally regained his footing and could focus his eyes, he’d been very disappointed they weren’t going away with Granny and Grandpa for the weekend. His pouting eyes, much like his father’s, were what broke her heart in the end. After much persuasion and pouting, she agreed —albeit grudgingly–and she was now frantically trying to get everything ready for their departure that afternoon. Harry was still at work, though he said he would work through lunch so he could get away sooner, and James was making a mess in his room whilst searching for his Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle torch.

Ginny packed the last of Harry’s belongings and stretched her aching back. Being hugely pregnant and bending over were two things that didn’t go well together. She couldn’t wait to have their baby arrive. Not only would she finally meet the new addition to their family, but she’d be able to walk and bend properly. She thought they were having a girl —or hoped, really- while Harry and the rest of the family (save George) insisted it was a boy. “You’ve got a lot stacked against you, dearie,” her mother had said. At this point, she thought blearily while decending the stairs, I just hope it hates camping.

Ginny made her way into the kitchen and drug her old cauldron out from under the sink. It wouldn’t matter if this one was left behind or damaged. She shrunk the cauldron, stuffed it in a bag and moved to the stairs where she knew more bags were waiting for her. Mentally checking her to-do list, she realized she still needed to get the neighbor’s tent, pack food, double check James’ tote, and–

“Mummy,” James said quietly, tugging on her skirt. “Mummy I had an accident.” Ginny looked down to see the front of her son’s trousers soaked through; she felt her face fall. They’d been working very hard trying to potty train James; it’d been an uphill battle for many months but he’d finally seemed to catch on. Apparently they weren’t done.

She sighed heavily. “Oh, James, why didn’t you go to the toilet like we’ve practiced?” The disappointment in her voice was evident to even her. She could see his bottom lip pout out slightly and his guilty eyes fall to the floor.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, still holding onto her skirt.

“Step out of them, then,” she ordered, pulling his wet clothes down to his orange socks. “James you need to use the toilet. You’re a big boy now, understand?”

He nodded.

Ginny felt suddenly guilty for her sternness. “It’s ok. We’ll do better next time, yeah?”

James sniffled.

“Go and find some clean clothes.”

As she watched his little bum disappear behind the corner, she felt completely exhausted and not at all eager to sleep out in the middle of nowhere. She knew that camping had been a horrible idea.


___________



Isn’t this great?” Arthur asked, smiling hugely down at his daughter. He was in the process of trying to put together a portable fishing pole but had messed the fishing line up somehow so that it was wrapped around his hands in silvery tangles. “It’s amazing what Muggles come up with these days, eh?”

Ginny grunted noncommittally and fanned herself with her book. It was blazing hot and very uncomfortable. The shade brought little relief and she didn’t really feel like walking into the algae-covered pond to cool herself off. She glared unfairly at Harry who was presently laughing at their son, his distant laughter bubbling through the air. James was digging up worms but, upon finding one, was too afraid to touch it. He was poking it with is finger, emitting shrieks of disgust. She knew she was being entirely unfair but that didn’t seem to make her bad attitude change any.


“What’s a four letter word for exterminate?” Molly asked, her crossword laid out on her lap.

“…Er,” Arthur said distractedly as he tried to extract his hands from the large knot of line. He had resorted to using his teeth, as now both of his hands were rendered helpless. “What’s that, dear?”


“A four letter word for exterminate.”


Arthur looked skyward in thought as he tugged on a bit of line with his teeth. “’Kill,’ I think, Molly.”


Ginny swatted at a wasp as it hovered near her ear. I’ll tell you what I’d like to kill, she thought savagely, holding her book up to hit another flying insect.

“Ah, yes, thank you; how about a seven letter word for ‘an account of the past’?”


“History,” said Ginny, glaring at a beetle crawling on the arm of her chair, daring it to move closer. “As in, camping in August has to be the worst idea in history.”


Ginny watched, annoyed as her mother contentedly continued her crossword puzzle, not even noticing her obvious displeasure.


Another wasp zoomed by her ear, then another that seemed to prefer hovering noisily. “Bloody wasps circling,” Ginny said to herself, “it’s enough to drive me mad.”


“What’s that Ginny?” Molly asked absentmindedly.


“Nothing,” she muttered, deciding that being around her oblivious mother and overly-happy father was too much at the moment. “I’m going to try lying in the tent for a bit and get out of this poor excuse for shade.”


“Uh huh…” said her father


Molly merely muttered to herself, reading the next clue.


Ginny tried not to roll her eyes.


It was difficult and awkward trying to push ones pregnant self from a place gravity wanted to keep you, but she managed it in the end. Her sun hat had fallen off in the process and she scowled at it on the ground. She knew that it would be futile to try and pick it up, as she couldn’t even touch her knees properly. Just for good measure, she pulled her wand from behind her ear and sent a rather unnecessary hex its way.



___________



One of the many joys of wizard camping was having a spacious tent, much like a cottage, but without some modern conveniences such as running water and comfortable beds. It happened to be Ginny’s good luck that she was able to sleep in a cot, instead of on the ground; but it was also Ginny’s luck, or lack thereof, that her cot was too narrow so that she couldn’t really fit properly.


Carefully turning onto her other side so that the Muggle-style cot didn’t collapse on her, Ginny silently cursed the sleeping bag’s death tangle it now had on her legs. Flailing as quietly as she could, and finally emancipating herself, she saw Harry (who was peacefully sleeping in the next cot); one arm was thrown over his eyes, as per his usual sleeping custom, and small snores escaped his drooping mouth. Bloody git can sleep anywhere. She glared at him before closing her eyes and praying for at least a wink of sleep.


Just pretend you’re in your bed at home, she told herself. She lay very still and tried to relax every muscle in her body. After what seemed like an hour, she still did not feel sleep creeping up on her. She didn’t understand why her exhausted body wouldn’t allow her rest. Sleep, damn it! She wanted to cry; she was so frustrated and it was only getting her more worked up and, therefore, all the more awake.


She sat up in her cot and huffed. Harry stirred momentarily but he quickly regained his snoring gait. It was going to be a long night.


____________


Slap! Gotcha ya.


“I think I’ve been eaten alive,” Ginny groaned, scratching the bumps along her forearms.


“Yeah, I got one too,” said Harry, turning around to look at her. “Oh! Yeah, you did get eaten alive. You should have a look at your nose.”


Ginny’s vision blurred as she stupidly tried to focus on the bump. Great. She scratched it gingerly as Harry whistled.


“And your neck, too. Wow. You really should have used some repellant.”


Ginny’s mood had not improved since yesterday, she noticed, because she felt a strong desire to tell Harry exactly where he could shove his bug repellant. But, being the intuitive woman that she was —and having had many opportunities to practice restraint within their marriage- she knew that wouldn’t be the best way to start their morning. Besides, she knew that poor, dense Harry was only trying to help.


“Yeah, thanks,” she mumbled, grating her fingernails over a newly-found welt behind her ear.


Harry eyed her carefully. "Did you sleep okay?" He shifted his weight, a sign to Ginny that he knew the answer and was preparing himself for the ensuing onslaught.


"Ha!" She could feel a bubble of anger rise within her and it was about to explode. "Sleep? With you snoring and the bugs biting and the too-small cot?"


Harry looked nervous.


James skipped by and chucked a rock, as hard as he could, toward the gloopy pond. It made a funny "gloomp" sound as it was swallowed up. He picked up another and laughed when it, too, made the funny noise. But the novelty of rock throwing had, apparently, worn off quickly as James was now mud slinging.

"Would you like me to cook you some breakfast?" Harry asked, his tone hopeful. She could tell he was trying to ease her ruffled feathers. Harry, too, had learnt quite a bit about how to placate Ginny in the many years they'd been married.

Ginny reasoned that breakfast probably would improve her mood, so she nodded. But just at that moment, a slimy glop of mud had connected with her head, sliding down as if in slow motion, onto her tee.

"For the love of Merlin, James Potter! How dare you..." She wiped the algae-filled mud from her face but she would have to use magic to get it out of her ear.


When she had wiped her eye clear, she could see that James was crying, that Harry was scolding and that Molly had just stepped out of her tent.

“Good morning!” her mother said brightly, beaming in her holey pink robe. “What a beautif-- what's happened to James? Oh, Ginny. What's happened to your face?"

Ginny turned and glared her her mother before storming into the tent to clean herself up.


__________



“Molly, where are those fire starters? Those mattress whatevers?” she heard her dad say from inside his tent. He emerged with his arms full of cooking paraphernalia, his glasses askew.


“Oh, can’t I just start a fire with magic, Arthur? It’ll take so much less time to start breakfast.”


“Nonesense! We’re camping!”


Ginny, now fully clean, watched from a lawn chair was her father fumbled with the clanging pots and pans in his arms.


Apparently camping requires Muggle methods. For everything.



Harry smiled weakly at his wife. “They’re called matches, Arthur, and I think they’re in our tent.”



Over an hour later, Ginny was picking at her father’s attempt at a Muggle breakfast. The fire, which had been quite the ordeal to get started, was too hot and, consequently, her pancake had been burnt black on the outside, but was still doughy in the middle. James, who had at first been mesmerized by the fire-starting business (Ginny made a mental note to never let him around matches as long as he lived), was now wearily eyeing his own plate.



“Mummy!” he said, pushing his plate away, “I want real breakfast.”



Ginny bit her tongue. She too would like nothing more than a cup of coffee and a scone, but they were camping and that meant you had to suffer in some form or other. And it seemed to Ginny that she was the one suffereing the most.



Harry, on the other hand, had polished off his portion and pulled James’ plate toward him.



Ginny watched as he cut off the outer edges, which were the only parts that weren’t doughy, and added more syrup to them. “Here, James. Try that.”


To her surprise, her son tucked into the syrup-soaked, burnt meal; humorously, her father was doing the same, a contented smile on his face.


Her mother, however, had produced some toast, which Ginny gratefully shared.



“Anyone up for some hiking?” her father asked.



Ginny gaped.



“Exercise is good for the baby,” Molly offered, after seeing the look on her daughter’s face. “And,” she continued, “for you. We don’t have to go far.”



Ginny looked at Harry for support, who simply shrugged.



“I’d rather not,” she said resolutely. “You lot go without me.”



“If you insist,” said her father happily.



Well that was easily decided, she thought.



He banished their plates to the tent sink and rubbed his hands together with excited anticipation. “Who wants to go on a walk into the wild?”


Ginny thought James might die of excitement.


She watched as Harry readied himself and their son for the adventure and, all at once, was glad she wasn’t going, but longed to go along and witness James’ animated thrill.


“Take some pictures, will you, Harry?” Ginny felt suddenly -and somehow- deserted.


___________



If it hadn’t been for Harry’s bug repellant, her romance novel, and a good fanning charm, she might not have lasted the morning. At least she got a few winks of sleep in. It was well past lunch when her family returned, dirty, hungry, and full of stories.



“…And then Harry fell in the creek, which was a shame, really, because James and I had spotted some fish. But at least it had cooled him off. Here, have a sandwich, dear.”



Ginny eyed the smashed cheese sandwich as her mother rattled on. “Arthur thought he saw Troll tracks, but he didn’t think they were fresh. Can you imagine would a fright that would be, coming across a wild Mountain Troll? That’s why it’s so important to always carry your wand. You’ll never know when you’ll need it….”



“I saw a bow truckle, Mummy!” cried James. “Daddy said not to let them near your face ‘cause they’ll poke out your eyes!” The prospect of potential harm seemed positively exhilarating to him. “An’…an’ I think I saw a dragon!”


“These hills haven’t seen dragons for over fifty years, James.” Her father was massaging his bare feet, which looked to have blisters, but if they hurt, he didn’t show discomfort. Indeed, he looked just as cheerful as he had that morning.



James didn’t seem to care whether or not no one else had seen a dragon. He pulled a knobby stick from his back pocket and started to brandish it like a sword, stabbing relentlessly at the empty air.


“He had a great time,” Harry said, smiling as he gazed at their son. “I think he wanted to pick up every rock, stick and bug we passed.” He laughed softly as James lost his balance after a rather fervent swing. “Do you think he’s going to end up like Charlie? Taming dragons and watching over eggs?”



Harry’s expression as he gazed at James was wistful, and Ginny was reminded of their previous discussions regarding their family. Harry often communicated best as they lay in bed at night, and on several occasions, Harry expressed sadness over how quickly James was growing up as she laid in his arms. “Before we know it, he’ll be old enough not to need us. And then he’ll be at Hogwarts and we’ll only see him during the summers.” She too had felt time slipping through their fingers every time he had had a birthday or whenever George had exclaimed, “Look how much he’s grown!”


So it had been with great enthusiasm that they’d decided to try for another baby. Harry had been the first to bring it up, although she had been thinking on it for quite some time.

Ginny absently rubbed her protruding belly as she considered her small family. She was glad for them, snoring, mud slinging and all.


A/N: End of Part One. Part Two to come shortly.
Reviews 5
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