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The Annual Weasley-Potter Summer Holiday Caravan
By cwarbeck

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Category: Post-DH/PM
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Comedy, General
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 22
Summary: A planned summer getaway turns into something much more for Harry and Ginny.
Hitcount: Story Total: 9167



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:
Written for the hg_seasonsfest summer fic and art exchange. My recipient was grandma_kate, who wanted fluff, the seaside, family, summer and free time. Oh, and Arthur/Molly and/or Andromeda. Since I like the Weasley parents, I went with them. I hope I got everything you wanted, my dear! Thanks to Chreechree, queen of all betas and to the mods of hg_seasonsfest, for hosting such a great fic exchange.




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The Annual Weasley-Potter Summer Holiday Caravan



When Harry Potter Apparated into the living room of The Burrow, the first thing he did was to check if his son was still securely in his arms. Ginny had often wryly opined that nothing short of a full Body Bind could contain their energetic and curious son once he made up his mind to escape the confines of whatever ‘prison’ was currently keeping him from investigating the world around him.

Right now though, James was sleeping soundly, and, with a fond smile, Harry gently laid him on the sofa and covered him with one of the colourful afghans that Molly Weasley was nowadays so fond of knitting. He cast a Cushioning Charm on the floor in case James rolled off, looked around the room, and wondered where his mother-in-law was. Normally, Mrs Weasley could be counted on to be either knitting in the living room while listening to the wireless, or in the kitchen, cooking up a storm on the old AGA cooker. Now she was nowhere in sight, and Harry’s Auror instincts kicked into overdrive even though things had been quite peaceful for a very long time.

“Mum?” he called out, his wand already in his hand and his eyes scanning the room for possible security breaches. “It’s me, Harry, here with James!”

A soft tread on the stairs made him look up, and he relaxed when he saw his father-in-law coming down the steps. “Hullo, Harry,” Mr Weasley said, walking forward and clapping him on the back. “Ginny isn’t with you?”

“She’s finishing her article, so I volunteered to bring James over for his visit.” Harry glanced at his watch. “Is this a bad time? When I Floo-called a while ago, Mum said it was all right to come on over.”

“No, it isn’t a bad time. Molly just has a bit of a headache from all this heat,” the older wizard replied, “and she asked if I could mind James while she has a lie down.”

“Is she okay? You really should have Owled us,” said Harry contritely. “We certainly don’t want to impose—”

“She’ll be fine.” Mr Weasley waved away his concern. “It’s nothing a few hours of rest and relaxation won’t cure.”

At this point, James opened his eyes, grinned and launched himself at his grandfather with all the force of a human Bludger. Unlike other children, James went from sleeping to awake in about a heartbeat.

“Gram!” he yelled out, dangling precariously from Mr Weasley’s neck. “Nana?” the little boy demanded.

“Nana’s napping, my boy,” gasped Mr Weasley as he tried to release himself from James’ death grip, “so we need to be quiet like a good lad, all right?”

“James, let Granddad breathe,” said Harry, amusedly taking note of Mr Weasley's rather flushed countenance.

James squealed and clung even tighter, making Mr Weasley’s eyes bulge out comically.

Fearing his father-in-law might actually pass out from asphyxiation, Harry quickly produced a Chocolate Frog from his robes and held it out to his son. “Look, James!”

James considered the sweet for a moment and then obligingly slid down his grandfather’s body. He grabbed the Chocolate Frog and walked unsteadily towards the antique chest of drawers that Mrs Weasley had inherited from Aunt Muriel.

“Don’t tell Ginny I gave him that, Dad,” said Harry as the other man took a seat. “I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I won’t,” Mr Weasley assured him, massaging his neck gingerly. “I used that trick once or twice myself when the children were younger.” He settled himself more comfortably in his armchair. “So, are you and Ginny all set for your holiday next week?”

“Yes, everything’s—” Harry abruptly stopped, distracted by his son, who was eyeing the chest of drawers with great interest. James gave it a few experimental kicks, making the assorted knickknacks on top of it rattle alarmingly.

“James!” Harry barked out, forestalling any planned attempts at climbing the furniture. He picked his son up and dumped him back on the sofa. “Stay put, will you?” he pleaded, knowing it was falling on deaf ears but trying anyway. He turned to Mr Weasley even as his son began restlessly wiggling his legs again. “Sorry about that.”

Mr Weasley laughed and scooped his fidgety grandson into his lap. “That’s quite all right,” he answered, distracting James by conjuring multi-coloured bubbles with his wand. “Nothing can surpass Fred and George’s antics when they were James’ age.”

A shadow flickered over Arthur’s face at the mention of Fred’s name, and for a moment, Harry felt a familiar pang of regret at the loss of his friend. He was grateful though, that the Weasley family had weathered the passing of Fred and were, in some ways, stronger for it.

Much to the delight of Mrs Weasley, almost all her children were happily married and gifting her with enough grandchildren to keep her knitting needles working round the clock. The only holdouts to connubial bliss were Charlie, who stubbornly clung to his bachelorhood despite all efforts of his mother and scores of rubicund Romanian witches, and George, who was on the continent at present, supposedly on a ‘marketing campaign’ for the latest products of WWW’s Wonder Witch line. Harry suspected Fred’s twin would not be single much longer, given that his constant travelling companion was none other than the charming Angelina Johnson, the new consultant for Wonder Witch.

“Where are you and Ginny going, Harry?”

“Sorry?” Harry looked at Mr Weasley, momentarily confused by the sight of the older man crawling on his hands and knees, a chortling James on his back. He hastily took his protesting son off his poor father-in-law. “Er, we rented out a cottage in Barafundle Bay in Pembrokeshire.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” Mr Weasley got up and stretched, before returning to his chair. “We used to go to Blackpool Sands every summer,” he revealed, Summoning a picture frame off the chest of drawers and showing it to Harry, “and even when Bill, and then Charlie, hied off to foreign lands, we still made the trip with the remaining children. Up until Fred and George began Hogwarts, that is.” He shook his head sadly. “Pity, really. It was all great fun.”

“Why’d you stop?” asked Harry. He watched as a baby-faced Ginny, her nose evidently sunburned even in the faded photograph, waved happily at the camera, while her brothers — except for Percy, who was reading a thick book — made silly faces behind her.

“The Ministry took up more and more of my time, I suppose,” said Mr Weasley, sounding rather rueful, “and Molly also eventually decided it was too much effort to pack all of her pots and pans every single time we went.” He smiled knowingly. “Because, of course, Molly didn’t trust anyone else’s cooking except her own.”

“Of course,” agreed Harry. In his opinion, there was no finer cook than Mrs Weasley in the entire world, not even his wife, but he would never admit that, not even on pain of a Bat-Bogey Hex.

“We honeymooned in Blackpool, you know, Molly and I did,” confided Mr Weasley, Summoning another photograph, this one depicting a young Mrs Weasley, looking very fetching in a floral-print sundress and straw hat. “Nothing quite as invigorating as the sea air, eh?” He grinned broadly, his eyes becoming slightly unfocused as he stared at the photograph in his hands. “Quite invigorating indeed.”

“If you say so, sir,” replied Harry, hiding a smile. He hoped that he, with Ginny’s help, would soon have his own fond memories of the sea. His past experiences with it — Uncle Vernon trying to escape his first year Hogwarts letters by hiding in the little hut on the rock, helping Dumbledore obtain the locket Horcrux, burying Dobby by Shell Cottage — were all rather unpleasant, to say the least.

“Ah well,” Mr Weasley said with a regretful sigh. “Perhaps one of these days I can convince Molly to go on a little trip to the seaside again.”

~*~


“You’ re not angry, are you?”

Harry watched with apprehension as a little furrow appeared in between his wife’s eyebrows, a telltale sign that she wasn’t cross with him yet, but she was seriously thinking of becoming so in the very near future.

“Well, let me see if I understand you correctly…” Ginny said slowly, pushing her somewhat limp auburn hair out of her face. The kitchen of their small house was sweltering in the summer heat. “While Mum had a bit of a lie down because of her headache, you and Dad got to talking about our long-overdue holiday.”

“Right.”

“Our long-overdue holiday,” repeated Ginny, pausing to pick James up when the boy began tugging insistently on her skirt, “which took ages to plan and was supposed to be our way of spending time together by ourselves, because we agreed that we both needed a little break from being parents.”

“Er… yes?”

“And then, Dad got all misty-eyed and whatnot, reminiscing about our childhood summer trips, so you suddenly decided that not only would it be brilliant to take this easy-going, well-behaved child of ours,” she grimaced a bit when James pulled her hair, “on our theoretical second honeymoon — you really know how kill the mood, by the way—”

Harry winced.

“—but it’ll be even better if we bring my parents along just because Dad expressed a burning desire to bring Mum to the seaside again and relive their honeymoon?” Ginny finished rather sceptically, her eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline.

“Your dad didn’t actually say that,” hedged Harry, casting a Cooling Charm in the hopes that it would live up to its name and not only cool the room but also his wife’s simmering temper. “Not in so many words, anyway.”

He took the squirming James from her and set him down on the floor, Summoning his Hungarian Horntail soft toy for him to play with. “He looked really, I don’t know, wistful, Ginny, and I thought, well, we can always rearrange our schedules again, but when was the last time your parents had a holiday?”

“Egypt,” replied Ginny, looking thoughtful. “When Dad won all those Galleons from the Prophet, remember? After my first year at Hogwarts…” she trailed off and bit her lip.

“Bugger,” muttered Harry, mentally berating himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.” He looked at her apologetically. “Are you mad?”

“No.” Ginny smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Not about that, and not about Mum and Dad either. How can I be mad when my darling husband actually wants to spend his hard-earned free time with his in-laws?” She shook her head in amusement. “Only you, Harry, would be so self-sacrificing.”

“I don’t think of it as a sacrifice.” Harry shrugged, relieved that she was not angry after all. “I think it’ll be great, spending quality time with the people I consider the closest thing to my real parents.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.” She gave him an affectionate squeeze. “I knew I married you for a reason.”

“It wasn’t because of my staggering good looks and my extremely fit body?” he asked in a teasing voice.

“There is that,” she acknowledged with a playful smirk, “but mainly because you begged so pathetically that I didn’t have the heart to turn you down.”

“Begged?” He pinched her bum, eliciting a squeak from her. “We’ll see who’ll be begging whom later tonight, shall we?”

“Ooh, promise?”

“Promise.” He gave her a quick kiss. “And I promise that we’ll have loads of fun on this trip.”

“Fun!”

Harry and Ginny looked down to find that James had discarded his Horntail in favour of his father’s wand.

“How’d you get that, little man?” said Harry, wagging his finger at his precocious son. “Can I have it back, please?”

James chortled in reply and waved the wand at the kitchen table, which abruptly morphed into a giant fairy cake, complete with buttercream frosting and sprinkles.

“He’s either very gifted, or he’s very hungry.” Ginny appeared both proud and shocked that James had managed such an impressive bout of accidental magic.

“Yum!” affirmed James, patting his stomach and turning limpid eyes on his mother. “Eat!”

“He’s half-Weasley, all right,” laughed Harry, retrieving his wand and turning the fairy cake back to its more mundane existence as a wooden table. If you looked closely, though, you could still see the pattern of sprinkles on its varnished surface.

“As if Potters aren’t hungry all the time too,” remarked Ginny dryly as she rummaged through the refrigerator. “This’ll have to do until supper, Jamie. I don’t want to ruin your appetite.” She gave some cold chocolate milk to James, who drank it happily from his sippy cup. “Speaking of appetite, Harry, I’d like to know how you’ll get Mum to leave The Burrow without all her cooking things.” She lifted an eyebrow at him. “I don’t fancy taking a Portkey to Pembroke with all those pots and pans banging about.”

“Leave that to me.” Harry poured some chocolate milk for himself too. “I think I’ve got that all worked out.”

~*~


“And you’re sure this is quite safe, dear?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Don’t get me wrong, it really is quite lovely, but… are you sure?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Now, Molly,” interjected Mr Weasley. “If Harry says it’s safe, then I’m sure it’s safe as houses.”

“You’re only saying that, Arthur, because you’re as giddy as a schoolboy!” Mrs Weasley gave a mildly disapproving sniff.

“It’s brilliant, isn’t it?” Mr Weasley’s eyes were swivelling around madly as he tried to take everything in all at once. “Have you seen this mickey-wave oven contraption? Fascinating! And how about this—”

“I have a feeling you’re going to have to pry Dad out of this caravan kicking and screaming, Harry, even after we get to the beach,” observed Ginny wryly as her father exuberantly dragged a reluctant Mrs Weasley around, James trotting after them obediently. “However did you come up with this idea?”

Harry chuckled in response and carefully signalled a left hand turn. “It was the only way I could convince Mum that she could still cook even if she couldn’t bring the AGA with her.” He glanced at the rear-vision mirror, chuckling again when he saw that Mrs Weasley was now cautiously prodding the built-in stove in the little kitchen with her wand.

“It’s a good thing Emmanuel Piles was generous enough to lend this to us on such short notice,” he added, mentioning the grizzled Auror who worked in the cubicle next to him, “although he said it was a motorhome, not a caravan, since the vehicle and the living quarters are housed in the same unit.”

“Well, whatever you call it, it really is very comfortable,” said Ginny, looking around in approval. Aside from the driver’s seat and the steering wheel which were both inexplicably covered in sparkly, furry green material, the motorhome greatly resembled the inside of a small cottage, complete with all the modern amenities. It even had two large bedrooms, each with its own bathroom.

“Piles is mad about these things. He has three of them — buys them second-hand and then customizes them with magic.”

“It’s kind of like a cross between the magical tent we used during the Quidditch World Cup and the Knight Bus, isn’t it?” Ginny smirked. “Although I can’t decide who’s the better-looking driver, you or Ernie Prang.”

“Ernie, of course,” said Harry, tongue-in-cheek. “Can’t hold a candle to him.”

Ginny laughed and rested her chin on his shoulder. “Seriously, though, this was a wonderful idea, Harry. We should do it every year, and we could call it… hmmm… the ‘Annual Weasley-Potter Summer Holiday Caravan’. What do you think?”

“It’s a motorhome, not a caravan, remember?” Harry amusedly pointed out.

“Yes, but the ‘Annual Weasley-Potter Summer Holiday Motorhome’ just doesn’t sound right now, does it?”

“Okay, the ‘Annual Weasley-Potter Summer Holiday Caravan’ it is,” agreed Harry, laughing. “Sounds like a program on the telly, yeah? So, does that mean we’ll be taking assorted Weasleys along every year? Including your parents?”

“Why not?” said Ginny magnanimously. “They’re both clearly enjoying themselves, even Mum. She’ll never own up to it, but this trip’s all she’s been talking about for the past week.”

Harry leaned back and let the sweet, calming scent he always associated with Ginny wash over him. “How about you? Are you having a good time too?”

“I’m with you and Jamie — how can I not be having a good time?” answered Ginny. “And with any luck, there’ll be more Potters the next time this caravan rolls around,” she said, meeting his gaze in the mirror and smiling.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Are you—?” he asked excitedly.

“No, but it’s high time we work on expanding our little family, don’t you think? D’you suppose the walls of this motorhome are soundproof? You know I can get a bit noisy when I…”

She whispered the rest of her sentence in his ear, startling him so much that he accidentally hit the horn, earning him a two-fingered salute from the heavyset Muggle in the red lorry currently overtaking them.

“Sorry!” he called out as his wife giggled behind him. “Ginny,” he grumbled good-naturedly, “don’t do that when I’m driving.”

“What happened?” Mrs Weasley hurried over to them, James in her arms and contentedly chewing a biscuit. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine, Mum.” Harry blushed, glancing at a still giggling Ginny, who winked saucily at him. “I just got a bit distracted, that’s all.”

“You know better than to distract your husband while he’s doing something extremely dangerous, Ginny!” scolded Mrs Weasley.

“He’s just driving!” protested Ginny.

“Precisely!”

“Molly! Come quickly!” shouted Mr Weasley from one of the bedrooms. “There’s a fellytone in here!” He sounded absolutely delighted.

“Don’t touch anything, Arthur! You remember what happened the last time you did!” Mrs Weasley hollered back. “Oh dear, I’d better go and make certain your father doesn’t blow us up or something like that.” She deposited James onto his mother’s lap. “Now remember, Ginny, stop distracting Harry!” she said sternly before she rushed off to prevent Mr Weasley from ostensibly doing himself bodily harm.

Ginny slumped in her seat. “Harry,” she said darkly, wiping James’ mouth free of crumbs.

“Yes?”

“Are we there yet?”

~*~


The drive to Barafundle Bay took a bit longer than Harry had estimated, possibly because he took the scenic route, avoiding the main Muggle motorways, but more likely because he let Mr Weasley have a go at the steering wheel.

The poor man had of course driven a vehicle before (the flying Ford Anglia from Harry’s second year was probably still roaming wild and free in the Forbidden Forest), but he hadn’t had Mrs Weasley hovering at his elbow then, offering helpful hints on how to best avoid every single perceived road mishap-in-the-making.

All this meant that for the better part of the trip, they were moving no faster than a bicycle.

They were probably going even slower, Harry surmised with some amusement, if the curious herd of cows that kept pace with them all the way up to the roundabout was any indication of speed.

In any case, they finally arrived, and it was well worth the journey. Barafundle Bay was breathtaking, living up to the travel pamphlet’s description of ‘golden sands and unspoilt clear water’. Even Molly Weasley was enraptured.

“Oh, this is simply lovely,” she sighed. She smiled at Harry and patted his arm. “Thank you, dear, for inviting us along.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Harry smiled back. “I’m glad you were able to come with us.”

“This reminds me of when we used to spend every summer in Blackpool with the children,” said Mrs Weasley, almost longingly, “before they grew up, and we all became too busy to get away.”

“I heard you honeymooned there also?”

“Oh,” Mrs Weasley gasped, noticeably flustered. “Arthur’s told you that, did he?” She giggled unexpectedly. “Right, well,” she fanned her flushed cheeks, “Arthur always did say that the sea air can be so… invigorating, yes?”

“Er, yeah, I suppose…” Harry stammered, then fell silent when Ginny, with James in tow, came out of the motorhome wearing her new black swimsuit. It was modest enough not to attract Mrs Weasley’s ire, but it still accentuated Ginny’s curves sufficiently to make Harry’s mind wander along paths best left unexplored until they were clearly out of sight of his in-laws.

Suddenly, Harry was feeling quite invigorated himself.

He slipped his arms around Ginny’s waist when she came to stand next to him, while James scampered up to his grandmother. “You look fantastic, Ginny,” he breathed, running an appreciative eye over her.

“Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself,” she murmured back, her admiring gaze making Harry feel a bit overheated even though they were standing in the shade of the motorhome.

“Ginny, did you do the Sunblock Charm on James?”

Mrs Weasley’s question startled Harry out of his haze, effectively cooling his ardour and reminding him that it simply would not do to throw his wife onto the ground and ravish her in front of his young son and his mother-in-law, not to mention all the Muggles lounging about the beach.

“Yes, Mum,” answered Ginny, smirking at Harry, obviously aware of the direction his thoughts had taken him.

“I’ll do another one to be safe, shall I?” said Mrs Weasley decisively.

Harry bit back a chuckle when his wife stiffened in his arms as Mrs Weasley began sweeping her wand methodically over James’ body. “She just had to, didn’t she?” Ginny muttered in resigned exasperation.

“You know, it’s a shame that Ron and Hermione couldn’t come with us,” said Mrs Weasley, oblivious to her daughter’s grumbling. “Ron always did love the beach.” She gave James’ nose a final, playful tap of her wand, making the boy giggle.

“Actually, I’m sort of glad Hermione’s getting too big to want to travel,” Ginny whispered to Harry. “Lately she’s been rather — er — shirty, to put it mildly.”

“As if you weren’t shirty when you were pregnant,” he teased.

“Not as much as Hermione!” insisted Ginny, slapping his arm lightly. “I love her to pieces, but her pregnancy hormones have made her a right pain in the—”

“Ronnie could never get enough of the water,” continued Mrs Weasley. “We had to bribe him with sweets, or else he’d stay in until he was all wrinkly like a little monkey.”

“He still looks like one, if you ask me,” said Ginny blithely, “only he’s more of a big, hairy, red-bottomed baboon than a cute little monkey.”

Harry hastily covered up his involuntary snort of laughter with a round of coughing.

“What?” asked Ginny, blinking innocently when her mother gave her a reproachful glare. “He does! Right, Harry?”

Fortunately, Harry was saved from answering by the arrival of Mr Weasley.

“I’m ready!” the older wizard announced from the doorway.

Ginny covered her mouth with both hands, sniggering, while Harry’s eyes widened in amazement as he took in the other wizard’s swimming costume. Mr Weasley was wearing what appeared to be all the latest scuba diving equipment: flippers, snorkel, facemask, oxygen tank, and, the requisite skin-tight bodysuit.

“What in Merlin’s name are you wearing, Arthur Weasley?” Mrs Weasley cried out. “It’s positively indecent!”

“But Mollywobbles, this is what everyone is wearing these days!”

“You’re not everyone, are you now?” she snapped. “You turn around and put on your regular bathers this instant!”

“Yes, Molly,” said Mr Weasley dejectedly.

“Mum, let Dad wear whatever he wants to wear,” said Ginny, her brown eyes still gleaming with suppressed mirth. “No one will take notice.”

I’ll notice!” huffed Mrs Weasley.

Harry spoke up; he couldn’t bear to see the disappointed expression on Mr Weasley’s face. “Actually, Mum, Ginny’s right. The Muggles won’t say anything. Dad’s — um — outfit is quite ordinary for them.”

“Really?” Mrs Weasley said uncertainly. “Well, if you say so, Harry, then I suppose it’s all right.”

Mr Weasley shot him a grateful look while Ginny rolled her eyes and mumbled, quite clearly for Harry’s benefit, “Everything’s just fine if Harry says so, but does she listen to her only daughter? Or even her own husband? Noooo….”

“We’re off, then!” With an uncharacteristic whoop of excitement, Mr Weasley picked a giggling James up and ran towards the water, his flippers and oxygen tank not impeding his mad dash one bit.

They all watched, bemused, as Muggle sunbathers frantically scrambled out of Mr Weasley’s way, some of them shaking their fists after him when he sent sand flying in their direction.

“Oh, that father of yours!” exclaimed Mrs Weasley. “You would think he’d never gone swimming before, the way he carries on,” she said, the twinkle in her eyes belying her stern tone.

“Aren’t you coming for a swim, Mum?” asked Harry.

“Oh no, dear.” Mrs Weasley shook her head. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit with me.”

“I have another one, if you like,” offered Ginny with a mischievous grin.

Harry lowered his gaze and tried valiantly not to laugh, for Ginny’s spare was a tiny green bikini that he had seen peeking out from her carryall. Truth be told, he was rather gratified she had decided not to wear it, seeing that he was already struggling with his — er — appreciation for her body in the swimsuit she presently had on. What more if she was only clad in two scraps of flimsy fabric that left little to the imagination?

His head (and other unmentionable parts of his anatomy) would probably explode.

“Thank you, Ginny, but I don’t think it would fit me,” was Mrs Weasley’s absentminded reply. “I believe I’ll get started on tea. Merlin knows you lot will be starving after all these exertions.” She shooed them away. “Go on, then. Have fun. Enjoy yourselves.”

The second Mrs Weasley turned around and entered the motorhome, Harry leaned in to whisper in his wife’s ear. “I’d like to see how you fit in your other swimsuit, Ginny.” He pulled her closer to him. “Care to give me a sneak peek?”

She gave him a coy look. “Maybe later, love,” she purred, sliding her hands slowly up his body in a sensuous caress. “In the meantime…” Ginny suddenly grinned and shoved Harry, causing him to stumble backward. “Last one in is a rotten Ashwinder egg!”

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that, Ginny!” roared Harry, giving chase as his laughing wife darted away, her beautiful red hair streaming behind her. He grinned as he ran. It was turning out to be the start of a wonderful holiday.

Hopefully it would be the first of many other wonderful holidays to come.

*end*

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