MetaFic

Harry wasn’t enjoying himself at all. Not one bit. Not only was this the umpteenth shop that he’d let his wife drag him into today, but she seemed to be trying on anything and everything. He stared at the curtains at the front of the changing room and braced himself for the loaded questions that would come his way once she emerged.

Was it too long? Too shot? Too bright? Too dull? Was she showing too much cleavage - yes ! Too much leg ? likewise . The list was endless and it didn’t appear to matter what he said, the dress or skirt or blouse or jumper was discarded and new items sought.

Even the assistant’s enthusiasm had begun to wane. Faced with the prospect of serving Ginny Potter, the senior assistant had pulled rank and steered the others off to serve the less famous, a decision she was now beginning to regret. Harry smiled weakly at her as they braced themselves for the indecision that would surely greet their assessment, no matter how enthusiastic their remarks.

As he stared back at his reflection in the mirror in one of the open changing rooms, he paused to take stock of the last few weeks. Ginny had been harder and harder to get on with, her moods swinging back and forth making her unpredictable and easy to cross. At first he put that down to her normal monthly irrational behaviour but after three weeks he’d dismissed that possibility. A quick check of her supplies in the bathroom had confirmed that fact.

He’d considered that she was having an affair. It was possible, he thought; she was still a very attractive at twenty four. At the end of each day his normally demanding wife had rebuffed his amorous advances saying that she was too tired. He didn’t want to confront her until he had any proof but a careful study of her habits had detected no noticeable change. But then he would be the last to know, wouldn’t he?

He let his face rest in his hands and let out a big sigh. The six years they’d been together had been the happiest of his life and he wasn’t going to let them go without a fight. Whoever he was, he would find out that Harry Potter was not a husband to be trifled with.

The curtain was flung open and Ginny stomped out her, red hair flailing behind her. The assistant raised herself to her full height and prepared for another round of the pointless exercise that had now gone on for two hours.

“It’s no good Harry,” Ginny pouted, “even this dress looks awful on me. We’ll have to go elsewhere. They have nothing that looks even remotely good on me.” Harry could see that his wife was close to tears and after one glance at the weary assistant decided that enough was enough.

“No Ginny,” he said firmly, “we’re not going anywhere else today. I’ve had enough and I don’t want to inflict your moodiness on any other poor soul. Let’s Floo home and leave the fashion industry to recover.”

The assistant let out a long sigh of relief and he knew he’d made the right decision whatever Ginny was going to say.

“But Harry,” she wailed now beginning to cry, “everything makes me look fat. I’m too young to look like my Mum, I haven’t even had one child yet let alone seven.”

Harry hugged his tearful wife wondering if there was any sort of response that would guarantee not to upset her further. Truth be told, she did look a little fatter than normal. Not overweight, but her normally flat stomach looked, well, not so flat. Of course he hadn’t actually said anything to her. He had learned long ago that you never ever told a woman that she was fat.

Suddenly an idea struck him and his grim expression was replaced by a smile. He looked over at the assistant who, having listened to their conversation had apparently come to the same conclusion.

“I think your wife will find what she’s looking for on the first floor Mr Potter,” she said with a grin. She touched her nose lightly with her index finger and winked at him. “Best of luck she whispered,” her weary expression now replaced with a beaming smile.

“Come on Ginny, I think I know where we need to go now.”

“I’m not going home Harry, not until I’ve found something to wear on Saturday.”

“Sush,” he whispered giving her a gentle squeeze and leading her slowly towards the stairs.

“Harry, where are you taking me? I want to go to Twillfit and Tatting's and not-“

“-the Maternity Department?”

“What are you on about Harry I’m not pregnant.”

“Really?” He ran his hand gently over her stomach and smiled. Let’s see what the Healer says tomorrow eh? In the meantime let’s see if we can find an eveningwear section so that I can spoil you and a lingerie section so you can spoil me?”