Meet the Parents
“Mum!” cried Ginny Weasley. “Dad! It’s so lovely to see you! You’re looking great, too! Oh, and this is Gosse. Say hello, Gosse!”
“Hello,” said Gosse.
“Well, he’s a little shy. He’s an artist, you know. And he’s going to be teaching art here, from September! Anyway, welcome to Beauxbatons School! This is us – The Headmaster’s house. The Headmistress’s house. Do come in! Sorry about the mess! We’re just finishing up redecorating. Yes, that’s a picture that Gosse painted of me. Yes, with no clothes on. And another nude… of me… Look, Gosse, I can’t… We’ll have to take these down.”
“Do your parents even know I exist?” asked Gosse.
“Well, not yet,” admitted Ginny. “I’m still not sure how to break it to them. I mean, the whole Harry Potter thing, even though they already know Harry’s in Poland, and I’m not. Look, we’ll have to hide some of these paintings.”
“Can’t we keep Self Portrait?” grumbled Gosse.
“No! That’s got two nudes on! Three, if you count me in a mirror showing everything the first one didn’t…”
“I painted it especially for you,” he said.
“And I love it,” said Ginny, hastily. “I really do. I just don’t want Mum hitting the roof, that’s all. Look I’ll put them in the little bedroom. You don’t mind, do you? Where was I? No, I’ll start again…”
“Can we stay in the house this time?” asked Gosse.
“OK… Hello, Mum, hello Dad!” Ginny proclaimed once more. “This is Gosse say hello Gosse. Welcome to our new home! Yes, it is a little large, isn’t it? Lots of bare walls, which I’m sure Gosse is going to fill with pictures that aren’t of a girl with no clothes on, or his Mummy with no clothes on, or…” She took a deep breath. “This is the dining room – we’ll be eating soon, I promise - and the sitting room.” She gestured grandly. “We’re working on the kitchen, and this mess is going to be the room where Gosse can work without getting paint on the rugs. Now, up the stairs here… And this is you. Yes, isn’t it a lovely bedroom?”
“No bed,” said Gosse.
“I’m working on it!” Ginny said crossly. “Now…. Great views of the lake, and the school. Can you see the Chocdiamonds on the lake? Do you remember Fleur teaching us Choc last year? Wait, two years ago. And opposite is the school, of course. Yes, entirely made of glass. In the middle is the Quadrangle – my office is just there, on the corner… the right corner – and beyond that is the old school block. Yes, just like a stone castle, only glass. And the other side, on the end, the new classrooms, where I used to teach. Where I still teach, unless I can get more effing staff…”
“And money to pay them,” said Gosse.
“Yes, OK! And we’re right next door to you! We’ve got a lovely room too and I hope the walls are thick enough.”
“They’re only stone, Ginny,” said Gosse.
“Well, it’s only for a few days. Or hours, or minutes, even, if Mum walks out really quickly.”
“And are you really going to give this speech in French?” Gosse asked.
“Oh. Good point.”
Ginny felt ridiculously nervous as she waited for her parents at the main entrance to the school. Gosse was adamant she couldn’t have her scroll of notes, so she was going to have to remember everything she was going to say. And what she couldn’t say. Even though she knew her mother would derail any speech she came up with.
She’d decided to introduce Gosse later. She’d tried her best to explain to him, but his hurt expression was still haunting her as she stood in the sun.
It was a blazingly hot day, which had to be a good thing, surely.
Her heart skipped a beat when two figures spun into existence in front of her.
“Mum!” she said, with pleasure. “Dad!”
The pair of them looked hot and flustered. “It’s so hot here!” gasped Mrs Weasley. “We had to wait for ages in Paris, and it was even warmer there! Oh, hello, Ginny…”
“Let’s get you inside then,” said Ginny. “We’ll go to our house. And you can meet…”
“No,” said her mother. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“We need to see this headmistress of yours. You could have given us the courtesy of telling us her name!”
“Mum, I’m the headmistress!”
“You’re…? Ginny Weasley, you’re being ridiculous. I’ve had a long, hot journey here, and I’m not in the mood for silliness! Let’s go and see the headmistress. I need to have words with her.”
“About what?” demanded Ginny. “Look, it’s this way. Shall we?” She led the way down the path alongside the lake. She tried to remember her script.
“On this side are the houses where everybody lives,” she said, uncertain now. Our house is up there, just… Oh! You can’t see it from here. Anyway, it’s lovely… What do you want to talk to the headmistress about?”
“Is it far?” asked Mrs Weasley fretfully. “My feet…”
“Mum’s got her best shoes on,” said her husband, confidingly, breaking his silence. “Ready for battle!”
“What battle?” asked Ginny in annoyance.
“Best let Mum sort it out,” he said, soothingly.
They were on the bridge now, which seemed nightmarishly long to Ginny, as her mother hobbled along.
“Can’t we Apparate there?” asked Mrs Weasley, peevishly.
“Mum, it’s a school. Hogwarts doesn’t allow Twisting either!”
“So, where’s the Headmistress, then?” asked her father, brightly.
“Dad, I am the Headmistress!”
“Ha ha! You said that before,” said her father, with a naying laugh. “So what happened to the last one, then?”
“He killed himself,” said Ginny. “He wasn’t very well,” she added, hurriedly. “He was in a wheelchair, and...” She made herself stop talking.
It was a huge relief to reach the doorway into the buildings surrounding the Quadrangle, and the welcoming coolness within.
“Are we nearly there yet?” asked her mother, fretfully.
“Nearly, Mum,” said Ginny, too full of foreboding by now to sound as light and cheerful as she wanted. She led the way up the wide stairs, into the Senate Room.
Her heart increased its tempo. Here were the paintings of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses, all without their clothes on. And, specifically, the portrait of her, showing almost everything. Ginny tried to steer her parents in a curve away from her own painting.
“All these nudes!” said her father, brightly. “My, these French are very advanced, aren’t they? I suppose you keep the children out of this room!”
“Er…”
“Look at that one!” he said then, pointing unerringly at her own portrait. “Nothing covering her at all! And a redhead too! She looks…”
“My office is this way,” said Ginny desperately, seizing his arm. Her mother was trailing the pair of them, limping, her attention fortunately on her feet.
“She looks…” repeated Mr Weasley.
Maybe I can get away with this, Ginny thought, her heart beating. Adelais isn’t great at faces…
“In here!” said Ginny with relief. She led her father into her office, which had recently been Time Shifter-tidied.
“This is a nice room,” said her father, brightly. “Whose room is this?”
“It’s mine,” said Ginny, already weary of all this.
“Really?” he replied, jocose now. “I’d like to see the Head’s room, if this is yours! And what do you teach here?”
“It is the Headmistress’s room, Dad,” Ginny said. “I did tell you. I used to teach Humanities…”
“Hu-whats?”
“Humanities,” said Ginny. “That’s English, History, Art, Drama and Music. But we’re hoping to get some more teachers soon.”
“Don’t they teach proper subjects here? No wonder we beat them for the Triwizard Cup!”
Her mother had appeared in the doorway. She looked worn and annoyed.
“Come in, Mum!” Ginny said, breezily. “Do have a sit down! Dad, they do teach proper subjects, only they – we – like a balanced curriculum.” She realised she’d used the French phrase. “We like a… bit of everything,” she said lamely.
“So can you speak French, now?” asked her father.
“Dad, I did say…”
“We could have done with you in Paris,” he said. “We had such a lot of trouble. Got lost,” he added. “Had to walk miles!”
Her mother was lowering herself into a chair – the hardest one in the room, Ginny noted – with an expression of angry martyrdom. “Well,” she said. “Let’s get this over with. Where’s this Headmistress of yours?”
“Mum, I keep saying… Get what over with?” asked Ginny in annoyance.
“You’re not a teacher, Ginny,” said Mrs Weasley, flatly. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
“Mum! I’ve been teaching all year! They took me on as an Assistant, and then the Humanities teacher fell ill, so I had to take over her job, and then…”
“They let a schoolgirl teach here? Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Mum, I’m not a schoolgirl anymore!” Ginny said, exasperated. “I sat all my exams, remember?”
“Yes, and that’s something else you need to explain,” said her mother, ominously. “You’ve always said you were good at Transfiguration. So why, pray, did you only get an Acceptable grade?”
“Did I?” Ginny asked in confusion. “I never got to hear my marks. Well, that’s because I lost my voice for the practical. It… It went a bit wrong.”
“Oh, dear!” said Mr Weasley. “Did you leave the horns behind? I remember – I still remember – I had to turn a muntjac into a bolster, and the pesky thing still had horns!”
“Um, no,” said Ginny, unsure how much she wanted to say about how her Transfiguration practical had gone.
“I need to see your Headmistress!” said Mrs Weasley loudly.
“I told you Mum! I am the Headmistress! I was acting last term, after the previous head… tried to… and then I was appointed full time! By the Senate! And the First Minister! They checked with the parents and everything! I’ve even got…” My portrait on the wall, Ginny was going to add, but decided not to.
Her mother’s hands were covering her mouth, her eyes horrified above them. “Oh no,” she said. “Oh, no…” She turned and fled through the door, and Ginny could hear her mother’s new heels clattering unsteadily down the Senate Room.
Ginny shot towards the door. “Mum, where are you going?” she called in annoyance.
“Best leave her,” advised her father. “She doesn’t really understand jokes.”
“Dad!” Ginny cried in exasperation. “It’s not a joke! I really am! Look…”
“Ha ha!” said Mr Weasley, brightly. “Your face is perfect! Such a deadpan! You should be a professional Gobstones player!”
Driven to the edge, Ginny seized her father’s arm and physically dragged him from her room, and down the Senate Room to where her portrait hung.
“There!” she snarled. “Now try laughing! Madame Ginevra-Ginny-Weasley! Headmistress! This year’s date!”
“Oh,” said her father, staring at the painting. “Oh dear.”
They caught up with Mrs Weasley as she limped across the Quadrangle.
“Where is everybody?” she asked, fretfully annoyed.
“They’ve all gone home,” said Ginny. “It’s the holidays.”
“I need to talk to somebody,” insisted her mother.
“About what?”
“You know very well what,” said Mrs Weasley, crossly.
“Mum, I’m not lying! I’m the Headmistress here! I wish you’d been at the end of year assembly! It was a surprise to me too, actually. I was Acting Head, but because… because of several things… they wanted me to be permanent Head!”
Mrs Weasley shook her head rapidly and tried to limp ahead of her.
“Try seeing it from our side,” said her father, trying desperately to be a go-between. “We don’t hear anything from you all year, and your mother fears the worst. And now this!”
“That wasn’t my fault!” protested Ginny. “And I did send you letters! It’s just that Apolline wouldn’t let me say anything!”
“Exactly!” said Mr Weasley. “An escaped convict evades the law by fleeing to France, she can’t tell us anything, so what are we supposed to think?”
“Escaped…” gaped Ginny. “I’m not a convict! I was just arrested! Falsely arrested!”
“Performing magic on behalf of other magical races!” said Mr Weasley. “It’s a crime now!”
“What? But it wasn’t when I did it! I just helped out some Goblins…”
“Well, perhaps that wasn’t very wise…” began her father.
“It was a crime,” said Mrs Weasley suddenly, without turning around to look. They were passing under the archway onto the Dining Chamber lawn. “Our daughter is a criminal.”
“Mum, I’m not!”
“I need to see someone and tell them,” insisted Mrs Weasley. “Before this nonsense goes any further.”
“See who? Wait,” Ginny said, as inspiration struck. “Let’s go and see Apolline Delacour!”
“Why would I want to see That Woman?” demanded her mother. Ginny could clearly hear the capitals.
“What’s wrong with Apolline?” demanded Ginny in amazement. “She got me this job. Well, not this job, two jobs ago…”
Mrs Weasley rounded on her. “She encouraged you! She led you on, so you absconded over here! Totally irresponsible!”
“Mum! Do you want me to be in jail?”
“Your father and I fought against injustice!” stormed her mother. “I lost my son in that fight, and many of our friends! We’re not going to ignore the law!”
“That’s not the law!” said Ginny, upset now. “That’s Dolores Umbridge and Dawlish!”
“Who happen to be Minister of Magic and Chief Auror,” put in Mr Weasley.
“What?” cried Ginny in horror. “Minister of Magic? How did that happen?”
“If you hadn’t started this,” said Mrs Weasley, loudly, “With your stupid behaviour, it would probably still be poor Kingsley Shacklebolt in charge!”
“Poor…? Is he OK?”
“He’s fine,” said her father, in her ear. “But he lost his job, and he’s out of the Ministry now. Didn’t you know all this?”
“I’ve been busy,” said Ginny, weakly, but even to her own ears that sounded a lame excuse.
Despite her mother’s words, Ginny could think of no alternative than to send a Patronus message to Apolline and ask for her help. Her thoughts strayed to asking Gouin, the President of the school Senate, but decided, out of long experience, that introducing her mother to strangers was inevitably fraught with difficulty, not to say danger.
She had to draft her message three times, but even with her final, minimalist attempt, she was fully aware that receiving any message from a rhinoceros was bound to blow it out of all proportion.
She’d sent a quick update to Gosse as well, even though he wouldn’t welcome an armour-plated missive either.
Ginny had hoped for a meeting at Apolline’s Paris house - although she realised she’d never been there - or at the Delacour summer residence. Instead, Apolline appeared in person at Beauxbatons. Her expression as she strode across the Quadrangle was set and annoyed, which wasn’t a good start. Ginny hurried downstairs from her office, where the three had been waiting, and despite her mother’s sore feet, Mrs Weasley was hot on her heels.
“Now,” said Apolline, uncompromisingly. “What is all this?”
Ginny leapt in as best she could. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said, as diplomatically as she could. “My mother seems to think I should be in jail, and that it’s a mistake me being Headmistress.”
Apolline’s expression, to Ginny’s dismay, seemed to show she was agreeing with Ginny’s mother.
“So,” said Mrs Weasley to Apolline, breathlessly, “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Apolline didn’t explode as Ginny dreaded. She merely gave a quick, glacial smile to Mr Weasley’s would-be flirtatious greeting, and turned to Ginny’s mother.
“Good day to you too,” she said, freezingly. “Are you really accusing me? I helped your daughter – my son-in-law’s sister - secure a temporary job at Beauxbatons here, because she was fleeing injustice in her own country. Was that wrong?”
“Injustice? She should return home and face justice!” retorted Mrs Weasley. “This family does not flee from its responsibilities!”
A deep, annoyed sigh from Apolline. “The law to ban any magic to the benefit of other magical species – a law which has no equal in any civilised nation – was only enacted after your daughter had left the country. By our laws and yours, she is not guilty, and she has no obligation to return home, particularly when she would be bound to meet persecution.” She gave them a curt nod and turned on her heel, back towards the main entrance. Ginny’s mother stormed after her.
“Don’t you dare preach on our country’s laws!” snarled Mrs Weasley. “I demand justice from the French Ministry of Magic!”
Apolline looked surprised yet irritated, but kept walking. “From whom, exactly? In our Ministry’s eyes, Ginny Weasley can do no wrong. She is the newly acclaimed Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy. La Nue is the apple of this government’s eye. She is the champion of openness. My advice would be wait for this ridiculous Ministry to be forced out of power - as it doubtless soon will be - and to try again then. In the meantime, you are wasting your time. And mine!”
Both Mrs Weasley and Ginny were struck dumb by this speech. Only Mr Weasley was left to say anything.
“Well,” he said brightly. “That seems clear. So, who’s Lanoo?”
“Dad…”
Apolline was speaking once more to Mrs Weasley. “You should congratulate your daughter on her achievements. And my daughter too. Fleur is quite upset that you have not sent blessings on her happy news!”
“Fleur is too young…” began Mrs Weasley, but to every Weasley’s surprise her foe drove on determinedly. They were at the main gate now, and Apolline turned to deliver her parting shot.
“The new child will help cement relationships between our two countries,” said Apolline, “When such relationships are sorely needed. Remember that. Now, enjoy your stay here. I’m sure your daughter has lots to show you. Perhaps when you are settled, we can invite you to dinner.”
She twisted on the spot with an angry crack, and disappeared.
Ginny’s mother stared open-mouthed at the spot where Apolline had disappeared. “Well!” she said eventually. “I can see where Fleur gets that ridiculous aggression from!”
“Is Lanoo a friend of yours?” pursued Mr Weasley. “Are we going to get to meet him? Or is it a her?” he added, winking roguishly.
Ginny had entirely forgotten about Gosse amidst the warfare. “His name’s Gosse,” she said to her father. “You ought to come and meet him. He’ll be wondering what’s happened to us.”
Mrs Weasley was strangely silent as she limped back towards the school, and then up the cobbled street to the Headmistress’s house, in Ginny’s wake. Ginny opened the door with trepidation, but to her relief she found Gosse painting: Unusually, not a nude, but a rhinoceros. But he seemed placid and cheerful as she introduced them.
Gosse magicked his hands clean before shaking hands, but despite this Mrs Weasley quickly produced a handkerchief to wipe her hands, muttering about not wanting paint on her best clothes. But mercifully she didn’t immediately start on the attack. Instead, the reserve troop waded in.
“So, do I call you Lanoo, then?” Mr Weasley asked Gosse, cheerfully. Even in Ginny’s angry and stressed state, Gosse’s twisted expression of amazement was enough to make her smile.
“I am Gosse,” Gosse said. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Ginny has said so much about you.”
Which was true, but fortunately he didn’t elaborate. “Ginny has prepared lunch,” Gosse said then. “Are you hungry?” He looked pleased with himself, having drained almost his entire repertoire of prepared English.
He helped Ginny shoo her parents through to the dining room, where the table was already set, with several covered dishes. Ginny waved her wand nervously at the covers, which clashed noisily as they all tried to leave through the doorway at the same time.
“Do sit!” she said. Her father sat willingly, but she almost had to force her mother into her seat and then quickly filled her plate for her.
She’d over-spiced the little cheese balls, and her father’s ears were blowing steam, even while he exclaimed over how delicious they were, but the room seemed more cheerful now.
“So what do you do, Gosse?” asked Mr Weasley, brightly.
“I teach,” said Gosse. “Art.”
“Hmm,” said Mrs Weasley. “Not much of a catch for a Headmistress.”
Gosse laughed, fortunately.
“Mum!” said Ginny, annoyed. “He’s a famous artist! He’s won prizes!” But still, she realised, guiltily, that it was the most supportive thing her mother had said in quite a while.
After lunch, Mr Weasley insisted on seeing everything, and his wife gamely limped after them as Ginny babbled and her father asked endless questions. Gosse loyally accompanied them, even though Ginny previously assured her parents that he was too busy on his painting.
“So did you paint the official painting of Madame Weasley?” Mr Weasley asked Gosse as they walked up the circular glass stairs of the old classroom block. Ginny had to translate that, nervously. Gosse looked scandalised. He’d been very polite about Adelais’s painting of Ginny, but wasn’t pleased at having it attributed to him.
“No, no,” said Gosse. “It was one of her pupils.”
“Her name’s Adelais,” said Ginny, quickly.
“Not… what was it… Lanoo?”
“No!” put in Ginny.
“So why was she painting her Headmistress in the nuddy?” asked Mr Weasley.
“I wasn’t Headmistress then, Dad,” said Ginny nervously. Was this whole conversation getting out of hand again?
“Is she a girlfriend?” pursued her father.
“Dad, no!” said Ginny, in shock. “She’s a pupil!”
“Really? Don’t tell me they’re all painting you with nothing on!” he said with a neighing laugh.
“Just one class,” said Ginny, faintly.
The sleeping volcano awoke at this point.
“An entire class?” demanded Mrs Weasley, turning to Ginny. They were in the old classroom block, standing in the wide glass-ribbed central passageway on the first floor of the transparent fortress.
“It’s important, Mum,” Ginny said, defensively. “It’s life modelling.”
“Ginevra Bathilda Weasley!” said Mrs Weasley in fury. “Nice girls don’t take their clothes off in public! As you well know!” She turned to Gosse. “As you must know, too!” she said to him angrily. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Gosse looked confused, and Ginny had to translate.
“But it is important,” said Gosse, still puzzled. “Artists must know how the body looks. How it works.”
“Proper artists know how to paint people with their clothes on!” said Mrs Weasley, authoritatively. “Or they paint landscapes, like real artists!”
Ginny translated that too, uncomfortably. Gosse was suddenly stiffly serious.
“I am an artist,” he insisted. “And I paint this,” he said, his hands gesturing in passion at Ginny. “Her face! Her body! Her everything! Have you seen her Jeanne d'Arc? It is incredible. I am not saying this for myself, but for her! I won the award, but she earned it!”
Ginny, overcome, had to reach out and touch his arm, but Gosse was in full flight now.
“She understands!” he said, passionately. “She shows all! She is La Nue!”
“Lanoo?” said Mr Weasley, a faithful echo. “You’re Lanoo?” he said in surprise to Ginny.
“It means The Nude, Dad,” Ginny said as quietly as she could.
“No clothes on?” whispered her father.
“Mmh.”
“Ooh,” said Mr Weasley, horrified.
“Um, this is the Potions classroom,” said Ginny, as loudly as she could, walking towards the doorway. “I had to teach Potions for…”
“WHAT?” shrieked Mrs Weasley. She turned on Gosse. “You as well? You painted my daughter in the nude?”
But Gosse was done with pacifying her parents. He pushed his head towards Mrs Weasley.
“Yes!” he said, firmly. “I did! I am an artist! I cannot… cannot… turn away from beauty because it shocks people! I will not lie, or hide my art because it is convenient to others! I am here to tell the truth! Do not ask anything else! Your… your girl is beauty, and I must say that! I must… I must… show that!”
Mrs Weasley looked up at him, in wide-mouthed shock, strangely cowed, and suddenly smaller. It occurred to Ginny then that no-one – not her, not her father, not Harry – had ever stood up to her mother before.
“Oh,” her mother said eventually. “Beautiful? Ginny? I suppose… well, people always say she looks a bit like me.”
She turned away from Gosse then, blindly. “It’s very nice, dear,” she said to her daughter, vaguely looking around the Potions classroom. “We’re very proud of you.”