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Oh my, we are all so sick to death of all this rain! Mud everywhere, and everyone tracks it into the house. A new leak has sprung in the ceiling of the hallway on the top floor, and so I have the buckets out again. Even Luna, who is usually serenely unruffled about everything, is growing almost gloomy, and Ginny has been downright peevish, as cross as two sticks.
To get us all out of the house, I took the girls with me into Ottery St. Catchpole yesterday afternoon, flooing into Melody’s Tea Shop. After we’d finished our errands (wools for knitting, a bag of flour, pins, and so forth), we came back to the tea shop and ordered a pot with some scones, cake and biscuits. It was a bit of an extravagance, I suppose, but Melody’s is quite nice, and the girls been working hard on their lessons this winter for the most part. I thought we all deserved a bit of a treat.
Unfortunately, I’d forgotten that the village school had let out for the day. Now I don’t mean that Arthur and I want Ginny and Luna to avoid all of the local children, you understand. But there is a reason we pulled Ginny out of that school. Melody’s Tea Shop has a little counter to one side that sells sweets for the village children, so there was a trickle of them going in and out as we sat there. Miranda Levingworth came in, with her daughter Lavinia, who wanted to buy liquorice wands. They were followed by a little girl perhaps a year or two younger than Ginny and Luna—-it was hard to tell—-who was ragged and barefoot. In this cold, too!
I was hoping they wouldn’t notice us, but Ginny was delighted to see a familiar face and waved Lavinia over. They chatted for a few moments, and then Ginny glanced over at the girl who was hovering nearby and brightly inquired who Lavinia’s new friend was. Lavinina tittered at that. Oh my, that wasn’t a friend of hers! She was just some stupid mudblood her Mama was hiring for the day to muck out their hen house.
Oh, how I just wanted to slap that smirking girl, hearing that word! I know Arthur hears it every day, but to hear it flung so carelessly, with the poor child just standing there! Ginny’s eyes grew round, and she opened her mouth to say something, Merlin knows what. Luna stopped her, though, by stepping on her foot under the table, hard, and asking me sweetly whether it wasn't time for us to be getting home. So we made our excuses and got out of there.
Ginny was quiet and thoughtful when we arrived back at the Burrow and didn’t say anything until after Luna had gone home. It must have been preying on her mind, though, because as I was tucking her into bed, she asked me abruptly whether I thought that little girl might get some new shoes with the money she’d make mucking out the hen house.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth, that the child would doubtless would remain barefoot tomorrow and the day after that, and all the days of her life to come. Any money from her work won’t go to her, but to the heartless people who consider themselves her owners.
There’s time enough for Ginny to learn the ways of the world. But I hope, I keep hoping, that by the time she’s grown the world might be a little bit different. If Arthur and I and all the rest of us in the Order do our work well.
To get us all out of the house, I took the girls with me into Ottery St. Catchpole yesterday afternoon, flooing into Melody’s Tea Shop. After we’d finished our errands (wools for knitting, a bag of flour, pins, and so forth), we came back to the tea shop and ordered a pot with some scones, cake and biscuits. It was a bit of an extravagance, I suppose, but Melody’s is quite nice, and the girls been working hard on their lessons this winter for the most part. I thought we all deserved a bit of a treat.
Unfortunately, I’d forgotten that the village school had let out for the day. Now I don’t mean that Arthur and I want Ginny and Luna to avoid all of the local children, you understand. But there is a reason we pulled Ginny out of that school. Melody’s Tea Shop has a little counter to one side that sells sweets for the village children, so there was a trickle of them going in and out as we sat there. Miranda Levingworth came in, with her daughter Lavinia, who wanted to buy liquorice wands. They were followed by a little girl perhaps a year or two younger than Ginny and Luna—-it was hard to tell—-who was ragged and barefoot. In this cold, too!
I was hoping they wouldn’t notice us, but Ginny was delighted to see a familiar face and waved Lavinia over. They chatted for a few moments, and then Ginny glanced over at the girl who was hovering nearby and brightly inquired who Lavinia’s new friend was. Lavinina tittered at that. Oh my, that wasn’t a friend of hers! She was just some stupid mudblood her Mama was hiring for the day to muck out their hen house.
Oh, how I just wanted to slap that smirking girl, hearing that word! I know Arthur hears it every day, but to hear it flung so carelessly, with the poor child just standing there! Ginny’s eyes grew round, and she opened her mouth to say something, Merlin knows what. Luna stopped her, though, by stepping on her foot under the table, hard, and asking me sweetly whether it wasn't time for us to be getting home. So we made our excuses and got out of there.
Ginny was quiet and thoughtful when we arrived back at the Burrow and didn’t say anything until after Luna had gone home. It must have been preying on her mind, though, because as I was tucking her into bed, she asked me abruptly whether I thought that little girl might get some new shoes with the money she’d make mucking out the hen house.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth, that the child would doubtless would remain barefoot tomorrow and the day after that, and all the days of her life to come. Any money from her work won’t go to her, but to the heartless people who consider themselves her owners.
There’s time enough for Ginny to learn the ways of the world. But I hope, I keep hoping, that by the time she’s grown the world might be a little bit different. If Arthur and I and all the rest of us in the Order do our work well.