pajamas | nursery.. [W.I.P.] | bb!

In the cozy, guitar-strewn flat with wizarding commerce bumbling a chorus below its front windows, and a noiseless courtyard overgrowing with displaced greenery in the back, where there had once been a shabby chic mountain of album leafs, signed posters, and storage crates, there was now a nursery. New definitions had been prescribed to the words "lullaby" and "rocking chair." Matilda Quinn had taken down posters of a cigarette-clad Bob Dylan and had replaced them with finger-paint handprints and dreamy posters of owls.

Leaning into the cot, she grazed the cheek of the smiling-if-toothless creature whose extended arms and balled fists called to her. She smiled back, eyes widening in a silent language that was all their own. One spin of the mobile overhead, and the fluffy white sheep that were supposed to send a person into slumber instead danced in circles to Three Owl's oldest record. "That's your daddy playing that guitar," Tilly confided in a loud whisper. "Isn't that a wicked brilliant solo?" The gurgle that might have been a laugh served for consent. Tilly nodded, and the baby, for all his tininess, quite determinedly grabbed a strand of her hair.

"Hey!" She sighed softly, the shoutiest un-shout she could muster for a six-week old. "Fingers," she explained, cupping his teeny-tiny ones in her own, "Are for plucking strings and making peace and waving at pretty girls." She winked, and she swore he understood as his hands relaxed and new jubilation spread over his face and huge blue eyes. "And you've got plenty of time to practice before you need to do any of those things." She bent further and kissed him right atop his fuzzy head. "Except maybe peace. Peace is always lovely, even when you're a hungry little monster in diapers."

Who'd have thought? 

Dennis Creevey leaned against the wall of the hallway, silently watching as mother and child shared that moment.  Mother and child.  His child.  A soft grin gently spread across the rockstars face as he continued to watch, unobtrusively.  While Dennis was quick to deny it to the man himself, Corby very well may have a point.  There was, perhaps, some threat of Three Owl's next album being a kid's one. 

You know better than anyone that you don't go looking for inspiration.  It finds you.  And, now you're drowning in a sea of sentimentality.  If you aren't careful, next you'll be doing duets with Raffi Cavoukian.

It had taken several weeks for that initial wave of panic to fade whenever Dennis laid eyes on this little life he was somehow now responsible for.  Whatever that meant.  It still hadn't faded, entirely.  But, it was finally becoming muted, at least.  And, now, it was always considerably weaker than the positives - pride, elation, contentment. 

"I don't know.  Bet he'll be waving off the girls as soon as comes on his first tours.  We'll need to hire bodyguards to ward off the Owlets."  There were some particularly ravenous fans in the crowd - chances were, there were quite a few who wouldn't hesitate to coo all over the little diaper dumper. 

"So, he's got until whenever the next tour starts to perfect a crowd-appeasing wave."

Tilly's smile mirrored what she thought was the grin on Colin's face. Dennis' voice had floated in from the open door, masking... well, the sound of his voice singing softly from the speakers. It was a strange but familiar sensation for Matilda. She rose gingerly from the cot, careful that her hair was where it belonged-- hanging from her head-- and shared her smile with Dennis.

"And that's the reason he'll have no friends. Most sane parents won't let us within fifty meters of any playground in London," she teased, poking in his direction. "Melting little girls and tramping the other boys with bodygaurds..." She shook her head. "What do you think his first word will be? 'Guinness?'"

She wandered closer, stepping into the threshold of the door and reaching out to grab Dennis by the forearm. She tugged him into the room. "Come here you," she commanded lightly, closing the distance between them. She kissed him, still half-smiling even as she did it. "I swear he's already smirking at us. Waving will be a piece of cake."

"Hmm."  Dennis pursed his lips as if giving the notion serious thought.  First words.  How did one predict things such as first words?  He wasn't even sure he knew what his first word had been.  "As long as it's not Milli Vanilli, I'll be happy."  Of course, he'd be happy even if it was Milli Vanilli  A little disappointed, perhaps.  But, still happy. 

The rockstar grinned at the sound of his own voice drifting back to him from behind his lover and son and his eyes flickered closed for a moment as he leaned his head against the wall.  "Tripping down the cobblestone streets; heels leaving ripples dancing across the glow of lamplight; in the puddles of an evening spring rain.  The hag in the doorway's been there since noon-" he joined in quietly with his own voice, dropping it down a minor seventh to harmonize with the recording. 

A brush of fingertips against his arm drew his eyelids open and he met Tilly in the kiss, pressing his shoulder against the wall to push himself upright. 

"Martin's starting to bug us about another tour," Dennis admitted when he pulled back slightly.  Though the band owed much of their current fame and notoriety to the driven, business-like manager, there was no shortage of differences of opinions between the man and then band.  "He's thinking we can sell out the major venues in Dublin, London, Paris and Vienna.  He and Jesse really got into it, today.  Jesse just wants to go back to pub crawling.  Corby suggested pub crawling in both wizarding and muggle London and Martin came unglued." 

Dennis unfolded himself from Tilly's arms just enough to take Colin Jr. to his chest. 

"As long as it's not Milli Vanilli, I'll be happy."

Tilly laughed, pointing a finger in Dennis’ direction accusingly. “You think I don’t child-proof that stuff in the shop? It’s way in the back, with the Lotus Brothers’ commercially-approved ‘b-sides’ and our only copy of Broomside’s drummer’s solo efforts.” She was, of course lying: there wasn’t a copy at all. Tilly kept less than tasteful things in the shop to appease any number of customers and their musical niches-- music was for enjoyment, and even if she was judging their tastes in her head, it was not for her to judge-- vocally-- what they spent their money on. Reducto was a hippie-run, socially progressive, hands-on grassroots community. And it was a business.

The two Dennis’ were hardly an echo: the guitarist had penned the words himself, and knew them better than he probably knew the lifelines in his palms. But where the record had been produced in a studio, Dennis’ live voice was a touch more improvising, a little bit rawer-- in the best possible way. It was strange and wonderful to hear him sing... with himself.

"Martin's starting to bug us about another tour,"

Tilly nodded softly, saying nothing for the moment as she mulled over what that would mean: spend less time at the shop than she had already in the past several months, or stay home and keep Dennis from his newfound family, the little rock they’d formed together that was, admittedly, much more solid than the usual brand of rock they both so loved.

If the baby stirred against his father’s chest, it was hardly visible. Colin seemed at home there, the tiny thing he was, enveloped in Dennis’ natural warmth. Tilly beckoned him to the old, chipped rocking chair in the corner, perching herself on the arm so that Dennis could sit down with the baby.

“You should tell him you want to want to record those muggle pub crawls and turn them into an underground music video and sell illegal copies at Piccadilly,” she teased, imaging the look of horror on the manager’s face they took their dance around the Statute of Secrecy that much farther-- multimedia. How many confused teenage wizards would venture into muggle London in their signed Three Owl band shirts to buy copies, only to discover they didn’t own DVD players, computers, or Playstations? Not that Tilly was in favor of sitting a kid in front of a television set for hours upon hours. She’d much rather little Colin grow up seeing the real thing-- experiencing it, and trying it for himself.

“If you leave...” She added, drifting off while she chose her words. “How would we--?” She gestured around the little nursery. She knew it was a conversation they’d have to have eventually, being rather unconventional (and first time) parents. The bonus of a wizarding lifestyle was that Dennis could disappear and reappear across the world in the blink of an eye. She knew, though, that he was not used to sitting still for long periods of time, and she would never want to rob him of his art. She was used to not seeing him for months on end, but Colin... well, that was something else. “I suppose we could buy baby-sized headphones and come visit you backstage,” she suggested sheepishly, her lips forming a soft, sideways smirk. “I bet Duncan Flickwick has some laying around his attic.”

A laugh disrupted the live voice though the recorded voice could be counted upon to remain consistent and solid.  Something about the idea of any of Milli Vanilli's three albums lingering in a little shop in Diagon sounded hilariously horrendous.  That could, very well, be the mark of the dreaded muggle invasion all the purebloods were fearing.  But the laugh only briefly interrupted his flow.  After a few weakly chuckled notes, he caught the tune, again, drifting over to perch himself in the rocking chair. 

"Don't see why we couldn't," Dennis said.  It was impossible to tell whether he hadn't noticed Tilly's teasing or if he'd simply ignored it.  Branching out into the muggle underground music world was, certainly, one way to expand their fan base.  They could probably pool together enough muggle-safe tracks from their various albums to create a muggle-world-friendly release.  Besides, how many fantasy-themed muggle bands were out there, anyway?  It wasn't like they'd suddenly expose the whole wizarding world if they sang one song about magic.  Still, he could see the look on Martin's face.  He'd probably accuse them of trying to get him thrown into Azkaban.  "We'd have to actually figure out some of the royalties on the covers, though.  Still don't know if Martin actually knows we didn't write Waitin' On A Sunny Day." 

Paying royalties would suck but, how bloody awesome would it be, though, for Springsteen to hear Three Owl's covers? 

If he left?  While the topic might have been lingering in the back of Tilly's mind for some time, the thought hadn't really occurred to Dennis until she brought it up.  He'd always assumed it was a given that they'd come along.  Tilly had been their road manager before, after all.  Sure - the presence of a little humanoid screamer might impact it some but ...

"Why would he need headphones?"  He was, officially, slightly confused and he wasn't making any attempts to hide that.  "I'd always assumed you'd both be coming with.  You'll still be managing the shows, won't you?"

"Don't see why we couldn't. We'd have to actually figure out some of the royalties on the covers, though.  Still don't know if Martin actually knows we didn't write Waitin' On A Sunny Day."

“Well, if he bothered to read the record inserts...” He might have a team running them over with a fine-tooth comb next time. It was best to let Martin worry about the bigger pictures, the legal snags, not the thanks and dedications and lyrical whirlwinds that accompanied a fan’s well-loved copy of their favorite record. Tilly grinned mischievously. “Maybe we could get the greats to cover your stuff,” she offered, poking him lightly in the chest.

"Why would he need headphones?"

“His eardrums are a hundredth of a house-elves?” Tilly raised a brow. “That wasn’t a slight against his Daddy’s music,” she promised, reaching out to rub Colin’s tummy, and then touching Dennis’ cheek. “But I think your sound equipment outdoes this record player.” She swished her lips into what might have been a pout, if Tilly were the pouting sort. She wanted him to know she was with him.

“And...” She had to be careful now, she knew. Things were about as ‘normal’ as they’d ever been in her flat. Dennis was more settled than she’d seen him, too. Much like she’d begun to imagine Jacoba’s presence as a permanent fixture, she’d become used to Dennis being here with her every night, where before they might see one another for a weekend, get drunk, and go off on their separate ways-- Tilly to the Reducto Records storeroom or her own bed, and Dennis to Merlin knew where. It was an unspoken eventuality, and there had been comfort in the routine that lacked routine.

Now, though, they were on a different plane.

“My mum thinks it’s bad for a baby to be traveling so much. She’s worried his first words will be Tune this in F-Major or Check out the bird without the bra.” She would bet galleons to quid Dennis’ own mother had much the same worry for her new grandson, but it wasn’t Tilly’s place to say. “You know I want him to know your world.” She wouldn’t have had the baby otherwise. She wanted to expose Colin to all the things they loved, and the people they loved, too. But her mother had set her to worrying, something that came more naturally now that it was a pint-sized, slumbering, slobbering bundle and not a wasted man on her couch for whom she had to care. She wanted Colin to be with both of them, and she wanted him to see Dennis’ life, but she wasn’t so sure she wanted to expose him to the underbelly of rockstardom, not so soon. She felt guilty for thinking so. What had happened to her own free spirit? In a moment of panic, she shook her head. “My mum is just being old,” she decided. “Of course we’ll come. Of course I’ll manage the shows.”

Not to mention, this was Dennis’ version of a nine-to-five. She couldn’t ask him to sacrifice it even if she’d wanted to (and she didn’t). It was the most stable thing he had outside of this little family they’d made. Tour was good for him, even if it had a wild edge. It was better than letting the demons chase him around a rainy Diagon when he was home with too much on his mind.

“And I can’t let you wander off with a guitar on your back and nothing else. The fans are vicious and cunning. If the tabloids say you’re taken, they double their efforts.” She leaned down a bit from her perch on the rocking chair’s arm, grinning against the sensitive skin behind his ear, eyelids heavy with tranquility and love. She was not so worried, not yet. She was only bantering with him. When it got closer to the eve upon which Three Owl would embark on their first tour in which Dennis Creevey was a sober man with a baby and steady girlfriend, then she might begin to watch the more serious fans with a hawk’s gaze. “You’re not a free man, Dennis Creevey.”

“Well, if he bothered to read the record inserts...”

Dennis was still watching the pint-sized, humanoid bundle in his arms, gazing in amusement at the bubbly and slightly stoned looking grin the little tyke seemed to carry so often.  "You mean I'm not supposed to hide them from him?" Dennis asked without looking up from his son.  Of course, Dennis didn't hide the album information from Martin; he was just careful never to complain when Martin seemed to overlook the minor details.  He laughed heartily and happily, though, at the idea of Springsteen or Dylan or Prine covering his material.  "Would Prine covering a song about intoxicating blonds still count as a violation of the statute of secrecy even though they aren't expressly called veela?" 

"There are quiet places backstage," Dennis offered in his own defense, grinning at Tilly.  He was well aware the comment wasn't entirely serious but he felt the point needed to be made, anyway.  "Besides, there's gotta be a charm for that.  Maybe they covered those concert muting charms in sixth year."  Right before they became of age.  Like, apparition classes.  Dennis, of course, was a wizard and magically capable.  But, magically capable and magically educated were two very different things.  Third year had been his last, fully, normal year at Hogwarts.  They'd been on the run his fourth year and his fifth year had been little more than a complete waste.  He had a wand and he carried it with him and even used it on occasion.  But, magic was very rarely his first course of action. 

Not only did Dennis' mother have the same concerns as Tilly but Dennis was convinced the two mothers held frequent conferences to discuss the matter.  That Tilly may share the same concerns, though, had so far been lost on the rockstar.  "She should be quite pleased if F-Major is the first key her grandson chooses to play in," Dennis said, with his ever typical dismissive and carefree air.  "G-Major's far too standard and B-Flat Minor would make me concerned he'd end up in Slytherin." 

"Do you think things will be managed in the shop well enough with you on the road, though?"  Dennis asked, glancing towards Tilly.  While oblivious to her concerns about taking Colin on the road, it was easier to assume she'd have reservations about leaving Reducto for so long.  "No doubt we'd rather have you as a road manager, if you think it'd work." 

Tilly smiled. Dennis had always had a boyish deviousness about him, and he got away with it splendidly-- perhaps in part because he was the sort of rebel who used melodies and lazy, charming grins. But his sweetness rivaled the rockstar headlines, and even if the manager were to discover the crafty ways Dennis and company blurred the lines between the magical and muggle worlds, she suspected he would have to give in eventually. Besides, the band was theirs. Dennis and his brother had built it.

“I’m fully convinced there are a few muggles walking around with veela blood, anyway,” she offered.

"There are quiet places backstage."

Didn’t he know it. She raised a brow, face sobering with effort-- before she melted into another smile. She might have been concerned, but it didn’t mean that Dennis didn’t mean well. In his own cheeky way. “I think that’s a conversation for when he’s older. Not to be all old fashioned on the poor kid.” Knowing that he hadn’t really meant anything so... adult... Tilly added, “But if you mean some green room or backstage couch, I guess you’re right.”

"Besides, there's gotta be a charm for that.  Maybe they covered those concert muting charms in sixth year."

Tilly tilted her head, looking down at the smiley Colin. Eyes flitted to Dennis, and back to Colin. From her seat on the arm of the chair, she leaned into Dennis’ arm. Her gaze was pensive. Again, she found herself wondering what if...

It was an anomaly, what she was. It would be even stranger one for a squib to birth a squib. Magic was a painstakingly dominate gene, and Tilly was-- despite her magic-- Pureblood. Dennis and his brother had both exhibited magic, muggle parentage and all, and the chances of Colin not being a wizard were smaller than the chances of a man being struck by lightning after winning a lottery.

“Time to find your books, I think.” She gave him a little shove with her own shoulder. “Maybe I can have a go at your wand.” She was, of course, kidding, and the words came playfully.

He was right. There did have to be a charm. “You know, with a spell and a play-pen, I think we could make it work.” She felt more comfortable now; whatever tension that had been a moment ago was not so pressing. Dennis’ ability to artfully avoid, to favor easy sarcasm, had nevertheless been interspersed with an earnest plan.

Hopefully Colin didn’t a rebellious stage where he wants to cast it himself so he could read his own charms book in silence... Wouldn’t that be terribly ironic? Tilly hoped he did take after Dennis-- she wasn’t sure what she would do if her son was the sort of rebel who preferred homework to music. Though she was fully prepared to wing it and support him, whatever he turned out to be. There were worse things than a child who scored O’s on his exams, she knew.

"She should be quite pleased if F-Major is the first key her grandson chooses to play in. G-Major's far too standard and B-Flat Minor would make me concerned he'd end up in Slytherin."

“Couldn’t have that, now could we? F-Major must be his shoe-in for Gryffindor.” It was like an audition for nursery school. Tilly had heard the rumors. “I should tell our mums we’ve cracked the code to parenting.” Merlin knew there was no such thing. She was pretty sure Dennis would have traded music for math, if there were a method to the madness. He was brilliant, though. Despite her worries-- for both of them-- and the ones he must have harbored still, he was brilliant.

"Do you think things will be managed in the shop well enough with you on the road, though? No doubt we'd rather have you as a road manager, if you think it'd work."

“Jacoba’s great. I couldn’t ask for a better manager. And we’ve got lots of extra help for the summer, with Hogwarts out. The shop’ll be fine.” She wanted them to be fine. And Colin. On tour, she’d only ever had to play a vague sort of mother to Dennis and the other lads. At the end of the night, she could go out drinking with them, or roll her eyes, kiss his cheek, and send him off to the pub with whomever was there that night-- another band, persistent fans, a perfect stranger. She might have been a little uneasy, a little jealous, even, sometimes. Now she was Colin’s mum and Dennis’... Tilly. “I’m just worried this will all be too different for us. For you. Or too familiar. I don’t want you to be...” She paused, and spoke the next part softly. “Disappointed.” Nor did she want that for herself. She hadn't meant to sound weak, but she was a little nervous. If things became too strange... or, perhaps, too familiar... well, it was a lot of pressure on Dennis. Tour meant a certain lifestyle. Tilly wanted him to have fun. She wanted to have fun herself. She didn’t want to police him, or to make him think she was out to do that. Becoming Martin with tits was a nightmare neither of them needed. But she couldn't just forget that a baby didn't belong beside crowd surfers and pub crawlers. “If it becomes too much, maybe we should have a backup. Or I’m sure one of our mothers would love to watch him for a while.”