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Harry Potter and the Unhappy MILF

The kitchen at Number Four Privet Drive had never looked better, Monica decided, and the small satisfaction of that thought was almost enough to drown out the argument currently unfolding at the breakfast table.

Almost.

She stood at the counter with her back to them, carefully timing the eggs, and she found herself grateful for the excuse to focus on something other than her husband's increasingly red face.

Not for the first time that week, an argument had broken out over breakfast. Mr. Wendell Granger had woken early that morning to find the master bedroom door closed again.

With his daughter inside.


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