02. Cheer someone up
Cheer someone up
post-Hogwarts
Ronald, she decided, needed a bit of cheering up. It wasn't that was sad necessarily, but perhaps a little smothered. He and Ginny were the only one living at the Burrow. Ginny was busy, Quidditch and Harry and all. But, Ronald? Smothered. Mrs. Weasley had taken it upon herself to attempt to teach poor ickle Ronnikins to knit.
Cooking wasn't her precise forte in life, but she was rather good at potions, so recipes were not incredibly difficult to master. She thought dinner away from his mum might lift his spirits a bit - or, at the very least, allow to him properly digest something without twitching every time his mum spoke. She kept an eye on the clock - and, on a certain, fluffy cat who was pacing for food to drop from the counter. Ron was supposed to be there at 6:00.
She had been busy most of the afternoon, cleaning up the flat a bit, finding the right recipes and such. She set her small table with the dishes her Mum bought as a flat-warming gift; she'd yet to actually use them. A small grin spread across her features when the oven ticked to alert her the cooking time had elapsed. She positively beamed with how pretty her casserole had turned out. She made sure there was tea and a wee basket of bread on the table. Dessert was on stand-by in the refrigerator, ready to pop in the oven.
When she heard the familiar timid knock at the door, she grinned and ushered Crookshanks into the study where he wouldn't bother Ron. She still had the soft blue apron around her waist when she opened the door, but she knew he wouldn't mind - she knew he'd smell food and be absolutely beside himself.
post-Hogwarts
Ronald, she decided, needed a bit of cheering up. It wasn't that was sad necessarily, but perhaps a little smothered. He and Ginny were the only one living at the Burrow. Ginny was busy, Quidditch and Harry and all. But, Ronald? Smothered. Mrs. Weasley had taken it upon herself to attempt to teach poor ickle Ronnikins to knit.
Cooking wasn't her precise forte in life, but she was rather good at potions, so recipes were not incredibly difficult to master. She thought dinner away from his mum might lift his spirits a bit - or, at the very least, allow to him properly digest something without twitching every time his mum spoke. She kept an eye on the clock - and, on a certain, fluffy cat who was pacing for food to drop from the counter. Ron was supposed to be there at 6:00.
She had been busy most of the afternoon, cleaning up the flat a bit, finding the right recipes and such. She set her small table with the dishes her Mum bought as a flat-warming gift; she'd yet to actually use them. A small grin spread across her features when the oven ticked to alert her the cooking time had elapsed. She positively beamed with how pretty her casserole had turned out. She made sure there was tea and a wee basket of bread on the table. Dessert was on stand-by in the refrigerator, ready to pop in the oven.
When she heard the familiar timid knock at the door, she grinned and ushered Crookshanks into the study where he wouldn't bother Ron. She still had the soft blue apron around her waist when she opened the door, but she knew he wouldn't mind - she knew he'd smell food and be absolutely beside himself.