Who: Ginny and Charlie
Where: Kitchen, Order HQ
When: 11 August, 2001; early morning
Status: Ongoing
The morning of Ginny's birthday found her up with the sun and in the kitchen, working on making pancake batter from scratch. She'd unconsciously sublimated her mother's habit of cooking as a distraction for stress, it seemed.
And she had been agitated
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He jiggled the pan, picked up a spatula and set it down again, looked in a cupboard, looked in another cupboard and found the salt and pepper, attempted to wash his hands at the basin... and gave up, throwing a dishtowel in frustration. "Darling, there's nothing here. Were you planning on serving poached nothing with a rasher of lightly salted air?" He glared at her, unkempt hair clinging to the side of his neck in clumps, beard flecked with old food. "And why are you still standing there? Sit down, sister, love, before I break your knees."
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"The batter's on the table, which you'd of seen if you'd just looked," came her retort, "And you're not going anywhere NEAR that stove, Charles Gideon."
She caught the dishtowel he'd thrown up in frustration, twisted it and then used it to rap his knuckles.
"I love you, O second oldest brother of mine, and I appreciate the gesture, but until you no longer look like you could pass for Hagrid's redheaded lovechild or a Neanderthal, I'm not letting you anywhere the Order's breakfast. It's unsanitary and downright disgusting. You've still got bits of the spaghetti sauce from THREE DAYS ago crusted in your beard.
"You will go and have a shower and shave, or I'll break your knees and use my wand to drench you with water and soap right here in this kitchen and shave you myself. And I'll call Ron to take pictures. I'm sure he won't mind being woken early for that.
"One way or another, I will have you looking like my brother and a halfway decent human being again for my birthday, even if I have to make it ( ... )
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He poured himself a cup, searched a cupboard or two before seeing the sugar on the table, and sat down across from Ginny. "And if Hermione asks, I'll by her a new razor next time I'm in town." He grinned as he spooned a heap of sugar into his already brimming cup, bending down quickly to sip of the rim as it threatened to overflow.
"So... what's news? I've been a smelly, hallucinating hermit for too long, and what I remember having been told probably doesn't - and shouldn't - match up with what I remember." He winced at the coffee, still hot from the pot. "Percy?"
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"Eh, Ron's used to it, or he ought to be, growing up the way we did. There was only ever one bar of soap, remember? And he spent years wearing your hand-me-downs. Hermione, though... you can tell Hermione you borrowed her razor yourself. I'm not your bodyguard. Just your hope and salvation in the form of your kid sister."
The last bit, about being his hope and salvation, was said teasingly, as a joke.
"Well, I wasn't joking about Neville. I am with him now... I think," she said, and if Charlie could have seen her ears, he'd know they were pink ( ... )
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It was quickly replaced by a look of anger, though, when Charlie voiced his disapproval of Harry. In fact, it made Ginny so angry that she slapped him once he'd finished talking about the rest, hard enough to sting but not to leave a lasting mark, across the face.
"Don't you dare talk about Harry like that. Ever again. None of this is his fault. He didn't ask to be The Boy Who Lived, he didn't ask for the fame or the attention or the responsibility. He got it because of when he was born, because Tralawney made a stupid prophecy, because Snape overheard part of it and Voldemort decided Harry was a threat. He was just a KID, Charlie. He did his best. He did what he thought would keep the people he cared about safest and he got blindsided by that betrayal just like the rest of us. Worst than the rest of us ( ... )
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