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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"Neville's much smarter than you lot in that regard," she informed him. Then, with another sweet smile: "But if you feel that strongly about it, you can advise him against marrying me, should he ever express a desire to do so. Or you could do what Ron will probably do in that case and thank him for taking me off your hands."
Let him mull over what that meant.
"Go on, then," she shooed him, as she retrieved the coffee maker and the kettle from their respective cupboards.
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"I'll let you tell Neville," He let the pause hang, "Or whoever. They ought to know just how crazy their sweetie pumpkin schnookum-pie's older brother is."
He grinned, putting his arms behind his head, rolling his eyes like a crazed man. "Speaking of, watch out for the 'horses of death' or sommat like that. Not in a bad way... had a good aura about it, I think. But you never know. Anyhow. Be right back." He fell backward a bit through the low doorway, then disappeared around the corner, whistling.
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Charlie's protectiveness really was endearing, if completely crass.
"He knows you're off your fucking rocker, don't worry about that. And he also knows that if he ever calls me his," Ginny couldn't help but grimace herself at the nickname, "sweetie pumpkin schnookum-pie, I'll hex his bollocks off. I should hex yours off, come to think."
She twirled her wand around and made it look like she was considering it, but it was an empty threat.
"Horses of death? What, like Thestrals?" Ginny laughed, and her laughter carried after him.
Her brother really was off his rocker.
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