(Untitled)
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 ( Read more... )
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 ( Read more... )
Her second to oldest brother hadn't been out of his shack for more than a shower when she or Tonks reminded him of the necessity of cleanliness, in about a month (from what Tonks and Ron had told her. She'd been gone for half of it, after all). She'd gotten used to visiting him there if she wanted to see him, and to the fact she fairly had to force him into the occasional dinner appearance at the house.
So sue her if the fact he'd come in on his own startled her a little.
"Of course I've got a reason. I'm making breakfast, idiot. You know cooking for the Order's been one of the things I've always done. Habit after being the only one who did it for so long and I couldn't sleep anyway, so why not?"
Ginny spoke to him in a way that only a sibling could, especially a sister to a brother: with a third reproach for asking such a dumb question, a third blunt stating of the facts because that's the only way they'd understand it, and a third I can't believe we're related sometimes; all the while also carrying an undertone of unmistakable affection.
"I was going to bring you some, when they were done."
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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 happen myself."
She ended this slightly menacing speech with a sweet smile (that dared him to argue) and the promise that "Once you get cleaned up, then I'll let you do the cooking for me."
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He dared argue. Mostly because he missed her, and a wee bit because he knew she was right. He smelled terrible, and probably looked worse... and in any case, it was her day. Whatever reasons there were to do as Ginny said, the one that mattered was that she had asked... no, demanded it; and it wouldn't do to cause his wee sister any undue stress.
"Heaven help the man who marries you, you harpy." He laughed, dodging toward the low doorway that led to the hall and the house beyond. "He'll try to be your sweetheart and get nothing but a cake of soap in return." He tossed the dishtowel back at her, and scratched the scraggle that fringed his grin. "I'll tan your hide if you start cooking while I'm washing my nethers, but I could probably find it in my heart to forgive you if there's coffee when I get back."
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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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