To Your Health!
Title: To Your Health!
Author: scarlett71177
Format: Ficlet
Rating & Warnings: G
Prompts: Cooking
Word Count: 851
Summary: Tonks can only cook one thing but she and Remus enjoy the tradition
Author’s Notes: I had no idea how one would go about making wassail, but if anyone is interested- here’s a recipe!. I don’t own “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” (thank God) that belongs to a lovely duo called Elmo and Patsy. Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah!
“Grandpa got run over by a Hippogriff flying home from our house Christmas Eve. You may say there’s no such thing as Father Christmas, but as for me and Grandma we believe!”
The off-key warbling echoed throughout the kitchen creating the most peculiar of sounds. Her pitch did not match the already atrocious song emanating from the wireless, but it was Christmastime, and she was happy. It was the best greeting he could imagine.
Remus set a bag down at his feet and dutifully hung his cloak on the tree near the door. His hands were scarlet red, burning and aching from the cold. He shook his fingers and cupped his hands around his mouth, breathing warmly on them, instantly spotting the black dragon-hide gloves he’d forgotten on the end table when he’d left to run Christmas errands. He quickly banished the bag to the bedroom to the hiding place he’d chosen to keep the rest of her gifts a secret.
“Tonks, I’m home!” he called softly, toeing off his shoes on the knitted rug as to not track icy water through the flat.
“I’m cooking!”
Cooking could only mean one thing- wassail.
Nymphadora Tonks didn’t actually cook per say. She was splendid at re-heating charms, but by and large she left the actual cooking up to him- and that suited him just fine. She claimed to have only mastered one ‘dish’ while living with some friends in London after leaving Hogwarts and attending Auror training.
The aroma of the spices wafted through the flat, rekindling memories of the holidays that had previously been lodged in the deep recesses of his mind: his mother’s apple and pumpkin pies, the first time Tonks had made the warm beverage, and just the general nostalgic sentiment of Christmas.
He felt a smile stretching across his face and hurried to the kitchen, where she would be, no doubt, heating the ale and adding the spices and eggs before pouring the entire warm mixture over some sliced apples and oranges in the large punchbowl.
Remus stood at the threshold of the door, watching her standing over the steaming pot, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear as she consulted the worn piece of parchment she called a recipe (the only recipe she owned incidentally) and then turned her eyes to the mixture once again.
“Hi,” he said softly, slinking up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, which was warmed from the cooking wassail.
“Hi to you,” she replied, leaning over her shoulder and pecking his lips. “Did you finish your shopping then?” she asked coyly.
“Mm, I can’t tell you that,” he answered slipping his cold hands under the hem of her T-shirt, pressing his palms flat against her warm skin, causing her to gasp and suck her stomach in.
“You’re naughty!” she shrieked, attempting to wriggle away from him.
He laughed and kissed her neck by way of an apology. “I’m sorry; I just couldn’t keep my hands off you. Is the wassail nearly done?”
Tonks turned in his arms and narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. “I don’t know if I should give you any- you’ve been naughty,” she answered, shaking her spoon at him, bringing the fragrance tantalizingly closer.
“I offer a truce then- meet me on the couch in five minutes with two mugs of wassail. Deal?”
She smiled and kissed the tip of his cold nose. “Deal.”
~*~
Remus retreated to the living room and charmed a fire to burn brightly in the fireplace, the aura of an amber glow dancing and reflecting over the walls of their flat. He dimmed all the lights with the exception of the fairy lights which twinkled on the slender Christmas tree in the corner of the room near the wireless.
He sat on the couch, resting his back against the arm and looked out the window at the dense, grey clouds threatening snow and wondered, as he often did this time of year, how he got so lucky. He never dared to dream a future this rewarding. Truth be told, he often wondered if he deserved it all.
“What’s wrong? You seem far away,” Tonks replied, slumping down onto the couch, swearing as she spilled some of the wassail on her hand.
And there she was, always there to remind him of how much she loved him, how much she cared, and how much they would both lose without each other.
He took the mugs from her, letting herself settle herself between his legs, resting her back against his chest. “Nothing’s the matter,” he answered her finally, giving her her mug back. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”
She smiled and he swore it warmed the room (or at least the cockles of his heart) more than the fire did. “Me too,” she offered brightly. “Let’s toast.”
Tonks raised her glass slightly, eyes widening, careful not to spill. “To your health,” she said, offering the traditional wassail proposal.
“And to yours, my love,” Remus answered, clinking her mug gently before taking a sip of the warm spirits.
Author: scarlett71177
Format: Ficlet
Rating & Warnings: G
Prompts: Cooking
Word Count: 851
Summary: Tonks can only cook one thing but she and Remus enjoy the tradition
Author’s Notes: I had no idea how one would go about making wassail, but if anyone is interested- here’s a recipe!. I don’t own “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” (thank God) that belongs to a lovely duo called Elmo and Patsy. Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah!
“Grandpa got run over by a Hippogriff flying home from our house Christmas Eve. You may say there’s no such thing as Father Christmas, but as for me and Grandma we believe!”
The off-key warbling echoed throughout the kitchen creating the most peculiar of sounds. Her pitch did not match the already atrocious song emanating from the wireless, but it was Christmastime, and she was happy. It was the best greeting he could imagine.
Remus set a bag down at his feet and dutifully hung his cloak on the tree near the door. His hands were scarlet red, burning and aching from the cold. He shook his fingers and cupped his hands around his mouth, breathing warmly on them, instantly spotting the black dragon-hide gloves he’d forgotten on the end table when he’d left to run Christmas errands. He quickly banished the bag to the bedroom to the hiding place he’d chosen to keep the rest of her gifts a secret.
“Tonks, I’m home!” he called softly, toeing off his shoes on the knitted rug as to not track icy water through the flat.
“I’m cooking!”
Cooking could only mean one thing- wassail.
Nymphadora Tonks didn’t actually cook per say. She was splendid at re-heating charms, but by and large she left the actual cooking up to him- and that suited him just fine. She claimed to have only mastered one ‘dish’ while living with some friends in London after leaving Hogwarts and attending Auror training.
The aroma of the spices wafted through the flat, rekindling memories of the holidays that had previously been lodged in the deep recesses of his mind: his mother’s apple and pumpkin pies, the first time Tonks had made the warm beverage, and just the general nostalgic sentiment of Christmas.
He felt a smile stretching across his face and hurried to the kitchen, where she would be, no doubt, heating the ale and adding the spices and eggs before pouring the entire warm mixture over some sliced apples and oranges in the large punchbowl.
Remus stood at the threshold of the door, watching her standing over the steaming pot, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear as she consulted the worn piece of parchment she called a recipe (the only recipe she owned incidentally) and then turned her eyes to the mixture once again.
“Hi,” he said softly, slinking up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, which was warmed from the cooking wassail.
“Hi to you,” she replied, leaning over her shoulder and pecking his lips. “Did you finish your shopping then?” she asked coyly.
“Mm, I can’t tell you that,” he answered slipping his cold hands under the hem of her T-shirt, pressing his palms flat against her warm skin, causing her to gasp and suck her stomach in.
“You’re naughty!” she shrieked, attempting to wriggle away from him.
He laughed and kissed her neck by way of an apology. “I’m sorry; I just couldn’t keep my hands off you. Is the wassail nearly done?”
Tonks turned in his arms and narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. “I don’t know if I should give you any- you’ve been naughty,” she answered, shaking her spoon at him, bringing the fragrance tantalizingly closer.
“I offer a truce then- meet me on the couch in five minutes with two mugs of wassail. Deal?”
She smiled and kissed the tip of his cold nose. “Deal.”
~*~
Remus retreated to the living room and charmed a fire to burn brightly in the fireplace, the aura of an amber glow dancing and reflecting over the walls of their flat. He dimmed all the lights with the exception of the fairy lights which twinkled on the slender Christmas tree in the corner of the room near the wireless.
He sat on the couch, resting his back against the arm and looked out the window at the dense, grey clouds threatening snow and wondered, as he often did this time of year, how he got so lucky. He never dared to dream a future this rewarding. Truth be told, he often wondered if he deserved it all.
“What’s wrong? You seem far away,” Tonks replied, slumping down onto the couch, swearing as she spilled some of the wassail on her hand.
And there she was, always there to remind him of how much she loved him, how much she cared, and how much they would both lose without each other.
He took the mugs from her, letting herself settle herself between his legs, resting her back against his chest. “Nothing’s the matter,” he answered her finally, giving her her mug back. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”
She smiled and he swore it warmed the room (or at least the cockles of his heart) more than the fire did. “Me too,” she offered brightly. “Let’s toast.”
Tonks raised her glass slightly, eyes widening, careful not to spill. “To your health,” she said, offering the traditional wassail proposal.
“And to yours, my love,” Remus answered, clinking her mug gently before taking a sip of the warm spirits.