After several knocks and what seemed like a long wait, Fiona let Justin into the flat. He was about to lean forward to kiss her, but she was too quick, closing the door and turning as she walked into the kitchen, letting him follow her. She opened the window without a word, and the owl that had been sitting on the sill flew away in silence.
Justin put the wine bottle he was carrying on the work-top. Fiona's hair was tied up in a towel. The bare skin that was visible beneath her dressing gown glistened, still damp from her shower. He came around the counter and tugged on the bow of the apron she wore over it, wondering if he could persuade her to delay their dinner.
Fiona stepped away; taking the parchment that remained on the sill. It was partially rolled up, and she unrolled and read it one last time before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it out the open window. She pulled her wand from her pocket and flicked it at the parchment that was descending downward. Justin leaned over the sill and watched as the now tiny ball burst into flames, flickering into several pieces as it fell. They were too high to see the bits hit the ground, but Justin glanced at Fiona as she hastily wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.
"Did you want some take-away?" she asked quietly, tidying up the already immaculate kitchen. She lifted his wine bottle at least twice, but replaced it on the work-top without opening it.
"I thought you were cooking something special for me," he teased, pulling a strand of hair from the towel, letting it fall against her cheek.
"I," she began, but after meeting his gaze, she moved out of Justin's reach, and he could see now that her eyes were tinged pink from crying. "I don't really want to cook right now." Her voice cracked.
Justin became immediately concerned and decided that it was the moment to be forthright instead of coaxing whatever it was out of her. "What's wrong? What's happened, Fiona?"
"Nothing's wrong. Did you want some Chinese? Or curry? I know you like curry. The nearest place isn't very good, but –"
"Fiona," Justin said in a firm voice, effectively cutting her off and hushing her quiet babble. He took her hand before she could avoid his touch again and drew her closer, bending to look into her eyes. They had begun to water again. "What's happened? Is your family all right? I heard about the incident last week –"
"My family's fine. I'm fine." She took a deep breath. He ran a finger along her cheek, wiping a stray tear with his thumb.
"What did the parchment say?"
"It was from Gringotts. They've denied my loan. A new eatery in Diagon Alley is risky; a gamble at best, and certainly one with my business plan would never succeed." She stated the words as if this wasn't the first time she'd said them out loud.
Her lip quivered and she tried to pull out of his grasp, but Justin was ready for that maneuver this time, and put both of his arms around her, pulling her against him. He brushed his lips against her forehead, kissing her there, whispering. "It will be all right, Fiona."
She shook her head, mumbling incoherently. Her movements freed her hair from the towel as it fell to the floor.
"It is all right. There must be other places besides Gringotts to borrow the Galleons from."
She shook her head even more vehemently, and Justin rubbed her back gently, pressing tiny kisses to her head and hair.
"I'll give you the money, Fiona." She continued to cry and shake her head, and he spoke louder. "Fiona. I'll give you the money. How much would you need?"
Her breathing was heavy. "What did you say?"
"I'll give you the money to start your business. We'll go together to Gringotts tomorrow. All right? I think I can meet you for lunch and –"
"No." She said it so simply and quietly that he'd almost not heard the word. It was her pulling out of his arms, picking up the towel and moving out of the kitchen that interrupted him.
"Fiona –"
"I said no. I'm not taking your money. My Aunt Florence is due a holiday. I'll speak to Hannah about working in the kitchen at the Cauldron and taking on extra hours waiting tables. I'll manage on my own. Thank you for the offer, but I'm not taking your money."
Justin stared as she returned to the kitchen, her back to him now as she began placing items on the work-top, obviously changing her mind about being in a mood for cooking. A few jars of spices, a bottle of oil, the chicken. He almost didn't see her tossing the corkscrew at him, which luckily he caught. Instead of opening the wine, he placed it next to the bottle. Next came the roasting pan. Fiona used her wand in a quick flicking motion that Justin didn't often see outside of Auror training and suddenly potatoes were washing themselves, slicing themselves and landing with a splash in a pot of water. Carrots managed to do the same as did a couple of stalks of celery.
Come to think of it, he'd never really watched her in the kitchen. Usually, he interrupted her for a quick snog that turned into a bit more. He wondered occasionally if they'd been in a Muggle household, how often either of their flats would burn down from lack of attention to the cookery. She was brilliant. Pots and pans filling and draining and he wondered if this could possibly be for one meal or if she were preparing for later in the week. Was that bread baking? He sniffed. How had she set bread baking without him noticing that?
"You're brilliant at this, you know?"
"At what?" She didn't look up, but continued taking apart the chicken with a large knife and laying the pieces in the roasting pan. Her hands were now covered in oil as she rubbed the skin, and he touched her shoulder. She stopped to look at him. "At what am I brilliant?"
"This. When did you set the bread for baking?" He couldn't help it. His curiosity got the better of him as the smell of the bread wafted into his nose.
"I kneaded it earlier, and it had just finished rising right before the owl came. I just forgot to put it in the oven, so I did that with my wand while the carrots and celery were chopped." She gave him a small smile that he recognized as being proud of being able to do so much at once.
He stepped behind her, putting his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "I think I've chosen the wrong vocabulary," he said very evenly. "I would like to loan you the money so you can start up your eatery in Diagon Alley. Please let me help you." Her back quivered against his chest and she began to shake her head, but he tilted his to keep hers still. "Let me help you. We'll go to a solicitor and draw up a contract. You'll pay me back."
"With interest," she stated firmly.
"If you insist, then with interest it is." He pressed a kiss to her neck. She wiped her hands on a tea towel hanging from the rod, then turned in his arms, careful not to touch him with her still oily hands, crossing her wrists behind his neck.
"I don't know what to say. Thank you, Justin. I'll pay you back. Every knut."
"I know," he nodded. The care she took in cleaning her hands was of no use when he pushed against her, thoroughly kissing her, using his body to press her up against the work-top. Her hands were very quickly in his hair, and on his face, and as he began to untie her apron, from the corner of his eye, he saw the pan of chicken floating into the open oven. He smiled, still not knowing how she managed it or how he got so propitious to be involved with this beautiful talented woman.