A/N: Inspired by Christina Rossetti's poem "Cousin Kate."

"I was a cottage maiden
Hardened by sun and air" - Cousin Kate, Christina Rossetti

"Ginny, dear, add olive oil to the shopping list, will you?" A frazzled Mrs. Weasley was bent over a number of simmering pots, several of them stirring themselves. Cooking dinner for such a large family was a hot, exhausting job, and while, with all the children grown and moved out, it had been easier for Mrs. Weasley lately, the work was back in full force over the holidays. Ginny, being the only girl, was of course drafted to help, though she would much rather have been practicing Quidditch; Fleur was perfectly willing and eager to assist, but Mrs. Weasley wouldn't stand for "any of that fancy French nonsense" in her kitchen.

A knock at the door. "That'll be George!" Ginny wiped her hands on a dish towel and dashed to answer it. With any luck, Angelina would be in the mood for some Quidditch practice, and as Mrs. Weasley wasn't one to refuse a guest (even if that guest was her daughter-in-law of three years), Ginny would be off the hook as regarded cooking.

"Hey, Gin. OK, off me now; I'm gonna find Angie a chair." George disentangled his sister's arms from his neck and greeted the rest of the family as he entered the living room, seating his wife in a cushioned armchair.

Ginny perched on the arm of a nearby chair to talk to Angelina. "How've you been?"

"Good. And you?"

"Great." Then, in a low voice, "Mum's keeping me in the kitchen, it's awful. Hot and steamy. Any chance you want to come play some Quidditch? You can borrow my spare broom if you don't have yours with you." Seeing the other woman's hesitation, "C'mon, please? It's the only way I'm getting out of the kitchen today."

"Give Angelina a break, Ginny," Mr. Weasley reprimanded. "She just got here; she's probably a bit tired. Can I get you anything to drink, George, Angelina?"

"I'm not thirsty," smiled Angelina; taking George's hand, she added, "but I do have something I'd like to tell you. I'm not flying right now, Ginny, because George and I are going to have a baby."

"Really?" The pout on Ginny's face disappeared. She dashed back into the kitchen, calling out so it echoed through the whole house, "Hey, Mum! Did you hear? Angelina's expecting!"

Ron, George, Mr. Weasley and Angelina were left in the living room, trying to make conversation. "So when's he due? Are you hoping for a boy or girl?"

"I'd like a boy, but George is hoping for a little girl. Honestly, I think he's starved for girls, growing up in a house full of boys like he did. You've seen how he worships Ginny."

"Hey," George objected, but, "You brought her half the store's inventory as gifts," Angelina pointed out.

"Like every year," grumbled Ron. "How come you never bring me anything?"

"Ron," Mr. Weasley tried to correct, but George only winked. "Good things come to those who wait. I have something for you, too, don't worry."

The room was quiet for a moment then, as the clock chimed the hour. Six o'clock - almost time for Christmas Eve dinner. Soft sounds of conversation drifted down from the upstairs bedroom where Bill and Fleur were unpacking; from the kitchen, rich odors of savory dishes wafted out. The home was small for such a large family, especially with the older children married, but it was a safe place, and a respite from the devastation the war had caused. There was warmth and joy there, even if Bill's scars and George's missing ear and a place by the fire forever empty were reminders of all that had passed. And in that moment, if anyone had asked one of the Weasleys, they would have said that yes, they were happy.

It was then that there came a knock at the door.