I enter the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London, very quietly. It smells like Molly has been baking again.
The cozy space is lit by a number of torches and enchanted tapers as well as a large magical window – like those I saw in the Ministry – that shows the real weather outside, warm and still damp from this morning's rain, but the gold and royal purple sunset promises sun tomorrow.
Light grey granite slabs cover the simply-styled and white-painted cabinets. Goblets and bottles of all sizes and types are displayed on the open-faced shelves, and various utensils are stashed in beautiful earthenware pots, strategically placed wherever they are most likely to be needed, and moving every few minutes so that the proper utensil is always within reach of the cook – or cooks.
I see my fiancée stirring a large metal pot brimming with what smells like a tomato-and-meat sauce, wearing a large apron that reads I kiss better than I cook in vivid green letters on a cream background.
She'd better – I can see a rather large number of bright red splatter marks from when she got that sauce too hot and it started to spit. But then again, I've been cooking since I was four, and am easily nearly as good as Molly. Emphasis on the nearly
I watch her asshe shakes her fiery hair out of her face, poking the magical flame beneath the pot with her wand, to adjust the heat.
Fleur Delacour-Weasley seems to be mixing lettuce, avocado, tomato, and some sort of croutons together with the greatest amount of concentration she can muster. Her silvery-blond hair is tied behind her head in a ponytail, her aquamarine robes cut generously around her hips.
A small bulge is barely visible, and even then only in the right light. Just starting to show, she is. I wonder when the boy's due date is…? Ach, t'is something to ask Molly later – or maybe Ginny.
Molly Weasley – I really need to remember to call her 'Molly' - is grating parmesan cheese – which has grown from a pile to a mound to a mountain. Her wheat-colored robe shows its age, but it is clean and not too worn.
Just right for her, it is. Not showy, but it's appropriate for the Weasley Matriarch.
She could feed an army with all this food, I think to myself as I pass the cauldrons full of pasta, or Ron and the rest of the Order. Three huge loaves of bread rest on a cooling rack beside three pies – apple, peach, and lemon custard, if I smell that right.
"What's for dinner, Gin?" I say, just as I come up behind her. Ginny releases a surprised squeak at my entrance though the little-known back door to the kitchen. She shakes the fingers not encumbered by the sauce-stirring at me. "Harry! Where have you been? You didn't even leave a note -"
I chuckle at her indignant manner, and instead of answering her I bend down and kiss her soundly.
Molly and Fleur exchange knowing looks as we break apart approximately fifteen seconds later. Ginny seems placated, and I turn to Molly. "Is there anything for me to do, Molly?" I head to the sink for a hand-washing, watching Molly out of the corner of my eye.
Molly smiles at me kindly. "No, no, that's all right dear. I've got the pasta, bread, and cheese -" and she indicates the large cauldron full of penne and rigatoni noodles behind her, three gleaming loaves, still warm from their baking, and the mountain of cheese before her – "Fleur's got the salad, and Ginny has the sauce. How's that coming, dear?"
"It's done, Mum. Harry, you can help us bring it all to the dining room." Ginny removes her apron and washes her hands as I gather the glossy ciabatta bread onto cutting boards.
"Well? What are we waiting for?" muttered Fleur, mixing in the last of the cucumber into her salad bowl. She magicks the rather large and cumbersome bowl to follow her into the dining room as Molly does the same with the cauldron of pasta and the grated parmesan.
Ginny and I follow them, carrying the bread and leading along the pot of hot tomato sauce.
"What were you doing, anyway?" She asks me as we set up for dinner and the Order meeting afterward.
I sigh. "In the Hog's Head Pub, I was, listening in on all the dodgy conversations and ordinary gossip. I didn't take you along because, well…"
She nods, understanding what I am unwilling to say. "I've become rather well-known as your girlfriend. It's a good thing that no one but the Order knows you're here in London, right under their noses."
"A good thing, it is, that we have Kingsley heading up the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, now. Nearly stumbled onto Sirius more than once, Scrimgeour and Robards did, back when they were leading it." I think a bit. "Was it indeed only three weeks ago that I defeated Voldemort?"
Ginny smiles wanly at me. "It feels like so much more, doesn't it?"
"Aye, so t'is. But, then again…" I reach over to her and hug her to me. "Every moment I spent with you is akin to a lifetime to me," I whisper into her ear. The little bit of my moustache that I can see, normally silver, is now utterly black. Odd.
I feel her body shake as she giggles. "You, Mr. Potter, are a very romantic fellow indeed. Shall we take our snogging upstairs? To a closet, perhaps?"
"It'll save Ron and 'Mione from telling us to get a room... Sounds good to me, let's."