A/N: Prompt: (Family) Weasley
Ginny skids into the room, all two feet of her. Her red hair was done in braids this morning, forced back away from her face, but currently it sits in one big tangle on the side of her head. There are flecks of mud amongst the thick forest of freckles, playing pretend. Her dungarees are a little lopsided, a little too big for her, one hem rolled up while the other hangs around her toes.
She's holding a battered cardboard box in her hand. It's no bigger than a solitary fish finger.
"I want to show you something!" she announces.
Molly puts down her teacup and sends Arthur a sidelong glance. The dishes are washing themselves in the sink behind them, and a half-done sweater takes shape in the air at her left shoulder. For all that Molly bustles and faffs, she's surprisingly efficient when she wants to be; Arthur always feels a bit like a bit of parsnip in comparison. But she loves him enough to stick around after all these years and put up with his shed and his battery collection and his odd socks, so it can't be all that bad.
"What is it, dear?" Molly asks, buttering the last quarter of her scone.
Ginny decides to show them instead. She clambers onto the stool on the opposite end of the table and stands up, ignoring her mother's complaints and warnings as she battles with the cardboard box. All at once, Arthur recognises the packaging. It's a gift that he bought off a friend in work, and he gave it to Ginny a few weeks ago, but he hasn't seen it since. He beams with delight, sitting up eagerly.
"Oh, this should be a treat," Arthur says, flashing a grin at Molly, who watches him warily. "Just you wait, love."
"Are you ready?" Ginny demands, fixing them both with a piercing glare. Only five, and she already looks so much like her mother. Arthur's heart melts at the sight, and he nods solemnly.
"Go on, then," Molly says, with a little sigh. "You be careful on that stool though."
Ginny flings the cardboard box away and lifts a bright orange harmonica to her lips. The first noise is a little weak, nothing more than a puff of air, but then she really gets going. Overall, the impression is shrill and piercing, not quite a whistle but loud and violent enough to make you wish it was. The windows rattle in protest, and a carton of eggs flops off the sideboard, cracking against the floor. Arthur claps along in delight as Ginny plays with harmonica with fiendish dedication.
"What is that noise?" Ron yells from the other room, sounding pained. "It's horrible!"
Ginny blows even harder on the harmonica, tiny eyebrows scrunched up in concentration. Howls of laughter drip down the staircase, no doubt courtesy of the twins, and Arthur's pretty sure he hears a door slam shut somewhere. He glances at Molly, still beaming and clapping, only to falter when he catches sight of her fixed smile. There's something pained about her eyes. Something that promises retribution. Arthur stops clapping immediately, suddenly feeling rather faint.
"Arthur, dear," Molly says, with a voice like barbed wire dipped in sugar. "You've outdone yourself this time."
Ah. He wonders, all of a sudden, if there's anything explosive in the shed that might desperately need his attention. And then he wonders if he'd live long enough to make it out the door. Ginny's halting, shrill tune takes on a different pitch, and he winces.
"Muggle music is very widely appreciated," Arthur says hesitantly, in a poor attempt at mollifying her wrath. "The instruments aren't so different, but this one—"
"Eat your sandwich."
Arthur sinks weakly back into the chair and lifts his sandwich to his lips, not daring to respond. It's a roast beef sandwich, made with leftover cold cuts from last night's meal and thick white bread. It's usually the highlight of his day, eating Molly's food. But right now, under the sharp, slightly wild glare of his lovely wife, he feels like he's eating straw.
Ginny hits a particularly harsh note, and the glare only deepens. Arthur comes to the unfortunate conclusion that he probably shouldn't eat anything Molly puts in front of him for a while.
[Word Count: 718]