Lemon Grass and Sleep

CHRISTMAS DAY

Wrapping paper littered the ground and candy bags had already been ripped open, with the other kids running around to go give a present to Kreacher. It would only be a few more hours before we were supposed to go visit Mr. Weasley, and it was time to finally enjoy our holiday.

"George was right, we leave you alone for barely ten minutes and you were already going at it," Glinda waved her hands around exasperatedly, her hair bouncing from side to side as she hung upside down on the couch.

"I'm offended you thought we only needed five minutes," Fred deadpanned, "How quick do you think I am?"

"Well, I'd rather not think about it," she retorted, screwing her face up in disgust.

"Fuck like bunnies, I swear," George mumbled, looking into his cup of warm butterbeer and taking a long sip. He made a face like he wished desperately he was drinking something with strong alcohol.

"It's called the Burrow for a reason," Fred wiggled his eyebrows, also taking a sip of his drink.

"Ugh," Glinda sat up straight, "I'm gonna be sick."

"She doesn't normally act this way when she forces me to talk about it," I muttered under my breath to Fred, raising my eyebrows as I took a bite from my cookie.

"What did you just say about me?" Glinda whipped her head around, looking at me with suspicion.

"N-Nothing," I smiled sheepishly, failing miserably to lie with half the confidence Fred had.

Sirius leisurely walked into the room and was about to take a seat when he looked around curiously, almost like he was mentally counting how many children were in the room while noticing there were far fewer than normal.

"Where's Harry and them?"

"They went off to give Kreacher a present," Glinda sighed, returning to laying upside down. "Something about Hermione saying he needed one."

I swear Sirius' bottom was a hair away from the seat when he shot straight back up and began walking somewhat briskly out of the room, walking to where I assume Kreacher lived. We glanced around nervously, wondering just what was so important he had to immediately leave.

"Anyways," George muttered, "Excited to have your own Weasley Jumper?"

Glinda tilted her head up to glance at the big G on her sweater, which was a matching color to George's. The only way to tell their jumpers apart was the shocking size difference.

"I would prefer it to be..." she glanced over at him, "A little more unique, but it's rather cozy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He provoked, raising an eyebrow.

"I just feel I look better in other colors," she offered, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, sure," he played along, rolling his eyes as well. "Can't stand to be matching me, hm?"

"Well, if you insist. Your words not mine," she replied haughtily, a confident smirk appearing on her face in a matter of seconds.

"How do they manage to have so much tension because of jumpers?" Fred mumbled, shifting so that our shoulders were side by side as he slumped down on the couch.

"It's a feat, truly," I agreed softly, leaning my head on his shoulder as I lowered hands to my lap. Fred reached over and gently rested his right hand on my thigh, tapping that familiar rhythm that I could recite by memory now.

"You alright?" Fred whispered, leaning his head on top of mine.

"Yeah, for now," I mumbled. "Seem's like I'm always a ticking time bomb nowadays."