Stay With Me || Garreth Weasley

An Honorary Weasley

"Why would I flip it?"

"So it doesn't burn?"

"Oh." She flips the bacon. "It appears to be black."

Gerry sighs. "Yes, darling, that's burnt."

She almost seems offended. "Honestly, I only put it on the heat for one minute!"

"How much wood is in the stove?"

She opens the stove door. The fire rages.

"Just a little!"

Garreth groans. You giggle.

By the time Gerry has manhandled her away from the kitchen and seen to a simpler breakfast of beans on toast, Clara has come downstairs. Conversation flows as easily as the tea, no matter how determined his sister is to derail it with inane questions about Muggle chess, and after everyone is washed and dressed, Gerry sets everyone to cleaning – dusting, sweeping, moving furniture. You, as the guest, aren't required to help, but you insist on drying the crockery that Garreth washes and entertaining him with conversation as he wipes the countertops. By early afternoon, the only thing left to prepare is the beds in the living room, which will be done tomorrow, and the food. The turkey is already marinating in fresh herbs and garlic.

"Oh no," Antoinette says, rifling through the kitchen pantry. "I forgot the raisins. How can I make a Christmas pudding without raisins?"

"Can't we go get some?" asks Garreth.

She shakes her head. "Nowhere will be open. I shall have to make something else..."

"Ah, er," he gently steers her away from the kitchen, "maybe let Papa do it? You don't exactly have a great track record if you don't know the recipe..."

She ignores the jab. "Papa is clearing the garden for tomorrow. Oh, and I must finish wrapping the presents..."

"I could make something," you say shyly.

He forgot you like to bake. "Hey, that's a good idea! You're not going to explode anything either."

His mama glares at him. "You are very welcome to make something, Prim! Please, feel free to go through the cupboards and have a look."

When she disappears, you're both left in the kitchen alone – and it froths a strange emotion in his chest, like he's been waiting for this moment all day.

"Any ideas?"

"Hmm." You poke around in the pantry cupboards, moving tins and jars around. "You have a lot of flour and sugar... do you have any double cream?"

He finds a carton in the cool box. "Yep."

"And there's some dark chocolate here, too... how about a chocolate cake?"

"Prim," he declares, "you might just be my favourite person ever."

He helps you prepare the ingredients you need – flour, eggs, two different types of sugar, cocoa powder and bicarbonate of soda, and chocolate – and grabs the mixing bowls from the higher shelves. This is a recipe, apparently, you know by heart, which is totally wild considering you're practically married to potion instructions.

"How about we make it more interesting?" he asks, once you've melted the chocolate in a pan. "Let's pretend we're making a potion instead of a cake."

You scoff. "And you gave me grief for forcing you to do revision on the train."

Still, as you sieve the flour, he asks potions questions vaguely related to your baking process that, he hopes, will help you remember them.

"Which potion can't have sugar added to it because it makes it ineffective?"