You Found Me

We left the next weekend for the Burrow without announcing our visit first. We didn’t pack any bags, just woke up Saturday morning and ate breakfast in the kitchen before disapparating. George actually made me breakfast. I took the stack of buttered toast and the slightly green banana (my favorite) that he offered me with a skeptical look.

“Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t cook for myself, you know.” I said, peeling the banana and taking a large bite off the top. One thing that I’d noticed since taking the pregnancy test was how much I’d been eating. It was like I could never, ever get enough food into my mouth. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been completely full.

“I know.” George rolled his eyes and buttered more toast. Whether it was for him or for me, I had no idea.

“You’re not going to be nicer to me, now, are you?” I asked uneasily, finishing the banana and moving onto my toast. George laughed heartily.

“No, of course not.”

“Oh, good.”

In truth, if George started coddling me, I’d probably deck him. Of course, pleasantness is okay sometimes, but if he started massaging my feet of his own free will or buying me flowers every day or holding my hair back while I was crouched over the toilet with morning sickness (which, luckily, had not happened yet), I think I’d lose a bit of respect for him. Granted, I loved him and I knew he loved me, but part of that was how easy it was for us to be, you know, normal. Well, normal for us, anyway. I had a feeling that outsiders thought that we were verbally abusive to each other, taking into account all the ‘idiot’s and ‘prat’s regularly thrown around. Whatever, they didn’t know anything anyway.

George passed me two more pieces of toast because I’d finished mine off while lost in thought.

“I swear, I’m going to get so fat, and the fact that I’m pregnant is going to have nothing to do with it.” I rolled my eyes and stuffed half a piece of toast into my mouth.

George chuckled to himself but didn’t say anything. He ate his own toast and drank a cup of coffee. I helped tidy the kitchen a bit, then we joined hands and disapparated to the Burrow’s back yard. Mr. Weasley was in the chicken coop and saw us arrive through a gap in the ceiling.

“Ah, George! Lacey!” He ducked through the coop’s little doorway and emerged with his hands full of eggs. George and I approached across the lawn, still hand in hand which I imagine looked quite nice.

“Hi, Dad.” George said, slapping him on the back.

“Oh, Lacey, welcome, welcome.”

I was enveloped in a large hug for a moment (Fred, George, and Ron had definitely gotten their height from their father), and then I was left sort of dazed and disoriented when Mr. Weasley stepped away and waved his arm toward the house.

“Let’s get inside. Molly’s still making breakfast because Harry and Ron have just gotten up. What brings you by?”

“Just visiting.” George said nonchalantly with a wink in my direction.

I grinned and we followed Arthur toward the house. The sun was shining and the air felt warmer, though I still wouldn’t have called it nice, yet. I pulled my sweater closer around myself and sped up a little, eager to be sitting in front of the kitchen fire with a bowl of something to eat because my stomach still felt empty.

Stupid baby… Wait, I didn’t really mean that.

“Molly,” Mr. Weasley said through the open half of the kitchen door, “Molly, guess who’s here.”

“Who is it, Arthur, dear? I haven’t had time to tidy myself, you know, and… Oh, George! Lacey! Oh, how wonderful. Come in, come in. Sit down and eat something.”

Mr. Weasley set the eggs down near the sink and washed his hands. George and I followed him in and sat down at the kitchen table, where Harry and Ron were still squinting at the sunshine pouring through the windows. They acknowledged us with sleepy nods and tucked into the porridge that Mrs. Weasley had just put in front of them. She fixed another bowl and put it in front of George.

“That’s alright, Mum. I ate back at the flat. Lacey can have mine.” He stifled a laugh and slid his bowl across the table to me. I shot him a glare and snatched up the spoon he passed to me next.

“No matter.” Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully. “Let me go freshen up. I’ll be back in a moment. Arthur, I need a few carrots for the dinner.” She handed her husband a basket and he took it with a smile before disappearing back outside.

“Your mum has your dad whipped.” I said frankly once both of them were out of earshot. George, Ron, and Harry laughed.

“So? You have George whipped, don’t you?” Ron asked.

“No.” George and I answered simultaneously. Only Harry laughed this time because Ron was shaking his head.

“How’ve you both been?” I asked after swallowing a mouthful of porridge.

“Fine. Looking for internships at the ministry, mostly.” Harry said.

“Any luck?” Asked George.

“Well,” Ron said thoughtfully. “Dad thinks there might be a couple of openings in the Auror office, which is what we want. But they’ll probably fill before we even go for the interview.”

“With Voldemort gone, what’s the use of working in defense?” I asked.

“There are still dark wizards, idiot.” George grinned. “Just not as bad as him.”

“You’re a bastard. I was only asking.” I glared and sucked on my spoon. George raised his eyebrows.

“Anyway,” Ron interrupted, rolling his eyes. “We’re going into work with Dad tomorrow to try and get in. It’s not that easy, though. Got to take lots of exams just to do the training program.” His eyes widened.

“Well, if that falls through, you can always work for us. We need someone to clean the toilets. Harry can stock shelves.” George said with a grin.

“Git.” Ron spat, throwing his spoon across the table. George deflected it with a flick of his wand.

“Are you and Hermione still together, Ron?” I asked, scraping the sides of my bowl. He blushed to match his hair.

“Yeah, we are.”

“That’s good. What about you and Ginny, Harry? Things still good?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He said, smiling and bobbing his head in that strange little way that I’d come to associate with him. Harry wasn’t unresponsive, per se, but he certainly didn’t like me or know me well enough to confide in me. Except for those couple of times God knows how many years before. I had a vague memory of sitting on the couch with him before one of the Triwizard Tournament tasks, but it passed pretty quickly so I didn’t dwell on it. I didn’t expect Harry to be in love with me, or anything. He and I were – and had always been – sort of friends by association. Whatever.

“What’s going on with you two? You never just visit.” Ron said.

“It was a slow day at the joke shop,” George lied effortlessly. I stared down at my empty bowl to keep from wrecking it. “We wanted to drop in and check on Mum. How’s she been, anyway?”

“Fine, really. She’s back to knitting, now.” Ron tugged at the collar of the particularly new-looking maroon sweater he was wearing. “I think she figures I’ve grown out of the ‘R’. ‘S just plain now.”

I glanced up to see if she’d finally taken down the clock. She hadn’t, and nobody had thought to move Fred’s old hand off of ‘mortal peril’ or remove it altogether.

“I tried.” Ron said, practically reading my mind. “Permanent sticking charm. It won’t budge.”

“Awful.” I said thoughtfully, but swallowed the rest of my thought, which was going to be 'Awful that she has to see that all the time', because Mrs. Weasley had just bustled in again wearing a pair of open-front mauve robes with her own homespun sweater underneath. She smelled faintly of talcum powder, which was lovely.

“Right, then.” She said, clapping her hands briskly. “There’s gardening to be done, boys, so march yourselves upstairs and get dressed. Daddy should be in in a moment, and then maybe Lacey can help me prepare the dinner. George, your father could use a hand cleaning the broom shed outside. He thinks there may be a boggart in one of the empty chests in there.”

“Mum, we came for a visit, not to be worked half to death.” George chuckled, staying in his seat.

“Oh, right, right.” Mrs. Weasley waved her hands distractedly and sat in a kitchen chair, summoned a teapot and poured herself a cup. Ron and Harry sat back down themselves, looking relieved.

“Oh, no, not you boys. You both live here and as long as you’re not working, Ronald, you’re earning your keep. Of course, you can stay as long as you need to Harry. It’s no trouble.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open and his eyebrows knitted together, but he stood and left the room. Harry followed closely behind, and I heard him laugh once they’d made it out of the kitchen. George and I laughed, too.

The three of us sat there in silence for a few minutes, waiting for Mr. Weasley to come back in with the carrots. He did soon enough, carrying the basket in one hand and nursing several garden gnome bites on the other. Mrs. Weasley stood and took the basket from him, and he offered a weak smile.

“Maybe when the boys are out doing their weeding, they can get rid of a few gnomes?” He offered hopefully, sucking at one of his fingers.

“Oh, stop that.” Mrs. Weasley said, swatting at his hand. He dropped it to his side, completely abashed. “And yes, I’ll ask them if they would. Now, let me see those bites.”

She examined her husband’s hand while he stood meekly just inside the doorway. I secretly housed a desire to be just like them when George and I got older, but I’d never tell him that. He’d hate to end up whipped like his father. The more I thought about it, the more I decided I’d hate to have him whipped, so I dismissed the idea straight off. We’d always be the barmy ginger couple who lived above the joke shop until they were a hundred and twenty-seven. That was all.

Harry and Ron came back into the kitchen. Ron dragged his feet toward the door, casting baleful glances at his parents the whole time. Mr. Weasley saw him and only shrugged. Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, straightened and glared daggers at her son.

“Ronald Weasley, I’ll thank you to wipe that sour look off your face straightaway. And please de-gnome the garden after you’ve finished weeding. Daddy has quite a few bites, here.”

Ron’s head lolled back in frustration, but he continued on toward the door without a word of defiance. Harry rubbed his scar awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable with being the one to escape a verbal lashing. I understood. I’d felt the same way my first couple of visits to the Weasleys’, too. It only took some getting used to.

“Ah, actually, Ron,” George said suddenly, “Can you wait a moment?”

Ron looked confused, but didn’t hesitate to sit back down at the kitchen table.

“What is it, George?” Mrs. Weasley asked absently, dabbing some nasty-smelling potion onto Mr. Weasley’s hand. “I really need that garden done. There you are, dear, good as new.” She straightened up and Mr. Weasley beamed at her.

“Well, Mum, could you sit down?” George asked, pointing at the chair she’d been previously sitting in. She obliged without question and resumed sipping her tea. Mr. Weasley sat down opposite her, immediately to my right. He smiled in a fatherly manner at me and I couldn’t help but grin back. I honestly liked him almost more than I liked my own father. It was unkind of me to think, but it was the truth.

“Okay.” George took a deep breath and reached for my hand under the table. “Well, ah. We’ve found a use for Fred’s old room.” He said. I glared at him for his lack of tact. I heard Ron kick him under the table. George didn’t flinch.

“Oh.” Mrs. Weasley said quietly, staring down into her tea cup. Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. “Oh, well, I suppose that’s nice, George. No use wasting the space.” A tear rolled down her nose and dropped into her tea. Harry stared down at his hands, acutely aware of the awkwardness again.

“Yeah, Mum. We’re turning it into a nursery.”

It took a moment for the statement to set in. The reaction was much like George’s when I’d initially told him about the pregnancy test. Mrs. Weasley’s face covered the entire emotional range in almost no time at all. Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, just started beaming almost immediately after George spoke.

“Wh-what? George, what did you say?” Mrs. Weasley stammered, her eyes shining, and I hoped it wasn’t still because of the whole “Fred” remark. Ron sat there with his mouth hanging open stupidly, glancing between George and me several times.

“I said we’re turning Fred’s room into a nursery.” George repeated calmly. There were two or three seconds of silence, and then it was like someone had opened the flood gates.

“Oh, Georgie! Oh, George!” Mrs. Weasley was on her feet, rushing around the table to throw her arms around her son’s neck. Mr. Weasley was laughing his great, round laugh. He hugged me first, kissing my cheeks and squeezing the hand that wasn’t still holding George’s.

“Brilliant!” Harry grinned. Ron was still rather comatose.

“Lacey, dear! Oh, this is wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!” She let go of George and rounded on me, folding me into her bosom and rocking me back and forth. “Oh, oh. I can’t even… Oh!”

She had tears rolling freely down her face when she pulled away. In fact, she was actually sobbing. I hadn’t seen her smile so widely since Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Her soft, matronly face was completely illuminated, seemingly lifted by invisible puppet strings. She brushed my hair back and held my face in her hands.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it. You look lovely, positively radiant. Doesn’t she look lovely, Arthur?”

“Lovely.” He agreed with a nod.

“Oh, Arthur, we’re going to be grandparents twice over!” She said, still crying.

“What?” George said abruptly.

“Fleur is having a baby, too! Didn’t we tell you? She’s due in May!”

“No, no one told me! What the hell, Bill?” George said, visibly annoyed.

“It’s not important, now, George. Oh, I’m just so thrilled. We must have a toast.” Mrs. Weasley flicked her wand and a bottle of champagne flew out of a cupboard (the same one where the kept the Firewhiskey, I knew), along with glasses for all of us. Ron finally came out of his reverie.

“I’m going to be an uncle.” He said, reaching across the table for a glass of champagne.

“Took you long enough.” George laughed, lifting his own glass.

“Sparkling cider for Lacey.” Mrs. Weasley said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief she’d gotten from God knows where. I took the glass and thanked her, then grinned around at everyone.

Mr. Weasley stood to make the toast. “To Lacey and George,” He began in a dignified voice, “And the new baby. That they all remain happy and healthy, Weasleys through and through.”

“Here, here!” George called and drank half his champagne in one go.

I sipped my cider and was hugged and kissed a bit more until everything subsided and we were all sitting around the table again in a calmer fashion.

Mrs. Weasley was still dabbing at her eyes, saying things like, “Of course I was happy for Bill and Fleur, but George and Lacey are so much younger. It so reminds me of when Arthur and I were first married…” And so on.

The highlight of the event, though, was when Ron leaned across the table and muttered, “Thanks for getting me out of garden work.”

Really, it made my day. I hadn’t laughed that hard in ages.