Golden Days

The hustle and bustle going on two floors below heralded the arrival of a new day at the Burrow. And it was not just any day, Ginny recalled. No, today was the day the finishing touches would be done on the alterations to her gaudy gold bridesmaid's gown. The gown couldn't be altered enough, in Ginny's estimation; when she wore it, she felt like a castoff from the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Today too was the day when Phl -- no Fleur (Ginny had been making a conscious effort to stop referring to her future sister-in-law in such a slimy manner) -- when Fleur would hopefully make a final decision regarding what type of cake was to be served this Saturday following the wedding ceremony. Mrs. Weasley had spent the two days prior trying to satisfy her future daughter-in-law's finicky tastes, with little luck.

The first cake Mrs. Weasley produced had a scrumptious layer of creamy icing, which Fleur proclaimed was too 'eavy, while the next sample was far too reech. Through gritted teeth, Mrs. Weasley told Fleur that she'd keep trying to find "zee perfect cake," but secretly she was envisioning Fleur's flawless features drenched in cake batter. Ginny had laughed when her mum confided this to her, in spite of the fact that she had promised acceptance of the fussy Fleur into the Weasley clan.

As Ginny thought of the wedding preparations going on that day, all the time at the back of her mind danced the fact that today was also the day Harry Potter was set to leave Privet Drive and arrive at the Burrow. She hadn't seen him since they'd parted ways at King's Cross station in June, and that day she'd barely managed a "See you later, Harry" without also running at him full-steam to throw her arms around his neck before he was off with his aunt and uncle.

But she hadn't.

She'd agreed to the ending of their relationship, and such spirited goodbyes were in direct violation of such an agreement. This she knew, and this she accepted.

At least her mind accepted it, at any rate. Her heart was an entirely different matter.

Therefore, her mind was in perfect form for when Harry appeared on her doorstep later that morning; it was her heart that she need to tell, "Get a grip!"

"Ginny, dear!"

Mrs. Weasley's voice cut into Ginny's musings and floated up the staircase with as much lilt as a banshee cry. Ginny groaned, knowing her mum was requesting her presence to serve as a mediator between herself and Fleur -- who, from the sound of it, was already creating quite a trial for Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen.

"...that ees too much eggs, I theenk."

"Bill likes eggs, my dear." Mrs. Weasley said with a forced smile. Ginny could tell she was trying very hard.

"I like eggs," said Ginny before planting a kiss on her mother's flushed cheek. "G'morning Mum...g'morning Fleur."

"Bonjour Ginny," purred Fleur. "Too much eggs is not 'ealthy, I theenk."

Ginny shrugged and took two heaping spoonfuls of scrambled eggs from the skillet on the stovetop. For good measure, she plopped three fat sausages onto her plate as well.

She settled herself at the table with a glass of pumpkin juice and a piece of warm toast and glanced at the Daily Prophet. She heard Fleur make a clucking noise with her tongue, and in a very poor stage whisper say, "Poor Ginny. It ees 'orrible that she ees turning to food in 'er time of sadness."

"Yes, Fleur," Mrs. Weasley hissed back. "Losing Dumbledore was a terrible tragedy, but I don't think--"

"Oh yes," replied Fleur in a husky whisper. "The 'eadmaster...very sad. But I meant 'Arry Potter. Ronald tells me they--"

"Shush!" Mrs. Weasley spluttered hastily, rifling through a stack of recipe cards and thrusting several of them under Fleur's nose. "Look and see if you can find one without an excess of eggs!"

A stoke of luck in the form of a furry violet ball appeared on the kitchen counter as Fleur began to peruse the recipe cards, sending her retreating into the next room and muttering something that sounded like "thees place ees a zoo," which was punctuated by a shrill hoot from Pigwidgeon, who'd just appeared on the kitchen windowsill in time for the blessed scene.

Ginny felt momentarily guilty for having garnered pleasure at Fleur's shock when she found Arnold the Pygmy Puff emerging from behind a basket of fruit, but promptly forgot about such feelings of shame when she recalled Fleur's comments.

As she finished up her toast and folded up the Daily Prophet, she saw Ron teetering down the staircase, yawning and stretching wildly. He eyed the paper and said, "Anyone we know--"

"No, Ron," Ginny answered curtly, scraping her uneaten eggs into the bin.

"Good," replied Ron, eyeing a plate of breakfast pastries lovingly.

"Hurry up with breakfast, Ron," piped Mrs. Weasley, scurrying about the kitchen. "I've got things to do in here when you lot have finished, and Harry'll be here--"

Mrs. Weasley stopped herself short. The word "Harry" had somehow become taboo in Ginny's presence and it was beginning to really annoy her.

"It's just...I've got things to do, so hurry up!" snapped Mrs. Weasley, as if were all Ron's fault she'd let slip the forbidden name. Ginny rightly thought her family might start referring to him as "The Chosen One," just to keep from saying "Harry."

Ginny gave her mum's retreating back an maddened glare as Mrs. Weasley bustled from the kitchen. Ron cleared his throat and stabbed a sausage with his fork. Ginny could feel it coming. Ron had been trying to impart his wisdom about the situation on her since they got back from Hogwarts. Ginny had been avoiding him at every turn.

"So," Ron began, staring at his plate of food.

"So, I've got things to do myself," finished Ginny, scooping Arnold up and leaving the kitchen swiftly.

As she trudged back up the staircase, she heard Ron's wounded voice shouting, "I love our little talks!"