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Sundays Are the Best Days

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Ginny was just pulling scones out of the oven when there was a bang and a clatter from across the house. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the tray levitating over to rest on the kitchen counter, and switched off the oven just in time for Fleur to stomp into the kitchen, the exact opposite of her usual graceful self.

“That is it, I throw the towel!” she declared, before throwing herself onto the chaise lounge she had put in their kitchen-dining room precisely for this purpose.

“I think you meant throw in the towel,” Ginny muttered. “Well, since you’ve given up, come have a scone while they’re warm.”

Sometimes the best way to deal with Fleur’s dramatics was to give them no real attention at all. In that vein, she turned and dug through the refrigerator for that last bit of cream she was determined to use before its expiry date.

“Who said I could paint?” Fleur hissed from the chaise lounge, not moving an inch. “Liars!”

Ginny grinned into a bowl as she swished her wand to whip the last of the cream up. Fleur’s irritated dramatics were her favourite to witness when they weren’t directed at her. Her accent became thicker and she usually gestured so wildly it was hard to remember she could also be dainty and refined.

So she didn’t miss anything, she turned back and summoned the jam instead of hunting it down herself.

As expected, Fleur was gesturing wildly even while not speaking, as if she were shaking her fist at her own thoughts.

It was all nonsense, her paintings were lovely, in Ginny’s opinion. She must have been working on the portrait of her family again. It was the only piece she never seemed to finish, instead only reworking and reworking it and cursing up a storm because she could never get it right.

“Have you eaten since breakfast?” Ginny asked as she cut open a scone and slathered it with jam.

Fleur had just been going into her studio when Ginny had left for practice, and if she’d been in there the whole time she was gone she’d have missed lunch. She’d certainly been in there since Ginny had returned and made scones.

There was a loud silence, and Ginny glanced up to see Fleur looking over at the clock with a frown.

With a loud sigh, Ginny plopped a dollop of cream onto each jam-slathered half of the scone.

“Of course you haven’t,” she said, preparing another scone and sending the first one levitating over to her on a plate.

“I don’t need food, I need inspiration,” Fleur muttered, though she took the scone and took a bite so large she almost crammed the whole half into her mouth at once.

Ginny drank in the sight with warm fondness. There was a special place in her heart just for Fleur’s ‘undignified’ displays. And it drove Fleur mental if she caught Ginny looking at her with those ‘love-sick’ eyes in her moments of ‘slovenliness’ as she called them.

“I wanted to finish something before work tomorrow,” Fleur muttered a few moments later, her scone demolished and her hands already reaching for the second one Ginny was levitating towards her.

After mourning the lack of cream, as the last of it went to Fleur, Ginny fixed herself a scone and wandered over. Fleur moved her feet off the chaise lounge to make room for her, pulling herself up to sit with more dignity, as she would put it.

“You don’t have to decorate your new office space all at once,” Ginny said, reaching over to swipe a bit of cream from Fleur’s chin.

Fleur grimaced when Ginny licked the cream off her fingers, but didn’t comment. Ginny was tempted to smear some jam on her cheek just to hear her grumble.

“The goblins will only take down what is in there if I bring something to replace it,” Fleur reminded her. “What is in there is hideous, Ginevra, hideous.”

Ginny bit into her scone to hide her expression at the sound of her full name. She maintained that she hated it, but really, she could listen to Fleur say it all day. But Fleur had a surprising peevish side, and would probably stop using it when she was annoyed just so Ginny would be annoyed with her.

Fleur could be terribly petty sometimes, and Ginny oddly loved that about her.

“Take the landscape from the guest room,” she suggested, sending their empty plates back over to the kitchen counter. “That will do for now.”

Without needing to be asked, Fleur shifted her legs back up until they were either side of Ginny and lay back. Ginny settled between her legs until she had her head resting on Fleur’s chest. Then she let herself go boneless.

“Oh, so I did not miss your Sunday nap then,” Fleur teased, one hand already beginning to slide through Ginny’s hair.

Ginny hummed and closed her eyes. “Good thing you threw the towel, because I’m not moving, so neither are you.”

Fleur gently played with her hair for a while, even working out some tangles with her fingers, before sighing.

“Did I not say a chaise lounge would be perfect for this room? And you said we would never use it.”

If Ginny had her eyes open she would have rolled them, she settled for a derisive snort instead. Fleur liked to say that every time they lay down together on it, and even more often if someone had been around and pointed out how odd it was. But they both knew Fleur had really put it there so she could throw herself on it and moan and complain when she wanted to cook but Ginny got to the kitchen first.

“I’m so glad I listened to you and made space for it,” Ginny said, her comfort winning out to the point she sounded soft instead of sarcastic like she’d intended.

But that was alright. The room still smelled of scones and jam, and Fleur was warm and comfortable beneath her. Fleur could mock her Sunday afternoon naps all she liked, but the hand she had in Ginny’s hair was already falling still and her breathing was evening out as well.

Sunday afternoons really were Ginny’s favourite part of the week.