outfit

Casper and Molly's cottage/bungalow/house
Godric's Hollow
Saturday, 2PM

Frosty was on his diet. Thistle was lording over the couch, keeping a close eye on Casper. And Clover... "I think she's about to pop," Molly called, grinning to herself as her voice echoed through the little hallways. She closed the door, leaving the cat to its cat-like devices atop an old comforter she'd had since before Hogwarts. Echoes. It was new. Life in a flat, even a wizarding flat, had never quite... echoed. But now they were out of the bustling city, and into a little house of their own. Molly was in love.

She stepped carefully round a stack of boxes that had been confined to the hall. The spare room had been christened the cat room-- at least until they decorated it properly. Molly thought it was best to get the pregnant one away from the paint. As much for the kittens' sake as for Casper's.

She emerged in the living room, its walls washed in sunlight and half-done in new color, like the pie in the oven, which was only half-baked. She'd been quick to break in the kitchen; she hoped Casper was pleased with that, more so than with the cats. Molly of course, was certain he had secret soft spot for their four-legged feline friends, and that he would be very sad indeed if Molly decided to set them all free.

Creeping up behind Casper, she placed her palms quite suddenly on his shoulders, using his muscles as a sort of launching board to keep her balance on her tippy toes. She kissed the back of his neck, grinning into it before falling back onto her feet. "What do you want for dinner?" She asked. Her eyes roamed the room, finding a wizarding clock half-obscured by the pile of personal belongings with which it had been packed. "Er, lunch..."

It was already two hours past noon. "You must be starving. Actually, I'm starving." She'd been picking at the dough and sugar and whatever was sitting around the kitchen while she baked, however. She rubbed her tummy, and grabbed his wrist. "Come on. Break. I've got an idea from the last party Dolly threw... Finger foods." Not that they'd never had them. But Molly had never seen such fancy food on such a small scale. It was like a feast for ants. "Not sushi, though. I don't think I could make sushi. The cats would keep me captive if I could. Raw food..." She frowned. "Well, there's a first for everything. Or should we just order curry and be done with it?" Her eyebrows shot up as she tugged him into the kitchen. The new, massive kitchen.

She hit the wood-topped island, which was like a giant cutting board, and leaned into it, smiling. She grabbed a handful of pretzels blindly from the bowl behind her. "I never did thank you for my dream house, did I?" Well, maybe she had. Once or twice or a million times. But she wanted to again. She put a pretzel to her lips, still biting her bottom lip in a smile, eyes on Casper.

His eyes rolled at the mention of the free-loader, planning on feeding her babies off his hard earned money. Casper didn’t know why she didn’t just fix the ones she had. He was very adamant about stressing her cats. They clung to his suits with their numerous hairs that seemed to clone themselves throughout a day. Light hair on a dark suit could bring him to a fit.

Not that there weren’t a handful of spells he could use to help get it back to non-feline-haired friendly, but it was the point of it. Still… he seemed to have a hard time telling Molly no. Smirking to himself, he pushed past his momentary break and continued to roll the paint brush. The colors screamed Molly, which was what Casper thought their little cottage should emulate. Bright and bubbly, inviting and warm, with soft edges and comfortable seating. Or perhaps the seating was his sticking point.

The bungalow was old and creaky and friendly, and he heard her steps coming up behind him. Grinning as well, he turned his head and glanced over his shoulder slightly, his wand held lazily in his left hand. “Something edible.” His eyes snapped back in time to keep the paint brush from zooming over the window. Charming the brush back down into the paint bucket, Casper merely shrugged. “That pie smells delicious…”

One of the reasons he loved his wife was the whimsical way she flittered between thoughts. Laughing and allowing himself to be tugged, he half-heartedly dragged his feet a few steps before catching up with her, walking through the boxy walkways and yet-to-be-arranged furniture. And cats. Making a face, he moved his wrist until his hand was grasping hers. The last thing they needed to encourage was feeding the cats anything but cat food.

Give them raw food, and they won’t work. Teach them to hunt their own meals, and he’d be out of a few pesky meowing crapping machines. Age old wisdom.

Mention of curry caused his eyebrows to raise in interest. Was it in the budget, though? “I wouldn’t mind splitting a curry.” Leaning a hand on the island, his other snaked a pretzel from her handful, munching thoughtfully on it. Smirking as he chewed, he shrugged and leaned over, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers. It wouldn’t have hurt so much if his dad hadn’t visited in the last couple months. Or maybe it still would have. Either way he sliced it, his pay increase saved up for a few months made a nice down payment.

“It still has a lot of work, but we’ll get it.” It was different, to be in charge of a whole house and not have anyone to answer to. Even when you rented, at the end of the day it wasn’t your place. Biting his lower lip, he leaned his elbows on the island, his body bent over the surface as he relaxed. “You sure you like it?” She had picked it out, sure, but it’d been in their price range. What if she didn’t like it as much as she liked something else?

Molly was always glad when someone (especially Casper) liked what she was baking. It made her feel less guilty about the mountains of cupcakes, homemade croissants, and Halloween candy she was prone to creating (and grazing at throughout the day). Their last kitchen had had little room for her stores of sugar, and she was always pressing Casper to bring treats to his colleagues. As if pastel macaroons were oh-so-Obliviator-appropriate. But she loved baking, almost as much as she loved eating, and if she weren't working for Dolly, she'd probably be selling pastries somewhere. Or painting them. Or baking, painting, and inventing new gourmet cat foods for the homeless population of animals in Godric's Hollow.

"It's not ready yet," she said apologetically, waving a finger like a scolding teacher. "Raw dough is very bad for you..." She would know, having had two spoonfuls of it before shoving the thing into the oven. She hadn't come down with food poisoning yet, so she figured it wasn't that dangerous. "You have to build up your tolerance before you go diving into uncooked food. I did leave some for ice-cream, though..." She drifted off, wondering where the ice-cream churner was. Probably in the box with the magical blender she couldn't seem to find. Even Molly hadn't made her way through every box marked 'KITCHEN.'

"Curry it is." She dropped a few more pretzels into his palm, and took another for herself, pausing to return Casper's cute nuzzle. She called out to the older of the two owls, who peaked open one eye from his perch, ruffled the feathers on his neck, and stretched his wings. He didn't seem to like being disturbed at two in the afternoon. Molly could hardly blame him.

Hands clear of pretzels, she rubbed them together to be rid of the salt, and wiggled one to the warmth of his abdomen. "It's the most perfect house in the world," she whispered, leaning toward his cheek and ear. "And its ours. Yours and mine. So stop doubting yourself, handyman."

When he was finished painting the walls, she hoped to creep up a ladder and add a small design around the boarders. A nice finish, so they could say they'd done it together. "Just don't break your back trying to please me. Please." She kissed his cheek and whirled away, putting a hand out for the owl, who had finally stirred from his perch. She grabbed a quill from a jar of writing utensils, dabbed it in ink, and scrawled a quick order on a blank slip of faded rose parchment embossed with their new address. "Just to the curry shop," she promised, giving the owl a soft rub on the back of its head. He hooted lightly and clasped the order in his beak, taking off through the open window above the sink.

She turned back to Casper. "My paycheck came in. I put it in our account. And Dolly's got heaps of events coming up now that everything's been rescheduled. After what happened to Tabitha..." She trailed off, frowning. It was awful. Dolly was a mess. And poor Frank. "I don't want you to work so hard, you know-- I can do more to help, Casper. She needs me, and I like doing those events. She's a good boss. Just tell me, and I can freelance a bit, too. Dolly would understand, you know. She wants me to do well."

She moved closer again, picking up an unused paint brush that had somehow been left behind. "I can also paint walls," she announced, her voice going sneaky.

His best mate had commented that the best part about working with him were the treats he brought in from home. Casper was fairly certain he was teasing him… but he couldn’t say for certain. One thing he could bet on, though, was that hard workers cherished sugary morsels. Mentioning of raw dough was bound to lead him towards it. He licked his lips in response, grinning a little wider and glancing around the kitchen. “I should start early today then.” If he was going to get sick, might as well be worth something to get upset over.

Accepting the pretzels, he tossed one in and crunched happily. The thought of curry made his stomach rumble. Popping another pretzel in, he grinned at the moody owl. If he was less than nice, he would teach the owl’s to enjoy the delicacy of cat. Sadly, he had a soft, hidden spot for all the feline’s in the house.

Sucking his stomach in for a moment, he grinned and relaxed against her hand. It was theirs… just as everything else was over the past so many years of nearly always happy marriage. Everyone had their rough spots, after all. His mouth opened in shock, however. “Handyman?!” Laughing, he enjoyed one more pretzel before pushing up from the island. Pausing in his bite for the kiss on the cheek, he shook his head. “Just a little sore. I could use some TLC.” He gave her a hopeful grin before moving over to the sink.

With his water glass in hand, he turned back towards her and watched as she maneuvered around their place. Their very own place… Sipping, he smiled against the rim of the glass.

Then talk of money came up, and his smile fell just a little. Gulping down half the glass, he made a sour face and moved back to the island, offering it to her. There had been a few negative things in the past month or so. He was being kept rather busy at work by it. Swallowing the water he held in his cheeks, he shook his head. “We’re doing fine, Molls. Plus I'm supposed to work hard."

She looked a little menacing with the paint brush in hand. Laughing, he walked past her and gave her a little jolt of a pat on the rump. “When the big kids are done, maybe.” Keeping an eye over his shoulder, he knew he had to watch himself after that. “Mmmmm that pie smells good.”

“Just a little sore. I could use some TLC.”

"Well, I guess you need to take care of that before it turns into something serious," she teased. She would, of course, offer to 'take care' of it for him, but they were playing now. Word games were tricky, and Casper had taught Molly long ago that she needed to win, or he'd get carried away with the challenge. She tried, when she could, but he was a clever devil. Head Boy and all that... "Handyman," she repeated, hands falling to hips, chin raising just a little in mock snobbery.

Molly pursed her own lips in concentration as he sucked in his cheeks. Little things were easier to mirror, to keep in sync without even being aware of it. They'd lived together long enough now. "You're supposed to enjoy your life. And the fruits of your labors." Or pretzels of your kitchen bowl. Same difference.

Molly gasped, open-mouthed, and squirmed away from his hand. She grabbed a spatula and wheeled on her ankle as if she were wielding a wand. "I'll show you a big kid, you big jerk," she lied, keeping a straight face despite her desire to laugh. She wasn't distracted by his compliments. "You can take the pie. Straight into your face." With that, she ran at him, spatula and all.

Heading for the living room, darting around boxes, and giving Casper quite the chase, Molly bee-lined for the couch, tackling him there. Once she'd pinned him down, the spatula seemed quite useless. She let it drop onto the suede. It teetered and fell onto the wood floor, narrowly missing an open can of paint. Her eyes went wide and she nuzzled his nose as he had hers, but this time she tapped it when she pulled away, as if he were a petulant child. "Didn't your mum teach you to keep your hands to yourself? Or is that not the cool thing with the big kids these days?" She sat up, straddling him, and placed her hands around his neck. Instead of a choke hold, however, Molly began to kneed his skin gently, working in the tender places between his neck and his shoulders. Her fingers moved methodically toward his back, but as he was on it... "I should draw you a bath and send you to bed without dinner. You're covered in paint," she lied, sounding disappointed.

Molly was so cute when she teased. Like a cocksure Chihuahua: cute but more bark than bite. Not that he’d tell her that. There were those rare times that you took Molly seriously. Right then, at least, she was in an adorable fun mood. Laughing, he rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow. She got him with that Handyman label again, and he couldn’t help but concede that point of word-joust.

“I enjoy our life. And you are supposed to enjoy the fruits.” As if to point it out, he motioned to the empty space beside him, giving her a grin. He enjoyed working, enjoyed feeling like he was doing something well, for a purpose. His hands rested on his hips in simple defiance, his jeans pushing down just slightly.

It was much more fun to shock Molly, out of the two of them, if he had any say in it. The gasp (and that look on her face he knew she would have) gave him more satisfaction than he could explain. Of course then he heard the scraping of the spatula, and he jumped as he spun around, staring at her weapon for a moment, gauging how serious she might be. “Now who’s being a big jerk? Threatening me with a—ahh!” He backpedaled and twisted around, dodging her all the way to the living room.

There might have been an angry cat along the way, he wasn’t going to deny it. But she was wielding a spatula! It was less pliable than his hand, after all. Somehow he lost to his pint-sized wife, and was staring up at her. He flinched but grinned, waiting for her retaliation. “My mum taught me a lot of things that I rarely put into practice. Like eating with my mouth closed.” His tongue stuck out towards her long enough to make a point—he didn’t want her to try and snatch it.

Resting his hands on her upper thighs, Casper smiled lazily up at her, enjoying the teaser rub down. He arched his back to try and help her reach, groaning in enjoyment. His back wasn’t really bothering him, but he wouldn’t pass up this sort of attention. He kneeded her thighs slowly, eyes closed. Smirking at that, he raised an eyebrow, taking deep breaths. “Or bring dinner to bed.” Blinking, he glanced down at one of his favorite lounge shirts, chuckling. “I’m spotless.” He could lie too. And most of the paint spots had dried by then.

Once again he eyed her. “You’re taller from here.” Poking her side playfully, Casper pushed himself up and kissed her lips lightly, pulling back to lean on his elbow. “The room is almost done with the second coat.” The afternoon light seemed brighter with the shade on the walls. It seemed like a decent choice for the living room.

Molly tried to keep her eyes on his face as he countered her, but she found them wandering downward. Not out of being caught answerless, but out of genuine thrill-- and the occasional surprise-- that hit her whenever she really looked at Casper. She knew every inch of him, and still. And it was always a wonder he'd picked her. It had taken years, to be sure, but she still couldn't figure out what she'd done right. The little things, like his jeans skimming his tummy, made her stomach tumble like a schoolgirl's. She was Molly, and he was Casper, and they were best friends, comfortable together, but she had never gotten over how lovely he was.

It was a warm flash in her eyes, and then it was gone, to be replaced by a more playful, self-assured one. (Undoubtedly helped by the spatula.) Her grin became almost wicked when his sentence was cut off, and she was proud that neither of them (mostly Molly herself) hit a roadblock on their chase to the couch.

"Maybe I'll sew your lips shut with a threading charm while you're sleeping," she mused. She would do not such thing.

She enjoyed the warmth and deftness of his hands, the familiarity his palms represented. Her own fingers faulted slightly in their task before she remembered what she was doing; luckily, Molly was better at kneading dough (and warm skin) than she was at sewing slumbering lips together in the dead of night.

Dinner and bed. Now that was a thought...

"Mmm. Crumbs in my clean sheets? I don't think so," she announced, sounding almost haughty. But she laughed, falling into his kiss, and shrugged. She didn't mind dessert (or any meal) in bed, just like she didn't mind the fact that he towered over her. Albeit, from up on his lap, the view was glorious. I did have a leg up, she was on the verge of saying. But she bit her tongue, and instead: "What was that?" I couldn't hear you... I'm too tall." She cupped her ear, her face apologetic before she burst into laughter again.

Perching on the back of the couch, she glanced around the room, absorbing the color. "It looks beautiful, Casper. We'll finally be able to fit all those Pratts in our living room," she added, innocently enough.

He feigned shock as his eyebrows rose, eyes widened, mouth dropped open. “I don’t think I’ve heard that threat in a few days. I must be doing something right.” Grinning, he snapped his teeth at her and kept his tongue well hidden. “Besides, with all that snoring I do, if you shut my lips, how will I breathe?” He didn’t snore, he didn’t think, but she would be the one who knew.

Molly’s fingers were magical, though, and shut his mouth on their own. With them she could make a cat stay within reach, conjure up mouth-watering goodies, and put her husband on his back. It was impressive.

Laughing at the thought of Molly being upset over messy sheets, Casper rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Well then I’ll just have to pull out my sheets.” Which, he was fairly certain, were all ready being used as floor savers from the paint. No need to make more work for himself by spotting the wooden floor.

One of the many reasons he loved Molly was her innocent (when she wanted to be) nature, and how she could make him laugh at almost anything. And so, to compliment her sudden deafness, he put his hands to his mouth, raising his voice a little. “I said you are looking mighty tall for such a-” A hand came away and he brought his thumb and pointer close to one another “-tiny woman.”

While she looked around the room, Casper put an arm under his head, his other resting on her thigh once again, watching her. He could tell in her face whether she liked it or not, which was all that mattered for the room. Casper could live in just about anything (minus a lot of cats), but Molly put a lot into it being their place. Blinking, he finally let out a chuckle and shrugged, suddenly pushing himself up and glancing around. “All which ones?” Kissing the tip of her nose, he patted her thigh. “I’ll keep painting, you… sit there and make the couch look sexy.” Pulling himself out from under her, he winked and picked up his brush.

"Oooooh," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You." It was all she could think of in the moment. It was hard to come up with an insult when he was right there, looking so adorable, and forcing her to realize that she needed a new weapon-- spatulas only did so much harm, especially when they were more prone to be covered in sugar than blood. "A pinch of potion in your dinner will cure the snoring..." She relaxed her eyes matter-of-factly, lifted her brows, and smiled. "It tastes awful, though. Curry and medicine. Poor you."

She shook her head, basking in his laughter. "Your sheets have already found a new home," she tried innocently enough. "The kittens will love them." It was a lie, but lying about cats was heaps easier than threatening to poison her husband with Snoring Solution. Molly wasn't so cruel as to ruin a perfectly delicious bowl of basmati rice.

Most women loved to be called tiny, but for Molly, it meant being (nearly) too short to reach Casper's lips without standing on her tippytoes or weaseling her way into his arms. Still, she had no complaints. She was the way she was. And they made it work. Like now, for instance...

"Yeah, well, I have to try. My husband's a freak of nature." She reached out and ruffled his dark hair, planting another kiss on his lips. She felt bad already. "A cute one," she appended.

Stretching in the warmth that was Casper's outline as he moved away from the couch, Molly let her hair fall messily around her. A cat leaped from nowhere, as if it had apparated out of the sky, and found a new home on her belly. "All those ones Eddie keeps making," she yawned, tickling the cat with sweet-scented fingers. It purred like a vacuum. "Do you think he'll be reincarnated as a tomcat?" She spoke the words as much to the fluffy creature on her tummy as she did to her husband. "Not as sexy as a Mollycat."

Rolling over, so that the cat had no choice but to flee, Molly watched him continue to work. "Please let me help," she begged. "Pleeeease." Her arm crept over the side and her fingers crawled blindly over the floor until they found a brush. She had to bite her cheeks to hide her grin. Springing into sitting position, and then to a stand, she wielding the thing like a wand... or a spatula. "Why am I asking permission, anyway? This is my house."

Her threat was heard and accepted. “A wave of the wand and you won’t remember your potion plan.” Not that Casper would ever do that to Molly; he might consider it to a few other people he knew. Ethical decisions were so overrated. How unfair was it to be taught to take away someone’s memories if you were going to be regulated with it? “And I’ll take my medicine with extra curry. Poor you.”

Groaning at her joking, he glanced over to where a cat had been—it had somehow lazied itself away from the spot. “Kittens? Molls…” If any of those cats was expecting, he’d—well, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Accept it with a lot of moaning and complaining. And hold on to his old sheets, paint stained and all.

Her teasing and touching took his mind off the horror of more cats. Leaning forward for a longer kiss, he smirked when she corrected herself. “A couple of freaks, then. With awful animals.” At least the house didn’t smell of cats. Then he’d have to complain a little louder than usual.

His laugh was sudden; yes, Eddie seemed to be a very eager Pratt. That meant they’d have to baby proof the house. Not that it would take many spells, but it was still an extra step. “I don’t know, Molls… Definitely not as sexy, though.” His wand was out and making quick work of getting the rollers back to the wall. Casper was in that listening mode where he agreed with her more than he heard her, not paying as much attention as he had been when she was on top of him.

It wasn’t so much selective as it was he could focus on only so many things at once. “What?” Please? It took him a couple moments to realize what she had asked. Laughing, he shrugged. “I don’t think it’ll take very long, Molly. Don’t you have… pies to…?” He had glanced over his shoulder, his voice trailing off. The paint brush could hurt as bad as the potential spatula, and she was in his way of taking base on the couch.

The rolling on the walls stopped as his attention was diverted. Smirking, he glanced her over. “What a feisty homeowner you’ve turned into.” He wasn’t sure if he could say no to her with that look on her face. It was fun to see her look… less than innocent. It was kind of like her role playing, trying on something new. “And what are you going to do with such a puny brush?” One of the rollers started to move at a horizontal angle as his wand hand drifted, moving towards the window.

Molly's mouth opened, closed, and opened again, her eyes widening comically. "You wouldn't." For all their playful threats and adopted roles in the heat of the moment, Molly had made him promise never to Obliviate her, and she was sure he would keep it forever. Still... "How about no curry, you sorry sod! Go buy your own!" If he'd been anyone else, Molly would be cowering in a corner by now. As it were, her hands were on her hips, her tongue was out with a five-year-old girl's indignation, and giggles were threatening to erupt. "Let's see you cook dinner for two, actually..."

Shame the curry was on its way.

"I mean, on a night when I haven't already saved your bum from doom."

Uh oh. Had she forgotten to mention the kittens? Hadn't he noticed Clover's tummy, the way milk kept threatening to spill on the floor, the way she crooned in the night? Molly was sure she'd mentioned it. Now, she wasn't so sure.

The kiss was proof of their partner-in-non-crime-hood, at least for the moment. A miniature makeup in the middle of a war ground that was their new, beautiful home. "Leave my cats alone, Casper. If you won't be their daddy, just don't say anything naughty about them!"

The couch offered a new vantage point of their glorious living room-- and Casper's glorious, handyman form. She had really lucked out, hadn't she? It had taken him seven bloody years to get the memo, so Molly supposed waiting had made the prize all the better. "Close your eyes, and it will be perfectly sexy." Molly knew how to use her imagination! Thank goodness she didn't need to with her husband, however. He was the real thing. (That would have been exhausting.)

She was pleased with herself, that she'd distracted him long enough to pick up the brush. Stealth. A feisty homeowner, apparently. Molly grinned. "What am I going to do?" She repeated, tilting her cheek to the side, staring straight into his eyes. "Paint." She leaped forward, giving a good swipe to his toned chest. Whoops. Molly frowned. "I think you're coming down with jaundice, love. Better sit down and let me look at that." From the corner of her eye, and a little too late, Molly noticed the wayward roller. "CASPER!"

If he’d been on his feet, he would have done a hands-on-hips stance as if to prove he had thought about it once or twice. Casper wouldn’t, no… And he assumed Molly knew that. But it was one of his easiest threats during an argument (even if this one was pretend). All he could do was narrow his eyes and try and keep the smirk off his face as he stared up at her. Then it was his turn to open his mouth, an indignant sound coming out. “I could do it! If I had to!”

But what would he cook? Maybe he would just order pasta and make it seem like he’d cooked it. Or maybe he could cook pasta… it wasn’t that hard. Just add some tomato sauce with it, and presto you had a meal. “Saved my…?” His eyes widened a little as he stared at her. “I thought you were saving it from dessert…” Smirking then, he tilted his head.

It was weird when she mentioned ‘daddy’ in the same breath she would mention ‘you.’ It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to be one (just not to cats), it just hadn’t happened yet. That wasn’t something he’d experienced. It wasn’t something he was preparing himself for. Giving her a half grin, he narrowed his eyes at her. “As their mummy, you should teach them about protection. Then I would have one less thing naughty to say.”

Making a face, he shook his head as if trying to rid himself of a mental image. “I do not want to think of your cousin as sexy. But you go ahead, Molly.” He smirked at his wall, watching as the rolling paint brushes did their work.

Now, however, he was facing the cutest aggressive woman in the world. And his body reacted a little different to being painted than he might have expected. He half twisted away, mouth open, eyes closed, as if the paint on his chest might actually hurt. It was more shock than anything. It caused the paint rollers on the wall to jump before the one went back on its track of destruction. Casper started laughing, glancing down at his chest and shaking his head slowly. “You’re going to regret—”

Her shouting caused him to jump again; this time, he glanced over his shoulder at his work. It took him a couple seconds to realize the problem, and he let out a yell, his wand hand shooting up (causing one of the brushes to jump off the wall and clang to the floor). "Bloody hell!" The other made an odd zig-zag over the window and down towards the floor before he got it under control.

Blinking, he finally moved over, sheepishly picking up the roller and stepping back to Molly. As an afterthought, he ran it up and down her arm for a moment. “Now we’re jaundiced together…” He’d have a mess to clean up, but it could wait.

“I could do it! If I had to!”

Molly pushed her lips together, but they fell open again, crestfallen, and she bit the bottom corner of her lip to contemplate his (perpetually empty) threat. She might have heard it a thousand times, but she was always left wondering...

And who was to say he hadn’t done it before?!

Molly, of course.

She knew Casper too well, loved him to much.

But still...

Lips tiptoeing invisibly away from the dangerous territory that was his expertise, she embraced what she knew: food, and its power over her husband.

“Saved my…? I thought you were saving it from dessert…”

“What dessert?” She asked innocently enough, tucking a strand of dark honey behind her ear. The treats all over the kitchen and stuffed in the oven might as well have not existed. Molly was feeling rather ballsy, proud that she was lying so smoothly. Like a Slytherin. Like Dolly.

“As their mummy, you should teach them about protection. Then I would have one less thing naughty to say.”

“Ha! You and I both know that the potions for males are much easier to...” She blushed, suddenly, and wrinkled her nose. They were talking about cats, not people... or contraception. Most of Molly’s cats were fixed. It was the responsible thing to do. But the one who had had a goodbye rendezvous with the tomcat near their flat had been a grown lady when Molly had found her. In an alley. Outside of a bar where Dolly was hosting a soiree.

“I do not want to think of your cousin as sexy. But you go ahead, Molly.”

Her mouth flew open with silent rage. “Huh!” The sound left her throat resolutely enough to fog a mirror. “The Pratts aren’t inbred, I’ll have you know.” Molly hadn’t even known there were other Pratts until she’d turned eleven. “You can look it up in your fancy Ministry rolodex.” She crossed her arms and lifted a brow, daring him to one-up her now.

The war went splendidly: the one inside their living room could prove a thing or two to the great historians who thought Godric’s Hallow was at ease. Nothing said fight like the sunny colors of their first house, and Casper’s half-naked body. (Molly’s harmless fists and spatula for good measure.) The two came together in a brilliant feat of timing... just before the window panes met their end.

Molly was one step behind him, blinking in his wake, wondering what their new neighbors would think of the loony pair of painters with all those cats, when Casper took his revenge. The paint was cool against her skin, raising gooseflesh up and town Molly’s arm. A chill danced over her spine, and she jumped in place, squealing. Throwing her arms around her husband’s neck, she did the only thinkable thing: further smeared the both of them with paint, to even the playing field.

She kissed him clumsily, and then softer when she’d got her hold and didn’t have to reply on disoriented tippy-toes. “Where’s the Molly-colored paint?” She asked. “I need a new coat.”

A soft hoot echoed in their kitchen, announcing the return of the owl... and their dinner. Even from here, across their big new living room, Molly could smell the delicious curry.

She would use her delicious treats as a means of foolery. Eyes narrowed as he shook a finger at her. “I keep a stash where you don’t know for such occasions.” It just wasn’t as delicious as fresh out of the oven, burn-your-tongue dessert. Warm-your-belly amazingness… It seemed fruitless to remind her he was just in the kitchen with her while she was checking on what she was cooking. Always more fun to tease each other than act spiteful (though he wasn’t above it at times).

Casper smirked. She was so quick to defend her cats. Crossing his arms over his chest, he raised an eyebrow and gave her a slightly contemptuous look. “So start lacing the milk you set out.” Since she couldn’t exactly teach the tomcat to bag it… Potions had been getting them on well enough for the last few years, at least. No one saw Molly expecting her own litter, after all.

“Hey… you were the one who was comparing your cousin to a tomcat.” And that it wasn’t quite as sexy as a Mollycat. He’d simply agreed and kept up the game. Laughing, Casper shrugged in defiance. “I might have to check. Have the Pratts even been wizards longer than a couple generations?” Best not to look at his family tree and the intertwined connections some areas had. He was one of the more experimental of the clan, and his family wasn’t all that pleased about him stepping out of the box.

The windows would be easy to clean… Molly, she would require a little extra scrub after he was done with her (arm). Well, until she responded to the cold paint by tangling herself against him. A shiver ran down his body as the cool paint touched the back of his neck. “Ah!” An arm instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her close. He moved his lips to try and find hers, awkward and perfect. Grinning against her lips, Casper held her against him, moving a hand up her back.

“I think you got it all over me…” He still held the roller, pulling back long enough to paint her arm again. Hearing the owl made him grin—pressing against her lips suddenly, Casper pulled back, setting the roller down. Holding her hand in one, he spun her in a slow circle and pulled her back up against his front. With his arms wrapped around her, he kissed her neck. “My dinner smells like it’s here.” And then he pulled away with a smack on her ass. “Let’s eat.”

And he started to saunter back down the hall to their kitchen. Their kitchen. He grinned even bigger over that.

“I keep a stash where you don’t know for such occasions.”

“We just moved! You can’t have found a hiding spot so quickly, or--” But couldn’t he have? Molly was imaginative, and had had things like special hiding places since childhood. Casper was less obvious and more stealth about it, but when he showed that side, she knew (as she always knew) she’d picked a winner. That said... She frowned. “That’s cheating, Casper Otto Bagman.”

Still, there was nothing she could do about it. Maybe when she had a day off and Casper was working late...

“So start lacing the milk you set out.”

“Doesn’t work like that.” She shrugged, grinning. Well, maybe it did. But hiding vitamins or medication in food sounded like something a tricky parent would do. Molly was not a tricky parent! Just a parent. Well, maybe she was. She’d been trying to keep one cat on a diet for Merlin knew how long. A few weeks at least.

But Eddie was like a tomcat. As for the family tree, “Some of them have been wizards for ages. I think. Some of them are like Frank and me.” Molly’s own past was dodgy at best, but her mum was a witch. “We’re no Bagmans, but we survive.” She said dramatically, rolling her eyes at him. If he’d been anyone else, she wouldn’t have dared. Well, maybe. But Molly, for as playful as she was, could be a mouse around certain people. Casper had been her best friend since... after he’d been her vaguely annoyed tutor in school... and she felt at liberty to banter and be bossy. With other people, things just popped out, and the feeling of wanting to hide became obvious when she started blushing.

Leaving the mess that was the remaining paint like a sticky crime scene, she wandered into the kitchen at his side, but not before letting out a little gasp of you-did-not when a hand met her bum. It wasn’t until they’d broken the kiss and were on the kitchen’s threshold when Molly paid him back with a similar smack. She scurried away, double her pace to the curry, her face a thinly-veiled grin, all unfeigned innocence but obvious lies. Sometimes, she felt like a teenager and wondered how she’d moved from cat lady to married cat lady at such a ripe age. She wondered if Casper wondered the same, but then decided he mustn’t mind too much.

“You think I should try to make my own curry? I want to have Dolly for dinner soon,” she announced, opening a box of rice and spooning it into a spicy dish. She licked the spoon and looked at Casper to gauge a reaction. “Over for dinner,” she clarified. Many a men (and women) would love to eat Dolly St. James, she had no doubt. But Molly just wanted to have her over for a friendly, low-key evening and homemade meal. “Better stick with the classics.” She delighted in the first bite. She could never make such a splendid curry as their new neighborhood’s shop.

Finding two plates somewhere in the unpacked kitchen, she made a semi-proper setting.