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hp_goldenage2023-03-02 10:55 am
hpgoldenage_mod) wrote in hp_goldenage2023-03-02 10:55 am
Entry tags:
Salt and Pepper Fest: Simmer
Title: Simmer
Author:![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
Walgesang
Characters/Pairings: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley
Rating: R
Word Count: 1419
Content/Warning(s): mentions of wizarding world sexism/misogyny, character study, world building, trans femme Arthur, supportive spouse, trans positivity, happy ending
Summary/Prompt: Arthur doesn't know why he loves watching Molly cook. There's something about cooking that makes Arthur wish he could be more like her. He's always felt this way but as he's gotten older those feelings have only become more persistent and confusing.
A/N: Much heartfelt gratitude to my beta. Thanks so much for the prompt "Arthur comes out as trans later in life" which inspired this fic. ♥
Read on AO3 or below:
"Supper."
Although he had forgotten to shut the oven door, it slammed shut suddenly like the mouth of a monster. Arthur jumped back and felt quite embarrassed but then remembered there was no one there but him. Before leaving for Muriel's, Molly had left meals for him. Each one charmed to be heated properly by the oven by reading aloud the label.
Arthur rarely poked around the kitchen on his own. If Molly saw him peering in the icebox she'd swoop in and grab something for him. Feeling bold, he opened the icebox and stared at its insides. It was not as full as when Molly was home.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten something to eat for himself that wasn't biscuits smuggled from the jar. When he was home on the weekend, he would sometimes pretend to read the newspaper in the kitchen so he could secretly watch Molly cook. She relied more on magic when the children were a handful, but now that the Burrow was quiet she had set aside her wand and brought out several kitchen items to make meals from scratch.
—
"A peeler is a peeler," Molly said as she scraped it along a carrot. "Maybe Muggles invented it but a wizard could have just as well."
"Could have been an ancient torture device," Arthur said, picking up one thin strand and pretending to remove it from his hand. Molly shook her head and made a face.
"That's revolting," she said, barely suppressing a smile. "Honestly, I think the longer the children are away the more you act like one."
"Makes me feel younger," Arthur said. He was drawn to her hands making quick work of each carrot. The rhythmic shhk, shhk, shhk sound was soothing.
"I know what makes me feel younger," Molly said. She reached inside her apron pocket and took out her wand. He knew what she meant by the flush in her cheeks and instead of excitement he felt disappointment. He'd wanted to watch her cook, but to say it would be silly. He'd never be able to admit such a thing.
—
Arthur cinched the ties of his bathrobe as he peered downstairs. Molly was thumbing through a favourite book before she asked him to check the stew. From the smell of things, the oven had done its work. All the dishes had been washed and put away, which made the kitchen look very lonely to him. One pot burbled away on the stovetop. In her rush to get upstairs, Molly had left her apron on the chair.
The strings of the apron were trailing off the back of the chair and Arthur was suddenly captivated by how bright and pink they were. His hand trembled as he reached for them, as if they might bite him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and a sudden urge seized him. He wanted to put it on.
Arthur glanced back at the stairs. He reached down and put the loop over his neck. The apron was dusted with flour and had a bright cherry pattern across the front. As he gazed down, he realized how dry his mouth was. He took up the strings and tried to tie them behind his waist but his trembling fingers wouldn't comply. Arthur had seen Molly do up the apron a million times–
The lid suddenly burst off the top and a ladle swooped in from nowhere. The cupboards flew open and bowls settled on the countertop. Arthur tugged the apron off quickly and let it fall to the floor as if it had burned him.
—
"Did your brothers learn kitchen magic?"
"Goodness no," Molly said. "Whatever for? My mum's stove wouldn't even let her own husband turn it on."
"What, not even with magic?"
Molly chuckled. "Most wizarding stoves don't even turn on for men. Don't you remember when Percy tried to make me a cup of tea when you were away? The kettle wouldn't even let him touch it."
"That's ridiculous," Arthur said. "I've been home with the children before when you were visiting Muriel."
"Yes and do you remember what you all did for food?"
"You'd left meals in the icebox."
"Which are charmed to be reheated thoroughly at a certain temperature. It's rather nice, isn't it? The oven does all the work."
—
Arthur's mum kept her aprons in a kitchen drawer. Molly kept hers hung on a hook behind the pantry door. He remembered a former girlfriend who laughed when he asked why she didn't have an apron. That's for old ladies, she'd said.
He remembered every single one of them. Gingham-checked, bedecked with smiling cats, big fat cupcakes or humorous sayings. Arthur couldn't get them out of his head. But it wasn't an erotic feeling, which confused him even more. He didn't feel physically excited by them, he felt – what did he feel? It was something about the splash of color, the delightful comfort that seemed so contrary to his drab everyday clothes. The memories of mouth-watering scents wafting from the kitchen to his workshop.
"Arthur?"
"Sorry! Didn't hear you come in."
"I've got a few more parcels by the door," Molly said. She set down a bag and started taking out apples. "Feel like pie tonight?"
"That'd be – " Arthur hesitated. "I mean, could you show me how?"
"How what?" Molly wasn't even looking at him as she peered into the icebox.
"How to bake a pie," Arthur blurted out.
Molly stopped and looked back at him with a puzzled look.
"Well," she said. "I suppose, if you really want."
Arthur nodded. He didn't trust himself to make words that made any sense.
"I suppose you ought to wear the apron then," Molly chuckled. She rummaged through several on the hook and Arthur felt a noise growing louder and louder in his ears. Tears pricked his eyes and he couldn't stop them. "Do you like the one with the cherries?"
Arthur blinked several times to try to focus on her face. Her smile was so warm and thoughtful. Did she know? Had she always known? A sob caught in his throat and Arthur hid his face in his hands. He felt her hands take his and, through the tears, he saw her face clouded by worry.
"I – I want to do what you do," Arthur said helplessly.
"Cook?"
"No, I - I want to – oh, I can't."
She pulled up a chair and eased him down into it. Her hands were so soft in his and they grounded him. Arthur swallowed hard.
"I want to be like you," Arthur said. His voice was small and strained. He reached up and touched her hair. The long curls he had always desired and thought it was just love, and it was, but it was also a yearning he couldn't explain. For the hair to be his. For the apron to be tied around his waist. To cut, to chop, to bake, to make incredible meals! To do magic. To be magical.
Molly's gaze turned from worry to wonder, and for one fearful moment he was frightened that she'd heard his thoughts. Her smile warmed him from the inside out like hot chocolate.
"I know."
—
Martha took the lid off the pot and stirred it a bit, humming a little tune along with the radio. Molly wouldn't be home for an hour or so which would give her time to do the vacuuming. She loved keeping busy with the housework. Her old job would be there at the Ministry when she was ready. Nesting, Molly called it. It felt right to Martha. Taking the time to learn all the things that she'd eagerly watched from afar.
As for the oven, it had been set properly at last. Ginny's youngest accidentally touched the burner no more than an hour after the charms had been removed, but he quickly healed. Martha still couldn't cook much; it was like learning a new language. But even the smallest successes brought her so much joy as the kitchen started to unlock its mysteries to her. She would marvel at each utensil like an archeologist discovering an artifact. A whisk, for example, was different from a spoon or a spatula when used for cooking. Molly was correct: there was a magic that came from cooking, but it wasn't from a wand. It was love.
Martha was in love again with the world and everything in it. Especially herself.
Author:
Characters/Pairings: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley
Rating: R
Word Count: 1419
Content/Warning(s): mentions of wizarding world sexism/misogyny, character study, world building, trans femme Arthur, supportive spouse, trans positivity, happy ending
Summary/Prompt: Arthur doesn't know why he loves watching Molly cook. There's something about cooking that makes Arthur wish he could be more like her. He's always felt this way but as he's gotten older those feelings have only become more persistent and confusing.
A/N: Much heartfelt gratitude to my beta. Thanks so much for the prompt "Arthur comes out as trans later in life" which inspired this fic. ♥
Read on AO3 or below:
"Supper."
Although he had forgotten to shut the oven door, it slammed shut suddenly like the mouth of a monster. Arthur jumped back and felt quite embarrassed but then remembered there was no one there but him. Before leaving for Muriel's, Molly had left meals for him. Each one charmed to be heated properly by the oven by reading aloud the label.
Arthur rarely poked around the kitchen on his own. If Molly saw him peering in the icebox she'd swoop in and grab something for him. Feeling bold, he opened the icebox and stared at its insides. It was not as full as when Molly was home.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten something to eat for himself that wasn't biscuits smuggled from the jar. When he was home on the weekend, he would sometimes pretend to read the newspaper in the kitchen so he could secretly watch Molly cook. She relied more on magic when the children were a handful, but now that the Burrow was quiet she had set aside her wand and brought out several kitchen items to make meals from scratch.
—
"A peeler is a peeler," Molly said as she scraped it along a carrot. "Maybe Muggles invented it but a wizard could have just as well."
"Could have been an ancient torture device," Arthur said, picking up one thin strand and pretending to remove it from his hand. Molly shook her head and made a face.
"That's revolting," she said, barely suppressing a smile. "Honestly, I think the longer the children are away the more you act like one."
"Makes me feel younger," Arthur said. He was drawn to her hands making quick work of each carrot. The rhythmic shhk, shhk, shhk sound was soothing.
"I know what makes me feel younger," Molly said. She reached inside her apron pocket and took out her wand. He knew what she meant by the flush in her cheeks and instead of excitement he felt disappointment. He'd wanted to watch her cook, but to say it would be silly. He'd never be able to admit such a thing.
—
Arthur cinched the ties of his bathrobe as he peered downstairs. Molly was thumbing through a favourite book before she asked him to check the stew. From the smell of things, the oven had done its work. All the dishes had been washed and put away, which made the kitchen look very lonely to him. One pot burbled away on the stovetop. In her rush to get upstairs, Molly had left her apron on the chair.
The strings of the apron were trailing off the back of the chair and Arthur was suddenly captivated by how bright and pink they were. His hand trembled as he reached for them, as if they might bite him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and a sudden urge seized him. He wanted to put it on.
Arthur glanced back at the stairs. He reached down and put the loop over his neck. The apron was dusted with flour and had a bright cherry pattern across the front. As he gazed down, he realized how dry his mouth was. He took up the strings and tried to tie them behind his waist but his trembling fingers wouldn't comply. Arthur had seen Molly do up the apron a million times–
The lid suddenly burst off the top and a ladle swooped in from nowhere. The cupboards flew open and bowls settled on the countertop. Arthur tugged the apron off quickly and let it fall to the floor as if it had burned him.
—
"Did your brothers learn kitchen magic?"
"Goodness no," Molly said. "Whatever for? My mum's stove wouldn't even let her own husband turn it on."
"What, not even with magic?"
Molly chuckled. "Most wizarding stoves don't even turn on for men. Don't you remember when Percy tried to make me a cup of tea when you were away? The kettle wouldn't even let him touch it."
"That's ridiculous," Arthur said. "I've been home with the children before when you were visiting Muriel."
"Yes and do you remember what you all did for food?"
"You'd left meals in the icebox."
"Which are charmed to be reheated thoroughly at a certain temperature. It's rather nice, isn't it? The oven does all the work."
—
Arthur's mum kept her aprons in a kitchen drawer. Molly kept hers hung on a hook behind the pantry door. He remembered a former girlfriend who laughed when he asked why she didn't have an apron. That's for old ladies, she'd said.
He remembered every single one of them. Gingham-checked, bedecked with smiling cats, big fat cupcakes or humorous sayings. Arthur couldn't get them out of his head. But it wasn't an erotic feeling, which confused him even more. He didn't feel physically excited by them, he felt – what did he feel? It was something about the splash of color, the delightful comfort that seemed so contrary to his drab everyday clothes. The memories of mouth-watering scents wafting from the kitchen to his workshop.
"Arthur?"
"Sorry! Didn't hear you come in."
"I've got a few more parcels by the door," Molly said. She set down a bag and started taking out apples. "Feel like pie tonight?"
"That'd be – " Arthur hesitated. "I mean, could you show me how?"
"How what?" Molly wasn't even looking at him as she peered into the icebox.
"How to bake a pie," Arthur blurted out.
Molly stopped and looked back at him with a puzzled look.
"Well," she said. "I suppose, if you really want."
Arthur nodded. He didn't trust himself to make words that made any sense.
"I suppose you ought to wear the apron then," Molly chuckled. She rummaged through several on the hook and Arthur felt a noise growing louder and louder in his ears. Tears pricked his eyes and he couldn't stop them. "Do you like the one with the cherries?"
Arthur blinked several times to try to focus on her face. Her smile was so warm and thoughtful. Did she know? Had she always known? A sob caught in his throat and Arthur hid his face in his hands. He felt her hands take his and, through the tears, he saw her face clouded by worry.
"I – I want to do what you do," Arthur said helplessly.
"Cook?"
"No, I - I want to – oh, I can't."
She pulled up a chair and eased him down into it. Her hands were so soft in his and they grounded him. Arthur swallowed hard.
"I want to be like you," Arthur said. His voice was small and strained. He reached up and touched her hair. The long curls he had always desired and thought it was just love, and it was, but it was also a yearning he couldn't explain. For the hair to be his. For the apron to be tied around his waist. To cut, to chop, to bake, to make incredible meals! To do magic. To be magical.
Molly's gaze turned from worry to wonder, and for one fearful moment he was frightened that she'd heard his thoughts. Her smile warmed him from the inside out like hot chocolate.
"I know."
—
Martha took the lid off the pot and stirred it a bit, humming a little tune along with the radio. Molly wouldn't be home for an hour or so which would give her time to do the vacuuming. She loved keeping busy with the housework. Her old job would be there at the Ministry when she was ready. Nesting, Molly called it. It felt right to Martha. Taking the time to learn all the things that she'd eagerly watched from afar.
As for the oven, it had been set properly at last. Ginny's youngest accidentally touched the burner no more than an hour after the charms had been removed, but he quickly healed. Martha still couldn't cook much; it was like learning a new language. But even the smallest successes brought her so much joy as the kitchen started to unlock its mysteries to her. She would marvel at each utensil like an archeologist discovering an artifact. A whisk, for example, was different from a spoon or a spatula when used for cooking. Molly was correct: there was a magic that came from cooking, but it wasn't from a wand. It was love.
Martha was in love again with the world and everything in it. Especially herself.