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George groaned at the sight of the kitchen.
He knew that Angelina was going through it with Roxanne. She was trying to coax her into eating something, and that it wasn’t easy with the new twins and LeeAnne coming to hang around the house, but…but this was a bit ridiculous.
But a simple look into the living room, at his wife asleep with their grandsons on her chest like their children once slept on her as newborns told him more than enough. Not even mentioning the sight of their daughter and daughter-in-law asleep curled up on the couch together, well that said it all before he caught his son asleep on the floor between the girls. It had to of been a day, that much was clear.
He cast a silencing charm over the living room, and then turned to the kitchen, his wand raised and ready, only to see the most lovely gift his family could’ve given him.
Blueberry muffins.
In their house lemon ruled over every flavor, it was what his beautiful and lovely wife smelled like, tasted like, loved above nearly all of them who lived within the four walls. He had grown used to the tartness, but Angelina knew him better than anyone else in the world now, especially with his…his twin brother gone for nearly twenty-five years now.
He sighed again, this time from a hundred different memories that flashed in his head from years of memories with his brother, with Fred that were once happy and were now all twinged with sadness. The color was washed away, all of it disappeared when the wall exploded and his brother laughed his last laugh.
Merlin, here he was getting sentimental and lost in memories of his long-gone brother over bloody blueberry muffins.
George set down his wand, reaching forward for one of the muffins, taking in the sweet lovely aroma of the blueberries, and something else just as homely and wonderful.
His Nana Prewett always added honeysuckle syrup to her muffins and he instantly went back to six years old, in her kitchen helping her mix the muffins because he was the only one not sick with dragon pox. A week later he would be just as sick as his siblings once were, but that was later and not in that moment.
He picked up the muffin, taking in another deep breath and then peeling off the baking paper. A single bite truly brought him back to that moment, his nana running a hand through his hair, the warmth and love radiating through his young body, the emptiness of Fred being away gone, and just like that he was again a child.
It didn’t matter that a year later his nana would pass away, or that fifteen years later Fred would pass away too. It didn’t matter that the first year of his Angelina’s relationship would become defined by their lost daughter, their sweet Beth who never once took a breath of her own. It didn’t matter that their daughter Roxanne would nearly kill herself from an eating disorder, or that their son Freddie would become a father just a few short months after turning eighteen.
None of it mattered as he devoured that honeysuckle and blueberry muffin.
When he finished, he cleaned the kitchen, ignoring his wand and scrubbing everything by hand. It was always these times that he appreciated his in-laws for living without magic, and also Angelina for everything she did for him and their family.
This was always the least he could do, coming in behind and cleaning up the mess, Merlin knew how much he contributed over the years to his mum’s and wife’s stress of cleaning. It wasn’t much on his part, but he owed them both for being the two women that defined his life.
And Angelina had made him muffins, his favorite, even if he knew that she probably set out to make her own favorite lemon and poppyseed muffins.
His wife was a Queen, a Gift, and the true light of his life.
When the kitchen was cleaned up to his own satisfaction, he went out to the living room, removing the charm and gently scooping up his twin grandsons and placing them in the pack-n-play set up just a few feet away. Then he carefully picked up his wife and carried her upstairs to their bedroom, gently setting her down on their bed.
He kissed her forehead, and she opened her eyes, looking at him sleepily.
“Is it morning already?” she mumbled, and George smiled as he pressed another kiss to her shoulder and then neck and jaw and cheek until he could whisper in her ear.
“No…I just love you.”
She nodded, sleep still in her eyes that she wasn’t fighting off, and George gently moved his fingers along her skin, from her collarbone up along her neck to her jaw and then along her cheek. Following along the same trail he had made with his lips earlier.
“George,” she mumbled, or more so sighed, and George kissed her again. “You taste like…like honeysuckles and blueberry muffins…those were for…for the morning.”
“It’s after midnight, I call that morning,” George told her, and she lazily swatted at his chest. “Oh you wound me, Angie, I think I need a kiss to feel better.”
Angelina let out a real sigh now, and George felt her hand move along his chest and up to his jaw, her fingers moving through his beard then cupping his cheek. She smiled as he leaned down again and kissed her once more.
He would never tired of her mouth on his, the warmth of her lips, the taste of lemons so wonderfully tart and yet sweet from her love.
“I love you,” he told her again, and she smiled against his mouth.
“I love you too,” whispered Angelina, a warm glimmer in her eyes. “Now let me go to sleep.”