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Clare Victoria Basiltree for Christopher Basiltree.
Meddlesome mother, but make her a squib <3
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In the Robin's nest
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#1
  
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April 15th, 1891 — Robins Residence, Pennyworth
After a long day at work, George was quite happy to be in his own home. He had given a kiss to Mamas cheek and been informed that Gus was not home yet. The ghost cat that kept following him despite his best efforts was trying to get at the canaries. Of course, all she managed to do was fly through them but it was still disturbing the little birds.

He tried shooing it away but all it did was curl up on the bed with Mama. George decided to let it be and began cutting up some vegetables for a stew. He had brought home some fresh bread from the Backus Bakery that they could have with it.

It was not long until the scent of the stew filled the home and wafted out the open kitchen window.

@Augusta Robins / @Elias Grimstone


#2
  
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“Mm, I’m famished,” Gus said brightly, sticking her head briefly through the open window to give George his due warning that she was back before she ducked round to the door and let herself in. She always felt a little that she was disturbing the peace, when she was the last home and it had just been George and their mother in the house - she couldn’t picture her brother ever being loud, particularly not when he was alone.

Still, she didn’t like to let her brother do all the work when he’d come back from all day at his Ministry job - although it was not as physical as her career, it sounded tiresome sometimes all the same - so she rolled up her sleeves. After splashing her face upstairs, she thudded back down and ripped off a small piece of bread to chew discreetly as she began pulling bowls out from the cupboard.

“How was - your day?” She said, through her maybe-not-so-discreet mouthful of bread, too busy to notice that the graze at her elbow (where she’d scraped it against the hoops at practice) was beading up with blood again.


#3
  
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George smiled as his sister stuck her head through the open window. “You’re just in time. Then. The stew is just about finished,” he informed her. He made the finishing touches while Gus went to splash her face.

As she set out the bowls, George placed the cauldron of stew in the middle of the table. ”It was a long one. And another ghost cat has followed me home,” he said, indicating the ghostly feline lounging with their mother.

Noticing the blood, he gasped a little as he grabbed a cloth. ”You’re b-b-bleeding. Did a bludger hit you?” He had already worried about Gus’s safety before that Quidditch game where a bludger had killed a woman. He knew Gus was well equipped to deal with it but worrying was what he did.



#4
  
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Gus shook her head as she began doling out the stew into portions (small for their mother, who rarely had the energy to eat a full meal, larger for Georgie, who was giant and really ought to eat more than he did, and a fair size for her, because she hadn’t been exaggerating about being famished. Well, not much.) 

“Nah, I’m marvellous at dodging bludgers, I only ran into the hoop,” she said in easy amusement, waving off his worry with the arm in question, until she realised she was dropping tiny blood spatters on the table. (Fortunately not in the stew.) Teasing the cloth from his hand to deal with that, she slid him his bowl of stew instead and dropped into a chair, holding her elbow up at an awkward angle until the bleeding stopped.

“So, tell me about this one,” she pressed with a grin, jerking her head in the vague direction of the ghost cat. George’s work tales were always entertaining to her (- though possibly sometimes frustrating to him -) but the ghostly animals were often especially adorable. “And how you did it. You didn’t accidentally lure it along with a... ghost-mouse, or something?” Gus teased.


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"Oh, only. All right, then," George said teasingly. He was always worlds more comfortable with his family. Thus, he obviously spoke more freely than he would in the office or most anywhere else outside of their home.

George took a spoonful of his stew and took a moment to chew before answering. "Oh, Merlin no. It just... kept following me. No matter how much I shooed it." Living animals and ghostly animals, it didn't matter which. They tended to attach themselves to him even if he would rather that they didn't.



#6
  
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Gus grinned, glad he had stopped making a fuss and started teasing her so she didn’t have to knock him about the head to encourage it. She leant forwards to try and reach her spoonful of stew without lowering her elbow, which looked about as ungainly as it would have had her brother invited a mountain troll to tea, but she was too hungry to wait to eat until the bleeding had stopped.

“Better than a ball of string, aren’t ya?” she joked, as George explained his magic touch, quite at home with his sheepishness, though she liked it better when he answered back in his sweet teasing way. But her brother had gotten the best of them, ought to be made of nothing but sunshine and daisies, and she suspected these ghost-cats could sense this more than the goblins had. (Or perhaps that had been George’s problem with the goblins. They could probably smell his kindness.) “I like the ghost strays,” she admitted brightly; she didn’t mind a live stray either, but they didn’t have the time nor funds to care for too many living creatures, and she had always been a little too practical, though her next was teasing still - “Much less mess from them.”




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