Grateful Expectations Pt. 2 PV Simon

27 Nov 2025 - Thanksgiving Day in America (and the McCubbin household)

They hurried down the stone staircase, hand in hand, keeping to the shadows like conspirators. Simon led the way through the darkness, his pace brisk and certain. At last they reached their destination… a large portrait of an overflowing fruit bowl, bright against the stone wall.

Simon beamed. AngelFyre was convinced that smile of his could light up even the deepest and darkest caverns. “Here we are. Do you wish to do the honors?”

AngelFyre lifted her chin. “I do! I do!” she squealed as she bounce stepped in place. “I have looked forward to this for years.” She squeezed his hand three times, their silent signal for ’I love you’. As she stepped forward, it flashed across her mind that one day in the future she would say those very words to him in response to another, even more important question that would be asked of her, and then she also flashed on the hope that her child-like bounce stepping would long be a thing of her past at that point.

She chuckled and focused on the task at hand. Her hand reached out and tentatively stroked the painted pear. At first it remained still. Then she tickled beneath its stem with a little more pressure, and the pear wriggled, emitted a high-pitched giggle, and squirmed beneath her fingers. Its form softened and popped outward into a gleaming, green doorknob.

Simon’s weight shifted as he leaned over her shoulder to get a better look. “The doorknob is even in your favorite color. I knew you’d love that.”

AngelFyre’s eyes gleamed. “That is delightful.”

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The Kitchen was already warm when they entered hand in hand, the heat rolling out in scented waves of yeast and spice and something buttery that clung to the stones like memory. Copper pots, pans, and cauldrons of various sizes, dangling from wrought iron racks, reflected flickers of hundreds of torch lights as well as the blurred, but harried movements of the house-elves moving to and fro.

Great wooden tables stretched in rows like benches in a chapel, ready for devotion. And to AngelFyre, this was holy ground today. Not because of where she stood, but because of what she intended to summon here: a piece of home… past, present, and future. Muggles had given her the heart of the tradition. Her magic had given her the means to expand it. But Simon had given her the reason to carry it forward.

The material of her cloak whispered against itself as it slipped off her shoulders, quickly replaced with an apron hanging by the door. The moment she stepped inside, her sleeves were rolled in the same motion, her hair was pulled back with the absent-minded precision of someone who had done this a thousand times…but never here, never like this, and never on this day without Grandma Ruth humming between cupboards and her mother laughing over recipes stained with chubby, cinnamon fingerprints. The ache of that absence pressed gently around her from every direction, not sharp enough to hurt, merely present, like a bruise she refused to ignore.

Simon followed her into the chaos, his eyes adjusting to the bright glow all around them. Industrial kitchens were not unfamiliar habitat to her fellow, thanks to Aunt Maggie’s famous 5-star bakery, Crawfords, in London. Heck, her fellow had even made her birthday cake in this Kitchen back in April, and it had been delicious. She was anxious to see how he would do with the pies.

“This,” AngelFyre announced, placing her hands on the nearest table as though claiming it by right, “will be our battlefield. And our masterpiece. And our celebration.” She ran her long fingers over the smoothed wood reverently. “By evening, this room shall smell like my childhood, and if we do not end the day covered in flour and victory, then we have failed most grievously.”

Her mouth may have said grievously, but her twinkling eyes said otherwise.

Simon furrowed his brow in thought. “A feast,” he murmured, “for a tradition I know almost nothing about.”

“Which is why I want to do this today… with you.” Her smile softened. “It is called Thanksgiving. My mother cherishes it… it is her favorite holiday… and Grandma Ruth loved it just as much, if not more so. Since I can be with neither today, I want to make some Thanksgiving memories with you, love. I have missed four Thanksgivings since being at Hogwarts… four,” she repeated and then held up four slender fingers to further emphasize the point, “but that ends today. I have waited and planned for years for this day and to now finally be able to share it with you properly is one of my dreams come true.”

He did not speak. He did not need to. He simply nodded and squeezed her hand three times, the way he sometimes did when what she said mattered enough to become a part of him.

Two house-elves then suddenly popped into existence nearby with the soft thump of displaced air. One, with ears as long as parchment scrolls, gave an enthusiastic bow.

“Bilby is most pleased to welcome AngelFyre McCubbin to the Kitchen at last, miss. Bilby has been counting the days, eager to assist Miss AngelFyre!” He was wringing his hands together, but not in a manner that would indicate fright, but rather more like a child holding itself back from ripping into a mountain of wrapped presents. His head canted to the side just a bit, leaving one long ear to sway slightly as a smile began to tentatively form on thin, putty-pale lips. Curious brown eyes, the color of dark roasted coffee, turned their attention excitedly to Simon.

AngelFyre’s laughter rang like bells. “Oh, Bilby. I assure you I am as excited about this as you are, and deeply appreciative of your help… as always.” Tickled at his interest in Simon, she continued. “Please forgive my appalling lack of manners. Simon, this is my dear friend Bilby. I have known him even longer than I have known you.” Simon was smiling brightly, of course, but did turn towards her and quickly arched his brow at her last comment, before returning his focus back to Bilby.

“I met Bilby the day I met Archimedes, early in my first term, and he has very kindly provided me with meat treats to give to Arc each morning that school has been in session since. Training Arc to come to my glove would have been impossible without Bilby,” and her smile spread as her voice filled with deep appreciation and affection.

AngelFyre was delighted to see Bilby’s cheeks flush crimson and a bashful sort of shuffling of his feet tapped against the flagstone floor. “Bilby, this is the fellow you hear me talk about all of the time… this is my Simon… Simon Kincaid.”

Bilby stepped forward one step and then took two smaller, but quicker steps that fairly well resembled little hops. “Oh, Bilby knows master Simon from a distance, miss. Bilby has seen mistress AngelFyre with master Simon often, miss. Naturally Bilby assumed he was yours, miss.” He then bowed to Simon. “Bilby is most honored to meet master Simon in person, miss.”

A smile was firmly planted on his putty-colored face when he came up from the bow. A couple of upper teeth visibly rested on his bottom lip as his thinner upper lip receded over his gums, stretched to capacity in his eager smile.

Before Simon got to utter a syllable back to him, the second house-elf stepped forward… a tidier, rounder creature, with octagonal spectacles made of rose gold that perched precariously at the end of his nose.

“Thimble also reports for duty, mistress AngelFyre,” he squeaked happily. “Has mistress AngelFyre brought the recipes, miss?”

AngelFyre produced a worn, flour-dusted notebook, the pages crowded with looping handwriting and margin notes. Not all of the handwriting was hers. In fact, most of it was her mother’s and Grandma Ruth’s. “Every one,” she whispered. The image of an east Texas, ranch-house kitchen, painted by Grandma Ruth, adorned the notebook’s cover.

Thimble made a reverent noise. “Thimble loves recipes that have ghosts in them, mistress,” he whispered.

AngelFyre shook her head gently.“Not ghosts, Thimble,” she corrected gently. “Memories.”

“Today,” she declared, “we roast turkeys, and though, as a vegetarian I shall not be partaking in that holiday delectable, I do plan to indulge in all of the trimmings, especially the cranberry relish and homemade stuffing. We shall create a veritable feast of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans amandine, biscuits, gravy, and cranberry relish. Oh! And pies! There will be pies… pumpkin, apple, and pecan.”

Simon perked up slightly. “Pies?”

AngelFyre nodded enthusiastically. “I am counting on you and your baker’s DNA to help produce the flakiest, most delicious crusts this castle has ever tasted… following my family recipes of course.” Then realizing what she had just said, and in front of whom she had just said it, she flushed with embarrassment.

“Apologies, Bilby and Thimble. That is not to say the meals and treats we are presented here by all of you, three times daily, are not delicious, because they most certainly are! It is just that….” and her voice trailed off as she fought back tears. “It is just that these,” she breathed, and then raised the notebook up to her chest and pressed it there tightly, “…these taste like home to me.”

She turned to Simon. “They taste like what I want our children to think of as home one day. And I have a special one in here for you that I think you might actually like… or at least tolerate,” and she laughed lightly while blinking back the tears that were thankfully receding.

“Ah,” he said, his voice taking on a teasing tone, knowing it would help to center her once again. “Now I see why you wanted me here. All these years I thought you loved me for my sexy, bow-legged legs, but now I see it’s really only ever been about my baking skills.”

She laughed out loud and glanced quickly down at his covered, non-bowlegged legs, arching a brow. “I wanted you here,” she corrected, stepping into his arms, “because I wish to share this with you. Every holiday has a heart. This one is gratitude. And I am most grateful for you above all else.”

She did not blush. She stated it as fact, like a cornerstone laid firmly into place.

A hush settled around them…momentary and profound…before the room itself exhaled, as though satisfied.

Then everything began. She handed the family recipe book over to Thimble. “Thimble will let no harm come to mistress AngelFyre’s memories, miss. Thimble promises, miss, ” and he smiled as he began to back up, bowing slightly before turning and yanking Bilby with him, both scurrying away.

As the two left them, AngelFyre turned to Simon. "Bilby, Thimble, and the other house-elves are going to make the recipes for the rest of the student body. You and I are going to make a feast for just the two of us. Same food, but ours is something I want to prepare for you… and with you… if only this one time. Do not worry, Healer-in-the-making Kincaid, I will not make you do this with me every year in our long future together, unless you want to play hooky with me every fourth Thursday in November for the rest of our lives.” She quickly leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I would not complain if you do though, just so you know.”

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Two hours later, AngelFyre had shown the house-elves how she basted the turkey not just on the outer skin, but under the skin, using her fingertips to separate the outer skin from the next layer. She basted the under layer with butter to help keep the meat juicy and tender, but to make it extra pretty and aromatic, she arranged whole, dry, bay leaves in pretty patterns under the skin so that when the skin turned that golden brown, the design beneath would be that much more visible. She did not really think Simon would be that interested in turkey, but just in case, she prepared a small one for him that was the example for the kitchen crew who was not otherwise involved with getting breakfast and lunch ready for the students.

The dish she had the highest hopes of him liking was the cranberry relish. Given his penchant for lemon sherbets, she figured it was worth a try. The cranberries were tart, and with a fresh, peeled orange and crushed pineapple (and no added sugar), she hoped it might appeal to his liking for tartness and citrus. The normal recipe called for 3 cups of sugar, but she was omitting that altogether. Once she had it all mixed, it needed to go into cold storage for the next 6-8 hours, which was perfect timing for the evening meal.

Then, as Simon rolled out the dough for the pies, AngelFyre began to work on the filling. But she amped the fun up a bit in ways she and her family had never been able to do at home. She flicked her wand and pumpkin purée laced with flecks of cinnamon and nutmeg and ginger rose from a wooden bowl like molten silk, unfurling into a ribbon of magic that caused the ingredients to swirl like a miniature whirlwind. Simon, for his part, watched, seemingly entranced, appreciating how her wand guided the ribbons like a conductor who believed her orchestra already knew the music.

Simon grinned, twirling a bit of dough between his fingers before smooshing it and dropping it onto the next dough ball waiting to be rolled out. “This kitchen chaos is exactly what we need,” he said. She nudged a small pumpkin toward Simon, who sent it spinning gently in mid-air with a flick of his wand. The pumpkin pirouetted over the counter before landing perfectly in a tray, and the house-elves clapped their hands approvingly. Thimble laughed softly as a pecan floated past his nose, and Bilby quickly caught a tumbling apple, setting it carefully back in the bowl.

AngelFyre then directed her wand towards the green beans. She wanted to assemble them into orderly ranks, marching them in unison, purposefully, toward a pan, only to have them dive in with synchronized splashes of butter. But she could only do one at a time, which was not much of a march, so she instead took a paring knife and quickly split one end a half inch on each bean, giving them the semblance of little legs.

One quick “Tarantallegra!” later, those green beans were dancing their way to the platter. It was a lot more chaos than she initially wanted, but it was hilarious to see the moves some of them busted out. Most of them looked like those inflatable air tube dancing men that often stood outside of tire stores, and that just made her laugh harder.

Thimble cheered at her green men on parade.

“Thimble has never seen food dance, mistress. It makes Thimble wonder if green beans always do that at Mistress AngelFyre’s home, miss?”

“No. But I think they just might in the future. It suits them,” AngelFyre said, utterly serious, and smiling directly at Simon.

He leaned closer, voice low enough for her alone. “You do realize most people merely boil things,” and then he kissed her forehead. “Thank God you are not most people.”

AngelFyre just beamed as she pressed into him. “Come on. Help me decorate the tables in the Great Hall and leave leaves at each place setting. The time for feasting fast approaches.”

------- -----Happy Thanksgiving! ----- -------

Reducio

OOC: Simon and AngelFyre have longstanding permission to godmod one another's characters.