Purple Rain.

Chapter Seven.

"Now, if you want dinner before midnight, I'll need a hand," Molly said to the room at large. "No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey—"

"What can I do, Molly?" asked Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forward.

Molly hesitated, looking apprehensive.
"Er— no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today. (Y/n), if you could—"

"No, no, I want to help!" said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as they hurried toward the dresser from which Ginny was collecting cutlery.

"Oh dear," Penny mumbled, watching her partner cautiously.
(Y/n) yelped, ducking as several heavy knives joined her in chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord. (Y/n) kept a good distance, speedily chopping her respective portions of meat and vegetables.

"How're you going so fast," Tonks mumbled as (Y/n) scraped three carrots into the cauldron Molly was stirring. 

"Practice," (Y/n) said cheekily, placing the chopping board back onto the counter. "...and many severed fingers." Tonks' mouth fell open. "Kidding! The most I've gotten is a little cut. I don't let the knife get high enough to actually do any damage." Tonks watched with great fascination as (Y/n) effortlessly cut through another carrot; First chopping off the rounded sides, then holding the carrot down with a claw-like hold, and then chopping through the carrot. "Practice makes perfect, I say."

"Yeah, when you're born perfect," Tonks snickered. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" (Y/n) asked, rather aggressively chopping away.

"I'm just saying that you're... near perfect," Tonks said, panicking. "It's a good thing: perfect child, perfect student, perfect friend, you know, that whole jazz! And all you ever did first-year was tend to flowers— I mean, you cried when the petals started falling in autumn!" Horror washed over Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny's faces.

"Why? Why couldn't it have stayed flowers?" Ron hissed.

"I'm not sure perfect's the word you're looking for, love," Penny chimed. "Golden, perhaps? The golden child? Or maybe... beautiful. That's a nice way to describe your life, no? Flowers too many to count, fashion, feminity, you know the whole deal. I mean this affectionately, of course. I'd love you if you no matter what you liked. Flowers are nice, no?"

"Why couldn't it have stayed flowers?" Ron repeated.

"Huh?" Tonks mused. "Don't like flowers anymore?"

"Of course she does. She's got flowers in her room right now," Marlene said. Hermione made a horrified sound.

"Don't touch them," Hermione said.

"What? You care that much for flowers, (Y/n)?" James teased.

"They're poisonous," (Y/n) said enthusiastically.

"No, no, no. No poisonous plants yet," Hermione said. "She's got carnivorous plants upstairs."

"Like that's any better!" Lily cried.

"I've got a cobra lily, Lilypad," (Y/n) said sweetly.

"Fred— George— NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Molly shrieked.
Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air toward the table. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface, the flagon of butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere, and the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius' right hand had been seconds before.
"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" screamed Molly. "THERE WAS NO NEED— I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS— JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"