WHO: Imogen Montague & Gilbert Ollivander WHERE: Their apartment, Kensal Rise. WHEN: Sunday 24 September - Evening. WHAT: Gilbert cooks dinner. Imogen worries about Graham. Mostly establishing their dynamic. WARNINGS: None.
Perched up on the kitchen bench, Imogen leaned across to nab one of the carrots Gilbert had just finished chopping, trying to avoid looking at the eyesore that was Graham's current 'bed' (read: pull-out sofa) in the living room.
"Remember when I thought an open-plan living, dining, kitchen area was an excellent idea?" she mused between munches.
“I do,” Gilbert replied, squinting out at the mess that was their main room. He quickly chopped a few more carrots, placing them in a bowl next to her and giving her a look that said 'stop stealing my carrots.’ Resuming the chopping this time with mushrooms, he continued. “To be fair, at the time you were living by yourself, and weren't counting on me, and then your brother, moving in with you. It's a great idea for one person, less so for three.”
"And this room does have amazing natural light." When she got to enjoy it. Which was rare now that her brother's belongings were strewn all over.
Imogen forced herself to tear her eyes away and honed in on the mushrooms instead, popping one into her mouth. "Do you think he's even sending in applications? I found him a troll security trainer job. How hard could it possibly be to train trolls? Don't you just point and grunt 'stay' and give them a club to whack people with?"
Gilbert sighed, chopping up some mushrooms and adding them to Imogen’s bowl before answering. “Well he's out and about enough that he must be doing something. Unless none of his friends have jobs he can't be day-drinking that much. I would assume he's applying for jobs or doing something else productive.”
Dumping the vegetables into a pan he began stir-frying them, setting a mixing charm going as he started working on a sauce. “Did you follow up to see if he'd applied? You'd think there are lots of places looking for work, considering.” The end of the thought was left unsaid, and he shifted uncomfortably at the acknowledgement that any job that had been held by a muggleborn was now open.
"Ugh, I just don't want to come off like I'm on harassing him too much, you know? That's why he left Mum and Dad's."
“You have to give him a little tough love though,” Gilbert countered. “For one because he needs the motivation, and you won't be as bad as your parents, promise.” He gave her a quick kiss before continuing cooking. “Plus he won't leave here because he doesn't have anywhere else to go.”
She kicked her legs against the cupboard door like a child, frustrated with the situation and begrudgingly realising that Gilbert was right. "Once he finally goes, we're not having kids for like. Ten more years."
He chuckled, giving her a sideways glance. “You really want to wait until you're nearing forty to get pregnant and start popping out kids?”
"Sure," she reached for one last leftover chopped up bit of carrot, face impassive. "Between modern medicine and wizards having longer lifespans and biological clocks, I think that's doable."
“And we'll probably be over sixty by the time the youngest is done with Hogwarts. I imagined myself an empty-nester younger than that, but I guess you get to choose.”
"You guess?" She nudged him with her foot playfully. "Damn straight I do."
“I suppose you're right. Plus we're a little behind anyways,” he said thoughtfully, pausing his cooking. “Even if you got pregnant tomorrow, seven kids, eighteen months apart…”
"Oh, fuck you," Imogen laughed. "If you can figure out how to give birth to the other 6, I'm down with it."
He broke his thoughtful face and laughed, nudging her with his elbow. “Maybe one day modern medicine will make it possible for me to get pregnant, but until then it's all you.”
"Well, in that case, we're having one, ten years from now and I really hope it's a girl and she decides to keep my name," Imogen smirked and slipped her arm around his waist.
He sighed dramatically, though there was some truth to it as well. “Can we at least give her a 'G’ name? And wait,” he said, forehead wrinkling a bit. “Are you not talking my name, or is that part of the joke?”
"Imogen Clarissa Montague, Imogen Clarissa Ollivander. One of those is a mouthful," she replied, realising they were heading straight into potential argument land and unable to stop herself from the need to clarify. "And why do I have to take your name? I like my name."
“They're both mouthfuls,” he countered. “And I guess you don't have to, I just assumed you would. The Ollivander family is kind of a big deal,” he said with a wry grin, trying to keep the tone light.
Imogen rolled her eyes and hopped off the bench. "I'm buying you a new book on feminism for Christmas."
He doled out some rice to bowls, putting the vegetable mixture on top and handing her one. “I'm cooking you dinner, I'm totally a feminist. Oh, and I voted for Bagnold. What more do you want, really?”
Deciding that he was teasing, Imogen pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for cooking. But I’m still telling Gwen and Chelsea about this later.”
He chuckled, shaking his head and giving a helpless shrug. “Just promise you'll keep in the part where I cooked and did the dishes afterwards. It makes me look slightly less like a git, and we can't have them thinking you're dating a git.”
"The other git in the house can do the dishes." Imogen thought of Graham and his current unknown (and definitely unemployed) whereabouts, a line of worry creasing her brow. She took her place at the small, cramped dining table. In front of her bowl of food sat one of Gilbert's boxed labelled 'U. Cores.' The worry turned into a flash of irritation. "Can we please buy you some shelves to store your shit in?"
“Sorry,” he said, quickly moving the box to a large pile in the corner of the room. “Shelves would be good. I just don't have anywhere else to keep them, especially now that we've emptied out the Diagon store. Well, mostly emptied out, there are still a few more boxes I need to get.”
"Your parents said no to leaving things at theirs?"
“My old bedroom is already packed to the brim. Plus I want to keep up my skills so I need some materials here to work on,” he answered lamely.
Imogen shovelled a spoonful of rice and stir-fried veggies into her mouth, trying to use eating to give her enough time to slow down and think before she spoke. "Okay," she said finally, giving up.
Whoever said relationships were great evidently forgot about compromise.