Who: Charlie and Vieve [!grab-me] What: Fumbling Where: Charlie's room When: Sunday evening Rating: idk, cute?
The ball of wool hit the floor, punctuated with a curse from Charlie Weasley. It rolled away, unravelling as it went leaving a trail of red behind it. It was easily fixed with a wave of his wand, but Charlie was still starting to find himself as frayed as the thread. On the desk in front of him, amid the books on magical animal care and scraps of parchment with notes and anatomy sketches of acromantula, was a copy of 'Nora Knowl's Knitting Know-How; Spells and patterns to get your needles notched'. Apparently his mother had made knitting seem far, far easier than it was. How on earth she produced eight woolly jumpers for christmas each year was beyond him!
"Oh bloody hell," He exclaimed as the knitting needles hovering in front of him tangled up into the wool for what felt like the hundredth time. He plucked the messy lump of thread from the air and grit his teeth as he set about unpicking the most recent stitches. It was his own fault really. He'd managed to conjure up one pair of baby socks, and suddenly he honestly believed he was ready to tackle a full baby robe.
The sound of the door opening made him look over his shoulder to where Vieve had entered the room. Another pang of guilt hit him as he saw her. Ever since he'd received her note at Valentine's he'd not known what to do. He'd freaked out, and though Bill easily pointed out it was ridiculous, he couldn't stop himself. Charlie had been distancing himself from Vieve, subconsciously. He didn't want to hurt her, but deep down he knew that he was doing just that with his actions. "Hey Vie-OW!" His greeting was interrupted as he was stabbed with one of his knitting needles that was apparently growing bored of waiting for him to finish unravelling the mess.