Dec 21 | for @aibidil (Happy Birthday!) and @silveredglass (Happy UnBirthday!)

“Does breastmilk have carbs?” Cormac asked.

Ron paused, the ink dripping from his quill. He stared straight ahead, his eyes focusing on some middle distance where Muggles were out shopping for last minute Christmas presents. They had still not sent out all their holiday cards.

Behind him, Cormac was doing curls with sand-filled milk jugs. Ron could hear him ‘hph—hph—hph’ with each rep.

“What,” said Ron.

“Carbs,” Cormac repeated, between reps. “You think breastmilk has more or less than normal milk?”

Ron frowned. This was not something he’d ever wanted to consider, and now Cormac was forcing him to consider it.

“I was going to bake a cake,” Cormac said, still repping. “For a birthday party.”

“Whose?” Ron asked, finally turning around. 

Cormac shrugged, set the jugs down and started doing burpees. “Like, for Winter. It’s Winter’s birthday on the 21st.”

“Are you talking about the Winter Solstice?” asked Ron.

“Yeah—of—course,” Cormac said, between burpees. Ron watched him, unconsciously admiring the way Cormac’s muscles rippled as he finished his set, then stood, wiping his forehead with the lime green Nike armband around his forearm. “Just thought, you know, Mother Nature would appreciate breast milk over regular milk.”

“Milk that also comes from breasts,” Ron felt the need to point out. “Cow ones.”

“Cow breasts,” Cormac repeated, eyeing him skeptically. “You’re mad. Should I just Floo your mum and ask her? I bet she’d know.”

“No!” Ron said. Cormac gave him an odd look. “My mum totally wouldn’t know. Don’t ask her that.”

“You sure? I bet she—” Cormac broke off as the Floor flared green and Ron’s mother poked her head through.

“Morning, boys,” said Molly. She gave Cormac a fond smile. “Gym time?”

“Always, Mrs Weez,” said Cormac, saluting her between one-armed/one-legged push-ups. “Hey, Ron didn’t think you’d know, but—”

“Cormac,” Ron begged. Cormac continued doing push-ups.

“—You’re so smart, especially with baking, I bet you’d know. You think breast milk has more carbs than regular milk?”

Molly blinked, tilted her head. “Love, I do think it has more carbs…and less protein, too. You really should stick to cow milk.”

Cormac popped up from one last push-up, pulled himself into a sitting position in front of the fireplace, wiping the sweat off his face with his forearm band. He nodded thoughtfully.

“I just wanted to do something nice for Winter’s birthday.”

Molly didn’t miss a beat. “I’m sure the Solstice would be just as happy with a cake made from regular milk, and where would you get breast milk from, anyway?”

Don’t say— Ron thought desperately.

“Hermione’s got loads right now,” Cormac said, holding his hands up in front of his chest and squeezing his fingers around two imaginary (huge) breasts. “Knockers that big, I bet she can’t give it all away.”

Molly gave Ron a look, as if this was all his fault, but it was not Ron’s fault. He couldn’t control Cormac. Cormac couldn’t even control Cormac! He shrugged helplessly at his mother.

Molly returned her gaze to Cormac. “The twins have dibs on both of Hermione’s breasts at the moment. I’m afraid it’s Tesco for you, love. But if you gather the ingredients and bring them to the Burrow tomorrow morning, I’ll help you bake a lovely cake for Winter. We can use Stevia,” she added enticingly.

“Brilliant, Mrs Weez!” Cormac exclaimed.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Molly said, leaning out of the fireplace and then back in. She handed Cormac a gold-and-red jumper, then held a red-and-gold one out for Ron. “Wear them for the family photo, won’t you, dears?”

“‘Course, Mum,” Ron said, before he had a chance to look at it.

Molly gave them both fond smiles and ended the call.

“These are brilliant!” Cormac yelled.

Ron jumped, startled. Cormac was already sliding his jumper on over his muscle-shirt. Ron stared at it. The blood drained from his face. “It’s like we’re one person now!” Cormac added, beaming.

The jumper didn’t have a ‘C for Cormac’ on it. It had a whole word. A combination of two words, actually. Horrified, Ron unfolded his own jumper, but it was no better. Ron’s traitorous mother had knitted ‘RORMAC’ into both.