Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling. This story was written for fun, not profit.



In the beginning there was the kettle, which exploded.

Then there was the pot of stew, which also exploded. These were followed in short order by the saucepan, the frying pan, the mixing bowl, and the kitchen sink.

Ron managed to throw the jelly mold out the window before it erupted in his face, but it was a near thing.

When silence finally reigned, the world's least likely chef sighed and looked around what remained of the kitchen. He was in charge of supper whenever he staggered home before Hermione, but most of the time this involved takeout or a hasty visit to the Burrow. Tonight should have been different. He was twenty-two years old. He had faced down Death Eaters, chess sets and Hermione's cat. One meal shouldn't have been any trouble.

When Hermione wandered in a short time later, it took her five minutes to stop laughing.

"Oh, shut up," Ron muttered, lobbing an oven mitt at her.

She ducked the mitt, shoulders still shaking helplessly, and surveyed the scene. There was stew on the ceiling and mashed potatoes in Ron's hair, and someone had tried to recreate Noah's flood across the tiled floor. Bright green Jello was attached to the windowpane. And was that -- yes, there was indeed the sad remnants of a salad sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, like the world's most bizarre centerpiece.

"What in the world did you do?" she asked when she finally trusted herself not to start giggling again.

"I made dinner." This seemed to be the only explanation Ron was willing to offer.

Hermione fumbled for her wand, attacking the mess with a few cleaning spells. "You made a mess," she corrected.

There was no arguing with that. Salvaging his dignity as best he could, Ron rolled his eyes and began scraping Jello off the window. He was still in his Chudley Cannons practice jersey, and he hadn't even bothered to shower.

"I'd like to see you do any better," he muttered.

"At least I can make one meal without redecorating the kitchen," Hermione said. She wondered how in the world he had managed to lodge the faucet into the ceiling. Then again, maybe she didn't want to know.

When she looked back at him, he was holding a handful of green Jello and glaring at it, as if it had done something to offend him. Then he shrugged and lobbed it out the window, right into what would eventually be the flower bed. "Takeout it is."

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and wound up wrinkling her nose instead. "You have potatoes in your hair. Shower. Now." When Ron just absently tried to finger-comb his hair, she stepped back and pointed at the bathroom.

Or at least she tried to step back. Ron had snaked a rather damp arm around her waist. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Join me?"

Hermione planted her hands on either sticky cheek and drew him down into a kiss.