A/N: A tiny little drabble morphed into this fic. So, enjoy. This was written for the Fanfic100.

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable isn't mine, though I suppose I own the washing machine.

When Minerva McGonagall left for the park with her daughter early one summer morning, she had left only one instruction for her husband:

do the laundry.

And that was why Albus Dumbledore, universally recognized wizard, head chief of the Wizengamot, receiver of an Order of Merlin, First Class, and defeater of Grindlewald, was standing in front of a washer without a clue in the world.

"She's only punishing me for buying her that box of catnip," he thought, "but did she really have to take my wand? That was just low." Deciding he should just get it over with, he tried to remember how Minerva did this.

"She separates the clothes first," he muttered. "Alright. I can do that." Grasping the basket of dirty clothes, he proceeded to dump them unceremoniousley on the floor. "Right. Whites and colours. It's easy."

It was, however, not that easy.

"You know what? I don't care anymore. This is going in this pile, whether it likes it or not," he announced several minutes later, flinging the red bra into the pile of whites. "Ah. Finished."

He then began searching for the detergent Minerva poured into the machine. Finding two different bottles, however, was the dilemma.

"Well... this one smells like lilac, and this one smells like vanilla. They're both rather nice. I'll just use them both," he decided, carefully measuring out one cup of each. "There. I'm sure Min will like it. It smells rather pleasant, if I do say so myself." After throwing all of the white clothing into the washer, he realized it would probably be of help to start the water as well.

"Alright then, I can't be too difficult. Now, do I want hot or cold water? Er... I don't suppose it really matters all that much, does it? Water's water. Cold then. Is my load super sized? It is rather big, but perhaps it's only medium. There we are. Now, how long shall I wash them? Oh, really, must they make this so difficult? I don't think even Merlin could figure out this machine," he said disapprovingly, kicking the washer grumpily. To his great surprise, it roared to life and began churning out water. He quickly slammed the lid shut and breathed a great sigh of relief.

"At least that's over with..."

He was, however, dreadfully wrong.

Around a half hour later he heard a strange frothing and swishing sound coming from the laundry room. Marking his page in the book he was reading, he opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks. Both washer and dryer where hidden underneath piles and piles of yellow suds.

Obviously he had done something wrong.

"Bloody hell!" he cried, trying and failing to find the stop button amidst all the bubbles. After attempting this for several minutes, Albus finally gave up and sat dejectedly on top of the sudsy lid of the washing machine.

"Perhaps I should just call Minerva," he muttered. "She'd know what to do."

At that moment the front door slammed, and a small voice yelled out, "Daddy, we home!"

"Oh, the irony," he thought sadistically as he hurried out of the room to greeted his wife.

"Hello dearest!" Albus said warmly and kissed Minerva soundly on the mouth. They broke apart only when their auburn-haired daughter wrinkled her nose at them and said, "Ew."

Laughing, Minerva took her daughter by the hand and led her through the kitchen. "I just need her white dress from the laundry room, we're going out to eat tonight-"

"NO!" Albus yelled frantically, diving in front of the door. "You can't go in there. It's, er... poisonous." His wife raised her eyebrow.

"What have you done?"

"Nothing! It's just a bit, erm, messy," he finished lamely, still guarding the door. "You'd hate it, Min. I'll clean it up, if you'll just give me...my...wand," he said slowly, reaching for her robe pocket. Slapping his hand away, she squared her shoulders and shoved him to the side.

"I think I can handle it, Albus," she said icily, and threw open the door.

"Oh. My. God."

"Yay, bubbly!" yelled the young girl, rushing straight into the suds. Minerva slapped a hand over her eyes as though in horror.

"I sort of messed it up a bit," Albus explained weakly. "Too much detergent..."

Minerva just groaned.

An hour later all the bubbles were gone (Minerva had insisted Albus clean it the Muggle way), and Minerva was magickly folding laundry.

"Albus... why are all my bras pink?"