Hermione scraped the final batch of chocolate chip cookies onto the cooling rack. This was her first attempt at being more "homey" as Mrs. Weasley liked to put it every time she came into the city for a visit.
Ron wasn't much support either. Two of his favourite things to say during a dinner that she had whipped up last minute from a box were: "My mother made the best" OR "I miss my mother's home-made"
Was it so hard to accept that she was a hard-working activist whose time was better spent at the S.P.E.W. rallies or marches than staying at home all day and baking so much stuff that she could feed an entire pack of erumptments for a week.
Apparently it was because the occasional undertone comment was still slipped slyly into any topic of conversation.
Like just last week Hermione had been talking about a huge team of house-elves forced to produce fudge for a major distributor in the wizarding world. The distributor shall remain nameless because there is a chance I will be sued.
Anyway as she was telling him about the horrible working and living conditions he had the gall to say that his mother used to make fudge.
"It was really good fudge too. Not that cheap stuff (Un-named distributor) produces. You should learn how to make it. It is really good. And we could send some to Ginny and Harry for Christmas."
Hermione had finally become sick of it. So she decided to play the housewife and see how long Ron could take it. She had even bought an apron with matching oven mitts.
She dumped the cooled cookies into the garbage and kept only a small platter for Ron, who walked in looking rather haggard.
"Tough day at the office, hun?" she asked pleasantly, like one of the moms on all those old shows her mother had adored so much.
"Yeah. What's burning?" His face turned up in a disgusted manner.
"I made cookies," Hermione said, enjoying the look on his face. She held out the platter to Ron.
He rubbed his stomach. "I'm a bit full. The boss took us out to lunch and it was pretty big. So I'm still a bit full. Sorry honey, maybe later."
Hermione wouldn't have that. Oh, no. She knew how much her cooking sucked but Ron was always pestering her to learn how. If that's what he wanted then he'd better get used to it. She as going to cook every night. Oh, yes. Just to tease him. Make him squirm.
She slammed the platter against his chest. "Eat the damn cookie or we're getting a divorce."
Ron freckled face stared from her serious look to the cookies. Slowly he reached out and took one.
He bit into it and chewed slowly, his face contorting in revulsion. He swallowed it begrudgingly and let out a little shudder when it was down.
"Was it good?" she asked in a hopeful voice, playing it up for all it was worth.
"It wasâ unique," he answered, rubbing his hand through his red hair nervously.
Hermione couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.
Ron looked so lost, like a little puppy dog.
"You should've seen your face," she chuckled slapping his shoulder.
"You mean this was a set-up?" he asked, eyeing the cookies suspiciously.
"Sort of," Hermione answered, ripping off the apron. "I actually baked the cookies. But I so wanted to watch you squirm."
"Well it worked." His face was beet red.
"Let's go out to dinner," she suggested, waltzing out the door. On her way out she dumped the whole platter of cookies into the garbage can with the rest.
"Okay. And Hermione."
"What?"
"I'd prefer if you stayed just the way you are and not cook again."
"But I was going to make pot roast," she whined playfully.
They both had a good laugh at that.
A/n: If you liked that check out my other Ron/Hermione humour stories. "Attack of the Salt Shaker" and "Expired?" Happy Reading.