Disclaimer: The Characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this fic are the legal property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: This particular chapter takes place summer after sixth year, but that doesn't go for all of them since these one-shots don't exist in the same universe, unless I say they do. I'll alternate between Ron/Hermione to Harry/Ginny, so if you like one pairing and not the other you can just find the ones you want. The weird indentions, as always, as well as missing end punctuation was my computer's or the site's fault. (o; I won't be adding on to this consistently, just whenever I feel a plot bunny coming on. I'm only going to ask once, because I don't want to be a pain, but please please please review. Cheers! MyOwnLittleWorld.
"No, no, no, you can't use the liquid measuring cup for flour," Hermione said indignantly, as though this misuse of kitchen utensils were a personal attack on her. With an impatient 'tut!' she yanked it away from Ron and set it safely inside her abnormally large apron pocket, where she had stowed all the objects she believed hazardous to the baking project. So far she had collected a wooden spoon, the 1/3, 1/2, and 1/4 cups, as well as the silver ring, which held all of the measuring spoons.
"Come on 'Mione, if you're going to check, double check, and triple check every ingredient we throw in the bloody bowl, as well as take away any part of the kitchen I touch, how do you expect us to finish this by tomorrow?" Ron said in an exasperated voice as he randomly poured some flour into the mixing bowl. He would have measured it, of course, but there wasn't anything left to measure it in.
"Aargh! Do you want this to be good or not? It would be just lovely if we showed up to Harry's first actual birthday party with no cake, wouldn't it? Honestly, our one contribution and you can't even manage to measure a cup of flour! And don't use that nickname on me."
Ron grinned. "Sorry, Hermy, I'd forgotten you'd liked Grawp's better. You are wrong though. I'm actually quite good at measuring." With that, he grabbed the white plastic cup from Hermione's hand, gauged an even unit of flour, leveled it off smoothly with a butter knife, and dumped it on top of Hermione's head, giving her the appearance of a frazzled snowman.
After she finished moving her mouth wordlessly, Hermione gave him her best pitiful look through her layers of now-white bushy hair. Then, before he could blink, she had stepped right in front of him, pulled out her wand, and muttered 'Accio eggs!' Two eggs hurtled towards her, but in the last minute before they hit her, she smiled and darted behind his tall figure. The eggs, not having time to turn, hit Ron in the chest one at a time with small, satisfying 'cracks!' He stared unseeingly at the wall for a moment before trying to speak.
"Bu--shirt--eg-- you--"
"I'm sorry Ron, I can't understand a word you just said. Could you please translate that for me?" Hermione gloated, looking all too happy with herself as she stepped out from behind him. Ron managed to get a grip. For the most part.
"You hit my brand-new Chudley Cannons shirt with eggs?" He said, very clearly. Hermione looked pleased that he had figured this out without her explaining it. He was bound to understand sooner or later.
"Yes, and you covered my newly-washed hair with flour. Are we settled? I do think I got the worst end of the deal; I have to take another shower now, scourgify does terrible things to the hair." Under the mistaken belief that their brief war was over, she went back to measuring vanilla as though nothing had happened, her eyes barely visible through the white of her hair.
Ron had other ideas in mind. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a carton of heavy cream. With one smooth motion, he swung the whole carton at her, letting the cream cover her almost entirely. Her hair now had the consistency of porridge which had been sitting out too long. How pleasant. Deciding that this last action called for desperate measures, she scooped some melted, still-warm chocolate out of the double-boiler and smeared it over his face and hair. He smeared right back.
Still not quite believing that they were making a mess of Mrs. Weasley's kitchen and not doing anything about it, she poured some powdered sugar over the chocolate. Realizing that he was about to retaliate with baking powder, she apparated outside the door, running towards the garden, yanking off her apron (which really must have been quite heavy by now), and casting scourgify as she went. She must have decided that she could handle the split ends, Ron thought with a grin as he watched her out the window for a brief second. Either that or she had realized that no amount of time in the shower could have rinsed away the baking ingredients that were caked on her skin and hair. Ron quickly performed the spell himself and apparated right behind her... or at least he tried to.
Hermione let out a small 'oh!' of surprise, not unlike the one she had uttered at the Department of Mysteries at the end of fifth year, as she realized that she was inevitably going to run into the tall, lanky figure which had just appeared with a pop and was now standing and looking wildly in front of him, still holding the baking powder in his right hand as Hermione unintentionally tackled him.
"Argh!" he said, falling to the ground dramatically with Hermione on top. As they both realized what had happened and began to laugh, Ron set the baking powder aside.
"I think we should call it a tie," Hermione said carefully, not making a move to get up. It was so comfortable, just lying there with his arm pinned underneath her-- if she moved the tiniest bit, she could almost pretend that he had put it there intentionally, not as the result of a bad apparating calculation on his part
"Are you taking the mickey? You looked completely worse than I did, and I had the last move and everything!" He shook the baking powder threateningly, but his voice was much softer, almost lazy, compared to his usual 'bickering' voice.
"Did not."
"Did too."
"Did not." For the second time that day, Hermione couldn't believe she was reducing herself to these childish games, and for the second time that day she could care less.
"Did too."
"Did not. I do hope you know that you've still got a bit of flour on your nose."
"Did too. And you have chocolate on your cheek and cream on your lip."
Hermione temporarily forgot about their argument at this comment. "Where is it?"
"On your cheek and lip, just like I said."
"Yes, but where on my cheek?" Goodness, was he daft or did he just enjoy irking her? Perhaps it was a bit of both. Yes, that was the most likely answer.
"Would you like me to show you?"
"Please."
Instead of pointing it out to her, Ron carefully collected the chocolate on his index finger and put it in his mouth.
"Eew, Ron, that was just--" she was about to say 'disgusting' or 'revolting' or something of the sort, but all of the sudden his mouth was on hers, presumably to fix the cream problem, and when he broke the kiss she could only think of one word.
"Sweet."