Prompt by barmy-owl on tumblr: Ron is a piece of toast and Hermione is the Jam because the jam always goes on top.

Harry looked over at his friend concernedly. He'd been having a hard time concentrating on writing the report on the secret haul of dark curios that had recently been unearthed from the home a notoriously slippery death eater. The worst thing about training as an Auror was that all the higher ups dumped their paperwork on the trainees. Being Harry Potter apparently only had so much pull.

As if the subject wasn't dry enough already, Ron was not only scratching away at a parchment with his quill, but also punctuating it with stilted mutterings and sighs that were growing more desperate by the minute. His hair stood in all directions due to the number of times he'd run his hands through it in frustration.

"Ron?" he called uncertainly.

He was given no reply as Ron continued to scribble furiously, his quill a blur and ink flying everywhere.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Ron?" he called louder.

Still no reply. He was too caught up in crumpling up yet another piece of parchment and throwing it in the general vicinity of the wastebasket, all the while reaching for another sheet.

"Ron!" Harry nearly yelled.

"Wha-" Ron looked up from his desk, startled.

He seemed to have forgotten he shared the office with someone and Harry fought the urge to snigger at his deer-in-headlights look.

"Remembered I was still here, did you?" Harry asked, amused. "A report on stolen cauldrons couldn't possibly be giving you that much grief, mate."

"Nah, I finished it a long time ago," Ron waved it away distractedly.

"So what exactly are you doing then?" Harry nodded towards the overflowing dustbin.

Ron sighed dramatically, put down his quill and rubbed his eyes.

"It's Valentine's Day today."

"And?"

"Hermione and I decided to not buy presents this year because she's still in school and well the Ministry might as well be paying us in leprechaun gold."

"Ah. What are you doing then?" Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Well, I was trying to – um…never mind," he replied hesitantly.

Ron's ears were beginning to show signs of the telltale Weasley red and Harry was convinced he didn't want to know why.

"Oh, okay then," he nodded and tried to go back to his report.

Another deep sigh came from Ron's corner of the room. Harry resolutely ignored it and started to write out his account of the raid. But it seemed like Ron was having none of it as he heard him clear his throat meaningfully.

Against his better instincts, Harry looked up again to see Ron twiddling his thumbs and seemingly having an inner debate as to whether he should talk.

"Alright, mate?"

He winced inwardly. He had a feeling he was in for another session of over-sharing.

"I'm trying to write a poem for her," Ron mumbled.

"What?"

"I'm trying to write a poem. For Hermione," he repeated, louder.

"Ah," Harry was at a loss for words. On one hand, it didn't sound too bad, on the other, he didn't want to get roped into helping.

"And as you can see," Ron gestured to the pile of balled up parchment littering the floor and flushing deeply, "I'm struggling. Help?"

"Uh, I'm not sure-"

"I'll tell you what I've got so far," Ron cut him off, ignoring his hesitance.

Harry desperately looked around for a means of escape, but Ron had already begun his recitation. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and resigned himself to it.

"…and when we're apart,

I feel like a ghost without a heart

Like I'd die of grief,

It's worse than mum's roast beef…"

Harry suppressed a groan. All he had really wanted to do today was to come in, finish his paperwork, and then head home to Ginny who was coming to Grimmauld Place along with Hermione for a head start on their long weekend. Instead he was stuck in a tiny office, listening to his best mate drone on about food poetry. He forced himself to turn from his little bout of inner self-pity to focus on helping Ron. The sooner he got that done, the sooner he could finish his work and leave. He regretted the decision as soon as he heard Ron's concluding lines.

"…so when you're done with your final exam,

I'll be a piece of toast,

and you can be my jam.

Together we will be better than a lamb roast."

Ron finished with a flourish, and lowered the piece of parchment to reveal a red face with an expectant expression. Harry stared at him in disbelief.

"See, she's jam because she's always on top," Ron added helpfully. "And I'm toast becau-"

Harry clapped his hands over his ears.

"Nope. No no no no nope," he chanted loudly, until Ron came around to his desk and forced his hands away from his ears, looking rather disgruntled.

"Grow up, ya git!"

Harry raised his eyebrows, glaring at him incredulously. He had some nerve, asking him to grow up after just having written a poem comparing his relationship to roasts and toasts.

"I really don't need to know all that, Ron," he replied glaring at him. "Would you like to know all about Ginny and mine sex positions?"

"Oi!" he exclaimed. Although to his credit, Ron did look a bit shame-faced. "Well, I suppose I'm sorry, then. But what did you think of it?"

"Uh- you know, I forgot!" Harry smacked his forehead. "I was supposed to go – uh- uh- report to Patrick with the- yeah….I'm late already, so…"

He hastily collected the rolls of parchment and practically fled the scene.

"I'll see you at home."

"Git!" Ron called after him, but didn't follow him out.

With a sigh of relief, he headed over to the fireplaces. Ginny wasn't going to be happy about him bringing the work home, especially since she was coming all the way from Hogwarts just to visit him.

Harry rubbed his forehead with a hand as he sat at the kitchen table trying, once again, to finish the bloody paperwork. As predicted, Ginny had been none too happy when she saw his file. She had put her foot down and ordered him to spend time with her or so help her Merlin. So he had waited until she had fallen asleep to sneak downstairs and finish it so he could enjoy the rest of the weekend in peace. All in vain.

The silencing charms on Ron's room had worn off a long time ago, and it seemed like those two could go at it like rabbits. It was one thing to know what was going on in there, and quite another to hear Hermione's loud keening.

Harry banged his head on the table in sheer frustration and was about give it all up as a bad job when the noises finally stopped. Harry hopefully lifted up his head after a few moments. Maybe he'd have some quiet after all.

Footsteps thumped down the hallway.

Apparently not. Harry frowned, capping his ink-bottle and rolling up the parchment. He was going to make Ron do it once the girls had left, he thought. Better yet, make him do all the paperwork handed to Harry as well as his own, he'd make sure he suffered, he told himself.

"Oh, Harry? What are you doing down here?"

Harry looked up at Ron with a dark look on his face.

"What does it look like?" he spit out venomously.

Ron shrugged and headed to the larder to pull out a jar of jam and Harry's lip curled in distaste.

"We do still have some bread leftover, don't we?" Ron seemed rather oblivious to Harry's turmoil. Or he was ignoring it. Either way, it only made Harry even more cross than he was.

"Really, Ron?"

"What?" he asked innocently.

"I've been trying, all bloody day, to write this bloody summary of a raid that Patrick dumped on me. And you-you-and that- bloody -"

"Whoa, mate. I'm sorry," Ron said, holding up his hands. "Tell you what, I'll finish it for you, yeah? On Sunday, after Hermione and Gin have left?"

Harry was taken aback, he certainly hadn't expected that.

"Really?" he asked suspiciously.

"Sure," he replied, pulling out his wand to toast a slice of bread. "Are we okay then?"

"Yeah, I guess," Harry replied, feeling confused but mollified. "So I take it Hermione liked the poem?"

A smug, dreamy look came over Ron's face.

"Oh yeah."