A/N: Well, I wrote this as revenge since I hate doing the dishes. Hopefully, some of you hate doing it as much as me. It would help you understand the fic so much better. :P
Disclaimer: I own nothing, save a great loathing towards dirty dishes and my dad's not helping to clean any.
Hermione Granger-Weasley got home from work. Being a Ministry worker that also happened to be trying to free the house elves wasn't easy, but at least she had a supportive husband. She had been working extra hours for the past week, but today, thanks to Ron, she at least didn't have to worry about washing the dishes when she got home. Oh no—Ron, her wonderful husband, quidditch keeper for the Chudley Cannons extraordinaire, had promised to wash the dishes that day. Ron, who was having the week off due to lack of quidditch practices during said week, was going to help her with the household chores, something he hadn't done since—well—ever.
Hermione Granger-Weasley took off her cloak and vanished it with a swift movement of her wand. She was in serious need of food—she had been starving for the last two hours and apparating yourself from the Ministry to your home didn't help. So she went to the kitchen, took big glass of milk (she was also really tired, so that would have to do), turned to place the now empty glass on the sink and—
A pile of dishes met her glare: unmoving, unchanging, unclean.
"Ronald," she managed to say through gritted teeth. "What are the dishes doing here when I expressly asked you to clean them more than fourteen hours ago?"
Hermione's husband stared at her, his open mouth revealing the popcorn he had been eating for the last half hour; some of it fell on Hermione's brand new couch. In front of him, the muggle television Ron had insisted on having in their new apartment was showing the fourth Star Wars movie he had seen that day.
"Uh— Hermione—!" he mumbled. "I—uh—forgot I had to wash the dishes! I was going to do it later, but I guess I just lost track of time!"
"Well, wash them," Hermione said angrily. "I'm too tired to do it, Ronald, and you know it. I am going to take a shower now and then I will go to bed. When I wake up tomorrow, I trust I'll find those dishes clean, understood?"
"Will do in a minute, dear," Ron said, his eyes still glued to the T.V.. "I just want to finish this and then I'll get right at it."
But he didn't get right at it, Hermione clearly saw the next morning. The pile of dirty dishes was there for yet another day after she had specifically told her husband to do something about it.
"Ronald," she growled as her husband got out of the bathroom and turned on the T.V.. He turned to look at her, puzzled, as if he didn't know what he had done wrong. Oh, but he did know what he'd done wrong.
"What is it, 'Mione?" the redhead asked innocently.
"The dishes; they're unwashed—for yet another day."
"Oh— That? I was just too tired last night. But I'll do it today, promise."
Hermione glared at the first man she had ever met whose movie watching apparently got him so tired that he could not wash the dishes that he himself had helped to pollute. "Why had she married him?" she asked herself. "Why had she married at all, when—had she remained single—she could have been free from washing anyone else's dishes for the rest of her life, and spared herself the trouble of almost begging Ron to wash said dishes only once in a while?"
Of course, she didn't ask those questions out loud. Out loud, she said: "With what will you eat?"
To which Ron answered: "Oh, I'll just get some cereal straight from the box."
Hermione gritted her teeth. "What about milk? And coffee?"
"Oh, I'll figure it out."
Hermione, however, did not have time to figure it out. She had to floo to work in just thirty minutes, and had gotten up with an appetite for pancakes—something she could not make since, along with almost every other food-related thing in the house, the frying pan was dirty and in need of cleaning.
"Ronald Weasley, I want breakfast! I will not have it from a box of cereal; I have cooked every single time since we got married and have also washed the dishes ever since we got married. You have done nothing but sit around. I work. My work is more challenging than yours. You have been on vacation for the last three days; I've been working extra. I will not wash the dishes for you this time and I would thank you, Ronald, if you just"—she took a deep breath, and raised her voice—"wash the goddamn dishes!"
Ron stared at her with the look he always gave when he knew Hermione was angry—that of someone who thought himself in the presence of a maniac and feared for his life. His light eyes widened, he opened his mouth and closed it, looking for the right words. Of course he didn't want to do the dishes, but he also didn't want to be hexed into oblivion by a wife that had gone mad. "S-sweetie—"
"Don't 'sweetie' me, Ronald, you bum!" Hermione seethed. "You will do the dishes and will continue to do so for as long as you live, if you want that life of yours to be long, got it? Now get to it!"
The husband nodded anxiously, resisting a groan. Why did he have to do the dishes? Hermione did it much better than him anyway!
They both went to the kitchen, Hermione cursing under her breath along the way—low enough to seem like it was to herself, but clear enough for Ron to listen, which was obviously her goal. The pile of dirty dishes was still there; Ron stared at it in disgust. Then, with what seemed like great effort, he placed a hand in his pocket, took out his wand and—
With a swift move of the hand, the pile of dirty dishes got washed.
Read and review! Please? Even if it is just to say how much you hate doing the dishes. xD