A/N: This was a small plot bunny that I had to get out. Please leave a review and let me know if you enjoyed it!

Cocoa Powder Footprints

"Dad, why can't we just bake mum's cake using magic? It'll be much easier," his son asked with his hands on his hips, with a Hermione-like haughtiness about him.

The duo were in the home's kitchen, as Charlie read and re-read the instructions in a baking book he had unearthed in one of the cupboards below the sink, it propped up against a bowl that housed four eggs (though all of them remained intact) as well as a whisk. He scratched away at his chin absent-mindedly.

"Pete, your mother deserves more than me just waving my wand around to construct a cake," Charlie replied a little distractedly, as his eyes were still glued to the pages of the tome. "But I will say this, Grandma Granger's cook book is one confusing mess. I mean, what on earth is a mixer?"

Charlie ran his fingers through his short, fiery red hair in mild frustration, flipping forward several pages before going back some sheets, to see if it explained anywhere what exactly a mixer was.

Suddenly, one of the kitchen's beige, single-back chairs was shoved lightly against the counter Charlie was using as his baking station, as Peter climbed atop of it and said, "Let me see if I can help."

Charlie inwardly laughed at his son's early acceptance that they were going to do the things the 'Muggle way' by treating Hermione for her birthday.

Peter flipped through the pages that explained the cake-baking process, his eyes scrunched up in fierce concentration with his little head tilted to his right side ('He looks exactly like Hermione does when she's reading the St. Mungo's Weekly Journal of Medicine,' Charlie thought with amusement) while he scratched at this chin ('Hey, that's what I do!' Charlie mentally exclaimed).

"Dad, I'm pretty sure we need to crack the eggs first before we put them in the bowl," Peter said without looking at him, "then we need to add the butter, vanilla extract, sugar, and buttermilk according to the directions."

"Okay, chief, I'll put you in charge of the kitchen today! You just tell me what to do and I'll follow your rules."

A wide smile broke out over his son's face at being put in charge, for his son liked to bark out orders (in his five-year-old voice) while always pursuing directions precisely.

Peter then took command over what was needed and what needed to be done, as Charlie soon realized he was woefully unprepared for his son's rather cute, yet still authoritarian rule.

After several minutes, Charlie had patches of flour that bloomed across his cheeks while cocoa powder covered the tiled kitchen floor like a brown lake, Peter, in his instruction-adhering excitement, having knocked over its pouch. When this happened, Charlie quickly grabbed a handful of powder and threw it into the mixing bowl ('Dad, that's disgusting!' Peter protested), seeing that it was a key ingredient to the chocolate cake they were both trying to ready before Hermione came home.

Charlie then poured the cake batter in a round pan, using a large spoon to scrape in every last bit, and held up the utensil to Peter.

"Want to polish it off," he asked.

His son made a grab at it but Charlie pulled it back easily, out of his reach.

"What do you say, Pete?"

He huffed in a very Hermione-like way, as he said, "May I please lick the spoon?"

Charlie couldn't help himself at his son's words for he bent down, kissed his cheek, and surrendered over the batter-covered instrument.

"What's next buddy?"

"Uh, one sec," he paused, holding up one of his little fingers. Charlie looked over at him to see that he was still finishing off what had once coated the spoon, his eyes closed at its tastiness. "Done," he announced, licking his lips. "Um, next, you have to put the cake in the oven for thirty minutes." Peter's eyes suddenly bugled. "Thirty minutes! Dad, that's such a long time!"

"Don't worry, Pete, thirty minutes will fly by in no time," Charlie responded, pushing the pan into the scorching oven, feeling a heated air blast into his face when he opened its door. "In the meantime, we have got to clean up this mess. Your mum will have a fit if she sees this!"

"Well, can you clean it up with magic? It'll save us a lot of time, right?"

"Excuse me," Charlie began, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter, fighting down a smile that threatened to break out over him, "but who was it that spilt cocoa powder all over the floor?"

"Wasn't it you?" Charlie looked over at his son to see the corners of his mouth turn upward, as his own smile was in danger of being put on display.

"Pete, Pete, Pete," Charlie began, shaking his head back and forth, "trying to pin the crime on me, are you? You know what happens when you try and do that, don't you?"

Peter's eyes swelled like large saucers as Charlie crept closer to him, sliding along the counter. Peter then suddenly jumped off of his chair where he had issued out the cake-baking instructions, landed feet-first in the pile of cocoa powder, and ran from the kitchen, his arms swinging like small windmills, yelling, "No, not the tickle monster! No, not the tickle monster!"

Charlie had to stuff his first into his mouth to refrain from laughing loudly. He would wait for Pete to get a head-start (after all, he always went to the same place when hiding), before he would go hunting after him, letting the tickle monster to come out and play.

He then started off, mentally smacking himself in the head when his eyes fell upon a clear track of cocoa powder footprints.

'This is what I get for baking the Muggle way,' Charlie thought to himself glumly.

Shaking his head, thinking he'll clean it up later, Charlie made a point to noisily enter every room in the house, calling out with each door he opened, "Is Peter in this one, tickle monster?"

Finally, Charlie arrived inside he and Hermione's bedroom, and sure enough, there was a Peter-sized lump in the middle of their mattress, huddled under their bed sheets.

"How about this one, tickle monster," Charlie aimlessly asked, taking silent steps closer and closer to his bed, never taking his eyes off of the small bump, "do you think Pete is somewhere in here?"

Without another word, Charlie then quickly reached down and threw his comforter onto the floor, exposing his soon who was curled in a fetal position.

Understanding that his hiding position had now been compromised, Peter stood to his feet (cocoa powder pooling together atop the mattress under his weight), held up his arms, and yelled, "No, daddy!"

Charlie, however, paid no attention for he dived forward and tackled Peter playfully, running his fingers up and down Peter's side, making him squeal with heartfelt laughter, as he tried to squirm and wriggle free of his grasp.

"Daddy…I can't…he he…it just…ha ha…tickles!"

"This is the tickle monster, Peter, what did you expect," Charlie playfully reprimanded over his son's twittering.

"Okay, daddy, okay," Peter giggled loudly, tears of joy cascading down his cheeks.

Charlie then stilled, as he collapsed backwards against the pillows of his bed, his arms outstretched, acting as if he was exhausted.

Peter poked up his head and looked over at him and asked while still trying to catch his breath he lost while being tickled, "Are you…tired…daddy?"

"Keeping up with you makes me tired, kiddo. You're like one of the baby dragons on the reserve."

"What makes me different from those baby dragons," he questioned, crawling closer to Charlie.

"What makes you different," Charlie started, grabbing his son by his arms and hugging him against his chest, "is that you are completely mine, something that me and mommy created together," he finished, rocking him gently, while planting another kiss atop of his red hair that was combed off to the side.

"How did you create me?"

Charlie quirked up a brow as he racked his brain on how to answer his five-year-old son's question.

"Well, when two people love each very much, like your mum and I, they decide to settle down and start their very own family."

"I know that," Peter replied, stressing the word 'that,' "but how exactly did you create me?"

"You see, your mum and I sat down one day and drew a picture. The picture was of what we wanted our Pete to look like, with me so far?" When he felt Peter nod his head against his chest, he continued, "You were created when mommy slept with your drawing under her pillow with the full moon. The next morning, your picture disappeared and mum became pregnant with you!"

Peter turned his head to look up at Charlie and asked with pure innocence, "Was that really how I was created? What if you messed up my drawing?"

"Then we had to start all over," Charlie smiled down at his son.

"Did you have to start over?"

"No, Pete, you came out perfect our very first try."

"Hmpf," he then issued out, resuming his position of resting his head against Charlie's chest.

Their breathing fell in perfect sync with each other then as Charlie ran his fingers lightly over his son's hair. The pair fell silent, basking in the calmness that surrounded them. Charlie closed his eyes, wanting to cherish this moment so that it burned into his memory thus he could recall it back at any time in the future. This was a time that seemed too good to be true, something that Charlie didn't even know he wanted until he met and got to know Hermione.

He remembered their initial meeting after the war's conclusion, she gifting him a hug of comfort with Fred's passing. Her touch, while short and at the time strictly platonic, created a fluttering sensation within him, making his heart expand greatly and his head spin. Of course, he didn't think much of it at the time due to his grief but it was something he tended to recall every night he closed his eyes for sleep.

Charlie then felt himself slowly drift away, the clutches of unconsciousness beginning to drape over him, his mind sketching an image of Hermione, with her bushy hair, her deep, brown eyes, and beautifully-curled lips. How he wanted nothing more than for her to be lying against his side then to complete their small, little family of three.

Just as Charlie's head began to fall on its side, a timer in the kitchen screamed about, jostling him back to reality. He carefully yet quickly moved Peter off of him, resting his head against one of his bed's pillows, and dashed into the kitchen, silencing the alarm and taking the cake out of the oven.

'Looks like a cake should,' he told himself, 'Pete is good at giving orders.'

The front door of the home then creaked open as Hermione's voice accompanied it, yelling, "I'm home!"

Charlie departed from the kitchen with an easy grace (minding to step over the pile of cocoa powder that had not been cleared) as he met Hermione just as she was hanging her coat in the front closet.

"Hey, honey," Charlie said as Hermione turned to face him. He grabbed her waist with one arm and dipped her as if they were dancing the waltz, his other hand supporting the back of her neck. He then looked deep into her eyes before enfolding his lips over hers. The sensation of their kiss was incredible, seismic even, just as it had been their very first time.

Charlie slowly broke apart as he whispered down to her, "Happy birthday," making her smile widely.

After a rather delicious dinner, Charlie brought out an icing-covered cake (Charlie had used magic for this), as he and Peter sang an off-key rendition of 'Happy Birthday.' The chocolate treat was then devoured (mainly by the tag-team of father and son) while Hermione informed them of her day of work at St. Mungo's.

Peter was then told to wash up for bed while Charlie and Hermione tucked him in.

"Mommy, when's the next full moon?"

Hermione was curious over this as she sat down on Peter's mattress and answered, gently stroking her son's cheek, "I believe the next full moon is this Friday. Why do you want to know that honey?"

"Because I'm going to create a brand-new dragon! Daddy said that I was created when you slept with a picture you and him drew of me under your pillow with a full moon!"

Hermione shot a humorous look at Charlie who was sitting on Peter's other side as he smiled down at his son's words.

"Good night, sweetheart," Hermione stated, not having the heart to refute Charlie's earlier comment, as she bent down and planted a kiss on her son's forehead.

"Sleep well, Pete, and we'll see you in the morning, okay buddy?" Charlie then took his turn to learn forward and nuzzled his son's neck.

"'Night mum, 'night dad."

Upon closing the door to Peter's bedroom, Charlie led Hermione by the hand to the living area as she said, "So are you going to be the one to explain to him next Friday why his brand-new dragon didn't come into existence?"

"Babe, he asked me how he was created; the picture drawing was the first thing that popped into my head. Besides, this is Pete we're talking about. Come this Friday, he'll probably have forgotten about his new dragon creation anyway."

Hermione laughed quietly as they took a seat in a pile of cushions in front of the burning fireplace, the bright flames licking away at the logs piled at its base.

"The things that pop into your head Charlie is sometimes very, very odd."

"Odd," he repeated in a question-like format. "I find them rather inventive if I do say so myself!"

Hermione scoffed good-naturedly as she rested his head on his shoulder.

"I missed Pete today and I missed you as well. In fact, I miss you guys every Saturday I'm at work. I hate being away from you two," Hermione suddenly remarked.

Charlie waited a beat before he asked, "Would you like me to rectify your feelings?"

She turned to look up at him and inquired, "What do you mean?"

Without answering, he bent down and captured her lips with his. Over the better part of the next hour, Charlie and Hermione explored the avenues of each other's bodies they were already accustomed to yet could never seem to get enough of. Then, with the fire slowly dying in its grate next to the couple, they made sweet, passionate love to each other, Hermione gasping as she came while Charlie grunted in blissful satisfaction as he spilled inside of her, whispering her name in her ear all the while.

Lying atop of the cushions, still connected as one, Hermione said, "I love you, Charlie."

Charlie Weasley smiled down at her, stealing another kiss, and returned, "And I love you, Hermione."