Disclaimer: JKR gave them being and names. Andy (thanfiction) gave them personalities and histories. As for me? I'm just giving them this scene...

"Are you sure that this is advisable?" Terry asked as Mike began pulling out pots, pans, and a wide assortment of food.

"You said you were hungry," Mike answered, continuing to place ingredients in neat rows on the counter top by the stove.

"Yes, but I assumed we would eat something that had already been made, such as leftovers from dinner, or something that didn't require actual assembly."

"But this is so much more fun," Mike protested with a pout.

"I am not going to win this argument, am I?" Terry asked. Mike shook his head and Terry sighed. Truthfully, Terry had known that his friend wouldn't change his mind from the moment he had suggested that they cook themselves a mid-night breakfast. When one was friends with Michael Corner, he found himself doing things that weren't always expected. Of course Mike was no Gryffindor, but the sixteen year old boy had a spontaneous streak that Terry could not quite understand.

Terry was usually able to reason with Mike when it came to his more reckless ideas. The flip side of this was that Mike could often convince Terry that some of his ideas weren't as dangerous as they seemed at first, especially if one took the necessary precautions and had a solid plan. Usually, Mike ended up being correct; Terry very rarely regretted anything Mike led him into. And, after over five years of friendship, Terry knew which battles were best surrendered. In the grand scheme of things, a two in the morning excursion into the Corner's kitchen probably wasn't the worst idea.

"I need to light the stove; do you have your wand?" Mike asked, turning to his friend.

"We aren't allowed to do magic, Mike," Terry pointed out.

"Ah, I always forget about that. It's so very inconvenient," Mike lamented as he turned back to ponder the flameless stove top.

"The stove has most likely been charmed to have some sort of self-lighting capacity," Terry suggested, moving to stand by Mike and examine the large, black appliance.

"Found it!" Mike exclaimed, pointing to a small black knob with the word "on" written below it. He turned to his friend, "Terry, sometimes I wonder how we can be so intelligent yet lacking in every day applied tasks."

"It is something to marvel at, yes," Terry consented.

Mike smiled at his friend before turning back to the stove. He placed the largest pan on top of the front burner and began preparing and adding ingredients.

"Do you actually know what you're doing?" Terry asked, his tone doubtful.

"Yes," Mike said as he chopped an onion, "We used to have big family breakfasts once a month before Hogwarts. My father let me help him sometimes."

"And you think that was enough instruction to be able to accurately perform the task?"

"It isn't some complicated medical procedure, Terry," Mike said with a sigh as he added the onions to the pan and moved on to slicing potatoes, "how difficult can it be?"

A quarter of an hour later the scent of fried onions, potatoes, and ham filled the kitchen. Terry had settled into one of the kitchen chairs and watched Mike intently as he prepared their food. He had to admit, even if he was slightly dubious of his friend's cooking abilities, it did smell rather good. Mike judged the vegetables to be done and set a pot of water on the back burner to boil.

"We're almost done," Mike said as he placed a couple of eggs into the pot and turned to his friend, practically bouncing in excitement, "I just have to add the eggs in a couple of minutes. This should be good."

"Hold on," Terry said, a sudden thought popping into his head, "you didn't add an insane amount of hot sauce or chili powder to this, did you?"

"You still haven't forgiven me for the Firebrand Fudge, have you?" Mike asked, a slight smirk on his face.

"I would just rather be able to feel my mouth for the next week," Terry countered, sniffing and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Well, you don't have to worry about it," Mike answered, "I didn't add any spices to this at all. The spiciest thing will be the onion."

"Good," Terry said, "I'd rather like to keep you as my friend. And, if you were to ever feed me something like that again, I may not be able to restrain myself from hexing you into oblivion."

"You couldn't even if you wanted to," Mike argued jovially, "The amount of effort it would take you to employ the Occlumency it would take to keep me out of your mind so that I wouldn't know the hexes you were about to use would significantly detract from your dueling ability."

"The insanity that I put up with," Terry thought, barely having to exert any effort to project the words to his friend.

"I heard that."

"You were supposed to." Mike just shook his head amusedly as he turned back to the stove and twisted the dial to turn off the boiling water. When the water was cool enough to touch without burning his hands, Mike reached in and grabbed a couple of the eggs.

"What are you doing now?" Terry asked, standing up and walking across the room to stand by his friend.

"Scrambling the eggs," Mike answered as he began to vigorously shake the eggs in his hands.

"Does it work like that?" Terry asked, doubtful again.

"Well, when you cook clams, you do something like this," Mike said, continuing to shake the eggs, "I saw my father do it once."

Terry took an egg from him, tapped it against the side of the frying pan, and attempted to crack it open.

"Michael Julius Corner," Terry said with an exasperated sigh, "These eggs are cooked through."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, looking at Terry and furrowing his eyebrows in slight confusion. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and held up one of the eggs still remaining in his hands to examine it.

"You hard boiled the eggs."

"I suppose I did," Mike said in disappointment.

"I thought you said your father let you help cook," Terry said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well…" Mike started, "I was never old enough to do the eggs. My dad said that they were the hardest part to get right. He was going to teach me later, but we stopped doing the big family breakfasts and we both forgot."

"And you thought that shaking the eggs would be the best way to go about scrambling them?"

"I didn't see you come up with a better idea!" Mike argued, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. Terry stared at him. He could feel his friend's embarrassment and frustration at having failed at what would seem to be a simple task. The boy who excelled in school, brought hope to the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, received the adoration of girls of all ages, and made Terry feel as though he were maybe good enough had not been able to scramble an egg. It was absurd.

Terry bit his lip, attempting to hold back a laugh. Mike quirked an eyebrow at this. Rather than causing Terry to sober, however, it only increased the hysteria he felt. A snort escaped him, and before he knew it, his entire body was shaking in mirth. Mike looked at him as though he were insane.

"What on earth is so funny?" Mike demanded.

"Your… you… eggs!" Terry struggled to get out. Mike cleared his throat and looked away determinately.

"It was kind of pathetic, wasn't it?" Mike asked after a few moments. Terry, who had failed to stifle his own laughter, nodded. Mike let out a wistful chuckle which turned into a hearty laugh of his own as he realised the pure hilarity of the situation. Unable to hold himself up any longer, Mike pulled Terry with him as he sank to the floor, doubled over and gasping for breath.

"What, in Merlin's name…" a voice sounded from the door as Elaine appeared across the room, her wand out. Upon seeing her son and his friend in a heap of hysterics on the floor, she lowered her wand and crossed her arms. "What are you two up to? Do you know what time it is?"

"Sorry, mum," Mike managed, "we were hungry. How do you feel about hard boiled eggs?"