(Hello everyone! This little fic is something I wrote as a birthday gift for the most wonderful Katie. I love you more than I can say, dear friend, and I hope this fic is so cute and fluffy that it gives you cavities. Enjoy!)

"Bloody hell!" I am woken from a sound slumber by a loud exclamation, followed by the crash of something heavy tumbling to the floor. I sit straight up in bed. It's been five years since the war, but that doesn't keep my heart from pounding, my skin from pricking with sweat in the unseasonably warm September air. My mind is automatically whirling with possibilities. Still trying to blink the sleep from my eyes, I see that Ron is absent from our bed. I grab my wand from the bedside table and hold it aloft in front of me. I creep silently from our bedroom, down the hall. As I near the kitchen, an acrid smell begins to assault my senses. I can't help but wrinkle my nose. Is something… burning? As I near the kitchen, I hear another cry.

"Wait… When was I supposed to add the bloody banana?" All of the apprehension and fear immediately vacate my body. Everything is fine. We aren't under attack, the people I love aren't being hunted, it's okay. Releasing the breath I wasn't even aware that I was holding, I turn the corner and take in the disaster site that had at one point been my kitchen.

Egg covers every surface. There is flour on the ground. The island in the middle of the kitchen is amassed in the half wrung peels of what appears to be an entire orange grove. Hazy black smoke has filled the air, apparently from the pan on the stove, and my beautiful, glorious husband is standing in the midst of the mess, squinting at an open cookbook, a banana clutched in each of his large freckled hands.

"Good morning…" I chuckle quietly. This only serves to startle him, and he cries out, squeezing the bananas and splitting their skins in the process.

"Bloody hell, 'Mione. You scared the living daylights out of me, you did. What are you doing awake?"

I try to contain my smirk. "I… erm, I just couldn't sleep." I fib, not wanting to admit that he had startled me awake. "More importantly, Ronald, what are you doing awake?"

"Well, I just thought… Well erm… Happy birthday, Hermione." He blushes and I can't help the rush of warmth that fills me from head to toe. We had been married for just four months, this was our first time celebrating a birthday as husband and wife. "I thought I would make you breakfast in bed," he explains, moving to chuck the ruined bananas in the bin, "and I remembered whenever we went to visit Mum back during the summer. She made banana pancakes and you said that when you were a girl that your mum would always serve you banana stuffed french toast in bed on your birthday. I wanted to carry on the tradition. So I got the recipe from Mum, and she said it would be simple, didn't she, but it's not, 'Mione. This feels like a NEWT level potions course, to be honest. It's like I'm back at Hogwarts!"

I can no longer contain my laughter. "Well, thank you. Since I'm awake, can I help?"

"Absolutely not! It's your birthday. Just sit here at the counter, and relax. Here, have some tea." He waves his wand and a cup and saucer come hurtling from their place in cupboard. They slide into place on the island just as the teapot begins to pour. As I take the seat he pointed to, milk and sugar add themselves into the tea and a spoon stirs. I gratefully take the cup and take a small sip. The warm liquid, although perhaps a bit sweeter than I would have made it, is exactly what I need.

"Ron, is something burning?"

His eyes widen in shock and he turns quickly to the stove top. "The sausages!" he exclaims. He goes to grab the pan off the burner and burns his hand on the hot metal. He hastily drops the pan and cradles his singed hand to his chest. He grabs a tea towel with the other hand and uses it to move the charred meat from the flame.

"Are you okay? Did you burn yourself badly?" He tries to smile at me reassuringly, but he can't help the low stream of curses pouring his mouth.

"I'll just… put a spot of ice on it," he says after taking a deep breath.

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Honestly Ronald, as I've told you a hundred times, warm water for burns. It pulls the heat out." He gives a sheepish grin and runs the faucet.

"I'll have to apply some Essence of Dittany later."

I nod in agreement. "Are you sure I can't help with anything? Even something small?"

"No, no! Just sit back, I can do this!" he reassures me. I return to sipping my tea.

"So what's on the agenda for today?" I ask as he returns to flipping through the cookbook, looking for where he went astray.

"Well, I'm going to cook you the most amazing breakfast to ever be consumed in Britain. Then we'll got to work, since you absolutely refused to take the day off-"

"I have a very important meeting with a representative from the Troll Confederation before lunch and we're dedicating the afternoon to redrafting the legislation to outlaw discrimination against individuals affected by Lycanthropy, it's very important I be present-"

"-so we're going to work, and after you get done charming the pants off of everyone with how brilliant you are, we're going out to dinner."

"Have you gotten reservations?"

He pauses from stirring the suspiciously lumpy batter and scoffs. "Have I got the reservations. Of course, 'Mione. I've done everything I can to make sure that you have the best birthday since Merlin himself walked the Earth."

I glance around the kitchen. I'm more appreciative of Ron's effort than I can put into words, but I am fairly sure that all of this food was no longer edible. I smile at him and extend my hand to him. "Well, I have some rather bad news, darling."

"And what would that be?" He comes and wraps his arms around my body, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheekbone.

"It's 7:15."

"And?"

"Well I need to leave for work at 8:30, so I need to get in the shower right now if I'm going to have enough time to get ready."

"That's okay, love. Go hop in, I'll have the food done when you're out."

"See that's the thing.. You know what's even better than breakfast in bed on your birthday?"

"What's that?"

"Starting my birthday by taking a nice," I pressed a kiss to his hand, "long." I pressed another onto the inside of his wrist, "hot," I press one more onto his cheek, "steamy shower with the best husband in the entire world. I mean, is there any chance you would be interested in that?" He answers by catching my lips in a passionate kiss. Then he slides his hands up my thighs and picks me up, carrying me off to our bathroom.

Yes, old traditions are wonderful. They ground us in our past and remind us of home. But new traditions speak to the joy of new beginnings and provide hope for what is to come. Even if they make you late for work.

(What do you think?!)