2. 'Fluffy Christmas Cookies!'
Cookbooks were always so vague compared to textbooks.
Hermione frowned, biting her lip, at the few short lines of instruction in the book in front of her. No good at all. She had taken to doing most of the work by hand- after a very poorly explained cracking spell had caused an egg to explode all over her new blouse.
Casting a heat charm on the oven, she inspected the bowl of dough in front of her. What was it supposed to look like? Surely the lumps would smooth out in the high temperatures? Her parents had been so adamantly sugar-free, and her palate more in favor of salt anyhow, that she had never actually made cookies before.
She picked up a handful, and mashed it into a ball, setting it on the tray. Cautiously, she did another. Just like potions. Or herbology. She told herself.
Completing twelve little round balls, she slid the tray into the oven, and consulted the cookbook to make sure she hadn't missed anything.
Feeling uneasy, she waited.
'Fluffy Christmas Cookies!', the title of the page promised. 'Fluffy', he had said, when describing his mother's cookies. She had laughed at him, and he had been instantly offended, daring her to try one and not attribute 'fluffiness' to them. Then he had challenged her to make some that came even close.
And she could never seem to forgo one of his challenges. Her cheeks pinkened as she remembered a particularly bold dare he had presented her with two nights previous, in the quiet dark of her bedroom at midnight. She was never able to back down once he got that gleam in his eye. 'You won't' it always seemed to sing at her. And she always would.
She lost herself in flushed recounting of the time they had spent together lately. The boy who had been her best friend and at times, her worst enemy at others, for seven years. The man she had fallen in love with while she wasn't paying attention to her own feelings- sometime between the day he saved her from the Troll in the bathroom, and the day he saved her from Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor.
She was startled to her senses by the magical timer she had set, which sent a burst of steam and a whistle up to alert her of the completion of her cookies. She took them out to let them cool.
She heard the front door open, and someone cursing and stamping the snow from their boots loudly enough to shake the house, which meant that he was here.
"Hermione?"
Her heart kickstarted at the sound of her name, spoken by his deep voice. The voice that was impossibly familiar, and brand new, all at once. His tall figure and shock of red hair appeared the doorway.
"Oh, excellent, cookies…"
He beelined for them, and she smiled.
"Careful, they're hot," she said mildly, knowing he would plow ahead either way. He shrugged and grinned at her, taking a bite anyways.
Ron looked like he might gag.
"Oh, bloody-" he spit out his mouthful, turning scandalized eyes on her, "Merlin's pants, Hermione, are you trying to kill me?!"
"What?" she cried indignantly, crossing the room in a flash to take one herself. "They can't be that bad. You are so dramatic!"
She took a bite.
Hermione nearly gagged.
Ron smirked as he watched her face, and she forced herself to smile, chewing slowly and swallowing. She shrugged.
"Honestly Ron. You are so fussy. They're perfectly-"
Her eyes were watering and her throat was too dry from the aftertaste to finish her sentence. He burst out laughing, gathering her into his arms. She tried to object, tried to keep telling him off, but he pressed her head gently into his chest with a large, warm hand.
"Shhh," he said softly, his voice still rippling with laughter.
She gave up, and found herself giggling into his shaking chest.
"Thank you for trying," he whispered into her ear. She could hear the grin on his face. She kissed him in response.
The heat of the oven was as cozy as a hearth, and they spent their afternoon, lying there, in front of it.
Her best friend gave her a few more dares, and at the end of the day, the cookies remained the only thing, that Hermione Granger did not excel at.