Hermione woke to the sounds of songbirds chattering on the maple branch outside her window. A golden ray of sunlight streamed through the window and lit up the room. She yawned and stretched, then glanced at the clock.
It read 9:00….
And Hermione freaked out. She screamed, then rolled out of bed, tangled in sheets and quilts. Hopping madly around, she managed to get herself dressed (sort of, as her socks were mismatched and her shirt was inside out). Hermione picked up her hairbrush and hurriedly tried to brush her hair and twist it into a bun. However, her hair, to no surprise, defied all efforts to tame it. This further distraught Hermione, who began muttering under her breath.
"Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god!!! I'm so late for work, and there's a conference today! Oh no!!!!!"
At that moment, the door swung open. Hermione turned toward the door, expecting to see Ella toddle in. However, the figure at the door wasn't the short, adorably chubby three year old she expected. Instead, a six foot, three inches tall, muscular figure, swathed in pajama bottoms and an apron, stood at the door. He held a tray in his hands and had a sheepish smile on his face.
"Ron! What are you doing here?"
"Good morning to you too. And what are you doing out of bed?"
"Ronald, I have work. I was supposed to be at the hospital three hours ago! And Ella too, it's the maid's day off; she's not fed or dressed! If you were home, why didn't you WAKE ME???"
"You're not at your best in the morning. Remember, Dr. Barnes told us to take a few weeks off. I called in this morning to the bank and the hospital for two months away for personal time."
Ron beamed happily. He was obviously very proud over his accomplishment.
Hermione heaved a deep sigh. She quite obviously wasn't as pleased.
"Ron, that's very sweet that you want to spend time together, but we simply can't spare two months. I have next to no vacation time saved, and what will happen to our finances?"
"You worry far too much, 'Mione. Your supervisor told me you had near half a year, and as for money, I wouldn't worry. I'm getting paid vacation time. Now you have no arguments, so get back into bed. I woke up early to make this for you!" Ron gestured at the tray, filled with food that looked neither appetizing nor edible.
Hermione climbed back into the bed. Ron brought the tray over to her and perched on the side of the bed while she poked unenthusiastically at the food. There were two slices of burned toast, paired with a rubbery looking omelet. An apple, hacked into uneven wedges, lay browned and sad on the edge of the tray. A cup of cold coffee sat side-by-side with a glass of lukewarm milk. Altogether, her breakfast looked rather pitiful, though she would never admit it to Ron, with his eager grin and puffed out chest, so proud of his good deed.
"Thank you, dear. It looks delicious, but shouldn't you eat as well?"
"Got it." He whipped out another tray, identical to the one in Hermione's lap. Ron pulled out forks and gave one to Hermione.
"Well, it looks…fantastic," Hermione exclaimed, lying through her teeth. "I can't wait."
"Cheers," Ron replied, clinking his coffee cup against hers. Hermione took a tentative sip, while Ron gulped down half of his coffee. An observer would have found the scene amusing indeed. Hermione's face was scrunched up in a most unusual way; her lips were pursed as if she was trying hard not to gag. And that wasn't all, her eyes were screwed up as if drinking the coffee gave her pain. Meanwhile, Ron looked perfectly happy.
"Good coffee!" He then enthusiastically dug into his omelet. Through a mouthful of egg, he said, "'is innt 'ad. I nah suh a ba coo, am I?"
"Ronald, swallow."
He chewed for a second more, then gulped down his mouthful. "This isn't bad. I'm not such a bad cook, am I"
Hermione took a tiny bite herself, then gagged and reached for her coffee cup to wash down the eggs; however, the weak, watery, oversweetened coffee didn't help much. It didn't drown out the horrendous flavor of the omelet, which was a salty as a deer lick and dry as sand. The texture was even worse; it somehow managed to be limp and rubbery at the same time.
"It's…not bad, not bad…at all…" Hermione trailed off.
Somehow, Ron, the man with the emotional range of a teaspoon, and the observational skills to match, noticed her tone. His face fell slightly.
"You don't like it, do you?" Hermione, caught in a spotlight, stammered out, "O-of course I do. I… I love it!"
She quickly took an enormous bite of the toast, with disastrous results. The toast was harder than a rock, and she somehow cut her lip on it. It was also incredibly dry; Hermione gagged and coughed the hunk of toast out. She gulped down the remnants of her coffee, then gagged again. Ron, alarmed, pounded her on the back. Gasping and spluttering, Hermione raised her head. Her face was red and blotchy, and her hair was frizzing out of control.
"I'm so so sorry! You should have told me how bad my food was!"
"No, no, don't apologize. It was sweet of you to think of it. I'll just get up and make us a proper breakfast."
Ron nodded and extended a hand for her to grasp to get out of bed. Together, they walked into the kitchen, where they were immediately accosted by their angelic little daughter.
"Mommy mommy mommy! Can I have ice cream?"
Hermione laughed and said, "Darling, it's 9:30. Later, dear."
"Hermione, let her have some fun. Ice cream for breakfast sounds good to me!"
Hermione sighed, but agreed. "All right, ice cream party for breakfast!"
Ron and Ella cheered like the children they were. The father scooped up his little girl and they ran towards the freezer. The mother laughed and shook her head resignedly. She headed towards a cabinet to grab spoons and bowls.
Ten minutes later, Hermione was wondering who the real kid was. Ron was dumping various ice creams and candy bars into the blender, presumably to make shakes for them. Sighing, she plopped down on the counter and scooped a generous helping of fudge ripple frozen yogurt for herself. Ella, who was sitting next to her, looked up at her with an adoring, pleading look in her eyes. Finally, Hermione relented and gave her daughter a heaping spoonful. Ella cuddled up close and Hermione kissed her small daughter. At that moment, Ron banged down the blender and three tall glasses. With a flourish, he popped the top off and poured the shakes out…or tried to. The shakes were far too thick to pour.
Hermione laughed and exclaimed, "You're just a culinary disaster, sweetie."
Ron chuckled. "Ya got that right, babe."