Disclaimer: I of course don't own Ron or Hermione or anything else that JK Rowling owns.

Hermione was just setting the food onto two plates when the fireplace roared, alerting her to Ron's arrival. She froze, feeling her stomach flip anxiously, as she scooped out the last of the peas and admired her handiwork. The pork chops were crispy, the mashed potatoes loaded with butter and cream, the peas a verdant green. It had been a bit of a struggle, trying to cook a full meal like this from scratch, especially without using magic, but Hermione felt confident that her hard work would pay off.

"Come in here," she called, listening to his footsteps in the hallway. "Dinner's ready."

His cloak still on his shoulders, he peeked into the kitchen with an air of mild curiosity.

"You've… cooked?"

Hermione bristled at his surprised tone. She was no Molly Weasley, it was true, but they didn't survive solely on takeaway. "Yes, I've cooked, it isn't rocket science. Now come on, sit down, I don't want it to get cold."

Ron shed his cloak and shoes and allowed himself to be ushered to the table, where he was served a plate along with a glass of wine.

"What's this all about?" asked Ron as Hermione sat down across from him.

"Well, you've been promoted from a trainee to a full-fledged Auror and I just thought we should celebrate a bit," she said. "I'm really proud of you, I thought I'd do something special."

"Oh." Ron gave her a soft smile and picked up her hand, kissing her knuckles. "I - thanks, love. Everything looks great."

So they tucked in. Hermione didn't often eat pork chops but she knew Ron loved them so she'd gone out on a limb a bit, yet she couldn't help but wonder vaguely in the back of her mind if they were always so difficult to it through, let alone chew. And what had happened to all of the spices she had used? All she could taste was tough, dry meat.

On the other side of the table, Ron was chewing an enormous mouthful of potatoes. Hastily he gulped it down, following it up with a swig of wine. Hopefully his pork chop had turned out better than hers - he'd taken a couple bites of his but seemed to have moved on to the vegetables. Noticing her observing him, he curled his lips into some semblance of a smile and drank a bit more wine.

Hermione started to sweat. He hated it all, didn't he? So perhaps she didn't quite have the skill of a house elf at Hogwarts, but she couldn't possibly have gone wrong with her side dishes, right? There was certainly no screwing up such simple items. She sampled a forkful of the peas, only to discover with absolute horror that they crunched - the centers of the little green spheres were still frozen solid.

"Ron?" she said tentatively as he returned his attention dutifully to his food. "Is everything okay? You're not usually this quiet."

"Mhmm," he nodded rapidly, his eyes wide in his overeagerness to reassure her. "Yeah, everything's - yeah. Let's have more wine."

He used his wand to summon the bottle and refill their glasses. Hermione drank from her glass as Ron scooped up a bite of mashed potatoes, which dripped sadly between the tines of his fork on their way to his mouth. How was that even possible? She hadn't used that much cream, had she? If Ron was fazed by this, he didn't show it, instead just stirring the potatoes and making another attempt.

"Ron," Hermione said, placing a hand on his arm. "You can say it. I'm a terrible cook."

His entire body seemed to relax at her words as he burst out laughing.

"You're a terrible cook," he agreed, though there was an incredible tenderness lacing his voice as he leaned across the table and kissed her.

"You were really going to eat all that?" Hermione asked in awe. His stomach was basically a bottomless pit, she'd known that for years, but everyone had limits.

"Yeah, you were so excited, I wasn't gonna hurt your feelings." He sat back down in his chair and picked up his glass of wine. "But I didn't know peas could go all cold in the middle like that, is that a spell, or-?"

Hermione dissolved into laughter, her face behind her hands, as Ron drank his wine and watched her. There was no harm done, really; this was just one of the things, like flying and chess, at which she didn't excel, and she could live with that.

I think we can still salvage the night," Hermione declared when she had calmed a bit. "How would it be if we ordered a pizza?"

Ron grinned. "Brilliant, you are."

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