WRITTEN FOR THC, YEAR 7

Gryffindor, DADA: FLUFF

Standard

Prompt:

(action) baking a cake

(word) happiness

WC: 2992/3000

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Positive."

"But are you really sure—"

"Yes, Charlie. I want to do this."

"Okay, then… but, Hermione, are you—"

"If you ask me if I'm sure one more time, I'm going to hex you so badly you won't be able to play with your precious dragons for a month."

"Okay. You win, love. Let's do this." Charlie clapped his hands, and the sound resonated through their small kitchenette.

Hermione opened the cookbook and flipped through the pages to find the perfect recipe. She came across one that boasted of a cake with a super moist crumb and a fudgy, yet light texture. The illustration of a double-layered chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream and chocolate swirls on top caused Hermione's mouth to water.

It's so perfect I'm going to cry. Victoire is going to love this!

"Should we make this one?" Hermione asked, pointing at the picture. She wasn't the baking expert—Charlie was. Baking was the one thing Hermione sucked at (yes, she did include chess on that list), but she still wanted to try making a cake for Victoire's fifth birthday party.

Charlie scanned the recipe before nodding. "Yeah, we could make that. I'll just have to run to the supermarket real quick and get the ingredients."

"Okay, hurry back. I can't wait to start baking," Hermione said, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Charlie's eyes softened, and he bent down to press his lips against hers. Hermione's heart decided to beat faster as if she had never been kissed by Charlie before. She loved how firmly he always kissed her as though she would disappear in a puff of smoke—Hermione always imagined herself melting into a pile of goo at his feet.

Before she could wrap her arms around him and bring him closer, Charlie pulled away and smiled, his amber-brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I love you, Sunshine," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers and gazing into her eyes. Although they had been married for almost two years now, Hermione's face never failed to warm at his sweet declarations.

"I love you too, Daredevil," Hermione murmured, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him again. "Now, go! We need to start baking soon!"

Charlie's chest reverberated with a deep chuckle. He dropped a quick kiss on the top of her curls and hurried towards the door, calling over his shoulder, "Preheat the oven!"

The door slammed shut behind him, and Hermione chuckled at his unrestrained enthusiasm. It was another trait she loved about him. She turned around to face the Muggle oven and fiddled with the knob. Once the fire was lit, Hermione closed the oven door and stepped back to wait for Charlie to return.

Her eyes landed on the framed picture on the wall, and Hermione's lips turned up in a nostalgic smile.

The picture was of their wedding day. In it, Hermione was running towards Charlie while being chased by the rest of the Weasley siblings (including Ginny) and Harry, who were all flailing their arms. Their happiness was evident in their laugh. Hermione remembered how she had tripped over the hem of her white wedding gown and fallen into Charlie's arms, laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

Charlie had made sure to frame the picture in their hall, claiming it was his favourite.

While she waited for Charlie to return, Hermione thought back to the day Charlie had asked her out.

It was a cold Sunday evening in December. The ground was covered in a blanket of powder-fresh snow, which shimmered under the light of the setting sun. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant shades of reds, oranges, and purples. Soon, it would be time for the Sunday dinner Molly loved hosting every week. Since Fred's near-death experience with the falling wall earlier that year, Charlie had started coming home more often to spend time with his family.

Hermione never complained about his frequent trips; who would when they got a Charlie-Weasley-special bear hug every time they came over to the Burrow? He always wrapped his strong arms around Hermione's waist, hoisted her up, and clutched her to his chest like he was afraid to let go. To top it all off, Charlie always dropped a soft kiss on the top of her head when he finally let go. It was enough to drive a woman wild—to drive Hermione wild.

The Weasleys were all outside in the garden making snow angels and having snow fights, and Hermione had joined them in the fun. She lay face-first in the cold snow, taking in the sensations she had last enjoyed in her childhood. People assumed she didn't like playing in the snow because they thought of her as a mature and responsible woman, but it was just not true. Hermione loved snow.

Charlie sat on the white blanket of snow beside her, chuckling softly. Hermione knew he was watching her; she could feel his eyes on her. Being watched by Charlie Weasley was such a peculiar, yet empowering feeling.

"So… Hermione," Charlie said, his tone full of mischief. "Are you unconscious or just my snow angel?"

Hermione turned her head and peeked up at him. "What?" Her eyes widened when she saw the grin on his face. "Snow angel?"

"Yes, snow angel. I figured you were one considering you're pretty angelic," Charlie teased, winking at her. Hermione's heart almost gave out on her at the small action.

It had been like this ever since Charlie had returned home for Christmas. Every time he spoke to Hermione, she spent the rest of the day wondering if he was purposely flirting with her or if it was just a figment of her overactive imagination? Not that she didn't want him to flirt with her—even a fool would be attracted to the wild redhead.

He was the most handsome man Hermione had ever seen. Dragon tattoos roamed over his body on their own accord. His thick-corded biceps looked like they could crush skulls, but his hands were capable of being incredibly gentle—after all, he was trained to handle baby dragons. Auburn-red curls sat atop his head, and his thick beard was the stuff of wet dreams—of Hermione's wet dreams. His toothy smile was devastatingly charming, and when paired with those oh-so-deep amber-brown eyes, Charlie Weasley was a force to be reckoned with.

"Hermione?" Charlie called out, startling her from her daydreams. She blinked, forgetting where she was. Nearby, Fred and George were trying to bury Ron under the snow, while Percy was instructing Harry and Ginny on how to build a snowman. Bill and Fleur were busy snogging under the tree. Charlie asked, "You okay?"

Why was she so unnaturally attracted to the man, anyway?

"Yeah, I'm fine," she stammered, rolling onto her back.

"Damn right you are," Charlie muttered under his breath, but Hermione overheard him. She snapped her head towards him, her eyes round and her mouth agape. Charlie's nose was tinged with pink when he said defensively, "You can't blame me for looking, you know? You're bloody gorgeous!"

Hermione sat upright. "What? No, I'm not." She shook her head fervently. Her wet curls smacked her mouth, and she grimaced and pushed them away.

"Yes, you are. I didn't think I was a snowman, but you just made my heart melt," Charlie said, his tone full of something Hermione couldn't name.

'Is he flirting again? What's going on? Is it only in my head? Is he flirting with me? Merlin, help me!' Hermione tried to think of something to say but was unable to. She'd only managed to duck her head to hide her reddening face.

Charlie's thumb and forefinger were suddenly on her chin. He tilted her head up to gaze into her eyes and whispered, "Merlin, Sunshine, what does a bloke have to do to get a date with you?"

"Uhh… ask me?" Hermione said, her mind devoid of any witty—or even coherent—replies. 'He's touching me! His hand is on my face! He called me sunshine! He's asking me about dates? Why is he asking—Oh… Could it be…?'

"Okay," Charlie said. His lips slowly turned up in a lazy smile. "You like knock-knock jokes?"

Hermione furrowed her brow at the sudden change in topic. "They're okay… Why?"

"Knock, knock." Charlie stared at her pointedly.

"Who's there?"

"Snow."

"Snow who?"

Charlie's grin widened. "Snow use. I'm crazy about you. Go out with me this Friday?"

Hermione blinked slowly, her mind hazy. "That's a joke to you?"

"What? No! I meant I'd like you to go out with me this Friday," Charlie said, his tone rising an octave.

Hermione frowned and tilted her head. "You just said it was a joke…"

Charlie dropped his head into his hands and groaned loudly. Bill's voice called out from behind, "It's no use, mate. Just tell her how you feel—without the bloody snow puns."

"But puns are—"

"No puns!" Bill yelled. Hermione had no idea what was going on.

Charlie looked up at her, his eyes filled with hope. "Hermione Granger, I'm crazy about you. Please go out with me this Friday. Or any day, really, you pick."

Hermione's eyes widened at his pleading before she glanced around the garden. 'He just asked me out! Is it a prank?' It didn't seem like a prank… She bit her lip and ducked her head, blood pounding in her ears, and her heart swelled with happiness. "Okay."

Hermione could still remember the radiant smile on Charlie's face when she had agreed to go out with him. A small smile appeared on her lips as she thought of that day. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear Charlie come back into the cottage.

When Charlie wrapped his arms around her waist and dropped his chin onto her shoulder, Hermione screamed and shot away from him, her heart thundering against her ribs. "You scared me!" she shrieked, covering her face with her hands.

Tears ran down Charlie's face as his guffaws echoed around the house. "I'm sorry, Sunshine. You were lost in your thoughts," he said, wiping his cheeks. He wiggled his eyebrows and smirked. "Were you thinking about me?"

Hermione was tempted to lie just to wipe that smirk off his face, but she was unable to. She harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're an arse," she muttered.

"But I'm your arse, aren't I?" Charlie cooed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. He began peppering soft kisses all over her face until she started laughing. "Ah, yes, there's the laugh I love to hear… unless you're laughing in the dead of night. Then, it's just creepy."

Hermione's laughter increased, and she pushed him away. "Stop it! We've got work to do. Did you get everything I need?"

"What you need is right—"

Hermione interrupted him. "We don't have time for your innuendos, Charlie. We have to bake a cake! And it needs to be perfect."

"I want to say it will be perfect, but considering you're the one baking it…" Charlie dodged Hermione's elbow. "I'm kidding! Okay, not really, but—" This time, he couldn't avoid Hermione's smack.

"Behave. Now, teach me how to make this thing," Hermione said, pointing to the cookbook.

"Yes, ma'am," Charlie said, kissing her temple. He Summoned all the ingredients to the countertop before pulling out a hideous fuchsia-pink Muggle apron from the drawer. He tied it around Hermione's waist. "It's your turn to wear this, my little apprentice."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the gag gift Ron had given Charlie on his birthday last year. But because Charlie adored it, Hermione remained silent.

Charlie clapped his hands and said, "Let's start by whisking the dry ingredients in one bowl and the wet ones in the other. You'll need flour, cocoa powder, sugar, baking soda, salt, and espresso powder."

"Why are we adding espresso powder to the cake?" Hermione couldn't help but ask. She glanced at the cookbook and started measuring out the ingredients.

Charlie leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest lazily. "Because I said so."

Hermione shot him an annoyed glare. "It isn't what the recipe says."

He quickly retracted his answer. "Because it enhances the chocolate flavour."

Hermione hummed and continued measuring out the ingredients in a large bowl. Once she was done, she asked, "What next?"

Charlie pointed to the eggs. "Crack those in another bowl, add the oil, vanilla extract, and buttermilk, and whisk them all together."

When she cracked the egg a bit too hard, dousing her hand with the runny yolk, Charlie was instantly behind her. He took a hold of her wrist, his touch sending shivers down Hermione's spine. "Be gentle with it, Sunshine," he whispered, flicking their wrists to crack the other egg.

Hermione leaned back against his chest and gazed down at his large hand enveloping hers. She smiled and murmured, "What's next, Chef?"

Goosebumps rose on Hermione's arms when Charlie kissed the side of her neck, his hand still on hers. He whispered against her shoulder, "Whisk it."

"You'll have to let me go for that," she said. Her lips twitched when he tightened his hold instead. "Charlie…"

"Ugh, fine," he grumbled, letting her go and pouting. Hermione wiped her hand on the apron before picking up the whisk. 'This shouldn't be too difficult.'

Turns out it was difficult.

"Harder, baby," Charlie said, his tone full of mischief. "Faster. Harder and faster. Oh, yeah, that's more like it. Go on, baby, use the whisk like you—"

"Don't say it," Hermione hissed, glaring at him as she whisked more aggressively, the mixture threatening to fly out of the bowl. The muscles in her arm burned, and she cursed—a habit she had picked up from Charlie and the other dragon-keepers at the reserve.

Charlie grinned but shut his mouth for the time being. When Hermione was finally done, she shoved the bowl towards him, panting with the exertion. "Is it perfect?"

Charlie took the whisk from her hand and proceeded to beat the eggs for a while longer. Hermione gawked at the muscles in his arms flexing with each flick of his wrist, and her face burned at how attracted she was to him at the moment. 'He's just whisking it! What is wrong with me?'

When Charlie placed the bowl on the countertop, Hermione was unable to stop herself from leaping into his arms. His laughter boomed through the house, lighting a fire in Hermione's chest. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and scooted up his torso to reach his face. She cupped his bearded face, enjoying the feel of the thick curls under her fingers, and kissed him passionately. He chuckled against her mouth, and she hungrily swallowed the sound.

When they finally parted, Charlie grinned at her goofily. "You liked that, didn't you? Watching me work in the kitchen?"

"Yes, now shut up and kiss me again," Hermione demanded, trying to tug him down.

He shook his head. "Nope. Not until we finish baking this cake. You're the one who wanted to do this, so we're going to do it."

Hermione almost whined when he placed her on her feet and pushed her towards the counter. "But—"

"No buts about it," Charlie said, his tone final. He swatted her bottom, making her yelp. "Get to work, woman!"

Hermione groaned and cursed herself for wanting to bake a cake herself. She grumbled, "What do I do now?"

"Mix the bowls together and then… whisk them again," Charlie said, snickering under his breath.

Hermione gritted her teeth and got back to work. She was determined not to leave the rest of the whisking to Charlie—there was no way she could survive watching him purposely flex his muscles just to taunt her. When she finally succeeded through sheer force of will, her arms gave out on her. She lay down on the kitchen floor and let her arms lay limply by her sides. She was defeated by a mere whisk. 'This is shameful. Oh, how Harry and Ron would laugh at me now!'

Charlie howled with laughter and nudged her thigh with his foot. "Come on, Sunshine, you're almost done. You just need to grease the pans and pour this batter in."

"You do it if you're so smart," Hermione muttered, trying to move her arms and failing miserably. "Go on, then."

Charlie's shoulders trembled with suppressed laughter as he measured out the parchment paper for the two pans. He greased it with some butter and flour before pouring the batter evenly in each. He carried the pans to the oven, opened the door with his foot (just because he could), and set the trays inside. He shut the door carefully and walked over to Hermione's side.

"Come on, baby, don't you want to make the buttercream now? Think of Tori's happiness when she realises Aunt Hermione baked her a cake," Charlie said, crouching down next to Hermione.

"She will be happy, won't she?" Hermione murmured, gazing up at him.

"Of course. She loves you already, and she'll love you even more. Now, up you get." Charlie pulled her up by her hands, and Hermione reluctantly got to her feet. Charlie dusted her off and kissed her forehead. "Don't panic, but… you're supposed to use a whisk for the next part."

The sound that escaped Hermione was inhuman. Charlie laughed heartily at her. "I'll help this time, okay?"

Hermione sniffled, her pride warring with her desperation. The latter won.

They worked in tandem; Hermione added the ingredients to the butter, and Charlie taught her how to use the whisk without straining her muscles. For her 'outstanding work', Charlie finally cupped her face and allowed their lips to meet in a heartfelt kiss that shook her to her core.

Still, Hermione swore she would never use a whisk again.