A/N: Just a small fluffy drabble I came up with when I wondered how Harry would deal with the simple things in the wizarding world after Voldie's demise. Involves much needless capitalization. Requires a sense of humour.

I Shall Never Cook Again

All was right with the world. Little birdies were singing, Voldemort was a rotting corpse in a shallow grave somewhere and with the help of their good friend Remus Lupin the golden trio had finally gotten all the furniture where they wanted it. Yes, those three brave heroes, whose friendship had survived the most deadly and straining times, were about to undergo the ultimate test: HOUSE SHARE.

Ron, Hermione and Lupin looked around in satisfaction as Harry went into the kitchen to get some butter beer.

There was a sudden piercing shriek and Harry came tearing back into the room and fell to the floor. "OH MY GOD!" he yelled. "We have no microwave! WE HAVE NO MICROWAVE!!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron frowned in confusion. "Uh, Hermione?" he asked as Harry moaned about cooking in the background. "What's a microwave?"

Hermione shook her head. "Never mind Ron."

Ron appealed to Lupin, who just grinned.

"WE'LL NEVER EAT HOT FOOD AGAIN!!" Harry howled.

"WE WON'T?!" Ron gasped. "OH MY GOD! THAT'S HORRIBLE! WHAT CAN WE DO?! WE HAVE NO MIGOGABE!"

"It's microwave, Ron."

"MICROWAVE!" He too collapsed onto the abused floor.

Hermione stared at them in stony silence as Lupin tried not to crack up.

"Can I shoot them?" she asked eventually.

"No."

"Can I shoot myself?"

END