Written for The Great Hogwarts Cook-Off Flash Fiction Competition in Dumbledore's Armada.
Prompt: Yorkshire Pudding

All canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.

I'd like to thank my Beta, iwasbotwp for her time.

When Ron Weasley stepped through the Floo into the sitting room of his home, he was in an exceptionally pleasant mood. They had made a fantastic number of sales at the shop. George had been in a good mood, not having hexed him even once. And his mum had sent them leftovers for lunch. He didn't think there was much that could bring him down after such a good day.

Then, he walked over to the kitchen and found his wife sitting in a heap on the floor with her head in her hands and tears streaming down her face. If there was anything on earth that made Ron more uncomfortable than a crying witch, he hadn't found it yet. He was never really sure what to do and he always felt like the comfort he tried to provide just wasn't good enough.

Not to mention that it was terribly unlike Pansy to cry in the first place. They had been married for over a year and had dated for another before that. He honestly couldn't recall seeing her cry once in all that time. She was much more likely to lose her temper and shout at him than become emotional, even when he was being an arse. This was new territory; he didn't like it. He felt terribly out of his depth.

He supposed he did have to try, though. He dropped his bag to the ground and made his way across the kitchen to sit next to Pansy. Slipping one arm around her waist, he reached with his other hand to lift her chin and bring her eyes up to meet his own.

"Hi, love," he said gently. "Are you alright?"

He realised it had probably not been the right thing to say when a fresh wave of tears soaked his jumper as she buried her face in his shoulder and clung to his neck with both arms. She sobbed in earnest this time, and he was so caught off guard that it took him at least a minute to reach his arms around her and pull her closer to him.

"I'm sorry. I'm a git. You're clearly not alright. But let me help you. What's the matter?" He spoke in a soothing tone, running his hand up and down her back.

"Don't you see?" Pansy hiccuped and gestured to an object on the floor beside her.

Ron looked more closely and determined it was a muffin tin, though the small blackened disks in each hole did very little to help him identify what she had been trying to bake. Surely, no ruined food could be worth this much grief? He pondered briefly if he could offer to get takeaway without insulting her further.

"I'm sure we can make something else, love. It's really no use crying over burnt...whatever it is," he said. Then his curiosity got the best of him. "Um...What exactly was it?"

"Yorkshire Pudding," she mumbled with a sigh. She raised her face to look at him with wide distraught eyes. "It's just that they would have gone so perfectly with the roast!" Pansy exclaimed, pointing up behind him.

Ron craned his head and looked up at the counter and, for the first time since walking in, noticed the most appetizing looking roast. His eyes lit up and he looked back at his wife with a grin. She smiled back at him.

"I should have known you wouldn't care much about the sides." She rolled her eyes. "There's roast veg, too. It's just that I really wanted everything to be perfect tonight," she moaned.

Ron had just placed his hands on the ground, intending to get up off the floor, but he stilled and reached for her hands, instead.

"Pans, as far as I'm concerned, everything is perfect. I have a job I love, a home of my own and a beautiful wife! Not only is she absolutely lovely to look at, but she's also clever and funny and she cooked for me, too! I'm a lucky bloke," he said sincerely.

Much to his consternation, she started to cry again. He slowly wrapped his arms around her and awkwardly pulled her into his lap, determined to wait out her tears with his mouth shut this time. Her sobs soon turned to sniffles. She placed a delicate kiss onto his cheek and looked into his eyes.

"You're so good to me, Ronald Weasley. And you're going to be such a good father, too," she said softly.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared back at her.

"Do you anticipate this happening...anytime soon?" he asked, scarcely wanting to hope.

"Oh, not for another...seven months or so?" she replied with a small smile.

Ron surged forward and pressed his lips to hers roughly. When they parted on a gasp, he slid his hands up her back to grab her head with both palms and slipped his tongue into her willing mouth to dance with hers until they were both completely out of breath. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against hers and gently cupped her face, smoothing his thumbs along her cheekbones.

"I love you, Pansy," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Even if I burnt the Yorkshire Puddings?" she quipped, trying to break the tension.

Ron couldn't help but laugh.

"Even if you had burnt the whole roast, witch."