Ravenclaw HoH, Drabble for Round Two. Prompt: Cooking with muggles as a witch/wizard. WC: 788

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"You know," Fred starts, leaning against the kitchen countertop. I know exactly what he's going to say, for about the sixtieth time today. Almost inadvertently, I roll my eyes. "When we first started going out, I never really thought about all of your muggle cooking. Knives, I understand, but manual labour?" He laughs to himself, and I know it's all a skit he's made up in his head. He thinks he's such a comedian. "I'm concerned about the gadgets in your kitchen. Not that I'm not glad that your parents have invited us over, let alone let us cook."

I turn away from the stove, hand hovering over the pan to check the heat. Seems fine at the moment, but boiling a large pan of water will always take a while. While I wait, I'll just have to get everything else going. Fred is still babbling when I turn the oven to 160 degrees.

"And I love food, I do. I enjoy your cooking. I am an awful cook, though, Hermione. You know this. Remember that time I gave you food poisoning?" he asks, imploring. He's almost believable. But he's a Weasley twin. At least seventy-percent of what he says is a joke or a farce. I know that, have known that for a while now.

"I remember it vividly. I told my mother - she was horrified," I say.

He latches onto this information. "Which is why I'm so surprised that they're letting us cook this weirdly complicated dinner. Sunday Lunch? More like Monday Morning Sickness."

"In all honesty, Fred, I'm surprised they let you in the house half the time," I say in reply, grinning at him, "based on everything else I tell them about you."

"Rude."

He knows I've got him now. There's no use in arguing anymore, even though it's not a real fight.

"True." I throw a bag of carrots at him, which he catches deftly in one hand. Damn Quidditch players, all so quick with the reflexes. He looks at the carrots like they are some sort of foreign entity, and is even more wildly bemused by the peeler that I slide across the counter. "Four carrots. Peeled and chopped. You can have a knife when I'm comfortable that you know what you're doing and won't harm the food."

"You're not afraid of me hurting myself?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I shake my head, shrugging. "You're a big boy. Plus, Sunday Lunch is important. Don't ruin the carrots."

"You're so mean to me."

And yet, he starts peeling the carrots like he knew what he was doing all along. I laugh quietly to myself while he mutters. Of course, he wouldn't try anything if I asked him not to. My parents don't know about him - that he's a wizard. When I tried to restore their memories two years ago, a couple of months after the war ended, they had completely forgotten that I'm a witch. I chose to leave things like that, to hide that bit of myself. It's been easy enough for me.

"Hermione?" Fred asks, pulling me back to the present. "What is this cupboard and why is it so hot? Surely, that's dangerous?"

I raise my eyebrows, halfway between laughing and feeling sorry for him.

"Did you put your hand in the oven?" I ask.

"I was looking for spices."

"With carrots?"

"Add some extra flavour. Is that wrong?"

Just then, my mother walks into the room, and stares at the scene. Fred, clutching his burnt hand. Carrots, mutilated. Me, watching water boil. And a baking tray shuddering on the floor, making an awful clanging noise. We freeze, as if caught in the act. There's always that sudden fear when one of my parents walks into a room and we're unprepared, not sure if we're behaving totally normally or not. I guess, when you're in a relationship with a Weasley Twin, normal behaviour is unusual.

"Everything all right in here?" she asks, completely perplexed.

"All good, mum," I reply. "Fred just burnt his hand, that's all. Fred, run it under the cold tap."

"Goodness, what have you done to the carrots?" my mother laughs.

"I'm a terrible cook," Fred admits from the sink, relishing in the cold water. "I'm the worst with carrots."

My mother just smiles at him like he is a lost puppy. Which, honestly, is exactly what he looks like.

"Hermione was never any good with carrots either," she says. Thanks, mum. "I'll show you how it's done."

And just like that, I forget, for a moment, that there is any distance between Fred and my parents, that they have a mutual understanding of each other. For a moment, it's complete bliss. A simple, wonderful, normality.

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Thanks for reading!