London, October 2395

"I've got an excellent idea," Jack said as he and Hermione finished unloading groceries in the kitchen of the flat his mother had been provided by the school.

For the duration of Jack's final year, his mother took a job at the school's infirmary to cover for the doctor who'd gone on maternity leave. The job was nowhere near challenging, and she was way overqualified for it, but his mother didn't mind. It allowed her to be closer to Jack and spend more time with him.

"You bake, I taste-test." Jack tipped his head towards the kitchen table. "I'll sit here, watch the master do her work, and then make sure it's scrumptious when finished."

Jack was only teasing, and Hermione knew it, if her rolling her eyes was any indication.

"Nice try, but no." Hermione tugged two aprons from one of the drawers and tossed the black one to Jack. "And I'm hardly the master."

This wasn't the first time Jack and Hermione worked together in this kitchen. Today, they were preparing a birthday dinner for his mother, and the cake was the first thing on the agenda.

Of course, they could have skipped all the work and simply replicated what they needed in the flat's replicator. But nothing could beat a home-cooked meal, and for a special occasion, Hermione and Jack both were more than happy to put in the time and effort. Moreover, cooking and baking was just another way to spend time together.

"Can't blame a guy for trying," Jack said, tying the apron around him.

Hermione glanced at him and frowned. "Colour. You could use more colour."

He always wore black, gray, navy, or brown—whenever he wasn't wearing the school uniform (which was, thankfully, navy in colour). He supposed it was his way of trying to blend in and not stick out. Not to feel different, somehow. Not to draw attention to himself as some sort of weirdo.

Hermione waved a hand at him, and his black apron transformed into a hot pink one, printed with yellow rubber duckies. "That's better."

Ever since telling him the truth about herself, Hermione used magic more freely when they were alone: for cleaning, pranking Jack and making him laugh, doing small things that made day-to-day chores go easier.

She never cooked with magic, though. She claimed she liked doing it the regular, Muggle way. It suited Jack just fine—he was more than happy to do the cooking with her.

Jack looked down at himself with amusement. "I like this look."

"It suits you," she said, strolling around the kitchen while gathering all the needed supplies.

Jack grinned and snagged the sugar jar. "I'll be on sugar duty."

She plucked it out of his hand. "I will be on sugar duty." She set it on the other side of the counter, away from him, and waggled a finger in the air. "Remember the last time I let you be on sugar duty?"

"Yes, we baked chocolate chip cookies. Mmm," he closed his eyes, remembering the flavour. "They turned out heavenly."

"No, they didn't."

Jack had quite the sweet tooth, he knew. Hermione, dentists' daughter, was always mindful of the sugar content in their food. Jack, surprisingly, didn't find it annoying. If anything, he found it endearing that she cared about his health.

His palm went to his heart. "You sure know how to hurt a guy's baking ego."

"You put way too much sugar in them. They tasted horrible." She handed him the carton of eggs. "You're on batter-mixing duty."

"Well, that's too bloody boring," he grumbled, opening the carton.

Hermione gave him a look but didn't offer any retort. The measuring cup slipped out of her hand and crashed onto the floor. She bent down to retrieve it with a huff.

"Hermione," Jack said, watching her carefully, "are you nervous?"

She let out a long breath and waved her hand at the measuring cup to magically clean it. "I just … I guess I just want everything to be perfect for your mum's birthday."

"Oh, it'll be fine." He waved a dismissive hand. "I can assure you, my mother will be ecstatic regardless of how the dinner turns out. For her, it's the effort that counts."

She glanced at the chronometer on the wall. "Are you sure she won't be back til 7?"

"Quite sure."

It was Saturday, and his mother had gone to Chicago to see a friend she'd been meaning to visit for months. A birthday seemed like a great occasion to get together for a glass of wine—his mother's words.

"We've got the whole day," Jack assured her. "Stop worrying."

"I'm not."

"Mm-hmm. And my mother's name is not Beverly Crusher."

Four hours later, the flat smelled like a bakery, and the cake was baked and decorated. Even the dinner was prepared and ready to be popped into the oven.

"See?" Jack said, glancing at the chronometer. "We got finished with some time to spare."

"Indeed," Hermione said, drying her hands on a towel as she turned around to face him.

Jack swallowed back his laughter at the flour handprint on her face from him tapping her cheek earlier. She'd tried to wipe it away, and Jack was such a good friend and held back from telling her she'd missed it.

"What?" she asked self-consciously. "There's something on my face, isn't there?"

"Just a tiny bit of flour. Barely noticeable. Here, let me help."

He walked over to her and began carefully brushing the remaining flour from her face.

"You let me walk around with flour on my face all this time?" she asked, her tone accusatory.

Jack's lips stretched into a smile. "There wasn't much left. I guess I just missed it."

"Oh, I'm sure."

She suddenly stuck her hand into the flour bag that still sat on the counter and patted Jack's cheek with her floury hand.

"That's it," Jack said, grinning mischievously. "The fight is on!"

They took turns pelting flour at one another, squealing and laughing. Hermione had been tense all afternoon, worrying about the cake and the dinner. She needed this. And Jack was never one to say no to a flour fight.

It was nice to forget everything for a moment and just have fun.

Things had changed once their final school year rolled around. Janeway had signed Hermione up for flying lessons, as well as extracurricular science classes in San Francisco.

For Jack, that meant seeing less of Hermione as she was away on Tuesday and Thursday evenings and all day on Saturdays.

But she was here today, helping Jack prepare his mother's birthday dinner. A warm, fuzzy feeling came over Jack, and he pushed any other thoughts and worries aside and focused on the flour fight.

They pursued it until all the baking flour from the bag was consumed. Their faces were white, their clothes were flour-drenched, and almost all the parts of the kitchen were completely dusted with flour. They laughed and hugged one another and shook their heads, letting out clouds of flour from their hair (mostly Hermione's) to land on the floor and brushing down their clothing to try to remove as much flour as they could.

"So, my amazingly magical best friend," Jack said, grinning ear-to-ear, "is there a spell that can quickly clean all this up?" He gestured to all the mess.

"There certainly is," Hermione answered, retrieving her wand from its secret hiding place in her sleeve.

She waved it around in one sweeping motion, and all the flour flew back into the bag, leaving them and the entire kitchen completely flour-free. While she was at it, she took care of the rest of the cleanup that still needed to be done.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked, tapping her wand against her palm. "Time to decorate and pop that dinner in the oven?"

"Great idea."

Thirty minutes later, his mother walked into the immaculately clean flat.

"Happy birthday!"

She took in Jack's and Hermione's smiling faces, the decorations hanging on the walls, the dinner on the table, and grinned widely.

She was, indeed, absolutely ecstatic.