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Hermione wrapped a soft and fluffy bath towel around her torso and opened the door of the steam-filled bathroom. Water droplets fell from the ends of her curly hair onto her bare shoulders as she padded across the hall to their shared bedroom. The smell of something burning in the kitchen made her pause on the threshold, before the sound of the smoke detector and her girlfriend cursing broke through the smoke haze rapidly filling the small flat. How that girl was descended from Molly Weasley, she would never know. Throwing on clean clothes and quickly running some product through her tresses, Hermione rushed to Ginny’s aid.
The sight greeting her as she entered the kitchen was one of utter wreckage and chaos. Through a dense cloud of smoke, she spied Ginny frantically waving an unused sheet tray at the still blaring smoke detector. Hermione covered her mouth with her hand and hastened to open the window over the sink. She grabbed another spare tray and waved with all her might, encouraging the acidic assault on her senses to evacuate the flat.
Through their combined efforts, the smoke detector finally ceased its warning. The air was once again safe for breathing and Hermione bent over with her hands on her knees, sucking in as much as she could.
Ginny tossed her baking tray onto the kitchen table and wiped away the strands of red hair sticking to her sweaty forehead.
“Thanks, Hermione,” she said, sinking into a chair and tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling.
Burnt did not begin to describe the blackened discs sitting on the tray atop the stove. It was nigh impossible to tell if they were supposed to be cookies or hockey pucks.
“What happened?” Hermione moved to sit across from Ginny.
Sighing in defeat, she replied, “The usual. I inherited all my grace and skill in the kitchen from my baking disaster of a father. Don’t get me wrong.” Ginny glanced in Hermione’s direction out of the corner of her eye. “He’s fantastic in lots of other — if not a little odd — ways, but the man cannot boil water to safe his life.”
They each cracked a smile thinking of the few times they had witnessed Arthur trying to help in the kitchen… it was safer for all involved if he didn’t.
“Well!” Hermione stood and clapped her hands together. “We still have an hour before we have to leave for Christmas with your family. What do you say we eighty-six these lumps of charred cookie carcass and start fresh?” Winking, she added, “I’ll let you lick the spoon.”
Standing and taking two long strides to where Hermione stood, Ginny raised onto her toes and pressed her lips against Hermione’s. “Deal,” she said.