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So-Called Cooking by ariellem
Chapter 1 : So-Called Cooking
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 16

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“So walk me through it again mum,” said Ron as he stuffed the flowered potholders that Hermione’s parents had given them as a wedding present on. “I’ve put some water in a pot, now what’s next?”

“Have you turned on the stove?” Mrs. Weasley asked from the other line, Ron heard a crash and cringed. “I hate this muggle thing, they keep slipping.”

“I have to turn on the stove?” Ron asked confused.

“Yes Ron, obviously,” said Mrs. Weasley. “How could you not know that? You’ve made your own food before, I’ve seen you.”

“Yeah mum, sandwiches,” answered Ron, scoffing. “Look, just please tell me what to do, I told Hermione I would have dinner on the table when she came back.”

“Oh, Ronnie that’s so sweet,” crooned Mrs. Weasley. “Your wife has been working all day with house elves and you decide to take time off just to help her out!”

Ron cringed inwardly at being called Ronnie. “Yeah, listen mum just don’t tell George ok? I told him I was working out, or something equally manly.”

“Being sweet is nothing to be ashamed of Ronald,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Now shot a warming spell at it so it’ll boil faster.”

Ron flipped through one of the cookbooks Hermione had gotten (and probably never touched) searching for the heating charm, he didn’t find it, but he did find a spell called fast cooking which he thought would work just as well.

He was completely wrong, the water went in the air like lava from a volcano, and Ron had to run from the kitchen so he didn’t get scalded.

“Wicked,” he muttered to himself, grinning, he picked up the phone again. “Mum, how do I clean up spilled water?”

Mrs. Weasley gave an exasperated sigh. “Did you use the fast cooking spell?”

“Of course I didn’t mum, I’m not stupid,” Ron answered as he cautiously maneuvered his way to the stove, making sure his feet didn’t touch the puddles of scalding water, he checked the pot, what was left of the water was boiling rapidly. “The water’s boiling what do I do now?”

Ron could hear a door open and close from his mother’s side of the line, and then Mrs. Weasley spoke. “Ron get a notepad and paper so you can write down these instructions.”

“Mum!” Ron protested, horrified. “You can’t just abandon me! I need you!”

“It’s just macaroni and cheese Ron,” said Mrs. Weasley, Ron could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “Now get that pen and paper.”

Ron balanced the phone between his right ear and shoulder so he could write. “Ok mum, shoot.”

“Now that the water’s boiling you need to put in the pasta-“

“Not so fast mum,” Ron interjected as he wrote down his mother’s instructions. “Ok, now what?”

“Let it cook for about ten minutes then pour the water into the strainer.”

“What’s a strainer?” Ron interjected…again.

“It’s the bowl with holes in it, then add olive oil, some salt and pepper, not too much, and add the grated cheese.”

“I just can’t put slices of cheese in the pot?” Ron asked, confused.

“No Ron you can’t,” Mrs. Weasley answered tiredly. “Please tell me you didn’t do that.”

Ron looked at the pot and winced at the now liquidated slices of sandwich cheese, it was a mess and he knew it. “Stop insulting my intelligence mum, of course I didn’t.”

“Alright then everything should be set,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Come and see me this weekend, I’ll cook for you and Hermione.”

After tonight we’ll definitely need your food, Ron thought miserably. “Yeah, thanks mum.”

“You’re welcome dear,” said Mrs. Weasley affectionately. “Good night.”  

Ron ran around the kitchen pulling open drawers, and searching through cupboards, he was not looking for cookbooks this time though, instead he was looking for the recipe box that his mother had given him and Hermione for Christmas.

This recipe box didn’t actually contain recipes though; instead it was full of different phone numbers to different restaurants that served take out.

Ron was very proud of their stash.

He found the box underneath the sink, and shuffled through it muttering things to himself.

“What about Chinese? No, Hermione has to think I cooked it, so that definitely also rules out that place that Hermione gets her turkey dogs from because she knows I’d never eat and forget about cook something like that.”

 He soon found what he was looking for though, a number to a pizza place, Ron quickly dialed and waited for someone to pick up.

“Hello, Nemo’s pizza what can I do for you?” Asked the man who answered, he had a very deep voice with an Irish accent.

“Can I get one large cheese with basil?” Ron asked quickly. “And can it be here quickly?”

“Another male pretending to make dinner?” asked the man, he sighed. “Sure kid, what’s your name?”

“Ron, Ron Weasley,” said Ron also giving out his address. “Thank you so much.”

“Anytime,” said the man hanging up the phone.

Ron spent the rest of the night running around, first he went to Harry’s house and nicked (or as Ron likes to think ‘borrowed’) his sparkling cider (Hermione never liked anything too strong), then he went back to Harry’s house to ‘borrow’ his bottle opener.

Harry caught him that time, but Ron was able to apparate away in the end.

Then he took out some plates and glasses and tried setting the table.

The key word here is tried because even though Ron had set the table as nicely as he possibly could, it’s well known that boys aren’t known for their neatness skills. It looked good though.

He hurriedly got changed into one of the suits that Hermione had helped him pick out.

And when I say helped pick out I mean that Ron stood around and moaned about how boring the whole shopping process was and Hermione chose the suits and made him get changed.

His tie was the one thing he had picked out himself, it clashed horribly with his suit but he loved it. It was bright orange and covered in the Chudley Cannons emblem.

Just as he finished putting a little flour in his hair so it looked more convincing that he cooked the whole dinner, the doorbell rang and he had to run to answer it.

He looked hastily at the clock as he paid the pizza boy and gave him his tip (ten cents), he had about five minutes before Hermione came home.

The pizza boy snorted in disgust at his small tip and walked away muttering things about cheapstakes, arses, ten cents, and shoving it.

How ungrateful, Ron thought as he hurriedly mashed the pizza box into the trash can so that Hermione couldn’t see it. He was able to place the pizza on the serving plate just as soon as Hermione came in.

Made it.

“Hello Ron,” said Hermione kissing him softly on the lips. “Yum, that smells divine, what are we having?”

“Pizza,” said Ron, shrugging as if it wasn’t such a big deal. “I hope you like it.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she looked towards his hair. “There’s flour in your hair Ron.”

“Yeah when I was making the dough the flour got a bit messy,” Ron answered.

Hermione kicked off her heels, laid her bag by the door and began walking towards the dining room.

“Ron it’s beautiful,” she said both surprised and pleased.

“Always the tone of surprise,” Ron answered looking very smug (he could have passed off for Percy), the tips of his ears were turning red.

Ron saw her peek into the kitchen and was very thankful he hadn’t left her a mess.

“Ready for dinner?” Ron asked.

Hermione nodded taking his arm, and ignoring the pizza box that was barely poking out of the side of the trashcan. After all Ron would break down and tell her soon enough.




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So-Called Cooking: So-Called Cooking


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