Entry tags:

harry potter, het, pg-13, slash

Fic: Keeping His Dinner Warm (Harry Potter, various, PG-13)
Title: Keeping His Dinner Warm
Rating: PG-13
Warning: None
Pairing: Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, mentions of Harry/Draco and Harry/Snape
Date: July 2003
Author's Note: More humour, which hopefully comes out a bit funnier than my last attempt. Introducing homemaker!Hermione, blatantlygay!Harry, overworked!Ron, and liveandletlive!Ginny.

* * *
Hermione Granger Weasley hummed a showtune softly to herself as she glanced down at the small mirror-like strip of metal that flashed up the ingredients for Boeuf Bourguignonne, then finished dicing the onions and added them to the hot melted butter with a flick of her wand. The side of beef that was flouring itself lightly in a pan hopped out of the dish like a panicked cartoon character when she pointed her wand at it, and she poured the butter and onions over the meat and then transferred it all into a baking dish.

Automatically she glanced at the clock, a gift from her mother-in-law, which had only two hands so far, one for herself and one for Ron. Around the face of the clock were small wand-written phrases, like "at work," "traveling," "working late," and, of course, "mortal peril." If they ever had children – and Hermione hoped that they would, soon – more hands could be added, but right now Ron's was steadfastly pointing to "at work" and Hermione's to, of course, "at home."

Precisely at half-six, which she could tell from the actual time-keeping watch on her wrist, Ron's hand on the clock jumped to "working late," and Pigwidgeon buzzed through the window like an explosive oversized Snitch. Hermione stood up on a chair and grabbed him mid-dive, wrestling the parchment from his leg. As usual, the small scrawled note read Mione, working late, home around nine. Sorry. Love R.

Hermione tried to whistle good-naturedly – "till he comes wearily home from down town" was running through her mind, and damn her father for having addicted his only child to showtunes so early in life. She pointed her wand purposefully at the kitchen table and sent one place setting – wineglass, water glass, plate, salad fork, fork, dessert fork, knife, spoon, butter knife, napkin, napkin holder, placemat, and finger bowl – sailing across the room back into the china cabinet. No one could ever accuse her mother of not teaching her daughter proper decorum, that was for sure. Problem was, now the table looked horribly imbalanced with just Hermione's place setting left. Hermione sighed and opened the window to pick some flowers to spruce up the middle of the table.

She checked on the beef, then took the scalloped potatoes from the oven. The asparagus, flanked by clippings of arugula, was cooking nicely in a sauce of cream and butter on the stove, and she cast a brief tenderizing spell to make sure she would be able to cut through it with just her fork when Ron came home for dinner. Ron absolutely loved asparagus, and she hoped that it would put him in a good mood when he finally got home. In fact, she thought, glancing down at her water-spattered black robe, maybe she should go change into something a little more comfortable for his homecoming …

Ten minutes later she was back downstairs in an old dress robe of pale blue, with lace knitted neatly at the cuffs and the collar, smoothing her brown hair behind her ears into a neat bun. She stood for a long time at the mirror in the front hall, singing softly, "Happy to keep his dinner warm," fluffing at her bangs that Ron always said were so cute and patting her cheeks to get some pink back into them. When she was satisfied with the curl of her hair and the redness of her lips, she headed back into the kitchen and cleaned up a bit before sitting down at the table with a copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's newest novel.

A small, bright sound, the ringing of a bell, announced a visitor, and Hermione glanced over briefly to see Ginny Weasley Apparating into her kitchen. Disappointed that Ron still wasn't home, she smiled at her sister-in-law. "Hi! How are you? It's so good to see you."

"Oh, of course, you too." Ginny sat down on the chair next to Hermione and reached over to give her a quick hug. "How are you?"

"Lovely, as usual. How are you and Harry?"

"Oh, he's just fine, is he ever anything else? He's at home right now. He's been bugging me all day, you should hear him – 'Can't you go visit Hermione or something? Please, just give me some time to myself!' Honestly." Ginny rolled her brown eyes expressively. "Honestly, he could really just tell me that he wants to have Draco or Severus over for a quick mindless shag. Really. I wouldn't be offended at all, it's not like I don't have my own plans – Hermione? What are you doing? You keep looking at your watch."

"Me? My watch? Oh, no, nothing. No, it's just time for the beef to come out of the oven." Hermione jumped up and levitated the beef onto the counter, where it sat there, smoking slightly and smelling divine in the scrubbed quiet of her kitchen. She glanced at the top of the stove. The asparagus was nicely brown, the arugula wasn't curled up too much yet, and the potatoes were now cool enough to eat. She smiled beatifically at her culinary spread, then turned down the heat on the oven and Banished everything back inside so that it would stay warm until Ron finally got home. "There, that's that done now. What were you saying?"

"Nothing, really." Ginny grinned and shook her head. "Hermione?"

"What?"

"Let him cook his own damn dinner."

finis
New Rochelle, New Rochelle,
That's the place where the mansion will be
For me and the darling bright young man
I've picked out for marrying me.

He'll do well, I can tell,
So it isn't a moment too soon
To plan on my life in New Rochelle,
The wife of my darling tycoon.

I'll be so happy to keep his dinner warm
While he goes onward and upward;
Happy to keep his dinner warm
Till he comes wearily home from down town.

I'll be there waiting until his mind is clear
While he looks through me, right through me;
Waiting to say, "Good evening, dear.
I'm pregnant. What's new with you from down town?"

Oh, to be loved by a man I respect;
To bask in the glow of his perfectly understandable neglect.
Oh, to belong in the aura of his frown – darling busy frown.
Such heaven – wearing the wifely uniform
While he goes onward and upward.
Happy to keep his dinner warm
Till he comes wearily home from down town.

– "Happy to Keep His Dinner Warm"
From the musical "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying"