Ok, Lucy Bronze for all 5 hottest people. Done. 

Moving onto veg:

1. Potato

2. Carrot

3. Sprouts

4. Cauliflower

(CallieSkye)

I normally go directly to the page of the offensive speaker and then very passively agressively block them ��

Rupert filming for Snatch VR Heist Experience. (2017)

merry christmas @callieskye! i really, really hope you enjoy this fluffy story that was inspired while i tried (and failed) to make sugar cookies.

Ron reached over and brushed a bit of flour off of Hermione’s nose. She pulled back, surprised and blushing. But she was smiling, too, and laughing a little. “Sorry,” he said, his ears turning red, “you had a little bit - er -”

“I get like that when I’m baking.” She held his glance for a moment longer, and then looked back to her task at hand. She was whisking as fast as she could - Molly had asked Ron to make cookies for Christmas day, but they were going to need lots and lots of them. With all the Weasleys huddling in the burrow for Christmas, it was going to be a big feast. And since they were on break, none of them were allowed to use magic. He was going to have to bake them the muggle way. So, he’d asked Hermione for help. She was planning on catching up on some reading, but luckily for him, she agreed.

So, here they were, just before noon, making cookies. The snow had fallen heavily for the past few days, and the sun reflected off of it so bright that the kitchen was flooded with white light. In the sunshine, Ron looked like he was glowing. His freckles stood out so starkly she felt as if she could count them. Blushing, Hermione drew her attention back to whisking, but she caught Ron smiling out of the corner of her eye.

He went over to the record player - wizards hadn’t found out about CD’s yet - and set something on. Within moments, The Weird Sisters’ husky voices faded in, and Ron spun around with a spoon-turned-microphone, unashamedly belting out the lyrics. As he danced towards Hermione, she slowly stopped whisking and started laughing instead. Ron grabbed the bowl from her and took over, but he didn’t stop singing. And though Hermione had never been a fan of The Weird Sisters, she found herself singing along with him. It was starting to feel like the light from outside, the light that made him glow, had found its way into her heart.

Just before the song ended, Hermione realized what she forgot - her missing ingredient. Every time she’d made cookies, her mother had taught her to always add a tablespoon of vanilla. For a moment, she’d worried that the Burrow didn’t have any, but luckily, she found the little bottle. “For extra measure,” she’d said and then smiled, pleased.

Now, it wasn’t Arthur’s fault, not really. He’d been put in charge of labeling the bottles one night, and it was getting late, and he was down to the last few, and the vanilla bottle looked so similar to Motuscus, so he labeled it wrong. Oh well. What could a little mislabeling do?

As Ron and Hermione laughed, singing along to cheesy Christmas music, nobody realized that on Christmas morning, they were going to find out exactly what a little mislabeling was going to do.

  It was still nice and sunny, the room was still flooded with light, yet nothing seemed at all like yesterday. Hermione had received a letter from her parents, wishing her a Happy Christmas, telling her they missed her, that they wished she could be with them, that they couldn’t wait until they’d see her next. Even though Hermione knew she’d see them just after New Year’s, she couldn’t help but feel guilty, and a little sad that they were spending Christmas alone. So, she made the decision to go home.

She felt bad, knowing Molly had already knitted her a sweater, and that already there was a small pile of presents with her name on them under the tree, but Ginny had reassured her that everyone would understand, that if she felt her family needed her, then of course, being with them was the best thing to do. For everyone. Hermione knew Ginny was right, and Molly gave her a big hug and immediately went to make arrangements to get her home, but she was reluctant to tell Ron.

She was sure he noticed her silence while they were making the cookies, but he didn’t say anything, until finally, Hermione felt forced to tell him, as casually as she could, that she was going home for Christmas. He was quiet for a long while.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m sorry, Ron, but I’ve got-”

“But you said you were staying. And Harry’s coming tomorrow, you’re just not going to be there?”

“I’ll be there. I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon. I’m sorry I can’t stay to finish up with the cookies.”

“Oh, forget about the cookies,” he said, suddenly stopping his whisking and setting the bowl down on the countertop a little too hard for Hermione’s liking.

“Those aren’t done yet!” she protested, grabbing the bowl and whisking, hard enough that little flecks of dough sprayed out.

“I thought we were all going to spend Christmas together. I thought we’d had it planned out.”

“We did, but I changed my mind. I’m needed at home.”

“You’re needed here,” he said, and then paused, swallowed hard and continued. “For the cookies, I mean. I just think it’s unfair to agree to something and then decide not to do it.”

“I thought you said to forget about the cookies.”

“Well, maybe I change my mind. Or are you the only one who’s allowed to do that?”

Hermione felt her cheeks turn red, but this time, with anger. “Look, if you’re going to act like such a… such a child,” she said, stumbling to find the right word, “then I can just finish up with these myself.”

Ron softened, just a little, but he still didn’t want to give up his ground just yet. “No, I’m still helping. I’m going to be doing the rest on my own, aren’t I? I might as well learn how to do it now.”

Hermione said nothing, but grabbed for the vanilla and accidentally poured in a tad too much, but whatever, it was just vanilla, wasn’t it? As she whisked, the Motuscus spread throughout the batter.

  Ron didn’t really know why he got so mad at Hermione yesterday. No, that was a lie. He knew. He didn’t want her to go. Was that really so wrong? Voldemort seemed to be closer and closer every day - who knew how many more Christmases like this they’d get to spend together? Who knew how many Christmases they even had left?

Ron wanted to apologize, to explain to her, to tell her he was sorry, but he had a little too much pride, and he ended up saying nothing at all. So, wordlessly, they worked side by side. Hermione would miss Harry, he was going to arrive later than he’d thought. Any moment now, his mum would call her, and she’d be gone. Of course, Ron would see her next semester. It really wasn’t that far away. But leaving things like this made it feel like a really long time. He almost started to hum the Weird Sisters song from two days ago but thought better of it.

Though they were technically mad at each other, it did feel nice just knowing she was working beside him. They’d officially developed a rhythm; they didn’t even have to speak to get the job done.

“Hermione, dear, we’re ready to take you.” His mum’s voice wafted through the kitchen as pleasantly as the smell of their cookies. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron caught Hermione glancing at him, sadly. She put in the spoonful of vanilla, and the Motuscus did its work quickly. As Hermione was leaving the room, Ron felt desperate to say one last thing to her, because once she walked out the door, he wouldn’t see her for three weeks.

So, without turning his back, but with as much sincerity as he could muster, Ron said the only thing that he could think of. “Merry Christmas, Hermione” But when he turned back to the door, she was already gone.

 The fire was blazing, and the warmth of the oven was filling the room, but it felt somehow colder with Hermione gone. He remembered how to make the cookies fine, but it felt harder with her. He noticed his arm getting tired and heavy and sore as he whisked. He didn’t feel that when she was there.

Ron looked out the window. Somehow, it had snowed even more overnight. No one had even made any footprints. It was a clear, untouched blanket of white. It was really, really beautiful, he had to admit it. He wished Hermione could be there to see it. He shut his eyes for a moment, and took everything in. The warm smell if the cookies, the sunlight pressing against his eyelids, the soft holiday music playing from his mum’s room. He hoped that it was just as lovely where Hermione was as it was where he was. And he hoped she’d be able to enjoy it more than him.

His longing for her had reached its miserable peak when he remembered to put in the vanilla, accidentally tipping a tad too much in. He didn’t really know much about baking, so he hoped that they would still taste alright. As the motuscus spread through the batter, Ron went to the record player and set on the same album he was listening to only three days earlier, singing with Hermione. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine she was there again.

 Ron was whistling to himself as he washed his hands. He was feeling a bit merrier than yesterday. After all, it was Christmas Eve. And he was thinking of owling Hermione her present and an apology. Maybe not an apology. He was still going back and forth on that bit.

So when he turned around and saw Hermione standing there, a million questions flooded through his mind, but the only thing that came out of his mouth, as if against his will was, “I’m sorry.”

Instantly, her nervous expression melted into a relieved smile. She took a few steps towards him until she was only an arm’s length away, and after hesitating a moment, she enveloped him in a warm hug. Wow, Ron thought. Maybe Christmas came early.

“It’s really nice to see you, Ron.”

“You too, Hermione.” He pulled away from the hug, feeling a smile rising to his face, too. “What are you doing back?”

“Well,” Hermione started, looking down at the ground, “from their letter, I assumed they’d be sitting all alone, waiting for me to come back. It turns out they invited half the family over.”

“So?”

“So I figured I might as well stick around. But in the end they sent me back.”

“On Christmas? Why?”

Finally, Hermione looked up at him. “Because I was miserable. I felt so awful about how things ended up here, and besides, I do like being here for the holidays. Besides, I still had to finish with the cookies.”

“Right, well, I suppose we better get to work then.”

So, they did. For the next hour, they finished with the cookies, playing Christmas music, but not singing. Not even talking much. But they could both feel the warmth pooling into their chests, as if the light reflecting off the snow reflected right into their hearts. She couldn’t stop smiling, and neither could Ron. For the final touch, of course, Hermione put a teaspoon of vanilla into the batter. Without realizing Hermione already had, Ron put in a teaspoon, too.

As Molly cast the spell to keep the cookies fresh, she recognized a familiar scent, but couldn’t quite place it. Oh well. Christmas was tomorrow, and since Ron and Hermione had worked so hard, she was sure the cookies would be a big hit.

  Ron and Hermione couldn’t be more excited to show off their cookies, though Ron tried to hide his enthusiasm. After five solid days of baking, they’d had five batches of thirty cookies for the whole family - lots of leftovers, for sure, but who cared? That never hurt anyone.

“Alright everyone, eat up! Hey, Ron, do you mind going to help me bring the presents down?”

“Sure.”

They chatted on their way up there, mostly about how excited they were to try their cookies. They figured once the family had a go with the treats, they’d dig in. But they had no clue what they were about to walk into downstairs.

Percy was the first one they spotted. He looked up at them, mournfully. “Your cookies are wonderful, Hermione. I only wish Penelope could be here to try them.” Then, before giving her a chance to respond, he looked longingly out the window. Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron.

“That was odd.”

“I know. I make the cookies, too, why didn’t he give me a compliment?”

They walked a little farther into the room, and Hermione almost dropped all the presents. In the corner, Fred and George were very loudly singing an off-pitch rendition of Deck the Halls. At the table Molly was shouting at Arthur extremely angrily, while Arthur blubbered at the table, fat tears running down his face. In the center of the room, for everyone to see, Harry and Ginny were violently snogging.

Quickly, Hermione set down the presents. “What’s happened? What’s going on?” Her question only got a few glances and no responses. She went over to the cookies. “Huh. That’s odd - do I smell…?” Her face lit up with recognition. She ran over to the cabinet and pulled out the vanilla, uncapped the bottle and sniffed it. And just as she suspected, “Ron, we accidentally put motuscus instead of vanilla!”

“Motu-what?”

“Ron, didn’t you pay attention at all in potions?”

“What does it do?”

“Well, you put it in a recipe when you’re trying to have the consumer experience the emotion the creator of the potion is experiencing at the time. Typically, it’s used for medicinal purposes, forcing happiness on a physically ill person to speed up their recovery, but it seems we’ve been using it by accident for all this time and haven’t even noticed.” Hermione looked around the room in dismay.

“So, how do we know what we were feeling when we made these?” Ron asked. Hermione furrowed her brow and looked at the cookies. Then, she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

“Alright, everyone, listen up.”

“Blimey, that loud! Can you teach me how to do that?” Ron said. Hermione bit back a smile. But, he was right. It was certainly loud enough. Tearfully, Arthur and Percy looked up at her, Molly looked overwhelmingly infuriated, but listened. Harry and Ginny broke apart, gasping for air, and Fred and George stopped singing, but still looked confused.

“It seems there’s been a bit of an ingredient mix-up. Instead of putting in vanilla, we may have accidentally put in Motuscus. However, if you eat the cookies in the proper order, I think everything will turn out alright.”

She walked over to the cookie table and looked at the first batch. “We made these the first day. Let’s see…” She looked over at Fred and George who were singing again, this time We Wish You a Merry Christmas. “I’d say this was Christmas spirit. Let’s put these last.” She went to the second batch. “This was when we were bickering. From the looks of your mum, I’d peg this as anger. Let’s have it first, get it over with.” She went to the third. “This is… this is the day I left. We were both quite upset that day, weren’t we? Alright, second, for wistfulness.” She glanced over at Arthur, who was still crying.”

Hermione made her way to the fourth batch. “I don’t - I don’t know what these are.”

Ron rubbed the back of his head, ears turning crimson. “Right, well, I made those the day you - well, you weren’t there for those.” Hermione grabbed the cookie and took a bite. She looked at Percy, then Ron with a knowing look and a soft smile.

“Let’s place these third.”

“And this one, this was our last day. I don’t know how to place it.”

So we obviously know that he came back the day after Christmas. It’s just a matter of working out when he left.

There’s a quote just before the big fight about the trio becoming accustomed to pitching their tent on mulches of wet leaves, suggesting they’re well into fall when Ron leaves.

We also have four quotes referring to Ron being absent for weeks:

"You - crawl - back - here - after - weeks - and - weeks - oh, where's my wand?"

"You came back after weeks - weeks - and you think it's all going to be all right if you just say sorry?"

"I don't care!" she screamed. "I don't care what he's done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been dead for all he knew -"

Ron was now filling Harry in on everything he had discovered about the wider Wizarding world during his weeks away.