Title: Her cooking
Author: Veritas-amore.
Summary: She likes to cook for him. He doesn't have the heart to tell her he'd rather eat dragon dung.
This is a random drabble that popped into my head when I was cooking the other day. Needless to say, my cooking is far better than Hermione's :P Please leave a review.
That's it.
He'd had enough.
It was time to put his foot down and end this nonsense once and for all.
She was making him a romantic dinner. He liked the idea of romance but dinner… dinner was just eurgh! In every sense of the word. She couldn't cook to save her life. He still remembered that poisoning incident with what she'd tried to pass off as shepherd's pie. And that disastrous plum pudding that had tasted more like mud balls caked in rancid cream.
He knew she tried her hardest but Merlin, he wasn't going through a poisoning attempt again!
He'd just have to tell her she couldn't cook. There wasn't a doubt that she'd get upset and angry but for once, he just wanted a normal, edible one-hundred galleon three-course meal at London's finest restaurant. The only reason he agreed to her dinners anyway was because of the inevitable sex afterwards but really, no matter how great the sex was, it didn't compensate for the bad taste left in his mouth and the hunger which he'd have to endure until the next morning –afternoon if they decided to sleep in.
As he approached her apartment door he could already smell a faint scent of burning.
This didn't bode well.
He really should've brought a bezoar in his pocket.
Just in case.
As she opened the door and kissed him in welcome before leaving to go check on her food –poison! His mind screamed. It's poison!– he concreted his decision to put a stop to her cooking and tell her even flobberworms couldn't stomach her cuisine.
As he took his coat off, he could hear her hissing and cursing coming from the kitchen and the burning became more pronounced.
He was doomed.
To alleviate his tension, he picked up the book she had perched on the coffee table and groaned as he saw that it was a cookery book. He found the page she'd marked and his stomach grumbled darkly. So that was what she was supposed to be making him. He looked mournfully at the grilled salmon fillet she wasn't going to present him with.
His smile was beginning to ache as he later took his seat at the table and looked down at the charred fish and mushy, overcooked vegetables on his plate. Apprehensively, he lifted his fork and speared a bit of the fish before raising it to his mouth, fighting hard not to wince. She just smiled encouragingly at him.
It tasted worse than he'd expected. The outside was charred and the inside raw. It was salty to a point that almost had his eyes watering and he was having difficulty containing the EURGH! that sorely wanted to escape his lips.
"So," Hermione smiled expectantly. "What do you think?"
This was it. Time to suck it up and tell her that she was born to excel at everything but cooking… and if she honestly tried to cook for him again he'd leave her. Just for good measure. He made a show of savouring the taste in his mouth –yeah right– and wondered how best to phrase his next words.
"It's," Draco began but then felt his pluck falter with one glance at her endearingly eager eyes. "It's delectable, love."
Hermione beamed. Draco internally winced.
One revolting bite down. Just a thousand more to go.