Ginny Weasley's Guide to Baking

by Toasty

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take points.” He smirked and Ginny, even from her seat on the ground, could tell that he wasn’t the least bit sorry. “What are you doing down here, Malfoy? Shouldn’t you be in bed too?”

I own nothing, except for the idea that baking is the best thing in the world.  I haven't been dead, just distracted, so maybe this fic will get me back into writing a bit more.  In summary, Draco stumbles upon Ginny working on Hermione's birthday present very early one morning.  Fluffy-ness ensues.  Enjoy!

Ginny Weasley's Guide to Baking.

            The kitchens at Hogwarts, usually packed to capacity with house elves, students, and teachers, sat silent for a moment.  Ginny Weasley, sixth year Gryffindor and escape artist extraordinaire, glanced at her watch and smiled.  Nobody in their right minds would be in the kitchens at 1:30 on a Sunday morning.

            Well, almost nobody.

            Quickly the redhead set to work, pulling her apron out of her knapsack, searching around for various bowls and measuring cups, pulling out flour, sugar, and a variety of sweet confections.  Her tattered slippers made little noise on the hard stone floor, and within the first few minutes her bathrobe was discarded on a long bench positioned below the Ravenclaw table.

            Caught up in her escapade as she was, she failed to hear the kitchen door squeak open.  Ginny Weasley, focused on her baking, did not notice as a tall blonde watched as she glided along the counters.

            She did notice, though, when her name- at least her last name- was called out.  "Weasley?!  Bloody hell, what are you doing here?"

            The tiny redhead shot around, loosing her balance, and falling unceremoniously on her rear end.  Right in front of Malfoy.  Draco Malfoy.  Draco "the ferret" Malfoy.  Head Boy Draco "the ferret" Malfoy.

            All the color in her face drained, only to be replaced seconds later as she noticed she was clad only in an old pair of Percy's pajama pants and an old quiddich tank top she could have gotten from Bill, that is, if she hadn't gotten it from Fred.  "Umm…" Ginny dared glance around at her surroundings.  "This doesn't look too good, does it?"

            The blonde shook his head.  "I'm afraid I'll have to take points."  He smirked and Ginny, even from her seat on the ground, could tell that he wasn't the least bit sorry.

            "Well what are you doing down here, Malfoy?  Shouldn't you be in bed too?"

            His eyes went wide, and then narrowed into slits.  "I'm making my rounds, Weasley, and the kitchens are off limits, especially after curfew."  He made a point of checking his watch.  "Especially five hours after curfew."

            Ginny glared at the ground, then up at the ingredients laid out on the counter above her head.  Her eyes focused back on the Slytherin patronizing her.  She smiled warmly up at him… and his choice of dress.  "Malfoy," she grinned, "Do you know of anybody else who does their patrols in their pajamas?"  The blonde glared down at Ginny, even as she stood and worked her way towards the icebox.  "I can't say I've ever seen McGonagal go running around in her bathrobe, have you?"  She shook her head and poured a glass of cold mint tea.  "Perhaps," she pondered, heading back towards her knapsack, "It's just Snape that does that.  Although I've never seen him do it."  Picking up her wand, she murmured a spell and warmed the tea in her hands.

            Smiling, she handed it to the silent Head Boy.  "I don't know about you," she whispered, "but when I can't sleep, nothing helps more than a cup of hot mint tea."

            Draco took the tea, still scowling, and headed for a small table across the kitchen.  Ginny shrugged and turned back to her concoction.

            Humming to herself, she began measuring out and stirring.  Draco watched on from his table, grumbling to himself.  "What are you doing anyway, Weasley?"

            The question shocked the youngest Weasley.  She, in all honesty, wasn't expecting him to say anything.  Slowly she turned around, a large glass bowl positioned on her hip, a spoon, covered in some brown goop, held in her opposite hand.

            "Why, I'm making a cake, Draco."

            He seemed to give a look close to revulsion.  "That's not a cake.  If you ask me, Weasley, that looks like horse manure."

            Ginny laughed and rolled her eyes.  "First of all, it's not baked yet.  Second, you don't need to call me Weasley.  You can call me Ginny like everybody else does.  And third, this looks nothing like horse manure.  Heavens, have you even seen horse manure?"  Laughing quietly to herself, she turned back to the counter and set the bowl down.

            As she added a scoop of flour, she felt something warm on her neck.  Turning, she bumped directly into a someone she thought was a good twenty feet away.  "Merlin Draco," she brought a hand to her chest and tried to breathe normally, "You can't sneak up on people like that!"

            He ignored her comment and looked over her shoulder.  He gestured to the batter and asked, "How does that become cake?"

            Ginny laughed.  "You want me to teach you how to bake a cake?"

            He shrugged and stood to the side, leaning on a counter.  "I figured if I'm here I might as well help.  Besides, if I'm lucky I might get a chance to poison it when you're not looking."

            The redhead rolled her eyes and tossed him two pans.  "I need you to grease and flour those while I finish the batter then.  Oh, but use the cocoa powder instead."  She had already mixed in more flour when she turned to check his progress and was met with a blank stare.  "Why didn't you," Ginny paused, glancing at the Slytherin, "Oh, don't tell me you don't know how to grease a pan?"

            "Woman," he growled, "I didn't even know that goop was a cake batter, hell, I don't even know what a batter is, how did you expect me to know how to grease and flour something?  I don't even see any flowers.  Cripes, it's the middle of September, where do you expect me to get flowers?"

            Ginny laughed.  Hard.  When she finally came around and caught her breath, she turned to her companion.  "Maybe we should start from the beginning." One of her pale hands dipped into the flour container and came out scooping the white powder.  "This is flour.  F-L-O-U-R.  It's used when you want to bake damn near anything.  Feel it."

            Draco took a pinch between his fingers and rubbed them together.  "Flour," Ginny continued, "Is one of the most-used ingredients in the kitchen.  That, and it gets everywhere.  And trust me, once it gets somewhere, it'll be there for a while."  Dropping her handful of flour into the dustbin, she reached into another tin and pulled out a handful of sugar.

            "This is the sweet stuff," she grinned.  "Sugar.  Please tell me, you do know what sugar is, right?"

            Draco growled.  "Yes, I know what sugar is!"  He picked up the two cake pans.  "Just tell me how to grease these."

            "And flour them," Ginny reminded him.

            "Yes, and flour them."  He was beginning to grow impatient and the kitchen was getting hot.

            "With cocoa powder, not flour," he could have sworn she was smirking at him.

            "Weasley, do you want points taken or not?"

            "Oh fine, fine," she sighed.  Quickly, she showed him how to grease a pan and handed him the cocoa.  "You don't want a lot of the chocolate left in the pan, so be sure to tap all the extra out."  Pouring the last of the flour in the batter, she went back to stirring.

            "Done."

            Yawning, Ginny carried the glass bowl over to the pans.  "Here, hold the bowl up so I can scrape the batter out."  Obliging, Draco glanced down at the girl.

            "I still don't see how this becomes a cake."

            "It bakes, Draco.  You know, in an oven.  You have heard of an oven, correct?"

            "I'm going to ignore that last comment, Weasley."

            "You can put the bowl down now."  Ginny looked up at him, taking into account his tosseld hair, the smudges of chocolate scattered about his face and arms, and his navy blue bathrobe.  "Doesn't it get tiring," she asked quietly, "calling everybody by their last names?  Doesn't it make you feel like McGonagal?  Or Snape?"

            He shrugged and watched as she slid the two pans into one of the ovens.  "What do we do now?" he asked.

            Ginny sighed and stretched, her shirt slipping up and exposing a slice of her belly.  "We wait."  Her arms fell back to her sides.  "And clean up, of course."

            "Easy enough," Draco lifted his wand and sent the numerous bowls into a large sink.  They began to wash themselves.

            Ginny rolled her eyes.  "You're such a show off, you know."  She pulled out a mug for herself and filled it and Draco's mug with mint tea.  With a wave of her wand they were piping hot.  The redhead took a seat at a worn wood table and began tracing the grains with her fingertips.

            The elder Slytherin sat beside her and yawned.  "Why are you baking a cake at two-thirty in the morning anyway?"

            Ginny propped her feet up on the edge of the table and smiled.  "I like to bake," she stated.  "Well, that, and tomorrow's Hermione's eighteenth birthday."  She closed her eyes, only to open them seconds later.  "Actually, today is her birthday."  Ginny yawned and leaned back in her seat.

            "Where did you learn to bake?"

            Ginny opened one eye and looked over at Draco, sipping his tea.  "Full of questions today, aren't we?"

            "Just answer the question, Weasley."

            Ginny let out a frustrated sigh and stamped her foot on the floor.  "Merlin, can't you just say my name?  It's Ginny, in case you didn't catch that.  It's what everybody calls me, you know.  It won't hurt you to say it!"

            Draco sighed himself.  "Ginny," he spat out, "Where did you learn to bake?"

            "My mum taught me, I guess."  She leaned back in her seat and took a sip of the tea.  "Most of the basics I learned growing up, and the year before I came here.  When you're the only kid home for the first time ever you find things to do by yourself."

            "So you baked for a year?"

            Ginny shrugged, closing her eyes again.  "That and studied?  Pretty much."

            "You know," Ginny opened her eyes to find Draco much closer, whispering in her ear.  "You know," he repeated, "You have a smudge of chocolate right," he ran his finger across her cheek, "there."

            The redhead blushed and stood from her seat, taking a step back.  "I... I  always… I always seem to get covered in whatever I'm baking," she stuttered, heading quickly towards a sink.  "It always happens.  I… I don't think it'll ever change."  She felt a blush starting on her chest and quickly working its way to her face.  Ginny wiped the chocolate from her cheek and glanced at the oven.  "I should probably start on the frosting."

            As she reached for a bowl, she felt Draco back beside her.  "How can I help?"  The question was whispered in her ear and sent chills down her back.

            "You know," Ginny smiled nervously and took a step back, "Frosting is usually a one-person deal.  You don't have to stay here anyway, you know.  I'm sure your insomnia's cured."

            Draco reached and wrapped a long arm around Ginny's stomach.  "Ginny," he purred into her ear, "I want to help."

            Ginny growled at herself and pulled away from him.  "Fine," she spat, "but no more touching me!  And, and no more doing that thing you do that makes me not want to be a Weasley!"  She proceeded to storm around the kitchen, pulling out sacks of sugar and pads of butter, trying hopelessly to ignore the smirk plastered on Draco Malfoy's pointy little face.

            Furiously she began beating together the cream and butter.  Draco sidled up beside her and wrapped his arms cozily around her waist.  Ginny sighed and pushed his arms away.  "Oh bugger off, won't you?"  She added a scoop of sugar and a scoop of chocolate.  Draco wrapped his arms back around her.

            "What was that about not wanting to be a Weasley?"  His voice was soft in her ear.  Ginny sighed softly and leaned into his embrace.  "Let's pretend you're not a Weasley, shall we?"

            With a frustrated whimper Ginny pulled away yet again.  "No," she said, more for her own benefit that his, "No.  Because when everybody else wakes up I'll still be a Weasley, and you'll still be you.  You'll still be a Malfoy."  She handed him her bowl.  "Here, stir this."

            Frustrated with herself and her feelings, Ginny headed back to the table for her cup of tea.  Sitting on one of the chairs she saw a navy blue bathrobe.  She hadn't even noticed he had taken it off.  Taking a seat she began to watch him work.  His normally immaculate hair was loose and tosseld, hanging a few inches past his ears.  His pajama pants, unlike hers, were obviously new and the silver coloring hadn't yet dared to fade.  The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows and Ginny thought she glimpsed a few buttons undone.  Sighing, she stood again.

            "It should be done, Draco."  He nodded and set the bowl down.

            "Anything else then?"

            "The cakes should be finished baking too."  She stood and made her way to the ovens.  "A simple cooling charm will let us be able to frost them now.  Usually we'd have to wait."  She pulled the two pans, now a dark brown and puffed into domes, out of the oven.  After setting them on the counter, she pulled out her wand.

            Draco's hand grasped her wrist and pulled it away from the cakes.  "Maybe," he whispered, taking a step closer to her, "we can let them cool a bit on their own."

            Ginny sighed.  His arms were wrapped around her and she knew it felt completely wrong.  Wrong, but good.  "Fine," she whispered, "but if this is some bet on your part, everybody better know that I was the best damn shag ever."

            Draco laughed and began kissing up the back of her neck, "Whatever you say."

End.