written for lilyjames_fest over on Live Journal
I do not own Harry Potter
Lily sighed as she looked won at the recipe and ingredients on the counter in front of her. The whole situation was hopeless and, quite frankly, she was more than a titch annoyed with James for telling his family that they would make something to bring to dinner.
True, he had no way of knowing how much Lily disliked cooking or how absolutely wretched she was at it; Lily had never admitted either. And, of course, James had assumed – as did everybody else – that Lily was a good cook, great even.
It wasn't because she was a witch. No, Lily would have almost preferred that. At least then she could get angry and frustrated about sexism and bigotry. Even Lily thought that she ought to be good at cooking. She had, after all, been the top in her class in potions her entire time at Hogwarts and had studied with a Potion's Master until she'd become pregnant a month previously.
"The same concepts should apply," Lily murmured to herself as she poured a lumpy looking batter into a cake pan. She knew that the colour was slightly off and that the batter shouldn't be quite this thick and uneven, but Lily had followed the recipe to a tee. She wrinkled her nose as she slid the pan into the oven and set about cleaning up the mess she'd made. Cleaning up, at least, was something she could do.
"What's that smell, love?" James asked as he walked into their flat thirty-odd minutes later.
"Dessert," Lily mumbled, staring forlornly at the oven.
"Er... is it supposed to smell like that?" James asked as he sat down across from Lily at their kitchen table. "And is the oven supposed to be smoking?"
"Sod off, Potter," Lily said half-heartedly. She got up and crossed the kitchen to the oven. Wisps of smoke were, indeed, escaping from the oven door and, when she opened it, she was greeted with a face full.
Coughing, Lily backed up, waving the smoke away from her watering eyes.
"I can't do it, James," Lily said, sinking into her chair and watching the smoke continue to come out of the oven.
"It's just a cake, love," James said, reaching across the table to take her hands in his. "There will be other cakes. We'll pick something up from the bakery on our way to dinner."
"I can't cook, James," Lily said, tearing her eyes from the mess. "How am I ever going to a mother if I can't even bake a simple cake? We're not old enough, we're not mature enough. We can't do this; I can't do this."
"Lils," James said, standing up and pulling Lily into his arms. "You can't bloody cook, that's fine. I can't fix a broken toilet. But this?" He rested a hand on her growing abdomen. "This we can do."
"How do you know?"
"Because when things matter, we can do them. And this baby matters so much more than some lousy cake."