Disclaimer: I, very unhappily, do not own Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy. If I did, I would be in a bedroom right now instead of sitting in front of my computer drooling over how undeniably yummy they are.
Draco is the baker.
Draco is the one who can measure out flour and sugar in every way possible –by spell, by wandless spell, and even by hand. Draco is the one who can mix together cake batter like the most basic potion. Draco is the one who creates confectionary perfection without turning the kitchen into what appears to be a troll's nest right after a raid.
So why in the world was Harry Potter standing in the middle of a kitchen with oven mitts over his ears, flour all over his arms, and the beautiful shriek of the fire alarm spreading throughout the house?
Harry Potter was desperately and hopelessly in love with Draco Malfoy –that was a fact. But love should have certain boundaries. Such as three burnt cakes –two which were just badly burnt, and one that was both burnt and thoroughly filled with eggshells, since Harry didn't realize that eggs had to be separated from the shell before being beaten and not after. Or perhaps, the fact that the counters –once pristine and spotless, as per Draco's precise instructions and slight OCD –were now prisoners of war behind bars of gloopy frosting dripping from the high cabinets and coating the floors.
In fact, when Harry Potter decided that Muggle means were absolutely hopeless and resorted to using blenders to create said frosting –which frosted said room instead of cake –even Draco Malfoy would have called a stop to the baking nightmare.
But Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived and, he mused, if Voldemort couldn't kill him, how was baking supposed to?
Only three minutes later, he slipped upon a puddle of salt and egg –honestly, how was he supposed to tell the difference between salt and sugar? They both looked the same –and decided that perhaps it was time to ask for professional help.
"Honestly, I don't get why you don't just buy the bloody thing from some stupid store." Ron Weasely was the ultimate male voice of reason in situations like this, which was exactly why Harry ignored every word he said and looked over to Hermione with eyes of desperation.
"Honestly," she began, with a glare at her husband and an exasperated voice, "you can't buy any bloody thing from a stupid store, if your husband just so happens to run a stupid store and bake bloody things all day!" Another eye roll and an unspoken "Men" brought the Golden Trio to forsaken room of disaster, otherwise known as the kitchen.
Three more… unsuccessful… cakes later, Hermione was still trying to Harry the wonderful virtue of patience –not particularly easy, as she found her own temper shortening with every "Why don't you just break up with him?" that Ron managed to squeak out, which just so happened to occur roughly every half hour.
It took another two attempts for Harry to manage an edible cake –although the first cake did indeed look edible, which was definitely an improvement from the last few. Hermione decided to let Harry practice icing the seemingly edible cake –and with good reason, for by the time Harry had completed the icing process, the cake looked almost as bad as it tasted –before actually frosting the edible cake. After all, it had taken all day to come up with one presentable cake and Hermione highly doubted there was time to create another and –with a sideways glance at her sweet, dear, and absolutely insensitive husband –definitely not enough patience.
Five cleaning spells later, the room was still a downright disaster and there were only seconds before Draco was expected home. A few desperate tosses of balloons and streamers later, as well as a charm to shower the hall with confetti the instant Draco opened the door, Harry deemed the room "the best it was going to get" and turned off all the lights. Hermione declined Harry's offer to stay for the surprise, opting to return home and torture Ron by scheduling a girl's night and forcing him to take care of the children all night in retaliation for his immature behavior that day.
Harry laughed as loudly as he thought safe.
When Draco finally opened the door that night, it was not the beautifully frosted cake or the shower of confetti or the fact that the room wasn't disastrously messy anymore that touched him.
It was the flour over his boyfriend's arms, the poorly hidden burnt catastrophes, and the poorly iced cake that almost didn't spill out of the trash bin that reminded Draco Malfoy just how wonderful it was to be in love with Harry Potter.
Draco is the baker. Draco is the one who can create sweets like no one's business.
But Harry Potter is the only one, who can remind Draco that there's sweetness for him.
Thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this, because I'm starting to write again and I'm hoping -desperately hoping- that I haven't lost whatever touch I've got... if I've got one xD. Much love, thanks for your love, reviews, support, existence, and love for Drarry.
Rose-chan-chan