Title: Cooking!Draco
Author:MeLi
Summary: Draco cooks. Or tries to.
AN: Fic inspired by the wonderful Ruhgozler in a moment I was greatly bored.
I challenged her to challenge me, and she came up with a plot that led to this.
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When he decided to do this for his partner as an anniversary present, Draco had thought it would be much easier. After all, he'd spent seven years at Hogwarts brewing perfect potions; why would this be any harder?
However, three hours into the task at hand and the mess that surrounded him proved him wrong. Damn those stupid Muggles anyway; why did they have to make things so complicated?
It had taken him 47 minutes just to figure out how to turn the oven on. 23 minutes later he had managed to turn it to the right temperature. By then he started thinking scaring the house elves out of the kitchen had probably been a bad idea. Another twenty minutes spent looking for all the necessary ingredients had him cursing himself for driving them away.
A half hour and a few words looked up in the dictionary later, Draco knew what a whisk, a food processor, a cookie sheet (the book he'd taken the recipe from just had to be American) and a Mary Ann pan were.
One more hour spent mixing and beating, chopping and slicing, fetching bandages for the cuts on his fingers and thinking of hexing himself for having this idea in the first place brought him to where he was now.
In the middle of a kitchen that was messier than the final battle with Voldemort had been.
Or that's what it seemed like, anyway.
Still; he wouldn't give up. If the greatest Evil Wizard of all times couldn't discourage him from keeping his own, neither would a messy kitchen and a seemingly impossible recipe.
That's why, two hours later, Harry Potter had the dubious pleasure of walking into an house smelling strongly of a home-made dinner. Overlapped by the smell of something burning. And accompanied by the sounds of his mate's profuse swearing coming from the kitchen and the sight of a trembling house elf trying to hide behind the hat stand placed by the main door.
"Draco?" Harry called as he warily approached the kitchen.
The swearing stopped at once.
"Harry, you can't come in!" Draco's yell was followed by a loud bumping noise and yet more swearing. "Go to the dining room, I'll be right there!"
Not daring to contradict such explicit orders, Harry did as he was told and found himself in a candle-lit room, in front of a beautifully laid table.
Gaping at the thoughtfulness of the scene before him, Harry turned around when he heard his lover enter the room and couldn't help but smile. Draco was wearing a green apron with the words "You can't lick the spoon – Lick the cook instead," on the front, and was covered in flour, what looked like some sort of sauce and – was that honey?
"Dray...You cooked?" Harry tried to keep the wonder off his voice but failed tremendously. To his further amazement, Draco blushed.
"I wanted to give you something special today, so I—"
That was as far as Draco got before being cut off by a mouth fastening to his, a wet tongue lapping enthusiastically at his own.
After long minutes of lascivious kissing, the men finally parted to gulp in mouthfuls of much needed air.
Panting, Draco said, "I'd say I'd cook more often if this is the thanks I get, but after you see what I made, I don't think you'll agree. Just wait here a second."
After kissing Harry lightly again, Draco left for the kitchen, reappearing a few moments later with a covered tray. Laying it on the table, he uncovered it, revealing a big bowl of salad.
"You see, this isn't what I first planned to make, but the oven's not working properly so the meat burned and there must be something wrong with the pots because the sauce turned out all bitter and—"
Again, Harry cut him off with a kiss, this time sweet and loving.
Staring into silver eyes, Harry said, "It's okay, Dray. I don't care what you made, just that it's you who made it is what matters to me. I'm sure the salad is wonderful."
A happy smile lit Draco's face then, and he pressed close to Harry, kissing him passionately.
"Now," said Harry a tad breathless, "wanna have dinner, or may I follow the apron's instructions?"
End