Malfoy Meets Muggle
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling
Warnings: Non epilogue compliant, some strong language
Rating: T
Chapter 3. Toaster
"What in Merlin's name is that?" Draco asks as Harry proudly displays the next muggle item Draco gets to meet.
"It's a toaster," Harry announces, "Can you guess what it's for?"
Draco shoots him a scathing look. "I may be inexperienced when it comes to muggles, Harry, but I'm not a complete imbecile. I surmise from the name that it is a contraption for making toast."
Harry has the decency to look slightly shamefaced. "I'm sorry. It's just that after I've been drowning in your upper crust circle for so long, it feels good to have the upper hand for once."
Draco's still scowling, but then Harry gives him The Puppy Dog Eyes, the ones he knows Draco can't resist, and Draco's insides melt. Harry just looks so adorable, his head tilted slightly downwards and his large, round green eyes peering up imploringly at Draco. Draco sighs and pulls his boyfriend into his arms, nuzzling Harry's thick, dark hair with his nose before gently nipping the shell of his ear.
"I love you," he mumbles.
"Love you too," Harry replies, before softly slapping Draco's side, "Now, toaster. Pay attention."
Draco pulls back, watching with interest as Harry plugs the thing into the wall. "If it's for making toast, why are there frogs on it?" he asks.
"Because when I bought it, it was either a frog pattern or plain white. Now stop going off topic," Harry admonishes, "I figured this would be useful for you to know how to use in case I'm ever going to be late at work. You can put anything on toast and it's a meal, after all. So, like the kettle there are metal wires that get hot to toast the bread. Unlike the kettle, you can get to them with your fingers. Be really careful not to touch them; use this lever at the side to push the bread up and down, and turn this knob to change the time."
He takes four slices of bread out of the bread bin and pops them into the toaster, pushing the lever down to turn it on. Draco's eyes widen as he sees the wires inside go red.
"They're glowing!" he announces rather unnecessarily.
Harry chuckles. "That's because they're hot. It's the same as in a light bulb, except that's hot enough to glow white."
"Really?" Draco asks, amazed, as he turns and squints up at the light source in the kitchen. He hasn't really given much thought as to how they work; all Harry's shown him up to now is that they come on and off using the switches on the walls. It's a far cry from the torches, candles and lanterns he's used to and, if he dares to admit it, rather clever.
The next moment, he nearly has a heart attack as the toast jumps out of the top of the toaster. "Merlin's hairy bollocks!"
Harry keels over laughing. "Bloody hell, Draco, the look on your face! It just ejected the toast because it's done, that's all. See?"
Harry grabs one of the slices and holds it out for inspection. It's a little bit too well done for Draco's liking, plus it nearly killed him. He takes it from Harry's hand a tears it into little pieces.
It is a few days later when Draco, who's working at the kitchen table (it's still early but he tires of the office mid-afternoon, and what's the point of being the boss if he can't choose where he wants to work?), nearly gets hit in the head by the Ministry owl. Swearing, he manhandles the thing onto the chair next to him and grabs the piece of parchment tied to its leg. Harry's rushed, spiky scrawl is instantly recognisable.
Caught up in a case at work, will be home about eight. You eat, I'll grab fish and chips on my way home. H xxx
Draco sighs in disappointment. Eating with Harry is his favourite time of the day; in the mornings they're both panicking about getting to work on time and accidentally wearing each other's underwear, then by the time dinner's over they're too tired to do much more than collapse on the sofa and nap until it's time to go to bed. Over dinner is when they talk, and every day Draco learns something new about Harry. He doesn't ever want to stop learning.
He's about to write a reply when he's struck by a sudden inspiration. Harry always makes dinner for the pair of them; if he's going to be late home, isn't this the perfect time for Draco to demonstrate that he's taken on Harry's lessons about the muggle appliances and cook dinner? He nods resolutely and grabs a spare piece of parchment.
Forget fish and chips, I'll cook. Love you, D xxx
He ties the parchment to the owl's leg, frowning when it glares at him. "No, I'm not going to feed you. Harry's the nice one in this relationship, he'll do that. Now scat."
The owl hoots indignantly and flies off, and then Draco realises that he's got no idea what to cook. He can make spaghetti with some boiling water and his spaghetti-cooker-tube-thing, or toast with the toaster. He puts off the decision for the time being – it's only just gone five – and turns back to his work. When he next checks the time its quarter to eight, fifteen minutes before Harry's due home, and panic sets in.
He swears, stacks his papers and quickly dumps them out of the way in the living room. Toast or spaghetti, toast or spaghetti... Biting his lip, he grabs four slices of frozen bread from the freezer – they ran out of fresh yesterday, and given that Draco still can't fathom out muggle money, he doesn't fancy his chances of being able to buy a fresh loaf – and sticks it in the toaster. This, he tells himself, will be the best toast Harry's ever tasted. After this, any other toast will seem inferior.
He glares impatiently at the toaster, willing it to work faster. When the bread eventually jumps out of the top, Draco groans in despair. For some reason, the bread is hardly toasted at all; it's not even lightly golden, for Merlin's sake! Frustrated, he twists the knob to increase the time, pushes the lever back down and, as a contingency plan, sets the kettle going. If the toaster's broken, he'll just have to serve Harry spaghetti instead.
He pulls the spaghetti out of the cupboard, but it's not like any spaghetti he's ever seen before. It's a packet of long, thin, completely rigid sticks, but the label definitely says its spaghetti. Giving it the benefit of the doubt, he transfers two fistfuls to the spaghetti-cooker and adds boiling water from the kettle. He sets that down on the kitchen top, then wheels round when he hears the toaster go off.
"Shit!" he yells, rushing forward. All four slices are completely black. "Damn, shit, fuck," he mumbles as he fishes them out of the toaster and onto a plate. He stands back for a moment and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. How does Harry make this cooking business look so easy? He's due home any minute, and there's only one slice of frozen bread left. Grimacing, Draco takes a knife and scrapes as much of the black stuff into the bin as he can.
"Draco?"
"Bloody Merlin!" Draco swears when he hears Harry calling out from the living room, wondering how he could have missed the sound of the apparition. As quickly as he can he puts two slices of toast onto each of two plates, drains the water off the spaghetti (which, he is relieved to see, is now softer and altogether more spaghetti-like) then dumps it on top the toast. He's just setting the plates on the table when Harry walks into the kitchen.
"Draco, I smell burning. Is everything alright?"
Draco plasters on a smile as he sits down. "Brilliant. Now, come and get your dinner before it goes cold."
Harry squints at the plates sat on the table. "Er, what is it?"
"Spaghetti on toast," Draco announces, as if this is what he's planned all along.
"Spaghetti on toast?" Harry asks doubtfully.
Draco nods, crossing his fingers behind his back. "You told me you can put anything on toast."
"So I did," Harry acquiesces, sitting down opposite Draco and picking up his knife and fork. Draco does the same, twirls some spaghetti deftly around his fork, cuts the corner off his slice of toast and puts the whole lot into his mouth.
It's possibly the most disgusting thing he's ever tasted. The spaghetti is far too al dente, almost inedible, and so dry without any type of sauce. The toast only makes it worse, and the acrid taste of the burned bits he hasn't managed to scrape off is ghastly. Still, determined to put on a brave face, he swallows and takes a sip of water, scooping a second mouthful onto his fork. Just as he's about to eat it he notices Harry, who's chewing his first mouthful and looking distinctly green.
"Are you alright?" Draco asks.
Harry swallows and gives him a weak smile. "Please don't be offended, Draco. I appreciate the effort, I really do, but would you mind if I go and get fish and chips?"
Draco sighs in relief and vanishes the meal. "Thank Merlin. Please do."