Dramione Prompts Challenge
Prompt: Person 1 gets back from the supermarket with a cookbook. Super excited, Person 1 shows Person 2 the cookbook and decides to make them a strawberry cake. Person 1 is having trouble with multiple things (you decide) and says things like "I got it!" Person 1 messes up the cake to a point where it's inedible and agrees to try again with Person 2's help.
Chapter 3: Smells like Strawberries Part 2
"Oh no, you don't do anything." Hermione was so headstrong, so determined, as she hustled and bustled about, measuring the ingredients into little cups and preparing to pour them in the giant wooden mixing bowl that was also supplied in the kitchen. Since it was a very commonly rented place, the real estate agent actually had a little levy where tenants paid a fee annually (it was usually done with no fuss) and that amount went towards buying communal goods for everything such as a basic set of cooking utensils, cutlery, basic furniture, cleaning equipment like a mop and bucket. That way renters wouldn't have to carry their own cacophony of dishes, cleaning equipment and furniture along with themselves when they moved to the apartment in New York.
The pizza had arrived. Hermione initially didn't want a slice, preferring to work on the cake, muttering about 'first time actually' 'never had to do much chores at home because parents made me, didn't cook at Hogwarts honestly, never exactly baked before' and 'this will turn out right! I swear upon it!'. Draco had to momentarily stifle a laughter as he watched her with a hint of austere bemusement. Some things would never change, he thought, wishing he had a glass of wine or something to muse his thoughts - he usually liked something to drink when he was thinking. It may have something to do with the fact that his father said liquor was the basis of all interaction. It showcased your politeness both as a host and visitor, depending on the generosity you offered and the ease that you accepted it with. It showed commonality and similarity between people of different backgrounds, bought them all together. It also showed skill and ease, at the rate that one drunk their liquor and held it. In the anarchic times of the wizarding world systems, liquor was something that had been traditionally insisted upon at most investigations or personal affairs and business deals - something Draco's father had been very acquainted with. And a solid man was to hold his liquor.
He had given Draco tips on how to hold one's liquor well, how to get less intoxicated, how to appear more intoxicated than they were, subtle and sly tips on how to outdrink someone and hold your cool under alcohol. It had been something so strongly ingrained into him that liquor and investigations and high pressures just went hand in hand together, he longed for a drink everytime he got remotely contemplative.
And so he watched her. Hands itching to pour himself some wine, but not quite getting the impression Hermione would be terribly impressed if he started drinking at a little past 3 in a mid afternoon.
He opened the box and offered her a slice of New York pizza, in all it's steaming goodness, on a plate, and watched as she initially declined. Preferring to work on the cake, but as he intoned in a serious voice, that cereal was not a scrumptious meal and one would be hungry in a matter of time. She finally gave in with a huff and they a few slices together. Before she went back to the cake, determined with a casual sort of business. It looked almost industrious to watch, though at a few points Draco wondered if she had been in fact, following the ingredients correctly. So taken by casual busyness and work was she, that he begun to question her application of the cookbook to some extent. If Draco remembered correctly, he had always been the one good at potions, and Hermione was unfortunately, lacking the magic touch in that at Hogwarts.
"Add 2.12 teaspoons of baking powder," muttered Hermione, "hmm."
"Add 2 cups of sugar...this is salt isn't it?" she said, dabbing a fingertip in and confirming for herself that the unfamiliar jar in this new place she had grabbed was indeed, salt. Luckily she hadn't gone too far and the damage wasn't reversible...yet.
"You sure you don't need any help?" asked Draco, peering at the cookbook. Maybe it was this month's edition, maybe it was to match the retro theme, he supposed a strawberry cake was very retro in a way, it was old, timely, not exactly the latest cooking trend, because there was a vintage cursive all over the darned cookbook and instructions. It made it very hard to read, the slash looked like a large and curly decimal point. He raised his eyebrows at the stupid vintage themed cookbook, thinking that it's font wasn't helping it's interpretation. "I think," he began, but Hermione had cut him of before he could finish.
"Oh, I'm sure I know this!" she said, splashing some milk angrily in. "I know how to cook. There's nothing you can't learn, with practice, even if you haven't done a particular lot of it before." She said, pinching her nose in an an absolutely adorable way, although Draco knew not the way to say it.
"You sure, you insipid insipid fool," he said, creeping a little closer. He could see the hairs at the back of her neck rise up in the cool chill of the New York air at this time of the year. It was essentially the thick of winter when they arrived. "Because I can count five mistakes-"
"I got it!" said Hermione, "I got it! Don't you worry."
He stepped back, bemused, "I wish I had a drink," he finally decided to pertain his thoughts.
"A cinnamon spice latte wouldn't be bad," mused Hermione, her eyes flitting to Draco who was examining cupboards that looked like the closest to house liquor (and they were all empty) out of the corner of her peripheral vision, before realisation dawned and her mouth turned into an o, "is it the type of drink I'm thinking of?"
"Not even remotely close," he said, running his hands among the bare cabinets for a while before slamming them shut. He'd have to make some purchases then.
Hermione looked away with a disapproving tut of her head, but didn't say anything.
"Strawberry puree..." she muttered, busy with some tasks.
"I don't think you quite know the definition of puree then..." he muttered.
"Shut! I got it!" She slammed a door on his words as fast as she slammed the berries through a juicer and ended up with...a less than pure version of a puree Draco had ever seen.
"So you feel ahead of live in some ways, but behind in others," he mused, watching her as she worked with a sort of busy fevor and thinking of what was said previously.
"Mm," Hermione didn't reply. She began the process of mixing the batter together.
"I wonder...if you're so busy with such mundane tasks because you can't stand the silence of not being as ahead in life as you thought you were-"
She threw the mold containing the batter in the oven, before turning it on and letting it be. "I'm going to shower now," she muttered, wiping sweat of her forehead before leaving.
Thirty five minutes later they were at the kitchen again.
Smoke rising high out of the oven, torrent of grey clouds in the ceiling. The blanket of smoke looking close enough to make the smoke alarms go off and the unmistakable acrid tang in the air.
"Burnt it," he said, baring the oven with mittens and opening it to reveal even more trundles of smoke, which rose and explored the kitchen air rapidly, among Hermione fanning the air and herself with her hands and an unreadable expression on her face.
"It's not burnt Mr Pastry Chef," she said, "burnt implies a certain amount of overdue cooking. I followed the time recommended on the book."
"It cooked too soon and burnt. You added too much of something," he said, bringing out the cake. It was about two times the height of the mold, and rose up like a monstrosity. The skin was hard and brittle to the touch, the surface cracked and separated to give a molted yellow colour.
"It's fine," she said.
Draco placed it on a cake and sawed through a slice with a knife. He gave one to Hermione and one to himself.
"It's the saltiest cake I ever had," he said truthfully.
"I thought if I added twice the amount of sugar it would cancel out the salt," she said, with a wrinkle of her nose at her slice.
"That works in some cases, but some ingredients are more potent than others in regards to the entire recipe," he said, thinking of his potions classes. Then, with a mischievous grin, he turned to look at her and after forcing himself through another mouthful of the wretched cake, "But you know what. You're right. A few mistakes here and there doesn't ruin a cake. I'm sure your testament that it's still scrumptious stands. We can have an eating competition to prove it's deliciousness. I bet you can finish your entire slice. Still 'got it'?"
"No," Hermione threw down her slice, "oh I admit it! It was a disaster! A failure! It's inedible!"
"Now now-"
"You don't have to 'now now' me," she said with a laugh, "it's inedible."
"Still don't need my help?" asked Draco.
"Actually. I might like to have some along with dinner, and we have the time. Let's make another," she said, picking up the cake and throwing it in the bin. It bounced twice down the sides and landed with a heavy thunk.
"That's strong tensile grade metal," appreciated Draco.
"Shut!"
And so their bickering drifted off into laughs as they finished making the stupid cake that turned out to be edible this time around. Draco remembered briefly, helping her, and the casual ease that they talked and managed to make it into something nice. They talked a little about baking, or what they knew of it anyway, reminised a little about potions and other Hogwarts classes. Hermione had this air when even if she didn't like a subject, she still had an appreciation and good attitude towards it. Something Draco found uplifting. She hated flying with all her might though. Something which Draco found 'unforgivable' and Hermione found 'bikes are for people who can't drive just as brooms are for people who can't apparate' but not really getting into the heavier topics.
About two hours later, with dinner done Draco opened the oven to remove the cake that had been sitting in there for a little.
It wasn't too big, it wasn't too small, perfect size and shape. It wasn't too red, it wasn't too salmon, it was just the right shade of pink. And when they tasted it, the sweet taste of strawberry cake greeted them. It just was in all it's simplicity, a strawberry cake.
"Well this didn't turn out badly," said Hermione, helping herself to a second slice.
"Agreed," murmured Draco.