Harry loved to cook, and, he supposes, he could thank his Aunt Petunia for that because not only did he love it, he was good at it.
He was told by his boyfriend often that what he made was delicious, and Draco wasn't exactly the kind of person to dole out complements. But whenever they had date night at Grimmauld Place, Draco would always tell him how amazing everything tasted.
The man has always been a mystery to Harry, and that fact certainly didn't change just because they started dating.
So, there Harry was; darting around his kitchen, grabbing different spices, meat, pots and pans, and fighting with his cupboard about how venison should be prepared.
Harry was currently in a heated debate with said kitchen unit when Draco stepped out of the fireplace.
"No, no, no, he won't eat anything with ketchup, plus, why would you ruin good venison with ketchup? It's not right."
Flap, Flap, Bang.
"Okay, I suppose if one were to make a meatloaf, but one wouldn't use good quality venison."
Flap, Bang, Flap.
"Don't be a wise arse, I'm trying to make Draco something presentable."
Draco snorted, "Then why don't you just serve your ass on a silver platter?"
Harry flushed and looked over his shoulder at his boyfriend. "H-Hi."
"Hi."
The raven rubbed spices over the meat as Draco snuck up behind him to snake arms around his torso.
"How are you?"
"Good; Tired," he rested his pale forehead onto Harry's clothe covered shoulder and sighed. "Nice to be home."
"I'm sure," Harry added butter to mashed potatoes and wandlessly turned a wooden spoon around in the pot. "I thought I was usually top?"
"You are, but you are also usually short."
"Cheap shot."
"You set yourself up."
"Touché, Lord Malfoy."
"Healer Malfoy."
Harry turned around in Draco's arm to plant a kiss on the corner of his lips. "How does 'My Draco' sound?"
Draco blushed and scoffed, "It sounds like you just channeled your inner Hufflepuff."
"Sod."
"Prat."
"Knob"
"Cack"
Harry laughed, Draco brought their lips together.
"Love you," he murmured.
"Hufflepuff," Draco whispered.