Weary from a long day of work, the crack of apparition was a welcome moment of exhalation. Appearing in the entrance way of his apartment, tension sprang to his shoulders, shot like a bullet. Eyes alert and coughing from the smoke, Harry pulled his wand casting a Bubblehead charm and cautiously traversed to the center of the smoke. Arm taut, lethal spells at the ready, he was not prepared for Fleur to be coughing, pulling out a tray of burnt something from the oven.

"Merde! pourquoi est-ce que j'essaye même! MERDE!"

Shoulders falling with relief, he waved his wand like a conductor, dispelling the smoke as if it never existed.

"Evening, love."

Fleur flinched hard. As she turned to look over at him, he was struck by the joy of looking down to her belly, only recently rounding with the child on the way, and this exuberance overwhelmed any other feeling Harry felt. It had been like that for months now.

"'Arry! You're home" Flustered, embarrassment radiated from her.

"What's going on?"

"Zis petit cochon wanted your macaron. And you were not 'ere."

Harry didn't say anything. He just strode forward, pulled her into his arms and kissed her, passionately.

"I love you so much."

With his chin tucking her into his arms, her embarrassment fled, replaced with the safety and love he radiated.

"She still wants your macaron, mon amour."

The rumble of his laugh was delicious. She never got tired of how warm it made her feel.

"Ok. If he is going to be craving lots of macarons, I'm just going to have to show you how to make them."

Harry vanished the burnt macarons, reset the oven, cleared the counter top and summoned the necessary utensils and ingredients.

Gently, Harry turned her around to face the counter. He came in close, groin directly against her arse, breath heavy against her ear, and hands gliding from behind to cross her belly, their child, to hover above her hands. Her breath hitched.

"First, we'll beat the egg whites in a bowl until they are white and foamy."

Following his directions was difficult. Having him whisper even these innocent words into her ear whilst tilting to grab the utensils made her painfully aware of just how close they were standing. It wasn't a position she usually had to think in.

When the egg whites were foamy, Harry leaned forward, capturing Fleur's earlobe in his mouth, scraping his teeth across them. Fleur moaned.

"'Arry."

Voice deep and thick with arousal, Harry continued.

"Now you've got to mix in the confectioner's sugar until the mixture is at soft peaks."

Barely able to focus, Harry's right hand took hold of her's from above, guiding the mixer.

She could feel it growing behind her in excitement too.

Without intending, her hips began to gyrate against him.

Growling, Harry continued.

"Gently, fold in the almond flour."

Her control frayed to strand. Her husband's presence enveloper her like none other. He was so close.

And then he was gone.

Fleur nearly cried, not sure whether she wanted him to throw the bowl away and take her against the table or relieved that she could breathe now.

"I'll pipe them into their shapes and then we'll have an hour to wait."

Fleur, her duty to their pastries fulfilled, felt she was entirely justified slamming Harry against the wall, gathering his lips in a searing kiss. It took more than an hour and a new set of clothes for them to remember they had macaron to put in the oven.

Merde! pourquoi est-ce que j'essaye même! MERDE! (F**k! Why do I even try! F**K!)

Huge thanks to ArmsofAtlas, as always for being a fantastic brainstorming partner, beta reader, and supporter of my writing at all hours of the day.

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Alternate Titles

Kitchen Appreciation Week in the Potter Household

Hot Birbs in the Kitchen

Mix to Stiff Peaks

On Perfecting the Gooey Center

Hot Oven, Hotter Lovin'