Words - 499

Rating - PG13

Warnings - None

Prompt - "Splotched if you must, (Draco or Ginny), but not lumpy!" 300-500 words.

#9 – THE TRIALS WE FACE

Ginny Weasley had survived a war. She had fought Death Eaters in mortal combat at barely sixteen, had lived in hiding, had endured an oppressive rule and cruel punishments. She had stood up to everyone else when she began to date one of her family's old enemies, and then when she later married him. She had never backed down, and had never thought anything could get the best of her, not after what she'd been through.

She had never cooked a cake with Draco Malfoy.

It had taken them five hours to get here, and the kitchen was barely recognizable. Three bowls had broken, one beyond the point where magic could restore it. Ginny didn't want to consider the amount of wasted ingredients, and though her arm had stopped bleeding, it still frigging hurt.

But at least the cake was finally in the oven. Draco was stirring the food-dye into the frosting (he couldn't mess that up, right?), and Ginny was finally able to sit down and breathe, for what seemed like the first time since the flour had come out.

Just as she closed her eyes, something hit the floor. Ginny jumped up, wand out, eyes wide and panicked – and saw Draco wincing, bending down to grab an open bottle before the last bit of food dye spilled onto the floor. He scowled at it, and opened his mouth as if to complain…

Ginny met his eyes.

"You sit down," Draco said. "I'll just… get this. Scourgify!"

Ginny eyed him balefully, slowly sinking back into her chair. "Don't drop things," she hissed, "the cake is rising."

Draco looked bewildered, obviously not understanding what one had to do with the other, but he didn't dare ask. Instead, he eyed the few drops left of food-dye, and upended the bottle over the mixing bowl.

Ginny took a deep, shuddering breath, and closed her eyes.

Think of the yummy cake that you'll soon be eating, Ginny, just think of the cake...

"Erm," Draco said. He brought the bowl of frosting over to her, shoving it under her face. "It's gone all… splotchy. We don't have enough dye."

Ginny refused to look. "I don't care. Fix it. By yourself."

And thus she gained another five minutes of blissful silence. Only to be interrupted once again by her husband's voice.

"Erm," Draco hesitated, then: "What if I put a bit of water in? That would dilute and even out the dye, I think, though it might make it all a bit lumpy."

Ginny's fraying thread of nerves… snapped.

"No, that is it! I have put up with you all through this disaster, but if you think I will let you put water into the frosting, you are insane. Splotched if you must, Draco, but not lumpy! I will not let you do that to my cake!"

"And you are cleaning this up!" Ginny snarled like a wild beast, then stormed out of the room.

Fleeing, for the first time in her life.