A/N: Hermione is making mince pies and Draco isn't helping. Dramione fluff. I love that every time I want to write a Dramione, Draco always complains and Hermione lectures, but then they end up snogging because Draco is just a shirker.
Submission for:
Countdown to Christmas Drabble/Oneshot Competition!: Day 21 - mince pies
The Build-A-Bear Challenge: Putting in heart - write a fluff fanfic
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
"Mince pies?" Draco asked in confusion as he looked up from the card taken from Hermione's little container of home recipes.
Hermione glared at him, her hands already elbow deep in flour. "Yes, mince pies," she said and then gestured to the lump of dough before him, "And I could make a lot more a lot faster if you would help me."
Draco looked at the words on the card and then the ball of dough on his area of the counter-top. "But that's work, Hermione! Malfoys don't do work."
Hermione rolled her eyes and put up her left hand and then pointed at her ring on the dining table that she had taken off before touching the dough. "The day you married me, I became a Malfoy and this Malfoy works."
Hermione thought she heard him mutter 'stupid logic' but she just ignored him. Instead she said, "Please, wash your hands and help me. We have to make almost thirty!"
Draco had already had his hands under the faucet, so when he heard the number, he whipped around, splashing water on Hermione's back and shouted, "Thirty!"
"Yes, thirty," Hermione said. "We're going to the Weasleys, remember, and I want at least one pie for eveyrone."
"Then we'll be in this kitchen all day if we do this ourselves," Draco said, drying his hands on the dishtowel.
"Well if you helped me, we could actually make all thirty and set them up in the oven at once, so it would only take about an hour," Hermione explained as she gestured to the five trays on the other counter.
Draco frowned, still not willing to get his hands dirty with flour as Hermione had or to do any physical work. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, putting his chin on her shoulder. "I could get one of the house-elves to do this. They'd taste amazing and you could get more in less time."
Hermione spun within his arms, pushing his chest with her flour-covered hands, "I'm not making a house-elf do this. I want to use my mother's recipe, and I want to do it by hand. It's tradition."
Though a bit annoyed by the flour on the front of his shirt, he ignored it and leaned into her ear to whisper, "Screw tradition," before picking up around the waist, placing her on the floury counter and snogging her in the kitchen. She was definitely sexy when she got all fired up.