Chapter 17

Hermione was ecstatic. Skeeter had taken her bait, with a small nudge from some blackmail, and pulled off the biggest expose of the century, all wrapped up in a neat little bow Hermione liked to call Justice for Sirius Black. The Daily Prophet had been dropped off by Remus an hour ago and she was still skipping about the house. The image of the Minister's office flooded with howlers truly overjoyed her. The article was sheer brilliance, going harder and further than Hermione had even asked Skeeter to. She was getting a Christmas gift this year. A nice one. Maybe she could knit her something pink. A scarf perhaps. Hermione skipped her way up the stairs to begin working.

Draco, on the other hand, tried his best to seem like a ghost. He didn't want to be seen, or heard and on the rare occasion he was he wanted to disappear as quickly as possible. He tried to hide in the modest library on the first floor. It didn't contain many books, the shelves apparently picked clean of anything even vaguely dark, but he did find some rudiments on wand movements in potioncraft and was lazily working his way through it, making careful, considered notes. It was rare he got to study without a time limit so he was making sure the book took him as long as possible to get through, even if he was already familiar with the subject matter.

'You alright there?' A voice interrupted him. Harry stood in the doorway. 'You missed lunch.'

Draco shrugged, looking up from the book. 'Wasn't feeling particularly hungry.'

'You weren't feeling particularly social.' Harry corrected, striding into the room with a plate in his hands. 'None of us made it, don't worry. It's from a muggle place a few streets away.'

'Isn't that dangerous?' Draco asked, shuffling his parchment out of the way so Harry could put the plate on the table. 'Couldn't Death Eaters be watching outside.'

'They could be.' Harry nodded. 'But as you know your cousin can change her appearance so she won't get recognised.'

Draco nodded absentmindedly, trying to take in the contents of the plate. Tucked neatly inside some sort of pale, dusty looking wrapping, was a mass of brown and some salad, drizzled with several sauces Draco couldn't place. 'This is certainly interesting muggle food. Does everyone eat this? Is it particularly common?'

'Well, everyone's had it at some point in their lives.' Harry answered. 'But not everyone eats it all the time. It's called a takeaway, in a more general sense, and you might get it for a special occasion, if you're too tired to cook, or if you're feeling like something different.' He took a seat across the table, crossing his arms on it. 'My muggle family used to get a takeaway every weekend, but they don't always get the same kind. There's Indian food, Chinese, Mexican, Soul Food, Thai... You could eat food from all over the world from these kinds of places, though they're usually a little different from the proper version.'

'And what's this takeaway?' Draco asked, raising an eyebrow at the plate.

'That is a kebab.' Harry said with a smile. 'You take a pita, it's kind've like bread, but I couldn't actually tell you how it works. Inside is mainly meat that's been cooking on a spit, that's thinly sliced off. There's some cucumber, lettuce, tomatoes, raw onion and there's usually some kind of sauce in there. If it's a Greek place it'll be tzatziki, maybe hummus if you're unlucky. Some places will load it up with barbecue sauce, maybe some hot sauce...' Harry's sentence drifted off into nothingness as he took in Draco's confused expression.

He sighed. 'I have a lot to learn around here don't I?' Draco ran his hands across his face.

'Eventually, sure.' Harry shrugged. 'But all you need to know for now is that you eat this like a sandwich, and there's nothing you shouldn't know inside.'

Draco nodded slowly, struggling to pick it up, his hands far too loose for the job. Harry let out a laugh and placed his hands on Draco's, showing him the tight grip that was required. Draco's cheeks flushed red and his eyes widened. Harry quickly let go, feeling slightly awkward about the encounter.

Draco, now holding his food without the risk of dropping it, took a hesitant bite. A strange mirage of emotions crossed Draco's face, dread, confusion, slow acceptance and then disgust. 'Why is there so much mayonnaise in this? And why is it white?'

It was Harry's turn to be confused. 'Mayonnaise is always white.' He laughed out nervously.

Draco swallowed down his bite and returned the mass to the plate. 'Mayonnaise, in the kind of food I eat... ate, on a regular basis, is yellow, freshly made, and not nearly this greasy.'

'What kind of food have you been eating?'

'French, mostly.'

'Like baguettes and cheese?'

'No. Like Ratatouille.'

'The French eat rats?'

'No.' Draco giggled out, far too amused by the horrified look on Harry's face. 'They do eat Escargot. Snails.'

Harry gagged a little, reminded of the many times Dudley had forced him to eat them. 'So what is French food then?'

Draco took a deep breath. 'Well, the main basis of a lot of French food is wine, either the wine you're drinking with the food or the wine in the sauce, usually both. Coq au Vin is a pretty simple classic, chicken with a red wine sauce and some vegetables. A step up would be Boeuf Bourguignon, which is more like a stew. Velouté de Châtaignes is a pretty good soup, it's made with chestnuts. There's obviously Escargot and Ratatouille. Basque Pipérade, Pâté en Croûte, Cervelle de Canut, Coquilles St-Jacques...'

'I know you're not speaking English, but it doesn't sound like you're saying intelligible words.' Harry cut in.

Draco flashed him a large grin. 'I'm very talented.'

'Very talented at running your mouth.' Harry replied with a smile.

'So all this muggle food you were talking about,' Draco asked. 'Have we ever had it at Hogwarts?'

Harry thought for a moment. 'I don't think there's all that much muggle food that we haven't had, bar foreign food. The only muggle food I can really think of that we haven't eaten is stuff like fast food.'

Draco seemed perplexed. 'How do you make food run?'

'It doesn't move.' Harry smiled. 'It means you get food quickly, I think. Stuff like burgers or fried chicken, we've never eaten any of that at school.'

'And these muggle foods, how do they compare to traditional french food?' Draco asked.

Harry laughed. 'They don't. Well, I suppose they could because I have no idea what French food is.'

Draco paused for a moment, thinking to himself. 'How well stocked is the kitchen?'

'What?'

'Do you have food in your larder?' Draco asked again.

'I have no idea.' Harry shrugged. 'I've done enough cooking in my lifetime to never want to go looking.'

Draco frowned. 'I'll have to parley with the Weasleys to go looking.' He muttered. 'What kind of peace offering would they accept? Gold?'

'No.' Harry shook his head. 'I'd start with a sincere apology.'

'Malfoys don't apologise, Potter.' Draco frowned. 'That would be admitting wrongdoing and Malfoys are never wrong.'

'We all know that's a lie.' Harry cut in.

Draco scowled at him.

'Your father knowingly placed a curse book in Ginny's possession. He beat his house elf mercilessly. He bribes other members of the Wizengamot rather than put forward a persuasive argument. Not to mention his bedfellows.' Harry explained. 'Previous generations of Malfoys may have made that statement true, but in the current state of things, your father has been doing a lot of bad, very wrong, things. You could make amends, only in this short span of time, and continue on with your life upholding that. You could do no wrong, and you wouldn't have to apologise.'

'I suppose that could be amenable.' Draco said thoughtfully, staring off into the distance. 'Should this be a formal apology? With the invoking of titles and such?'

'You should just acknowledge what was wrong in the past, make no excuse for it, and commit to not making the same mistakes again.' Harry explained. 'They won't be interested in formality.'

'I see.' Draco nodded.

'Do not walk in there and declare, "I Draco Malevolence Malfoy, Master of the Malfoy Chickens, do deeply apologise for the transgressions of my past."' Harry joked.

'I would never say something like that.' Draco argued.

'"Furthermore, I do pledge to you, Ronald Billius Weasley, to never call you impoverished, unwashed nor lacking of intelligence again."' Harry stood from his chair, placing a hand firmly over his heart. '"I swear this on the grave of m grandmother whom I hated for she always insisted I eat my vegetables before desert."'

'I love vegetables.' Draco muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. 'Are you done now?'

Harry took a deep breath and paused. 'Unfortunately yes, I can't think of anything else.'

'Thank Merlin.' Draco sighed.

Harry smiled and sat back down, pleased with himself. 'What did you need the kitchen for anyway?'

It was now Draco's turn to be pleased with himself. 'I shall be unveiling my hidden talent. So hidden that not even my father knows of its existence. I have spent many a summer under the tutelage of our house elves learning how to cook. I only know French recipes because they're all Father's favourite, but unbeknownst to him, he has eaten my cooking at dinner.'

'You expect a house full of people that hate you to trust anything you cook?' Harry asked, hie eyebrows raised.

'Why shouldn't they?' Draco asked. 'Poisoning food may be a favourite of assassins but I have always found poisoning wine far more efficient.'

'Who have you been poisoning?' Harry asked incredulously.

'No one.' Draco shook his head. 'I just read.'

Draco and Harry left the library, taking the short trip to the basement, where Ron, Ginny, and the Twins were inevitably spending their time. Harry had been confused at first but later realised that Mrs Weasley had been checking in with updates on Mr Weasley's condition, and none of them wanted to miss a single one.

They were all gathered around the fire when Draco and Harry entered. Draco froze in the doorway, now regretting his determination to make amends. Harry did not pause and drifted across the kitchen, waiting firmly out of the way, for Draco to apologise uninterrupted.

Draco cleared his throat, taking a few steps forward. 'I sincerely apologise for my terrible conduct over the course of our schooling-'

Harry coughed, drawing Draco's attention, and shook his head.

Draco started again. 'I am sorry for insulting you all, for threatening you all, and for cursing you in the corridors when I thought you weren't looking. What I said and did was wrong and harmed you. I will not excuse it. In the future, I will no longer threaten, curse or bully you or your friends.'

Ron stared daggers at him, Fred and George seemed amused, and Ginny seemed to genuinely considering his words.

'Did you help your father give me Voldemort's diary?' She asked, her expression steely.

'No.' Draco shook his head. 'Nor did I know what it was. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to make the connection between the diary and the basilisk. I'm sorry he did that to you.'

Ginny held his stare, her expression remaining motionless. 'Alright, you get one chance. Small slights will be forgiven but if you start throwing around slurs or spells again and you're out on your arse.'

'I wholeheartedly agree with those conditions.' Draco spoke, relief flooding through him.

'It doesn't mean I like you, because I have no reason to.' Ginny spoke up. 'But you will not find a live ferret in your sheets tonight.' She strode past him and up the stairs.

'A live ferret?' Draco asked. 'That's very specific.'

'We transfigured it.' George piped up. 'It's actually a feather duster.'

'We'll go turn it back now.' Fred chimed up.

They too fled the room and Draco was left with only Ron before him.

'I'm not accepting the apology.' Ron spoke, deadpan. 'You're a dick.'

'Yes I was.' Draco nodded.

'You don't have to agree.' Ron turned up his nose. 'It won't make me like you.'

'Don't need you to like me.' Draco shrugged. 'I just need you to not kill me in my sleep.'

Ron shrugged, though he didn't say anything, simply staring at Draco. 'I'm staying here to wait for mum, feel free to bother someone else.' He turned around and sat before the fire in a large armchair.

'That went as well as it could I suppose.' Harry smiled, beckoning Draco over to the other side of the kitchen. 'Pantry's here, should be pretty well stocked.'

Draco paced over, glancing back at Ron. 'Do you think he'll mind the noise?' He asked, catching up to Harry.

'Even if he does, he won't move from that spot for very long.' Harry shrugged, casting his sight over to Ron. 'The others will be back soon too. Any news is good news right now.'

Draco rooted in his spot, glancing between Harry at the pantry and Ron over by the fire. He needed to go over, properly apologise, give him his best wishes, maybe even offer help somehow. But he also really didn't want to be punched in the face. Harry noticed his struggle, though didn't offer any advice.

With a pained sigh, Draco made his way over to the fireplace and placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. Ron didn't flinch away, though he didn't seem too happy about it. 'I'm really sorry. I made it my job to put you through hell for years, and I enjoyed it. But you're going through hell now and all I have is a gnawing guilt in my gut that somehow I contributed to this. I didn't send that snake at your Dad, and he definitely doesn't deserve to be in St Mungo's right now, but I'm sorry anyway. If he doesn't improve tomorrow, I think there's something I could do to help. Or at least I can try. The Malfoys helped put him in this mess, and I'd like to make it right.'

'The hell are you on about Malfoy.' Ron asked, a tired look in his eyes.

Draco took a deep breath. 'The Malfoy family magic only manifests every couple of generations, and I am that lucky generation. We're usually very secretive about it, but if I can use my magic to heal your dad, or at least help him start healing, I will.'

Ron seemed confused, and then shocked, but finally settled on an oddly grateful smile. 'It would definitely be a good way to back up that apology.' Ron nodded. 'Next time mum calls I'll ask her to take you to the hospital on Boxing Day.'

Draco nodded silently and removed his hand from Ron's shoulder. 'Chicken or beef?' He asked.

'What?'

'Chicken or beef? Which do you prefer?'

'Lamb.' Ron answered, a mischievous smile on his face.

'Best hope there's lamb in the pantry then.' Draco nodded, and made his way back over to Harry.

'Good job.' Harry whispered, opening up the door to the pantry only to jump back in surprise.

'Kreacher wants to be left alone.' The house elf moaned, curling in on himself. 'Kreacher wants to organise mistress' home in peace.'

'There's a house elf here?' Draco asked surprised.

'Yeah, he's a bit useless though.' Harry muttered. 'We're looking for some lamb Kreacher. Fancy helping us or getting out of our way?'

Kreacher glanced up at the pair, only for his eyes to settle on Draco. 'Master has the blood of the Blacks in him. Master requires lamb, yes?' Kreacher spoke, dusting himself off and pottering about the pantry. 'What else does Master require? Potatoes? Carrots? Parsley?'

Draco had to wrack his brain over what he was actually going to cook. He'd been planning on just seeing what was available but the pantry was incredibly well stocked and he was spoilt for choice. 'A rack of lamb, potatoes, onions... um...' Draco scrunched up his nose in an effort to think better. 'Bread crumbs, parsley, thyme, mustard, saffron... Harry, what would you eat with a rack of lamb? Broccoli? Carrots?'

Harry's eyes widened as he too began to think. 'I suppose broccoli would be fine.' He shrugged. 'I haven't made a rack of lamb before. Done a leg but I'm not sure you'd roast carrots and parsnips in honey with whatever fancy stuff you're making.'

'Roasted carrots will go pretty nicely I think.' Draco smiled. 'Some carrots, parsnips and honey as well Kreacher. Thank you.'

Kreacher snapped his fingers and ingredients paraded from the pantry to the kitchen table through mid-air, gently resting themselves on plates and in bowls as they too flew out of cupboards. 'Is there anything else the Master would ask of Kreacher?'

'No, thank you.' Draco smiled.

Kreacher snapped again and he disappeared.

'He's odd.' Draco commented, quickly grabbing a bottle of oil and box of salt off of a nearby shelf.

'He was alone here for the better part of a decade with only a temperamental painting to talk to.' Harry shrugged. 'I think anyone would go a bit barmy in that scenario.'

'I should have asked him for some butter as well.' Draco muttered, washing his hands at the sink.

Harry smiled. 'Fear not, I shall break my promise to never cook again and help you out.' He strode back over to the pantry and began rummaging.

Draco frowned. Why would Harry have promised that? And to whom? Was he a terrible cook who threatened to burn the house down over a pot of water? It wouldn't have surprised him. After all, he decided the best way to combat a dragon was to ride a broom.

Draco pushed his worry aside and put Harry to work preparing vegetables, which calmed his fears regardless because Harry did not once even look like he was going to cut himself. Ron drifted over after a short while once the vegetables were neatly away in the oven. He took a seat next to Harry, who was observing Draco slaving away over the stove.

'Who knew Draco Malfoy could cook like a muggle?' Ron joked, though he had to concentrate to not inject the laugh with the usual malice reserved for Draco.

'I don't cook like a muggle.' Draco shook his head. 'I cook like someone still under the statute of secrecy.'

'Nothing wrong with cooking like a muggle.' Ron argued halfheartedly. 'Which is what you're doing.'

'Agree to disagree Weasley.' Draco muttered, flipping over the two giant racks of lamb in what was definitely not a pan big enough to fit them. 'But you will definitely agree that I am a brilliant chef when I'm done.'

'Oh I don't doubt it.' Ron shook his head. 'Smells like mum's cooking in here which is the highest of compliments.'

'I will have to take your word for it.' Draco spoke. 'Until I've tried her cooking, that is.' He added, desperately not wanting to insult Ron.

'She makes the best pies.' Ron smiled lazily, thinking back to the last dinner his mum had made all the way back during the summer. 'I think she'd made something like seven of them, all different fillings. Liver and onion for Dad, his favourite. Chicken and mushroom, beef and gravy, a good few others loaded up with potatoes or vegetables, but the pièce de résistance was always the apple pie she'd made for dessert. Or should I say apple pies because there'd always be so much left over that we'd be sneaking it for a midnight snack and breakfast the next morning.'

Harry smiled along with his friend but Draco's expression suddenly dropped. 'I didn't plan a dessert.'

'Don't worry about that.' Ron shrugged. 'We were expecting takeaway for dinner again tonight.'

Draco nodded, trying to reassure himself that he had not, in fact, ruined the meal. He glanced at his watch and swore, desperately pulling the lamb pan off of the heat. 'Two minutes too long. Please still be good.' He heaved the pan and dropped it onto the table, quickly lifting the racks of lamb out and onto a plate. 'Okay, fifteen minutes before it's ready. Do you want to go let everyone know?'

Neither Ron nor Harry moved.

'Don't you all arrive five minutes before food is served?' Draco asked, horrified. 'Do you not change into the proper attire and wash your face and hands?'

'I mean we wash our hands but Mum usually just yells when it's ready.' Ron shrugged.

'Pretty much how it went with my muggles.' Harry added.

'Well, I'm sure that's fine for all of you but I guarantee you my mother will not take well to being hollered at like a simple servant.' Draco frowned, placing his hands on his hips. 'Harry, would you please go and let her know I'm almost done?'

Harry stood. 'Sure.'

'Is it really that important?' Ron asked, concern on his face.

'To most people, no.' Draco conceded. 'But to my mother, if you aren't properly prepared for dinner the world will end.'

'I suppose I could go let everyone else know then.' Ron shrugged.

'Lamb sauce.' Draco exclaimed as he watched the two leave, quickly rushing the now lambless pan back over to the stove, desperately glugging wine and stock into the pan. 'What is lamb without the sauce, you idiot Malfoy.'