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“I can hardly be blamed for my ineptitude in the kitchen,” Draco declared, sighing dramatically, and giving the unshapely mush in the bowl in front of him his most venomous stare.
“I was raised in a bloody mansion, for Merlin’s sake. I didn’t even realise we had a fucking kitchen till I was seven.”
Harry took in the chaotic state of their kitchen, the maniacal glint in Draco’s eyes, and the strange orange-hued contents of the mixing bowl and tried valiantly not to laugh. Draco had many skills, but sadly, baking didn’t number among them.
It was ridiculous really, thought Harry. Draco had a Healer’s steady, careful hands, and could brew a potion with the best of them, but follow a recipe? It was always an utter disaster.
Meringues turned into charred, black crusts, and bread refused point-blank to proof. Once or twice Harry had even resorted to charming Draco’s loaves to rise, and he dearly hoped his boyfriend never found out. Draco would have died of sheer demoralisation.
“Don’t think the House-Elves can be blamed for today’s calamity though, love,” Harry replied with a smile. He squinted at the open recipe book.
“Orange and raspberry cake? Very bloody fancy. And this is the one you’re making for Pansy’s birthday? You should have gone for a simple Victoria sponge.”
“I was aiming to please,” Draco said huffily, wandlessly Scrougifying the mixture from his fingers. “And those are Pansy’s favourites. The daft bint didn’t think I’d manage without magic. Said I’d end up buying it from Tescos.” Draco sat down, and lent back in his chair, his face a resigned frown.
Their table was a mess of egg yolks, sticky butter and every surface was covered in a dusting of flour. “And there isn’t enough time to start again. Looks like Pans was right. I’m a ruddy terrible baker.”
“True that,” Harry said, pulling the recipe book closer, and tracing a finger down the vanilla-extract stained page. Perhaps it wasn’t the catastrophe his boyfriend imagined. “You know Draco… I think this batter is salvageable. I think you just need to add a bit more milk… Here, let me do it.”
Draco pushed the bowl over to his boyfriend, and Harry set to work repairing the mistake. It was an easy fix, and Draco watched gratefully as the cake mixture quickly turned fluffy and attractive.
Harry buttered a tin, and within a few minutes their newly perfect dessert was ready to bake. Harry placed in the oven on a medium heat, and tapped on the door with his wand. Harry turned, and faced Draco with a grin.
“Harry Potter. Not content with saving the world and saving my life but also the consummate Saviour of baking disasters,” Draco teased admiringly, snaking his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. “Just how did you get so wonderful at baking anyway?”
Harry was silent for a moment, enjoying the familiar warmth of his lover pressed against his back. “My cousin was inordinately fond of birthday cake, and liked several per birthday. Learnt to read using cookery books. No House-Elves for me, Draco.”
“You’ve got me to look after you now,” Draco reminded Harry, pulling him close and pressing a gentle kiss into his hair. “So, if the cake’s baking then doesn’t that mean we’ve got a spare few minutes? I’d like to show you how grateful I really am…”
~@~
In retrospect, Harry thought, taking Draco up on his kind offer was possibly not the wisest course of action.
The problem was that Draco’s mouth could be exceedingly distracting, and once they had begun to kiss, Harry did tend to forget that the rest of the world existed.
So distracting, in fact, that he’d completely forgotten to set a Tempus charm to time the birthday cake sat baking in their oven.
Draco observed the charred remains sadly. “Bloody pity, that,” he said in a wry voice. “We were so close. Looks like it’s Tescos after all.”
“Screw this for a game of Quidditch,” Harry replied, pointing his wand at the smouldering tin. In seconds, it transfigured itself, becoming scrumptious and ready to eat in no time at all. He shrugged apologetically. “There’s surely got to be a few perks to being wizards.”
Draco rolled his eyes at Harry’s terrible cheating. “And yet people say I’m the cunning one. Pansy’ll know it was made with magic, Potter.”
“But the magic was mine,” Harry observed. “And the devil’s always in the detail. Together Draco, you and I are invincible.”