Did you cook this?
He placed the plates down before taking the chair beside her, tugging at his collar and clearing his throat in clear agitation. As far as Hermione could tell, everything seemed perfect. The plating was immaculate and the wine superb—not that she expected any different. As she took her first bite under his intense scrutiny, she couldn’t stop her eyes from sliding shut as the flavors seared through her.
“Did you cook this?”
He nodded. “Do you like it?”
“Draco, this pasta might be the singular best thing to pass my lips that I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally,” he said with a suggestive smirk.
“What is it called? I don’t think I’ve ever had pasta like this. Is it some kind of ravioli?”
“The dish is sacchetti al cinghiale, a boar and mushroom pasta. Do you see how the noodles look like little pouches?”
Hermione nodded as she inspected one on her fork, before devouring the parcel with a shudder of delight.
“They’re filled with mushrooms, right, if this meat on the outside is the boar? And this sauce—”
“Truffles and cream, but not so much to overwhelm the dish which is already rich as it is.”
Dipping a finger into the plate, she lifted a coated digit and sucked on it as she moaned. Sly eyes peered out from heavy lashes. Her cheeks hollowed out even though Draco knew not a drop of sauce remained.
“Hermione—”
Removing her finger with a light ‘pop’, she grinned at the want in his voice.
“Is something the matter?”
He shook his head with a rueful smile before tucking into his own meal. Normally, Hermione would have pounced on him right then for another tabletop session, but the sacchetti really was too good to ignore. She wasn’t lying when she praised it as one of the best things she’d ever eaten in recent memory, and the fact that Draco Malfoy made it for her? She’d be damned if she let such a masterpiece go without the proper adulations.
The wine flowed as generously as their discourse, and they cleared their plates in what might have been considered an embarrassingly swift time. True to his upbringing, not a single dish exceeded their capabilities to finish in a single sitting. She was pleasantly satisfied rather than uncomfortably full. All that was left was dessert.
Hermione fiddled in her chair as he vanished once more into the kitchen. Draco knew her passion for crime brûlée, and she had a good feeling that his would impress her just as much as the main dish.
She started when a small silver spoon materialized in front of her, the recently transfigured ‘G’ of her surname glinting on the handle. The moment Hermione’s fingertips brushed its surface, she felt a familiar tug at her navel before landing onto a flurry of pillows outside in the warm summer night.
“Glad you could make it.”
Her eyes fixated on the tall figure standing with a crystal bowl in each hand.
“Not that I’m complaining, but were all the theatrics to get me out here strictly necessary?”
He laughed as he joined her on the blanket, handing her a bowl as he answered. “No, but Theo begged me to try out his latest work and I figured you could help me with the feedback.”
“It was ridiculously smooth. I didn’t even have to hold the spoon, just touch it.” She waggled the aforementioned utensil in his face before dipping it into the dark orange sorbet (sigh, not crème brûlée). A burst of sweet and tangy citrus hit her tongue.
“Blood orange!”
Her exclamation was cut off by the warmth of his mouth contrasting with the coolness of her tongue. He chuckled as he nipped her lips a final time before pulling back.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself from getting a taste.”
She pouted at the separation, but also at his greed. “Don’t you have your own?”
“This one’s limoncello gelato.” Eating his own spoonful, he raised a brow at her in expectation.
Hermione carefully set aside her dish under stasis before straddling his lap. “I suggest you set yours aside as well.”
He obeyed quickly. He knew a pleased Hermione meant a very pleased Draco. She shoved him backwards to flop onto the pillows and descended on him with her questing tongue. She hummed in pleasure at what she tasted.
“I’ve never had limoncello before, but you can now consider me a fan.” She cut off his quiet laugh with another kiss and tugged at his hair. “I think, however, an apéritif is in order.”
This time, he was the one to break free and correct her.
“You have it backwards, Granger. The gelato is the apéritif leading up to you.” Arms engulfed her before rolling them both over so she now looked up at him. “Nothing I’ve served tonight has or will ever compare to you.”
It wasn’t until much later they realized Draco had not cast a stasis charm on his gelato, which had unfortunately melted into an unappealing yellow puddle. Suggestions of repurposing the liquid for further foreplay were met with firm denial, and he instead shared the remaining sorbet with a reluctant Hermione. If anyone considered him selfish, they had obviously never truly known the curly-haired witch.
She was generous, yes, in her attention and affection. But selfless? No. Hermione wanted what she deserved, and what she deserved was simply everything, Draco included. Who was he to deny her?