Canard a l'Orange
Draco did not know what to expect when he caught a whiff of something savoury and citrusy coming from the kitchen of their apartments. He had just arrived from a business meeting with a Canadian exporter looking to franchise the Malfoy Apothecary and Wines in the Americas. The meeting finished early with a new genius colleague and the prospect of expanding the apothecary into a multinational empire. Fortunately, however, since the meeting finished early, he knew that his wife wouldn’t be expecting him home yet.
It was Hermione’s long weekend off. They had made plans to go on a quick weekend holiday during the Wizengamot recess. The both of them have been looking forward to this because not only was this a time Hermione allowed herself a break but also because it would be their first wedding anniversary. The meeting he had that day was the only itinerary for himself due to the availability of the person he was meeting and with the meeting finishing early, he managed to get a surprise for her too.
Since the floo room was in the basement (to Hermione’s insistence reasoning that having it in the living room would make it too tedious for Momo to clean and to which Draco countered that they can employ another house elf to do the cleaning but she only gave him a ‘fuck around and find out’ glare), Draco did his best to minimize anything that might alert his war veteran wife of his presence in the home. Climbing up the stairs to their apartments main floors, the first thing he noticed was the savoury aroma of roasting meat, followed by the delightful smell of citrus and spice.
Making sure not to make a noise, he sneaked towards the kitchen where he saw Hermione, dressed in a simple jeans and tshirt, hair tied up in the messiest bun, wearing the light blue apron Molly gave her for Christmas. She was playing a song on their radio -a muggle song from her father’s favourite band (Draco still doesn’t understand how they’re not royalty when they’re literally called Queen), bent over the stove stirring a saucepot, with her hips swaying to the upbeat music.
Now, Draco was not surprised to see her in the kitchen. Hermione was an excellent cook and she can make a mean spag-bol but Momo, his house elf (she’s been taking care of Draco since infancy and simply refused to leave him even after being set free), preferred that ‘the Lady Miss not work around too much in the house for she already tires herself too much at work,’ and had practically imposed a limit to how much Hermione can use the kitchen. Today, it seems, Momo had allowed her to be in the kitchen.
She was amusing to watch, looking like she was in a world of her own, absorbed in the music. Despite the strict, hellfire righteousness his young wife had brought to the Ministry, Hermione had this side that she only shows those close to her. Draco watched as she bopped and danced around the kitchen; head bopping, hips swaying, shoulder’s shimmying, and even the occasional ladle microphone. She had been so indulged in her own world that she did not even notice him leaning on the kitchen’s entrance, at least, not until she had to take the roast from the oven.
“Oh my goodness! Draco! You’re home!” she said, obvious surprise in her face, the roasting bird’s tray still in her mittened hands. “Why… why didn’t you say something?”
She adjusted the radio’s volume with wandless magic and set the roasting tray on its wooden guard by the countertop. Draco noticed as her hands gave the tell-tale shake as she adjusted her saucepot’s flame.
“I just arrived, actually. Just in time to see that cute little dance you were doing.” he said, smirking. He approached her and embraced her from behind, not forgetting to kiss the crook of her neck for good measure. “So, Mon Coeur, what have you been up to?”
She twists away to face him before kissing him on the cheek. “Why don’t you..ummm…freshen up first?”
Hermione was nervous and Draco could tell. This only happens when there is a potentially world-altering dark wizard (or witch) in the horizon or when she’s trying something new she was worried she did not do it to perfection. Peering behind her, he finally sees what she had been up to. On the saucepot was the unmistakable red orange sheen of the sauce needed for his favourite childhood meal: Canard a l’Orange - Duck with orange sauce.
“Mon Coeur,” he pressed, making his voice intentionally teasing. “what have you got there?” He tightens his grip on her hips and a beautiful blush crept up to her face. She was stunning.
“I…I…” she sighs and finally summons up that Gryffindor courage she was known for. “I tried making your favourite dish for the first time… I wanted to surprise you.” She tried her best to hide the sheepishness emerging by avoiding his eyes.
This was why he married her. This blushing, awkward woman who is constantly doing her best for the people that she loves; this beautiful, nervous girl who was willing to go to the extremes to fight for what she believes in… and for her to allow him to share in the behind-the-scenes of her golden image, Draco knew he has not done enough to deserve her love. And yet, she deemed him worthy when she took her vows and sealed it with a kiss. His gaze softened as she buried her face in his chest.
“Let me taste it.” he said, softly, gently.
“But I don't know if it's perfect! You came home too early!” came her muffled reply.
He chuckled before pulling her away so he could face her. “Hermione, everything you do is perfect, even your mistakes are perfect.” he simply says and the most beautiful blush deepens in her caramel-apple cheeks. “C’mon, love, let’s taste it.”
Hesitantly, she takes the tasting spoon and scoops up a bit of the sauce. She blows on it a few times, her pink, full lips in a pout - tempting Draco for a kiss. Then she brings it up to his lips, her honeyed eyes looking bright and full of nervous anticipation. Giving her one more reassuringly teasing smile before taking the spoon into his mouth, finally having a taste of what she had made for him.
It was sweet and citrusy, with the slightest hints of red currant and Grand Marnier. The sweetness had a body which told Draco she substituted honey for sugar. It had the glossiness that would have come from stirring on cold butter while the sauce was simmering and the smokiness of spices that have been roasted before ground and added to the sauce. Then it gives a smooth, savoury finish that Draco simply knows would elevate the flavour of the duck. But it was not the flavour that had blown his mind. It was very good for a first try but he had tasted oranges sauces in all its forms while growing up and this was definitely not the best he’s had (the best was at this Parisian restaurant that he had planned to take her to, that weekend). What blew his mind was that she made it for him. She made it while thinking of him, thinking about if he would like it or not, thinking about the first bite he’ll take.
“How… how is it?” she asks nervously.
“I think…” Draco says, “I think it’s time I gave you children to cook for, Mon Coeur.”