Soft, Zesty, Gingersnaps
Draco was caught off guard, his mind having been on expelling thoughts of his father, when Potter began asking him about what he was going to make.
It wasn’t the first time that Harry had done this. It had happened one other time, back during their first week stuck together. But this time felt… different.
"So..." Potter meandered around the small kitchen, watching as Draco continued to retrieve ingredients. "What are you going to make?"
Draco hesitated for a few moments, confounded by the situation. For some reason, treating him with the same coldness as he did last time seemed to no longer be an option for him. Not after he had so stupidly let his guard down the other night. After a moment, he decided it wouldn’t hurt him to let Potter in on his activities. Besides, mayber it would help him further get his mind off things. And, today’s recipe was on the simpler side: Soft, Zesty, Gingersnaps.
He showed the open page of the recipe book to Potter, voicing the name. “The church will be able to enjoy these with their tea.”
Potter turned to the recipe page, looking at it intently, but Draco could have sworn he saw a smile overtake his face. One that he wiped away just as quickly as it came. Draco blinked and turned away, putting his focus on finding all of the tools and vessels he would need.
"It's a good thing you'll be bringing them tomorrow," Potter said.
"Hm?"
"They won't have a dessert with their tea."
"Well, I'm not the only one who brings pastries-"
"You're the only one baking. Everybody else buys pre-packaged market desserts."
Draco turned to look at Potter, who had a sincere look to him. Draco struggled to find a response.
"Er, No... Vanessa brings custard."
"Oh."
Draco wasn't going to tell Potter that he knew Vanessa's custard was from an instant mix, which would make Potter correct. He was uncomfortable with where Potter was going with this whole thing. Was he being… nice? And was Draco liking it?
"Well, even then, I doubt custard takes as much effort as this."
Draco was stunned.
"What I'm saying is, I really like these nice things you do."
Oh.
"Er, thank you."
Potter smiled again, and this time, it wasn't wiped away.
Draco caught himself entranced by the way Potter was looking at him. He shook his head promptly, turning to begin making the gingersnaps.
The two of them didn't speak much while preparation occurred. When Draco had formed the dough, Potter asked if he could shape the cookies with him, and Draco found himself saying yes without knowing why. Draco was still caught up in the moment earlier and was unsure how to handle Potter acting this way.
Draco watched as Potter rolled up his sleeves, taking a portion of the dough. As Draco watched, he couldn't help but notice how muscular Potter's arms were. He had to force himself to tear his eyes away, focusing his attention back on his work. Where did that thought even come from?
"How does this work?"
Draco looked down, noticing that Potter had begun working the dough in a very strange way.
"Oh- no. Don't do that, you'll make it all crumbly. You need to do it like this."
He walked around to Potter's side of the counter, reaching over him and guiding his hands in the correct manner. Potter seemed to tense up a bit, but soon relaxed, allowing Draco to teach him.
They were both silent, and the only sound was of the two of them making the cookies
"Like this?"
"Exactly."
As Draco watched Potter roll the dough into little balls, he was caught off guard by the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. He watched as Potter gladly helped him bake for church, and Draco was enjoying himself. For the first time in a while, he felt as though he could have himself a pleasant time without a frenzied storm of thoughts and anxieties being mangled together as he sorted himself out and kept the worst of them at bay.
Potter was somehow... relaxing. And that was exciting to Draco. What is happening to me?
"There," Potter said, satisfied.
Draco put the cookies in the oven, then closed the door.
"So..."
"So," responded Draco.
"Why baking?"
Draco didn't have an answer that he was fit to voice out loud, especially not to Potter.
"I just started, once."
"That's it?"
"Do you expect there to be something more?"
Potter shrugged.
“I don’t know, I guess? You seem to like it. I was just wondering how you got into it. You definitely weren’t doing this a few years ago.”
"No, I wasn't. I... I just did it one day. To occupy time." Draco paused, feeling it all come to him. He hadn't really ever taken time to look at his actions in the past few months. He shook his head, feeling slightly edged out. "It's a long story."
"I'm listening."
Draco looked at Potter, and their eyes met. I hadn't meant to say that aloud. Draco could see the sincerity in his eyes, and his heart fluttered.
"It's nothing, really. I'll get us some tea."
"I want to know. How else will I understand you better?"
Draco's stomach tightened, and he felt his cheeks warm. Why was Potter saying these things?
"Well..."
"Is there something you'd rather talk about?"
"No, not exactly."
"Then what is it?"
"Nothing, I- it's not important." Draco could feel his anxiety building. He didn't know what to do. What had his life become as of late? Did it all start because of baking?
Pathetic, he thought to himself. No wonder Father cut you off after the war.
"Okay. Then, please, tell me."
Draco took a deep breath. He wasn't sure where to begin. He wasn't even sure if this was a good idea.
"I... I need to occupy my time. I just..." Draco was becoming nervous. Weren't these thoughts exactly what he sought to avoid by baking? And cleaning?
Cleaning.
Draco turned to the rest of the kitchen. There were floured surfaces and dirty bowls. He egan by putting the bowls int he sink and turning on the faucet.
"Oh, uh-"
"We have things to do," Draco said.
"I mean, we still have twenty-something minutes until the cookies are done."
"We can do other things."
Draco could feel Potter's gaze on him. He was worried that Potter was judging him. He didn't want that. He felt so exposed.
"Alright. Well, do you want help?"
"-No." Draco said it a bit too quickly, too... feverishly. Potter was watching him.
"You know, I've realised you can't stand to let things be messy for any amount of time... not even messy, really, just not-perfect..."
Draco didn't respond, trying his best to ignore Potter. He just needed to do this. If he did, his mind would calm. Everything would be fine.
"Draco-"
"I said I don't need your help, Potter." Draco's tone was cold and sharp, and he knew it.
"Okay."
Draco was relieved that Potter seemed to understand and backed off, and he went about his cleaning in silence, pushing everything from his mind, and trying his best to ignore the fact that Potter was just standing there. The tension was palpable, and Draco couldn't shake the feeling that Potter was judging him.
Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub, rinse, inspect, scrub, rinse, inspect.
The timer on the stove went off, and Draco hurried to the oven, pulling out the tray of gingersnaps and setting them down to cool.
"Draco."
"What?"
"You're shaking."
"What?" Draco looked down, and noticed that his hands were trembling.
"Why are you shaking?"
Draco didn't have an answer for Potter, and he couldn't bear the idea of telling him the truth. I’m feverish. I need to keep going, keep moving. Distract myself. Occupy time.
"It's cold."
"It's not cold, Draco."
"Don't call me that,” he snapped.
"I'm just calling you by your name, like I have been all this time. What is the problem?"
Draco didn't know what to say. He felt trapped, like a cornered animal.
"What is the problem?"
"I don't know, okay?! There isn't a problem, it's nothing!"
"Draco, you're trembling and pale. Please, talk to me."
"There is nothing to say!"
"But there is."
"And what makes you say that?" Draco felt like he was going mad, and what was he even thinking, earlier, almost opening up? To Potter of all people?
He wasn't thinking. That was the only plausible answer.
Potter was looking at him with eyes that burned, and Draco's heart was beating wildly out of his chest.
Potter sighed.
"Look... It's difficult to not notice the way you do certain things. And, I can't lie, it makes me a bit worried about you."
"I don't need you worrying about me, Potter."
"You clearly do."
"Oh, and you're the expert now, aren't you? Mr. Auror, who has to worry about so many more important things than how I occupy my time. Like, oh, I don't know, catching a murderer?"
"That's not fair. I have been working tirelessly, and you know that. I'm not trying to offend you."
"Then don't."
Potter huffed.
"Look, just, tell me something."
"What is it?"
Draco's thoughts were all over the place. He was confused, scared, and didn't know what to make of the situation he'd so stupidly put himself in. He felt about ready to give up. Potter opened his mouth to speak.
"It's just something simple. Easy. I'm not going to ask why you lock doors an absurd amount of times, or why you clean like a maniac, or anything like that."
Draco watched him speak.
"Simple: You like baking... how did you get into it?"
Draco put his head down.
"That's not as simple of a question as you think."
Potter deflated, and Draco could feel a little bit of the tension dissipating.
"You just don't want to tell me."
Draco could only stand there stunned, watching as Potter's demeanour shrunk.
"That's alright. I understand. I'll leave you be." Potter sighed, and Draco turned to wipe down the floured countertop with a disinfectant. Slowly, he could feel his breath returning to him with each wipe.
Potter was still standing behind him, but for some reason, Draco no longer felt so threatened by it. He knew that Potter wouldn't push anymore.
When Draco finished his cleaning, the cookies were long-cooled to touch, and he could finally inspect them.
"This one's messed up," he said with a slight frown, pointing to one of the Gingersnaps, which had too-prominent of a crack down the middle. Draco knew that if he picked it up, it would break. He could sense Potter looking at it over his shoulder.
"Oh, so then that means we get to eat it," he said simply. Draco didn't have time to react and Potter carefully picked up the deformed gingersnap and offered one half to Draco, eating the other half.
"This is delicious. You have a real talent, you know.”
"Thank you,” he replied dryly. He still felt frazzled, out of place. He could still feel slight tremors through his body.
Draco tried to shake these feelings by taking his offered half of the dessert, and Potter was right, it was delicious. Draco knew that the church would appreciate his contribution.
Potter looked slightly more at peace, now. He would switch between looking at the gingersnaps and glancing towards Draco.
"Thank you. For letting me help make them. I had a lot of fun doing that. I don't typically have any fun in the kitchen."
Potter's voice was sincere. His smile was soft and warm. Draco couldn't help but reciprocate the smile.
—-------
Later that night, as Draco lay in bed, he couldn't help his racing thoughts on how everything had changed.
Knowing that other people were picking up on his behaviours irked him. It was bad enough that he did them.
but he had to, right? How else could he push down...
Draco closed his eyes tightly and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyelids. He couldn't go down this road. Not tonight. He was too tired to let himself lose sleep again.
He took a deep breath.
Draco thought of baking, and of Potter. Something had changed. Earlier, Draco almost told Potter about his compulsions. And later, after an argument, they shared a snack and Potter left him be.
Potter didn't continue to push. Draco felt a sense of safety from that.
His mind drifted back to that conversation with Potter, and how open he'd been willing to be.
How did Potter do that? How did he actually make Draco think, for even half a second, that he could open up to...
Draco didn't know if he could.
At least Potter stopped pushing him. He appreciated that.
And Harry Potter himself was a whole other situation.
Draco remembered how he had looked at him while he made dessert. How he watched him bake, and had a gentle smile on his face the whole time. How, for a split second, he smiled at Draco.
That smile...
Draco turned around in bed, trying hard to sweep away his thoughts.
Thoughts about preparing the gingersnaps, helping him knead the dough correctly How warm he was...
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his palms against his eyelids even harder.
Why did Potter's arms have to be so nice-looking?
What?
His thoughts drifted again, and Draco could feel a warmth deep within him, a sensation that he hadn't felt in a long time. He could feel himself beginning to get... excited.
Why does Harry Potter of all people have to have arms that nice?
Draco opened his eyes and looked around. It was dark and quiet. No one was there.
Potter wasn't there. He couldn't read his mind. He couldn't see Draco now. Draco looked down.
Merlin.
No. He couldn't let himself... no.
Draco got up, walking briskly to the bathroom and turning on the tap.
He splashed his face, breathing hard. He could feel the shame rushing through him. This wasn't right. He shouldn't have these thoughts, let alone have them about Harry bloody Potter.
Draco turned the faucet off and walked back to his room, sitting down on his bed and staring off.
It had been a long time since he'd felt anything sexual.
That's what this is, he told himself. It's just been so long that now the slightest thing...
Yes, precisely. Besides, this is Potter we're talking about. Just because he was kind and gentle and...
Draco took another deep breath.
I don't... want to think about Potter...
He closed his eyes tight, but the images were still there.
Him baking, smiling, offering Draco the deformed cookie. Draco smiled softly, thinking back to that moment.
It wasn't that big of a deal.
His heart was fluttering.
He began feeling that warmth again.
Oh no.
Just stop. Stop. Think of something else. Think about-
Draco was desperate now, searching his mind for something else, anything else. He grabbed his pillow and buried his face in it.