Thwop! Thwop! Hermione punched the dough and every time she turned it over it made a satisfactory Thwop! She loved baking bread. She learned from her mother when she was younger and, even though she could radically shorten the time by using magic, she never did. There was just something about measuring out ingredients, mixing them together into the right texture and then rolling them out on the floured cutting board. Once she dusted her hands with flour she would attack the dough and start kneading.
She baked bread when she was mad or upset. The simple act of kneading calmed her spirit and let her think about why she felt the way she did. Or she would bake for someone and when she kneaded it she would imagine the look on the person’s face when she gifted the fresh, sometimes still warm, loaf to them.
There was something about a mixing bowl with a towel draped over it sitting on her counter, tucked away under the cabinets in the dark, that just said “home” to her.
This time, she was neither mad nor angry, nor gifting the loaf to someone. She was baking for the sheer joy of it and she was so engrossed in her project that she didn’t hear the back door open. It wasn’t until the water was turned on that she even noticed the presence of someone else in the kitchen.
“Why don’t you just use magic?” Draco nodded towards the bread as he washed the dirt off his hands.
“Why do you dig holes for vegetables without magic?” She looked at him, catching him in his own trap.
“Because…I know you like watching me dig,” he said, winking. “I saw you peeking out the window this morning. And you weren’t looking for an owl.” Having dried his hands, he sauntered over to her and wrapped his arms around her swelling middle and put his chin on her shoulder.
“Yes, well,” Hermione sniffed, not realizing he had seen her indulging in her guilty pleasure, “maybe I was just making sure you didn’t drop the shovel on your foot. Wouldn’t want those dragonhide boots you insist on wearing getting scuffed, now?” She leaned her head back on his chest and let him kiss her cheek.
She continued kneading. Pushing the dough down flat, then molding it back to a ball and flipping it. Push it flat, mold it, flip it. Push, ball, flip. She was lost in the movement and belatedly realized a pair of hands joined her.
“I want to see if I feel what you so obviously feel when you do this. I’ve watched you enough,” Draco said, huskily.
“Maybe you need your own ball of dough, then.” Not that she really wanted him to stop what he was doing. His long, slender, still aristocratic fingers interlinked with hers, moving as she grabbed the dough. He applied some pressure when she punched down and it felt oddly erotic.
“No, I’m perfectly fine experimenting this way.” He nuzzled her neck and sighed contentedly. “I think it’s working.”
“Yeah? Well, good, because I’m done with this part.” Ignoring his groan of disappointment she elbowed his arms away, picked up the firm ball of dough and placed it in the waiting bowl. Without having to move, she covered the bowl and shoved it to the back of the counter under the cabinets. She brushed off her hands and turned around to bring Draco’s face down to hers. She couldn’t help but laugh at the pout on his face and the flour fingerprints she was leaving despite having just brushed them off..
“Darling,” she said as she kissed one dusty cheek, “ I really,” another one, “think you should learn how to do this yourself. You’ve proven yourself very able in so many muggle things,” she finished by kissing him on the lips.
“I have to disagree,” he said, pulling her tightly to him, “it’s bread baking. I don't want to know how to do it. Besides, if I learn, I’ll obviously best you in making it eventually, and I don’t want to show you up.” His mouth spread into his trademark cocky grin and his head tilted in that way she remembered oh so well from Hogwarts.
Before he could plant a kiss, she ducked out from under his arms and looked at him cryptically. “You’re scared! You couldn’t stand it if you failed, could you?”
“What, of course not!” he shouted in indignation. “Alright, let’s do it. Lay out all the ingredients and a recipe and I’ll bake the most beautiful loaf of bread you’ve ever tasted.” Draco crossed his arms in defiance.
“Well,” Hermione squinted her eyes at him, “let’s put some teeth into this challenge then, shall we? I put my loaf of bread against yours and we’ll have someone do a blind taste test.”
“Blind taste test? You mean like blindfolded?” Draco gave her a wolfish grin. “I could definitely get into that.” He started to come towards her but she kept him at arm’s length.
“No, silly, no one will know which bread is which and it will be an honest assessment.”
“Oh,” Draco looked disappointed. “Well, if you say so,” he shrugged.
Hermione got busy, gathering the ingredients for the exact same recipe she had just used. She was sorely tempted to throw the bet, knowing he wouldn’t even realize if she left out a crucial ingredient, but then decided she would let him fail all on his own.
Once everything was laid out, she handed him the card and gave him a stern look. “You can ask me questions that apply to muggle knowledge, nothing else. I’ll be in the dining room owling our judges.”
“Wait, don’t I get a say in who judges this? You’ll call all the Gryffindors and somehow figure out how to let them know which loaf is yours!” Draco started to look at the card, his face scrunched up in puzzlement. “How do you read this thing anyway? It’s faded and the handwriting is atrocious.”
“I’ll have you know that’s my mother’s handwriting, and it’s faded because it has stood the test of time,” Hermione gloated. “It’s almost foolproof.”
“Ok, but if I fail, I have an automatic appeal. ‘Indecipherable instructions.’” He turned to the ingredients and began measuring and pouring.
Hermione watched him from her spot in the dining room. She loved it when she got to watch him do something without magic. When she had first suggested he try doing something by hand, he had been appalled that she would expect him to do something without magic. She knew it was really just fear of failure that made him act like that. They had competed with each other for so many years that, even though he was comfortable with her besting him sometimes, he didn’t necessarily consider it a failure on his part. More like luck on hers.
So, after a frenzied bout of sex, she had come to him with her shirt and a handful of buttons, she said, “It’s time.”
He had been puzzled at first, not understanding why she wanted him to do a house elf’s job. Not that they even had an elf, mind you. When he rose to the challenge though, he’d excelled at it. Somehow, those long, dexterous fingers were very capable of sewing buttons on her shirt.
An hour later, he triumphantly appeared in the sitting room where she was reading. He tossed the shirt in her lap and said, “Here, your majesty.”
She set the book down and picked up the shirt, smoothed it out and looked at it intently. Then she turned it around and checked the inside. Trying not to show her awe at his handiwork, she continued to inspect.
“There’s a knot here.”
“What? You’re kidding me, right? I just sewed on 7 buttons by hand and you fixate on a knot?” Draco threw himself on the couch in a fit of pique.
“Are you sure you didn’t use magic?” She couldn’t believe it was this good the first time.
“Do you need a demonstration?” His flippancy was going to be the death of her.
“Actually, yes,” she smirked. Walking over to the couch, she sat down next to him. “Here you go. Show me.”
“Fine,” he groused, grabbing the blouse and cutting off a button with his wand. He carefully threaded the needle and knotted the string before placing the button.
Draco began to sew it on, using long flowing movements that mesmerized her. His long, graceful fingers were surprisingly deft as he pushed the needle through each hole in the button and checked the back to make sure it was neat. He continued sewing, back and forth, bringing his hand up as he pulled the thread taut and then dexterously poking the needle through the fabric. When he was done, he tied off the back and bit the thread with his teeth.
“Satisfied?” He thrust the blouse back to her with a huff. “Earth to Hermione?” He waved his hand in front of her. “Are you in there?”
She jumped back and looked at him like she had just awakened from a dream.
“Glad you’re back. I was beginning to wonder if I had enchanted you or something,” he smirked.
Hermione covered her embarrassment at being so caught up in his movements by checking the blouse closely.
“Hmm. I supposed you can sew. Who would have thought it?” She was genuinely surprised.
Draco preened. “I told you I could do it.”
“Fine, you’re now in charge of all the mending. Maybe you’ll think twice before you rip my shirts apart.” She stood up, and haughtily walked out of the room with the shirt.
Draco flung himself back on the couch with a loud groan. “You love it and you know it!”
“Hey! Wake up there, Granger!” Using her last name always got her attention, he used it so rarely now. When she looked at him, he said, ”Where were you just now?’
“Oh, just thinking about the first time you sewed the buttons back on my shirt.”
“Oh, right. That was what? Ten-twelve shirts ago?” He smirked.
“Fifteen, but who’s counting? What do you need?” She tried to clear the cobwebs out of her head and give him her whole attention.
“Will you check something for me? I’m not sure what the consistency is supposed to be.”
She followed him into the kitchen. So rarely did he ask for her help, she jumped at the chance. She made her way over to the counter, noticing the incredible mess that had been made in the process.
“It looks like a flour bomb exploded in here! What the hell did you do?” She laughed as she peered inside the bowl.
“I, uh, well…I opened a new bag and it sort of went everywhere,” Draco said, blushing slightly.
“Well, I didn’t think I needed to give you instructions on how not to open a bag of flour. Apparently I did,” Hermione huffed. “Let’s see…”
She poked at the mound of dough in the bowl. It was surprisingly…well…doughy. It wasn’t sticky, nor was it flaking from being too dry. It was…just right. Damn.
“I think it feels ok,” she said tentatively, trying to instill a little worry in him.
“Really?” Draco asked, seeming unsure.
“Don’t trust yourself?” She couldn’t help it; she had to poke the bear.
“Of course I do, I really just wanted you to come over so you could show me how to play with it.” He looked at her with that one-sided grin that meant he was teasing.
Hermione rolled her eyes and moved so he could pull the dough out onto the freshly floured cutting board. He picked it up with one hand, let it stretch a bit and then dropped it.
“Is that how you do it? I can’t remember?” He picked it up again, but before he could drop it, she grabbed it out of his hands.
“No, of course not, you oaf, here, let’s get you started.” She shaped the dough into a ball and then pushed him in front of it. “Now, punch down with the heels of both hands.”
He did as she told him.
“Now rock it a little bit, then pick it up, with both hands,” she corrected as he tried to pick it up with one hand again, “and flip it.” He picked it up and flipped it over.
“Now just keep on doing that for about 5 minutes. You can add more flour if you need to, but not too much.”
He tried it again, and pretended to do it wrong. “Help?” He looked at her with puppy dog eyes.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. ” she huffed. She stood behind him and grabbed his hands just like he had done earlier. Her hand barely covered his fists but he didn’t really need her help, he just wanted her near him. Together they picked it up, flipped it and then punched it again.
Hermione laid her head on his back as they continued. Right between his shoulder blades, she could feel his heart beating. This is how it should always be. Beating strong and sure. No worries, no panicking, no nightmares to make it speed up and jump around. Just this.
She started when she realized he’d stopped and put the dough back in the bowl. It joined its twin under the cabinets.
He turned to face her. “How long does it sit there and do its thing?”
“You mean rise? That’s the magical part. It’ll need about an hour and a half to two hours to double in size and then we’ll knead it again and shape it. That’s what makes it soft and spongy. After that, it’s another hour and a half before it goes into the oven.”
Draco looked down at her and smiled. “Good, we’ve got plenty of time. I think I need to practice my kneading technique.” He waited for her eye roll at his horrific pun.
Instead, she looked at him and smiled. “I believe you do.” She took him by the hand and started to walk towards the stairs.
“By the way, who did you get to judge?” Draco wanted to prepare himself for artificial defeat.
Hermione winked at him as she opened the bedroom door and walked in. “Harry and Narcissa.”
“Ok, those two names will never be uttered in the same sentence in this room ever again.” Draco took Hermione by the shoulders and maneuvered her towards the bed. “Ever. Again.”
When her knees hit the edge of the bed, she sat down. He pushed her back and crawled on top of her. “Swear it.” He began to carefully unbutton her blouse, having learned his lesson to pick and choose the times he would have to grab the needle and thread wisely.
“I swear, I will never utter the names of my best friend and your mother in this room ever again.” Before she got the last word out he covered it with a deep kiss, banishing any and all thoughts of parents and best friends from her mind.
They managed to occupy themselves the entire time the bread was rising.