Pairing: Hermione Granger/Abraxus Malfoy
Location: Melbourne, Australia
Holiday Treat Prompt: Sugar Cookies
"Are you sure you want to go?"
"I have to, Harry. You know I can't stay here right now."
Harry sighed, "you're the closest I have to a sister, Hermione, and I want you to be happy."
Hermione hugged him tight, "I love you too."
"Promise me you'll be safe."
"Aren't I always?"
They shared a conspiratorial smile. They were always as safe as they could be. Which, with the fall of Voldemort and the Death Eaters is safer than they were when they were kids. Harry hugged her tightly one more time.
“I’ll be back after the holidays. Maybe by then Ron will have gotten his head out of his arse.” Hermione shrugged and gave a short sarcastic laugh. She loved the idiot, and he was an idiot most days. Usually a kind idiot, but lately they seemed to be growing apart. Perhaps some actual distance between them would be good. They’d been together as friends and then lovers for so many years now that maybe it was time they took a break from being around each other. Hermione sighed wistfully, perhaps they were better off as just friends.
Harry lightly grabbed Hermione’s arms, “are you sure you’re okay? Are you sure you want to be away from all of us?”
“It’s not the hardest thing I’ve done, Harry.” She smiled as much as she could muster, “and besides, I’ll be with my mum.” She pulled him in for one last hug. She promised herself this would be the last one. It’s not like she was never coming back after all. “I’ll be back. And if you’re really worried, you can always catch another international portkey and join me in Melbourne.”
Hermione left Harry at the entry doors to Heathrow Airport and made her way to the check-in counter. She was sure that most any other self respecting witch would have gone to the Ministry and secured an international portkey; however, she was far from your normal witch, and Muggle methods of travel had a way of calming her. Besides, 22 hours to read was a lot of time, and Hermione loves her books.
Hermione handed her ID and flight information to the lady behind the counter and waited patiently for her to check her in for her flight. After a few minutes of the woman looking between her and the computer, Hermione’s patience started to wear thin.
“Is there an issue?”
“No ma’am. But…” the woman hesitated.
“But what?”
“Are you sure you don’t have any baggage to check? You’re taking an open ended flight to Australia and you have a tote bag.” The woman’s words were questioning, but her tone was accusatory.
Hermione took a deep breath and centered herself. “What I do or do not bring with me, is not your business. And my reason for going, as I’m sure it will be your next inquiry, is also, none of your business. Now, if you are done, I’d like my IDs back please.” Hermione held out her hand impatiently for the woman to return her items. Hermione whispered a soft confundus as the woman handed her her IDs to ensure that the woman didn’t decide that she was some risk that security needed to stop. What was she thinking trying to travel the Muggle way? Muggles would never understand that everything a person needs can fit into one small bag if you pack it properly, and of course use a bit of magic.
An hour later, Hermione was ensconced in the plane in a nice roomy seat in first class, her bag tucked in next to her and a book in her lap. She could finally relax.
ONE WEEK LATER
Hermione stood in her mother’s kitchen on the verge of a panic attack. Why oh why did she tell her mum that she would make the cookies for the party tonight? She didn’t know how to bake cookies. She could conjur, she could brew, she could do just about anything, except bake. Oh it was a recipe the same as a potion was, but it was so so different too. Too much flour and you have dry horrible cookies. Too little and they’re too wet to stay together. The recipe may make it seem like it was exact, but even when she was a kid her mum would tell her that it was all about the feel and the taste. Taste she understood. Taste she could do, but feel, what the hell did that mean? If she went down to the shop to pick some up, her mum would know. Her mum always knew.
Closing her eyes she focused on something she could control, knowledge. She started conjugating latin. It didn’t matter what word it was, whichever came to mind first is the one she started with. After about 5 minutes she was calm enough to open her eyes and focus once more on the task of cookies.
She pulled out the recipe and clipped it to the cabinet above her workspace. Slowly she gathered each ingredient. She laid out the butter first, 225 grams of unsalted butter. Next to it she laid out 225 grams of caster sugar in a bowl, followed by 1 teaspoon of vanilla into a shallow dish, then 2 teaspoons of baking powder into another dish, 1 egg, and 330 grams of flour into another bowl. With all of her ingredients laid out she felt better about starting her cookies. Measurements she understood. Simple, it should be simple from here. They were called a basic sugar cookie after all. And the internet never lied. She suppressed a snarky laugh.
She read the next step, cream the butter and sugar together. That should be easy enough. Hermione added her butter and her sugar to her mixing bowl, added her paddle attachment to the head of the mixer and set the mixer to mixing. She was promptly sprayed with sugar crystals and butter bits and the butter was flung all about the bowl. Quickly Hermione turned off the mixer and looked to her recipe.
“SOFTENED BUTTER!” She screamed. “Seriously?! ARGH!” Hermione threw her hands up and for a moment thought about throwing the lot to the floor. “I hate baking!”
Hermione grabbed a glob of the sugar coated butter and threw it across the kitchen. It splattered on the wall and stuck there. Good, she didn't want to use the butter as it was.
Cookies, take 2.
Hermione laid out her butter and sugar once again and left it for a couple hours while she relaxed in a bath. When she came back the butter was soft and pliable. Therefore, she reasoned that it should be soft by baking standards.
Once more, she placed the butter and sugar in the mixer and set it on a lower speed. A few minutes later she had a nice creamy mixture of sugared butter.
"Yes!" Hermione did a little happy dance. "Step one complete."
Twenty minutes later she was co ered in flour and her mixture was once again a disaster. It looked nothing like the directions described and it certainly did not taste like sugar cookie dough.
Once again she tossed her dough. For the love of all that's holy, why was cookie dough so difficult for her to achieve?
Hermione started spouting off random bouts of Latin, Greek, Italian, and whatever else crossed her mind as she cleaned out the bowl and prepared to start again.
Flour and sugar coated her, the counter, the floor, and every imaginable surface in her mother's kitchen.
She wanted to throw things, she wanted to scream, she turned around to leave the kitchen and actually did scream.
****
"Accio wand," Hermione shouted as she backed away from the intruder. "How did you get in here?"
"How the bloody hell am I supposed to know? YOU summoned me! And where in Merlin's name are we?"
"I was trying to make freaking sugar cookies!"
"Cookies?" He arched a brow, "are you certain you know how to bake?"
"Of course you'd have their arrogance, you look just like those ponces."
"Madame, that does not answer the question."
Hermione huffed, "no, I don't know how to bake. That would be how you got here." Hermione crossed her arms and glared at him.
"I see. And precisely where is here?"
"You're awfully polite for a Malfoy."
He arched that blond brow of his again. "I see that you have not had pleasant dealings with my family."
"Certainly not. Though Draco and I have a truce type friendship of sorts. Honestly, that is irrelevant to your presence here." Hermione relaxed and wiped the flour off her face. "I would like to say that I knew how I brought you here so I could send you back. But somehow I don't think you'd appreciate being dead...again."
"You must be quite a powerful witch to pull me through time, as last I remember my grandson was a toddler." He took a few steps towards her and helped wipe the four from her face. "Perhaps, I could aid your endeavour to make cookies. I am quite adept in the kitchen."
Hermione started to cry, she was used to being the strong one, the one who knew the answers, the one who could fix anything, but she couldn't fix this.
Abraxas pulled a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed it at her tears. "Calm yourself my dear. All will be well."
"Thank you." Hermione looked at the disaster of a kitchen, waved her wand and with a muttered spell all was clean once again. "I can measure out everything, I can even get everything started but it never comes out right."
Abraxas chuckled, "my dear, baking is as much precision of potions as it is art." He took her hand in his, remember to breathe and have patience." He leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear, "you're not breathing."
His presence was making her body hot and he was making it very difficult to breathe. How was she supposed to breathe when he was this close to her?
"Place your butter and your sugar in your bowl." She followed his instructions, steps she had done several times that day but never with any success. As she followed each of his directions he would place his hands over hers, soothing her tension but not her racing heart.
Thirty minutes later she finally had successful cookie dough. It looked correct, it tasted divine, and it was all thanks to Abraxas Malfoy. Merlin, she was actually thankful to a Malfoy.
"I don't know how to thank you?"
He smiled, "you've yet to bake them. Perhaps we'll start there." He helped her spoon them out onto a cookie sheet and set them to bake in the oven. "We have ten minutes to wait and see. Why don't we have a cup of tea?" Abraxas pulled out her mother’s kettle from the shelf above the stove, filled it with water, and set it to boil.
As though this was a dance they had done all their lives, Hermione pulled out two mugs and set them next to the stove. "Do you have a preferred blend?"
"Hmm, no one has asked me that in years. Fix me your favourite blend and I shall try it."
Hermione tried hard to hide her smile. The boys were not fond of her blend and often whigned about it being the only one in her house. To find someone open to trying something new was refreshing. Even if he was supposed to be dead.
Hermione went to the other room and rummaged in her tote bag for her tin of tea and her sloth infuser. It was her own fun indulgence.
She filled the infuser with a black tea orange blend of her own division and set it in the mug. Pulling her mother's infuser from the drawer she filled it and set it in the second mug. When the kettle whistled Abraxas poured the water.
One would expect that conversation with a dead man would be awkward. But Hermione found Abraxas to be fascinating. His ideology so different from his son's.
"You've no idea how often I tried to dissuade him from following that sycophant. But of course children think they know everything and don't listen to their parents. I'm happy to know that he finally saw the error of his ways. Even if it did almost cost him everything."
The oven timer beeped and Hermione rose from the table to pull out the cookies.
One hand on the oven handle the other over her heart as she held her breath and opened the door.
The cookies were perfect. Lightly golden around the edges and perfectly fluffy in the middle. She set the sheet on the stove top and nearly cried once more.
Abraxas came up behind her and placed his hands upon her arms giving them a light squeeze. His mouth next to her ear, he kissed her lightly, "patience is the key."
- "No, I don't believe it is. I believe the key is understanding, a bit of help, perhaps patience, but definitely a bit of love." Hermione was excited to share her cookies with her mum. But first, she'd share one with Abraxas and maybe another kiss. A proper one this time.