Draco is actually a naturally fantastic chef and Harry is absolutely into it.
Neither of them had really discovered it until they first started living together. It had been about a week since they had moved in and the apartment had just began to felt like home. The piles of clothing and cardboard boxes had started to vanish, replaced with plants and photographs and little decorations from the Malfoy Manor and Hogwarts respectively. The past month had been stressful and neither Draco nor Harry had the time to cook or settle into the unkept kitchen, instead opting for eating takeaways from the local Thai place around the corner. Plus, since Draco was working from home temporarily, he was often left to experiment.
And at the end of Harry’s first day of work, he was welcomed with a pretty big surprise.
For starters, the kitchen was an utter mess of utensils and used bowls, a Tupperware of tomatoes open and half-empty on the countertop. A rather stale-looking baguette had been cut in half, crumbs left in a haze of tan on a chopping board next to the stove. A large green puddle was visible near a suspicious blue pot.
The smell that assaulted his senses was something like no other: the kind of scent that would haunt an Italian restaurant on a Saturday evening. It was intoxicatingly irresistible and it gave Harry a strong feeling of excitement as to what was to come.
But most surprising of all, perhaps, was the flash of blond hair near the fridge, leaning down and uttering a quiet “Merlin’s shaggy bollocks” in response to the clattering of plastic as the blackberries came crashing down along with a carton of unopened almond milk.
Why the fuck they owned almond milk, was a question Harry still didn’t know the answer to.
Draco seemed to notice the light chuckle Harry let out, and turned around to face him with that familiar expression of annoyance he had grown to know like the back of his hand.
“You’re back,” he said with a hint of embarrassment.
“Aren’t you just as enthusiastic as ever,” Harry grinned, placing his coat on the hook at the back of the front door. “Welcome home, Harry. How was your day?”
Draco grunted. “Welcome home, you anemic twit. Hope you earned money.”
Harry laughed and walked into the kitchen as Draco closed the fridge and moved to fetch a cloth from the oven door and a mop from the behind the sink. He handed the cloth to Harry before hesitating and giving him a kiss on the head. He smirked.
“Did Weasley get the plan through to Kingsley?” He asked, turning to mop up the mess next to the fridge.
“No, in fact the whole Department seems to have fucked with a rabbit. Ron told Feveret to shove her Auror team up her arse, and she promptly chucked a tray of muffins at him. Kingsley was furious.” Harry replied, as he moved to wipe down the countertops.
“Seems appropriate, assaulting high-end members of the Auror team with nutritious baked goods. Don’t suppose Feveret had any idea that Granger will be promoted any day now?”
“Clearly not. Anyway, Feveret is almost as frequent in the Daily Prophet as we were a few years back. She won’t be in the department for very long.”
“I should hope not. The cow can’t agree with anyone even if it meant saving herself from being sacked. I reckon she and her bloody tea kettle will be kicked out of the Ministry altogether.”
“Her bloody tea kettle was destroyed in the muffin saga.”
Draco burst into laughter.
Harry was too busy giggling to the sound of Draco to even notice the bucket of soapy water underneath him. He tripped slightly, letting out an embarrassingly loud yelp of shock, only just managing to keep his balance as the contents of the bucket spilt all over the kitchen. Draco didn’t stop cackling.
“You’re laughing at my pain,” Harry said with a pout.
“Laughing at you is one of my finest pleasures in life,” he retorted.
“You’re horrible.” He said jokingly.
“You love me-“
“Still horrible. I have awful taste.”
“Mmm, even after I made dinner?”
“Horrible.”
“So horrible,” replied Draco mockingly, taking his hand and leading him into the dining room and lounge.
Now Harry’s mind had completely changed. The overhead lights had been dimmed somewhat, and there was a faint glow coming from the table where Draco had placed two bowls of - is that soup? - opposite each other. The room had been tidied significantly, the table cloth washed and the sofa pillows neatened. He turned to stare at his boyfriend open-mouthed.
He watched as Draco’s face slowly morphed into a huge grin, and pushed his sheet-blond hair out of his face as he returned the eye-contact.
“Come here, you sappy git.” Harry mumbled at last, snaking his arms around Draco’s neck and kissing him softly.
*-*
Some hours and a few rounds of banter later, the two were seated on the sofa in the living room, stealing kisses and whispers themed around the day, work at the Ministry and of course, Feveret and her ugly tea kettle.
The dinner was delicious. Draco had cooked a three-course meal consisting of an Italian soup (complete with croutons), a sort of Risotto with vegetables (a flavor Harry couldn’t quite place) and ending with a Tiramisu (or at least, that’s what Draco said it was, Harry you uncultured dessert fan).
This, Harry could add to his list of reasons he loved Draco. As the blond smirked to himself, Harry’s head in his lap, threading his fingers through Harry’s hair and making little remarks about how uncontrollable it was he couldn’t help but think.
This, he could live with.
This, he wanted more of.
And as his eyes began to close softly, he remembered something. He sat up and looked at Draco wide-eyed.
“Did we clean up the kitchen?”
Draco gave him a peculiar look, before jumping up at the sudden realization and hopping towards the door with his boyfriend at his side.
Indeed, the washing water was still cascaded across the kitchen tiles, the occasional soapy bubble visible along the surface. The rest of the room was covered in dirty plates and unfinished business, and Harry felt Draco slump beside him and rolling up the sleeves of his collared shirt.
“Merlin’s fucking dirty socks,” he looks at Harry before letting a tired half-smile decorate his face. “This is a nice end to a romantic Italian evening.”