Work Text:
Once upon a Christmas, in the snowy heart of bustling London, a certain blond wizard was frantically running around the kitchen of a small, cosy flat. As Christmas music blasted through the Wireless and merry strings of twinkling lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the flat in a warm hue, Draco was standing at the stove, bent over a dangerously bubbling cooking pot.
“It’s going to work. It’s going to work. It’s going to work.”
He repeated the words again and again as he stirred the red concoction with a wooden spoon, swiping at the few strands of hair that constantly fell in front of his face. He had tried pulling his hair back into a ponytail, though it wasn’t long enough yet. Most of it had already escaped and was now hanging in front of his face, annoying him.
Careful, as to not spill any of his precious sauce, Draco scooped a bit of it on a spoon and stared. Was it supposed to look like that? The recipe said the sauce should be a smooth texture, not thick and bubbly like the sauce on his spoon.
It honestly couldn’t be that bad. The steps of the recipe weren’t that hard to follow correctly. How awful could it taste?
“Oh bloody hell,” Draco sighed and lifted the spoon to his mouth. Yet the moment the sauce hit his tongue, he gagged and spit it out into the sink.
It was the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted!
He didn’t understand why, though. Just like he always did with brewing potions, he had followed every careful step of the recipe. And cooking wasn’t that different from making potions. The only difference was the use of magic. Cooking didn’t involve any magic whilst potion making was all about magic. So where did it go wrong?
He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however. As he was cleaning the mess he had made of the kitchen and pouring the thick, red slush he called tomato sauce into the sink, the front door of the flat opened and soft whistling drifted into the room, matching the joyous Christmas carols coming through the Wireless.
His roommate had arrived back home.
With a quick flick of his wand, Draco vanished the leftover mess on the countertops and in the sink, cursing softly when he vanished Berny’s - their shared goldfish - food, too. He would have to make a quick run to the pet store a few streets down before his roommate noticed anything in the morning.
As the whistling grew louder, signaling his roommate was walking down the cramped entrance hall to the kitchen, Draco casually leaned against one of the countertops. Nothing had happened. Everything was fine. He just needed to play it off cool and nobody would ever know what a disastrous cook he truly was.
They would just order takeout again. It seemed to be the safest option they had. Draco’s master plan of learning how to cook and winning over his roommate’s heart along the way clearly wasn’t working, if the sauce he made was anything to go by.
Slowly, with a high-pitched creak, the door to the kitchen opened and in stepped a disheveled-looking, grinning Harry Potter. His bright, emerald eyes scanned the room, admiring the twinkling Christmas decorations until his gaze landed on Draco. He raised a questioning eyebrow, tilting his head to one side. “What are you doing?”
Draco shrugged, trying - and failing miserably - to look casual and calm. Nothing had happened. Everything was fine. “Nothing much,” he said softly, his voice cracking at the end. “Just… relaxing.” Smooth, Draco.
“Really? Relaxing? Here, in the kitchen?” Harry eyed him more carefully as he took a step forward. Yet he stopped abruptly, scrunching up his nose. He sniffed, and grimaced. “Smells… a bit weird around here, no?”
“Weird?” Draco asked innocently, his eyes wide. “I have no idea what you mean. It doesn’t smell any different than usual.”
Harry hummed thoughtfully as he continued his way to where Draco was standing. His gaze quickly scanned over the countertops, a suspicious look passing through his eyes. “You’re hiding something.” It wasn’t a question.
Draco spluttered indignantly, shaking his head quickly. “Why would you think that?”
With an amused little smile tugging at the ends of his lips, Harry leaned closer, his voice low as he said, “You can’t lie for shit, Draco.”
Though Draco couldn’t see, he could definitely feel the flush climbing up his throat and cheeks, probably colouring his face a beautiful pink. He hadn’t always been a bad liar. He was a Slytherin for something, one that had shared his house with a crazy, prying lunatic for almost over a year. So if there was anything he had learned, it was how to lie.
But when it came to Harry… There was just something, something he couldn’t quite explain, that always made it so Harry could look right through him.
“I—”
“What are you hiding from me?” Harry leaned even closer, his gaze focussed on a spot just under Draco’s eyes. “Does it, perhaps, have anything to do with this?”
With a quick and careful movement, he swept his finger under Draco’s eye and held it up in front of him. A red smudge covered the tip of it. “Let me guess,” he said, the smile on his face growing. “You tried to cook again?”
Rolling his eyes, Draco huffed a laugh. He could feel his facade breaking easily under Harry’s rapt attention. He sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat as he ran a hand through his hair. “I might have tried, yes.”
“Oh, Draco.” Harry snorted loudly and took a few steps back towards the fridge, amusement now clear on his face. “When are you finally going to realise you can’t cook, no matter how hard you try?”
Draco narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “It honestly shouldn’t be that hard! It’s not that different from brewing potions.”
Another snort came from where Harry had ducked his head into the fridge.
“And I’ll have you know,” Draco continued, ignoring Harry’s raised eyebrow, “that I am perfectly capable of cooking a simple meal, thank you very much.”
“Oh yeah, sure.”
Harry leaned back against the counter opposite of Draco, a cold beer in hand. He offered it to Draco, though he perfectly knew Draco didn’t like the bitter taste of muggle beer. “That explains why we had to fix our microwave four times this month already.” A challenging smirk grew on his face.
“It’s not my fault muggles make it impossible to use that machine.”
“Or,” Harry continued, completely ignoring Draco’s comment, “the fact that I keep finding burnt slices of bread in the bin?” His grin grew mischievous now. “Not to mention the amount of times you have vanished Berny’s food in a hurry and had to go buy more?”
Draco’s eyes grew comically wide. “Wha—How did you—”
“I’m not as stupid as I look, you know,” Harry laughed, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he shook his head. “We’ve been over this multiple times already.”
“Yes, well…”
Draco felt his blush darken, embarrassment and a slight anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. All those times! All those bloody times he had cleared the kitchen as quickly as he could! All those times he destroyed every bit of evidence of his failing so Harry wouldn’t know about all the food he had ruined in the past month! And all of that for nothing?!
Harry had known all along, had found all of Draco’s attempts at covering up his disasters and yet… Yet he hadn’t said a word. He had kept it to himself, staying quiet and watching, observing, as Draco tried cooking dish after dish after dish.
“You sneaky bastard,” Draco muttered, though there wasn’t any heat in it. There was something oddly heartwarming about the thought of Harry keeping it a secret. He didn’t go around telling all his friends how bad Draco was at cooking. Instead, it was their little hidden thing.
Slowly, a knot Draco hadn’t realised had even been there, uncoiled in his chest. He breathed out a big sigh, closing his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, Harry put his beer down and pushed himself off the counter, closing the small space between them.
He leaned in close again, his face mere inches away from Draco’s own. And for a moment, Draco swore he saw Harry’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “Will you finally tell me the real reason why you’re suddenly so into cooking?”
They stared at each other for a moment, silence stretching between them. Could he really tell Harry the truth? The truth about how he had admired him for so many years and how he had, slowly but surely, fallen in love with him. How he had fallen so deep and so fast it scared him to death on some days and made him cry in joy on others.
Draco opened his mouth to speak, yet nothing came out of it but a soft puff of air.
Was it really worth it? What if Harry didn’t feel the same? He didn’t want to just ruin the tentative friendship they had built over the past few months. He rather not say anything and keep everything the way it was than rip apart the soft blanket of comfort they had managed to wrap around themselves.
He couldn’t risk it.
Willing his features to take on an air of indifference, Draco stepped away from Harry. “If you think I’m up to something, Potter, then I have to disappoint you. I simply wanted to try something I thought I would enjoy. But apparently even that isn’t allowed anymore.”
He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes as he made to brush past him, though he didn’t get far. A warm, sturdy hand wrapped around Draco’s slender wrist, pulling him back so he came to stand chest to chest with Harry.
“Draco.”
His name rolled off Harry's tongue, soft and smooth like the texture the tomato sauce should have been. They were so close. Close enough that if Draco leaned forward just an inch, his lips would brush Harry’s. An excited shiver ran down his spine at the thought.
“You know,” Harry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, “sometimes you’re more of an open book than you think you are.” A tender smile lifted the corners of his mouth as a hand came up to cup one of Draco’s cheeks, his thumb caressing his cheekbone. “I like you, too, you oblivious idiot.”
And that was all it took for Draco’s last bit of doubt to disappear as he finally leaned closer, letting his lips brush Harry’s softly, hesitantly. It was only when Harry deepened the kiss that Draco completely relaxed in Harry’s warm embrace, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths.
A quiet, needy moan escaped Draco’s mouth as Harry pulled him even closer, his lips moving to Draco’s throat, sucking softly.
“Hmm,” Harry hummed against the sensitive skin of Draco’s throat. He pressed their hips together, before mumbling, “What’d you try to cook today?”
Draco huffed a laugh, arching into Harry’s grip as his hands moved down to his arse. “‘S not important now,” he said, his hands buried into the messy tangle of dark hair, guiding Harry’s head back to his mouth. He took Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth, smiling. “We’ll just order another pizza from that restaurant at the end of the street.”
Harry snorted softly, breaking the kiss and letting their foreheads rest against each other, their noses just touching. “You’re impossible, do you know that?”
“Hmm, I’ve heard you say that once or twice.”
As their lips met in yet another searing kiss, the Wireless still blasting merry Christmas music and Berny happily swimming circles in his small fish tank, completely oblivious to anything that was going on on the other side of the glass, Draco decided that, perhaps, cooking wasn’t something for him anymore.
After all, he definitely got his happily ever after.