In the Kitchen

Draco stalked through his Manor looking for his wife. Lately she was usually found in the common rooms or resting in their chambers. After all, she was about eight months along with his child, she needed her rest. Draco didn't think she was fully happy with all that rest; she seemed rather anxious to give birth. After looking everywhere he could think of, Draco summoned a house elf who informed him that his wife was in the kitchen. The kitchen! What the hell was she doing there? He rounded the doorframe and stilled, leaning against the frame, observing his wife. He couldn't decide if he should be angry at her obvious exertion or highly amused at the chaos surrounding her. He was having a hard time not laughing at her disheveled appearance and obvious frustration, so he opted for the later.

"Ginny, love, what are you doing?"

Ginny whirled around, obviously trying - unsuccessfully - to hide the mess surrounding her. "I'm going to murder my brother." With that Ginny just stared at Draco, clearly expecting him to know what she was talking about.

Draco recalled Ginny's recent mood swings and decided laughing was not the right response. So he settled for subtle prodding, "Ok, you know that's fine with me, no matter which brother you're about to kill, but that still doesn't explain why you're in the kitchen. Or why you haven't tasked this - whatever this is - to one of the house-elves." He was watching her facial expressions closely and decided to stop before continuing on to remind her she shouldn't be exerting herself, although he very much wanted to scold her for such actions and whisk her back upstairs.

Through gritted teeth Ginny spit out, "Ron, this is all Ron's fault." She motioned to the mess behind her. As she looked down and around, she realized that a few Evanesco spells might have been appropriate.

Draco cocked his head, realizing he was treading on very thin ground indeed. "There are a great many things I would blame Ron for, but I fail to see why he has you standing in - what the hell is that goo?"

Ginny flushed. "Um, eggs. And egg shells, I think. And maybe a bit of Dijon mustard, which I no longer can tolerate the smell of, by the way." Realizing she probably should explain a bit more, she continued, "Mum was so excited about Harry and Hermione's engagement that she insisted on a family celebration tonight, which you know about. Well, apparently Ron decided it would be fun to throw a Muggle-style picnic. He took over all the planning from mum, who is quite upset at that turn of events, might I add. And rightly so, because Ron is buggering up the whole thing! He decided we should all bring a contribution to the meal, which is ridiculous when you have a cook as good as our mum. But Ron, in his infinite wisdom, decided that he wanted real Muggle food and that mum wasn't going to have time to cook all those dishes using 'authentic' Muggle techniques. So he assigned each of us a dish to make. Ron called Hermione's mum to ask for some simple recipes that even novice Muggle-cooks could manage. He assigned me this damnable thing called 'egg salad' and made me promise to make it myself, using only Muggle methods. No house-elves! I didn't think it would be this difficult! I don't even understand what these directions are saying!"

Draco, who was quite used to processing such outbursts of family drama from the Weasleys, simply responded, "Why no house-elves? Is that to placate Hermione? Because she's not here, she wouldn't know, and even if she did, hasn't she outgrown that yet?" Draco decided to move closer to Ginny, who looked so frustrated she was about to cry. He wished she'd move closer to him, though, because he didn't like the idea of getting his robes dirty, what with the egg guts strewn about. He hoped he could convince her to leave the kitchen - and soon!

"I think it's actually that he really wants to impress Harry and Hermione with doing everything authentically Muggle. He always looks wistful when they're talking about their forays into Muggle London. They take him along often, but I think he just wants to make it special for them and show that he's paying attention to things they like. That's all sweet, but why do we have to be subjected to Muggle cooking?"

Draco nodded, trying to assess what would be the most effective method to getting his wife back resting upstairs, preferably in his sight, so that he could pretend to do work while looking at her surreptitiously. "So there should be no problem with my cleaning up this mess magically?"

Ginny smiled, "No, I don't imagine that would be a problem."

Draco slipped his wand from its arm holster and flicked it quickly. Then he frowned and flicked a few more times, and again toward the ceiling. Checking that his path was now clear from sticky obstacles, he moved to greet his wife properly with a kiss as his arm rested on her back. "Now, where is this recipe?"

Ginny automatically handed it to him before starting, "Draco Malfoy is going to help me cook?"

"I thought we had dispensed of calling me 'Draco Malfoy' sometime around the point when you agreed to become Ginny Malfoy. And yes, it stands to reason that the quicker you finish this ridiculous assignment of yours, the quicker I get my wife back out of the kitchen. Contrary to those Muggle blokes, I do not dream of my wife barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen! I'd much prefer your pretty little pedicured toes lounging on my bed, enticing me away from my work! Now let's figure out how to make this 'egg salad' and give the house-elves their kitchen back. They look dreadfully bored cowering over in the corner there. What did you say to keep them away, by the way?"

"I might have threatened to give them all clothes if they tried to help me. I feel horrible about it."

Draco just laughed cheerfully. "You're learning, I see. Ok, the first step is to hard boil the eggs. What the hell does that mean?" Draco looked expectantly at his wife.

Ginny just looked at him. "Well, I thought.... Well, everything I thought obviously didn't work."

"You mean you haven't even gotten past the first step?!"

Draco turned authoritatively to the house-elves, "Binky, how do we make this recipe?" He moved to hand the parchment to one of the elves.

"Draco! I promised Ron!"

"Gin, honey, I'm asking Binky to give us directions. Not to do it for us. Ron didn't say we couldn't ask them what the recipe means, did he?"

"Well, no, but probably only because he didn't think of it. Ok, very well. Binky, what have I been doing wrong?"

"Binky thinks that missus and master should put a large pot of water over the flame..."

Binky walked them through the very easy steps, once the instructions were clarified, Ginny marveled at her husband. She still thought she was incredibly lucky. He was a bit of a prat to strangers, or those he deemed not worth his time, but he was a sincere and wonderful friend to those he let into his circle. He had chosen her, and she had resisted his charms for quite a while. But she was immensely glad she had let her guard down. After all, how else would she have been able to see Draco cooking, using Muggle methods, and grinning at her throughout the experience? She stilled his movements and kissed him. "Thank you," she whispered, knowing he would understand she wasn't just thanking him for mixing the egg salad.