the sweetest con [d.m]

eleven

Mavi stifles a yawn as she steps into the kitchen at Malfoy Manor, her stomach grumbling.

"What're you cooking?" she asks, sleepily, still dazed. "It smells so good—"

She stops short, finding Draco standing at the stove — and through the thin tight white shirt he wears, she can make out the defined muscles of his back.

Suddenly, she's wide-awake.

"I'm trying out a new recipe," he answers, turning down the fire. "You sleep well?"

"Kind of," she murmurs, padding over to him and peering around him. "What are you—Is that menemen?"

Menemen is a traditional Turkish breakfast — eggs mixed in a silky sauce of tomatoes, spices and green peppers. And it's currently simmering in the pan on the stove, looking perfectly done.

"Mhm." Draco nudges her away, gently. "Get the toast out of the oven, will you? There's honey and kaymak on the counter."

Never in a million years did Mavi think she'd hear Draco Malfoy, reformed Death Eater and renowned Auror, sole heir to the Malfoy bloodline, say kaymak.

"O-kay." She moves over to the toaster, plucking out the two slices of toast.

Draco turns the fire off and grabs some of the chopped coriander he's kept in a bowl beside him, sprinkling it over the menemen. "It said you guys have it with a specific type of bread."

"We do." Mavi's still dazed by the fact that he's cooking Turkish food. "But you won't find it here—"

"I baked some."

She doesn't want to make him feel nervous so she tries to rein in her surprised reaction. "You—did?"

He nods, waving hand towards the oven which is indeed open, a loaf of crispy bread with a thick crust cooling inside. "I followed the recipe down to the smallest detail—so I think it came out okay."

Mavi hides her smile as she lathers honey and cream onto their toasts. "It looks and smells amazing. You did a great job."

"Don't start complimenting me now," he says, wiping his hands with a cloth. "You haven't even tried it."

She wants to tell him watching him cook for her, with his hair tousled, in that tight white shirt, is the best thing she could ever ask for — but settles for placing the toasts on a plate and carrying them over to the kitchen table.

He's already prepared her Turkish tea and his coffee, waiting at their respective seats — and there's an assortment of cheese, freshly cut tomatoes and cucumbers and olives laid out ahead of her. A typical Turkish breakfast.

"What's the occasion?" she asks, her heart warming at the sight of what he's done for her.

"Why must there be an occasion?" He carries the menemen over and she makes space for it in the middle of the table.

"It's not everyday you make menemen," she teases, "or bake Turkish bread."

He shrugs, heading over to the oven to retrieve the mentioned bread. "I think Turkish cuisine is quickly becoming my favourite. So I wanted to try out a recipe."

She smiles as he sits opposite her, summoning a bread knife from the drawer. The smell of freshly baked bread and eggs wafts up from the table, making her stomach rumble.

"Where'd you even find a recipe?" she inquires as he serves her some of the eggs, slicing the loaf a moment after.

"Turkish cookbook," he replies, casually. "Bought it last week when I was down in Diagon Alley with Nadia."