Dramione

*9 Cooking With Draco

On Saturday, Draco made excuses to Crabbe and Goyle, and shooed them from the dungeons, telling them to enjoy their Saturday. They left, looking very confused by his recent behaviour. He obviously couldn't trust them with the secret of his relationship, but he did appreciate their concern. They were stupidly loyal to him, when many others attempted to use him for his family connections. When he was sure they had gone, he prepared for the day, and snuck out of the common room. Through the dark corridors, and keeping to the shadows in order to avoid being spotted by any fellow students, Draco worked his way to the kitchens beneath the Great Hall.

Feeling as condescending as his father, Draco strode into the kitchen with his nose in the air. The house elves kept their eyes lowered, only glancing at Draco's knees if they got too close to his stride. He went straight to the stove, and grabbed a long brown apron off the hook next to it. A house elf stood on a stool nearby, washing a large pot. "Fetch me a pot." He said to it while tying the apron around his waist.

Without looking up, the elf hopped off his stool and sped off to a cupboard. Draco looked at another elf. "You. Fetch me two cups of pasta." It scurried off as well. He gave instructions to a few more elves, and soon he had his ingredients stacked next to the stove. He smiled smugly, and rolled up his sleeves. He took the pasta and poured it into the pot. The stove had no knobs like the ones he had seen on the muggle contraptions. He frowned and looked around the stove again.

A voice squeaked from behind him. "Ex-- excuse me, sir?"

Draco whirled around. "Yes?" He could hardly see an elf at all, underneath the pile of hats on its head. It wore many pairs of mismatched socks on its feet. One look into his eyes and Draco knew who it was. "Dobby?"

"It's been some time sir." Dobby said, bowing respectfully. "I work here in Hogwarts now sir."

"I can see that." Draco said sarcastically. Dobby winced. "What did you want?" Draco tried to say a bit more kindly.

"You seem to be confused about the stove, sir." He waddled over to the stove, his hat tower swaying. "Our stoves do not have gas nor electricity, like the muggle stoves. House elves use magic to start the fire and control the power of the flame." He poked a long skinny finger underneath the pot. "Also, if I may sir. In order to cook pasta, one must add water to boil them."

"Water?" Draco asked confused. "Are you sure? What has water to do with anything? Do they absorb the water?"

Dobby shook his large head, the tower wiggling precariously. "No sir. One deposits the water into the sink after the pasta has become soft."

Draco pondered this a moment. He realized he was ill equipped to make pasta, much less a meal. Setting aside his pride, he looked Dobby in the eye. "Dobby? Will you help me prepare a picnic?"

Dobby's eyes lit up. "A picnic sir?" He squeaked. "A picnic for who?"

Draco brought his guard up. "I cannot say. It is a secret. Word must never get out, understand? My father must never hear about this."

Dobby nodded. "You have Dobby's word sir. Not a thing will leave the kitchens sir."

Draco relaxed and exhaled. "Thank you Dobby." He said without realizing it.

Dobby's eyes widened like big brown saucers. "You are most welcome sir." He said with a slight bow.

Draco smiled. "So, the plan was to..." Draco explained what he had wanted to make. Dobby listened respectfully, but explained afterwards just how difficult some of the dishes were to prepare, even with magic, which Draco had forbidden (besides of course, lighting the fire on the stove). Dobby assisted Draco until past the lunch hour, and they had attempted four dishes. One had been adequate, but smelled horrible. With a look of disgust, Draco had ordered it chucked out. The next had caught on fire, and been put out by an older elf who cast a dirty look on the pair of them. The next two shared similarly humiliating fates, and Draco agreed to reconstruct his menu for the picnic.

"Sir did well with making the pasta earlier." Dobby said. "So what if sir made pasta salad?"

"What is pasta salad?" Draco asked. It was one of many questions he had asked the little elf that day.

"It is a dish served cold sir, with oil and vegetables in it. Muggles enjoy it on picnics sir." Dobby hopped down from his stool and disappeared into a large cabinet. He returned with his arms laden with tomatoes, bell peppers in beautiful bright colors, and some black olives.

"Why not?" Draco grabbed the pot and added water and pasta. Dobby smiled.

"Sir, may Dobby ask a question?"

"Sure." Draco said.

"Is Draco meeting with miss Hermione?"

Draco spilled pasta on the floor as he spun towards Dobby. "What? No. How did you know?" He said alarmed.

Dobby caught the falling pasta in midair, holding out a bony hand to the pieces. "Dobby wondered why Draco was speaking to a mere house elf with respect. Dobby knows how miss Hermione has been working for us. She is most kind, speaking up for those who cannot." He deposited the pasta into the pot with a small sploosh. "Draco has good taste sir." He smiled.

Draco pursed his lips, wishing he had not given himself away to a house elf. "Of course I do." Draco took a knife and cut the peppers into uneven chunks.

Dobby smiled and continued helping Draco with the rest of the meal. When they had finished, Dobby rushed away and returned with a large wicker basket. Inside was a large red blanket. He took the blanket out and showed it to Draco.

"This is a muggle item sir. They call it a picnic basket. The blanket is to sit on, and you can place the food inside sir." He hoisted it up onto the counter.

Draco thanked him and the two of them loaded the basket with Draco's handmade dishes. Then Dobby told him he would store the basket in the cooling cupboard until the next evening, and Draco could come by and pick it up. Draco thanked him and left just as the dinner hour bustle picked up in the kitchens. House elves no longer gave him space to walk, they simply walked into him and shoved him out of the way. Draco left and headed up to the Great Hall where he ate at the Slytherin table with Crabbe and Goyle. He couldn't help but glance at the windblown bushy brown hair at the Gryffindor table, and feel a twinge of jealousy.