D/G Feast Story: Do you think we'll have dinner?
Title: Do you think we'll have dinner?
Author: NTKS
Rating: I'm not sure! Let's say PG!!
Recipe: Quiche Lorraine
Summary: Please don't make me do this and just read!
DISCLAIMER: If any of it was mine, I would be a talented writer. So you see that's not the case...
SUMMARY: Please dont make me do this and just read!
RATING: I'm not sure! Let's say PG!!
MY MAIL: Klime1034934847@aol.com
Do you think we'll have dinner?
By NTKS
How had he got himself into this? Yes now he remembered!! That was because of her! Well, come to think of it, this wasn't entirely her fault! But if it wasn't her fault, who was he going to blame? He couldn't deliberately blame himself, could he? He had to find someone else!
Potter? No way!
Weasel King? Yeah, Weasel King was to blame!! If he hadn't be such a disappointment for his parents (well, he certainly couldn't see a single person on this earth, except perhaps the Mudb... Granger, to think that moron not to be a disappointment), the forementioned parents wouldn't have done a last baby to try and forget about this... son and then, there would be no Ginny, with her dark-red hair, her beautiful eyes, her long legs, her witty acid tongue just like his own... and he wouldn't be in this mess, because he wouldn't have tried to impress her and...
"OK! I'm the one to blame.", told Draco to himself, pushing the same stray strand from his face with a greasy hand for what seemed the hundredth time.
Yes he was the one to blame because he couldn't have a single tiny little coherent thought when she was near him. And he was the one to blame for letting her play him like that. And worst of all, he was the one to blame for thinking he could do what she challenged him to do....
-"Weasley! Why don't you want to give me a chance? Come on! I swear you won't regret it."
-"Listen Malfoy! I'll give you a chance when you succeed in training an acromantula into tap-dancing! Or better! If you cook by yourself, using your perfectly manucured hands! So you see, it's not going to be next week!"
-"Well! If it's not next week, what about tomorrow? I'll cook though, 'cause acromantula's breeding is forbidden!"
-"Take that smirk off your face!"
-"Sooo?"
-"You'll cook?"
-"Yeah!"
-"On your own? Like in "without using house-elves"?"
-"Yeah!"
-"Muggle-way?"
-"Er...if it's the only way for you to have dinner with me, then yeah!"
-"Seven o'clock!! And if I see that smirk once again, you can forget it!"
-"Deal!"
-"Should I bring flowers?"
-"Don't spoil it!! I'll send you an owl for details."
And he had thought that preventing himself from smiling each time he came near her yesterday, in fear that she took it for a smirk, had been hard-job!
Today had been a nightmare.
First thing: find a muggle-life expert (or somebody with notions) who would accept to help him! He had first thought about Granger. Then he remembered that she more than happily would let him in his predicament.
He had then tried to find someone that he was civil with.
Hannah Abbott! She worked with Arthur Weasley in the department of misuse of muggle artifacts. She should know. But she was in vacation in Paris for another week. Why did he agree with "muggle-way"?
Finally he had thought that, if he couldn't find somebody to help him willingly, he could find somebody that feared him.
The Creevey Boy!
"Yeah, good thinking mate!", he had said aloud "But stop talking to yourself it's not a good sign!"
So he had apparated to Diagon Alley on that Saturday Morning, and had gone directly above the photograph-shop to find Colin Creevey in his apartment.
Tock, tock, tock...
-"I'm coming! You know the shop is normally opening in an hour! What can I do for y...! Malfoy!!!"
-"Good Morning!"
-"Good Morning?"
-"Yes! That's what we call it at the beginning of a new day!"
-"I knew that!"
-"So! Maybe you are wondering what I, of all people, am doing on your front step at 9 o'clock, on a saturday morning."
-"Well I must admit that it crossed my mind, yes."
-"I need help and you are going to help me."
-"What?"
-"I'm not repeating."
-"I... you... but... but I... it's...."
-"Quit stuttering!"
If he hadn't been so nervous about the day ahead, he would have laughed his arse off. The face of Creevey was simply excellent! He hadn't even been bothered by the fact that the photographer (May he add "talented" photographer? Yes he may!) hadn't looked frightened. More surprised. And when he had requested that the former Gryffindor led him in muggle London to find a cookbook and maybe more, he saw the guy pinch his left buttock to be sure not to be dreaming.
So here they were, after a brief stop at Gringotts, in a London Bookshop, trying to find a cookbook for beginners. And of course, they had find the last one of the sort: "Devenir un cordon bleu en deux semaines". Yes a french one. But Draco had found it was a good idea. French cooking was believed to be refined, so even if it was simple, it was sure to be sort of impressive. Plus, it didn't seemed to be more difficult than to follow potion-making instructions. He bought the book and opened it at the first page to find the recipe of "Quiche Lorraine sur son lit de verdure". He knew the Quiche Lorraine. That was quite good and the recipe wasn't long. Perfect. But what was an oven?
-"It's a muggle household appliance. It is used to cook things, instead of the roasting charm for example. It is really simple to use."
-"Where can I find one?"
-"In the shop over there."
-"Is it a big... thing?"
-"There are little ones. It should be enough. The thing you plan to cook doesn't seem bigger than a cake."
Merlin he was thankful he'd found Colin to help him. He came back at eleven in Diagon Alley with a muggle cookbook, a oven, a flan dish, a measure-glass and all the necessary ingredients. He thanked Colin and promised to let him know how it went (He would never have thought that a muggle-born Gryffindork could be that nice!!) and proceeded to Flourish & Blotts after having reduced his new oven so it could be carried in his pocket. He had the most important thing to do in here. His own translating charm was quite acceptable, but it was safer to ask for a proper one, hoping that asking it for a book that wasn't from the shop wasn't going to be a problem. Thankfully it wasn't, and after a quick lunch Draco was back home.
He had taken a little time to relax and now here he was in the far too little kitchen of his house, with more flour in his hair and on his face that was necessary for the preparation. If you added the butter that stained his clothes, he looked a real mess. Luckily the pastry seemed to be the hardest thing to do. He put it in a ball in a corner of the table and proceeded to the next task: peel and finely chop the onion.
-"That part is simple. It's just like shrivel fig in a sleeping draught, in fact it's eas.... ouch my eyes!!"
Rubbing his eyes with his fists to try and ease the pain, did nothing less than making it worse. He soon found that he was crying but that the tears were having a good effect. He finished with the onion, went to the sink to wash his hands once again and nearly died in shock, noticing for the first time his reflection in the window: his usually impeccable hair was white with flour and a part of it was greasy from the buttered fingers he had used to push it out of his face. And his face was worse. The tears and the flour had mixed to become some sort of plaster that was covering his cheeks. Checking the clock, he knew he had three quarter of an hour left before she arrived. Loosing time wasn't an option. He spread the pastry, put it in the flan dish, coverred it with the filling and reserved it while the oven was heating up. He then went to the bathroom, washed his hair, dried it, dressed in meticulously chosen clothes,then back in the kitchen, prepared the green salad to eat with the quiche, clean the kitchen (just the cooking part was to be muggle-way made thank Merlin) and even managed to be five minutes early, with nothing to do other than wait for the door-bell.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
How had she got herself into this? Yes now she remembered!! That was because of him! Well, come to think of it this wasn't entirely his fault! But if it wasn't his fault, who was she going to blame? She couldn't deliberately blame herself, could she?
"Yes I can! This is entirely my fault. How could I have been stupid enough to let him trick me. "I'll give you a chance if you cook by yourself". Stupid, stupid, stupid me!"
And here Ginny was, at seven o'clock, in front of his house, waiting for him to answer the door. He opened and she was caught by surprise at the look of him. She usually saw him in his auror uniform, that mainly consists of a black and white robe on grey trousers. But tonight he was wearing a night-blue shirt and beige trousers, colours that, she noticed, fitted him quite well. His hair was the only familiar thing about him as it was as perfect as always. It made her fight a giggle as she was sure that he took more time on his hair than her. She was also slightly nervous since she realized that it was surely the same for him as he was used to see her in the office where she wore classical strict suit, black, grey or, when she was being really daring, navy-blue. And here she was in white trousers and a light pink blouse, her hair lost of the usual tight bun that aged her a little when dealing with traditional diplomats. She decided that the silence was a bit too much:
- "Hi!"
- "Hi! I see you received my owl with the portkey!"
- "Yeah! For a moment I thought there was a mistake. I was so sure you lived in a big house!"
- "Not anymore! I mean, since I left school I live in this little but cosy thing that I sometimes call home!"
- "So the stories are true. I thought they were just rumours!"
- "No they aren't! I decided to sell Malfoy Manor for it was too full of...er... let's say memories! But this cottage's nice, really!"
- " Yeah?! I thought that, maybe, since I'm here, you may let me enter so I can see for myself."
- "Oh! Sorry! Come in!"
- "Thanks! Er... I didn't know which flowers you prefered so I brought wine."
- "Haha! Wine's perfect! Er... make yourself comfortable, I've got something to do in the kitchen and I'm back."
Back at school, if someone had told her that she was, one day, to spend the evening with Draco Malfoy, she wouldn't have believed it. In fact she would have led said person to one of St Mungo's fourth-floor's ward herself.
What scared her the most with this date was the fact that she was far from being scared. She knew it was cliché but she had always pictured the blond arrogant prat living in a house that would be like Professor Snape's old classroom. However, she was in a clear living-room, light colours furnished, with hints of dark green, this last detail being the only one that reminded her that the owner had once been in Slytherin. Maybe the prat had changed. He was always civil to her at work, was considered the second best auror of the office and invited her for dinner half-a-dozen times a week. She had always refused, thinking that it was just a bet he had made, evil thing that he was sure to be. And he had tricked her. She was sure he had known, the moment she talked about the cooking, that he had won a date. She saw it in his eyes. Maybe he hadn't changed that much in fact.
He came back from the kitchen with two glasses in one hand and her uncorked bottle of wine in the other.
He was walking confidently towards her, when suddenly he stumble over something she couldn't see and managed to keep his balance at the last minute. She couldn't help herself and bursted into laughter. He flushed a little and she caught herself thinking that he was cute that way. Surely it was the wine. Then she remembered that she hadn't started to drink yet. She shook her head to get rid of the thought.
- "Slimy git! You weren't suppose to make me look a total jerk!"
- "You do know that speaking to yourself won't help you not to look a total jerk!"
- "I'm not talking alone, I'm talking to him!"
And she saw it, a tiny little black cat, with just a stain of pure-white fur on the left side of it's nose.
- "Oh! He 's so cute! Come here kitty... What's his name?"
- "Slimy git."
- "Oh come on, tell me."
- "I told you! His name's 'Slimy git'!"
- "You named your cat like that?"
- "He isn't really my cat. I mean I didn't choose to have a cat. When I bought the house, he was a skinny kitten that was already squatting in. When I tried to grab him to throw him out, he attacked my hands quite badly, hence the 'Slimy git', and I let him win. So now we're roommates.
She was beginning to have remorses for having refused him dinner so many times now that she saw him scratching absent-mindedly the animal's head before it settled itself on a pouf that it had obviously made its own. In fact he wasn't the bully he had been in school anymore. They talked about this and that, and it was easy. She realized at that precise moment, that Draco (had she just use his first name) was a normal bloke. He was charming and funny, not to mentionned gorgeous. She also realized that his voice was a sound she liked. And that she really liked his cologne. It was a mixture of spices and wood and... burned thing?
She saw his eyes widen when he smelled it too.
- "No! No, no,no,no!", he said, dashing off to the kitchen.
- "What is it?"
- "I... oh no! NO! ... Ouch!"
- "You okay?"
He came back, his right hand rolled in a tea-towel, sulking like a four year old, and collapsed in the armchair opposite her.
- "I let it burn."
- "You let burn what?"
- "The quiche lorraine."
- "The?"
- "The dinner. I can't believe I let it burn after all I had to do to prepare it. And Colin that lost two hours to help me."
- "Colin? As in Creevey?"
- "Yeah! Had to find someone to help me a little. The muggle-way part was really too hard for me alone you know!
- "Come sit next to me, I'll fix your hand! What do you mean? What did you do with Colin?
And he told her about his day. It was so funny, well from her point of view. She was impressed that he had done all that just for her. He could have cheated. There was no way she could have known. And now he looked so annoyed not to have been able to do as challenged. She was loosing track of things. What was he talking about? He had even managed to find a charm to use eclectic muggle-things? She knew he was talking but all she could hear were her own thoughts. Were his eyes grey or blue? And his hair? She had always wondered what it would feel like under her fingers.
She extended her hand to push off his face the strand she didn't know he had fight all afternoon with. It was soft like silk.
She noticed that he wasn't talking anymore. He was looking intently at her. His eyes were grey. And hungry. She inched toward him. She saw him lean a little and their lips touched. At first it was a chaste kiss, more like a caress on her mouth. Then she could feel his fleshy lips nipping at her upper one, while she was silently asking for further access. When he finally gave in, it was like nothing she had ever experienced. Had she been a muggle, she would have said it was like magic. It was sweet and gentle, and oh so good. It was simply perfect.
When they broke the kiss, after what seemed both an eternity and a nanosecond, they remained forehead against forehead and she said:
- " If I allow you to use magic next time, do you think we'll have dinner?
THE END
A.N.: Ok! That's not the best you've read so far, but to my defense, this is my very first would-be fanfic.
And I know that you asked for good spelling and grammar, so if there are too many mistakes, I'm really really sorry. I really tried my best.
Thanks for reading.... Oh and I almost forgot: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
Quiche Lorraine
Ingredients
150g of flour
75g of butter
1/3 glass of water
200g of minced bacon
1 minced onion
3 eggs
1 glass of milk
salt, pepper
½ teaspoon of nutmeg powder
Work the melt butter, the flour and a pinch of salt and a bit of water until you get a homogeneous pastry. If it's not souple enough, add water. Ik it's too souple, add flour. When it's done, roll the pastry into a ball and let it rest for at least half an hour.
Brown the miced bacon and onion in a pan.
Beat the eggs with the milk. Add salt and pepper to your taste. Add nutmeg
Line a 11" pie pan with the pastry. Cover with the browned bacon and onion, then with the beaten eggs and milk.
Place in the oven preheated at 356°F for 20/25 min
Serve with a green salad.
Author: NTKS
Rating: I'm not sure! Let's say PG!!
Recipe: Quiche Lorraine
Summary: Please don't make me do this and just read!
DISCLAIMER: If any of it was mine, I would be a talented writer. So you see that's not the case...
SUMMARY: Please dont make me do this and just read!
RATING: I'm not sure! Let's say PG!!
MY MAIL: Klime1034934847@aol.com
Do you think we'll have dinner?
By NTKS
How had he got himself into this? Yes now he remembered!! That was because of her! Well, come to think of it, this wasn't entirely her fault! But if it wasn't her fault, who was he going to blame? He couldn't deliberately blame himself, could he? He had to find someone else!
Potter? No way!
Weasel King? Yeah, Weasel King was to blame!! If he hadn't be such a disappointment for his parents (well, he certainly couldn't see a single person on this earth, except perhaps the Mudb... Granger, to think that moron not to be a disappointment), the forementioned parents wouldn't have done a last baby to try and forget about this... son and then, there would be no Ginny, with her dark-red hair, her beautiful eyes, her long legs, her witty acid tongue just like his own... and he wouldn't be in this mess, because he wouldn't have tried to impress her and...
"OK! I'm the one to blame.", told Draco to himself, pushing the same stray strand from his face with a greasy hand for what seemed the hundredth time.
Yes he was the one to blame because he couldn't have a single tiny little coherent thought when she was near him. And he was the one to blame for letting her play him like that. And worst of all, he was the one to blame for thinking he could do what she challenged him to do....
-"Weasley! Why don't you want to give me a chance? Come on! I swear you won't regret it."
-"Listen Malfoy! I'll give you a chance when you succeed in training an acromantula into tap-dancing! Or better! If you cook by yourself, using your perfectly manucured hands! So you see, it's not going to be next week!"
-"Well! If it's not next week, what about tomorrow? I'll cook though, 'cause acromantula's breeding is forbidden!"
-"Take that smirk off your face!"
-"Sooo?"
-"You'll cook?"
-"Yeah!"
-"On your own? Like in "without using house-elves"?"
-"Yeah!"
-"Muggle-way?"
-"Er...if it's the only way for you to have dinner with me, then yeah!"
-"Seven o'clock!! And if I see that smirk once again, you can forget it!"
-"Deal!"
-"Should I bring flowers?"
-"Don't spoil it!! I'll send you an owl for details."
And he had thought that preventing himself from smiling each time he came near her yesterday, in fear that she took it for a smirk, had been hard-job!
Today had been a nightmare.
First thing: find a muggle-life expert (or somebody with notions) who would accept to help him! He had first thought about Granger. Then he remembered that she more than happily would let him in his predicament.
He had then tried to find someone that he was civil with.
Hannah Abbott! She worked with Arthur Weasley in the department of misuse of muggle artifacts. She should know. But she was in vacation in Paris for another week. Why did he agree with "muggle-way"?
Finally he had thought that, if he couldn't find somebody to help him willingly, he could find somebody that feared him.
The Creevey Boy!
"Yeah, good thinking mate!", he had said aloud "But stop talking to yourself it's not a good sign!"
So he had apparated to Diagon Alley on that Saturday Morning, and had gone directly above the photograph-shop to find Colin Creevey in his apartment.
Tock, tock, tock...
-"I'm coming! You know the shop is normally opening in an hour! What can I do for y...! Malfoy!!!"
-"Good Morning!"
-"Good Morning?"
-"Yes! That's what we call it at the beginning of a new day!"
-"I knew that!"
-"So! Maybe you are wondering what I, of all people, am doing on your front step at 9 o'clock, on a saturday morning."
-"Well I must admit that it crossed my mind, yes."
-"I need help and you are going to help me."
-"What?"
-"I'm not repeating."
-"I... you... but... but I... it's...."
-"Quit stuttering!"
If he hadn't been so nervous about the day ahead, he would have laughed his arse off. The face of Creevey was simply excellent! He hadn't even been bothered by the fact that the photographer (May he add "talented" photographer? Yes he may!) hadn't looked frightened. More surprised. And when he had requested that the former Gryffindor led him in muggle London to find a cookbook and maybe more, he saw the guy pinch his left buttock to be sure not to be dreaming.
So here they were, after a brief stop at Gringotts, in a London Bookshop, trying to find a cookbook for beginners. And of course, they had find the last one of the sort: "Devenir un cordon bleu en deux semaines". Yes a french one. But Draco had found it was a good idea. French cooking was believed to be refined, so even if it was simple, it was sure to be sort of impressive. Plus, it didn't seemed to be more difficult than to follow potion-making instructions. He bought the book and opened it at the first page to find the recipe of "Quiche Lorraine sur son lit de verdure". He knew the Quiche Lorraine. That was quite good and the recipe wasn't long. Perfect. But what was an oven?
-"It's a muggle household appliance. It is used to cook things, instead of the roasting charm for example. It is really simple to use."
-"Where can I find one?"
-"In the shop over there."
-"Is it a big... thing?"
-"There are little ones. It should be enough. The thing you plan to cook doesn't seem bigger than a cake."
Merlin he was thankful he'd found Colin to help him. He came back at eleven in Diagon Alley with a muggle cookbook, a oven, a flan dish, a measure-glass and all the necessary ingredients. He thanked Colin and promised to let him know how it went (He would never have thought that a muggle-born Gryffindork could be that nice!!) and proceeded to Flourish & Blotts after having reduced his new oven so it could be carried in his pocket. He had the most important thing to do in here. His own translating charm was quite acceptable, but it was safer to ask for a proper one, hoping that asking it for a book that wasn't from the shop wasn't going to be a problem. Thankfully it wasn't, and after a quick lunch Draco was back home.
He had taken a little time to relax and now here he was in the far too little kitchen of his house, with more flour in his hair and on his face that was necessary for the preparation. If you added the butter that stained his clothes, he looked a real mess. Luckily the pastry seemed to be the hardest thing to do. He put it in a ball in a corner of the table and proceeded to the next task: peel and finely chop the onion.
-"That part is simple. It's just like shrivel fig in a sleeping draught, in fact it's eas.... ouch my eyes!!"
Rubbing his eyes with his fists to try and ease the pain, did nothing less than making it worse. He soon found that he was crying but that the tears were having a good effect. He finished with the onion, went to the sink to wash his hands once again and nearly died in shock, noticing for the first time his reflection in the window: his usually impeccable hair was white with flour and a part of it was greasy from the buttered fingers he had used to push it out of his face. And his face was worse. The tears and the flour had mixed to become some sort of plaster that was covering his cheeks. Checking the clock, he knew he had three quarter of an hour left before she arrived. Loosing time wasn't an option. He spread the pastry, put it in the flan dish, coverred it with the filling and reserved it while the oven was heating up. He then went to the bathroom, washed his hair, dried it, dressed in meticulously chosen clothes,then back in the kitchen, prepared the green salad to eat with the quiche, clean the kitchen (just the cooking part was to be muggle-way made thank Merlin) and even managed to be five minutes early, with nothing to do other than wait for the door-bell.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
How had she got herself into this? Yes now she remembered!! That was because of him! Well, come to think of it this wasn't entirely his fault! But if it wasn't his fault, who was she going to blame? She couldn't deliberately blame herself, could she?
"Yes I can! This is entirely my fault. How could I have been stupid enough to let him trick me. "I'll give you a chance if you cook by yourself". Stupid, stupid, stupid me!"
And here Ginny was, at seven o'clock, in front of his house, waiting for him to answer the door. He opened and she was caught by surprise at the look of him. She usually saw him in his auror uniform, that mainly consists of a black and white robe on grey trousers. But tonight he was wearing a night-blue shirt and beige trousers, colours that, she noticed, fitted him quite well. His hair was the only familiar thing about him as it was as perfect as always. It made her fight a giggle as she was sure that he took more time on his hair than her. She was also slightly nervous since she realized that it was surely the same for him as he was used to see her in the office where she wore classical strict suit, black, grey or, when she was being really daring, navy-blue. And here she was in white trousers and a light pink blouse, her hair lost of the usual tight bun that aged her a little when dealing with traditional diplomats. She decided that the silence was a bit too much:
- "Hi!"
- "Hi! I see you received my owl with the portkey!"
- "Yeah! For a moment I thought there was a mistake. I was so sure you lived in a big house!"
- "Not anymore! I mean, since I left school I live in this little but cosy thing that I sometimes call home!"
- "So the stories are true. I thought they were just rumours!"
- "No they aren't! I decided to sell Malfoy Manor for it was too full of...er... let's say memories! But this cottage's nice, really!"
- " Yeah?! I thought that, maybe, since I'm here, you may let me enter so I can see for myself."
- "Oh! Sorry! Come in!"
- "Thanks! Er... I didn't know which flowers you prefered so I brought wine."
- "Haha! Wine's perfect! Er... make yourself comfortable, I've got something to do in the kitchen and I'm back."
Back at school, if someone had told her that she was, one day, to spend the evening with Draco Malfoy, she wouldn't have believed it. In fact she would have led said person to one of St Mungo's fourth-floor's ward herself.
What scared her the most with this date was the fact that she was far from being scared. She knew it was cliché but she had always pictured the blond arrogant prat living in a house that would be like Professor Snape's old classroom. However, she was in a clear living-room, light colours furnished, with hints of dark green, this last detail being the only one that reminded her that the owner had once been in Slytherin. Maybe the prat had changed. He was always civil to her at work, was considered the second best auror of the office and invited her for dinner half-a-dozen times a week. She had always refused, thinking that it was just a bet he had made, evil thing that he was sure to be. And he had tricked her. She was sure he had known, the moment she talked about the cooking, that he had won a date. She saw it in his eyes. Maybe he hadn't changed that much in fact.
He came back from the kitchen with two glasses in one hand and her uncorked bottle of wine in the other.
He was walking confidently towards her, when suddenly he stumble over something she couldn't see and managed to keep his balance at the last minute. She couldn't help herself and bursted into laughter. He flushed a little and she caught herself thinking that he was cute that way. Surely it was the wine. Then she remembered that she hadn't started to drink yet. She shook her head to get rid of the thought.
- "Slimy git! You weren't suppose to make me look a total jerk!"
- "You do know that speaking to yourself won't help you not to look a total jerk!"
- "I'm not talking alone, I'm talking to him!"
And she saw it, a tiny little black cat, with just a stain of pure-white fur on the left side of it's nose.
- "Oh! He 's so cute! Come here kitty... What's his name?"
- "Slimy git."
- "Oh come on, tell me."
- "I told you! His name's 'Slimy git'!"
- "You named your cat like that?"
- "He isn't really my cat. I mean I didn't choose to have a cat. When I bought the house, he was a skinny kitten that was already squatting in. When I tried to grab him to throw him out, he attacked my hands quite badly, hence the 'Slimy git', and I let him win. So now we're roommates.
She was beginning to have remorses for having refused him dinner so many times now that she saw him scratching absent-mindedly the animal's head before it settled itself on a pouf that it had obviously made its own. In fact he wasn't the bully he had been in school anymore. They talked about this and that, and it was easy. She realized at that precise moment, that Draco (had she just use his first name) was a normal bloke. He was charming and funny, not to mentionned gorgeous. She also realized that his voice was a sound she liked. And that she really liked his cologne. It was a mixture of spices and wood and... burned thing?
She saw his eyes widen when he smelled it too.
- "No! No, no,no,no!", he said, dashing off to the kitchen.
- "What is it?"
- "I... oh no! NO! ... Ouch!"
- "You okay?"
He came back, his right hand rolled in a tea-towel, sulking like a four year old, and collapsed in the armchair opposite her.
- "I let it burn."
- "You let burn what?"
- "The quiche lorraine."
- "The?"
- "The dinner. I can't believe I let it burn after all I had to do to prepare it. And Colin that lost two hours to help me."
- "Colin? As in Creevey?"
- "Yeah! Had to find someone to help me a little. The muggle-way part was really too hard for me alone you know!
- "Come sit next to me, I'll fix your hand! What do you mean? What did you do with Colin?
And he told her about his day. It was so funny, well from her point of view. She was impressed that he had done all that just for her. He could have cheated. There was no way she could have known. And now he looked so annoyed not to have been able to do as challenged. She was loosing track of things. What was he talking about? He had even managed to find a charm to use eclectic muggle-things? She knew he was talking but all she could hear were her own thoughts. Were his eyes grey or blue? And his hair? She had always wondered what it would feel like under her fingers.
She extended her hand to push off his face the strand she didn't know he had fight all afternoon with. It was soft like silk.
She noticed that he wasn't talking anymore. He was looking intently at her. His eyes were grey. And hungry. She inched toward him. She saw him lean a little and their lips touched. At first it was a chaste kiss, more like a caress on her mouth. Then she could feel his fleshy lips nipping at her upper one, while she was silently asking for further access. When he finally gave in, it was like nothing she had ever experienced. Had she been a muggle, she would have said it was like magic. It was sweet and gentle, and oh so good. It was simply perfect.
When they broke the kiss, after what seemed both an eternity and a nanosecond, they remained forehead against forehead and she said:
- " If I allow you to use magic next time, do you think we'll have dinner?
THE END
A.N.: Ok! That's not the best you've read so far, but to my defense, this is my very first would-be fanfic.
And I know that you asked for good spelling and grammar, so if there are too many mistakes, I'm really really sorry. I really tried my best.
Thanks for reading.... Oh and I almost forgot: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
Quiche Lorraine
Ingredients
150g of flour
75g of butter
1/3 glass of water
200g of minced bacon
1 minced onion
3 eggs
1 glass of milk
salt, pepper
½ teaspoon of nutmeg powder
Work the melt butter, the flour and a pinch of salt and a bit of water until you get a homogeneous pastry. If it's not souple enough, add water. Ik it's too souple, add flour. When it's done, roll the pastry into a ball and let it rest for at least half an hour.
Brown the miced bacon and onion in a pan.
Beat the eggs with the milk. Add salt and pepper to your taste. Add nutmeg
Line a 11" pie pan with the pastry. Cover with the browned bacon and onion, then with the beaten eggs and milk.
Place in the oven preheated at 356°F for 20/25 min
Serve with a green salad.