[Draco]

He arrived on the stone steps of a warm-looking household. Shivering slightly, not from the cold, he stopped at the top step and breathed deeply to steady himself. Breathe, Draco, breathe, get a grip, dammit!

He was holding a bottle of his favorite wine. Even though this dinner was supposed to be Harry paying him back, he still thought it weird to arrive empty-handed. Finally, after the chilly winds seemed to have cooled down his brain enough, he knocked.

"It's open!"

Carefully (he had no idea why, it's not like a door could break by turning the knob) he opened the front door. In front of him was a homey living room, rugs were laid in the middle under the coffee table, topped with floral couches and plush armchairs surrounding it. In a normal situation, he would've thought it tacky and commented it immediately. However, settling his eyes on the cozy furnishes, he felt... at home. Draco tried to swallow back the thought.

He saw Harry poke his bandaged head out from the kitchen ahead. "Hey, Draco," he called out.

"Hey," he replied, walking over. "I brought wine."

Harry looked bewildered as he hobbled out from the doorway, still a hint unstable. "You shouldn't have! I'm repaying a favor!" He ended the sentence with a slight pout. Draco couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if he kissed it off.

"Nonsense, Harry," he drawled breezily, still maintaining his posture. "I figured your wine would be some crappy brand that you bought on a sale, correct?" He uncorked the bottle smoothly and summoned glasses from Harry's kitchen. "Let me show you how real wine tastes," he said as he poured two glasses, eyes still directly fixed on Harry's.

He flushed red. "For your information, it was only ten percent off," Harry mumbled as Draco laughed.

"Stop smirking," he snapped, and Draco took a meaningful sip. "If you're going to be a prat, at least try helping out here."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine. But you should know I suck at cooking," he added, strolling into a rosy kitchen. "I was counting on it," Harry replied with a wink.

Instantly, different mouth-watering scents filled his nostrils and drifted cozily about. "Wow, it smells wonderful in here," he commented. "Of course it smells good. I told you, I rock the cooking world."

Draco held back an adoring laugh at the ridiculous sight of him holding a wooden spoon and puffing out his chest, standing surly with bandages on his head and a limp ankle. Biting his lip and setting down his wine glass, he asked, "What are we having?"

"Well, for starters, we'll be having cream of tomato soup with homemade croutons," he declared proudly. "Next, for the main dish, because I assumed you'll be having some ridiculous weight-watching fiasco going on, I'm serving salad with homemade vinaigrette," he continued. "As for dessert- rice pudding!"

"I'm surprised you're not making treacle tart," he joked. Harry was scraping a bowl of diced onions into a pot. It sizzled loudly. "Too much work. I've never really got the hang of it, which is pretty much a bummer," he said. "Besides, rice pudding's easy. Most of the work is done by the oven." Harry gestured to the oven below them, which issued a grainy and milky sweet scent. Draco's mouth watered.

He slipped beside Harry, who was pouring a cup of water into the pot of sautéing onions. "Also, my body proportion is perfectly fine if you haven't noticed, thank you very much." A throaty deep rumble of a laugh was Harry's reply. "Dice the tomatoes for me, yeah?"

Harry sent the chopping board and two tomatoes flying to the counter behind them. Draco stuck his tongue out to him. "Fine. What a way to treat a guest," he sighed sarcastically but nevertheless pulled out his wand. "Juvenile," Harry grinned.

Within a minute, the two ripe tomatoes lay like a heap on the board, thoroughly chopped. "Thank you, Draco," Harry cooed sweetly as he summoned the tomatoes into a bowl. Draco rolled his eyes. Harry tipped a clove of minced garlic into the pot and waited for it to simmer. He hopped onto the kitchen counter, facing Draco. He followed suit, just to look more casual.

Harry appeared to be musing about something. "Hang on, Draco..." he started slowly, as the pot beside him bubbled and frothed.

"Yes?"

"How did you know I like treacle tart?"

Bugger. He accidentally let slip that he had been watching him secretly for six years in the Great Hall, always emptying a plate of treacle tart almost without missing once.

Draco tried to calm himself and think of a logical response. He could feel his brain commanding his pits to sweat through his shirt. "Er- I, well, everybody likes treacle tart," he finished lamely, his cheeks scorching crimson.

"Oh. I guess that's right," Harry said, appearing to buy it. The only times that Harry being a dense bastard is helpful, he thought silently.

Harry lifted the bowl of tomatoes and tipped the contents into the simmering pot. With a flick and a wave, A gust of tomato paste burst out of the tip of his wand and shot into the mixture.

"I thought you can't conjure food with magic?" Draco said, shocked by the performance.

"You can't. Watch." Harry pulled out a jar of tomato paste from a cupboard. He waved his wand again, another jet of puree landed in the pot. The liquid level in the jar lowered simultaneously.

"That's impressive. You must spend a lot of time in the kitchen, then," Draco said, impressed.

"Actually, I just cook tomato soup a lot. It's my signature dish," he added with a grin.

"Because it's easy?"

"You bet," Harry winked.

"Us men are all the same," Draco replied with a laugh.

Harry continued to add ingredients to the pot which was now in a low boil. A gush of milk was shot into the soup, followed by fresh basil leaves blossoming out of the tip of his wand. "Accio!" and a sprinkle of salt and pepper flew into the sizzling brew.

Draco watched breathlessly, mesmerized in his fluent waves and movements. He would be dropping the wine glass if he had been holding one.

"What?"

Throat dry, Draco snapped back to his senses. "Oh! I- er- I remembered!" he exclaimed, his voice an octave higher.

He dug into his pocket frantically, thank Salazar he had brought it for him- "Here."

He pulled out a small vial, swirling with a clear oily liquid. "I have several batches stashed; thought I'd bring you some- you'll need it," he finished, blushing slightly and eyeing his forehead.

Harry took it, uncorked it, and sniffed. "It's the medicine you used," he said.

"Congratulations on stating the obvious."

"Um- thanks- I- I don't- did you make this?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. Found out a killer combination for bruises and cuts during sixth. Came in handy the next year."

"Wow- I always knew you did well on potions, I didn't know you were that good- you practically invented it! Did you show it to Pomfrey?"

Draco scoffed. "I was brilliant, thank you very much. Again, that just shows you are an oblivious prat," he jeered at him. Harry blushed dark. Draco was enjoying this way too much. "And no, I didn't. It was more for- ah- personal use."

Harry was looking into his eyes. They were still sitting carelessly on the counter, facing each other. Except now they locked eyes. At the same time, they broke contact and Draco suddenly found the wine glass he set down earlier extremely fascinating.

When it finally felt safe enough to look up again, Harry tapped on the wooden spoon that had been stirring the soup and it rose to land in the sink. He peered at the contents and back at Draco.

"Dinner's ready!" he cheered happily.