Ginny Weasley crept down the corridor, hoping that everyone was in bed, tired out by the night’s festivities. Christmas this year had been disappointing, to say the least. Despite all Ginny’s protests to the contrary, her parents had decided that because of all the unrest, staying at Hogwarts under Dumbledore’s care would be the safest place for her. Ginny wanted to be at home with her family, all garbed in Weasley jumpers, with her mother’s cooking for dinner. Instead, she had spent Christmas quite alone, listening to her brother complain incessantly about Hermione spending Christmas with her parents in Tahiti. Well, perhaps this would cheer her up. It always did.

After a few more twists and turns, she came before the painting of a bowl of fruit. She tickled the pear, and the painting swung open to reveal the kitchen. It was empty, as it always was on Christmas night. The one night in the year that she could have the kitchen to herself.

Ginny removed her robes and set about her task.



~



Draco Malfoy was in a foul mood. He usually (secretly) loved Christmas, but this Christmas was quickly shaping up to be the worst he’d ever had. Because of his father’s stupid Death Eater ambitions, he had offered up the Manor for Voldemort’s use and ordered Draco to stay at Hogwarts. He was one of the few Slytherins, and the only seventh year that had remained in school over Christmas break. It was humiliating and boring as hell. As none of his dormitory mates had been around to wake him up with their raucous laughter, he had woken up late on Christmas morning – afternoon, to be exact. He had noticed that there were no owls bearing presents on his bed, but had reasoned that his parents were probably just late. He had sprinted to the Great Hall only to catch the tail-end of lunch, and had ended up with only a few scraps of pumpkin pie. He had comforted himself with the fact that the Christmas feast at dinner was bound to be ten times better than lunch, but by the time dinner rolled around he had no longer felt like eating – no owls had come for him. No presents, not even a card or a note from his parents. He had no desire to sit in the Great Hall amidst conversations comparing Christmas presents.

Now, of course, he regretted his decision. His stomach was rumbling, and after ignoring it for a good few hours he had decided that this was getting rather pathetic, and he was not going to starve himself on Christmas night just because his parents were too self-absorbed to remember their only son at Christmas.

Draco tickled the pear, and as the portrait swung open he was astounded to see Ginny Weasley – the long red hair was unmistakable – bent over a cupboard in a tank top and shorts, humming to herself.



~



Ginny opened the pantry and took out a bag of flour, brown sugar, eggs and bottles of spices.

A muffled curse caused Ginny to turn around, startled. She was even more startled to see Draco Malfoy standing at the entrance to the kitchen, but recovered quickly. “Merry Christmas, Malfoy.”

“Nothing merry about it, if you ask me,” Draco snapped.

“No need to take my head off,” Ginny said huffily, turning back to the open cupboard. So much for being nice to everyone on Christmas.

“Where are the house elves?” Draco demanded, craning his neck and peering around as if one of them might suddenly pop out from underneath the table.

“They’ve got the night off,” Ginny said. “You can’t expect them to work all through Christmas, after they’ve prepared the Christmas feast and everything.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m baking,” Ginny said simply.

“Baking?” He said the word with distaste. “Why?”

Ginny shrugged. “I enjoy it. It’s a Weasley tradition to bake a nice batch of cookies at Christmas, and it just so happens that this is the only night the kitchen is empty.” She turned back to rummaging through the cupboard.

“What are you looking for, anyway? Haven’t mastered Accio, have you?”

Ginny pulled her head out of the cabinet and glared at him icily. “Why are you still here, Malfoy?”

There was a slight pause, and a shuffling of feet. Then— “I’m hungry.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake! Go fix yourself something and leave. Please,” she added, to be polite. After all, it was Christmas.

“Myself?” Draco said incredulously.

“Don’t be a brat, Malfoy. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen. I’m sure you’ll find something,” Ginny said, pulling out a couple of bowls, measuring cups, spoons and a rolling pin. She could hear him walking around the kitchen, opening this and that. “Not leaving yet?” she asked after a few more minutes of this. She was about to get dirty and she didn’t want Malfoy around, throwing insults at her.

“There’s nothing to eat,” Draco complained.

Ginny suspected that he didn’t know how to prepare food himself. She supposed that for all their vaunted resourcefulness, Slytherins were still more spoilt than resourceful. “Well, tough.”

“What’re you baking?”

“Gingersnaps.”

“Oh. I like gingersnaps.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re not getting any, Malfoy. Gingersnaps, I mean,” she hastened to add, hoping he hadn’t caught the unwitting innuendo. “Why are you hungry, anyway? Wasn’t dinner just a couple of hours ago?” She knew how boys ate, having grown up with six of them, but this was beyond ridiculous. The house elves had outdone themselves tonight, and even Ron had been stuffed.

“Didn’t eat,” Draco said carelessly.

“Why not?” Ginny asked. She didn’t recall seeing him at dinner, but then perhaps she just hadn’t been looking. “So busy opening presents that you lost track of time?”

“None of your business,” Draco snapped, his mouth forming a tight line. “Forget it, I’m leaving.”

He looked tired, and kind of sad, and suddenly Ginny felt bad, even though he was the one being unpleasant. She sighed, knowing she was going to regret her next words. “How about this—I’ll make you a sandwich if you help me with the cookies. If the cookies turn out fine I’ll even give you a couple as dessert,” she added generously.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Draco asked, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “It’s Christmas, Malfoy. To some of us that actually means something other than presents. Lighten up.”

Draco considered for a moment. “Sandwich first,” he bargained.

“Do you think I’m stupid? Wait, don’t answer that. The cookies go into the oven, then I’ll make a sandwich.”

“Don’t have much confidence in your intellect, do you, Weasley? Two sandwiches and we have a deal.”

Ginny shrugged. “Sure, you can have three even. Now measure out a cup and a half of flour,” she said, handing him a measuring cup and a large bowl filled with a powdery white substance.

He stared at her for a moment. “The Muggle way?”

Ginny fought the urge to roll her eyes again. “Yes, the Muggle way. It isn’t that difficult, you know. I find it a bit like Potions.”

Draco snorted incredulously, but otherwise said nothing, and began doing as he was told.

Ginny measured out the sugar and creamed it with some butter. When she next turned to check on Draco’s progress, she saw that he was carefully leveling the flour in the measuring cup with the edge of a spoon. She bit back a giggle as he meticulously scraped a few grains of flour into the spoon and deposited it into the sink, then frowned, and added a few grains back from the bowl into the cup, and then repeated the process, staring at the cup with a look of utmost concentration. It was really kind of cute, Ginny thought, and then shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. What was she thinking? The absolute last thing Draco Malfoy could be was cute. She was willing to concede that he had quite the body, and quite the smile, and yes, quite the eyes, but there was no way he was cute as well. It would really be most unfair if he were to win in everything.

Finally, Draco let out a small grunt of satisfaction and looked up, only to see Ginny staring at him with an amused look on her face. “What?”

“Have you seen anyone for that obsessive-compulsive behavior?” Ginny asked.

“I’m a perfectionist,” Draco countered, shooting her a withering stare. “Not that you would know anything about perfection.”

“I think you’ve mistaken incompetence for perfection, Malfoy. And I’d like to have my cookies this Christmas, if that’s not too difficult for you. Now, beat the eggs,” Ginny instructed, handing him a bowl into which she had already cracked two eggs.

“Bossy bint,” Draco muttered. He couldn’t believe that he was taking orders from a Gryffindor, and a Weasley, of all people. And baking. He comforted himself with the fact that he would get his supper after this. A small part of him admitted that, surprisingly, he was enjoying himself. Most people in school were either intimidated by him or were openly hostile towards him, or both. The Weaslette, being neither, seemed to be in a class of her own. It was nice, for a change. It didn’t hurt that he noticed now that she was rather easy on the eyes, although since when had he developed a taste for Weasley’s particular brand of looks?

Ginny, sifting the flour into the sugar mixture, watched him out of the corner of her eye as he tentatively placed the fork into the bowl and glanced surreptitiously around. She couldn’t help but smile at his utter helplessness and stubbornness in refusing to ask for help. “Malfoy, if you don’t know how to beat eggs you could just say so. It’s not a crime, you know,” she finally said, bustling over to where he was.

To his credit, Draco didn’t say a word. He was fighting the thought that she looked quite delectable, with a smudge of flour on her nose and her shorts showing off toned legs. Would be delectable, if she weren’t a Weasel, he corrected himself.

“Watch and learn; you’re going to have to do this later.” Ginny took the bowl from his hands and expertly beat the eggs, the fork going round at great speed. She then proceeded to dump the mixture into the flour and sugar mixture, along with molasses, ground ginger and spices.

“Now you just mix everything together.” She demonstrated for a minute, then handed him the bowl. “This is the most tiring part. It’s actually why I wanted your help.”

“Useful now, am I?” Draco grumbled under his breath, taking the bowl from her.

“Well, it’s finally something you know how to do,” Ginny said with a grin.

Draco glared at her. “Don’t get used to this; I’m better than you in everything else.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and watched as he carefully folded the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, revealing nicely muscled forearms. She blinked. She really had to stop doing that. No matter how good looking he was, Malfoy was an arrogant git, and she would do well to remember that, even though he seemed uncharacteristically cooperative tonight.

Draco began to stir the thick, clumpy batter, the wooden spoon going through it much more easily than if it had been her doing the stirring. He felt a tiny bit disconcerted at her staring at him work. He wondered if he was mixing the batter correctly. He wondered what she was thinking.

Ginny was thinking that if she continued watching the way his muscles flexed as he stirred, she was going to have to mop up the puddle of drool that would surely be on the counter in front of her later. Gross. She wrenched her eyes away and began greasing the baking tray. Anything to take her eyes – though probably not her mind – off Malfoy, who was unfairly blessed in the looks department.

After a few minutes, she peered into the bowl. “That looks about done.” She plucked out a small chunk of dough and rolled it between her palms to form a ball. She rolled it in a bowl of powdered sugar and placed it on the baking tray. “And… voila.”

They worked quietly and quickly, and soon the tray was filled.

Draco couldn’t help watching Ginny as she placed the last ball of dough onto the tray and then licked the powdered sugar off her fingers. He knew he ought to have been repulsed, but for some reason he just wasn’t feeling it. In fact, if he were quite honest with himself, she looked bloody adorable. How had years of ingrained prejudice against freckles and red hair come undone in one short night?

Ginny popped the tray into the oven. “Eight minutes,” she announced, turning around, and was shocked to find Draco just inches away.

“Now that I’ve done my part, Weasley, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

Her breath hitched at the close proximity. There was a light citrus scent about him. She had to remind herself to keep breathing. “Of course, Malfoy,” she said lightly, hoping she sounded less affected than she really was. “We Gryffindors never renege on our promises.” She shot him what she hoped was a winning smile and ducked under his arm. “I’ll just whip up something simple, if you don’t mind.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Whatever’s fastest.” As if on cue, his stomach growled.

“Right. Let’s get started then.” She handed him a few eggs and a bowl. “Crack these and beat them.”

“No problem.” He seemed a lot more compliant now that they were making his supper.

Ginny heated up the frying pan, and drizzled oil onto it. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Draco picking eggshells out of the mixture. She was suddenly struck with the absurdity of the situation. Here they were, a Weasley and a Malfoy, baking and cooking. She wouldn’t have believed it herself were she not a party to it. And it was odd, how normal it felt, how they seemed like friends rather than the progeny of feuding families, and how their banter seemed lighter and to lack bite. She rather liked it.

Ginny taught Draco how to pour the egg into the pan without scalding himself, and then dropped shredded cheese onto the still bubbling egg mixture. She flipped it a few times and cut it in half before scooping it onto two slice of bread on which she had placed two slices of ham, and topping them with two more slices of bread. “Supper is served,” she announced with false subservience, placing the plate on the table in front of him with a flourish.

Ginny snorted as Draco dove into a sandwich with all the hunger of a man who hadn’t eaten for a few days. “What happened to all your polite, uppity upbringing?”

Draco glared at her over the top of the sandwich but otherwise said nothing until he had polished off one. Ginny supposed that not talking with one’s mouth full was one aspect of politeness he couldn’t ignore. After Draco had patted his mouth with a napkin, he admitted, “That was not bad, Weasley.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell, from the way you inhaled it.”

Draco snorted. “Like you’re much better. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you shovel food down your throat like the world’s coming to an end.”

“Ah, so you’ve been watching me eat.”

Draco scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s like watching a train wreck; you know it’s a disaster but it’s impossible to tear your eyes away.”

They continued in this vein as Draco ate his second sandwich, this time much more slowly. The Weaslette was turning out to be more interesting than he thought. He hadn’t noticed her much around school, but the past half an hour hinted that he could possibly come to enjoy her company very, very much.

When the oven buzzer went off, Ginny leapt to her feet. “It’s done!” She opened the oven door, and a delicious, spicy scent wafted out. “Mmm, I love the smell of freshly baked goodies.”

Draco had to keep from rolling his eyes. He couldn’t believe that he was associating – not just associating, but cooking and baking! – with someone who used the word ‘goodies’ in normal conversation. She would likely get torn apart in Slytherin. But he had to agree that the cookies smelt good.

Ginny set the tray onto the tabletop. “The moment of truth,” she declared, meeting Draco’s eyes.

“Ladies first.”

“Oh please, since when have you considered me a lady? But I’ll oblige,” Ginny said, grinning. She popped a gingersnap into her mouth and chewed slowly, her eyes closed.

Draco felt his pulse quicken, for some unfathomable reason. He had the strangest urge to kiss her closed eyelids. Pushing aside his errant thoughts, he reached for a gingersnap and ate it quickly. “It’s good,” he said with some surprise. It was quite remarkable, how mixing some flour and other random ingredients could result in something so entirely different and delicious.

Ginny turned to smile at him, and Draco was struck by her smile. It wasn’t by any means dazzling or perfect – her teeth were slightly crooked – but it was genuinely delighted and it was directed at him, and Draco felt warmth bubble unexpectedly inside him.

“Of course it’s good,” Ginny teased. “The Great Draco Malfoy helped make it.”

“Glad you finally see things my way.”

“Prat.” She lifted a hand to throw a gingersnap at him, thought better of it, and ate the gingersnap.

“Glut,” Draco returned. “You know,” he observed thoughtfully, taking another cookie, “baking really is kind of like Potions.”

“Is that your roundabout way of saying you enjoy it?” Ginny wanted him to say yes. If he enjoyed what she assumed to be his one and only baking experience, it would mean that he enjoyed her company. And if he enjoyed her company, well… she wasn’t going to think about how she felt about that just yet. It wasn’t just that he was possibly the best looking guy at Hogwarts. She didn’t understand why, but she was enjoying her evening with Malfoy. Very much. There seemed to be a certain chemistry between them that she didn’t even have with her closest friends.

“Under certain circumstances,” Draco said, grey eyes piercing her brown ones.

“Only at Christmas?” Ginny ventured, not daring to hope. The silent question in her mind was, only with me? But it remained unspoken.

He refused to rise to the bait. “Perhaps.”

She had to turn away to quell the disappointment she had felt at his words. “I see.”

But then he spoke again.

“So, Weasel, you’re planning on eating that all by yourself?”

“I said I’d give you some if they were good. I’ll probably share the rest with Ron tomorrow.”

“But they’re best eaten fresh, don’t you agree?”

“But everyone’s asleep now.”

“Except for us.”

“You can’t mean for us to finish this all by ourselves!”

“We have all night.”

So that was how Ginny and Draco, who were no longer just a Weasley and a Malfoy, spent Christmas night – in the Hogwarts kitchens, talking and laughing about anything and everything over a tray of gingersnaps.

When Ginny had yawned six times in a minute and could no longer keep her eyes from drooping closed, they stood up to leave.

“Merry Christmas, Draco.”

“Merry Christmas, Ginny. C’mon, I’ll walk you back,” Draco said gruffly.

Ginny cocked her head to the side, considering him for a bit. “Why not,” she said finally, a small smile escaping her lips.

As they walked to Gryffindor tower in companionable silence, in their hearts they mused that perhaps it hadn’t been such a bad Christmas after all.



~