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Ron learned the basics of cooking from his mother when he'd told her that he was interested in boys, all the while making it clear that, "In this day and age, witches aren't bound to the kitchen like they were in my day, so I'd be teaching you this even if you were interested in girls." He'd been thirteen at the time and had taken a fancy to Dean Thomas.
There were tears in her eyes. "Pride," she'd said as she pulled Ron close and kissed the top of his head, squeezing him extra hard before releasing him. She'd blinked away the tears, pursed her lips and taught Ron how to make pot roast.
More cooking lessons and lessons on housekeeping took place over the ensuing years. Along with talks on how to ‘please a young man’, which had made Ron’s ears burn, and which he really could have done without.
And when he'd railed on about how stupid, arrogant and awful Malfoy was when he was fifteen, his mother had simply smiled and taught him how to make a chocolate souffle and a hearty stew. She'd listened to his ongoing complaints about Malfoy with a knowing look and advice for winning a young man's heart through his stomach.
“What’s this?” Malfoy asked a blushing Ron when he’d handed him the box of chocolate cupcakes (as his mother had instructed) after they’d departed the train to Hogwarts.
“They’re from my mum,” Ron said, blushing to the tips of his ears.
Malfoy’s lip curled up in a sneer, but he peered into the box and jerked his chin in the air as he strode away with his two sidekicks, leaving Ron glaring after him.
“Fuck you very much, too,” Ron muttered under his breath.
Ignoring the narrow-eyed look that Hermione leveled at him, he grabbed her arm, and Harry’s, and marched them to an awaiting carriage. He’d already gifted both of them with a box of chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies that they’d enjoyed together on the train.
“So...you like Malfoy?” Hermione asked.
Harry choked on a cookie, no doubt starving after his internment at the Dursleys’, and Ron pounded on his best friend’s back, dislodging the piece of cookie that had lodged itself down the wrong pipe. He shrugged, and looked away.
Ron ignored Hermione’s smile, and the glittering of her eyes that suggested she was already plotting something that would put his mother’s lessons to shame in the embarrassment of Ronald Weasley department. Harry cleared his throat and blinked, and then he nodded to himself as though he’d known all along that Ron was smitten with the bullying Slytherin.
Ron toyed with a loose thread in his robes, refusing to commit to anything. He didn’t like Malfoy. Actually, he hated Malfoy with a passion.
“It was my mum’s idea,” he said, shoulders inching toward his bright red ears.
Hermione sighed and leaned against Ron. “It’s so romantic.”
“Are you forgetting what Malfoy called you, and all of the terrible things that he’s done?” Ron asked, embarrassed because he was picturing the nearly perfect, porcelain white skin of the Slytherin, and imagining what it might feel like to touch the boy’s lips, and other assorted parts.
Hermione’s nose crinkled and she waved a hand. “He’s all bark and no bite,” she said.
Harry gave her an incredulous look, opening and then closing his mouth wordlessly. They’d both been on the receiving end of Malfoy’s underhanded machinations.
“Fine,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s a terrible person, but maybe you’ll bring out the best in him.”
“I seriously doubt that double chocolate raspberry cupcakes will make Malfoy into a better man,” Ron said.
Laughing, Harry poked at his best friend. “You should have made him a batch of those,,,what did your mother call them? Lover’s spicy ginger cakes?”
Rolling his eyes, Ron said, “They’re called Love’s Ginger Spice Mini Bundt Cakes.”
“Whatever, mate,” Harry said, clapping Ron on the back. “Just for the record, I think that it’s crazy, but like Hermione said, maybe you can bring out the best in him. Maybe he’s not a complete ferret.”
“Ugh, it was just a bunch of lousy cupcakes,” Ron said. “And my mum made me give them to him, to make up for all of the bitching and moaning I did about him over the summer. Not like he knew I was complaining about him or anything.”
“You could’ve just given them to me and Harry,” Hermione said.
“Yeah,” Harry said, eyeing Ron with curiosity.
“And risk a howler broadcasting everything all over the Great Hall?” Ron shuddered at the memory of the one howler he’d received from his mum.
“She wouldn’t know if you gave them to someone else,” Harry said. “Right?” He looked at Hermione for confirmation.
“She’d know,” Ron said, shivering.
Hermione patted him on the arm.
“I wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Weasley to have put a tracking spell on the cupcakes,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “I’m with Ron on this, she would know.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Harry said. He took another cookie out of the second box Ron had given him, and split it into threes to share it with Ron and Hermione. “If Malfoy doesn’t fall in love with you, I might.”
“Har, har. Very funny.” Ron stuck his tongue out at Harry, who was laughing around the piece of cookie in his mouth.
It wasn’t until weeks later that Ron spared any thought to the cupcakes that his mother had made him give to Malfoy for talking down about the boy for the bulk of his summer break. And that was only because Malfoy bumped into him (on purpose), jarring his book bag out of his hands, and sending parchment, ink, and quills scattering everywhere.
Instead of insulting Ron, the boy sneered at him and knelt to help clean up the mess that he’d caused. When the hallway cleared of all but the two of them, Draco, pinched face and looking even paler than normal, cleared his throat.
“Thanks, Weasel,” he said.
“You bumped into me!” Ron shouted, the tips of his ears burning.
“For the cupcakes,” Draco said, and the sneer devolved into something less severe, something a little lost, and hopeful, and Ron wondered, once again, what it would be like to touch Draco’s lips.
“You’re welcome,” Ron said, turning tomato red. Maybe his mother wasn’t so off the mark after all. He wondered if she’d teach him how to make a beef wellington and macarons over winter break. He had a lot to talk about, and maybe another batch of cupcakes to bake for a certain creamy skinned Slytherin.