No More Pretending :: DraMa

11 May 1923
Friday, 6:15 pm
Menu

The castle kitchen was too busy for what she needed. Matilda was in for a full day of cooking, which in this situation was both relaxing and nerve wracking. The elves would typically accommodate her hobby, eager to help with whatever she needed, but the menu she had in mind would be hours of work.

Thankfully, for the small price of a batch of apple crumble muffins, (Rose’s favorite), Professor Blackwood was letting Matilda work in the Applied Magic kitchen space. She had a full fridge of ingredients ready to go, two ovens pre-heating, a large pot of water boiling, a workstation filled with bowls, knives and spices. A stack of recipes sat aside with notes written in the margins: prep lists, times, when to start, etc.

The prep started the night before, working on the medovik honey cake, cutting vegetables, marinating meat, and kneading dough. She had lied to Drago, using Alice as an excuse, hoping he didn’t ask her about their girls' night. Working for a few hours the night before his birthday, then hours again the day of, this was the most extensive menu she had ever executed.

Hopefully it would all turn out.

When she made the cake for Serik, it was easy to wave it off as a nice gesture. This was not a simple birthday cake. This was weeks of planning, days of prep and hours of cooking. She wanted, more than anything, for him to enjoy the meal she had spent so much time making.

If there had been any question before today, now the answer would be clear. She liked him. Probably a lot, but that revelation would come in time.

The dinner was made of classic Russian dishes, none of which she had made in the past. Pelmeni, Borscht, Beef Stroganoff, Pirozhki and Borodinsky bread. Reading the recipes, the process seemed pretty straight forward. Nothing stood out as too difficult, other than the flavor profile and a few interesting cooking methods. Typically, when she cooked, she would taste the food, but in this case she had no idea what anything was supposed to taste like.

A recipe for disaster honestly.

---

As the time got closer, Matilda stepped away to change into a simple green dress with a bow collar. The dress skimmed just below the knee, in a flirty ruffled hem, while her hair tied in a long french braid hung over one shoulder. An apron tied around her waist showed signs of her day. Stains in various colors, a prelude to their menu.

Putting final touches on her dishes, Matilda moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. Cutting herbs, slicing bread, plating the dishes in an artful pleasing way. The Wizarding Wireless radio playing in the background, adding a soundtrack for her work. In dueling or spellwork her movements were jerky, unsure, sluggish, but in the greenhouse and kitchen Matilda was comfortable.

Moving around the space with grace, she reached for tools without looking, knowing just where she had left them. Stirring one post of boiling water while she lifted a spoon from another pot to taste. It was like a fluid dance, but she was the only one that knew the steps.

All the dishes were done, most already plated and in warming drawers. The mix of smells made her stomach rumble with hunger. Everything she had tasted was surprisingly good, especially the Firebird Ale. The non-alcoholic amber colored drink was a mix of crisp apples, juicy pears, plums, honey, and spices in a warm, comforting brew. Rich and lightly sparkling, from her research, it seemed to be a staple.

As Matilda cut the parsley to sprinkle on the stroganoff, she was swaying back and forth while humming quietly to the music, lost in her own world, she didn’t hear the door open and close behind her. The plan was to meet in the foyer outside the great hall at 6:30pm, but once again Drago had found her early.

His eighteenth birthday had transpired much in the same way the previous six had. Wake up at school, same time as always, go for a run, come back and shower, wait for the pair of owls swooping in through the window packed with an assortment of parcels.

The only difference was that this time, his presents hadn’t been wrapped by his mother, but instead by a maid. It was obvious in the way the edges were folded, a different pattern and he had noticed. She might not have been the most attentive mother, but this one thing she had always insisted on — wrapping her children’s presents by hand, meticulously artful, in paper she had specifically chosen for a reason only she knew.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, parcel in hand, Drago had let the feeling of grief resurface for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed. It was the small losses like these that pierced through the armour without notice, the details he never noticed until the very moment and feeling the impact of it all the more for it.

But he didn’t linger long, storing the memories away as he unpacked his gifts and then another normal Friday began.

Somewhere midway, Matilda had found him to wish him a happy birthday, asking to meet in the Entrance Hall before dinner. He assumed she wanted to eat together, as they often did, but when he got there a good twenty minutes early Drago decided he might as well find her first.

His feet carried him down into the dungeon on their own, finding the portrait leading into the castle’s kitchen as though they knew where to go on instinct alone. The elves inside however claimed Matilda wasn’t there, having secluded herself instead in the classroom for Applied Magic, so that was where he headed next.

The door fell shut as he came to a halt just beyond the threshold, surprised by the sight that greeted him. He knew Matilda liked to cook and bake; he had been fed more pastries and cupcakes in the past eight months than within all the seventeen years preceding his life at Hogwarts combined. And the Medovic she had made for Serik might or might not have been the breaking point in slowly accepting this rather unconventional interest of hers, but watching her sway and hum to the radio’s music while a multitude of familiar scents wrapped around him, reminding him of home so violently it hurt, elicited a storm of emotions too complex to comprehend.

For a few seconds he merely stood and watched, his mind running to catch up with what was swelling inside his chest.

Baking a cake was one thing, a thing he had appreciated on a deep level, but this was...He didn't have a word for it. His eyes were like glued to the back of her head, disbelief weaved with something else still rooting him into place.

He moved on his own again however, calm steps taking him to her left, a look of something akin to measured marvel on his face. “I was wondering where you have been all day,” he said by way of greeting, gaze sweeping over the expanse of her work, landing on her profile a moment later. “Did you cook…all of that?”

"I was wondering where you have been all day." The knife she was using to chop parsley fell from her fingers as the voice startled her. Matilda jumped, a small squeak escaping before she could stop it. Her heart lurched somewhere into her throat as she spun around, nearly knocking the bowl of parsley onto the floor.

"Merlin!" she gasped, one hand flying to her chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack." Before she even realized what she was doing, her other hand shot out, grabbing his forearm to steady herself.

Warm skin met her palm.

His sleeves had been rolled to his elbows, his strong forearms on full display. Years of boxing had done a good job sculpting the muscles of his arms. Suddenly she became aware that her hand was on his arm. Not through layers of clothing or a brief touch of knees under a table. This wasn’t the casual holding of hands or a light touch of his hand while tucking hair behind her ear.

The buzzing in her fingers began to tingle up her arm. Her fingers tightened for a short second before her brain finally caught up. Blue eyes dropped to where her hand rested against him, then lifted back to his face. "Sorry," she whispered, though she made no move to let go. Only after another heartbeat did she slowly slide her hand away, fingertips sliding against his skin just a breath longer than necessary.

Her pulse refused to calm.

"I didn't hear you come in. I think this proves you’re going into the right career path. I would make a horrible auror. How did you find me? I thought I was well hidden this time.” She asked with a questioning look, only then did she notice where he was looking.

Every dish, every pot, every carefully plated meal spread across the room. A blush crept up her face, reddening her cheeks to a violent degree. “Did you cook…all of that?”

Looking around the room, she focused on what he was seeing. It was… a lot… ”Umm, I may have gotten a little carried away."

Stepping away from the counter, needing to move so that she didn’t explode from embarrassment, Matilda wiped her sweaty hands on the apron tied around her waist. Picking up a wooden spoon, she stirred a pot of purplish pink stew, the borscht, and tried to focus in on the dish.

Had she gone too far? Did he think she was insane for making all these dishes when the elves could do it in no time flat? Did he even like these foods? Oh no, what if he HATED Russian dishes and was happy to never eat them again! This was a massive mistake.

”I, well… I thought some Russian dishes might be nice? You know. Food from home, but we can scrap it. It’s not a big deal. We can just go upstairs to the great hall for dinner. I’m sorry, maybe I should have asked…” The poor girl was spiraling, moving around the kitchen, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Picking up a few dirty utensils, she turned to toss them in the sink. Her face remained red with embarrassment, her hands shaking with uncertainty.

It had been a nice gesture, but that didn’t mean that he would enjoy it. At least there was the cake. She knew he liked the cake…

By now he should known she’d jump out of her skin the moment he made his presence known, and yet he never thought as far. When the knife dropped and the bowl nearly fell, as Matilda squeaked and reached out to grab onto his forearm, Drago was painfully made aware of how continuous this pattern remained.

Never on purpose, and yet always slightly amusing.

His arm steadied on automation, the other hand reaching over to stop the bowl from clattering all over the table. His eyes met hers as things finally stopped moving, them included, but her hand never let go off him. Drago made no move to free himself of it. For a moment, time slowed to a halt as they continued to just stand there like this. “Sorry,” she said at last and he thought he could hear the tension crack in her whisper. He held her gaze, smiling slightly. “You’re okay.” When she finally let her hand slide away, time began to move again.

Drago quietly cleared his throat, folding his hands behind his back.

"I didn't hear you come in. I think this proves you’re going into the right career path. I would make a horrible auror. How did you find me? I thought I was well hidden this time.”

Drago shrugged, his attention drifting towards the multitude of dishes spread throughout the kitchen. “I don’t know,” he said, again a little lost. “I thought you might be in the kitchen, just an instinct. The elves told me you were here instead.” He still couldn’t wrap his head around what he was seeing. What she’d made. For…him…?

“Umm, I may have gotten a little carried away.”

Drago looked around as Matilda stepped away, a sudden shift tilting the atmosphere sideways. Agitation was radiating off her in waves, the colour in her cheeks different from other times she had blushed. Had he said something wrong? What was happening? Brows narrowing, he watched her dart around the kitchen, avoiding his eye.

”I, well… I thought some Russian dishes might be nice? You know. Food from home, but we can scrap it.”

Brow creasing further, Drago had a retort ready but she didn’t give him the chance. “What, no, Matilda—”

“We can just go upstairs to the great hall for dinner.”

Her rambles continued, growing more frantic and his chest tightened at the sight. His feet carried him closer to where she fumbled away, understanding where this was heading. His voice grew a little firmer. “Matil—”

“I’m sorry, maybe I should have asked…” 

“Matilda!”

His hand wrapped around her wrist the moment her utensils hit the sink with a clatter, forcing her to face him fully. He could feel the tremble, could feel the panic coursing inside her body and another part of him softened. Before she could continue her tangent, Drago lifted both hands to cup her face, tilting her head so she had no other choice but to look at him.

Fixing her with firm resolve, he bore his eyes into hers.

“Stop,” he said, voice low and assertive, needing her to understand what he had no words for to convey.

None of this bothered him, none of this was too much. No one had ever done something for him on this scale, so wildly personal and impactful. Not just a gift or gesture. A piece of his identity. She had brought something to life that didn’t exist in this country, not like it did at home. She had brought a piece of home to him. For him. Just because she could. He had no idea how he was ever supposed to express what that meant to him, or the thing growing inside his chest, so intense it almost hurt, kind of just exploding out of nowhere.

A tiny smile appeared around the corners of his mouth. “Stop,” he repeated, feeling the heat of her skin burn against his palms. “I love it. Thank you.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, feeling his smile widen.

And then his eyes dropped to her lips. Before he knew what he was doing, Drago leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers, blood rushing, heart pumping, every locked up emotion she’d been toying with breaking free with a blast. He had tried to keep it contained, had kept it controlled for long enough, but right now he couldn’t care anymore. He had wanted to do this before, in the library and since. His own restraint hadn't allowed him to but it didn't exist anymore, she had killed it.

He broke away only long enough to catch her gaze, to see her reaction, search her eyes, but when he couldn't find the aversion he was looking for, Drago let the tiny rest of inhibition that still remained fall away too. Without hesitation he let his left arm snake around her waist to pull her closer against him, the hand of the other sliding into her hair, angling her head further back as his lips found back to hers, moving slow and deep, intent. Everything narrowed down to this, and the quiet hunger she was stirring awake.

His hands were warm. One cupping each side of her face, thumbs resting lightly against her cheeks, grounding her before she floated completely away. "Stop."

The word settled over her like a blanket, stopping her in her tracks. Heart pounding, worry showing in her eyes. "I love it." He loved it. He loved it?! Her heart stuttered, trying to prepare for the other shoe to drop.

"Thank you." Every erratic thought she’d been obsessing over simply... stopped. The embarrassment, the panic, feeling like she ruined everything. It was all gone. In its place, brown eyes, a dimpled smile, the way he was looking at her with warmth and affection. A look only for her.

Her breath caught as his eyes fell to her lips. Was he… No… He wouldn’t… Merlin… He was still looking. And then her brain dissolved into chaos. A brand of chaos often found in the red head’s brain.

Do I move?
Should I say something?
What if he changes his mind?
What if I breathe weird?
What do people do with their hands?
Why can't I remember how being a human works?

He leaned closer while she remained frozen in place. She had dreamed of this moment for months. Often denying that her feelings had changed, wanting him instead of pushing him away. That she dreamed of him kissing her, if his lips were as soft as they looked.

Their almost kiss in the library, the way he tucked hair behind her ear, their walks around the lake, the way he found her in the greenhouse. Everything had led them to this moment.

Matilda forgot how to breathe as he leaned in. Her entire world narrowed as he inched closer, giving her time and space to stop him. Move back. Step away. That wouldn’t be happening.

Then his lips touched hers and everything went silent. Utter and complete silence. The world simply stopped. Matilda didn’t move, frozen in place while her mind processed.

’He's kissing me. Dragomire Zdravkova is kissing me.’ And it was better than any daydream she had ever conjured.

Warmth flooded through every inch of her body. The knot that had lived in her gut since August finally unraveled. The uncertainty of their arrangement was gone. She wanted him with every fiber of her being and he wanted her just as much.

A tiny sound escaped her. Half sigh, half laugh of pure relief and then she was kissing him back. Her response was not timid. She wasn’t kissing him because of duty or expectations, but because she wanted to.

Her hands found him almost instinctively, one sliding up his chest, the feel of his heartbeat under her hand. The other moved up to his shoulder then found the back of his neck as she rose onto her tip-toes, trying to erase the frustrating difference in their height. The hand on his chest curled into his shirt, holding her tight to him.

She smiled into the kiss and turned her head to deepen it.

Months of fear, stubbornness, arguments, teasing, Russian lessons, birthday cakes, libraries, greenhouses, grief, forgiveness seemed to melt away as he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. She didn’t pull away. In fact, she leaned into him completely.

Like a puzzle, they fit together perfectly. Her soft curves against his hard muscle shouldn’t work, but it did. The way his arms held her close made her feel safe and wanted. She slowly lowered from her toes, though she didn't step away. Her forehead rested lightly against his chest for a moment while she tried very hard to remember how breathing worked.

"...Well."

A breathless laugh escaped.

"So..."

Blue eyes searched his, looking for regret or fear, but she found none.

"That finally happened."

The smile that spread across her face was unlike any she'd ever given him before. Softer. Happier. Entirely unguarded. "I was beginning to think one of us was going to die of stubbornness before we finally got here."

A noise broke her out of the bubble, a hissing gurgling sound coming from the stove top. Looking over her shoulder, she could see the pot of boiling water overflowing. ”Oh shoot.” Pulling away from his warmth was the last thing she wanted, but causing a kitchen fire would really kill the mood.

Turning down the heat… of the burner, Matilda pulled the pot off the flame and checked the food to see if it was done. Turning to look at Drago she smiled, ”should we eat? Or did you have other plans?”

He thought he could get lost in this for hours.

With her hand curled into his shirt, the other at the nape of his neck, her lips smiling against his. The soft silk of her hair against his palm, the dip of her waist where he held her close. It didn’t make any sense, and at the same time it was the most obvious of feelings.

That of wanting her because she had become something of a safe haven. A place where he could let all tension fall away and simply exist, an escape. He still didn’t know how she’d done it, how she had managed to snake past all of his walls and straight into the centre of a soft core he hadn’t even known existed, bricked away since childhood. It hadn’t been part of the plan. All he’d needed was for her to like him, to accept this arrangement and prevent her from having Mr Nordstrom rescind the contract — so things could go their intended way.

But somewhere along the way, Drago had opened up around her, fascinated by the way she thought, pulled in by her way of approaching life, her humour and joy.

The very things that had confused him at first.

Still did sometimes. Still worried him too, occasionally.

Right now, though, he let her pull away with reluctance, finding her leaning against his chest instead, where his heart still pounded inside his ribcage. He slowly became aware again of the kitchen and its smells and sounds, seeping in through the fog that had settled throughout his mind. It lifted like a cloud that left everything a little dazed, a little softened around the edges. When her gaze found his, a smile played around his lips.

"That finally happened."

He chuckled lightly. “Finally? I was not aware you were waiting.” Perhaps she had been since the library, he thought. He had almost kissed her there, but although he had been certain before then that her resolve was broken, he hadn’t ever considered that she might want him to kiss her.

"I was beginning to think one of us was going to die of stubbornness before we finally got here."

Her smile shone like the sun, and it deepened his own a little further. “You know, you could have just kissed me,” he teased, but the sound of water hissing against heat had her slip out of his arms a split-second later. Drago leaned against the counter behind her, watching her take a pot from the stove.

When she turned to face him again, a crooked grin already made his eyes glitter. Reaching for her, Drago pulled her back by a wrist. “Maybe in five minutes.”