Harry pried one eye open and looked at the clock. He groaned; it was only 8:00! It was much too early to get up on a Sunday morning. He shut both eyes tightly and tried in vain to fall back into dreamland, but it was no use. He was wide awake. Harry sighed; it was a curse to be an early riser, especially when you shared your bed with the all-time world's champion late sleeper, one Master Draco Malfoy. Sleeping was one of the things Draco did best. Harry smirked to himself; well, there was one other thing he did pretty good, too. Perhaps he could be the brave Gryffindor he was supposed to be and risk waking Draco up just so he practice that other thing as well.

"I AM a brave Gryffindor," said Harry to himself as he reached over in bed to find his love.

Harry quickly turned around – Draco was not there. Very strange! In the two years they had been together, Draco had never set foot on the floor before Harry, not even once. Harry lay back and wondered what was wrong. Was he ill? A strange odour suddenly filled Harry's nostrils. W-was that coffee? Draco had made coffee? Impossible – Draco didn't even know where the kitchen was.

"Something is not right," said Harry as he arose and padded softly to the kitchen.

He saw Draco by the stove. He was holding a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. Draco? Draco Malfoy? His Draco, cooking? Harry scanned the room. If he hadn't known any better, he would have sworn that his nice, neat kitchen had exploded. But not having heard a kaboom, he knew that only one thing could have happened – hurricane Draco had passed this way. Every bowl, every utensil, every ingredient from his lovely, organized pantry was strewn haphazardly over every square inch of his usually shiny counters.

Draco was muttering softly to himself. Harry could only pick up the odd word here and there… bloody… can't understand…gibberish… effing…pancakes. Draco was staring at a cookbook propped up against the wall.

"He's making me breakfast," thought Harry, his heart melting at the sight. Not wanting to spoil the surprise, he snuck back into bed and covered himself up. Fifteen minutes later, he heard footsteps.

"Harry, love, wake up."

Doing his best impression of waking up, Harry rolled over and said, "Morning, Dray. What's that you've got?" He tried to look suitably surprised.

"I made you breakfast, Harry."

"No! I can't believe it! Bring that tray over."

With great pride, Draco set the tray on Harry's lap and sat gently down on the bed beside him. Harry smiled. Draco's nose was covered with flour. Harry's heart dissolved. He took a sip of coffee and miraculously managed not to choke. It was so strong he could have sold it as cauldron cleaning fluid. Moving on to the pancakes, he smothered them in syrup and took a bite – they were crunchy. He realized they were full of eggshells. Juice – can't go wrong with that. But the juice was so sour, it was all Harry could do not to spit it out.

"How is everything?" asked Draco, eyes wide with anticipation.

"Perfect, my darling, just perfect." Harry leaned forward and kissed the very pleased-with-himself Draco. "I love you so much. Thanks for doing this for me."

"I love you, Harry. That's why I did it."

Harry ate every bite and drank to the last drop.

Taking the tray away, Draco said, "Uh, Harry, stay out of the kitchen for awhile, okay?"

"No problem, love." Harry lay back and watched as Draco walked away, his heart evaporating.