**One Saturday afternoon…
"You see how I've added the eggs to the sugar and butter? Okay, now we beat it all together for a few minutes. Will you pay attention? You're the one who wanted to learn how to do this."
"I'll watch over your shoulder."
"But you're not concentrating."
"Oh, I certainly am."
"Not on the biscuits, you're not."
"I am concentrating…intently…very intently…on this…"
Breathy pause. "Erm, yes, well, alright now…treacle! Time for the treacle! Have you seen my spoon?"
"You don't need it – just pour some in."
"They won't taste the same if we don't follow the recipe, I told you. A-ha! There it is. A few good-sized spoons of treacle…why don't you take this now, so you can mix it all together. Oh, and will you reach over there and light the oven?"
"I know, but it will just take a second."
"Why? We're not ready for it yet."
"I know, but it needs to heat up."
"I'm stirring. I'll turn it on when we're about to put them in."
"We need to do it now, or the biscuits won't bake properly. Watch it, will you? You almost got that spoon in my hair."
"Have you ever eaten the dough all by itself? The whole bowl?"
"No, and will you see to the oven?"
"I should try that sometime, eating the whole bowl."
"Fine, we'll see to the oven in a second. Now, if you're done stirring, you need to sift two cups of flour and add them in."
"'Sift'? What's 'sift'?"
"Do you see the sieve over there? Put the flour through it first."
"Why do I have to do that?"
"It will be packed too tightly otherwise. You'll put more in than you need, and the proportions will be off."
"Nah, they won't."
"They will! The biscuits will be too dense. You really should – "
"I'm just going to scoop it right out of the tin."
" – sift it. Oh. Well, if they have the consistency of cardboard, I'm not responsible."
"They'll be fine. I got top marks in Potions, you know."
"Yes, and how many years ago was that? Now, if you'll stir all that together…we added the spices already, yes? And will you get your finger out of the bowl?"
Lick. "I'm just making certain it tastes right."
"You're going to eat half the dough, making certain it tastes right. Now, will you please see to the oven?"
"Just a second. I want to be completely certain."
"You'll get to scrape the bowl, so why don't you let the poor dough alone? We're going to be lucky to get two dozen, at this rate. Not to mention the germs you're adding…"
"If the rats haven't killed me by now, a few germs won't."
"Oh, thank you for mentioning that."
Another lick. "So when you kiss me, it's almost as if you're – "
"Enough! Enough! I try not to think about that. Oh, careful! You're going to – well, now you've done it."
"You've got dough on your face."
"Yes. It looks ridiculous."
"I prefer 'dashing'. Where is it?"
"On your nose."
"Hey, I remember this game…where, again?"
"I told you – your nose."
"So, if I get happen to get dough anywhere else, will you – "
"Ha ha. No. And will you see to the oven while I get the baking sheets out?"
Still another lick. "I'm busy."
"You could have lit it five times over by now."
"C'mon, live dangerously. Don't preheat."
Grumble. "Letting you in the kitchen is danger enough."
"And being alone in the kitchen with a man like me is even more so…"
"You don't want to corner a grouchy Hufflepuff. I might scratch you."
"Would you, now? But I could get you…right up…against the counter…like this…and there's nothing you could do…"
Sound of muffled laughter, rustling robes, and a few kitchen implements falling on the floor…
"Oh, fabulous! Now I'm going to have to change before I go out."
"Don't you see where you got flour on me? What will they say in town?"
Pause for inspection. "Maybe they'll think you did yourself."
"I'd have to have rubber arms to get a handprint there!"
Snicker. "Leave it. They'll have a whole new respect for you."
"I don't think 'respect' is the right word for it. Let's finish these up, now. See, you take a ball of dough, like this, and dip it in the sugar. Then you flatten it a bit on the baking sheet."
"Did I do it right?"
"Yes, but don't put it so close to that other one."
"They'll run together as they bake, and then they won't look pretty."
Snort. "And pretty biscuits are important?"
"If I'm going to spend the time to make them, I want them to look nice."
"Right, because they taste differently when they're nice and pretty."
"Shut it, you, or you'll never see these again."
"There, the last one! We're finished. Now we put them in our barely-heated oven, set the timer, and…hey! Where are you taking me?"
"I'm going to help you pass the time while they bake..."
**Eleven minutes later, from the sofa…
"I think the biscuits are done."
"No, really – I heard the timer."
"But they might burn."
"So they'll be a little crunchy. Don't get up."
"I worked hard on those!"
"Mmmm…we'll make another batch."
"Will you just move off me? I only need a second to take them out."
Giggle. "Stay here! I'm not finished with you, Black."