No copyright infringement intended.

This is a little one-shot I thought of when my co-worker was telling me of an argument between him and his wife. I haven't done anything cutesy, so lemme know how the fluff went. :)

She watches him play around with the pots and pans and spoons, and it's moments like these which make her appreciate life. Despite how loud it is, she doesn't mind. Sooner or later he will grow up, and she'll go back to yearning for more innocent days.

Hermione walks over to Hugo, sitting down with him and playing along. He makes a tiny sound of surprise when she steals the wooden spoon he was making a move for, and giggles when she rearranges the pots laid out before them. She's probably kissed his chubby little cheeks more times than she can count, and she constantly brushes his slightly curly hair out of his eyes so he can focus on his pots.

(She refuses to give Hugo a haircut despite Draco's insistence. He claims his son looks like a girl. Obviously he doesn't.)

The door opens, her heart flutters a wee bit and she smiles as he lays the groceries on the counter. "Well, what do we have here? A master musician?" Draco bends down and picks his son up, ruffling with his hair. Hugo, who was very clearly enjoying his time with the dishes, gets antsy and his arms stick forward. He squirms in his father's arms, and finally Draco has to let his son go.

"Actually, a master chef." Hugo has gone back to banging the spoons on a metal pot. "Did you get the baby food? And –"

"I know how to read a list, Granger." She hated when he would call Hermione by her last name, but she soon figured out Draco would only say it when he was impatient or annoyed. She hoped he wasn't feeling any of those today.

Hermione stands up, walks over to the kitchen and begins putting the food in the freezer. "Sometimes you don't get what I asked for."

"Because we generally don't need them." He had a way of making everything Hermione said sound stupid and trivial. He was right, but there was nothing wrong with having the fridge nice and stocked.

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Fine, whatever. Anyway, I wanted to buy Hugo one of those play kitchens. You know, the plastic ones. He likes playing with the dishes. I figured if we got him one of those –"

"Fuck no." Hermione's eyes widen in surprise. Draco gives her a wary look and says, "Just . . . no. It's bad enough that you don't want to cut his hair, and now you want him to perform house duties?" Draco sits down on the dinner table and stares at her as if she's crazy. "We might as well get him an Easy-Bake Oven!"

Hermione's heart drops. She's absolutely furious. "First off, we are not getting him an Easy-Bake Oven. Second, you don't even know what it is!" Easy-Bake Ovens were the single greatest invention on earth. Draco was making it sound like she wanted to buy Hugo a pair of dresses. Easy-Bakes were completely different than a toy kitchen.

"Actually, I do. It's on your list of things you wish your parents got you." (Now she wishes she never showed it to him.) He wrinkles his nose in distaste and glances at their son. "Just because he likes banging on pots doesn't mean he's going to start cooking my dinner."

Ugh, he was so frustrating! "You didn't let me finish my thought process," she snaps. "And third, you're so sexist! What if he wants to be a chef when he grows up? Are you going to rob him of that opportunity? There is nothing wrong with dishes and cooking."

Draco clicks his tongue. "I'm not being sexist. He's experimenting with things he sees. If we buy him the toy – which we won't – he might discard it a few months later. It'll be a waste. And, since he's my son, I get to teach him how to ride a broom first, not show him how to bake cookies."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "I went through twenty-two hours of labor, Draco Malfoy, to bring our son into this world. If I want to buy him a Goddamn toy kitchen, I will."

He shrugs and answers, "I'll just throw it away."

"Bastard," she mutters under her breath.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"I called you a bastard," she clips out. She looks up and sees a smile forming on Draco's lips. He's actually enjoying this.

Pulling out the chair next to him, Draco motions for Hermione to sit next to him; she does, albeit reluctantly. He bends his head forward and lays a gentle hand on her knee. Her heart skips a beat, his grey eyes softly staring straight at hers. "It's my right, as the father of my first born son, to teach him all the manly things. It is the law of the universe. Sorry love, but we are not getting a fake kitchen."

She scoffs and tears his hand away from her knee. "It's not your right to do anything. I get to decide what's best for him since I, once again, labored through –"

"We're not getting a pink oven for Hugo who, in case you've forgotten, isn't a girl."

"A plastic toy kitchen is completely different than an Easy-Bake Oven!"

"It's still a fake-ass kitchen."

Hermione is pissed, because Draco is being sexist and not allowing his only son to get a toy. She points a finger at him and promises he'll regret not giving Hugo his play kitchen because he'll most certainly want it later when he becomes a chef. Draco shrugs, and eight years later when Hugo receives his first broom and is so excited he can barely fly, Draco comes by her side and whispers, "Good thing we didn't buy the Easy-Bake Oven, hmm?"