In which Draco is a world-renowned chef and Harry is the journalist assigned to interview him.
Snippet from Alphabet Soup, Chapter 10.
“You don’t get Michelin Stars clinking glasses with society snobs and talking about the weather, Mother,” Draco had said several years prior when Narcissa told him he worked too much, that if he didn’t start entertaining suitors he’d end up alone, childless, and — worst of all — dreadfully boring.
“Darling,” she’d said through the Floo, green flames licking at her inscrutable exterior, “I didn’t think you cared about those awards.”
And she was right.
He didn’t care about the awards. Not about the awards. Not about the press. Not even about his mother’s approval — not anymore.
“No,” said Draco, “but I care about being the best.”