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Scones and Something Sweeter

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Contrary to popular opinion, Draco was not melodramatic. In fact, on most days he was the epitome of rationality. Calm, collected...some might even go so far as to call him poised and they would be correct— fuck you very much, Theo. Yes, he had his bad days like everyone else. Who wouldn’t be in a bad mood after a late night of cramming for their Comparative Literature Finals? It was Blaise’s own fault for being within biting distance in the first place.

Granted, he was victim to the occasional fall out like everyone else in the world, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be saddled with the moniker ‘Drama Queen’. Draco did not blow things out of proportion. He did not succumb to hissy fits or the occasional blind rage and he was most certainly not crazy.

That being said, if Draco didn’t get a spot of Darjeeling and a serving of white chocolate raspberry scones at his favourite tea house within the next ten minutes, someone was going to die.

It would be a horrible death too—something involving cheese graters and sea salt. Draco was creative. He could improvise.

There were reasons for this uncharacteristic emotional landslide, of course. Draco wasn’t normally this frazzled. It had just been a bloody awful week.

First, he had only secured an A on that Com Lit Final which was devastating enough. Father had of course, followed up that happy occasion with the usual lecture, featuring some old classics including there’s no future in literature, stop wasting time on that silly hobby of yours and when will you own up to your responsibilities and join the family business.

So far, par for the course. But then it got worse. Theo committed the ultimate blasphemy by revealing the season finale of Game of Thrones before it was even on air. His whining about the books being out for ages notwithstanding, that was unforgivable. Draco refused to take his calls.

Perhaps the worst of all—not that Draco would ever admit it— was that it was Valentine’s Day and he was all alone. Adrian had dumped him the week before— something about their relationship being ‘too stressful’ and ‘needing a break’. Frankly, that had hurt a bit. Their time together had been a bit rocky but Draco wouldn’t go so far as to call it ‘stressful’. Apparently, Adrian thought differently.

Needless to say, Draco really needed that scone. Perhaps it was foolish, but somehow he just knew that the moment he felt that white chocolate melting in his mouth, with that buttery crunch and the tartness of the raspberry assaulting his senses, it would all be better. All his problems would just disappear. But for that, he needed the scone.

Draco stepped into the tea house— aptly named Molly’s, after the owner — and smiled as the warm scents of pastry and tea brought him a sense of familiarity and comfort. Molly was behind the counter and she beckoned him over at once.

“Draco, love!” she cooed, fussing over him as soon as he was within arm’s reach. “It’s been a long time hasn’t it? Oh, look at you— thin as a rail. Well, we’ll fix that right up, won’t we?”

Draco tolerated the petting and fussing as best as he could. Molly was a peach and she enjoyed doting on him. Secretly, he rather enjoyed it but one does have an image to worry about.

“I’m fine, Molly,” he promised, trying to extricate himself from her maternal attentions. “How’s the family?”

Molly beamed at him. “Aren’t you a love for asking about an old woman? Everything is wonderful. Bill is bringing the grandchildren over next week and Charlie is still out making those wildlife documentaries of his...oh, but listen to me jabbering on! Let’s get you your usual then— a nice Darjeeling?”

Draco could have kissed her. “Thank you. And some of your white chocolate scones, please.” Finally! He would have his scones and the world would once again be good and pure and...

“Oh, I’m sorry love. We just ran out of those.”

Draco’s world screeched to a standstill. The sun faded, the birds stopped chirping and the winds of despair blew in his ears. “What?” he whispered, even as his heart sank right down to his Converse trainers.

Molly clucked apologetically. “You just missed the last batch, dear. Why, a second sooner and they’d have been yours.”

“No.” Draco shook his head frantically, eyes wide and unblinking. This couldn’t be. How could fate have been so cruel, so unfeeling, so bloody mean?

“Oh, love. We have other scones...”

“No!” Draco cried out. The pain in his heart gave way to something else— a fierce, self-righteous, burgeoning wave of rage, the kind warriors in battle might experience when they’re out to defend their land and women from vile invaders.

“I must have them, Molly,” he intoned with forced calm. “I must have those scones.”

Molly shrugged and gestured to a table behind him. “Well, you’ll have to talk to that young fellow over there then. Perhaps he’ll share, yes?”

Share? Share?! Draco didn’t want to share! They were his scones! His and only his! What kind of monster would take them from him when they were so obviously his? What kind of evil, soulless bastard would...well, he was going to find out, wasn’t he?

Draco whirled around and his eyes landed dead on the offender. The thief was seated at a table not too far away. He was dressed sloppily— in a hoodie and jeans— as criminals are wont to do. Draco sneered. Just look at him, sitting over there in his stupid Man U hoodie and his stupid glasses, reading his stupid book.

Thief! Villain! Charlatan!

The thief ran a hand through his atrociously messy black hair and flipped a page, apparently unaware of just how much danger he was in. Draco’s eyes narrowed as the bloke extended a hand and reached for the plate on his table. A plate of white chocolate scones topped with raspberry jam.

Oh, hell no.

Draco vision went a tad hazy. The voices in his head surged, clamouring for retribution. His entire world narrowed down to a plate of delicious scones in the possession of a vile, hoodie clad villain. And then he was moving with purposeful strides to the table, murder in his eyes and fire in his heart.

It took the bloke a second to figure out he was being glared daggers at. Eventually he extricated himself from his book and blinked at Draco. His brow furrowed and vivid green eyes narrowed in confusion. “Can I help you?”

Draco— who had been momentarily stunned by the sheer green of those eyes— recalled his mission. The scones were still sitting their innocuously and the sight did nothing to quell his temper. He turned back to the thief.

You,” Draco intoned in a livid hiss.

The bloke blinked again. He had long eyelashes. Draco couldn’t help but notice them behind those awful glasses. “Yeah,” he replied slowly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Oh. Oh, he wanted to help, did he? Well, Draco would tell him what he thought about that. “My scones,” he snarled, somehow managing to convey a whole set of terrifying death threats in those two simple syllables.

“Excuse me?”

“My scones,” Draco hissed, too overwrought to form coherent sentences by this time. “You took. Give back!”

“Mate.” The bloke shook his head slowly, looking over Draco with a hint of concern. “You’re not making any sense. Are you having a stroke or something?”

Okay. Okay, that was it. Bring out the cheese graters, Draco was going to town! He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the plate and the bloke for good measure. He jumped and looked up at Draco, comprehension of his crimes no doubt dawning in that dim brain. Draco however, was going to make things clear. “Those are my scones,” he bit out, clearly and firmly. “I want them. Give them back if you want to live.”

There was stunned silence for a second. The bloke gaped at him as if he’d grown a second head. Then he cleared his throat and addressed Draco again. “You want these scones?” he asked. “Because they’re yours?”

“That’s correct,” Draco replied, resisting the urge to offer him a gold star.

The bloke however, just looked amused. “Even though I paid for them?” he prodded. He was smiling now, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Unfortunately for him, Draco was not amused. The man had him on a technicality, but he was not going out without a fight. “I will take them from you,” he threatened. “They are my scones and you just got here first and that’s why you have them. But they are mine. No court will convict me!”

“I understand,” he replied with a sincere nod. But his lips were pressed together and he was obviously trying not to laugh and Draco was starting to see red.

“Listen, you...”

“Why don’t you sit down?”

Draco—who had been prepared to go for the butter knife by now— shut up abruptly. His rant trailed off at the unexpected invitation and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. He was obviously being lulled into a false sense of security here. Any second, this tosser would take the scones and make a run for it...

“I’m serious,” the tosser said, pushing the plate over. “You don’t plan to eat them standing over there, do you?”

Draco’s eyes darted from the offered plate to the man’s sincere, open expression. “You...you’re giving...” He faltered slightly. This didn’t make any sense.

“My scones?” he demanded hesitantly.

“All yours,” the bloke assured him, pulling out a chair. “If you sit down.”

“I won’t share,” Draco informed him just in case he got any bright ideas.

He got another cheeky grin in response. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Besides, you clearly need them more than I do. Now come on, sit down and stop being homicidal for a minute.”

Draco obliged, still suspicious but somewhat grateful. The scones were right there in front of him, buttery and delicious and finally in reach. He almost didn’t want to believe it. His hand fluttered uncertainly over them for a second. Then the bloke smiled and pushed the plate over to him again. Draco picked up a scone and bit into it.

It was everything he had imagined and better. The chocolate melted on his tongue and the raspberry made his senses flare, and all through that, there was the lovely, flaky pastry. This was it. Life was good again. There was love and peace and beauty in the world and...

“There we go,” an amused voice quipped, breaking into his reverie. “All better now?”

Draco started and looked up, only to stare into a pair of stunning, green eyes, sparkling with mirth. The bloke was grinning at him, his smile amused but certainly not mocking. Draco flushed with embarrassment as he recalled the scene he had made. Maybe his friends were right. Maybe he was just a lunatic...

“I’m Harry,” the bloke said, holding out his hand. “Harry Potter.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco mumbled, swallowing around his scone and taking the offered hand. “Thanks for...for the...”

“No problem,” Harry replied. “Like I said, you clearly needed them more than I did.”

Draco flushed again, wishing he could melt off his seat. “It’s been a lousy week,” he explained.

Harry nodded. “I get that. I once attacked my friend Neville over the last cup of coffee.” He reached over to squeeze Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s breath hitched as the innocent touch made his skin flare, but Harry didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “You feel better though, right?” he asked softly.

Draco nodded. “I do, thanks. It’s just...sometimes I get a little...well, crazy.”

Harry’s smile widened and the grip on Draco’s shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. “All the pretty ones do,” he whispered.

And now they were flirting. Draco’s blush deepened and he looked away. His eyes landed on the book Harry was reading. “Is that Game of Thrones?” he asked, perking up at once.

Harry treated him to a long suffering sigh and picked the book up. “Actually, the series is called A Song Of Ice And Fire. Christ, I can’t say that enough. You watch the show then?”

Draco smiled. “I love it.”

“Well personally, I prefer the book,” Harry replied. “This is the fourth instalment. It’s getting pretty good actually. See, Tywin Lannister...”

He trailed off suddenly as if realizing something. Then, he shook his head and smiled at Draco. “You know what? I won’t spoil it for you. But believe me, you’re in for one hell of a show.”

Draco’s heart surged. He pushed the plate of scones over to Harry again. Harry raised his eyebrow a fraction and Draco smiled shyly at him.

“We can share,” he murmured.