The Cookie Confusion
Title: The Cookie Confusion
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,200
Summary: This was not what Harry had in mind when he asked Ron and Draco to get along. Oh well.
Warnings: Accidental drug use. Rated R for the same but don’t worry, it’s not a dark fic ;)
Author’s notes: Just an idea that wouldn't leave me alone. Please heed the warnings. This was written for:
awdt's Christmas prompt 10: Holiday baking
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This was written for fun, not profit.
Additional Disclaimer: Drugs are bad for you. Rotten, really. This ficlet does not promote drug use. Just using my creative licence.
“You’re exquisite. I want you inside of me. I never thought I would feel this way but I...I think I love you. We’ll be together soon. Soon, my dearest...”
Dean Thomas smiled lovingly at the very special batch of Christmas cookies he had concocted last night. Deceptively festive, complete with melted sugar snowmen decorating them-they looked fantastic. But Dean knew that the real magic was what was in them- about two grams of brilliance straight out of Amsterdam, cured to perfection. He grinned again and stowed his precious away carefully in a bag behind the sofa cushion.
Oh yes. The spirit of Christmas was high on Hogwarts and Dean had every intention of following suit.
Soon.
****
Two hours later, a far less affable scene was unfolding in the Eighth Year common room.
“I don’t care if I go to Azkaban! Let me go, Harry! I swear to Merlin I’m going to find out what color his intestines are!”
“Ron. Mate, come on. Just calm down. He didn’t mean to trip you- it was an accident!”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Be quiet, Draco! Ron, breathe. Try counting to ten.”
“One dead Malfoy. Two dead Malfoys. Three…”
“Be reasonable, Harry. He can barely get to five without Granger’s help. ”
“GAAAAAHHHH!!!”
Harry barely managed to avoid getting flattened as a ginger blur wrenched past him and firmly attached itself to Malfoy’s throat. He stumbled over a couch, emerging just in time to catch a glimpse of his boyfriend and best friend kicking, punching and -in Draco’s case- biting and scratching at each other in a blood crazed frenzy. Harry dithered, unsure of who needed his help the most. It was hard to say considering Draco had his teeth in Ron’s leg and Ron had his fist in Draco’s hair. Finally, he made a decision and raised his wand.
“Aguamenti!”
“Harry!”
“Fuck! Potter!”
They sprang apart like fighting crups and glared at him, soggy and furious.
“Well, that was unnecessary,” Draco had the gall to announce, drying himself off with a charm. Ron snorted and shook himself dry, spraying the blond with water all over again. Draco growled and lunged for him again, immediately finding himself dragged back by a furious Harry.
“That’s it!” the angry Gryffindor raged. “I’ve had it up to here with your arguing! For fucks sake, you tripped him?” Draco scowled and crossed his arms. “And you!” Harry snarled, turning on Ron. “Can’t you at least pretend to get along with him for five minutes? I can’t keep doing this!”
They muttered and scowled and kicked at the floor like petulant children and Harry found himself on the business end of a temper tantrum. “Find a way to get along,” he snapped. “Do it or I swear to Merlin, I’m done with both of you!”
“What?!” they blurted, for once in complete unison. Harry didn’t care. With one last dirty look at them, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the Eighth Year common room, leaving two disgruntled boys blinking in the ensuing silence.
“Well, someone’s a diva,” Draco grumbled.
Despite himself, Ron snickered. “Next, he’ll be asking Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston to play nice.”
Draco gave him a blank look. “I don’t know what any of those words mean.”
“Me neither. Something Hermione said the other day.”
“Charming,” Draco drawled, flopping elegantly on the couch. Something crumpled behind him and he frowned as he turned the cushion around, spotting a brown paper bag.
“I just wish he’d get that this is how we are,” Ron muttered. “How am I supposed to pretend to like you? I hate you on general principle!”
“Likewise,” Draco shrugged, fumbling with the bag and prying it open. “But he gets in such a snit about it. I suppose we could try acting a bit more…civil.”
“Hurts to say it?”
“Like stabbing myself in the back.”
Ron snorted. “So, what do you propose we do?”
“Not exactly my field of expertise,” Draco smirked, biting into a cookie. Damn, these were good. “I’m sure it’ll come to us eventually. Cookie?”
****
“Life got you down, Harry?”
Harry gave Dean a weary smile. “Just Ron and Draco again,” he sighed. They were going back to the common room after dinner, and he was half sure he’d find it decimated. He really hoped it hadn’t come to hexes this time…
“Ah, that,” Dean tutted sympathetically. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Those two really harsh my mellow.”
“Right well, it would be nice if they could get along for five minutes, you know? I’m so sick of watching them fight all the time.”
“Wish I could help you, mate,” Dean smirked as the portrait swung open. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have major plans for…whoa.”
Harry stopped short, nearly running into his stunned classmate. The sight in front of him nearly made him keel over.
“What the hell?” he blurted.
“Am I still high?” Dean demanded, his voice at least an octave higher. “Seamus said the pixie dust would wear off in an hour!”
“No. No, I’m seeing this too,” Harry replied dazedly, eyes still glued to the couch. And with good reason. Draco and Ron were sprawled across it, legs tangled and sporting twin glazed expressions. Draco’s tie was undone and Ron wore a goofy grin on his face. And they were talking. Not fighting or shouting or threatening law suits. They were actually talking. Harry held on to a table for support.
“Whoa…” Draco mumbled, blinking sleepily at his fingers. “Look…look at my hand, Weasel. I mean…just look at it.”
Ron obliged, his eyes swimming as he fixated on Draco’s hand. “Yeah. Looks like…sausages. I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
“Yeah,” Draco agreed, lolling back on the couch. “We…we should go to the kitchens.”
“Why?”
Draco frowned. “I have absolutely no idea. Idea. Ideeea. That’s a funny word.”
“I like words. They’re so…intense.”
“Hey Weasley… what if…what if there are no words? What if…just…you know?”
“Damn. That’s deep, Malfoy.”
“What is?”
“Are you hungry? We should…we should go to the kitchens.”
“That’s a good idea. Ideeaa. Heh. That’s funny. Sausage 's a funny word too. Sausage. Saussssage.”
“Stop sayin’ sausage, Mafloy. You’re makin’ me hungry.”
“We should go to the kitchens.”
Harry- who had managed a semblance of coherent thought by now- side stepped them as they lurched out of the common room, slung around each other’s shoulders, leaving him and Dean gaping. If it weren’t for the boy sputtering beside him, he wouldn’t have believed it had happened.
“My cookies!” Dean screeched indignantly. “Which I know absolutely nothing about, by the way,” he added hastily as Harry gave him the raised eyebrow.
The Boy Who Lived shook his head and poked at the empty paper bag. He stared at it for a couple of minutes in complete, inscrutable silence before nodding determinedly and marching back to the entrance.
“Where are you going?” Dean demanded.
“Shopping!” Harry shot back. “How much do you think Amsterdam costs in Galleons?”