My Submission for hds_beltane
Baker’s Dozen
For: ravengirl76
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13 bordering on R
Summary: After the war, a damaged Harry Potter finds solace in the most unusual of things.
Warnings: FLUFFY
Notes: Thanks D for beta-ing. Any mistakes are my own. Also, I hope you like your fics sweet. ;)
The Request: Classic H/D get-together set after the war, with Snape as mentor/friend to one or both boys.
I.
It was cold the day Voldemort was defeated. Harry could remember frigid wind whipping through his hair and beating against his face; he could remember seeing people’s breath on the air as they cast spells and their last puffs of steam as they died.
The field had been alight with greens and reds and yellows: a grim picture of loss and death. It was a grisly scene, and Harry could remember watching some of his closest friends falling for the last time.
Voldemort hadn’t intended for that to be the last battle; it was by some sick stroke of fate he appeared on the field less than three meters away from a very enraged Harry Potter. Despite his surprise at the quick confrontation, Voldemort didn’t flee. He decided to fight.
Harry and Voldemort used every spell in their repertoire, and more than once Harry felt an Avada Kedavra hurtle right past his face, missing only by inches.
Eventually, with both of them exhausted and out of breath, two of their spells collided. Voldemort sneered triumphantly as they entered the Priori Incantatem ritual. But the sneer faded to a look of horror when Harry revealed a second wand and cast a spell that stripped away Voldemort’s splintered soul.
It was so simple, the defeat, but it came with a great cost. The bead of magical energy that had been steady between Voldemort and Harry suddenly rushed into Harry’s wand.
Harry felt pain exploding through his right arm and along his sides. The energy of Voldemort’s hatred coursed through his body like thousands of electric shocks. He barely noticed that both of his wands disintegrated into dust. He barely noticed the world fading around him. He barely noticed the cries of joy and loss and victory that rose from the battlefield.
He only felt his pain and the coolness of the lifeless body he was collapsed over.
II.
“Harry, would you like to join us for dinner?” Harry was visiting Neville and Ginny, newly wed and very happy, to pick up some healing herbs and flowers. Harry knew he would be invited to stay; he had even cleared his schedule the rest of the night.
But the invitation made him scared, and the panic flurrying in through his head was making him nauseous. It wasn’t anything as simple as guilt or sorrow that made him worry over staying to eat; he couldn’t really define what it was. All he knew was that he’d been feeling these anxieties since the end of the war.
“Erm…I’m sorry. I-I can’t tonight. I’m busy.” Harry hastily retreated to their fireplace and Floo’d home, a feeling of unease still curling in his stomach.
His flat was dark and empty, and the only things in his fridge were a few eggs and a carton of half-solidified milk. Disgusting. Harry vowed to go to the grocer’s the next morning as he shuffled into his bedroom.
That night, he cried himself to sleep wondering why he always felt so alone.
III.
One night, after screaming in rage at Hermione and Ron and retreating to his flat, Harry found his new passion.
It was not a sudden thing, nor was it an expected thing. It was just one of those small idiosyncrasies that sneaks up when someone isn’t paying attention. In his anger, Harry had stormed into the kitchen; he might have wanted to pour a glass of liquor or throw around a few pots and pans, but when he entered the dingy room he decided, perhaps guided by the hand of some benevolent being, to do something productive.
He felt the anger melting away as he measured ingredients, kneaded dough, and shuffled trays of sweets into his under-sized oven. He felt happiness and maybe even hope as the scent of pastries saturated his entire flat. When the pleasant ding of the timer sounded, he was completely relaxed. Every morsel he ate healed a little bit of his soul and revitalized the life he had been so close to abandoning. That night when Harry went to bed, his stomach was full and his mind was content for the first time in years.
For the next few weeks, the Potter flat gradually transformed into a bakery. Harry made visits to the local grocer’s store nearly every day, and he was beginning a compilation of his favorite sweets to make and eat. The air was always heavy with the smells of sugar, chocolate, and cinnamon; every surface was covered with plates of biscuits, cakes, or sweet-breads, much more than one person could ever consume. In fact, Harry had baked so much that he sometimes had his friends over for conversation and biscuits or even just to hand out some of his sweets, which was a welcome change from his lonely lifestyle before. Harry loved it.
One day while he was in the middle of kneading some dough, Hermione and Ron had called on him unexpectedly to share some news. It had been a while since their last visit to his flat, and they were surprised at all of the sweets that surrounded them.
“Harry, you should make a business out of this! It would be brilliant!” Hermione said eagerly. She grinned at Harry, over a double-chocolate biscuit, with twinkles in her eyes. Ron vigorously nodded, his mouth stuffed with one of Harry’s éclairs. Harry had thought about turning his baking into a business, but he would need the proper licensing, a place to do business, not to mention funds and his ha- “The ministry can make you a license that would appear to Muggles as a chef’s license, and our neighbor has been trying to sell their old place for ages. It’s perfect!”
Harry decided in that moment that meddling friends were sometimes a wonder to have, especially when they could help him forget, even if only for a moment, that part of him was missing.
IV.
“Good morning, Madame Bromley!”
“Good morning, Harry! A lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, very. Do you want your regular order?”
“Of course, of course, but I’d also like one of your cranberry muffins. I’m going to surprise my son this morning at his University!”
“Of course. Will that be all?” Harry smiled at the middle-aged woman he was serving. Madame Bromley was one of his regular customers. She had quite a sweet-tooth, and sometimes she stopped by the shop more than one time per day. She reminded Harry a lot of the late Mrs. Weasley, except for the fact that she couldn’t cook to save her life.
Mrs. Bromley wasn’t his only regular customer; Harry actually had quite a collection of people who enjoyed his baking. They kept The Sweet Spot in very good business, particularly when they recommended his creations to acquaintances and friends. He rang up her order and bid her a good day, and moved on to help the next customer.
“Potter?” Harry looked up in surprise. It was Draco Malfoy, and very little had altered from what Harry remembered. He still had an air of arrogance around him, and not one hair was out of place. The only changes that were notable were the muggle clothes and relaxed expression on his face. Harry hadn’t seen him in years…not since the final battle, in fact.
Harry decided to simply treat him as a regular customer, instead of something special or irregular.
“Good day, Malfoy. Would you be interested in one of my muffins?” Malfoy stared at him dazedly, almost with a touch of fear. A few seconds went by. “Malfoy?” The man in question shook away his daze and inspected Harry’s display case, which was brimming with sweets of all kinds.
“I’d like a bag of your biscotti drizzled with dark chocolate, and two double-chocolate éclairs.” Harry grinned lopsidedly as he retrieved the sweets from the case, being careful to keep his right hand at his side.
“Have a sweet tooth, Malfoy?” The blond in question smirked, almost as if Harry had made a joke.
“Actually, I don’t. These are for Severus.” Well, that was a surprise. Harry didn’t think that the Potions Master even knew what the word sweet meant.
As he rang up Malfoy’s purchase, Harry wondered what Malfoy had been doing for the last few years besides visiting Snape. Based on the gossip Hermione shared with Harry on a regular basis, Malfoy had become nearly reclusive. He hadn’t even come into the public eye to receive his Order of Merlin, third class.
Not that Harry could blame him for that. Orders of Merlin were a huge fiasco, especially if the recipient was under public scrutiny.
“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Potter. Take care.” Harry snapped back to attention as Malfoy grabbed his bag and headed towards the door.
“You, too.” But Harry only spoke to the swirling of Malfoy’s winter cloak as he hurriedly left the building.
V.
Much to Harry’s surprise, over the next few months Malfoy began to show up more and more at his little bakery. At first, he would just pop in to buy a few sweets for Snape (although Harry was beginning to doubt that the sweets purchased actually went to the sour potions master. It was always a bag of biscotti and whatever else struck Malfoy’s fancy).
Then one gloomy day, when there was a thick, wet blanket of fog on the ground, Draco brought in lunch for Harry.
“I had extra,” he said, “and Malfoys do not eat leftovers.” Harry just smirked an accepted the offering.
The food quickly became routine; every few days, Malfoy would bring a sack of take-out and make up a shoddy excuse to prove something to Harry or maybe himself. Sometimes, Malfoy would even eat with him in the shop’s kitchen. Harry liked these days best for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. He figured he enjoyed the company, even if said company came with subtle barbs and cutting remarks.
Then, one day it happened.
Usually, Malfoy vacated The Sweet Spot before Harry was finished eating, muttering to himself about sudden appointments and other unbelievable engagements. Then, Harry would clean up their mess quickly and return to the front of the bakery. It was the routine, the way they always did things.
For some unknown reason, Malfoy chose to stay and help Harry clean up the remnants of their lunch. Harry reached for one of the empty take-out boxes and Malfoy unknowingly grabbed for it at the same time. There was a brush of hands, and a startled look from both of them. Harry swiftly hid his right hand behind his back upon the contact.
“Potter, what happened to your hand?”
“Nothing, it’s fine. I was just, er, startled by the touch.”
“You are an awful liar. Let me see it.”
“No.”
“Potter, I’m serious.”
“So am I. I-I’m really uncomfortable sharing-“ But before Harry could complete his thought, Draco had grabbed his arm and twisted the hand into view.
Harry felt shame burning in his cheeks, and he looked away from what used to be a normal right hand. A notice-me-not charm made people ignore his hand most of the time; the only things that disabled its cloaking abilities were touch or previous knowledge of the injury. Harry hated looking at it. It was ugly, with two of his fingers and a big chunk of his palm missing. It was a reminder of the war, of pain. Harry tried to ignore the surprised gasp from Malfoy, but it sent a wave of panic through him. Malfoy probably thought of him as damaged goods or a freak of nature. And for some reason what Malfoy thought really bothered Harry.
“When did this happen?” Harry felt his senses spiraling out of his control. His breathing quickened and his eyes couldn’t focus on anything. He hadn’t felt this panicked since before he started baking. “Harry?” And suddenly, a very concerned (and blurry) Malfoy asserted himself in Harry’s line of vision.
“The war.” Two words that answered everything and nothing. It had been years since the final battle, but Harry still couldn’t face the horrible realities of what had happened.
From that day forward, when Draco brought lunch he no longer offered shoddy excuses for his company.
VI.
It was Monday, and business had been slower than usual. The rain was falling in sheets on the street outside of The Sweet Spot, so Harry didn’t blame his customers for not coming.
Deciding to break the gloom of his empty shop, Harry started baking a small batch of biscuits: one of his favorite recipes and very easy to make. He always kept a roll of the dough frozen for minor emergencies and surprise guests.
After he slid his tray into the oven, he sat on his couch. Just as he was beginning to relax, the door opened, accompanied by a gust of wind and an ominous clap of thunder. It was Snape, looking as irritated as always…How bloody typical that the man came on the most dreary day possible.
“Good afternoon, Potter. Lovely weather we’re having,” Snape said with a dry smile. Snape gave him a once over, and Harry hid his right hand when Snape not-so-subtly tried to glance at it. He noticed the action, but didn’t remark.
“Yes, lovely.” Lightning struck again, casting odd shadows through out the bakery.
“I didn’t believe Draco when he told me that you of all people were running a baking shop. Needless to say, when he brought me those biscotti, I checked them for muggle poisons in addition to potions.” Snape gave him a critical look.
“Erm…”
“Your baking impresses me, Potter. Makes me wonder why you were so abysmal at potions.” It was odd getting this type of approval from Snape. But Harry didn’t mind it.
“Thank you. Could I interest you in some biscotti?”
“I’ll have two bags, Potter.” As Harry retrieved the biscotti, he thought to himself that biscotti were well suited to Snape, both being incredibly dry. If Snape wondered at the sudden smirk on Harry’s face, he didn’t voice it out loud.
VII.
“Hey, Draco! Here for lunch?”
“No, I’m just stopping by for something for Severus. Two double-chocolate biscuits, please.”
“Oh…okay.” Harry fetched the treats, wondering at the sudden distance in Draco’s voice. They had been getting so close, and this behavior was bizarre.
“Is everything okay?” The concern was very evident in Harry’s voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Potter.” Draco snatched up his purchase with a shifty glance and rushed out of the building.
VIII.
For the next few weeks, Draco’s behavior became even stranger. He would alternate between being friendly and cold. One day, he would come and share a pleasant lunch, and the next, he’d come acting oddly distant or not come at all. It was beginning to get to Harry.
The door above his door rang, and Harry smiled at the person who entered. He didn’t smile back, or even look at Harry.
“Hi, Draco.” Still nothing. He was coolly scrutinizing the display case of sweets.
“Two bags of almond biscotti, please.” Harry fetched the biscotti with a frown on his face. When Harry started tabulating the purchase, Draco finally looked at him.
“Draco, why are you doing this?” Harry said as he placed the bags on the counter.
“Doing what, Potter? Buying some biscotti from you? They are rather tasty, and Severus-“
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Oh really? What do you mean, then?”
“Why have you been ignoring me?” Harry’s eyes were wide with anxiety. Was that too much to say?
“I have been doing no such thing. I’m here right now, aren’t I?”
“But you are so distant! And you barely even look at me! And-“
“Harry-“
“You barely ever talk to me anymore.”
“We don’t really have much to talk about, do we?” Harry gasped, and felt a dull ache settle in his chest. Why was he so emotional? It was just stupid, bloody Malfoy. Even still, the pain in his chest would not subside.
“I thought we were friends.”
“We are, but even then we have very little in common.” Draco grabbed his purchase and headed towards the door.
“See you tomorrow for lunch?” Harry’s voice was brimming with hope, much to his chagrin. Draco turned around with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Sure, Potter.”
IX.
True to his word, Draco showed up the next day. They engaged in rather awkward conversation as they ate, both ignoring the argument they had had the day before. Harry was beginning to see Draco’s point about them having nothing in common, and it worried him.
For some reason, Draco had found a way into Harry’s heart, even if Harry was just beginning to realize it. He didn’t want Draco to be proven right.
“You know, we do have some things in common, Draco.”
“Really, what?” Harry steeled himself for what he was about to say. This could either go over very well or be a complete disaster.
“Well, the war for one thing.” Unconsciously, Harry placed his damaged hand on the table. “Erm, I know it’s painful to talk about, but we did share similar experiences. Well, not similar experiences…but we both fought.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Fuck. He’d gone too far.
“Well…we also both went to Hogwarts, and erm, we both really like sweets.” Draco flashed Harry an amused glance.
“Those are for Severus.”
“I stopped believing that a long time ago.” Harry grinned, and felt relief flow through him when Draco smirked back.
“Believe whatever you wish, Potter.”
X.
“You may kiss the bride.” Harry smiled as Ron leaned over chastely kissed Hermione. He was the best man of this much awaited wedding, and it made him so happy to see his best friends finally finding happiness together.
But why couldn’t he stop thinking about his own disastrous love life? He hadn’t even dated one person since the end of the war, and it was bothering him more than it ever had before.
At the reception, he danced with a couple of distant Weasley relatives and made small talk with his friends from Hogwarts. But he was still wishing he had someone here with him.
And that someone he was wishing for so much was Draco.
XI.
It was after hours, and Harry was getting his dough ready for the morning baking. The air was sweet and heavy; Harry had trouble keeping his eyelids from drooping.
That was, until he heard knocking on the door to the bakery.
He snapped out of his daze and made his way to the front, pleasantly surprised to see Draco there. He opened the door, trying to keep his admiration of Draco hidden. They had been getting along again, and Harry had no intention of spoiling the equilibrium they had reached.
“Hey, Harry.”
“Hi, I’m just getting ready for tomorrow. Do you want to help?”
“What does this ‘helping’ entail?”
“Mainly you get to watch, while I do all the work.”
“Perfect.” Neither of the men realized the amount of time passing as they worked together, chatting. And when 2 o’clock rolled around, neither of the men minded spending the night in the small, but passable, flat above the bakery.
XII.
Harry dusted himself off after flooing to Ginny and Neville’s place. He was running low on his medicinal herbs again. Since his hand had been damaged by an excess of magic, relieving the pain it caused required herbs of magical origin.
Upon hearing Harry’s arrival, Ginny walked into the room, with a smile on her face.
“Hey, Harry! Neville’s not here at the moment, but he left your herbs in the kitchen. I could get them for you now, if you want, or you could stay for dinner?”
“I’d love to.” For once, there were no traces of panic in his mind. He felt completely at ease.
XIII.
Harry had just finished his baking preparations for in the morning when Draco knocked on the door to his bakery. Harry let him in with a smile.
“I just finished cleaning up, but you can stay for some biscuits and tea if you want.”
“That’d be great.” Harry ambled back to the kitchen and put some of his pre-made biscuits into the oven. Draco padded in behind him.
“What type of tea would you like?”
“Chamomile, please. I had a trying day.” A few minutes later, Harry set a steaming cup of tea in front of Draco with a concerned look.
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s just peachy, Potter. That’s why I am at your bloody bakery at nearly midnight.” Harry stayed silent at the hostile tone. “Er…What I meant to say was that it was just a very hard day.”
“What happened?”
“I was helping Severus with his brewing, as usual, and then we started talking about you.” A small flush spread through Draco’s cheeks. “That eventually led to a discussion about the war, and I don’t really like talking about who I was then.” Harry definitely related to what Draco was saying. He still avoided conversations centered on the painful times.
“Well, I can say with confidence that you aren’t the same person. No one is, really.”
“I know, but it’s hard to talk about.”
“Yes, I know,” Harry said with a wry smile, “My friends seem to think that it makes great conversation when all I really want to do is forget it ever happened.” There were a few minutes of silence, and Draco seemed to be struggling with what he was going to say next.
“You know, Potter, you aren’t the only one that got a scar during the war.”
“I know.” Harry watched apprehensively as Draco moved closer to him, at the same time pulling his shirt from his trousers. Draco lifted it a bit, and a large scar in the shape of an ‘X’ was revealed. Harry was surprised at the openness on Draco’s face.
“This is what Voldemort did to me when I failed to kill Dumbledore.” He shifted around slightly, and a long slash came into view on his back. “This is what my father did to me when he found out I am homosexual.” He removed his shirt, and Harry winced at the small network of scars across his chest. “And I’m fairly sure you know where these came from.”
“I, er, never apologized for that.”
“It’s not necessary. As you said, we’ve all changed.” Draco moved even closer. Another inch and he and Harry would be touching. “For the better, I believe.”
“Yes, for the better.” Harry leant towards Draco without consciously realizing it. His eyes flicked to Draco’s lips, against his will. And then, much to the surprise of both men, they were kissing. It was exquisite. It was hot. It was something Harry had been anticipating for such a long time.
Harry slid his arms around Draco, and tenderly caressed the place he knew the scar from Lucius was. Draco moaned appreciatively and flicked his tongue against Harry’s lips; Harry responded eagerly. He felt his heart pumping, blood rushing, and breath quickening. He felt the softness of Draco’s hair and the hardness of Draco’s body. He was completely lost in the heat of it all. It had been so long since he’d been this close to anyone.
“Um, Draco..” Harry nipped feverishly at Draco’s neck, hard enough to leave a few marks.
“Yes, Harry?”
“It’s, uh, been a while since I’ve, um, been with anyone.” Harry felt himself blushing, but he continued to lick, nip, and kiss Draco’s neck. Draco groaned.
“Well, you are doing a fine job of it.” Harry pushed them towards the privacy of the couch at the back of his shop, all the while kissing Draco. His hands slid gently over Draco’s body, memorizing all of the curves and dips and ridges of his torso. When they reached the couch, Harry gently pushed Draco onto his back and climbed on top of him. Both Harry and Draco were flushed and panting.
Harry lavished Draco’s torso with kisses, enjoying the breathy moans that accompanied his attentions. He made his way down, unzipping Draco’s trousers as he went. He went to undo his own, but the other man’s hand was already there.
And then there was a hand wrapped around him, squeezing with just the right pressure and moving at just the right speed. Harry wrapped his left hand around Draco, but found it hard to control how fast it moved. Harry leaned over and sloppily kissed Draco. Both men groaned at the feel of their tongues sliding against each other. They kissed for a while, enjoying the intimacy of what they were doing. Then, Draco sped up his hand and started squeezing a little harder every time he reached the swollen head of Harry’s cock. It drove Harry into a frenzy, and a blazing fire settled in Harry’s abdomen. He could feel his control slipping, and the hand on Draco lost its steady rhythm.
“I’m going to-“ And then Harry lost himself in the throes of passion, shooting jets of come onto Draco’s chest. Surprised at the feel of Harry’s leavings, Draco came as well, his toes curling. It had been fast, but perfect. Harry collapsed on top of Draco and bestowed a lazy kiss to his neck. Then Draco started fidgeting.
“We should probably get cleaned up.” Harry felt his happiness shrink a little at Draco’s words.
“Er, you can clean up here if you want.” There was uncertainty in Harry’s voice, and for one scary moment he thought Draco would refuse his offer.
“That would be great. And maybe afterwards we can have some of those biscuits you offered earlier?” Harry smiled, and both of them headed up to the small flat above the shop, hand in hand, as they would for many years to come.
Tell me what you think! :)
For: ravengirl76
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13 bordering on R
Summary: After the war, a damaged Harry Potter finds solace in the most unusual of things.
Warnings: FLUFFY
Notes: Thanks D for beta-ing. Any mistakes are my own. Also, I hope you like your fics sweet. ;)
The Request: Classic H/D get-together set after the war, with Snape as mentor/friend to one or both boys.
I.
It was cold the day Voldemort was defeated. Harry could remember frigid wind whipping through his hair and beating against his face; he could remember seeing people’s breath on the air as they cast spells and their last puffs of steam as they died.
The field had been alight with greens and reds and yellows: a grim picture of loss and death. It was a grisly scene, and Harry could remember watching some of his closest friends falling for the last time.
Voldemort hadn’t intended for that to be the last battle; it was by some sick stroke of fate he appeared on the field less than three meters away from a very enraged Harry Potter. Despite his surprise at the quick confrontation, Voldemort didn’t flee. He decided to fight.
Harry and Voldemort used every spell in their repertoire, and more than once Harry felt an Avada Kedavra hurtle right past his face, missing only by inches.
Eventually, with both of them exhausted and out of breath, two of their spells collided. Voldemort sneered triumphantly as they entered the Priori Incantatem ritual. But the sneer faded to a look of horror when Harry revealed a second wand and cast a spell that stripped away Voldemort’s splintered soul.
It was so simple, the defeat, but it came with a great cost. The bead of magical energy that had been steady between Voldemort and Harry suddenly rushed into Harry’s wand.
Harry felt pain exploding through his right arm and along his sides. The energy of Voldemort’s hatred coursed through his body like thousands of electric shocks. He barely noticed that both of his wands disintegrated into dust. He barely noticed the world fading around him. He barely noticed the cries of joy and loss and victory that rose from the battlefield.
He only felt his pain and the coolness of the lifeless body he was collapsed over.
II.
“Harry, would you like to join us for dinner?” Harry was visiting Neville and Ginny, newly wed and very happy, to pick up some healing herbs and flowers. Harry knew he would be invited to stay; he had even cleared his schedule the rest of the night.
But the invitation made him scared, and the panic flurrying in through his head was making him nauseous. It wasn’t anything as simple as guilt or sorrow that made him worry over staying to eat; he couldn’t really define what it was. All he knew was that he’d been feeling these anxieties since the end of the war.
“Erm…I’m sorry. I-I can’t tonight. I’m busy.” Harry hastily retreated to their fireplace and Floo’d home, a feeling of unease still curling in his stomach.
His flat was dark and empty, and the only things in his fridge were a few eggs and a carton of half-solidified milk. Disgusting. Harry vowed to go to the grocer’s the next morning as he shuffled into his bedroom.
That night, he cried himself to sleep wondering why he always felt so alone.
III.
One night, after screaming in rage at Hermione and Ron and retreating to his flat, Harry found his new passion.
It was not a sudden thing, nor was it an expected thing. It was just one of those small idiosyncrasies that sneaks up when someone isn’t paying attention. In his anger, Harry had stormed into the kitchen; he might have wanted to pour a glass of liquor or throw around a few pots and pans, but when he entered the dingy room he decided, perhaps guided by the hand of some benevolent being, to do something productive.
He felt the anger melting away as he measured ingredients, kneaded dough, and shuffled trays of sweets into his under-sized oven. He felt happiness and maybe even hope as the scent of pastries saturated his entire flat. When the pleasant ding of the timer sounded, he was completely relaxed. Every morsel he ate healed a little bit of his soul and revitalized the life he had been so close to abandoning. That night when Harry went to bed, his stomach was full and his mind was content for the first time in years.
For the next few weeks, the Potter flat gradually transformed into a bakery. Harry made visits to the local grocer’s store nearly every day, and he was beginning a compilation of his favorite sweets to make and eat. The air was always heavy with the smells of sugar, chocolate, and cinnamon; every surface was covered with plates of biscuits, cakes, or sweet-breads, much more than one person could ever consume. In fact, Harry had baked so much that he sometimes had his friends over for conversation and biscuits or even just to hand out some of his sweets, which was a welcome change from his lonely lifestyle before. Harry loved it.
One day while he was in the middle of kneading some dough, Hermione and Ron had called on him unexpectedly to share some news. It had been a while since their last visit to his flat, and they were surprised at all of the sweets that surrounded them.
“Harry, you should make a business out of this! It would be brilliant!” Hermione said eagerly. She grinned at Harry, over a double-chocolate biscuit, with twinkles in her eyes. Ron vigorously nodded, his mouth stuffed with one of Harry’s éclairs. Harry had thought about turning his baking into a business, but he would need the proper licensing, a place to do business, not to mention funds and his ha- “The ministry can make you a license that would appear to Muggles as a chef’s license, and our neighbor has been trying to sell their old place for ages. It’s perfect!”
Harry decided in that moment that meddling friends were sometimes a wonder to have, especially when they could help him forget, even if only for a moment, that part of him was missing.
IV.
“Good morning, Madame Bromley!”
“Good morning, Harry! A lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, very. Do you want your regular order?”
“Of course, of course, but I’d also like one of your cranberry muffins. I’m going to surprise my son this morning at his University!”
“Of course. Will that be all?” Harry smiled at the middle-aged woman he was serving. Madame Bromley was one of his regular customers. She had quite a sweet-tooth, and sometimes she stopped by the shop more than one time per day. She reminded Harry a lot of the late Mrs. Weasley, except for the fact that she couldn’t cook to save her life.
Mrs. Bromley wasn’t his only regular customer; Harry actually had quite a collection of people who enjoyed his baking. They kept The Sweet Spot in very good business, particularly when they recommended his creations to acquaintances and friends. He rang up her order and bid her a good day, and moved on to help the next customer.
“Potter?” Harry looked up in surprise. It was Draco Malfoy, and very little had altered from what Harry remembered. He still had an air of arrogance around him, and not one hair was out of place. The only changes that were notable were the muggle clothes and relaxed expression on his face. Harry hadn’t seen him in years…not since the final battle, in fact.
Harry decided to simply treat him as a regular customer, instead of something special or irregular.
“Good day, Malfoy. Would you be interested in one of my muffins?” Malfoy stared at him dazedly, almost with a touch of fear. A few seconds went by. “Malfoy?” The man in question shook away his daze and inspected Harry’s display case, which was brimming with sweets of all kinds.
“I’d like a bag of your biscotti drizzled with dark chocolate, and two double-chocolate éclairs.” Harry grinned lopsidedly as he retrieved the sweets from the case, being careful to keep his right hand at his side.
“Have a sweet tooth, Malfoy?” The blond in question smirked, almost as if Harry had made a joke.
“Actually, I don’t. These are for Severus.” Well, that was a surprise. Harry didn’t think that the Potions Master even knew what the word sweet meant.
As he rang up Malfoy’s purchase, Harry wondered what Malfoy had been doing for the last few years besides visiting Snape. Based on the gossip Hermione shared with Harry on a regular basis, Malfoy had become nearly reclusive. He hadn’t even come into the public eye to receive his Order of Merlin, third class.
Not that Harry could blame him for that. Orders of Merlin were a huge fiasco, especially if the recipient was under public scrutiny.
“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Potter. Take care.” Harry snapped back to attention as Malfoy grabbed his bag and headed towards the door.
“You, too.” But Harry only spoke to the swirling of Malfoy’s winter cloak as he hurriedly left the building.
V.
Much to Harry’s surprise, over the next few months Malfoy began to show up more and more at his little bakery. At first, he would just pop in to buy a few sweets for Snape (although Harry was beginning to doubt that the sweets purchased actually went to the sour potions master. It was always a bag of biscotti and whatever else struck Malfoy’s fancy).
Then one gloomy day, when there was a thick, wet blanket of fog on the ground, Draco brought in lunch for Harry.
“I had extra,” he said, “and Malfoys do not eat leftovers.” Harry just smirked an accepted the offering.
The food quickly became routine; every few days, Malfoy would bring a sack of take-out and make up a shoddy excuse to prove something to Harry or maybe himself. Sometimes, Malfoy would even eat with him in the shop’s kitchen. Harry liked these days best for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. He figured he enjoyed the company, even if said company came with subtle barbs and cutting remarks.
Then, one day it happened.
Usually, Malfoy vacated The Sweet Spot before Harry was finished eating, muttering to himself about sudden appointments and other unbelievable engagements. Then, Harry would clean up their mess quickly and return to the front of the bakery. It was the routine, the way they always did things.
For some unknown reason, Malfoy chose to stay and help Harry clean up the remnants of their lunch. Harry reached for one of the empty take-out boxes and Malfoy unknowingly grabbed for it at the same time. There was a brush of hands, and a startled look from both of them. Harry swiftly hid his right hand behind his back upon the contact.
“Potter, what happened to your hand?”
“Nothing, it’s fine. I was just, er, startled by the touch.”
“You are an awful liar. Let me see it.”
“No.”
“Potter, I’m serious.”
“So am I. I-I’m really uncomfortable sharing-“ But before Harry could complete his thought, Draco had grabbed his arm and twisted the hand into view.
Harry felt shame burning in his cheeks, and he looked away from what used to be a normal right hand. A notice-me-not charm made people ignore his hand most of the time; the only things that disabled its cloaking abilities were touch or previous knowledge of the injury. Harry hated looking at it. It was ugly, with two of his fingers and a big chunk of his palm missing. It was a reminder of the war, of pain. Harry tried to ignore the surprised gasp from Malfoy, but it sent a wave of panic through him. Malfoy probably thought of him as damaged goods or a freak of nature. And for some reason what Malfoy thought really bothered Harry.
“When did this happen?” Harry felt his senses spiraling out of his control. His breathing quickened and his eyes couldn’t focus on anything. He hadn’t felt this panicked since before he started baking. “Harry?” And suddenly, a very concerned (and blurry) Malfoy asserted himself in Harry’s line of vision.
“The war.” Two words that answered everything and nothing. It had been years since the final battle, but Harry still couldn’t face the horrible realities of what had happened.
From that day forward, when Draco brought lunch he no longer offered shoddy excuses for his company.
VI.
It was Monday, and business had been slower than usual. The rain was falling in sheets on the street outside of The Sweet Spot, so Harry didn’t blame his customers for not coming.
Deciding to break the gloom of his empty shop, Harry started baking a small batch of biscuits: one of his favorite recipes and very easy to make. He always kept a roll of the dough frozen for minor emergencies and surprise guests.
After he slid his tray into the oven, he sat on his couch. Just as he was beginning to relax, the door opened, accompanied by a gust of wind and an ominous clap of thunder. It was Snape, looking as irritated as always…How bloody typical that the man came on the most dreary day possible.
“Good afternoon, Potter. Lovely weather we’re having,” Snape said with a dry smile. Snape gave him a once over, and Harry hid his right hand when Snape not-so-subtly tried to glance at it. He noticed the action, but didn’t remark.
“Yes, lovely.” Lightning struck again, casting odd shadows through out the bakery.
“I didn’t believe Draco when he told me that you of all people were running a baking shop. Needless to say, when he brought me those biscotti, I checked them for muggle poisons in addition to potions.” Snape gave him a critical look.
“Erm…”
“Your baking impresses me, Potter. Makes me wonder why you were so abysmal at potions.” It was odd getting this type of approval from Snape. But Harry didn’t mind it.
“Thank you. Could I interest you in some biscotti?”
“I’ll have two bags, Potter.” As Harry retrieved the biscotti, he thought to himself that biscotti were well suited to Snape, both being incredibly dry. If Snape wondered at the sudden smirk on Harry’s face, he didn’t voice it out loud.
VII.
“Hey, Draco! Here for lunch?”
“No, I’m just stopping by for something for Severus. Two double-chocolate biscuits, please.”
“Oh…okay.” Harry fetched the treats, wondering at the sudden distance in Draco’s voice. They had been getting so close, and this behavior was bizarre.
“Is everything okay?” The concern was very evident in Harry’s voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Potter.” Draco snatched up his purchase with a shifty glance and rushed out of the building.
VIII.
For the next few weeks, Draco’s behavior became even stranger. He would alternate between being friendly and cold. One day, he would come and share a pleasant lunch, and the next, he’d come acting oddly distant or not come at all. It was beginning to get to Harry.
The door above his door rang, and Harry smiled at the person who entered. He didn’t smile back, or even look at Harry.
“Hi, Draco.” Still nothing. He was coolly scrutinizing the display case of sweets.
“Two bags of almond biscotti, please.” Harry fetched the biscotti with a frown on his face. When Harry started tabulating the purchase, Draco finally looked at him.
“Draco, why are you doing this?” Harry said as he placed the bags on the counter.
“Doing what, Potter? Buying some biscotti from you? They are rather tasty, and Severus-“
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Oh really? What do you mean, then?”
“Why have you been ignoring me?” Harry’s eyes were wide with anxiety. Was that too much to say?
“I have been doing no such thing. I’m here right now, aren’t I?”
“But you are so distant! And you barely even look at me! And-“
“Harry-“
“You barely ever talk to me anymore.”
“We don’t really have much to talk about, do we?” Harry gasped, and felt a dull ache settle in his chest. Why was he so emotional? It was just stupid, bloody Malfoy. Even still, the pain in his chest would not subside.
“I thought we were friends.”
“We are, but even then we have very little in common.” Draco grabbed his purchase and headed towards the door.
“See you tomorrow for lunch?” Harry’s voice was brimming with hope, much to his chagrin. Draco turned around with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Sure, Potter.”
IX.
True to his word, Draco showed up the next day. They engaged in rather awkward conversation as they ate, both ignoring the argument they had had the day before. Harry was beginning to see Draco’s point about them having nothing in common, and it worried him.
For some reason, Draco had found a way into Harry’s heart, even if Harry was just beginning to realize it. He didn’t want Draco to be proven right.
“You know, we do have some things in common, Draco.”
“Really, what?” Harry steeled himself for what he was about to say. This could either go over very well or be a complete disaster.
“Well, the war for one thing.” Unconsciously, Harry placed his damaged hand on the table. “Erm, I know it’s painful to talk about, but we did share similar experiences. Well, not similar experiences…but we both fought.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Fuck. He’d gone too far.
“Well…we also both went to Hogwarts, and erm, we both really like sweets.” Draco flashed Harry an amused glance.
“Those are for Severus.”
“I stopped believing that a long time ago.” Harry grinned, and felt relief flow through him when Draco smirked back.
“Believe whatever you wish, Potter.”
X.
“You may kiss the bride.” Harry smiled as Ron leaned over chastely kissed Hermione. He was the best man of this much awaited wedding, and it made him so happy to see his best friends finally finding happiness together.
But why couldn’t he stop thinking about his own disastrous love life? He hadn’t even dated one person since the end of the war, and it was bothering him more than it ever had before.
At the reception, he danced with a couple of distant Weasley relatives and made small talk with his friends from Hogwarts. But he was still wishing he had someone here with him.
And that someone he was wishing for so much was Draco.
XI.
It was after hours, and Harry was getting his dough ready for the morning baking. The air was sweet and heavy; Harry had trouble keeping his eyelids from drooping.
That was, until he heard knocking on the door to the bakery.
He snapped out of his daze and made his way to the front, pleasantly surprised to see Draco there. He opened the door, trying to keep his admiration of Draco hidden. They had been getting along again, and Harry had no intention of spoiling the equilibrium they had reached.
“Hey, Harry.”
“Hi, I’m just getting ready for tomorrow. Do you want to help?”
“What does this ‘helping’ entail?”
“Mainly you get to watch, while I do all the work.”
“Perfect.” Neither of the men realized the amount of time passing as they worked together, chatting. And when 2 o’clock rolled around, neither of the men minded spending the night in the small, but passable, flat above the bakery.
XII.
Harry dusted himself off after flooing to Ginny and Neville’s place. He was running low on his medicinal herbs again. Since his hand had been damaged by an excess of magic, relieving the pain it caused required herbs of magical origin.
Upon hearing Harry’s arrival, Ginny walked into the room, with a smile on her face.
“Hey, Harry! Neville’s not here at the moment, but he left your herbs in the kitchen. I could get them for you now, if you want, or you could stay for dinner?”
“I’d love to.” For once, there were no traces of panic in his mind. He felt completely at ease.
XIII.
Harry had just finished his baking preparations for in the morning when Draco knocked on the door to his bakery. Harry let him in with a smile.
“I just finished cleaning up, but you can stay for some biscuits and tea if you want.”
“That’d be great.” Harry ambled back to the kitchen and put some of his pre-made biscuits into the oven. Draco padded in behind him.
“What type of tea would you like?”
“Chamomile, please. I had a trying day.” A few minutes later, Harry set a steaming cup of tea in front of Draco with a concerned look.
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s just peachy, Potter. That’s why I am at your bloody bakery at nearly midnight.” Harry stayed silent at the hostile tone. “Er…What I meant to say was that it was just a very hard day.”
“What happened?”
“I was helping Severus with his brewing, as usual, and then we started talking about you.” A small flush spread through Draco’s cheeks. “That eventually led to a discussion about the war, and I don’t really like talking about who I was then.” Harry definitely related to what Draco was saying. He still avoided conversations centered on the painful times.
“Well, I can say with confidence that you aren’t the same person. No one is, really.”
“I know, but it’s hard to talk about.”
“Yes, I know,” Harry said with a wry smile, “My friends seem to think that it makes great conversation when all I really want to do is forget it ever happened.” There were a few minutes of silence, and Draco seemed to be struggling with what he was going to say next.
“You know, Potter, you aren’t the only one that got a scar during the war.”
“I know.” Harry watched apprehensively as Draco moved closer to him, at the same time pulling his shirt from his trousers. Draco lifted it a bit, and a large scar in the shape of an ‘X’ was revealed. Harry was surprised at the openness on Draco’s face.
“This is what Voldemort did to me when I failed to kill Dumbledore.” He shifted around slightly, and a long slash came into view on his back. “This is what my father did to me when he found out I am homosexual.” He removed his shirt, and Harry winced at the small network of scars across his chest. “And I’m fairly sure you know where these came from.”
“I, er, never apologized for that.”
“It’s not necessary. As you said, we’ve all changed.” Draco moved even closer. Another inch and he and Harry would be touching. “For the better, I believe.”
“Yes, for the better.” Harry leant towards Draco without consciously realizing it. His eyes flicked to Draco’s lips, against his will. And then, much to the surprise of both men, they were kissing. It was exquisite. It was hot. It was something Harry had been anticipating for such a long time.
Harry slid his arms around Draco, and tenderly caressed the place he knew the scar from Lucius was. Draco moaned appreciatively and flicked his tongue against Harry’s lips; Harry responded eagerly. He felt his heart pumping, blood rushing, and breath quickening. He felt the softness of Draco’s hair and the hardness of Draco’s body. He was completely lost in the heat of it all. It had been so long since he’d been this close to anyone.
“Um, Draco..” Harry nipped feverishly at Draco’s neck, hard enough to leave a few marks.
“Yes, Harry?”
“It’s, uh, been a while since I’ve, um, been with anyone.” Harry felt himself blushing, but he continued to lick, nip, and kiss Draco’s neck. Draco groaned.
“Well, you are doing a fine job of it.” Harry pushed them towards the privacy of the couch at the back of his shop, all the while kissing Draco. His hands slid gently over Draco’s body, memorizing all of the curves and dips and ridges of his torso. When they reached the couch, Harry gently pushed Draco onto his back and climbed on top of him. Both Harry and Draco were flushed and panting.
Harry lavished Draco’s torso with kisses, enjoying the breathy moans that accompanied his attentions. He made his way down, unzipping Draco’s trousers as he went. He went to undo his own, but the other man’s hand was already there.
And then there was a hand wrapped around him, squeezing with just the right pressure and moving at just the right speed. Harry wrapped his left hand around Draco, but found it hard to control how fast it moved. Harry leaned over and sloppily kissed Draco. Both men groaned at the feel of their tongues sliding against each other. They kissed for a while, enjoying the intimacy of what they were doing. Then, Draco sped up his hand and started squeezing a little harder every time he reached the swollen head of Harry’s cock. It drove Harry into a frenzy, and a blazing fire settled in Harry’s abdomen. He could feel his control slipping, and the hand on Draco lost its steady rhythm.
“I’m going to-“ And then Harry lost himself in the throes of passion, shooting jets of come onto Draco’s chest. Surprised at the feel of Harry’s leavings, Draco came as well, his toes curling. It had been fast, but perfect. Harry collapsed on top of Draco and bestowed a lazy kiss to his neck. Then Draco started fidgeting.
“We should probably get cleaned up.” Harry felt his happiness shrink a little at Draco’s words.
“Er, you can clean up here if you want.” There was uncertainty in Harry’s voice, and for one scary moment he thought Draco would refuse his offer.
“That would be great. And maybe afterwards we can have some of those biscuits you offered earlier?” Harry smiled, and both of them headed up to the small flat above the shop, hand in hand, as they would for many years to come.
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