The baker and the potion master

Chapter eleven: petite fours help the medicine go down

Harry blinked, sputtering. "What? Now?"

"I thought you were going with me to that git's shop. I could use your help," Ron said, crossing his arms. "So? Are you coming along or what?"

Panic shot down through Harry like a lightning bolt. He wasn't dressed properly. He glanced down at his tattered jeans and old t-shirt. This one had a green dragon standing on a stadium. It had cartoonish lips and tongue plastered on its face. The Rolling Stones arched over it in block red letters. It was another one from Sirius' closet. Harry wasn't remotely ready. He had embarrassed himself quite enough the previous day, thank you. He doubted that Severus would accept him as a visitor anytime soon, if ever. He didn't have anything to bring with him, either.

"I – well," Harry spluttered. "er, I –"

Kreacher heaved a sigh and shook his head. He clucked his tongue. "Yous should go with Master Ron, Master Harry. Wes have the shop under control. Yous just bring this."

The House-Elf shoved into his hands a box of petite fours. They were already wrapped in blue tissue. Harry shut the box carefully, his brows furrowed in confusion. Why would he bring a whole box of these this time? When had these been made? Who had made them? Harry was determined anything Severus received from him either in person or by owl must be made by him personally. Had he made these?

"Yous made these. He bought some last night, too. Anna told Kreacher what he wanted and Kreacher made a second box with one extra flavor extra special. Yous give it to him, Master Harry."

Thomas and Sam exchanged knowing grins before coughing. They resumed their work while Kreacher glared balefully at them.

"Well, mate? You coming along or what? I can't be late two mornings in a row," Ron said. He shuddered. "That greasy old git is liable to give me detention if I am, you know. And it'd be your fault."

Harry glared at Ron. "I've told you not to say things like that, Ron."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get going if we're going to arrive on time, yeah?" Ron glanced at the bakery box. "What the hell, mate? More baked goods? Really?"

"It's polite to bring something," Harry said, his chin thrust out defiantly. "We're not having this fight again. I don't even know if I should go with you. Not if you're going to be like that."

"Okay, okay." Ron held his hands up in supplication. "I won't say another word."

"Go on. It'll be okay, Master Harry. Yous trust Kreacher."

"Okay. Just owl me if you need my help or anything." Harry tucked the box under his arm. He frowned at Ron. "What do you need help with so badly, anyway? Don't you have a partner that's supposed to go into the field with you when you set wards up?"

"Usually, yes, but I don't want them to know what I'm doing here. Plan's to start my own ward business after this, remember? You'll be my anchor at the shop while I start to work on wards. I doubt ol' Snape would like me drawing on his magic to amplify mine, yeah?" Ron rubbed the back of his neck. "Basic wards this morning. Won't take more than an hour, tops. Promise. You'll be back at the bakery before you know it."

"Alright." Harry untied his apron. He rushed to hang it back up. "When I get back, Kreacher, we'll start on the gingerbread display, okay? I'm going to need your help."

"Yes, Master Harry. Now, shoo."

The pair exited through the back, looping towards the front sidewalk. Harry hoped no one noticed him without a hood to hide under. Harry had left the Invisibility Cloak behind at Grimmauld. He hadn't planned on going out in public today. He kept his head bowed, staring at the cobblestone sidewalk as they rushed to Prince's Bewitchin' Brews. The door jingled as they opened it. Ron entered and Harry hastily rushed in after him, his heart thudding in his ears. He hated going around Diagon without any cover. He hoped being only three doors down would keep his exposure to a minimum.