oneshots + imagines 𝜗𝜚˚

frosting ⤷ draco malfoy ²

main character: female: hollis montmorency [ ravenclaw ]

character: draco malfoy

angst + fluff

[ au: you own a small shop in hogsmeade, selling baked goods. a certain arrogant slytherin wants to learn to bake. draco can't seem to master buttercream's consistency. ]

[ 2 : draco's pov ]

'She's right there,' Blaise hums. 'Look. With her friends.'

I see her. She stands between two Ravenclaw girls: Diggory's girlfriend and Medlar. I know Medlar from Transfiguration- she sits next to Theo. Montmorency is a Ravenclaw. I know her. She's friends with Weaslebee. I've never talked to her; all I really know about her is that she's pureblood and a prefect. I'm indifferent to her.

But across the path, snow falling lightly, I see her for the first time. I've obviously seen her in class and around Hogwarts, but she's always looking somewhere else or wrapped in a book, studying. My eyes trail from her long, wavy black hair down to her boots. She wears a pair of fluffy earmuffs with a knitted navy scarf around her neck. Her Ravenclaw robes peek out slightly from beneath her thick coat. 

I watch her mouth curve into a smile as she laughs at something her friend said. 

'Montmorency? Isn't that the one who put a hex on Cromwell in fifth year for staring up her skirt in class?' 

Theo quirks his head. 'Did that really happen?'

'I was there when she did it. Had him proper writhing on the floor. I don't know how she stayed a prefect after that,' Blaise grins.

'Damn. Fiesty.'

'That's her. You know that little corner shop next to Selma's? The navy blue door with the hanging plants? Turns out she runs the jawn.'

Theodore tilts his head away, blowing smoke into the air. 'Homemade by Hollis?'

'Yeah. I never knew that was her. She bakes. I just thought the name thing was a coincidence.'

Theodore laughs. 'How common of a name do you reckon Hollis is?'

'Her stuff is good.'

'You bought something?' I raise an eyebrow. 

'Yeah. A buttered roll. Good price, too.'

Theodore inhales, mumbling around his cig, 'Say, Malfoy, didn't you nearly burn down the room trying to bake last week?'

'I did not burn anything down.' I crack my knuckles. 'But yeah, that did happen.'

Blaise grins. 'Why don't you ask her for baking lessons?'

'Who? Montmorency?'

Theodore laughs through his smoke. 'Yeah, baking date innit.'

'I'd rather choke on smoke,' I shove Theodore. He shrugs. 'Don't knock it til you try it.'

'I don't even know her,' I shift my weight. 'And I fare just fine with recipes.'

'I'll know who to blame when the common room's smouldering,' Blaise shrugs, looking past my shoulder at the Ravenclaw girls.

'Say,' Theodore glances toward their direction. 'Who's the one to the left?'

'Medlar? Your seat partner in Transfiguration?' I ask in disbelief. 'You've literally sat next to her for an entire trimester.'

Theo grins lazily. 'No. I would've noticed her if that was the case.'

'You're an asshole,' Blaise snorts. 'All that smoke's getting to your head.'

Theodore moves to take another draw. I knock the cigarette from his hand, stepping on it as it hits the ground. 

'Cut that shit out, it reeks,' I tell him, turning around to follow Blaise's steady gaze.

'Don't look now, but-'

'Blaise,' I groan, 'Why the fuck would you say that while I'm already half turned around-'

'Oops. Turn back around.'

I see Blaise nod to Montmorency. She smiles before turning back to her friends. 

'Y'know what, mate? I'm taking both of you with me next time I go.'

time skip : next day : astrid's pov

Rain patters against the window. The weather has been driving a plethora of customers. First snow, then rain. It's Sunday: tomorrow is class. I'm not looking forward to it; I could stay in my cosy bakery selling treats forever.

'Your change, ma'am,' I beam, placing several sickles in a customer's palm. She was elderly; gray, wispy hair framed her kind face.

'Thank you, dear. Have a lovely day,' she thanks me, walking out with her ginormous bag of pastries. I bid her likewise, sweeping my irritating hair into a messy, half-hearted bun atop my head.

The doorbell jingles as a gust of cool air enters my cafe. I don't bother peeking behind the growing line of customers. Business is swell. 

'One second,' I smile at the next customer. Grabbing my wand quickly from the back, I mutter under my breath and wave it through the air. Soft indie fills the warm space, bringing a special vibe to my shop. I love the feeling of a warm bakery with music.

Packaging two almond croissants in a crinkly paper bag, I hum to the background music. Seven sickles. 

I dust my hands off on my apron, ready for the next order. 'Hi, what can I get for y-'

It's Draco Malfoy.

His taller figure makes me look up slightly to talk to him. A pair of piercing green eyes 

'Uh? Hi, Draco,' I blink.

'Montmorency,' he says. A greeting? I'm not entirely sure.

'Yup. What... can I help you with?'

'I was wondering when you close. I want to talk to you about something.'

I raise an eyebrow. 'You want to talk to me. About what?'

'Something,' he shifts his weight. 'We're forgetting the question here.'

'I'll probably be done around 7 tonight. It's getting darker earlier.'

'Can I come back around then?' He sounds nervous.

I observe his glances, darting all around my shop. He looks anxious to be seen here, talking to me. 

Hmmm.

'I guess. Did you really wait in line to not order anything?'

'I dunno. Recommend me something.'

Draco isn't as bad as people make him out to be. He's not the friendliest, but I was honestly bracing myself for much worse. Maybe it's because I'm a pureblood?

This whole interaction is odd. This might be the first conversation we've ever had. Despite having him in multiple classes, I've never partnered with him on any project. I don't think he's horrible, but he does lack some people skills. 

'I make a pretty good muffin,' I shrug. 'The blackberry oat ones are fresh as of 10 minutes ago.'

'Well. I'll take one.'

'Gotcha. Seven sickles.'

The coins clink against themselves as he slides them across the wooden counter. The brown paper crinkles in contrast.

'Thanks.'

'7, Montmorency. Don't forget.'

'I won't,' I say, puzzled, as he leaves. His robes and coats swish elegantly as he turns his back. A faint, dark cologne washes over me. 

Well...?

It takes me a repeated order from the next customer to snap me out of my thoughts.

'I'm sorry, ma'am, an almond croissant and a hazelnut latte, was it?'

'Yes, dear.'

'Coming right up.'