Dec 6 | for @callingdrarry

Greg hummed to himself as he tidied up the counter and cleaned out the espresso machine for the night. It was only early December, but a light snow had started to fall in Diagon. It was likely thanks to the Diagon Community Planning Committee rather than any actual weather patterns.

Ten more minutes until closing, and then Greg could pop home and get into some comfy joggers, maybe pour himself a glass of port, and catch up on the Nigella Christmas special.

The door jangled. Greg smiled automatically, then confusedly when he recognized his customer. 

“Potter? Aren’t you supposed to be at some terrible Ministry holiday party?”

Someone else entered behind Potter and Greg felt his eyebrows go up. That man certainly wasn’t one of Greg’s regulars—or even anyone Greg had ever seen in Diagon Alley. And he wasn’t even wearing robes.

“Sorry, sorry, I know it’s close to closing, Greg, but we’re in a bit of a bind.”

“We?” Greg asked, eyeing the new man with some interest. 

He was tall and stocky like Greg, with muscular arms and a fine bum if the trousers were to be believed. His blond hair was like Draco’s but better (because it wasn’t on Draco) (and also because it looked more like gold than silver, and Greg preferred warm colours). 

“This is my cousin Dudley,” said Potter. “Dudley, Greg Goyle. It’s his bakery.”

Dudley took two confident strides forward and shook Greg’s hand. Greg, somehow, did not remember raising his own hand to be shaken.

“Hey, mate,” Dudley said, and was it just Greg’s imagination, or did Dudley give Greg an appreciative once over, too? “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Greg repeated automatically. He blinked, tried to remember his thoughts and who Nigella was or why she mattered. “What can I do for you?”

(Besides anything at all, Greg’s mind added.)

“Gingerbread,” said Potter, once again sticking his nose in where it wasn’t needed. “Dudley’s in charge of gingerbread for his office holiday party and all the Muggle bakeries are fresh out so I thought I’d bring him here and see if you had any.”

Greg remembered to stop shaking Dudley’s hand. He let go, smiling awkwardly and made a show of turning about behind the counter, looking around. He needed to think. Come on, Greg, he told himself, figure it out. 

Greg knew he was out of gingerbread, but he really wanted to chat with this Dudley bloke a bit more. 

“Er,” Greg finally said. “I am out, but—I could make some!”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you, mate,” Dudley said.

“No trouble at all,” said Greg, smiling as this plan formalized in his mind. “I’m closing up here, but why don’t you follow me back to mine and I’ll bake up some at my flat?”

“Really—” Dudley began.

“Would you mind?” Potter asked, looking relieved. Greg really had no idea what Draco saw in him. He never knew when to keep his mouth shut. “That would be so great. I really do need to get back to this stupid party before they notice I’m gone.”

Greg changed his mind on Potter. He was a good bloke. Good sense. 

“Yeah, Dudley and I can handle it. Can’t we?” Greg gave Dudley a bright smile, which he sincerely hoped was not awkward-looking.

Dudley bit his lip, then made a decisive nod. “Sure thing. Can you, er—take me there?”

“Of course,” said Greg, though Side-Alonging was generally something saved for once you’d been dating for awhile. Maybe this bloke just moved fast.

He frowned for a moment, and then it hit him: Potter didn’t have any magical family left. This was his Muggle cousin. Greg blinked several times. Well, that could be interesting. 

Greg turned back to Potter. “Go on back to the Ministry. I’ll see to it Dudley gets home safe.”

“You’re a life-saver!” Potter said. “Thanks! See you, Dudley!”

He practically ran from the shop, jangling the door behind him. Greg frowned as the bell charm continued to ring long past when it should’ve stopped. He needed to look into that. 

Later. Now, he had something more important. He turned back to Dudley. “Shall we? I’ll just lock up and then we can pop home.”

Greg flicked his wand at the door and lights, double-checked his ovens were turned off and everything was ready for an early start tomorrow morning. Then, hesitantly, he held his hand out for Dudley. Smiling wryly at him, Dudley latched on. 

It took Greg a moment to remember his Three D’s, but when he did, it was a solid Apparition. They made it to Greg’s flat without any splinching.

“Here we are,” Greg said, hanging his coat and scarf by the door. “Make yourself at home and I’ll make you a cuppa while we wait for the gingerbread.”

“Nice flat!” Dudley called from the living room. 

Greg peaked around the corner, saw him perusing the collection of copper biscuit-cutters that Greg decorated his Christmas tree with. They were interspersed with the nutcracker ornaments Greg had inherited from his Great-Granny Brocklehurst. They looked really nice with the fairy lights, Greg thought. Dudley seemed to agree.

“Thanks!” Greg called. “How d’you take your tea?”

“Just milk,” said Dudley, suddenly very close behind Greg.

Greg spun around, a carton of eggs in one hand. 

“Sorry,” said Dudley, laughing. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Just startled,” said Greg. He set the eggs on the countertop and tried to remember what went into gingerbread dough. He’d just made some this morning (and every morning in December); he should bloody well know what went in them.

“You, er, like music?” Greg asked. “I have some...” He paused, trying to recall which of his favourite musicians had moonlighted as Muggles, too. “Were the Weird Sisters Muggle?”

Dudley’s eyebrows jumped; he tilted his head. “Not that I recall. Don’t mind listening to ‘em, though.”

Greg flicked his wand in the direction of the sitting room, where his record player sat. The record player clicked and whirred as it pulled the record onto the turntable and the needle settled into place. The Weird Sisters’ Christmas album started off with Silver Bells.

“Tea,” Greg suddenly remembered. He flicked his wand at the kettle, shot a burst of Aguamenti into it, and lit the fire on the hob. 

Flour. Baking powder. Sugar. Molasses. Butter. Eggs. Ginger. Cinnamon. Cloves. Icing Sugar for the icing. Greg could do this. He remembered how to bake. 

“Have a seat,” he said, pointing at the two-seater breakfast table against the wall of Greg’s kitchen. “Tea’ll be ready in just a mo’.” 

Greg was in his element now. The ingredients flew all around the kitchen. He set the butter to cubing itself, the four to sifting, and the eggs to cracking. The kettle whistled and Greg reached into the cabinet above the cooker to grab two mugs and tea bags. He wasn’t nearly as fancy about his tea as Draco was—he really hoped Dudley didn’t mind not having loose leaf.

Greg tossed a bag into each mug and poured in the water. He added the milk afterwards and could’ve kicked himself for not even considering whether it would look better to a bloke like Dudley if Greg poured it first or last. He passed Dudley his cup with a hesitant smile while Greg’s kitchen went to work in the background.

“So you’re Potter’s cousin?” Greg said, watching Dudley like a Hippogriff to make sure he liked the tea. 

Dudley sipped the tea, smiled. “Yeah, we, er, grew up together. Didn’t like each other much then.”

Greg snorted. “Don’t blame you. Potter’s right annoying.”

“He’s better now,” said Dudley. “Then again, so am I.”

Greg laughed. “I s’pose we all got a bit better as the years went on.” 

He set his mug aside and went to tend to the ingredients. Only the first few steps could be done by magic; the rest required a human touch or the dough wouldn’t set right. Greg rinsed his hands, then reached in to start mixing the butter into the flour, spice, and sugar mixture. He kneaded slowly, carefully, making sure to do it right. 

“Need any help?” asked Dudley.

Greg glanced up. The Weird Sisters were singing Sleigh Ride now.

“Nearly done with the dough, but you could pick out a few biscuit-cutters from the tree if you want. So we can shape ‘em.”

“On it!” Dudley said, and hopped up to check the tree. Greg admired his backside as he left—he could admire a hench man like that. 

In the other room, Dudley started whistling along to the Weird Sisters, and it made Greg’s stomach do funny things—like that time he’d used bad milk in a batter, but not in a bad way. 

“You have any preferences?” Dudley called.

Greg bit his lip before yelling back: “The reindeer’s pretty nice, gotta be careful with the legs, though.”

A moment later, Dudley returned to the kitchen with four biscuit-cutters: the reindeer, a St Nick, a snowflake, and a nutcracker.

Greg beamed. “These are my favourites.”

“You seemed to have a thing for nutcrackers,” Dudley said, carefully setting the copper cutters on the counter.

Greg nodded. “Yeah my Granny collected them. She split her collection up with the grandkids when she died, but there were only two of us, so I got half and Mandy got the other half. They’re nice ‘cause I can remember her every Christmas.”

“When did she die?” asked Dudley, carefully.

“Oh, about four years ago,” said Greg. “She was nearly 200, so I reckon she was tired of waiting around.”

Dudley laughed. “Crazy how long you wizards live. Ninety is good for us Muggles.”

Greg frowned. “Well, we don’t all get that old. Just some of us. And anyway, it’s not having magic yourself that keeps you alive, really. Because there have been Squibs and Muggles who married wizards, and they ended up living to like, a hundred and fifty or so.”

And why did that thought make Greg’s stomach do that weird flip again? He frowned, settled into rolling out the dough onto a floured wood cutting board. Dudley stood next to him the entire time, watching with a keen eye. He seemed to find the process fascinating, and Greg surely wasn’t going to turn him away. He tried to flex his forearms with each roll, to make the veins stand out in better relief. But casually. Greg had to do it casually.

Finally, the dough was ready, and Dudley moved in, if possible, even closer. 

“Can I help you cut them?” he asked quietly. 

Greg’s whole body gave a thrill. He nodded jerkily. “Yeah, sure,” he said. 

They both reached for the nutcracker biscuit-cutter at the same time, one large hand brushing another. Greg gave a shiver, and embarrassed, his eyes flew to Dudley’s. But Dudley was staring straight at Greg, his eyes smouldering. Greg felt his pulse increase, like he’d had to run for awhile.

Then Dudley moved his hand further, wrapped his fingers around Greg’s wrist. 

“I wanna kiss you,” Dudley said, his eyes searching. “And I think you wanna kiss me, too.”

Greg nodded too many times. “I mean, yeah, a bit, I do.” Shut up, Greg, he told himself. Be cool.

Then Dudley leant forward and, tentatively, their lips touched. Greg hadn’t felt anything like this since—he didn’t even want to think about it. All he wanted to think about was how Dudley’s soft lips felt really great against his own, and how Greg could now tell that Dudley hadn’t shaved that morning, even though his stubble was too fair to see unless you were really looking for it. Greg pressed closer, their equally hard chests coming in contact. 

Greg grabbed onto Dudley’s trim waist, only belatedly remembering his hands were covered in flour, but Dudley didn’t seem to care, so Greg pulled him in closer, their groins touching and Merlin, Dudley was just as excited as Greg was.

Greg pulled away, panting. “Finish these later?” he asked, nodding to the uncut gingerbread. 

Dudley grinned. “Yeah, much later.”

Thank fuck for that, Greg thought, as he leant in again.