No Secret Vice

A cacophony of silver bells greeted Harry when he entered Honeydukes.

Mr Flume looked up from the counter and cast him a friendly smile. "I'll be with you in a minute, Mr Potter," he called, turning the heads of several students who were busy rummaging through the shop.

Their aww-ing and ooh-ing made Harry cringe and smile sheepishly at them, and he turned to gazing at the Christmas decoration and staring mesmerised at the miniature model of Hogwarts made from spun sugar. It was incredibly perfect; date-and-raisin Quidditch players (Slytherin vs. totally helpless Hufflepuff, as far as Harry could make out) were zipping to and fro, a gingerbread Whomping Willow was tormenting some birds cut from almonds, and tiny waves were rippling a lake of liquid silvery caramel. Harry was hard-pressed not to poke it for a marzipan Giant Squid hiding under the surface.

"So, what can I do for you, Mr Potter?" Mr Flume wiped his chocolate-and-fudge stained fingers on his apron and beamed at him, a tiny morsel at the corner of his mouth. "We have them in all four House colours, of course," he said, pointing at the Quidditch players, his eyes twinkling. "And you can decide beforehand which team's going to win."

Harry laughed. "No, no, don't tempt me!" He produced a piece of parchment from his pocket, the sight of which caused Mr Flume's eyes to light up in amusement. "Okay, here we go. Right, I need fifteen cookie stars with sparkling icing, a bundle of the edible holly leaves - or no, better make it two."

Mr Flume rubbed his hands in anticipation and placed a huge paper bag onto the desk. With a flick of his wand, the selected items glided into the bag, and the old-fashioned cash register began to buzz.

"Hmm, six or seven non-melting ice cream unicorns, you know, the vanilla and, um, lemon ones. Furthermore, ten of those spinning chocolate baubles filled with fire whisky, preferably the white chocolate ones, and-"

Mr Flume's obliging face screwed up sorrowfully. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr Potter, but I'm afraid we don't have any of those left. They were this year's top seller, and thus-" his voice trailed off for a moment, and he leaned a bit closer towards Harry, withdrawing a box from under the counter. "You might want to try the mead-filled ones instead, perhaps." His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper as he glanced over his shoulder. "My wife doesn't fancy this creation of mine. She thinks they are a failure, and-" he added pensively, "well, admittedly, apart from Hagrid-"

Harry couldn't help snorting. Oh, only to imagine the face Draco would pull! Here, something special for you - Hagrid's favourites! Don't you like them? "I don't-" he had to quell a fit of laughter and was almost tempted to get some. "I don't think these are to his- our taste."

Mr Flume looked a bit crestfallen. "No," he mumbled, "I guess not." He shoved the box back, and Harry felt a twinge of conscience.

"You know what," he said. "I'll have, ah, two of them."

Mr Flume beamed and stuffed five baubles into the bag. "What else?"

"Let's see. Candy floss snowflakes - it's twenty per box, no? -, some liquorice sparklers, and- do you still have the Every Flavour Beans Christmas Edition chains?"

"Ah, yes! Sure we do! We even have a special offer on them today - it's three for the price of two, or ten for the price of six."

"I'll have three, then. So, that should be all, I think."

Mr Flume frowned and tipped his index finger against his nose. "Excuse me, but weren't there nougat candles on the list as well, last time?"

Wiping his forehead, Harry sighed. "Yes, of course. Thanks for reminding me. Draco would've never forgiven me if I forgot them!" He grinned. "You know the list by heart already, don't you? At least better than me."

Mr Fume chuckled. "Seven Galleons, nine Sickles and, ahm, three Knuts, please." He put some glittering tinsel on top of the bag and grinned back at Harry. "So, Mr Malfoy really did manage to find your stash again? That was the- what, fourth-?"

"The fifth time, actually. He ate all of it in one go and didn't even get an upset stomach, can you believe that?" Harry lifted the bag off the counter, nodding at Mr Flume. "I'd probably better cast a Shrinking Spell on the bag now and stuff it in my pocket until we put up the tree!"

***

Title reference: Gluttony is not a secret vice. (Orson Welles)