A manuscript sat atop the caramel dispensary, a neatened, charmed-together mass of parchment that held all the not-so-neat fancies of a favorite writer and close friend. Despite the disorganization of the brilliant mind who had finally given her a peak, the work was luckily now— more or less— chaptered. Adelaide was not keen to let it unravel again, and so its current perch was both dangerous and necessary for the avoiding of sticky catastrophes.

How else was she supposed to cover for all of her father’s employees, who were suddenly stuck at home in bed on strong doses of Pepper Up? New Year’s colds were making their rounds. Her parents were still in Brighton.

If Adelaide were being honest, she’d looked forward to the rare shifts a bit more— had volunteered, even, since the reminder earlier the previous afternoon that some customers were still pleasant. To talk with. About ice-cream.

She’d been feeling the nag again, the pull of childhood and her father’s imagination, that yearning to get behind a huge bowl and churn away, pour random ingredients together, string in a charm or two, and see what happened when it all froze up and was served over a brownie or under a dollop of whipped cream. She’d even shown up at Coralie’s with a slighty melty pale pink creation whose working name was Malkin’s Silk Teddy. (Knowing that it would likely garner a strong opinion from the matriarch of her friend’s family meant that it was, for now, a flavor to be shared between the pair of young women. All the more sugar for them.)

Days in the ice-cream shop weren't as jaw-dropping as some of the twists and turns of the unpublished writings she poured over, but there could still be a satisfactory surprise in it. Or a stranger’s friendly smile.

“That’ll be one galleon, 20 knuts,” she said, handing off a tower of a cone and wiping butterscotch on her apron. She’d smiled and nearly turned back to the novel-in-progress, which she’d wanted to finish before it was handed to the editor.

But the bell over the door chimed before Ada could fully turn, and she whipped her head around to see the very same friendly face she’d been thinking of in particular. His timing, fifteen minutes before closing, was pristine.

A smile spread and she wiped away more butterscotch before leaning into the counter beside the register. “Are healers supposed to have such an epic sweet tooth?"

Jason couldn’t deny that he usually didn’t enjoy ice cream so close together. After dropping Aidan off with Fiona, however, he’d found himself in Diagon Alley with little else to do. He’d picked up a couple of books for his son’s room and window shopped mindlessly down the cobblestone alley, stopping long enough to talk with the folks in the apothecary about their wares. The potion scare was starting to harm businesses, so he bought a small container of nightshade and a good bundle of peppermint.

His bag swung lightly as he continued wandering down the alley. And when he found himself nearing the ice cream shop, well...

There he was, pushing open the door and walking in, the little bell announcing he was there. He found his voice was... misplaced at first, licking his lips as his feet faltered. He held the door open for the person who was carefully guiding themselves out with the cone piled so high it nearly scraped the door frame.

Jason turned his attention to her and grinned, clearing his throat as he stepped up. “Little known fact, healers and... all in the healing field, really, no one takes care of themselves very well. It’s a Do As I Say! sort of mentality.” His grin was taking over his cheeks. There was an odd bounce in his step that he tried to simmer down by the time he got up to the counter. “You have a little something... there.” He laughed as he motioned to her apron. “Looks good enough to eat.”

And then he laughed; a splash of red crossed his cheeks. “I mean the, whatever that came from.” Meeting her eyes, he shook his head. “I’m stopping while I’m ahead. What’s your special flavor today?”

Adelaide’s smile only widened, and if she suddenly felt like a Hogwarts-aged fool, she didn’t linger on the thought. “That’s a bit dangerous. If no one’s there to take care of the healers, what happens when you all put yourselves into sugar comas?” She raised her brows in challenge. “Who diagnoses you?”

Something in her gaze seemed to brighten. Adelaide looked down and back up quickly, a flash of amusement crossing her face. “Dreamy Banana Cream. With banana—” (An editor would say obviously.) She brushed at the spot with the backs of her fingers. “Vanilla biscuit crumbles, and lots of fresh cream. It’s a pain to churn, but so worth it.” She lifted a clean metal scoop. Surely she could talk him into a cone or two… Her face said all but stay for a while.

“It’s great as a milkshake,” she urged. “I call that Wet Dream.” She was still holding the oversized spoon at an enticing angle when she realized what she had said— or, rather, exactly to whom she’d said it. It wasn’t what she had daydreamed thought about saying if she happened to see him again. Blinking once, her lips parted, cheeks seeming to suck themselves in. “I’ve been peddling erotica lately.” It explained everything, clearly. And then: “Not my own.”

She dropped her hand— and the ice-cream scoop— upon the counter, with only a mildly guilty smile, and leaned in a tiny bit. A needless move, given that the shop had emptied to a crawl, and the last minute stragglers were busy gossiping to each other in corner booths and window seats. “That’s not the official name,” she confessed. As if that decision needed any sort of PR expert. “You know, not child friendly…”

She looked him over. He looked good. Just like before, minus the cute mini version. (Whose ears would have no doubt have picked up on the catchy milkshake moniker.) Ada thought that his solo appearance invited a more adult conversation. Her tongue had simply got ahead of her, which happened even to the best (or least ridiculous) Fortescues. “And, really, I can’t suggest it to my dad with a straight face."

Her fingers danced away from the scoop and toward a bowl of chalk near the register. She picked up a mint green bit, pointing it at him. “But if a customer were to suggest a name, or write it on the board…” She smiled at him, thinking of everything but selling ice-cream. “You all have the most impressively illegible handwriting.”

Jason laughed and shrugged. “I figured my own prescriptions were good enough. Find a beautiful smile to help you forget about troubles, and you’re already on your way to ultimate health.” He rested his teeth on his bottom lip as he smirked around it, admiring the beautiful smile right in front of him. Screw the apple, Jason knew just what he needed to help him forget all the ridiculous things in his life, from work to home.

Lots of cream in the banana cream ice cream. His mind took him places that his mouth didn’t have the courage to say, but the slight hike of his eyebrows could’ve given it away. He did lose it a little when she informed him of her milkshake name, mouth dropping open just a little before he quickly closed it, unable to fight the grin that split his face. “That sounds like it’d be good to the last drop.”

His face showed his surprise, both eyebrows raised in slight question. “Not... your own? Is ice cream and erotica a natural...” His hands came into play as Jason moved his open palms back and forth in the air, framing his half stated question in between the unspoken air. “Mix?”

It sounded like a sticky taboo sort of mess. Something that begged for a shower after.

If he leaned in, it was only to conspire with her upon possible frozen treats. “I don’t know, that seems perfectly innocent to me.” And probably every child under the age of puberty. Innocence could hear a lot of inappropriate innuendoes and be none-the-wiser. Adults just took things too seriously, sometimes. “Am I only allowed to ask for a Wet Dream™when you’re in charge?”

Flirting was harmless. It was easy to make that sort of assumption and run with it. That sort of thinking had also gotten him into plenty of trouble in his life. “Sounds like you need a dose of Courage.” The potion was really good at making you not care about the consequences so much as forging ahead. It had led to many unfortunate accidents.

Jason scoffed at her truer than true statement. “My handwriting is on par with any self-spelling quill.” He eyed the chalk and glanced to the board, weighing the chance to do something naughty on such a fine day. Finally he rolled his eyes and smirked, reaching over and taking her up on it. Fingertips brushed the palm of her hand before he gripped it, biting the side of his lower lip as he tapped his chin with the chalk. “I’ll take a Wet Dream™while I ponder this.”

And then it came to him. Cream Pie was hastily scribbled in the corner with a banana image in front. Jason felt positively incorrigible. It wasn’t the most imaginative thing he could’ve come up with... but it still had style.

The silly compliment— pick-up line, even?— was better than anything Adelaide had read in the past six months, mostly (exclusively) because it was directed at her and hadn’t come from the man on the corner who was always trying to sell her looted objects of dubious magical origin. That Mundungus Fletcher was no match for Jason. Adelaide matched the amusing answer with an almost dopey smile.

Plus, his reaction to the name of her ice-cream… float… was what every one of her adults-only writers would call delicious. Or maybe Adelaide was just spending too much time around Coralie. But she still loved a good, scruffy, healthy mouth demonstrating shock and delight.

Good until the last drop of… something. Having grown up in an ice-cream parlor did not make her immune to its endless innuendo. Something about bananas, cherries, and nuts never got old.

With a silent breath of laugh, she showed only patient amusement for his question (a feat, if her father were to witness Adelaide dawdling on the job). “I’m an agent. I occasionally proof-read before the proof-readers so that I know the work’s… readable.” Or in some cases, reader proof. Eloquent, given her line of work. “Not sure if I mentioned that, but yeah, I only moonlight as an ice-cream man.” This week more than other’s. “Whipped cream is classic erotica,” she assured him. “It goes together almost as well children’s stories and ice-cream. I do those, too. Some of them are remarkably inappropriate.” There was a certain pride in her voice— she loved her odd bunch of writers, much as they drove her crazy.

But Healer Jason Marren wasn’t innocent either. (Despite the chivalric suggestion that her line of work was.) And the healer credentials.

“Oh, no, you can ask anytime,” she said, her face the perfect mix of smirk and huge grin. “But I can’t promise he would understand— or that you’d like it if he did.” She leaned in to the counter more, using it as a convenient prop rather than a workspace. (Perhaps the theatre world had rubbed off on her more than she’d like to admit.) “I make the best Wet Dreams anyway.”

Yeah, she went there. It called for another tipsy night with Miss Malkin.

“Sounds like you need a dose of Courage.”

“It’s true, I wasn’t a Gryffindor.” It was also true that her dad was largely a pushover, but Jason didn’t need to know that.

As for his handwriting, Adelaide’s eyebrows doubted him. Highly.

They soon betrayed their curiosity as her gaze followed his to the chalkboard— wondering what went on in a head like that, and if it were anything like what she might scrawl if she weren’t about her father pinning her handwriting to her person. Naughty notes were saved for the margins of manuscripts. Or, really, anywhere her father couldn’t find them.

She continued to think on what he might come with it— sadly not coming close as she pointed her wand at the mixer, letting the delicious ingredients whir (albeit slow-churned!) into a creamy, frothy drink. Adelaide poured it into a plastic cup as she looked over her shoulder, studying Jason’s progress.

Adelaide did a double take. Nearly missing the last bit of milkshake, she caught herself, and shook with laughter as she steadied the cup. But she barely gave herself time to reach for the whipped cream canister before she was turning on her heel, giving a sweeping gesture with the shake and holding the whipped cream in her opposite hand like a grandmother’s scandalized pearls. “You don’t mess about! I bet you give shocking diagnoses with a straight face."

Cream Pie. Cream Pie. “You win the contest.” Hands up in surrender, and then down on the counter, Adelaide began to craft a copious mountain of whipped cream atop Jason’s milkshake. Her eyes flittered up to his. “Cherry again?”

Jason had assumed she had another job, but would have never guessed what it was. He smiled, chuffed to learn a little more about the part-time ice-cream woman, full time proof-reading agent. “I don’t think you handle the type of literature that I usually read. But it sounds like I should change my reading habits.” Healer Weekly was a bore after a while, anyway. It certainly didn’t hold up to classic erotica. “Does it get old? Reading so much erotica all the time?”

Maybe it was a silly question to ask. Everything to tiring after a while. Jason cleared his throat and straightened up, hand slipping into his trouser pocket. “I’m sure the children stories are just as enjoyable.” He had a few of those on his shelves as well, thanks to the other reader in his home. Though, judging by what his mum read him, perhaps the children stories would bore him.

“Noted. I’ll make sure to keep the secret menu between us, then.” As if he’d ask her father in the first place. He wasn’t always the smartest wizard, but he had some couth. Her admission caused a moment of surprised silence, his mouth opening just barely as he took in a slow breath, nodding in agreement before grinning. “I can see you really care about your art.”

“Gryffindor’s are courageous no matter what. Smarter people are courageous when it counts.” Jason gave her a quick wink. He was no Gryffindor either, but he could see upsides to certain aspects of their personality.

The sound of the mixer gave him the sort of medium that allowed him to get up to no good. It was the sort of noise filled environment that naughty children could pen something and feign ignorance and innocence when it was found.

Her laughter gave him a moment to breathe a sigh of relief and also join in, quietly, as he moved away from the board and back to the place on the other side of the counter. He won, but… what was his prize? Jason leaned on the counter and watched her swirl out the whipped cream. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like two. When are you off? I bet you get parched back there.”

 “I don’t think you handle the type of literature that I usually read.”

Thick brows showed what they thought of that.

"But it sounds like I should change my reading habits.”

“I mean… I haven’t your training, but I’ll take the challenge if you think I can’t stay awake all night learning medical terms.” Preferably orally, with no ink and even fewer clothes involved. “I think this is a little more rousing, though,” she agreed, looking back at the stack she’d been rifling through between customers. Her eyes softened as they returned to Jason’s face. It wasn’t like it was hard.

He was onto something, though. One could only handle so many huge wands in a week. Even Adelaide. By two in the morning most nights, she was in need of espresso, whiskey, or even a St. Mungo’s brochure. Anything but double entendres and poorly-sewn bodices.

“It’s not nearly as fun as the real thing.” Like ice-cream, reading about it could only get you so far. “You have to give them credit, though— The number of verbs that actually mean shagging… I bet that’s more schooling than even you have.” Her eyes slipped down his face, following the movement of his hand to his pocket.

“I’m sure the children stories are just as enjoyable.”

Yeah, but which children’s stories ended with a healer’s trousers revealing their mysteries?

Adelaide would stick to the erotica tonight. (Or she’d ditch it and have a bit of fun.) But first, milkshakes had to be poured without spilling themselves all over the floor.

Grinning stupidly over the secret menu comment for longer than was reasonable, Adelaide found a way to smile wider still. “Ravenclaw, then?” He bled it. Beneath the cute, bashful smiles. “I was actually a Hufflepuff. We might have crossed paths in a corridor without even knowing it.” Less because of the divergent houses and more probably because Jason had a few years on her. Good ones. “Isn’t it weird how such a small world is so… not small?” (Said the literary expert.)

By the time she’d pried herself from leaning a little too unprofessionally into the counter and saved the milkshake from the fate of the floor, she and Jason were almost the last men standing in the shop. His timing was epic the question coinciding with the slow shuffle of an elderly lady taking her exit. Adelaide locked eyes with her as she held the single milkshake in limbo. The witch seemed to know she was up to nothing squeaky clean. But then, lucky for them both, her name was on the door.

Her eyes flew back to Jason, brightening. “Now, I think.” The bell above the door chimed as the patron took her exit. Adelaide pointed her wand at it, still holding the milkshake captive. The OPEN sign flipped itself, and the bright lanterns flanking either side of the entrance dimmed. “I can clean up a bit later…” She wasn’t a particularly late sleeper, despite the odd hours. She’d slip in in the morning, her father would be none the wiser.

“So are these on you?” She asked, finally shoving the (imminently amazing) shake at him and plucking an oversized straw from a canister beside the register. She plopped it the drink and brushed a tiny bit of cream from the top to nurse a sweet tooth while she turned to fix another. “If you like tacos, I know a food cart where we can bring these.” She looked over her shoulder again, gauging.