tiny tea pot


Harry hated tea. It was bitter, and it made his biscuits soggy. He had tried having it with milk, but it ended up just tasting like milk that was a bit off in flavour, as if it had been sitting out for too long, or perhaps a few days old. He added sugar to it next, but then it just tasted like sweet water, and reminded him of thin syrup or watery treacle. Tea just wasn’t for him. He preferred really sweet drinks like butter beer or cider. He liked the things that put him right on the cusp of diabetes. His absolute favorite thing to drink, to both Hermione’s and Ron’s horror, was white chocolate, hot chocolate. He preferred the sickening sweet of white chocolate over milk, and loved to top it off with thick whipping creme, and a broken stick of candy cane - broken only because he had no self control, and usually ended up gnawing on the crooked end as he warmed his milk. Yes, Harry Potter hated tea, which was why his best friends could not comprehend his recent tea drinking habit that occurred three times a week at the new tea shop in Hogsmeade.

Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday Teaspoon of Sugar found itself inhibited by Harry Potter, adversary of tea. He always took a seat towards the back of the shop, nestled in a darkened corner, at a small splintered table with only one chair. Jasmine, the owner of the shop, knew Harry very well, and not because of his fame, but because of his clear distaste for her teas. She saw his visits as a personal challenge and strived to find a blend he wouldn’t flinch at so fiercely. The first day, she had made the mistake of serving him a traditional black, as he hadn’t known what to order, and so she figured he ought to start with something familiar. He waited until she left to take his first sip, but she watched from behind the counter as she had extreme pride in her art, and thought she would be seeing a tea virgin become enlightened, but to her utter surprise and dismay, she saw the boy nearly spit the tea out. A little bit even dribbled down his chin. Since then, she had served him a variety of blends - camomile, green, white, oolong - she even added herbals to the mix, though they were not technically teas. None of her efforts or varieties of teas were appreciated by Mr. Potter. Every time, he would take a minuscule sip, and his eye would develop a rather severe twitching problem. The only time he looked close to content was only a few weeks prior when she had made him a hot Chai. Still, he did not finish the entire cup, and looked rather sullen as he left the shop about an hour later. Jasmine had felt unusually defeated that day, and vowed that she would find a tea to Harry Potter’s liking. 

Draco Malfoy also hated tea. It had been a staple at the Manor, where his mother had made teatime somewhat mandatory. It was a rare uninterrupted moment for mother and son to chat and escape from their busy lives. It was for this reason that Draco never spoke up about his little tea conundrum in worry that his mother might not find time for him at all. After he had moved out from the manor and into a small flat with a small cat and a tiny tea pot, he vowed to never drink tea again. It was a vile drink that wasn’t near sweet enough. It didn’t matter how much sugar he added, he could still taste the sting of the beverage on the back of his tongue. Draco preferred the sweeter things in life like hot chocolate and pumpkin juice with a thick layer of whipping creme on top. Why on earth did people dip their biscuits in something so offensive, when they could be soaked in warm chocolate instead? Never the less, every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, Draco found himself breaking his vow, a boiling cup of leafy water in his hand as he sat at a worn table by the window in the new shop of Hogsmeade. 

Jasmine knew of that Draco Malfoy, and it had nothing to do with his fame. He was her best customer. The boy was in at least three times a week and ordered multiple cups of tea during his lengthy stays. It did not matter what she served him - black, earl grey, white with mint - he always drank every last sip, and left with a flick of his lip which she inferred to be an inconspicuous smile. The boy alone was responsible for a third of her earnings from the week before, and she had made it her mission to find a way to repay him. For months she had worried herself with what she could do. Perhaps she could brew a special blend and give it his name, but no, she figured he was a rather private sort who may not like the attention. Maybe she could give him a discount, or even a free cup every hour, but well, she was a new business, and he was a well paying customer after all, perhaps not. It wasn’t until she looked up from her counter to do the usual checking up on Mister Potter, that she noticed something peculiar. His eye still had the familiar twitch, and yet it, along with the other, was focused across the room on her favorite customer no less. She followed his gaze to where Draco sat and watched curiously as the other boy looked up to meet Potter’s stare. The twitching eyes immediately adverted and Potter’s red face buried itself in its unfinished tea cup. Draco continued to stare at Potter for a few more moments, and then focused back on his cup too, taking another generous swig of ginger tea. As he set his cup on the table, the corner of his mouth flicked upward in that small, secret smile of his, and Jasmine hit the counter with resolve. 

Two weeks later and Jasmine was exhausted. It was the Tuesday before Christmas, and she had worked all night on her gift to Draco Malfoy. At one point, she had worried that she had taken on too much. Tea, she knew, but any other drinks, especially those of the sickening sweet variety were foreign to her, but in the end she had pulled it off. Potter walked in to the shop, snow sparkling against his grey school uniform, and started to walk towards his usual table in the shadow of the shop. Jasmine gave him no time to become fully seated before she dropped a hot mug of hot chocolate down in front of him with a heavy thud. Harry looked up at her with wide green eyes, clearly caught off guard. Jasmine smirked at him with a mad look in her twinkling black eyes, and swatted her hand over to the direction of a recently seated Draco Malfoy. 

“It’s from him,” she shouted gleefully. 

Harry’s eyes widened even more, and he nearly fell out of his chair as he attempted to peer around her to see his faux gift giver, who also looked like she’d just hit him with a rather strong stupefy. Both boys blushed up to their ears, and did not make any attempts to move from their seats. Jasmine was perhaps a little overtired when she plucked the Savior of the Wizarding world from his seat and kicked at his ankles with a maniacal grin on her face until the boy began to stiffly walk on his own towards the other. 

Once at Draco’s table, Harry sat the mug of hot chocolate down slowly, as if any sudden movements might scare the Slytherin off. Draco looked up to him with clear expectation, his nose and cheeks red from embarrassment and the frost of the snow.

“Um…thanks,” was all Harry said. There was a moment of silence that had Jasmine on the tips of her toes. 

“You’re welcome,” was all Draco said back. 

Harry sat down at the table by the window, across from where Draco shown in the winter light. Draco stiffened while Harry fidgeted with his mug. 

“So, I hate tea,” Harry admitted sheepishly. 

Draco’s mouth twitched, “Oh.”

Harry relaxed into his chair, and set his elbows on the table, taking up some of Draco’s room, though the boy seemed not to mind; In fact, Jasmine could have sworn that Draco leaned into the bit of space still between them, as if getting closer meant that he could soak up some of Harry Potter’s warmth. Harry ran his fingers through raven black hair. Draco watched, mesmerized. 

“Yeah, so, basically, I only come here for you,” both Harry and Draco flinched at the bravery of the confession, and Harry fought the urge not to back peddle and play the whole thing off as a joke. “Er- I mean, well…yeah, I do.” 

Harry sat his hand down on the table, and Draco’s own hand trembled. Harry began to tap his fingers in agitation, and looked up startled when Draco stilled them with his own. 

Harry swallowed, “I saw you sitting here through the window. You looked- the sun was shining on your face, and I thought, I have to watch you, er- not in a creepy way, although now that I say it out loud, it is definitely kind of creepy, but uh-,” Harry paused unsure how to dig himself out of his humiliation. Draco ran his index finger over the little hairs on Harry’s wrist. 

“I saw you walk in here the day it opened, and I thought you must like tea.” 

Jasmine watched in awe as Draco Malfoy smiled, not a secret smile, but a full-fledged, teeth bearing grin. Harry laughed, and took a sip of the once forgotten cocoa. Draco looked up at Jasmine with an expression happier than she had ever seen him and spoke with utmost confidence and just a sprinkle of snark, “Can I get one of those too? I don’t much like tea either.”

Jasmine felt the entire world shift in that moment, and her full smile turned to shock. She felt her eye catch Potter’s twitch, and she made her way back behind the counter in defeat. Did no one at all like her tea? Perhaps this wasn’t her calling. Perhaps she was meant to be the inventor of sugary drinks. She grumbled to herself about taking up the profession of a chocolatier or a pastry chef. Of course, she would make the drink for her best customer, but she would make it white chocolate to punish his deception. That would teach him and Potter a very sweet lesson. 

Imagine: Tea Time

Niall: “I’m sorry sweetheart,” Niall sighs as he sets down the needle and thread. You went to lunch with El and Sophia, leaving Niall with Lyla. He took her to school, spent most of the day just hanging out, went to pick her up. Everything seemed fine, until Lyla’s blue stuffed bunny Mickey got caught on a nail outside. The bunny was ripped to shreds, it’s fluffy stuffing raining down onto the lawn. The Great Rabbit Massacre was one Niall could not fix, and Lyla was inconsolable. So Niall had an idea. The only thing that could make Lyla feel better, no matter what…only this time, he’d have to improvise. “Yuh wanna have a tea party Lyla?” His daughter’s blue eyes, soaked in tears, seem to shoot open a little wider in realization. “B…but Daddy…we…we don’t have any…more…” “Oi, we don’t need stuffies to have a party! We can have one!” Niall said proudly. Usually, he’d just voice the stuffed animals at Lyla’s tea parties, but since Mickey the bunny was the last one… “We can?” “Of course! I’ll even phone uncle Zayn, and Liam, and Harry and Louis. That okay?” Lyla nodded her head quickly. “Yeah…yeah yeah!”

An hour later, five tutus of different shades of pink (save for Harry in yellow) and sunhats donned proudly, all five of the boys sat around Lyla’s tiny purple table, tea cups almost microscopic in their giant hands. “Can’t believe what I do for you Horans,” Louis complains. “These things are itchy!” “Shush!” Harry quiets him as Lyla returns from the kitchen, tap water filling her tiny tea pot. “Who wants more…oh hi Mommy! Do you wanna be in our tea party?” All five of them stopped, their heart leaping out of their chests to snap their necks towards the front door. You closed the door, eyes pinned to Niall’s blue ones, before breaking into a wide smile. “Hello boys…” “Oh god…” Zayn mumbled, covering his cheeks. Liam just blushed and cringed, while Louis looked up at you expectantly. “Good day Madame. As you may have concluded, we are taking part in an event right at this moment, and your presence is intolerable.” “Alright, well…” you walked around the table and kiss Niall, who lifted his chin to receive your upside-down peck. “I’ll leave you all…to it, then.” Of course, you would never let them forget this moment. Ever.