Buttery Buns ch.4

Seeing his old guitar, Harry couldn't help but chuckle. Sirius had kept it, despite ordering him to throw it away. He had played this instrument throughout Hogwarts, but he hadn't continued afterward. It wasn't as dusty as it should have been; Susan must have regularly cleaned it. With the guitar in his hands, he sat on the bed, freshly covered with sheets. He plucked the strings, surprised that the sound quality hadn't deteriorated. It had been at least a decade since he last touched it. Pleased, he quickly tuned the guitar and before he realized it, he was plucking the strings and singing a song he had loved when he first learned to play the instrument:

"On a dark desert highway/Cool wind in my hair/Warm smell of colitas/Rising through the air."

As a teenager, he had no idea what those lyrics meant, but he was in love with classic rock songs, just like many others. For a while, that's all he played at his friends' birthday parties. Maybe it was even a reason for him to move to the United Magical States.

He was halfway through the song when he saw Mia standing in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Jesus. This girl killed him with her resemblance to her mom. She had taken a shower, but her blond hair was still damp. A snug shirt revealed her teenage curves, and her shorts barely reached her thighs. Holy shit. Those long legs were giving him indecent thoughts.

He tore his gaze away from Mia and refocused on the song. Thankfully, he had practiced it so much that he could still play it without much thought. His hands knew the notes, and his lips formed the words without delay.

"You can check out any time you like / But you can never leave."

Mia clapped her hands as he finished the last note and sat beside him on the bed.

"My mom told me you're good at playing the guitar. She wasn't lying."

He chuckled at the compliment. "Thanks. I haven't touched it in years. I guess that's what they mean when they say you never forget how to ride a bike."

"I love this song. The melodies are so beautiful," she said. "But the lyrics are too weird for me. A guy goes to a hotel, meets a bunch of people, asks for wine, but doesn't get any. And then he can't leave? I can't understand it."

He laughed. He had felt the same way when he first heard the song. "It just means that a person can physically leave a place or situation, but their mind may be forever trapped in it." After his statement, he fell silent, thinking about how true it was. In a way, he felt like he had never left Hogsmeade, even though he had spent the last twenty years living somewhere else.

Mia pondered for a moment and nodded. "I get it, just like my mom."

"What do you mean?" he asked as casually as possible, though he struggled to hide his impatience for her response.

"She left Oak Springs about twenty years ago, but she never forgot it."

"Really?"

Mia nodded. "She missed the town before coming back, and she told me it's the place with her fondest memories."

His heart raced, and the air felt stifling. He took a deep breath but didn't comment. Instead, he plucked the strings again.

Mia placed her small hand on his to get his attention. "Do you still hate my mom?" she asked.

Damn. Harry Potter was taken aback by that question. He wasn't sure how much the girl knew about what was between her mom and him and how truthful she could be. "I don't know. I just..." He stammered like an idiot. "It's shocking to see her suddenly, and you remind me so much of her."

"I'm sorry," the girl squeezed his hand. "Please, forgive her, both of us."

Meeting her innocent, blue eyes, Harry suddenly felt embarrassed that he needed comfort from a little girl. "It's not your fault, sweetheart," he said. "Not even your mom's. She had to do what she had to do."

The girl smiled. "Thank you. I really hope you and my mom can be friends again. I love my mom, and I don't want anyone to hate her, even if she made a big mistake. And I like you, Max."

Her voice was throaty, and his body immediately reacted. He shifted in his place and avoided looking directly at her because if he did, he'd do something foolish.

"Can you teach me to play?" She reached for the instrument in his hands and strummed the strings.

"I'll try," he said, relieved for the change of topic.

He took a moment to recall his first lesson, then plucked the strings one by one, from top to bottom. "EADGBE," he began.

Mia listened intently for a while, but she quickly lost focus. A minute later, her eyes weren't even on his hands. Instead, they were fixed on his face.

"Are you listening to me?" he asked.

"Sorry," she said. "I can't help it. My mom talks about you so much."

"What does she say?" he mumbled.

"That you're the love of her life. She told me how romantic you are. You played the guitar for her on dates."

"Damn. That's true," he thought. He decided not to dwell on that part because it hurt the most. Playing for Daphne was his main motivation to learn songs.

Not wanting to come across as a sentimental old man in front of the girl, he muttered, "Do you want to keep talking about your mom or learn to play the guitar?"

The girl smiled. "I'm sorry."

They barely resumed the lesson when footsteps echoed up the stairs. A second later, Susan stood at the door.

"Awww," she said. "That's a cozy photo."

"Yeah," the girl replied with a giggle. "Max is like the dad I never had."

Damn. What is she talking about? When did her parents divorce?

"You've never met your dad?" Harry couldn't contain his curiosity.

She shook her head. "Maybe when I was a kid, but I don't remember. Mom made sure he stayed away from me. He's a brutal man."

His heart squeezed, even though he knew nothing about this story. He wanted to learn more, but Susan stopped him from trying.

"Okay, let's get ready for dinner," she said. "I need to get back to the bakery soon; my night baker fell ill."

Harry's mouth watered as he saw the table filled with beautifully presented food. A pot of shrimp pasta with parsley and lemon, a skillet of crispy-skinned chicken thighs, a bowl of garden salad sprinkled with cheese, and a plate of crispy bread with olives. How could anyone prepare such a dinner so quickly? Without hesitation, he sat down next to the girl, facing Daphne and Susan, and took a sip from his wine glass.

"Mom, can I have wine instead of lemonade?" the girl asked.

"No, you're underage," Daphne replied.

"In two days, I'll be seventeen."

Daphne tightens her lips, looking at her daughter.

"After all, we're not in a restaurant.

Susan giggles. "Just give her a sip. It's a ridiculous law anyway. Teenagers can have sex before they start drinking.

"Who is her mother, Susan? You or me?" Daphne's voice is quiet but firm.

Susan sticks her tongue out. "You, of course. I apologize."

Harry is surprised by how stubborn Daphne has become. She wasn't like this before. He recalls a few occasions when they sneaked Sirius's beer into his room. He also notices that Daphne is drinking lemonade instead of wine.

The tension between them lasts only a second as Susan raises her glass and proposes a toast. "To the good old times we're experiencing right now."

"Cheers!" Harry says, emptying his glass.

Despite his efforts to restrain himself, his eyes still wander between his ex-girlfriend and his half-sister on the other side of the table. Damn. These two amazing women look stunning together. He's certain they spent time fixing their makeup and hair before dinner because they look picture-perfect. Susan's hazel-brown eyes are just as bright as Daphne's blue ones. Wait.

They've also changed their dresses. Daphne isn't wearing that rum-stained one anymore but a cotton dress with a plunging neckline that draws his attention to her swan-like neck, making him imagine how she used to do cartwheels with that flawless, snowy skin of hers, just like she did before. And Susan's dress – damn, it has a deep V-neck that begs for attention. His mouth goes dry as he notices the deep, golden cleavage and squirms in his seat. Damn. Is he imagining this, or are they exchanging knowing smiles, as if they're aware of the effect they're having on him? Stop thinking like a deceived man. He scolds himself. The ladies didn't dress up to seduce him. Besides, both of them are out of reach.

He quickly forks some pasta and puts it in his mouth, moaning in appreciation and surprise. This is undoubtedly the best pasta he's ever had, even better than what his stepmother used to make.

"This is the best Shrimp Scampi Linguine I've ever had," Susan says after swallowing her first bite, echoing his thoughts.

He nods, still savoring the food in his mouth. He doesn't remember Daphne being a cook, even though her parents ran a restaurant. But then again, they didn't spend much time cooking for each other when they were dating in high school.

"Try the roasted drumsticks," Mia urges. "They're good too."

"Not bad," he says to Daphne after biting into a piece of chicken already on his plate. "Where did you learn your culinary skills?"

Daphne initially seems surprised by his question, then smiles. "I've worked in various restaurants and taken a few courses."

"Mom has a culinary arts degree," Mia informs them.

"No wonder," he raises an eyebrow. "What happened to teaching? Daphne planned to become a preschool teacher one day. She started taking courses soon after graduating from Hogwarts to achieve that."

"I didn't have time for teaching. I dropped those courses," she says, looking a bit embarrassed. "Even culinary school took me years."

He regrets eliciting such an expression from her face.

It's not hard for Harry to guess the reason for Daphne's change of plans. Marriage and children. "I'm sorry," he says, pondering again what happened to her. His curiosity about her life has become so intense that he keeps stuffing his mouth with food to avoid blurting out any questions. It's not a good time for a conversation.

An awkward silence falls over the table, broken by Susan. "I'm glad you didn't become a teacher," she says, patting Daphne on the back. "I need a head chef for my bakery, not a teacher."

She then talks about her plan to expand the menu.

"We're going to make our sandwiches special," Susan says. "Nothing like what they sell at the deli across the street. I think Caprese would be good. Don't you?"

"A sandwich with the salad Mom used to make?" Harry asks.

"Yes, that would be fantastic. And it's super healthy," Susan rolls her eyes. "The epitome of health."

"Why don't you make pizzas too?" Mia asks excitedly. "You have an oven, right?"

"I've been thinking about that," Susan says. "But we'll take it one step at a time. First sandwiches, then pizza and pasta, maybe even burgers."

"Perhaps we'll need to apply for an alcohol license as well," Daphne says.

"I know. And we'll definitely remodel the dining area. Change the tables and chairs and make the place more elegant. Maybe attract some tourists." Susan's face lights up.

"Sure, you'll definitely draw me in," Harry said, teasing her. "I can't wait to give it a try."

Susan giggled like the young girl she used to be. "Thanks for the support, Max. Of course, now it all depends on Ron."

"I'm certain he'll agree to your plan."

"I'm not so sure about that," Susan's smile dimmed slightly. "What if he sets a high price that I can't afford? You know what he's like."

She's right. Ron is the biggest mercenary in their group of friends. He insisted on selling Susan's house at market price. "Well, I'll do my best to convince him."

"Thanks, little brother," Susan said, reaching across the table to shake his hand. "You're the best."

Damn. Her warm touch makes Harry shiver, along with those big brown eyes. "No problem, little sister," he says with a smile.

"Little brother?" Mia chuckles, looking at him. "He doesn't look like one."

Susan laughs. "No, not anymore. But when we were both ten, I was a head taller than him."

"What did he look like when he was ten?" Mia asks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Was he cute?"