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“Here we go,” Blaise rolled his eyes.
“Everyone thinks they know what they want. But the reality is quite different. You’re drowning in an ocean of chaos and hypotheticals, gasping for air—”
The clerk frowned. “Sir, are you trying to cancel?”
“Cancel?” Draco choked.
Blaise entreated, “We’re here to change the order.”
“Mister Malfoy, your order was signed and dated by both you and Mister Potter. You agreed to pay thirteen hundred galleons for a gold and green mashrabiya five layer cake.”
“Green and gold?”
“Compromise, Blaise.”
“Like what you’re doing right now?”
“On this, I cannot compromise.” Draco waved his hand. “The flavour?”
The clerk preened, “An award-winning fresh strawberry and Mauritian vanilla sponge with strawberry meringue buttercream.”
“Malfoys don’t have strawberry wedding cakes,” Draco recoiled.
The clerk sighed, defeated, offering them the flavour list.
“Rose?” Draco snorted. “As if my wedding were a mere afternoon tea. Sicilian lemon?”
“Classic,” the clerk smiled.
Draco groaned. “Harry and I are not classic! We are a singular coupling not seen this side of a thousand years.” Blaise braced himself for a repeat of the incident at the tailors. “We ordered a cake that will match our level. Something extraordinary, heavenly, enchanting—”
The clerk interrupted, “I recommend the saffron and cardamom sponge with rose Swiss meringue buttercream and toasted pistachio pieces, sir.”
After an intense two minutes, Draco nodded. “That sounds lovely, thank you.”
“Shall I owl Mister Potter to confirm?”
“I’m not asking permission,” Draco replied.
“So much for compromise,” Blaise muttered.
“I’ll only accept chocolate dipped strawberries fed to me as my Haider Ackermann silk robe falls open and champagne drips down my—”
“You’ve got it handled?” Blaise dragged Draco out the door.
“No problem, sir,” the clerk sighed. “Just the third time he’s changed it this week,” he added under his breath.