The Treats That Muggles Make

It began with a murmur of conversation, one female voice quivering with anxiety. Of course she wanted to be heard, wanted to make her story known so that she could receive a pat on the back and a chance at restoring her title.

But Percival Graves couldn't have cared less if Tina went back to being an Auror. What mattered was that he overhead something about the Second Salemers, as Abernathy chose to call them. Obviously, Tina had been snooping were she didn't belong. Otherwise, she wouldn't have sounded so nervous.

Graves stepped forward, eager to see what was going on. He then noticed a worn leather suitcase on the desk.

"Mr. Graves, sir, this is Mr. Scamander - he has a crazy in that case and it got out and caused mayhem at the bank, sir." Tina said all of this rather quickly, pointing at the suitcase on the desk.

Graves was intrigued. "Let's see the little guy," he told her, ignoring the scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafting from the battered suitcase.

There was a soft click, the lid opening to reveal dozens of delicious pastries. The aroma of freshly baked treats wafted into his nose, and Graves snatched the case as quickly as he could, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.

"Yes, miss Goldstein, I am thankful for your, shall we say, kind gesture," he said, mouth watering from the fragrance. Before anyone could object, he bit into one of the pastries, cream squirting out onto the front of his shirt. "This requires some time alone. If you'll excuse me." He then swept past the puzzled onlookers, leaving Tina and the others more than a little confused as to what had just taken place.

.oOo.

It was almost closing time when Tina realized that she hadn't seen Graves all morning, not since he ran off with the suitcase full of pastries. Her sister had already gathered her belongings when they heard a loud belch coming from the direction of Graves' office.

Unable to contain her curiosity, Queenie moved towards the staircase, followed shortly by her older sister who insisted they shouldn't be doing this.

Queenie shushed her sibling. She then glanced towards the adjacent hallway and whispered, "Oh Teenie, it's just a harmless little peek. What's the worst that could happen?"

The door was ajar when they reached his office, the sisters now scrambling over top of each other, trying to see through the gap between the door and the wall. Finally, when they were in position, they were able to see Graves sitting at his desk. The empty suitcase was in front of him, its lid wide open with a scattering of crumbs and sprinkles covering his desk.

Graves had removed his pants and thrown them across the room, his belly aching from all the pastries he had eaten. His pants were now hanging from the coat rack, a smear of vanilla frosting encrusted on the seat of his pants.

He leaned back in his seat, groaning and rubbing his bloated belly while gazing at the ceiling. A layer of frosting had dried along the corner of his mouth, his fingers coated with sweet, sticky globs of jam. There was melted chocolate oozing down his left cheek, and from the looks of it he had basically shoved everything in his face, making a colossal mess in the process.

Queenie snorted when she heard him hiccup, covering her mouth to stifle the laugher bubbling in her chest. She didn't think Graves would make a pig out of himself, not classy, sophisticated Mr. Graves whom everyone loved and respected. But he was human after all, just like everyone else. And now that the pastries had been consumed, Graves closed his eyes and slept off his food coma at his desk.