Divination task 1: Write about being blown away, figuratively or literally

Word Count: 998

Many thanks to Bex for beta'ing

A note on Max: Max Polkiss is an OC created by Lo and adopted by me. He is Piers' older cousin who later adopts him, and he can be found in a lot of my Piers fics.

Piers stands in the doorway, anxiously wringing his hands together. He opens his mouth to speak but quickly snaps it shut again.

Some days, he can find his voice. Others, like today, remind him that he is still that scared little boy who has spent his whole life tiptoeing so carefully, always walking on eggshells. His parents are dead, and his cousin has proven to be nothing but kind.

Even so, Piers is still terrified to get too comfortable. Why should he? They call him a troubled kid. Eventually, Max will realize this, and Piers will find himself bouncing from foster home to foster home. It's what happened to Gordon, after all.

Maybe Max has eyes in the back of his head, hidden beneath his mess of dark curls. He turns, smiling that warm smile as he wipes his hands onto his apron. "Heya, kiddo," he says brightly, like, barely out of his twenties, he isn't still practically a kid himself. "I figured you would sleep in since it's Saturday."

It still amazes him that Max is so kind. For the past eight years, Piers has known nothing but cruelty. He doesn't understand how it's possible, and he is still waiting for it all to come crashing. Max will get tired of him and decide he's like a puppy that has outgrown its cuteness.

"Cat got your tongue?" Max chuckles.

"You don't have a cat."

"Sure I do," Max tells him, checking the kitchen timer that frantically ticks away the seconds. "You just haven't found him yet."

Piers doesn't know whether Max is kidding or not. He decides not to question it, but he also thinks it's best not to get his hopes up. Still, it would be cool if Max is telling the truth about the cat.

"What are you cooking?"

Max doesn't mind that Piers asks questions. He's always so happy to answer, like he has all the time in the world to answer his cousin.

"Guess," Max says.

Piers sniffs the air. It's breakfast time, but he doesn't smell sausage or bacon. Whatever it is, it's sweet, but Max doesn't have the waffle iron out, and there aren't pancakes on the stove.

With a shrug, Piers shakes his head. It's a warm, comforting smell, and he thinks that maybe that's what home is supposed to smell like. Like love. Like safety. Nothing at all like the house his parents raised him in.

"You really don't know? Have you ever had homemade chocolate chip cookies before?" When Piers shakes his head, Max looks like he might faint. "We have to rectify this immediately!"

Piers huffs indignantly, cheeks burning. "Dudley has cookies sometimes. They come in a box, and he shares them with me at lunch."

"Those are not homemade, dear child," Max says, his tone teasing but affectionate.

The timer begins to ring, and Max quickly shuts it off before grabbing an oven mit. A moment later, he pulls a tray from the oven, and Piers can't help but gasp. A batch of cookies line the silver surface, and they are the most perfect golden-brown Piers have ever seen. Even without touching them, he knows the chocolate chips are melted just right and are so soft.

Just looking at them makes Piers' mouth water. He licks his lips and moves closer, breathing in the warm, chocolatey air.

His cousin chuckles softly and shakes his head as he grabs a spatula, carefully lifting the first cookie and transferring it to the plate. "You have to let them cool first," he says.

Piers scowls, folding his scrawny arms over his chest, dark eyes narrowing. "Why?"

It's hardly fair. The cookies are right there, and they look so perfect. Being asked to wait for even a second longer feels like punishment.

"Because you will burn your mouth, and I am not about to let something like that ruin your first taste of my cookies."

Piers sighs, but his tense posture relaxes ever so slightly. "Fine."

Once all the cookies are on the plate, they wait. Piers is practically bouncing with excitement, unable to sit still. Max doesn't seem to mind. He never seems to mind that Piers is there, that Piers is in the way, that Piers is sometimes just a little too loud. Max always has a warm smile and an affectionate word, and Piers is still so blown away by it. How can anyone be so kind? It doesn't seem possible.

He doesn't know how much time passes. His eyes never rest on a clock for long because he can't tell time. It feels like forever before Max taps the top cookie carefully with his fingertips.

"Perfect," he decides before pushing the plate toward Piers. "Go on. You get the honor of having the first one."

Piers grabs one. It's still warm, and it is so soft. The ones Dudley sometimes bring are never this soft. He takes a bite.

It's like nothing he has ever put in his mouth before. The flavors are familiar enough, but still so different, so much better than anything he has ever eaten. The cookie seems to melt in his mouth, and the chocolate chips are so gooey and perfect.

"Well?" Max studies him curiously with raised brows.

Piers doesn't know how to put it into words. Nothing he could say could ever explain how perfect the cookies are. It should be impossible for anything to be this great. In place of a verbal answer, he crams the rest of his cookie into his mouth and grabs another.

Max laughs, grinning as he grabs a cookie for himself. "That good, huh?"

"Perfect," Piers says, though his mouth is full of cookie, and the word comes out muffled and distorted.

For the first time ever, he thinks that maybe he can have a normal childhood, that maybe it isn't too late. Maybe there is hope for him after all, and it's all thanks to Max, his unending kindness, and his perfect cookies.