"Ah, yes. Biscuits would be wonderful," Draco said involuntarily, and sat down at the small kitchen table as Molly Weasley pulled out a chair for him with a flick of her wand. A large part of Draco’s mind told him that this was just all a prelude to hexing the living shit out of him. A stage of psychological torture. Then again, perhaps she hadn’t been told about the fight yet. He could hope.