Coffee

A/N: I know a lot of you are waiting on `Rhythms', and I feel guilty for the hold-up, so apologies! I recently got a new beta, and I'm excited for what I can do with that next, but here's a little something I wrote on the forum side of Portkey! I hope it's enjoyable, and thank you again for your faithful and thoughtful reviews! This was written in a response to a challenge based off Landon Pigg's song Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop. It's very nice mood music.

He slid two Galleons across the gleaming counter, his newly warmed fingers briefly brushing against her slight hand. She smiled briefly, catching the coins in her hand and dropping them into the cash register with a merry clink. He watched the gold glitter as it fell, breathing in the distinctive scent of the coffee brewing in several sleek machines behind her.

“Harry, you know you pick your coffee up over there,” she prodded gently, waking him from his thoughts. He glanced over at her and shrugged his shoulders, grinning slightly.

“Sorry.”

She sent a quick glance out the frosted pane of the shop, watching the snow falling gently onto the streets of Diagon Alley. People hurried past the window at a pace that contradicted the easygoing guitar music playing in the background.

Harry started when he realized her gaze had returned to him.

“What?” he said quizzically, obediently moving toward the other end of the counter. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You must be freezing,” she said worriedly, wrapping her arms around herself as if she could warm him from her spot behind the counter. He shrugged, tugging at the bottom hem of his sweater. “You really should wear a jacket, you know.”

“I'm fine.” He glanced at her with a grin. Her warm eyes had wandered back toward the windows again. He could see them following the swirls of snow, as her fingers closed around a lone packet of sugar.

“How's training going, Harry?”

He jerked his gaze away from Hermione reluctantly, looking at the red-haired girl who had spoken.

“Training?” he repeated stupidly, attempting to remember the girl's name and where he had met her before. “Erm… well, thanks. It's… it's really—tiring,” he finished lamely, glancing back at Hermione, who was listening intently. She smiled softly, leaning against the counter and tilting her head back as she always did when she was listening.

“That's good.” The girl shot a quick, oddly smug glance toward Hermione. “I've seen you around here a lot lately.”

“Have you?” he said somewhat nervously. There was a rather purposeful glint in the girl's eyes, and he hastily raised the coffee to his lips, attempting to appear nonchalant. Too hastily, in fact. Soon, hot coffee was spreading an aromatic stain across the front of his sweater.

“Harry.” Hermione sighed, seizing a handful of napkins and tossing them to him. “For a Quidditch player and Auror, you're terribly clumsy.”

He fumbled with the napkins, dabbing them sheepishly across his front. The coffee felt incredibly and unfairly sticky. Hermione swept up the stained napkins and threw them away, glancing at her smirking coworker.

“Rachel, would you mind refilling the napkin dispenser?”

“Oh, no, of course not. I'll just leave you two alone.”

“Rachel!”

“What?” she said innocently, smiling brightly at Hermione. Hermione sighed again, rolling her eyes.

“Napkins, Rachel.”

As Rachel disappeared into the back, Hermione leaned across the counter and tapped his sweater with her wand. He felt the stain disappear from his front as she pulled back, swinging her curly hair away from her face with a quick jerk of her chin.

He placed his coffee onto the countertop and dragged his hand through his hair.

“I still don't understand why you won't let me help you pay for your Healer training,” he said, dropping his hand to his side. A slight smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I need to pay for it myself, Harry,” she said simply. “I can't just depend on someone else… even if I know you'd do anything for me.”

She slid his coffee forward.

“That's going to get cold.”

“No one would think any less of you if you let me help.” Harry persisted, wrapping his fingers around the cup and lifting it, although he didn't drink it. “Muggles take scholarships all the time, don't they?”

“Yes, but I'm already on a scholarship,” she reminded him quietly. “And honestly, Harry, I like working here.”

When she saw his face, she laughed.

“I know; it's the furthest thing from Healing that there is,” she said, shaking her head. “But it's relaxing. It keeps me busy, but it's not…”

“Mind-melting, impossibly impossible academic work that forces even the most brilliant mind of all to turn to coffee?” He gently flicked a finger against her forehead, making her grin.

“Well, yes, if you want to put it that way. And you know as well as I do that we both have our caffeine habits, Potter, so don't start on me.”

He chuckled, finally sipping at the now lukewarm coffee in his hand. “[i]I[/i] have one cup of coffee a day, but your whole day is comprised of coffee.”

“Sometimes I don't even buy coffee here,” she pointed out, “It's much cheaper to buy coffee at the supermarket and make it at home.”

“You're a brilliant salesperson, Hermione.”

“Oh, shut up, you,” she said exasperatedly, swatting his shoulder playfully. “It's just you.”

“Flattered.”

“Stop it,” she said, though she smiled. He watched a dimple curve gracefully in her cheek as she did. “Rachel! The napkins are right by the door!”

“Oh, are they?” Rachel popped her head into the room, smirking. “I must have missed them on my way in.”

“You're the one who put them there!”

“Oh, that's right.” Rachel said, arranging her face into a surprised look. “Sorry. I mean, we're so dreadfully busy, and here I am, scrabbling around for napkins. Silly me.”

Hermione let out another long sigh, rubbing her hand against her cheek and half-smiling. “What was that I was saying about finding work here relaxing?”

He laughed quietly, sipping his coffee again and watching her close her eyes for a moment. “Anything would be relaxing after being—“

He hesitated, finding himself strangely unable to utter the words `my best friend' as he watched her smile faintly, leaning against the counter.

It was, after all, to be just friends with someone like Hermione.

“Being with me, all these years,” he finished at last. Her eyes opened and she looked back at him, making a soft noise at the back of her throat.

“You make that sound so unpleasant,” she said lightly, the corners of her lips turning up in a quiet smile. A silence ensued between them as the music in the shop hit a particularly upbeat passage. He sighed and curled his hand around the cup.

“Well, it was no picnic.”

“But we were together—you, Ron and I.” Hermione reminded him, reaching across the counter for his hand. He reached out and cushioned it against his own, smiling as she squeezed his fingers firmly. “Just like always.”

But I don't want things to be `just like always', Hermione.

Half of him wished he had the courage to speak out loud.

“Harry?” She pressured his hand again, sounding puzzled. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “I'm fine.”

“Harry…” she said softly, in that voice she used whenever she wished to draw him out. “You had that look on your face.”

“Look? What look?” he said innocently, but she raised an eyebrow and he sighed.

“It's nothing to worry about, Hermione.”

Nothing for you to worry about, anyway.

The coffee shop's old clock chimed four o'clock, and Hermione glanced at the clock.

“That's the end of my shift.”

“I know.”

She looked at him, obviously still concerned.

“Well, I'm here, if you need to talk,” she said at last, slipping away from the counter and sliding her arms around his waist. She rested her cheek against his chest, allowing him to hold her tightly. He pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in the scent of her hair: a combination of coffee and vanilla, both soothing, warm smells that made his heart thump pleasantly against his chest.

“I know, Hermione.” He hadn't meant to whisper, but he couldn't help it. It was as if his voice wished to tell her that those words would ever only be hers.

“Sometimes I'm not sure.” She pulled back quickly, and studied him closely. “I know your training starts at four-thirty. I wouldn't want you to be late.”

Her gaze seemed to brush softly against his skin, leaving an oddly tingling sensation in its wake. She lifted a hand and cradled his cheek, smiling.

“Be safe, Harry.”

He felt his eyes close at her touch, his arms tightening around her waist. The warm, coffee-scented darkness suddenly rippled with color when he felt a gentle kiss brush against his lips, her fingers sliding to fit his face more snugly.

“And don't forget your coffee.” A voice whispered into the tangibly miniscule distance between his lips and hers.

He opened his eyes, seeing her eyes dance contentedly across his somewhat dazed features.

He parted his lips, attempting to say something— anything…

She lowered her hand and gently disengaged herself from his embrace. He dropped his arms to his sides, only barely registering her words of farewell.

He reached out and took his cold coffee from the countertop, restraining himself from reaching up and touching his lips with his free hand.

He had the feeling he'd be spending a lot of his time in this coffee shop from now on.

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