I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters in this story.


The barista frowned at the crying bushy-haired young woman. She came by once a week, every week, always ordering a plain black coffee. And every week, she cried at some point, usually when she looked at him.

Sweeping back his unruly black hair, he approached the woman, tray in hand. Placing the coffee down in front of her, his emerald green eyes met her chocolate brown eyes. He smiled hesitantly at her, and she began to sob even more. Reaching out with one hand, he brushed a strand of her hair away from her eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked, sitting down opposite her and handing her a tissue from his pocket. She took it, blew her nose noisily, and gave him a weak smile in return.

"I'm fine, thank you. It's just ... this café always reminds me of my fiancé. He loved his coffee, more than any other drink." The woman said, eyes still welling with tears. "He was always so kind to me, right from the beginning. But he's gone now, I suppose. And I don't know what to do with my life."

"I'm sorry." He said, reaching across the table to hold her hand on instinct. She let him, her fingers brushing over the calluses from ... actually, he wasn't sure where he got the calluses from, but he noticed that she had similar calluses. "What happened to your fiancé? I'm told I'm a good listener, and I know it's probably not normal for me to ask it, but I feel like you're incredibly familiar to me."

The woman smiled again, weakly. "I met him in school, on our first day. He was fairly nice to me, even though I'd managed to annoy him and his friend. We were in classes together for about two months, before we bonded after he saved me from a wild animal that got loose from our school's animal research centre. We quickly became best friends, and he proposed to me a couple of years later, jokingly. I accepted, jokingly, but we realised soon afterwards that we both actually did love each other. So we went to our local registry office, and registered ourselves as engaged to be married when we both finished school."

"Later that year, he was coerced into competing in a sporting competition at our school. He ... he managed to win the first of the trials, but he couldn't do the second trial. He lost a part of him in the trial, and I lost him forever."

The barista frowned. Why was that story resonating with him so much? It sounded so familiar, like a half-remembered dream. "I'm so sorry for your loss, miss ...?"

"Granger. Hermione Granger."

"It's nice to meet you, Hermione Granger. My name is Harry Potter."


AN: I was inspired for this one by robst's brilliant story, Banking On Her, specifically, the idea that Harry would lose his magic and be obliviated if he refused to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Kudos to him for writing such amazing works.