Warning: This isn't beta'd as it's for a Write a Story in One Hour Competition!
Word Count: 1000 words exactly.
Disclaimer: I don't own HP.
{E}
There weren't many things that made Harry feel complete, like he was wanted, needed. He could count them all on one hand. After the war was over, his sense of belonging had all but dissolved. Despite the offers into the Auror program, the Seeker contract with the Chudley Cannons, there was a gaping, albeit metaphorical hole in his chest.
However, when he did find something that gave him that feeling of fulfillment, he was sure to hold onto it. For a while, he decided to decline the many offers and contracts to seek out his own place in life. He traveled the country and then the world for nearly two years before he found himself right back at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
His family, the Weasley's, welcomed him back with open arms, having understood his need for separation. No amount of affection would truly make them his family, but it was the closest thing that he had. So he went on with his life, the redheads brought back into his life once more. They were the first thing he was sure not to lose, a reason to live.
Months went by and soon enough, he was tired of sitting at home with nothing to do but to help Molly cook every afternoon. He didn't have to look for long and within a week he had gotten a job at a popular coffee shop in Diagon Alley. Unsurprisingly, it took him nearly three days before he was able to make a cup of cappuccino without burning himself.
It was that day, the day that he made a mocha frappe by himself that he found the second reason for his existence; making coffee for others, helping the world in one simple way. Belonging slowly began to enter his life again, after the horrid absence it had taken. There were the newbies and the regulars; everyone needed their fix and he could give it to them.
Espresso, he found, was the most popular and highest selling item on their menu. More than half of the regulars ordered it every day, not to mention the fresh customers that wandered in. At first it was curiosity, then it was determination, and then he was addicted to the substance as well. It wasn't quick, the stuff was something to get used to, but he liked it just as much.
Just like that, the third reason for his will to live life to the fullest was brought into play. The need for an espresso shot every morning became very apparent and he knew that it was dangerous, so he tried to keep it down to three times a week. It kept him awake and alert, able to do his job, able to help others.
More weeks passed and the winter months came. Like every year, the coffee shop became home to all of the outdoor lovers as it became bitterly cold. He never understood their reasoning; personally, he loved the cold weather. As he was washing down the tables before closing, he walked up to the locked door; watching out into the dark and nearly empty street.
His warm breath fogged up the glass and in amusement, he traced intricate patterns into the moisture. This, he supposed, was the fourth reason for his life, for his continued living. The cold was a part of him and he was a part of the cold, it was something meant to be. With that small smirk, amusement gone, he turned to walk back to the counter.
Light rapping echoed through the dim room and Harry turned back around. There outside the door was a dark skinned man a little taller than himself. Dark eyes, the color of the espresso he so loved, stared at the time table in the window desperately. Amusement rushed through his veins as he watched the familiar man run a hand through his already rumpled black hair.
Stepping forward, Harry unlocked the door allowing the man to step inside, "You're lucky that I'm so nice. What would you like?" That glint of excitement that he loved to instill in people's eyes flashes in those pools of espresso. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked behind the counter.
"French Vanilla Cappuccino," The deep voice of the man follows him, "Please." The sentiment was an afterthought and Harry can't bring himself to care. He'd probably shocked the man by even opening the door, much less letting him in. Without a word, he procures the warm drink that is perfect for the cold night outside.
As he turns, he catches those eyes with his own and he can't hold back the question, "Where do I know you from?" The man reaches forward and without hesitation, Harry hands the steaming cup of doctored coffee to him. A smirk plays on the man's lips as he takes a sip before sighing in appreciation.
Placing the cup on the counter and pulling out his wallet he answers, "We were only in the same year Potter. It's Zabini." Just like that the light bulb flickered on and with no restraint Harry slapped the man on the forehead for the sarcastic comment. Long fingers twined around his wrist before he could pull back and for long seconds they stared at one another.
"Seems like you're still the same confident son of a bitch," The words were laced with the same amusement that he was feeling earlier, sarcastic to the last syllable. That infuriating smirk that made his heart beat just a little faster slipped onto the taller man's lips and Harry can't help but grin back.
He would never admit it, as he would never live it down, but he did find Blaise a little more than attractive; he always had. The man let go of his wrist and laid down the currency, before winking his way. Before he left the shop he called back over his shoulder, "See you tomorrow!" Without trying, his fifth reason of life walked out the door.
{E}
This was for the One Hour Challenge! I hope that everyone liked it!