Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.

A/N: Written for newyearcntdown (prompt: long distance) and hp_coffeehouse (prompt 08: decaf).

Bitter Times

Powdery snow fell from the leaden sky like silver confetti, as if in celebration of the coming new year. His breath coming out in white puffs, Blaise Zabini took a moment to survey the quiet, deserted street. Sodium-vapour street lamps shone their orange light upon unlit shop signs and darkened shop windows. Christmas lights twinkled here and there behind the windows, remnants of the two-month-long festivity.

Standing outside the wooden door of Bitter Times—his café and his pride—Blaise soaked in the scene, a scene that he would not be seeing for a long time. This time tomorrow he would be packing his bags in preparation for his journey. He might come back here someday, or he might settle down elsewhere and never set foot upon English soil again.

A brisk chill crept into his unbuttoned coat and his grey cotton shirt. Shivering, he grabbed the black sandwich board and hurried back to the warmth and comfort of the dimly lit café. After propping the sandwich board against the wall, he took off his coat and draped it over a chair. Inevitably his gaze was drawn to the table by the window, where a certain someone was reading beneath the soft, warm glow of a floating lantern.

Clad in a black cashmere jumper over a white shirt, Draco Malfoy seemed younger and mellower than his daytime self. A pair of thin-rimmed reading glasses framed his downcast grey eyes. Long slender fingers held up a softcover book the colour of red wine. On the dark cherry-wood table, a glass teacup stood empty beside a pair of black leather gloves.

Without a word Blaise stepped behind the bar, washed his hands, and went about preparing a cup of espresso for his last customer. The lever espresso machine sat waiting on the counter, its polished stainless steel surface reflecting Blaise's figure. He worked quickly and efficiently, his body attuned to the familiar rhythm and movement of coffee-making: grind the coffee beans, tamp down the grounds, secure the portafilter, pull the shot. There were times when he was just going through the motions when he worked: this was not one such time.

Blaise placed a glass of water and two cups of espresso on a round wooden tray, and he carried the tray to the table by the window. A faint whiff of cedar and musk—Draco's favourite scent—teased Blaise's senses. Draco had taken off his glasses; the book he had been reading was nowhere in sight. While Blaise set down the glass and the cups on the table, Draco peered at his face as though searching for a hint to his innermost thought.

"In case you are wondering, no, I'm not crying," Blaise remarked before sitting down. Across the table, Draco hummed and curved his lips into a quirk of a smile, looking amused. Blaise decided to change the subject. "Don't you have plans on New Year's Eve?"

"You are my plan, seeing as you are closing your café today." After drinking some water, Draco picked up the porcelain demitasse cup, took a sip, and let out an appreciative sigh. "I'm going to miss this. Come to my house and be my personal barista."

"I doubt that partner of yours would agree to it," Blaise said wryly. Those words did not taste as bitter as they once did. He drank his espresso and let the flavour spread in his mouth. "Did you get a clearance from him before coming here?"

"I told him I'll be at your café, drinking coffee with you and wishing you a safe journey." There was a pause as Draco put down his cup. "So? Where will you be going?"

Blaise leant back against the chair and winced at the dull ache on his lower back. Even a jolt of caffeine could not quite relieve him of a day's worth of aches and weariness. "I'll be heading to Florence first. An acquaintance of mine runs a trattoria there."

Draco raised his eyebrows, his hand cradling the cup as if longing for its warmth. "Does that acquaintance of yours happen to be quite easy on the eye?"

"He's also happily married to the sweetheart he met at culinary school."

With an absent air about him Draco picked up the demitasse spoon and stirred the remaining coffee in his cup. "And after Florence?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Tilting his head ever so slightly to one side, Draco regarded Blaise with a scrutinising look. "Do you plan on coming back?"

Narrowing his eyes, Blaise avoided Draco's knowing gaze and stared at Draco's hands: blue veins showing beneath alabaster skin. The silver signet ring on Draco's finger gleamed dully like a half-remembered memory. "I haven't decided yet," Blaise said.

Those downcast eyes of Draco's contemplated the dark depth within the cup; his spoon clinked a soft clink against the saucer with a note of finality. "I see," Draco said quietly. "It will be lonely without you here."

Blaise's heart did not skip a beat; instead, a bittersweet feeling rippled ever outwards from the deep of his psyche. Once upon a time, if Draco had asked him to stay, he would have stayed and consequences be damned. Nevertheless, they had passed each other by a long time ago.

"If you ever want to dump that partner of yours or if he dumps you, send me an owl," Blaise remarked in a sardonic tone. "You know I'm not too shabby at hexes and curses."

Draco let out a chuckle, and the mood lightened once more. "Yes, I'll do that." His gaze swept across the interior of the café: the dark cherry-wood bar bathed in tender light, the walls painted in the hue of caffè-latte, and framed black-and-white photographs of unknown places and unknown people. "Are you going to miss this?"

"I don't miss working six days a week," Blaise replied without sentiment. "I've been here long enough. It's time to go out and see some other scenery." It's time to stop watching you, he thought as he finished his espresso. The aftertaste lingered in his mouth like a vivid dream. "How is Scorpius' café-gelateria coming along? Has he found a barista yet?"

"He's still looking. Those with aspiration would rather run their own coffee house, while those with lesser aspiration would rather work at some distinguished coffee house. The mediocre ones—and there are many of them out there—are not worth considering." Draco finished his coffee and set the cup aside. "Scorpius said you are his first choice." He cast Blaise a glance. "I feel the same way."

A ghost of a smile played upon Blaise's lips, and he recalled the conversations he had with the young man in question. "Yes, he told me something to that effect. It's nice to feel wanted," he said with deliberate casualness.

Draco rested his folded hands on the table and held Blaise in his slate grey gaze. "And if I ask you to help him out? To lend him your expertise, your experience and your connections. You can have anything you want for the new place. You know I'm not stingy in that regard."

Knowing full well Draco was trying to court him (albeit not in a romantic sense), Blaise could only shake his head. "You are spoiling him too much."

"There's no telling how many years I have left to spoil him." As if sensing Blaise's alarm, Draco smiled a slightly twisted smile and added. "Oh, I'm not sick or anything. Well? What do you think?"

Blaise did not answer; instead, he turned towards the window, where the night street awaited on the other side of the glass. Snowflakes glittered beneath the orange streetlight and veiled the ground; two overlapping figures strolled along on the cobblestone pavement; shadows lurked in nooks and crannies. On this side of the glass, Draco's reflection hovered in the ghostly vision of the café, watching and waiting.

"I'll think about it," Blaise said at length, all the while annoyed with himself for going along with Draco's schemes yet again.

"Thank you," Draco said, a note of sincerity in his voice. "May I order another cup of espresso? Or are you closed for the night?"

Blaise shot a glance at the empty cups on the table. "Will you be able to sleep after this?"

"People invented sleeping potion for a reason. I'm simply in the mood to drink some more of your coffee tonight." Unspoken words hung in the air like a whiff of smoke, intangible yet readily perceived. A moment later, the curve of Draco's lips became ever so wry. "Or perhaps you want me to leave you alone so that you can reminisce about the good times by yourself?"

Playing along to Draco's charade, Blaise snorted. "Right. Getting burnt and handling obnoxious customers give me such fond memories," he muttered before getting to his feet. "Is decaf all right?"

"As long as you are the one making the coffee."

Blaise made a noncommittal sound, took out his wand, and with a casual wave banished the dirty cups to the basin behind the bar. With another casual wave he conjured a pair of porcelain demitasse cups with matching saucer. One more flick of the wand later, a handful of decaffeinated coffee beans materialised in the air. With more care and concentration than usual he willed the beans into grounds and grounds into steaming espresso.

Once the last few drops of coffee dripped into the cups, Blaise placed one of the cups in front of Draco and sat down. "It might not be to your taste."

With a thoughtful look Draco drank some water, picked up the cup, and held it to his lips. After breathing in the aroma, he took a tentative sip, let the flavour sink in for a beat or two, took another sip, and let out a breath. Over the rim of the demitasse cup, his lips curved into a genuine smile, and for one tantalising moment, Blaise did not want to look away.

"Very nice. This is different from the one you made last time, isn't it?"

Returning to himself, Blaise cloaked his thoughts and feelings behind a nonchalant façade. "Just trying things out." With that he fell silent and drank his coffee, and Draco, unmindful of his silence, sipped some more coffee and spoke no more.

Before long, only two stained cups and an empty glass remained behind on the table, waiting to be washed. With a clatter the chair was pushed back, and without a word Draco got up and put on his black double-breasted coat. Blaise stood up as well, his gaze lingering over those nimble fingers that were fastening the buttons one by one.

After securing his chequered scarf around his neck, Draco stuffed his gloves into his pocket and turned to Blaise. In two steps he closed the gap between them and enveloped Blaise in a loose embrace. "Have a safe journey." A heartbeat later, he tightened his arms ever so slightly. "Thank you for everything, Blaise. Ti voglio bene."

The same bittersweet feeling from earlier assailed Blaise with little warning. "Likewise," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around Draco and breathed in the scent he had come to know and love. "Take care of yourself, and learn how to make good coffee while you are at it."

Draco chuckled for a beat or two before drawing away. With a pang Blaise let him go, took a step back, and dropped his arms. His mouth tasted of the ashes of words he would no longer utter. "I'm sure that partner of yours will appreciate it," Blaise drawled, and he allowed himself a quirk of a smirk. "Say hello to Potter for me."

"I will. He asked me to wish you good luck and have a nice trip." With a look Blaise could not quite decipher Draco beheld him for a moment longer. "I won't ask you to keep in touch. Just send me an owl when you are settled."

"I'm not making any promises," Blaise heard himself say.

"I'm sure you will grumble about it while composing a letter to me expressing your displeasure," Draco remarked in half-jest. In spite of himself, Blaise could not help but chuckle. "Well, I'll leave you to your cleaning and packing." A pause. "I know it's a little early: Happy New Year, Blaise."

"Happy New Year, Draco. And hold off on that sleeping potion."

Draco gave Blaise a quick smile and a casual wave before heading to the door and stepping out onto the snowy street. Through the window Blaise watched Draco walk away in a brisk stride without a backward glance. Soon the tall silhouette vanished around the corner and beyond Blaise's sight; all he saw now was the sodium-lit night and his own ghostly reflection.

Very little of the scenery had changed, and yet somehow the scene seemed a little darker, a little emptier and a little colder. Blaise looked away and stared at the cups on the table. Ever so slowly—ever so hesitantly—he reached out and ran his fingertip over the rim of Draco's cup. The magic-induced warmth had faded like a dream upon awakening, leaving nothing behind.

Moving his lips, he mouthed words that no one would hear, words swallowed up by the silence of the night, words directed at a certain someone who was no longer there. At length, he heaved a breath, placed the cups on the tray, and snuffed out the warm lantern-light.

Finis.

A/N: The name of Blaise's café is inspired by Portishead's song, "Sour Times". Ti voglio bene can be loosely translated to "I care about you" or "I want you well". Thank you for reading.