The Coffee Shop

One:

Draco stared at the dark, steamy liquid he held in front of him. His hands and drink rested on the cool wooden top of a rickety table. He felt like an idiot. Why was he doing this anyway? This was his aunt's idea. Stupid cow, he thought to himself, berating himself as well for going along with the absurd idea. It was just after Christmas, and although boxing day had come and gone, the little muggle bookstore and coffee shop still had gaudy red and green, silver and gold baubles and trinkets hanging about. The lasting Christmas fanfare did little to improve Draco's mood; he could see very little to celebrate about in the wizarding world, let alone in the pathetic world of mud-. Muggles. In the pathetic world of muggles. Draco rubbed a hand roughly through his blond hair then down his face, feeling the roughness and pricks from forgetting to shave.

Taking a sip of his tea, he cringed and sat back in his chair thinking, they can't even make a decent cup of tea. He looked around, Draco sat at a high table in a row of tables and chairs along a large window that overlooked a quiet muggle street. The few people who passed by usually stopped in the coffee shop, leading Draco to decide that despite it's quaint nature, the shop must be fairly popular in the town. The line waxed and waned with customers as he sat there, facing the front of the store. Customers lined up to sample and purchase hot steamy liquids and sugary sweets for themselves and their children, then they made their way to the side of the shop where the tables were and either picked a spot to eat and drink or meandered to the left of Draco, where the bookshelves started. The musty smell of the books were, oddly enough, the only bit of comfort Draco found in the little shop. The smell was reminiscent of the Hogwarts library, a place he wished he had spent more time in. The books were neatly stacked on thick, dark, wooden shelves that rose at least two foot above Draco's head, an ambitious height for the small shop. The rows of books led to the back of the book shop, where short tables with cushioned chairs lined the wall, leading to a set of stairs. Draco had not ventured up the stairs and wondered what was up there. He watched as people picked up a book here and there, flipped through the pages and replaced them. Some took the books to the front to purchase. His gaze traveled to the counter once more, where a mother was juggling her two, youngsters and their request. The children were school aged and seemed to be having a hard time deciding what to eat. As the mom spoke quickly between the two and the young girl behind the counter, Draco looked to the next person in line who stood a few steps back, patiently waiting.

Her dark green dress clung to her waist in a pleasant way. The hem stopped above her knees, a bit high for the windy day they were having, but Draco didn't mind as he admired her bare, shapely legs. He saw a thick coat hanging over one arm and guessed it was removed sometime after she entered the coffee shop. Try though he might, he couldn't see her face beyond a mess of dark curls that sheilded her from his vision. Although her face was a mystery, Draco decided, anyone with a figure like that had to have a lovely face, muggle or not. She stepped forward in line and placed an order, turning down a dessert and moved to the edge of the counter to wait for her drink. Draco felt as though someone threw a bucket of ice water down his back. He stared in disbelief at the face in front of him and was shocked when her name came to him, out of all of blood London. Why in the hell is she here?! Hermione Granger carried on a casual conversation with another person behind the counter. She must have been a regular visitor as her drink was finished quickly and Hermione nodded her thanks and began walking away. Walking towards him.

Draco sat still. He wondered briefly if hr kept perfectly still, would that keep her from seeing him?

But Hermione either felt his gaze burning her, or fate whispered in her ear to look up at thay exact moment. Her eyes met his and she stopped dead in her tracks. He saw her mouth Malfoy, as she stared him, but she either whispered it or the din in the coffee shop was enough to cover the noise of his name. She began walking towards him, Damn that Griffindor tenacity! Dammit to hell.

Draco thought about rushing away, running like a true and awful coward, but no, he stayed in his seat as she slowly approached him.

"Draco?" He blinked. He wasn't sure why but her use of his given name threw him even more off kilter than he already had been.

"Granger." He spoke stiffly and pressed his lips together tightly as she stared at him.

Hermione began shaking her head in disbelief. After a huff of a laugh she asked "What on earth are you doing here?"

Unsure of how to answer, because he himself found the situation still completely absurd, he decided to go for the obvious answer, "Having a cup of tea, Granger. It's what civilized people often do on cold days."

What reaction Draco expected Hermione to have, he couldn't say. What he could say was her taking a seat across from him was not on his list of expected reactions. He looked at her slightly aghast. Hermione sat back in her chair, comfortably and watched him curiously.

"Civilized people? You realize you're sitting amongst muggles, right?"

"Care to shout that any louder, Granger? We're supposed to use discretion, remember?" He sneered at her across the table, but there was something decidedly mild about his scorn.

Hermione leaned forward in her seat slightly and asked again, "Really, what are you doing here?"

There was a long pause, so long Hermione thought Malfoy had decided to completely ignore her as he stared at the cooling drink in front of him. "I had some... questions." - he started. Hermione remained silent and let him continue "I just... had... questions." His stare never rose from his cup and he took a deep breath, steadying himself.

"I should go." Abruptly, he rose from his chair and began leaving the table.

"Malfoy, wait." Hermione's hand shot out and grabbed Malfoy just above his wrist. He shot a look at her hand and she slowly pulled it away. He glanced up at her, nodded once, then left. Hermione, unsure of what to say or why she interrupted him at all, sat back in her chair, befuddled. She shook her head and sipped her drink, running the short exchange through her mind again and again.