Assignment 6 | Muggle Cultures, Task 2 | Write a coffee-shop!AU.
Hermione strode through the library, making a beeline for the exact stacks that held the book she needed. She'd looked it up on the website that morning, so she knew exactly where to find it, and hopefully, it would have the information she needed. She ran her fingers over the spines of the books as her eyes scanned the gold lettering in search of the right title.
There was a space between two books and her fingers sort of fell into it, a gap right where the book she needed should have been. Her heart sank. The book couldn't be checked out, she had just looked! And it was such a niche book, who else would even want this thing? She searched the rest of the row just in case, and then looked again, but the book was gone.
Sometimes, Hermione felt like cursing herself for choosing to study history. If she had decided to become a scientist, she would never be in a position where the information she was looking for could only be found in one hard copy book. Scientific articles are always published online, there are always multiple copies. It's never just one old book holding centuries old stories in it. But no, she had to choose to study bloody history.
Frustrated, Hermione stomped back toward the front door of the library, grumpy at this setback. She must have just missed the book by minutes, which probably meant that it wouldn't be returned for two weeks if she was lucky, and that was two whole weeks that she'd be stagnated on her thesis. Two weeks.
Between the disappointment of the library and the bone-penetrating cold, Hermione decided that she deserved something warm and sweet as a treat. She made a beeline to her favourite coffee shop, which was, unsurprisingly, packed. There were people sitting at every table and a crowd of people waiting for their orders. But in her first piece of good luck that day, there was nobody waiting in line at the register to place an order. She walked up and greeted the familiar-looking barista with a somewhat forced smile.
"Hi, large peppermint mocha please," she said, digging in her bag for her wallet. "The name is Hermione."
"Of course," the barista – Colin – replied. "That'll be five pounds fifty."
She paid and then moved down to the side of the counter to wait for her drink. She glanced around at the people occupying the local watering hole, observing them, idly wondering about their backgrounds. A guy with red hair caught her eye – he was cute, just her type really. He had his computer propped up on some books while he scribbled on a piece of paper.
"Hermione!"
With a soft sigh, she turned back to the counter and took the cup that Colin was holding out to her. It didn't really matter if she thought the redhead was cute anyway, she didn't have time to date right now. Dating was for after she defended her thesis. She thanked Colin and started to make her way out, but something caught her eye.
The books beneath the redhead's computer… one of them was old and emerald green with gold lettering down the spine. She knew it was her book, she just knew. It made her furious. This guy had taken her book and he wasn't even using it! It was so disrespectful for him to use books like that as well. He didn't even look like he was in any way affiliated with the university – he was clearly too old to be a student and he didn't look… well, academic enough to be a graduate student. He was definitely not a professor.
She couldn't just let him get away with it. Steeling herself, Hermione straightened her spine and walked over to him, determined to tell him how wrong he was.
"Um, excuse me, but those books are only supposed to be checked out by students and staff at the university," she said, her cheeks tinged pink with annoyance.
The guy at the table looked up at her, straightening his back and frowning. "How do you know I'm not?"
"Well, I…" Hermione stuttered. "You don't look young enough to be an undergrad…"
"I could be a graduate student," he pointed out. "Or a professor. Or a fellow."
"I…yes, I suppose so," she continued to stammer, heat rising on her cheeks, "but you don't… well, you don't look…"
"Ah, you don't think I look smart enough," he deduced, smirking a little.
"I didn't say that." Embarrassment spiked in her gut at having been caught out.
"It's what you were thinking though." He grinned like the cat that caught the canary. "I was in the military, that's why I'm older."
"Oh," she said lamely. She was ready to slink away and go hide in shame at her presumption, but then curiosity got the better of her. "That's quite unusual, isn't it? I mean, most people in the military don't go back to school, do they?"
He seemed a little bit uncomfortable at her question, shifting in his seat as the smile faded just a little. But he answered her nonetheless. "No, most people don't. But my brother… I'm getting a business degree so I can help my brother run his shop."
"Right, that's… that's really nice," Hermione replied, feeling so incredibly stupid. She really ought to leave before she made this any worse. "Hang on – if you're doing a business degree, why do you need a book about anglo saxon history and the origins of the legend of King Arthur? Or do you just enjoy using rare books as laptop stands?"
Once again, he started grinning at her. "It's for a gift –"
"You can't give library books as gifts!" she squealed, indignance making her voice a little bit louder than she intended.
"Bloody hell, you're bossy, aren't you?" he said with a chuckle. "It's research for the gift, not the gift itself."
"Oh." Hermione instantly deflated.
"I'm Ron, by the way," he added.
"Hmm? Oh, right. Hermione," she answered, lost in thought. "What kind of gift involves a book like this?"
He sighed, in a way that almost seemed like he found all her questions endearing. "My family always claimed to be descended from King Arthur. Don't look at me like that! We don't believe in all the magic stuff, but it's gotta be based on someone, right? And my family lore says that we're descended from that guy. So I'm doing some research to see if I can put together a family tree. My dad loves that kind of thing."
"There is no way you're going to be able to construct a family tree all the way back to Arthurian times!" Hermione protested, her jaw practically on the floor. "Record-keeping is not nearly sufficient enough for that. It's impossible!"
"Maybe," he shrugged, "but I can try."
"But –"
"Do you want to sit down, Hermione?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
"What?"
"Do you want to sit down?" Ron repeated, looking at her with a bemused expression. "You seem to have a lot of questions, so I thought you might like to sit."
"I… no, thank you," she said, shaking her head a little to try and regain her focus. "Look, I need that book for my thesis, it's really important, so if you could just –"
"I need it too, otherwise I wouldn't have checked it out," he replied, interrupting again.
Hermione wanted to scream with frustration. "But that's just… you only need it for a gift!"
"And you think my gift is less important than your thesis?" he finished, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Well… yes!" Hermione answered, again a little louder than she meant to. "Mine is work!"
"And my family's important to me," Ron said with another shrug. He sipped his coffee before he spoke again, his tongue swiping a bit of frothed milk from his lip. "What if I make you a deal? I'll take the book home now, scan the pages I need, and then we can meet later and I'll give it to you. Sound good?"
She wanted to protest, but Hermione knew it was probably the best offer she was going to get. She took a deep breath to force her disappointment deep into the pit of her stomach. It was fine, there were other things she could look at for a few hours. And then she would have the book and she could truly get back to work.
"Fine," she agreed, crossing her arms over her chest so he knew that she wasn't happy about it.
"Great," Ron said with a smile. "How's 7 sound? Do you know the Speckled Stag?"
Did he think she lived under a rock? Or that she was some kind of prude or something? Of course she knew the Speckled Stag! Not that she could be found at the pub very often of course…
"Sure, 7pm at the Speckled Stag is fine," she said at last. "I'll see you then."
"See you then, Hermione."