Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The conference room door swung open and Ginny stepped inside, coffee in hand, already bracing herself for whatever meeting Gavin had called this time. Her eyes scanned the room automatically, looking for a seat, and landed on the corner of the table before she could stop herself.

Harry was there.

Of course he was.

Sitting between Romilda and Lavender, both of them leaning in, talking animatedly about something Ginny couldn't hear. And Harry—quiet, boring, single-word-answer Harry—was actually replying. Not just nodding. Not just giving them nothing. Actually talking. His mouth was moving. Words were coming out. Complete sentences.

Romilda laughed at something he said, bright and flirty, and Lavender touched his arm like he'd just told her the most charming thing she'd ever heard.

Ginny felt something twist in her chest. Annoyance. That's what it was. Pure, simple annoyance. She didn't know why she felt it. She didn't want to examine it. She just wanted to sit down and get through this meeting without having to look at him.

She dropped into the seat directly across from him, the only empty chair left, and set her coffee down with more force than necessary.

Harry looked up. His eyes met hers. Green. Very green. The kind of green that made her forget what she was annoyed about for half a second before she remembered.

"Morning," he said. Quiet. Polite. The same flat tone he always used with her.

"Morning," she said, and then added, because she couldn't help herself, "Nice to see you've found your voice."

He blinked. "What?"

"I just mean. You talk to them." She gestured vaguely at Romilda and Lavender, who were watching the exchange with mild interest. "You don't talk to me. I thought you were shy. Turns out you're just selective."

Harry's eyebrows went up. A slow, deliberate movement. He didn't say anything. Just sat there, watching her, that single raised eyebrow doing more than any words could.

Ginny felt her face heat. She'd meant it as a joke. A pointed one, maybe, but still a joke. Now it just sounded petty.

"Anyway," she said, looking away. "Good for you. Making friends."

She picked up her coffee and took a long sip, hoping the heat from the mug would distract her from the heat in her cheeks.

Across the table, Harry's eyebrow stayed raised for another second before he lowered it. He didn't respond. He just turned back to Romilda and Lavender, who immediately started talking again like nothing had happened.

Ginny stared at her coffee and tried to focus on anything else.

The meeting started. Gavin droned on about deadlines and content strategy and something about the quarterly budget that she should have been paying attention to. She wasn't. Her eyes kept drifting across the table, watching Harry nod along with whatever Gavin was saying, his face neutral, his attention fixed on the presentation.

He hadn't looked at her once since she'd made that comment.

Good. She didn't want him to.

But she also couldn't stop thinking about the way Romilda had laughed at him. The way Lavender had touched his arm. The way he'd actually opened his mouth and used words like a normal person, when he'd given her nothing but fragments and avoidance since the day he started.

Selective, she'd said. And he was.

She just didn't know why she cared.

The meeting dragged on. She pulled out her phone under the table, hidden from view, and started typing.

She waited. No reply. He was probably busy

Still no reply.

She glanced at Harry across the table. Who was now reaching for his laptop, and started typing.

What a poser, she thought. Who writes notes for a budget meeting. Trying to impress Gavin. Probably angling for an early raise already.

She pulled out her phone under the table, again, and started typing.

She smiled at the screen, the tension in her shoulders loosening slightly. Across the table, Harry kept typing. Serious expression. Attentive. Completely absorbed in whatever he was doing.

She glanced up again. Harry was still typing, his brow furrowed in concentration, those round glasses perched on his nose. He looked like a student taking an exam. Serious. Focused. Completely unaware of the world around him.

Except he wasn't unaware. He'd been talking to others just fine before the meeting started. Friendly. Responsive. Everything he wasn't with her.

She stared at the screen. He was right. She was invested. Too invested. Why did she care so much about what the new guy did or didn't do?

She was halfway through typing a reply when Gavin's voice cut through the room.

"Ginny."

She looked up, phone still in her hand, caught completely off guard. Gavin was staring at her from the head of the table, arms crossed, that familiar look of theatrical disappointment plastered across his face.

"Sorry," she said, slipping the phone under the table. "I was just—"

"Distracted," Gavin finished. "You've been distracted a lot lately. Always on your phone. You're not a teenager, Ginny. I expect better from someone who's been here as long as you have."

The room went quiet. A few colleagues glanced at her with that awkward sympathy people give when someone's being publicly scolded. She felt heat creep up her neck, spreading across her cheeks.

"Look at Harry," Gavin continued, gesturing across the table. "Not even a month in and he's already more efficient than half this room. Taking notes. Paying attention. That's the kind of energy I want to see."

Ginny's face burned. She looked across the table at Harry, expecting to see that same blank expression he always wore with her. Instead, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. His hands had stopped typing. His eyes were fixed on Gavin with something that looked almost like panic.

Gavin smiled at Harry, warm and approving. "Keep it up. That's how you make an impression."

Harry's cheeks flushed. Ever so slightly. A faint pink that crept up from his collar and settled along his cheekbones. He nodded once, said nothing, and looked back down at his laptop.

Ginny stared at him. He looked almost... embarrassed. Like he didn't want the attention. Like he wished Gavin had never said anything at all.

The meeting continued. Gavin moved on to some other topic, some other victim for his theatrical management style. Ginny kept her phone under the table, face-down, even when it buzzed.

She didn't look at it.

She sat there, face still warm, trying to focus on the presentation. It didn't work. Her mind kept drifting back to the look on Harry's face. The flush on his cheeks. The way he'd looked almost guilty when Gavin praised him.

That's how you make an impression.

She'd been wrong. He wasn't a poser. He wasn't trying to impress anyone. He just... took notes. Paid attention. Did his job.

It didn't make her feel any better.

***

The meeting finally ended. Chairs scraped against the floor. People drifted out, conversations starting up, the usual post-meeting chaos.

Ginny stood and gathered her things. Across the table, Harry was closing his laptop, sliding it into his bag, moving with that same quiet efficiency he always had.

She walked over to him.

"Hey," she said.

He looked up. Those green eyes met hers, then darted away. "Yeah?"

"Can you share your notes with me?"

He blinked. "My notes?"

"Gavin said you were taking them. I missed some of it." She didn't add because I was texting a stranger about how annoying you are.

Harry's face did something complicated. A flash of something that looked almost like panic, quickly smoothed away. "I, uh. I didn't save them."

"What?"

"I forgot to save." He was already looking past her, anywhere but at her face. "It's gone. The file. I didn't—" He cleared his throat. "Sorry."

Ginny stared at him. "Aren't they autosaved?"

"Old software," he said quickly. Too quickly. "I have an old version. Doesn't autosave."

Ginny stared at him. He was lying. She knew he was lying. Everyone in this office had auto-save. The software was standard. He was sitting there, telling her an obvious lie, and he couldn't even look at her while he did it.

If he didn't want to give me the notes, he could have just said so, she thought. No need to make up a story.

But she didn't say that. She just nodded, forced a tight smile, and said, "Right. Okay. Well. Maybe next time."

"Yeah," he said. "Sorry."

She turned and walked back to her desk, dropping into her chair with a heavy sigh. The day stretched ahead of her, long and annoying and full of Gavin's disappointment and Harry's obvious lies.

She pulled out her phone. Three messages.

She typed back, fingers quick with frustration.

She smiled slightly, the frustration easing just a little. Across the office, Harry sat at his desk, head bent over his laptop, typing quietly. He hadn't looked up once since she'd walked away from him.

She looked at the screen, the familiar warmth creeping back in. Whatever the new guy did, whatever Gavin said, this was the thing that made it bearable. This stranger. This wrong number. This person she'd never met who somehow always knew what to say.

She set the phone down and pulled up her work. The screen glowed with half-finished edits, deadlines looming, the usual chaos. She stared at it for a moment, then glanced across the office.

Harry was still on his laptop. Still serious. Still completely absorbed.

She looked away and got back to work.

***

Ginny was standing in her kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta that had definitely been in the water too long, when her phone buzzed against the counter. She wiped her hands on her jeans and picked it up.

She stared at the screen. Then laughed, quick and genuine, right there in her tiny kitchen.

She smiled at the screen, the pasta completely forgotten. The water was still boiling, the noodles probably turning into mush, but she didn't care.

She shook her head at the screen, still smiling, and turned back to her pasta. It was definitely overcooked. She didn't care.

She set the phone down and drained the pasta, the warm feeling in her chest lingering long after she'd stopped typing.

***

The next morning was a disaster from the moment she opened her eyes.

Ginny had stayed up too late. Again. Texting the wrong number. Again. The conversation had started around ten and somehow stretched past midnight, one topic bleeding into another until she'd finally fallen asleep with her phone still in her hand.

Now she was running late. Very late. The kind of late that meant Gavin would definitely notice and definitely say something.

She scrambled out of bed, threw on the first clean things she could find, and bolted out the door. The Tube was crowded, the walk from the station was too long, and her coffee from the cart was lukewarm at best.

She was power-walking down the street, head down, barely registering the world around her, when someone jostled her from the side. A man in a hurry, phone in hand, not looking where he was going. He knocked her shoulder, muttered something that might have been an apology, and kept moving.

Ginny stumbled, caught herself, and turned to shoot a glare at his retreating back.

And then she stopped.

A cafe. Right there on the corner. Tucked between a bookshop and a vintage clothing store. The kind of place that looked like it had been there forever, even if it hadn't.

Espresso Patronum.

The sign was handwritten on a chalkboard, the letters curling in a way that felt deliberate and warm. The windows were large, letting in the morning light, and she could see the soft glow of lamps inside, the promise of something cozy and quiet.

She stood there, staring at the board. The name. The letters. Something twisted in her chest, something she couldn't name. Her throat felt dry. Her heart felt heavy.

Espresso Patronum.

The cafe. The one he'd told her about. The one he'd said was his hiding spot. The one with the good coffee and the quiet corners and the name that had made her laugh.

He was here. Or he had been here. He lived somewhere nearby. He worked somewhere nearby. He was in the same area. The same part of London. The same streets she walked every day.

Does that mean we're from this area? she thought. Does that mean he's close?

"Excuse me," someone said from behind her. "Can you move? You're blocking the door."

She blinked, stepped aside, and watched a woman push past her into the cafe. The door swung shut, and Ginny caught a glimpse of the inside—warm lights, wooden tables, the smell of coffee even from out here.

She stood there for another second, then forced herself to keep walking.

The office was chaos when she arrived. People rushing. Phones ringing. The usual morning madness. She barely registered any of it. She dropped her bag at her desk, sat down, and pulled out her phone.

She typed into the search bar: Espresso Patronum.

The results came back fast. A few reviews. A small website. A location.

Only one location. Not a chain. Not a franchise. Just one.

In London.

This specific area of London.

Her stomach flipped. She typed again, more specific this time: Espresso Patronum locations London.

Same result. Just the one. Just the corner she'd walked past this morning. Just the cafe he'd told her about.

He was here. He was in her area. He walked the same streets, maybe passed the same shops, maybe even—she pushed the thought away. It was a coincidence. A big one, but a coincidence. England was huge. Millions of people. He could be anywhere.

But he wasn't anywhere. He was here. In her corner of the city. The cafe he'd chosen, the one he'd described, the one she'd made him laugh about—it was fifteen minutes from her office.

She stared at the screen, her heart beating faster than it should.

The cafe. The name. The fact that it was only in London. Only in this area. Only a fifteen-minute walk from her office.

He's here, she thought. He's somewhere near here. He walks these streets. He goes to that cafe. He's been close this whole time.

"Hey."

She looked up, startled. Harry was standing at her desk, a folder in his hands, his expression neutral but something slightly hesitant in his eyes.

"Morning," he said. "I've got something for you."

Ginny blinked, trying to shift gears. The cafe. The wrong number. Harry. Her brain was still catching up.

"What?" she managed.

"The meeting notes," he said. "From yesterday. You asked for them. I emailed them to you this morning. And here's a hardcopy if you prefer that way."

She stared at him. "You said you forgot to save."

"I did." He shifted his weight, looking slightly uncomfortable. "But I felt bad about it, so I asked Gavin for the transcription before I went home yesterday. He apparently records every meeting."

"He records every meeting?"

"Apparently." Harry shrugged, a small, awkward gesture. "I didn't know either. But he gave me the voice recording, so I typed it up last night. Figured you might still need them."

Ginny stared at him, genuinely thrown. "You listened to Gavin drone on again? To type up notes for me?"

"It's no problem." He looked down at the folder, then back at her. "I felt bad about how he talked to you yesterday. The whole phone thing. It wasn't fair."

She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Nothing came out.

"I know we haven't had a great start," he continued, quieter now. "And I know I've been... not easy to talk to. But I'd really like to change that. I'd like to know you. Properly."

She raised an eyebrow. "Know me?"

His cheeks flushed immediately, a faint pink spreading across his face. "As colleagues," he added quickly. "I mean. As coworkers. That's what I meant."

"Right," she said slowly, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Colleagues."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Obviously."

"Obviously."

The word hung between them, weighted with something neither of them was saying. Ginny studied him—the way he was standing there, hands gripping the folder, clearly uncomfortable, clearly trying to be something he wasn't used to being.

"You know," she said, leaning back in her chair, "for someone who hasn't spoken more than five words to me in the last two weeks, you're suddenly very chatty."

He flushed deeper. "I'm trying."

"You're succeeding."

That earned her a small smile. Just a flicker at the corner of his mouth, but it was there.

"Look," he said, "I know I've been quiet. But I'm not always like that. I just... it takes me a while. To warm up to people."

"I've noticed."

"And maybe I was a little unfair. With you specifically."

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that seemed entirely unconscious. "You were trying to be friendly and I shut you down. That wasn't right."

Ginny tilted her head, watching him. "So what changed?"

He hesitated. "I don't know. I just... you said something in the meeting yesterday. About me being selective. And I realized you were right. I was being selective. I was avoiding you. And I don't really know why."

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't know why?"

"Maybe I was intimidated."

"Intimidated?" She almost laughed. "By me?"

"You're a lot," he said, and then quickly added, "I mean that as a compliment."

"Sure you do."

"I do." He shifted his weight again, looking more uncomfortable by the second. "You're sharp. You don't take nonsense. You say what you mean. That's not a bad thing. It's just... a lot, when you're not used to it."

Ginny studied him for a long moment. The flush on his cheeks. The way he wouldn't quite meet her eyes. The slight tension in his shoulders.

"So," she said, "you decided to make it up to me by typing up meeting notes that I didn't even ask for anymore?"

"I figured you might still want them."

"I didn't. I was just going to wing it."

"Oh." He deflated slightly. "Well. I guess I have a folder full of notes you don't need."

"Your own personal tragedy."

He laughed. It was a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath, but it was real. Genuine. She felt something shift in her chest at the sound of it.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not very good at this."

"At what?"

"People. Talking. Being normal."

"Could've fooled me."

"Really?" He looked at her, a flicker of something—hope, maybe—crossing his face.

"No," she said flatly. "I was being sarcastic."

He laughed again, fuller this time. "Okay. Fair."

"I'm not mean," she said, "I'm just—"

"Honest?"

"I was going to say 'tired,' but honest works too."

"Honest is good," he said. "I like honest."

"You've barely had a conversation with me. You don't know what you like."

"I know I like that you don't pretend." He said it simply, without any of the awkwardness from before. Just a statement. A fact.

Ginny felt something in her chest, that same twist she'd felt in the conference room, that same feeling she didn't know what to do with.

"So," she said, steering the conversation away from whatever that was. "What else do you like? Besides honest people and typing up unnecessary notes."

He considered the question, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Coffee," he said. "I really like coffee. Good coffee. The kind you don't have to add anything to."

"That's very specific."

"I'm a very specific person."

"I've noticed."

"I also like silence. Quiet. Not having to talk all the time."

"I'm getting that."

"And I like..." he paused, looking slightly embarrassed. "I like walking. Just walking. No destination. Just walking."

"That's weird."

"It's therapeutic."

"Sure. If you're eighty years old."

He smiled. "Maybe I'm an old man trapped in a younger body."

"Would explain the glasses."

"Excuse me?"

"The glasses," she said, gesturing at his face. "They're very retro. Old-fashioned. The kind of thing an eighty-year-old would wear."

He touched them self-consciously. "They're just glasses."

"They're statement glasses."

"Statement glasses?"

"Very bold. Very fashionable. Very—" she paused, searching for the word. "—vintage."

"You're making fun of me."

"Absolutely. It's my love language."

He stared at her for a moment, and then he laughed. Not the quiet one from before. A real laugh. The kind that seemed to surprise even him.

"You're something else," he said.

"I've been told."

"Probably a lot."

"Every day."

"Can't imagine why."

She grinned at him. "You're getting cheeky now."

"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe I'm just warming up. Takes me a while, remember?"

"I remember. I just didn't believe you actually had it in you."

"Surprise."

"Big one."

He smiled at her again, and she noticed something. He was looking at her. Actually looking. Not glancing away. Not avoiding eye contact. Looking.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. I'm just—" He seemed to catch himself. "I'm glad we're doing this."

"Doing what?"

"This." He gestured vaguely between them. "Talking. Being normal."

"You keep saying that."

"Normal?"

"Being normal. Like it's a special occasion."

"It is," he said. "For me. I don't usually do this."

"Talk to people?"

"Talk to people like this. Without... the wall."

She studied him. The way he'd relaxed, just slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. The way his voice had dropped into something more natural, less rehearsed. The way he was looking at her like he actually wanted to be there.

"Okay, Harry," she said slowly. "I think I believe you."

"Just think?"

"I need more evidence."

"More evidence?"

"More conversations. More of this." She gestured vaguely at him. "You. Being funny."

"Wait—I was being funny?"

"You were being something."

"Something good?"

"I haven't decided yet."

He laughed again, and it was easier this time, like he was getting used to it. "That's fair. I'll work on it."

"You do that."

There was a pause. A comfortable one. The kind that didn't feel awkward, just... easy.

"I should probably go," he said finally. "I have work. Actual work. Not just standing at your desk being interrogated."

"I wasn't interrogating you."

"Sure you weren't."

"I was being friendly."

"You were being terrifying."

She smiled. "Same thing."

"Good to know." He took a step back, then stopped. "The notes are in your email. If you want them."

"I'll check them out."

"Probably won't."

"Probably not."

"Fair." He smiled, a real one, and turned to go.

"Hey, Harry," she called after him. He looked back. "Thanks. For the notes."

He nodded, just once, and walked back to his desk.

Ginny watched him go, something warm and complicated settling in her chest. She looked at the folder he'd left on her desk. The notes he'd typed up for her. The notes he'd stayed late to compile because he'd felt bad.

Maybe he wasn't so bad. Maybe she'd been wrong about him. Maybe—

She shook her head and opened her computer.

***

Ginny worked all morning, but her mind kept drifting.

The warmth from the conversation with Harry hadn't faded. It lingered in her chest, a quiet glow she didn't quite understand. She'd replayed the exchange in her head at least three times—the way he'd laughed, the way he'd admitted he was intimidated, the way he'd looked at her like she was someone worth looking at.

But underneath that warmth, something else gnawed at her.

The cafe.

Espresso Patronum.

She couldn't shake it. The name. The coincidence. The fact that the wrong number had mentioned it, and then she'd walked past it that very morning. He was here. In this area. In her area. Maybe they'd even bumped into each other at some point. Maybe the man who'd jostled her on the street had been him. Maybe they'd walked past each other without knowing.

She tried to picture it. A handsome man, maybe. Tall. Dark hair. The kind of face she'd notice.

But she didn't even know if he was handsome. She didn't know if he was a man at all. He could be lying. He could be anyone. He could be—

She felt a gaze on her.

She looked up.

Harry was staring at her from across the office. His eyes met hers, held for a fraction of a second, and then dropped quickly to his laptop. A flush crept up his neck.

She watched him pretend to work, his fingers hovering over the keyboard like he'd forgotten what he was supposed to be typing.

And for some reason, she didn't mind.

She didn't mind that he'd been looking. She didn't mind that he'd looked away so quickly, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. She didn't mind the flush on his neck or the way he was avoiding her gaze now.

It felt almost... nice.

She looked back down at her work, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

***

The rest of the day passed in a blur of deadlines and edits. Ginny kept her head down, trying to focus, but her mind kept drifting back to the morning. The cafe. The conversation with Harry. The way he'd looked at her. The way she'd looked back.

By the time five o'clock rolled around, she was exhausted. She gathered her things—laptop, notebook, the folder Harry had left on her desk—and made her way toward the exit.

She was almost at the door when she caught a glimpse of him through the window. Harry. Standing by the curb, reaching for the passenger side door of a car.

A very expensive-looking car.

Ginny stopped. Stared.

It was sleek. Dark. The kind of car that cost more than she made in a year. Harry opened the door, paused, and looked up. His eyes found hers through the glass.

She stood there frozen, her bag hanging from one shoulder, her mouth slightly open.

Harry raised his arm. A small wave. Casual. Like it was nothing.

She raised hers back. A wave. Automatic. Her brain hadn't caught up yet.

He smiled, just a quick flash of it, and slid into the passenger seat. The car pulled away smoothly, disappearing into the evening traffic.

Ginny stood there for a moment, staring at the space where the car had been.

What the hell?

She shook her head and walked out of the building, heading toward the Tube station. The train was crowded, as always, but she managed to snag a seat. She dropped into it, her bag on her lap, her mind still reeling.

She thought about Harry, the way caught herself glancing at him more than she should. Every time she did, he seemed to be focused on his work, typing away with that serious expression she'd once found annoying and now found... something else. She wasn't sure what. She wasn't ready to name it.

And the cafe. Espresso Patronum. The wrong number. The coincidence.

She couldn't control it. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, spinning faster than she could catch them. Harry. The cafe. The stranger. The way both of them had made her feel something she couldn't name.

She pulled out her phone. Opened the thread with the wrong number. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

She waited another minute. Two. The train rattled on, the lights flickering overhead, the carriage full of tired commuters.

Still nothing.

She sighed and put the phone back in her pocket. The train pulled into her station, and she stood, pushing through the crowd toward the doors.

The walk home was quiet. The streets were familiar, the same shops and houses she passed every day. But tonight, everything felt different. Charged. Like something was about to happen.

She unlocked her front door, stepped inside, and dropped her bag on the floor. The flat was dark and quiet. She flicked on the light, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed onto the sofa.

Her phone buzzed.

She pulled it out, her heart skipping.

She stared at the screen, relief flooding through her. He was back. He'd replied. She hadn't realized how much she'd been holding her breath until she let it out.

She stared at the screen, something warm spreading through her chest. He was ridiculous. Confident in a way that should have been annoying but somehow wasn't.

She laughed, soft and genuine, alone in her quiet flat. The warmth in her chest was still there, growing stronger with every message.

She curled deeper into the sofa, phone warm in her hands, a smile she couldn't shake on her face. The day had been long. The cafe had been a shock. Harry had been... something.

And now this. This conversation. This person who made everything feel lighter.

She stared at the screen, her heart beating faster. It was a joke. It had to be a joke. He was just being playful.

But something about it felt real. Felt like a door she wasn't sure she wanted to open.

She set the phone down and stared at the ceiling, the smile still on her face.

The flat was quiet. The city hummed outside her window, distant and anonymous. Somewhere out there, he was doing the same thing. Lying down, phone nearby, thinking about her. She didn't know it. But she felt it anyway.