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There were stars up above, constellations, with names, and faces, and lives attached to them. Harry fought to keep his eyes on the pavement in front of him, and focused on the biting cold air around him that made his head dizzy and his hands shake. The stars didn't deserve his recognition, especially when the man who taught him their names was in their flat, the one Harry had just left, uncaring and just as cold as the world around him. Maybe that was the reason his hands were shaking, he wanted to punch a tree, a brick wall, the stars. He was sure they deserved it. Some of them, anyways.
Harry tucked his hands into his pockets, walking towards who the hell knew where in a brisk pace. He could faintly hear laughter coming from some flats that had left their window open, and could see the bright Christmas lights- too much like stars- twinkling in his peripheral. It made him want to laugh. Here he was, trudging down the empty road, the wind pricking at his eyes, while everyone else in the world- the world that he saved, in one way or another- celebrated another year of their lives.
Karma seemed a likely culprit, but Harry knew the world was less petty and preferred the shock method, more or less. The war proved that. He glanced up at the stars, giving in, too used to his comforting habits to let it go. The stars were a haven for him, had been since he died, but now they filled him with more rage. Which, in turn, gathered more. How dare- how dare that man, that terrible fucking man, ruin another thing in his life? Harry ran a hand through his hair, squeezing the other tightly into a fist. He shouldn't get angry, he knew it was his fault, but the lingering feeling in his chest wouldn't go away.
Eventually, after he began to shiver and his fingers feeling like they were going to fall off, Harry realized he wouldn't be able to spend the entire night wandering about the streets of London. He'd be dead by sunrise. He ignored the part of him that found that tempting.
He pondered the people he could make a midnight visit to. He could always visit Ron and Hermione, it had been so long, but Harry wasn't sure he could stand their barely concealed annoyance and exhaustion. He couldn't blame them. There were far too frequent nights that he appeared in their flat, whether it was for petty arguments or something more serious. The same went for Mrs. Weasley. Ginny was still a bit pissed at him, and Luna was off traveling in Denmark. Harry envied her, just a bit, but he'd made that peace a long time ago. Dean and Seamus were on their honeymoon, which consisted of extreme sports, both of the wizarding and muggle variety, and he was sure Pansy wouldn't give a shit if he ended up on her doorstep, so that left him with no one. He was alone, on Christmas Eve no less, and bitter.
So when he spotted the coffee shop just down the road, with it's lights still bright and shining, the only one for miles, Harry supposed he might as well do something fitting and cliche. He had enough surprises in his life time to warrant a melancholy coffee shop visit where he stared wistfully out of the window with a cup of black coffee burning his tongue as he downed his sorrows. He was a dramatic enough man, after all.
The coffee shop was quaint, that was Harry's first impression. The walls were painted a milky brown, and were chipped in many places. There wasn't many wall decorations, except a painting to his right, which seemed to be missing something, though Harry couldn't put a finger on it. The main area of the shop was littered with a little too closely packed tables and chairs, as if someone didn't plan out their floor space quite well enough. To his left was a bookshelf, crammed with books, and he was distinctly reminded of Hermione. All in all, it was much like a normal coffee shop, but the feelings surrounding it- it was much different. It made his head fuzzy and body feel lighter in a good way, he was almost sure, and it made him feel somewhat at home, but not quite. Quaint. He couldn't put his finger on it.
It was empty, too, which set Harry slightly on edge. Why were all of the lights on, if no one was there? They could have forgotten them, of course, but Harry didn't think that was the case.
A crash coming from the back room made Harry jump, swirling around and gripping the wand in his back pocket. Old habits die hard. Eyes wide, he slowly approached the front counter, scanning around for what made the noise. Out of nowhere, the back doorway opened, and out popped a man, a little more disheveled that one would expect from a coffee shop worker. He was tan, and he looked like he worked out, also unlike a coffee shop worker. The stranger was familiar. It wasn't until Harry's eyes reach the man's hair that he recognized who it was.
"Charlie?"
"Harry? What are you doing out on Christmas Eve?"
Harry blinked. "I could ask you the same."
It had been ages since Harry had seen Charlie. Far too long, really, now that he was thinking about it. He missed the man's sea-blue eyes that always twinkled like stars, his always ruffled red hair, the scar across his lower jaw from the young Romanian Longhorn that had been just growing his claws-
"I work here."
Harry blinked again. "What?"
"It's a long story."
"Clearly," Harry responded, tilting his head slightly and squinting his eyes, "You loved it in Romania."
"I-" Charlie sighed, weariness clear on his face. "After you left, there was a lot of funding cuts, and... That led to cuts in other places."
"Shit, that's..." Harry trailed off, his eyes wide.
"Terrible, I know." Charlie laughed without a trace of humor in his voice. "So, you're here for coffee, right? What'll you have? I'll have you know, plain black is my speciality."
"Plain black works." Harry didn't let on to the fact that it was what he planned on getting anyways.
The silence wrapped around them like a blanket that had been left outside in the wind for too long, cold and dry. Harry couldn't find the right words. It had been long enough, they had both grown as people. He took a deep breath. "You still didn't explain why you're working on Christmas."
Charlie shrugged as he continued with the coffee machine. "Didn't have much else to do."
"It's not like you would get too much business on Christmas Eve though."
"You're here."
"Touché."
Silence again. Harry was grasping at straws. He sat down on a chair. "Why coffee?"
"I got good at it during the sleepless nights with dragons. Their sleep schedules don't like to align with humans."
Harry knew that. He bit his lip and fidgeted with the edge of his jumper sleeve. He hadn't expected things to be this awkward, or tense, the next time they would meet. But he hadn't exactly expected to see him in a coffee shop, much less in London.
"So, how's Draco?"
"How did you-"
"Ron doesn't shut up when I see him."
Harry nodded. "It's... going well."
Charlie turned, two cups of coffee in his hands. The steam swirled above them both and it was almost as if Harry could feel the heat coming off of them. "That didn't sound like going well should. Something happen?"
Talking about your current boyfriend with an ex-boyfriend was a big social no, Harry knew this, but he felt compelled to tell Charlie anyways. Maybe out of self-pity, or maybe out of bitterness. Maybe it was the warmth of the cup in his hands, that Charlie had just passed to him.
"We're... Good. Most of the time. But we get into these really... petty arguments, like how I make the bed, or how he cooks food, and... I don't even remember them, most of the time, but we both yell a lot, and say stupid shit. And he's beyond infuriating, but I can't imagine being without him during the good times. I don't know."
Charlie stepped around the counter and towards Harry, before sitting down at the chair opposite of him. Harry glanced up, surprised at the closeness. If he were in Charlie's position, he would have tried to excuse himself from the situation rather than get closer. More surprising was the look in Charlie's eyes; there was no contempt, no annoyance, just caring, and maybe a bit of pity. It made Harry squirm, just a little bit, under the man's gaze.
"I think Draco's a git, and I don't think I'll ever stop thinking that," Charlie began, and Harry deflated. Right. But then the other man continued, "But, I remember when you guys were first talking, and the way your eyes would light up whenever you mentioned him. He makes you happy."
Harry's eyes were wide. "I-"
"Don't apologize. I've made my peace with it." Charlie shook his head. "I think you should talk to him. You've never been good at communication, and I think that might be affecting how you interact with him. You're a good kid, Harry, and a great boyfriend, and I'm sure Draco knows that. You both just need to learn how to talk things out instead of shout."
Harry stared at the table, his coffee forgotten in the midst of Charlie's words. Fuck, when had the man gotten so wise? Glancing up again, Harry considered the man before him. They had gotten older, both of them, but Charlie was always the older one, always the more intelligent.
Suddenly, as if remembering what this conversation was all about, Harry's head jerked up towards the door, out into the night, as if someone was waiting just outside. He knew, no one was, no one except the stars, but he was just putting off someone who was waiting for him, someone he cared about far more than some silly argument.
"Go to him."
Harry's head turned just as sharply back to Charlie as it had to the door. The other man was smiling, though his eyes betrayed the melancholy behind it. Guilt seeped into Harry's veins. "I should..."
"You should be with your boyfriend for Christmas."
He was right, of course he was right. Harry gnawed at his lip. Neither Draco nor Harry had the best memories of Christmas, although in rather drastically different ways. That probably contributed to their touchiness that night. But... "You shouldn't be alone either."
"I've done it before. Besides, I'll be with all the other redheads tomorrow morning. Tradition is tradition after all." Charlie shrugged. "By the way, that coffee is on the house. Now get out of here before Draco starts freaking out."
"No I should pay, you've been so nice-"
"Harry." Charlie's voice had that warning tone to it. "Go."
Harry slowly stood up, glancing nervously at the cup and back up at Charlie. "I'll see you soon."
Charlie's eyes met with Harry's, before nodding. It was a promise, then. Relief flooded through Harry. One accomplishment down, time for the next one.
Opening the door to the outside world, Harry paused. The chilly breeze swept through the small shop, and it was almost profound, in a sense. Leaving the place that felt almost like home out into the unknown. Fitting, he supposed, as he glanced back at Charlie. But he knew his decision was right, and final. So when he opened his mouth, sincerity in his tone, he knew his words meant more than the situation provoked. "Thank you."
The other man chuckled. "Merry Christmas, Harry."