Chapter Text
You are my favourite 'what if?'
You are my best 'I'll never know'
Oh, I'm starting to forget
Just what Summer ever meant to you
- Fourth of July, Fall Out Boy
The cold, grey December morning bit a rosy pink into the man's cheeks as he walked down the quiet street. He was dressed in a dove-grey overcoat, with a woollen scarf wound tight around his neck.
Despite his best efforts to grow his beard and tone down his clothing, his proud stride and pointed features hinted at his aristocratic background. Apart from checking his surroundings occasionally, he kept his head down and his pace fast.
At the end of the street, he paused. There, wedged between uniformly modern muggle shops, was a brightly lit coffee shop. As he looked, the whole orange frontage seemed to shimmer with anti-muggle glamour. Inside, he could see witches and wizards sitting down with steaming drinks and newspapers, on plush purple sofa-benches tucked under polished dark wood tables.
Feeling his fingers numbing, Draco took a moment to look around - and then, satisfied, he walked into the shop. As soon as he opened the door a fabulous concoction of chocolate and coffee scent surrounded him. No one noticed his arrival - the chatter continued as if he didn't exist - which was a good thing.
There were a couple of people in the queue, so he took a moment to just stand in the doorway and take it all in. Directly front of the door was a colourful array of single chocolates, piled in pyramids behind curved glass. Beside that, a three tiered fruit cake sat pride of place, with a few slices already cut out of it. On the top of the cabinet, Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs were on offer, alongside some Cough Drop Lolly Pops and Silencing Sweets for Noisy Children.
He pursed his lips and span his ring around his finger as he wondered why he had never bothered to come to this place before. Zabini had recommended it a year ago, but he hadn't acted on his suggestion until now. Certainly it was pleasant - the strong scent of cocoa and coffee was homey indeed.
As his gaze wandered up to the menu board, the waitress started making up someone's order. His eyes were immediately drawn to her - she was making up a tea using magic, flicking her wand precisely to assemble the milk and sugar while the tea leaves stewed in the strainer. Her uniform was deep pink to match the decor, and her long dark hair was caught up in a plait, a little orange bow holding it together.
She turned around and placed the tea onto the customer's tray, smiling and thanking them. But Draco didn't see what the next person in line was doing; all he saw was the girl at the counter, smiling and looking more pretty then than she ever had before.
Draco whirled around, fully intending on leaving, but he found his exit blocked by an old woman struggling with her wheeled tartan shopping trolley. After a few seconds of waiting for the woman to move, he sighed and pushed the door open fully for her, allowing her through.
"Oh, thank you young man," the woman beamed, showing her gold tooth.
He watched her bustle up to the counter, where the last customer had just been served, and then watched the waitress' face light up.
"Mrs Ormco!" She smiled warmly. "How are you? Would you like your usual?"
Her voice hadn't changed. Still light and lilting, every bit the girl he remembered - of course it's her.
He stood there, staring, and then without thinking he approached the bar, sliding onto one of the blindingly orange stools. He focussed solely on pulling off his gloves and stuffing them into his pockets. He rubbed some warmth into the tingling tips of his fingers.
After a minute, he heard her voice again. "Pumpkin Spice Cafe, can I take your order?" She said chirpily.
He looked up in surprise. "Uh... just an espresso, please."
She squinted at him, and then her eyes widened fractionally. "Draco?" She asked.
He ducked his head as his peripheral showed several people looking up. "Shh! Keep your voice down, Summers!" He hissed.
"My cafe doesn't discriminate. If other people have a problem with other customers, they'll have to leave," she said, both eyebrows raised. At her loud statement, several more people glanced over, and Draco cringed.
"Summers, please!"
She nodded. "Alright." She cocked her head and studied him, concluding with, "You look so different!"
He smiled ruefully and shrugged. "Ah, well I haven't shaved in a few days..." More like a few years. It's the only disguise I've got.
"I can see that," she replied, though not in a disdainful tone. "What brings you in here?"
"I was recommended here. I thought I'd give it a try." He suddenly realised that perhaps Blaise’s mention of this cafe wasn't as innocent as Draco had previously thought. He set his jaw at the thought of Blaise coming in here - he wasn't to be trusted around anyone of the opposite sex.
"That's great! No one really knows about this place," she was saying enthusiastically. "I meant to put an ad in the Daily Prophet, but I've just been so busy."
Draco refocused and looked around the cafe. "It's nice that it's a little quiet. It would loose some of its... individuality, if everyone knew about it."
"I suppose you're right," she conceded. "But your espresso! Give me a moment."
She pointed her wand at the coffee pot and it sprang to life, filling itself with water and coffee grounds. While it was brewing she put milk into a frother, and when the coffee was done it poured itself out. She followed immediately by hand-pouring a little milk into the mug.
"Here you go," she said, placing the espresso mug down on a saucer and adding a small biscuit on the side. He caught sight of the little scar on her hand as she did so, but she managed to interrupt his train of thought before it even began.
"One espresso. Dash of milk, no sugar, right?"
Draco raised an eyebrow but nodded all the same, his lips quirking as he saw the heart she had drawn in the froth with the milk - standard issue, no doubt, but it was the kind of finishing touch that just epitomised her character.
"It's good," he said after a sip. "Thanks. What do I owe you?"
She smiled as she directed the scrubbing brush to wash up the coffee pot. "The first drink is free for everyone. I find that people are more likely to come back after they've had a taster."
"For a moment there, I thought you were giving me a friends-only benefit," he joked, but lips pressed together slightly more than a smile would require.
"Maybe your second drink can be a friends-only benefit, Draco."
He felt like a load had been taken off of him. Friends? "Oh, really?"
"Well, I've got to make sure you keep coming back," she commented, raising her gaze to meet his sombrely. "You're a difficult man to pin down, you know?"
Sheepishly he thought about the three consecutive letters from her in the months after the war. Letters he hadn't replied to, wanting to cut himself off, which he had been too embarrassed to reply to when he finally got into a better state after counselling.
Distantly, he heard a bell chime, and broke out of his reverie.
"Yeah, I know," he said. He stared down at his hands, which were cupping the espresso mug. "Listen, about the lett-"
She waved a hand at him, her attention dividing between him and the old couple at the till. "Don't worry about it," she said quickly. "I need to serve these people, could you hold on a minute?"
She left before he could say a word, but he didn't mind too much. Watching her make drinks was like watching the ballet - each spell was precisely cast and practiced, and each charm was finished with a flourish while ingredients swirled around her like an unconventional gym ribbon.
The witch before him had come a long way from the little brunette he had met in third year.