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It should've been a normal, ordinary day, Taka supposed. He wanted to enjoy his day off – to get up a little later than usual, drink his green tea in peace and leisurely eat fresh, just out of the oven, croissants with vanilla filling, and then, he would stroll in his favourite store to buy groceries – after checking in the sports shop about his new cleats.
One peaceful, ordinary day off the work – meaning gruesome training regime, a courtesy of their sadist of a coach.
'Was that really too much to ask?' Taka wondered to himself bitterly.
Apparently so.
He just had to have that goddamned sort of luck to be in the shop the terrorists hid the bomb in.
God damn it all.
One minute, he had been lazily browsing the shelves, searching for his favourite brand of hair conditioner, and a moment later, he had found himself a hostage of dome dumbass with irrational demands.
Asking for money... was all right.
Asking for a spinach-flavoured ice cream... Was not.
"Well?" The terrorist asked lazily, having a pistol in his hand, and a bomb in another, the red light blipping threateningly at the horrified witnesses.
"R – Right away, Sir!" A mousy accountant squeaked out, her brown eyes huge behind her ugly black glasses.
Taka sighed.
Terrorist obviously enjoyed his... dominance over the victims – er, witnesses.
Right now, he had a buxom brunette massaging his shoulders, with the threat is she does anything funny, he would send the entire shop sky high, regardless of him being in it at the time.
Idly, he wondered, what would Hiruma think of the crazy man, but decided that it was safer for him not pondering that particular topic.
Nothing could change the fact that they had a status quo – nobody could help them, and they couldn't help themselves, either.
Harry was not a happy camper. Rather, he was one grumpy camper. He wanted to have some peace from all that hulabaloo back in good ol' England, but nooo, those goddamn morons, that called themselves Ministry of Magic just HAD to hang on his heels, didn't they? Besides Ron asking him when he would tie the knot with Gin-Gin – or, in Harry's opinion, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – apparently whenever he spoke about her, she found him, one way or another. He didn't know what to think about that – or rather, he didn't want to think.
Being a Saviour was a tough job. Give him hundred Dementors or Tommy boy any day – but adoring masses were too much for our green-eyed hero. He finally knew why was Dumbledore driven barking mad – too much adoration would get even the sanest man sucking lemon drops, if only to forget the horrors of fangirls, fanboys, fanwomen and fanmen. Fangrandpas and fangradmas, too.
He had persuaded Goblins to make him an Unplottable necklace, that hid his magical signature and anything that could give him away as the Boy –Who – Won. It also made him unremarkable to the wizarding masses – from wizards to squibs. Muggles were exempt, but what the hell, it was enough. And it cost him only half a Basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets. Apparently Goblins made a lucrative trade with the parts and some of their grislier aspects of magic came from blood runes they were so fond of using. And having so much Basilisk blood and meat... it was a wet dream for the little, green-skinned, greedy bastards. They parted with the necklace easily after that.
So, Harry hightailed his famous butt out of United Kingdom – after leaving a letter to his near and dear – Hermione, Lupin and surprisingly, one Severus Snape. Oh, don't get him wrong - he and Snape were still like cats and dogs, but the man had mellowed out after a war, and getting some Basilisk – the other half – got Harry a strong frenemy, if not ally. They would still butt heads, but they respected each other, which baffled the Gryffindor members, except Fred and George something fierce. Draco was exempt of this strange relationship – he was still the git he had been in the school. A lot less smarmy and snobby, but no less uppity ferret.
But back to Harry. Where were we? Ah yes, in Japan. Specifically, in one quaint little shop, that was currently held down by the crazy idiot who threatened to blow it up sky high if his demands were not answered.
Half an hour before
Harry yawned as he blinked sleepily. "Must have some coffee..." He growled out, as he scratched his scalp lazily. The water was bubbling cheerfully in its' kettle as he rummaged for his trusty stash of black goodness.
Harry's morning ritual consisted of waking up, checking the perimeter charms for anything strange or life-threatening, get under the shower, dress up and begin breakfast which consisted of black coffee without added sugar or cream and nutrition drink, which he washed down with... you guessed it, black coffee again. In his defence, he never had a normal digestion, thanks to his oh so loving relatives – he had corrected his eating habits while he studied at Hogwarts, but chasing Voldemort's immortality bits all over England chucked his eating habits back into the curb and deeper. It didn't help that someone got him addicted to coffee – coughSnapecough - and made him a right beast when there was no coffee to begin the day. Ron reckoned that Harry without his morning coffee was even worse than Hermione at the height of her pregnant cravings. His near and dear quickly learned that the quickest was to Harry's heart – and attention – lead through a cup of good, nauseatingly strong, black coffee. Mrs Weasley tried Harry to abandon this particular vice, but in that battle, she didn't have a chance of snowball in Hell to win. Harry managed to last three days. Which, in Weasley's twins' most humble opinion, had been a mini three-day Armageddon. Voldemort was just unlucky enough to happen across Harry in that particular time – and let's just say that Dark Lord didn't have the time to rue his mistake for long. Cranky Harry was bad enough to get along with. Harry on the no-coffee binge was truly terrifying. The public was, of course, regaled with Harry's heroic defeat of the Dark Lord, but the witnesses knew the terrible, terrible truth. Never, ever, especially if you are Dark Lord, attempt to get between Harry's morning coffee and Harry himself.
Sighing, Harry reached for the container of his beloved addiction. "Oh coffee, how I love thee..." he mumbled, dazed at the thought of soon being graced with the ambrosia of gods. And blinked.
The container... Was empty.
Harry blinked again. That... couldn't be true, could it?
His beloved wouldn't leave him, would it?
...
He gulped. Already, he felt tremors settling in his bones. And half an hour later, he knew... he just knew he would be a downright beast on a mission... if he didn't get some coffee in his stomach.
He eyed the empty container in his hand disdainfully, before hurling it against innocent wall.
CRASH.
The satisfying sound of breaking made a manianical grin appear on his lips. The sound of destruction was so lovely... wasn't it?
He twitched for wand, before he remembered he wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. Scowling darkly, he snarled. "Merlin's hairy blue balls...Those bastards are so gonna get it!"
Somewhere in England, there were twin sneezes. "Brother of mine, I think we 've forgot something..." the first twin said to his brother. "Indeed, dearest brother of mine," the other one said mock-seriously. "But for the life of mine, I can't remember what..."
The shiver went up their spines. "Dear, better twin of mine," the first twin said shakily. "I think that someone just danced a jig on my premature grave."
They stiffened as they heard a cheerful hum coming from their little kitchenette.
"You have a coffee... Excellent." A smooth, dark voice said – if not happily, at least contentedly. The first twin blinked.
"Coffee?" he parroted dumbly. "But we don't have any – " He snapped his mouth shut, as both of them paled starkly white. "Dumber half of mine... d'you reckon we forgot to switch the containers – "
The other twin nodded, shaking with terror. "And accidentally awoke the wrath of the last Marauder..." His voice was wobbly with fright.
"We are DOOMED!" Both of them finished in frightened chorus.
Meanwhile, Harry dressed haphazardly in his jeans and black, skin tight T-shirt. Even if it was cold outside – cold enough for people to wear winter wear, he was incensed enough to forego the usual apparel, get his old, ratty sneakers on his feet and barely had the presence to snatch the keys and some cash, before striding purposefully to the quaint little shop that was selling his salvation.
Surprisingly, people were not eyeing his strange sense of fashion. Instead, their eyes were turned to the shop.
Harry didn't care.
"Move." He snarled at the gawking bystander, who moved away like brainless guppy.
It all went well, until he came to the end of safe zone – meaning, to police men.
"Um, Sir... You can't go in here." A man tried to stop him. "There's a robbery and – "
Harry eyed him with blood shot eyes. "And I care why?" He bit out, snarling.
The policeman gulped. "You could be hurt – and there's a bomb inside somewhere."
Harry looked the shop's entrance like a lion would eye his prey.
"Mhm." He mumbled. "Still not caring."
Policeman sighed. "Please Sir, for your safety, don't – "
Harry overheard him and strode forward.
'Coffee... Coffee... My darling, your Daddy is coming, wait a little, hush, hush...' he hummed to himself a lullaby to stall his tremors.
"Hey! You aren't authorized - !" One of policemen yelped out, before Harry rounded on him and grabbed his nice, blue, just-today-brushed jacket by the lapels.
"Do you have coffee?" Harry hissed in his face, green eyes blazing with fever.
The policeman gulped. "Um, Sir, I am sorry but I don't have – "
Harry snorted. "Then lemme go get some."
The policeman sighed. "I would love to let you get some, but there is a terrorist inside – "
Harry didn't hear him. His mind was already in that terrible, terrible 'gimme-coffee-or-gimme-death' mode all die-hard coffee addicts were so known for.
His eyes were once again focused on the entrance of the quaint little shop that held his salvation. He pushed the policeman away, as if he were made from a papier-mâché, and strode forward.
"Who is the nutso that's walking to his death?" One policeman asked his shaking colleague. The said colleague groaned. "And why the hell didn't you stop him? You had pistol'n all – "
"You never mess with a man's coffee." The policeman interrupted his colleague. "Besides," He shivered in remembrance. "You didn't see his eyes, Shori."
Both of them watched the 'nutso' disappear into the shop.
Harry was surprised and relieved that he wasn't stopped on his mission. "At least there are still people that know the meaning of a good, strong coffee in the mornings," He pondered for a moment, before he entered the shop, his tremors subsiding a little.
"Coming, precious," He muttered to himself, an insane little grin on his face.
The door opened, and both captives and a captor looked at the person, who was insane enough to step in soon-to-be hellhole incredulously.
"Oi, you!" The terrorist barked out. "What th' fuck are ya doing here?"
He was shot a poisonous green look. "Shut up, retard." The stranger mumbled, taking his attention away from the flabbergasted and rapidly angered terrorist. Green eyes looked at the notice tables above the aisles. "Why the fuck can't they use some good, old English for us poor foreigners and not their excuses for chicken scratch?" He demanded, peeved.
Taka looked at the man. He was smaller than him, with unremarkable features – wild, shoulder-length black hair, tight washed out blue jeans with some stains and equally as tight black T-shirt with sneakers on his feet. How on the earth their strange... visitor didn't catch cold in his apparel yet, it was a mystery to Taka.
"Answer me!" The terrorist barked out, his mousey features tightening in something decidedly ugly.
The black-haired man sighed, annoyed. "Shut the fuck up for a minute, will ya?" He demanded, the vowels of strange language rolling off of his tongue harshly. "Or better, get your ass up ad help me find my precious!"
The white-haired American football player blinked. 'His precious?' he thought dumbly.
"Who the hell are you, to tell me what to do?" the small terrorist screeched out, making the witnesses wince.
"Somebody who will murder you if you don't help him this instant!" The black-haired man snapped out peevishly.
A taken-aback silence.
"Y –you wouldn't!" The terrorist squawked out. "If you do, I'll – I'll send this whole shop sky high!"
The slender man still looked at the chicken scratch, obviously searching for something. "Please do," he waved the threat off absentmindedly. "However, do it later – now help me search for my lovely."
He muttered out, his eyes looking at the shelves.
"Um... What are you searching for, sir?" the timid accountant spoke – more like squeaked – out.
"My lovely one." The stranger answered her, making her blush all to her ears. "The ambrosia of the Gods themselves..." He sighed dreamily.
He shuddered, as if having an orgasm. "I can't live without her generosity..."
The accountant sighed. "Um... Do you, by any chance, search for this?" She pointed at the shelf with various brands of coffee products.
Harry's eyes lit up. "Yeah!" He agreed enthusiastically. But before he even stepped in the direction of his black goddess, an annoying squawk froze him in his place.
"Don't move... or you can see your precious go good-bye."
The mousy terrorist had a smug smirk on his face.
Green eyes widening, Harry yelped out. "You wouldn't!" He squeaked.
The terrorist grinned, showing his rotting teeth. "I so would..." he purred out. "Slave!" he barked out, making the busty girl jump with fright. "Get me one of those – and no funny business!"
Shaking, the girl walked to the shelf and took a tin box of ground black coffee.
Harry gulped.
The bastard wouldn't do what Harry was thinking, would he?"
His tremors increased.
But that ugly smirk on his face...
Yes, he so would.
Grinning maliciously, the terrorist emptied the tin can on the floor... and to add the insult to injury, he pissed on it.
That was too much for our already tormented hero.
"YOU INFIDEL HEATHEN!"
Harry roared out. With speed that nobody would attribute him for having, he jumped forward, a feat that had Taka widen his eyes. In a blink, he punched the idiot in the gut, making him squeal like a pig...and having him let go of the Big Red Button in the process.
Absentmindedly, Taka caught the remote, as he watched the altercation between the pissed wizard in hiding and his unfortunate prey.
"Gimme the remote!" The ex-terrorist squealed. Harry grinned maliciously. "Oh, why would I?" he purred out. "You were a bad, bad boy, defiling my goddess like that. And bad, bad boys deserve their punishment." The look in his eyes was positively feral.
The terrorist gulped. "Because we'll be singing choir in exactly thirteen seconds," He announced, a bead of sweat rolling down his pasty white face.
Harry blinked. "Do I know you?" He mumbled.
He wrinkled a nose at the man's sweat. "N – No, you don't. How would you?" the man babbled out nervously.
Harry tilted his head. "You're right, " He agreed amiably. "My brain must've been addled from not having the daily intake of my coffee." The terrorist gulped. "However, " Harry continued mercilessly," You are disturbingly similar to one particular rat, Did I tell you how I hate rats?" He asked conversationally, while the man began shaking even harder.
"R – R – Really?" he emitted a high – pitched squeak. "P – Please, remote – "
Harry blinked.
"If I give it to you, do you swear you will cease with that absurd behaviour and let us go?"
The man nodded fervently. "Yes, yes, I promise!"
Taka's eyes widened. "Hey!" He called to the pair. "Five seconds – "
"Throw it to me!" The Coffee – man called to him.
"But – " Taka hesitated.
"Don't dawdle, you imbecile!" The Coffee-man roared at him. "THROW IT!"
Grimacing, Taka threw the thing and fervently prayed.
He was never a religious person – especially not after his forays with Hell Commander and infamous Hail Devil pass, but in this instant, he revised his beliefs.
He threw.
A greedy glint in the man's eyes froze him.
The worst was, his throw was out of whack, and with Coffee-man turned with his back to Taka, it was very doubtful they would survive those next five seconds.
Taka's eyes widened to saucer-like proportions, as the Coffee-man snatched the tiny remote out of the air effortlessly, not even looking at the trajectory of the throw... or that Big Red Button.
"Here you go," the Coffee-man gave the remote back to the terrorist.
Taka wanted to groan.
The terrorist grinned. "Why, thank you," he told Harry with sugary voice.
Harry had to repress a shudder. "And now for our bargain...?" He asked, as his eyebrow arched in imitation of Snape's look.
"Is off." The terrorist told Harry candidly. "Get off of me, and I won't blast this shop into tiny pieces."
Harry sighed.
"Suit yourself." He hauled himself off the man.
The terrorist growled.
And pressed the button.
Harry watched the idiot press the button boredly.
Nothing.
The terrorist blinked. And pressed the Big Red once again.
Still nothing.
Press.
Nothing.
Press.
Nothing.
"What the fuck?" He yelped out, his eyes wide with confusion and fear.
Harry grinned a sweet, malicious grin.
"Didn't your momma teach you to honor the bargains that you make?" He questioned the copiously sweating terrorist happily.
He blinked. "Oh, wait. She didn't... after all, your momma was a really ugly toad, wasn't she... Mr. Umbridge?"
The entire farce ended relatively quietly. The man was still in shock that his so cleverly executed attack was halted by one coffee maniac.
Harry managed to slink away from the furor, happy that nobody recognized him.
And irked because he still didn't get his beloved coffee.
"Hey! Wait up!" He heard a known voice call after him.
Harry blinked. It was that... white haired... He? She? That threw him the Big Red Button.
"Yes?" He growled out. He was so not in mood for anything that was even remotely near yapping the idiots called socializing.
The white haired ... Man. Yes, man, held up a big Styrofoam cup, filled with the darkest, sweetest and most sinful liquor known to mankind.
"Uh..." Brown eyes looked in green ones sheepishly. "Coffee?" The man finished lamely.
Harry smiled widely. "Why, you read my mind," He answered cheerfully, before grabbing the cup out of the man's hands and downing it in three gulps.
He sighed dazedly. All was right with his world now... he just had to buy coffee somewhere.
Blinking, he felt a warm coat over his shoulders.
"Huh?" He looked at the other man inquiringly, a small flush on his cheeks.
Taka had to smile at the man's embarrassed and confused face. When he wasn't De-Caf Monster, the man was... cute. He was smaller than Taka, reaching just under Taka's chin.
"Thank you for saving us... You know, earlier," Taka said with a warm smile on his face. Usually, he would react like block of ice, but this man somehow made him want to smile. And besides, he was just too amusing not to like.
Harry blinked. "Huh? Did I do something?" He asked, clueless.
Taka nodded. "You barged into shop and subdued the terrorist... Umbridge was his name, I believe. "
Green eyes widened with recognition. "Ah! You mean the toadie back here!" Harry groaned, embarrassed. "In truth, I just wanted my coffee." He hung his head, cheeks flushed with pink.
Taka chuckled. "Yeah. Oh, and I am Honjou Taka. Pleased to meet you."
Harry sighed. "Well, and I am Potter Harry." He grumbled out, snuggling into the warm coat.
Taka nodded. "So you are a tourist here?" He asked, feeling a faint disappointment. He perked up at Harry's shake of head. "Uh, no. I am rather... permanently here." Green eyes looked into brown ones sheepishly.
Inwardly, Taka breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good." He muttered to himself. "You are rather good at catching things."
Harry blinked. "Well, it's a gift," He shrugged nonchalantly, inhaling the spicy musk of the dark blue cloak he was covertly snuggling in.
Taka hummed thoughtfully. "So... You ever played American Football?" He asked curiously.
He had caught his saviour... now it remained just how to persuade the man to be allowed to keep him.
/The End/Owari/