Seven days a week
What Hermione craved more than anything else in the world at the moment was the hot silkiness of espresso, chocolate, and milk coating her tongue and sliding down her throat. She knew just the place.
She’d discovered the café a little under a month ago before her work trip to the Americas—a nondescript exterior, humble interior, extremely limited seating, and the smoothest roasts she had ever experienced. Their coffee redefined her very notion of the word, rewriting the atrocious imitations at Hogwarts, Three Broomsticks , and even the Leaky Cauldron, who all seemed to put more priority into butterbeer and other popular wizard beverages. She considered her discovery love at first sip, and her later time spent in the U.S. cemented her passion for the caffeinated drink which started her morning seven days a week. Coming back to Britain, she paid for addiction dearly in the form of incessant cravings that the mediocre offerings of other establishments failed to fulfill.
So, she returned to M. Coffee.
It was while she waited in line to make her order that she noticed him. The shock of white blonde hair, trimmed perfectly and falling just right over his forehead, shone like a beacon in the tiny building. Draco Malfoy sat in elegant repose, one hand resting on his lap, occasionally bringing his mug up to his lips, and the other turning the pages of The Daily Prophet. If she angled herself just so, she could pull off pretending to miss him sitting at the far edge of the counter the way he was.
“Miss? Do you know what you would like?” The young woman standing behind the till blinked innocently at her, waiting for Hermione’s order. She wore a cheery red apron and a pin in the shape of a cup with ‘Daisy’ printed on it.
“I’ll take a large dark chocolate mocha, no whip, with a bit of cinnamon.”
“Certainly. Can I interest you in any of our boosters?”
Hermione followed the girl’s nod towards a board she hadn’t noticed before, one listing out a variety of different drink enhancements. The options included focus, energy, and stamina. A note at the bottom promised four hours of efficacy, which seemed like quite a long duration to Hermione. She would’ve expected maybe an hour at most. There were dedicated potions that didn’t last even half as long as one of these drinks.
“I’m good, thanks.” Glancing behind her and seeing no one, she let her curiosity get the best of her. “Have you tried these boosters?”
Daisy grinned knowingly as she prepared her drink. “I have. They’re Ministry-approved, if that’s what concerns you.”
“They are?” Hermione couldn’t help the disbelief that bled into her voice.
“Yup,” Daisy confirmed, “Boss wouldn’t have it any other way. Does everything by the books and triple checks it all himself.”
It wasn’t until the girl handed Hermione a bright red mug with cinnamon dusted across the foam that she realized she had forgotten to specify takeout. There was nothing for it, she supposed, then to sit as far away from Malfoy as possible and hope he didn’t notice her.
She had nearly drained the delicious concoction when a voice, low and confident, slid into her reverie.
“How’s the drink?”
Of course Malfoy would notice her. She should have shaved off her head, or dyed it Weasley red. She took one last swallow of her mocha before turning to face him. Sliding her eyes up his disgustingly fit form encased in a suit that would do the front cover of Vogue justice, she fixed on his eyes, just as strikingly grey as she remembered. What surprised her, however, was the way they crinkled at the edges with his smile. It wasn’t the cruel smirk of their childhood, or even the suggestive leer he used more as they got older. His expression appeared genuinely curious, and the openness of it disarmed her as readily as a well-placed expelliarmus.
“I must be dreaming.”
His brow crinkled in confusion, but he followed with a laugh and another question. “Why do you say that?”
“Draco Malfoy is asking Hermione Granger about her drink and looks like he actually wants to hear the answer.”
“Does Hermione Granger now speak exclusively in the third person?”
“She may be using it as some kind of twisted defense mechanism.”
They stared at one another for a silent beat before they both burst into laughter. She wasn’t sure what was going on and why he was talking to her, but she was in too good of a mood to let Malfoy ruin it. Oddly enough, she felt in a better mood now than earlier.
“The drink is lovely and I could drink it every day,” she conceded.
He looked inordinately pleased by her answer, and she couldn’t help but want to know more.
“Why do you ask?”
He cocked his head with a strange expression now on his face, and Hermione felt a bit of her old reservations spring up. Had she missed something obvious? He gestured toward her cup with an elegant wave of his wrist. The scarlet mug was just as empty as before, the ‘M’ on the side clearly displayed.
M, as in M. Coffee.
She returned her gaze sharply towards him, mouth agape.
“I’m surprised you didn’t realize from the start, Granger. This is my coffee shop.”
“But it’s so small,” she said accusingly, as if the very word offended her.
There was that smirk. Only this time, it wasn’t at her but somehow included her. “I happen to like small. I don’t plan on ever expanding, no matter how successful this place becomes. I just want to keep making limited batch roasts to my exact specifications and starting every morning with a cup and a newspaper.”
Hermione studied him as he spoke, noticing for the first time the relaxed slant of his shoulders that once seemed permanently tense. She hadn’t seen him much in the past handful of years after school. She knew they had each pursued masteries, and that they were both single—Witch Weekly couldn’t get enough coverage of the eligible bachelor.
She wanted to know more.
Gathering her courage felt as natural as breathing, no matter how much her nerves spiked and her brain screamed at her that this might not be the greatest idea she’d ever had. M. Coffee served the best coffee in Britain and Draco Malfoy was a puzzle she wanted to solve.
“Well, consider me a regular customer. I don’t think I can start my days without one of your drinks.” Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall and back to him. He maintained eye contact the entire time, lips curled into yet another strange smile she had never seen on him before. “I’ll be here every morning at 8 A.M.”
“I’m honored by your patronage.”
She nodded and stood to leave. When she made to bus her own mug, he stepped forward to meet her, large hands barely brushing hers in the exchange. The brief touch was cool, and she wondered how his hand would feel cupped against her flushed face.
“Thank you.” She tried to keep her voice firm, but a tiny tremble might have slipped through with the way he looked at her.
“Thank you , and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“8 A.M.”
“Indeed.”
She spun around and fled as her courage flagged and she nearly continued the ridiculous verbal exchange. She didn’t see the way he watched her leave, the smile he maintained long after she was no longer in sight, nor the contemplative look he held before nodding decisively. He planned to see her everyday, just as she had stated, seven days a week.
Beyond that? Well, Hermione wasn’t the only one who liked a challenge.