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It doesn’t look much at first. It’s just a ramshackle old warehouse in a dodgy part of town that’s straddling that uncomfortable line between urban chic and downright dangerous. Haphazard stains of off-white paint adorn the bricks and thick cobwebs lurk in every corner. There’s little furniture to speak of and the windows are thick with layers of dust. A scrawled piece of graffiti adds a splash of colour to the grey cement floor with a cheerful neon green Fuck the Tories. Even the graffiti is left wing and political in these parts. The estate agent pointed out a Banksy on a disused factory building just down the road. Harry wonders if he should try to buy that instead, just for the investment. The graffiti alone would be worth more than the entire factory. The light flickers as Harry wanders through the wide open space, and takes in the stairs to the mezzanine level which are rickety and full of holes.

“It’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” The Muggle estate agent is cut off mid sales pitch and tries not to look too shocked. “I mean, of course it is. Give it a couple of years and you’ll be sitting on a goldmine. There’s a lot of investment in these parts.”

Harry brushes his fingers over the grooves in the brickwork and nods, taking his decision. “I’d like to put in an offer.”

The estate agent narrows his eyes, suspicious. “I assume you have proper financing arrangements in place? London property isn’t cheap these days, even here. Especially here.”

“I have some money saved.” Harry closes his eyes to imagine the light, airy space bustling with people and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. His stomach flutters with excitement and nerves, as his move from Ministry desk job to muggle coffee shop owner begins to look increasingly possible.

“Well then.” The estate agent looks a little dazed at the ease of the transaction. “I’ll take you back to the office and call the freeholder.”

“Brilliant.”

After taking one last look around, Harry tugs open the door and lets the spring sunlight stream inside.

*

Ron think he’s mental giving up a perfectly good Ministry job to arse around with coffee beans (as he puts it).

“Does this mean you’re not going to do magic anymore?” Ron looks morose and he takes in the newly renovated space.

“Of course I am.” Harry shows Ron to the comfortable sofas next to the makeshift bookshelves, bursting with a wide variety of muggle books of varying shapes and sizes. “I’ll still be living in Grimmauld Place for a start. I’m not going to disappear. You know that.”

“I suppose.” Ron still sounds put out. “Couldn’t you have gone for a magical coffee shop or something?”

Harry snorts. “Do you think I’d get any peace and quiet with a shop in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade? I’d spend most of the day signing autographs and making Rita Skeeter skinny lattes.”

Ron pulls a face. “This is just miles away from anywhere. Where are we, anyway?”

“East London.” Harry gestures towards the back door and a very convenient spot of land he managed to purchase with the building. “There’s a whole area behind the kitchen which I’ve turned into a safe space to Apparate without any muggles seeing. Don’t worry about that. I’m not going to leave magic behind. Or my friends,” he adds, pointedly. “I just want to do something where I can be anonymous for a while.”

“Still.” Ron looks gloomy, and takes in the space which Harry has newly furnished with rickety chairs and antique wooden tables, brightened up with colourful metallic plant pots – the tension between old and new. “I’ll miss you.”

“Well you’ll just have to start drinking more coffee, won’t you?” Harry takes a breath and points to the coffee machine, wrapped in protective plastic. The shiny silver and deep burgundy paintwork peek invitingly through the box. “Fancy giving this a whirl?”

“Do you do hot chocolate?” Ron perks up and starts to look marginally interested.

“With marshmallows?” Harry raises his eyebrows at Ron, who responds with a grin.

“Yeah, with marshmallows.”

“Of course.” With a little more confidence than he feels, Harry makes his way to the kitchen area and begins to unpack his new machinery.

“Malfoy was asking after you the other day.” After a couple of mishaps, Ron settles with an enormous mug of hot chocolate in his hand and he perches on a nearby stool to watch Harry work. “He seems awfully interested in your new business venture.”

“Malfoy?” Harry stares and pours his own coffee – dark, rich and made with ethically sourced beans. “Why on earth does he give two hoots what I’m doing?”

Ron shrugs and he contemplates Harry over his drink. “I think he’s bored. He’s always at the Ministry these days, making up excuses to try to get involved in one case or another. I don’t know why he doesn’t just get a job like the rest of us.”

“I imagine it’s not the Malfoy way.” Harry pulls a face. “It must get tiring for him, being filthy rich.”

“Poor Malfoy,” Ron agrees with a grin.

*

Despite Ron’s warning, Coffee is the very last place Harry expects to find Draco Malfoy, looking posh and out of place.

“Malfoy?” Harry eyes Malfoy who barely looks up from his enormous book. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was bored,” Malfoy drawls. He turns to Harry with a sneer. “I heard you owned a muggle coffee shop. Honestly, if I had known it would be this sort of coffee shop I wouldn’t have bothered coming.”

Harry bristles. “What’s that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with it?”

Malfoy looks up and shuts his book, casting a disdainful glance around. “It could use a decent lick of paint. Not to mention I almost got mugged on my way here.”

The scent of the coffee beans relaxes Harry and he takes a moment to breathe, determined not to let himself get riled by Malfoy’s irritating observations. “It’s the East End, Malfoy. We’re not in Mayfair now, and most people around here don’t wear monogrammed velvet.”

Malfoy snorts. He closes his book and follows Harry despite the dismissal. He leans against the counter, elegant and confident. He watches Harry work with a curious gaze and lets his eyes travel over Harry’s comfortable attire. “No. Most people seem to like flannel shirts and the unshaven look.” He looks insufferably smug. “What kind of ridiculous name is Coffee for fucks sake?”

Harry glares at Malfoy. “I’m pretty sure you’ll find ‘Coffee’ is as good a name as any for a coffee shop.” He definitely doesn’t want to let Malfoy in on the fact that after months of trying out different names, Harry gave up and settled on the first thing that came to mind. “Are you planning to spend any money or have you just come to take the piss?”

“I suppose I could have a flat white.” Malfoy takes a knut out of his pocket and pushes it across the counter to Harry, the eyes of curious muggle customers settling on the unusual looking coin.

“I didn’t know you accepted bitcoins.” One of the customers reaches into his pocket, and Harry shakes his head quickly resisting the urge to throttle Malfoy.

“We don’t.” He looks pointedly in Malfoy’s direction. “That’ll be two pounds fifty pence, Malfoy.”

“Two pounds?” Malfoy rummages in his wallet, a frown on his face. “That’s daylight robbery for a lukewarm coffee and a seat on a sofa which smells like my grandmother.”

Harry grits his teeth and leans forward with a hiss. “Take your bloody coffee and go and sit down. I’ll come over when I’ve finished serving my other customers – the ones you seem keen to put off as much as possible.”

“Relax, Potter.” Malfoy holds up his hand, finally retrieving a crisp fifty pound note and holding it up to the light. “Will this do it?”

“Fine.” Harry snatches the note and mutters a curse under his breath. He retrieves Malfoy’s change and returns with the notes, the coffee and another glare for Malfoy’s benefit. Despite his inclination to forgo the token chocolate covered coffee bean with Malfoy’s order, he relents and gives Malfoy a couple in the vain hope of keeping him quiet for a while. Before Malfoy can continue his tirade about the various flaws of the coffee shop, Harry makes his way to his other customers and begins to serve them one by one.

His bad mood melts away until finally he puts together the last order with an easy smile on his face, whistling as he works.

When he looks in Malfoy’s direction after several hours of work, it comes as little surprise to see the empty table and a few coins scattered next to Malfoy’s discarded book.

*

The next day, it’s a surprise to see Malfoy sitting in the same place as before and pouring over what appears to be a muggle crime thriller. He’s still dressed in his Sloane Square finest, having paid little heed to the more relaxed attire worn by the majority of Harry’s customers. Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Morning, Malfoy.”

“Stop sneaking up on people, Potter!” Nearly jumping out of his skin, Malfoy looks up at Harry with a glare. “You have to fire that waitress of yours.”

“Natalia?” Harry frowns and watches Natalia busily tending to the tables, with a wide smile on her face. “I’m not firing anybody. What on earth have you done to her?”

“You can’t have somebody recommend books like this to paying customers.” Malfoy shakes his book in Harry’s direction. “It’s entirely too gruesome. Nobody will buy any food reading books like this. Do you want to make a profit, or don’t you?”

“Of course.” Harry stares at Malfoy and resists the urge to laugh, suspecting it might not go down terribly well. “But I mainly want people to relax and enjoy themselves.” He shakes his head and gives Malfoy a slow smile. “Maybe you need less caffeine with that kind of book.”

“Perhaps.” Malfoy doesn’t appear to be in any rush to leave, and he cranes his neck looking towards the counter. “What else do you have?”

“Milkshakes, soft drinks, tea and hot chocolate.” Harry grabs a menu and passes it to Malfoy. “It’s all here.”

Malfoy licks his lips in a surprisingly attractive gesture. “Chocolate milkshake.”

“Chocolate milkshake it is.” Harry laughs softly and takes back the menu. “Anything else?”

Malfoy looks momentarily uncertain and then he nods. “One of those cakes. The red ones.”

“One red velvet cupcake with cream cheese frosting coming right up.” Harry hesitates. “Have you had lunch? I could make you a sandwich if you like. I don’t want to risk you getting diabetes from my cakes and milkshakes.”

“Sandwiches?” Malfoy looks curious and he stretches his hand out for the menu again. “I’ll take another look.”

*

“Every day?” Ron wipes some cream from his lips with the back of his hand and stares at Harry. “Malfoy comes here every day?”

Harry winces as Ron’s tone gets a little louder and one of his customers starts watching them curiously.

“Keep it down, and yes, every day.” Harry looks at the spot on the sofa occupied by a couple who keep snogging enthusiastically. “Apart from today, apparently.”

“What does he do?” Ron looks at the sofa and dips his voice again as if Malfoy can hear them. “Is he annoying? I bet he’s annoying.”

“Sometimes.” Harry laughs and shrugs. Although there’s nothing peculiar about bumping into Malfoy these days, finding him front and centre of Harry’s new adventure is strange and unsettling and he has no idea how to explain that to Ron. “He has a few ideas about this place.”

Ron raises his eyes heavenward. “I can only imagine. So why isn’t he here today?”

An unexpected twist in Harry’s gut makes him frown, and he looks at the sofa again. “No idea. No idea at all.”

*

“You didn’t fancy your usual caffeine fix yesterday?” Harry puts down Malfoy’s usual order in front of him, when he takes his seat the next day.

“I was busy,” Malfoy mutters. He doesn’t look up and his tone stays low and frosty.

“Fine.” Harry shrugs and tries to swallow back the gnawing sense that something is wrong with Malfoy. He can’t be responsible for Malfoy’s every mood, he tells himself. “Well I’m glad you’re back.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrow with suspicion and he looks up, his cool grey gaze meeting Harry’s head on. “You are?” His tone warms a little, and he speaks in his usual low, indolent drawl.

“Yes.” It surprises Harry that he doesn’t have to lie when he responds, and he gives Malfoy a broad grin, repeating his words as the realisation dawns on him that he is pleased to see Malfoy again. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Malfoy looks pleased and then returns to his book, waving Harry away. “My coffee’s getting cold.”

With a laugh, Harry leaves Malfoy to it and gets on with the day. From time to time he looks in Malfoy’s direction, surprised on occasion to find Malfoy looking right back.

*

“You must have developed a taste for our chocolate milkshakes.” Harry drops onto the sofa next to Malfoy after a frantic afternoon, two weeks later. “You’re here every day.”

“It’s amusing to watch you serving muggles coffee day in, day out.” Malfoy’s closes his book. “Besides, I like your library. All we have in the Manor are books on the Dark Arts and some stuffy old Latin nonsense.”

“Have you ever thought about getting a job?” Harry arches his eyebrow at Malfoy, who responds by turning up his nose.

“I can assure you I already have a job. Managing the Malfoy family investments and working for numerous charitable causes takes up a considerable amount of my time.”

Harry clears his throat, not wanting to point out that Malfoy has enough time to spend at least three hours a day at Coffee, eating cake and drinking milkshakes.

“I see. Ron mentioned you were doing something with Hippogriffs.”

Malfoy pulls a face. “Unfortunately, yes. We are sponsoring a sanctuary.”

Harry bites back a laugh and looks away so Malfoy won’t see his smile. “How…altruistic.”

“I’m not sure why you find my predicament so entertaining.” With Harry’s attempts to hide his mirth clearly unsuccessful, Malfoy nudges Harry in the side. “How did the hero of the wizarding world end up here? You could have been Minister if you had half a mind for politics.”

“I can’t think of anything worse.” Harry pulls a face and gestures to Natalia, asking for a hot chocolate and whipped cream. “Another milkshake?”

“I’ll have a coffee. Black, no sugar. At this rate I’m going to be enormous.” Malfoy pats his flat stomach and his shirt lifts a little to reveal toned, pale flesh. Harry tries to avoid staring and tugs his gaze away with reluctance when Malfoy shifts and the exposed bit of skin is covered once more. “We’re the last ones here.”

Harry looks around and nods, smiling at Natalia when she brings over the drinks. “Thanks, Nat. You should call it a night. I’ll close up.”

“Of course you will.” Natalia gives Harry a knowing look and giggles. “Night, Harry. Night, Draco.”

“Why did she do that?” Malfoy glares at Harry when the door closes behind Natalia. “It’s as if she thinks you want to keep me here for some nefarious purpose of your own.”

Harry’s cheeks heat and he clears his throat, because that particular statement gives rise to a large range of images which he definitely doesn’t want to share with Malfoy. He avoids the question for a moment by taking a deep gulp of his hot chocolate. “She might have put two and two together and come up with five.”

Five?” Malfoy narrows his eyes. “I suppose your employees think you’re a pervert who keeps people behind after hours to lure them into your clutches with the promise of free coffee every once in a while.” He rolls his eyes. “Muggles might fall for that kind of trick, but I could buy your whole stupid coffee shop ten times over. I’ll need more than a couple of ground up beans to persuade me of your charms.”

Harry nearly spits out his hot chocolate and stares at Malfoy. “I’m not trying to persuade you of anything, and I certainly don’t need free coffee to get people to sleep with me, thanks all the same.” Harry meets Malfoy’s smirk with a glare. “Natalia asked where I knew you from. I might have said we had a history, that’s all. I don’t think she jumped to the conclusion that our history involved war and the Dark Arts, funnily enough.”

“So she thinks we have romantic history?” Malfoy sounds almost…intrigued, and his voice sends an involuntary shiver through Harry. Who would have thought that a few hours a day with Malfoy would sensitise his body to react to Malfoy’s cultured drawl and crisp enunciation?

Harry bites back a muttered curse and wonders if Malfoy slipped some kind of potion in the coffee. “Perhaps. But don’t worry, I’m sure she won’t think any less of you.”

Malfoy lets out a strangled sound. “You can’t just tell people things like that. I don’t want anybody thinking I have ever been interested in you. You’re scruffy, practically penniless after throwing all of your money into a muggle coffee shop and you could use a decent shave.”

“Thanks, Malfoy.” Harry laughs and shakes his head, tipping his drink in Malfoy’s direction as if to say cheers. He refuses to let a wave of disappointment show in his response because it would be a seriously stupid idea to get involved with Malfoy. “That’s good to know.”

“Just don’t get any ideas.” Malfoy settles back in his seat and opens his book again with a frown. “I’m just here for the coffee.”

“And that suits me just fine.” Harry shifts to his knees on the sofa and peruses the shelves, before choosing a book of his own. Without another word to Malfoy, he makes himself comfortable and begins to read, trying not to let the warmth from Malfoy’s body and the rich, expensive scent of Malfoy’s cologne prove too much of a distraction.

*

“Do you have any booze in this place?” Malfoy looks hopefully at Harry the next evening, when they find themselves alone once more.

“Yes, I’m thinking of getting a license.”

“You don’t need a license if I’m not a paying customer, surely?” Malfoy smiles innocently, making Harry laugh.

“No idea. I doubt it. I think we can take a chance for one night.” He grabs a bottle of wine and opens it, bringing it back to Malfoy with two glasses. “Red okay?”

Malfoy peruses the label and takes an experimental sniff of the wine after pouring a small measure into his glass. “A mid-range Argentinian Malbec. Good choice, Potter.”

Harry decides not to let Malfoy know the wine was a leaving present from the Ministry and makes a mental note to keep the bottle and purchase some more when he gets a chance. “Thanks.”

“I’ve been thinking about this romantic history of ours.” Malfoy swirls his wine in his glass and gives Harry a loaded stare which makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“There’s no romantic history, you idiot. Just lots of fighting.” Harry tries to keep his voice even and struggles to fight against the heat rising in his cheeks. The room is uncomfortably warm given the season, and he wonders if he needs to invest in a decent air conditioning unit.

“Lots of fighting,” Malfoy agrees. He studies Harry closely. “I would be happy to help you ensure your cover doesn’t get blown. With Weasley coming here talking about muggles and magic, and with the deluge of witches and wizards I imagine will start coming here once they know their Boy Hero owns a coffee shop, I think you should pay a bit more attention to your cover story.”

“How exactly do you think I should do that?” Harry’s voice comes out in a slight squeak. “I thought I was scruffy and impoverished. Not really your type.”

“No, not usually,” Malfoy agrees.

“Well, then.” Malfoy really is staring and Harry’s suddenly all too aware of their proximity. “I don’t think getting off with you is going to help much when people turn up in purple velvet robes and pointed hats.”

“Who said anything about getting off?” Malfoy replies, silkily. He drops his hand onto Harry’s knee and gives it a light squeeze. “You have a one-track mind, Potter. When did you last get laid?”

“That’s none of your business.” Malfoy’s palm feels so good against his skin, Harry struggles to sound firm. There’s not a kneazle in hells chance he’s telling Malfoy that he hasn’t had sex for over a year – unless you count the kind of sex he’s been having with his own hand on a fairly regular basis.

“A while, then.” Malfoy smirks, drawing his own conclusions despite Harry’s evasiveness. “No wonder you take on all of these projects. It must be frightfully dull not getting a decent shag on a regular basis. What’s the point in being a hero if you can’t take advantage of it?”

“The point is destroying a Dark wizard so everybody can live happily ever after.” Harry’s voice trails off as Malfoy’s hand shifts higher, giving Harry’s leg another firm squeeze. “I didn’t exactly let Voldemort kill me because I was horny, Malfoy.”

“Still, it seems silly not to take advantage of the pleasing side effects that sort of thing can have.” Malfoy’s voice deepens and his words curl around Harry’s ears, pulling him closer until he can feel Malfoy’s warm breath against his cheek. He smells like coffee and wine, and the heady combination leaves Harry dizzy.

“You’re not impressed by any of that. I’m sure that’s not why you’re doing this.” Harry’s words leave his mouth in a rush and Malfoy edges closer.

“It isn’t. I just want to have some fun.”

Harry pulls back a little to give himself room to breathe. “Fun?”

“Sex is fun, isn’t it? Unless you’ve been doing it wrong, which wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Malfoy takes Harry’s glass and places it down, together with his own. He shifts on the sofa and pushes Harry back against the soft cushions, his mouth hovering over Harry’s. “Would you like to have fun with me, Potter?”

Harry wants to protest that he doesn’t really do one night stands or sex just for the hell of it. He wants to make sure that Malfoy isn’t going to see this as some kind of perverse victory he can hold over Harry for the next eighty plus years. He wants to tell Malfoy the hundred and twenty reasons why this is a fucking terrible idea.

He wants to do a lot of things, but not one of them is more compelling than twining his hands into Malfoy’s silky soft hair and pulling him closer. Not one of his carefully considered objections stands up to the feel of Malfoy’s cock, hard and heavy against his thigh. Not one of the moments of pause continue for long when the heat of Malfoy’s body pins him effectively in place. Harry decides he rather likes this aggressive Malfoy.

The one who slides Harry’s arm over his head and holds it in place by the wrist.

The one who kisses him.

Fuck that’s good.

The kiss is just as Harry would have expected from Malfoy. There’s no pretence at gentle romance, no tentative exploration of Harry’s mouth. Instead their lips crush together as if they’re both starving and the kiss gives them sustenance. Harry responds in kind, arching into Malfoy and snogging him back with force. The slim lines of Malfoy’s body flex to the touch, and he strokes his fingers over Malfoy’s blazer and then under to feel the heat of Malfoy’s skin against his palms.

“You’re good at this.”

Harry isn’t sure who says it at first. It’s just words in a quiet room which fills with the sound of their ragged breathing and the rustles of clothes against skin.

Malfoy slides his hands under Harry’s shirt and brings his lips to Harry’s ear. “No magic, Potter. We’re in your muggle coffee shop, so we’ll do this the muggle way.”

“I didn’t know there was another way to…”

Harry trails off as Malfoy unbuttons his shirt slowly, taking his time over every button. Malfoy sits back on his heels when Harry’s shirt is fully parted, and slides off his own shirt and jacket with a snort. “Of course you didn’t. Put it this way, you’d have been naked a lot more quickly had I decided to use my wand.”

“Eager are you, Malfoy?” Harry can’t help but grin and he runs his fingers along Malfoy’s torso. “Perhaps I’m not the only one that hasn’t had a decent shag for a while.”

Malfoy’s cheeks heat and he glares at Harry. He looks so irresistibly haughty it makes Harry want to pull him into another deep kiss and he has to remind himself this is just for fun.

“On second thoughts perhaps I will use my wand after all.” Malfoy flicks his wand and mutters a couple of spells which leave Harry naked and bound at the wrists, tugging against the bindings with a groan.

“What the fuck, Malfoy?”

“Too much?” Malfoy studies Harry with dark eyes and flicks his tongue over his lips. “Perhaps the Slytherin tie was a step too far.”

Harry cranes his neck awkwardly to see the green and silver material keeping him in place, and he gives Malfoy a look despite his predicament. “There had better be something in this for me, Malfoy.”

“I’d say so.” With a wicked smile, Malfoy makes his way down Harry’s body. He kisses every spot of Harry’s torso with talented lips and seems to understand exactly which parts of Harry’s body react best to being kissed and touched. When he finally takes Harry into his mouth, Harry’s whole body sings with pleasure and arousal.

He wants to push his hands into Malfoy’s hair and hold him down, but Malfoy’s very much in control of the situation. Harry resists his instincts to roll them over and focus on Malfoy’s pleasure. He fights against himself until he can relax, his hands loose and his body aching with need. He stops tugging at his bindings because Malfoy wouldn’t have put him in this position if he didn’t want things to turn out like this. He stops worrying about the price of coffee beans and whether or not he needs a replacement till. He stops worrying about why Malfoy’s here, doing this.

He stops.

His body floods with pleasure and he closes his eyes to let the sensations overwhelm him. Malfoy murmurs another spell and slips a slick finger into Harry’s body, sliding inside him with deliberate precision. The slow ache of need and desire worms through Harry’s veins as Malfoy keeps him just on the edge of arousal. The familiar scent of coffee fills his nostrils and he wonders if he’ll ever be able to make another cup of coffee without thinking of sex with Malfoy. Malfoy’s fingers push inside him, and his tongue slides over the hard length of Harry’s prick until he comes utterly undone.

“Fuck, Malfoy…” Harry arches under Malfoy’s touch, incapable of anything more than expletives and encouraging groans. He never wants to stop doing this – with Malfoy’s touch sending him reeling and leaving him boneless and completely sated.

“You like that.” Malfoy’s voice is husky with arousal, and he slides his fingers along Harry’s torso. He reaches over Harry and unbinds him gently, rubbing his thumb in slow circles against Harry’s risk. He laughs, and the sound is surprisingly intimate. “You’re used to being in charge.”

“Perhaps.” Harry’s too happy to speak properly so he pulls Malfoy into a kiss instead, tasting himself against Malfoy’s lips. “You too?”

Malfoy shrugs and he traces his fingers along the line of Harry’s throat. “It depends. I like taking charge with you. I think you need it, Potter. You’re so uptight.”

Harry lets out a snort of laughter, dropping his head back and letting Malfoy continue to trail his fingers along the curve of his neck. “Still, it only seems fair if I reciprocate.”

“Not just yet.” Malfoy shakes his head, and he speaks in Harry’s ear in a low murmur. Harry wonders why he never noticed how impossibly filthy Malfoy’s voice is. “I want to fuck you.”

With a groan, Harry nods and closes his eyes to try to regulate his breathing. “Might need a minute.”

“That’s not a problem.” Malfoy kisses Harry’s neck and sucks lightly at the exposed skin. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

*

It’s like a good cup of coffee.

It takes a while to brew, but being patient pays dividends.

“We’re going to fuck this up one of these days,” Malfoy observes. His lips are set in a firm line and he has the smallest bit of cream cheese frosting in the corner of his mouth. “But if you keep making cakes like this, I doubt I’ll care.”

“You have a bit of…” Harry stops talking and leans in to kiss the corner of Malfoy’s mouth. The helpful kiss becomes something of a heated snog which, in turn, results in Harry being practically lifted onto the counter while Malfoy palms him roughly through his trousers.

The rich scent of bitter coffee mingles in the air with warm, freshly baked pastries and cakes. The airy space is empty in the mornings and the evenings, and it’s when they take their time together getting ready for the day ahead.

“I’ve decided to get a job.” When they’re settled in a tangle of limbs on the sofa, Malfoy looks up to meet Harry’s gaze. “I’ve decided you should employ me.”

“For what?” Harry gives Malfoy a glare and folds his arms over his chest. “If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, I’m going to throttle you.”

“To help you with your accounting, of course.” Malfoy gives Harry an innocent smile. “You didn’t think I was about to suggest becoming your professional whore did you, Potter? Besides, I doubt you could afford me.”

“I doubt I could afford you doing my accounting.” Harry pulls a face and Malfoy shrugs in response.

“I don’t need the money. I just want to do something. Something that won’t send my father to an early grave.”

“Your father would approve of you working in a muggle coffee shop?”

“Good grief, no.” Malfoy wrinkles his nose. “I simply doubt he’ll ever venture into this part of London so I can avoid telling him.”

Harry ponders Malfoy’s request and looks at the shelves filled with books. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you write book reviews for me? We could have a drink named after our book of the week. It would be fun.”

Malfoy looks up at the shelves which stretch to the ceiling, and the small library on the mezzanine level. “That’s a lot of books. I would have to be here most days if I was to do my job properly.”

Harry grins and captures Malfoy’s lips in a kiss. “You would. I expect my employees to be very diligent.”

Malfoy shifts over Harry and presses their bodies together. “So you’re in charge?”

“Of the coffee shop.” Harry rocks against Malfoy and twines their hands together. “I’m happy to leave the rest to you.”

Malfoy sighs contentedly and kisses Harry firmly. He tastes of sweet cakes and bitter coffee, and his kisses make Harry glad he’s lying down instead of trying to stand while his knees tremble under the onslaught.

“You’re insatiable, Potter.”

The morning sunlight streams through the window and catches Malfoy’s hair. His face lights up in a wide, open smile which Harry knows is reserved solely for him.

Harry laughs and nods his agreement. “What can I say? I just really like the smell of coffee.”

With a low growl, Malfoy begins to attack Harry’s neck with fierce kisses.

Harry closes his eyes and breathes in the delicious scent of Malfoy and coffee, which combine together to remind him of the past and call to mind dreams of a future, full of possibility.

~Fin~