Where the River Flows

Mouth of the River

Part One of 'Where the River Flows'
Words: 10.4k

"A single cup of coffee! Please! Black with one spoon of sugar, that's all I need!"

The lady behind the counter glared at him, pointing at the clock. "We closed a minute ago."

"But I was waiting in line for fifteen minutes, you just took that woman's order-"

"Sorry," She said, not sounding very sorry. "Boss' rules. We're closed. Get out."

Draco knew this wasn't about time. Wasn't about any boss or rules or that they ran out of coffee- he could see three full pots sitting behind her that he knew, by law, she had to throw away. This wasn't about anything but him.

He'd been relieved when he didn't end up getting sent to Azkaban, but had he known he'd be treated like this over a decade later, he probably would've chosen Azkaban. Over a cup of coffee! Merlin!

He wanted to throw a strop and yell and bitch at her, but he knew that would only result in more press, more anger, more attention that he didn't want, so he settled for a glare and turned to leave. Except instead of storming out the door like he'd planned, he'd run into a very solid chest and stumbled back.

"Merlin! Pardon me, and I'm sorry to inform you that this shop is closed." He turned to shoot a glare at the woman who just rolled her eyes.

"Well I'm only a minute late, maybe she'd be so kind?" A deep voice questioned, and Draco found himself in shock as he looked over at someone he hadn't seen in years.

Harry Fucking Potter. Standing tall and broad and looking far too awake for the 3am that it was. He seemed more tan now, like he got the proper sun to properly bring out the beautiful Indian tones in his skin. He had a short, well-manicured beard as well- almost closer to stubble than an actual beard, and his dark hair was pulled back into a quick messy bun at the nape of his neck, strands of stray hair falling into his face. He looked healthier. Better. Hotter.

Of course, the woman jumped to take his order.

"Oh of course! Don't listen to him; what would you like to order mister Potter, sir?"

"Well," Potter spoke, walking up to the counter past Draco, which only made the blond harrumph even more indignantly, "I'll take whatever he ordered, and then a large vanilla chai, extra milk. And then, on top of that, I'll politely inform you, as an Auror, that discrimination is illegal in Wizarding London. Now, how much do I owe you?"

Draco gawped at his former rival as he paid for his coffee and watched as the lady made it with shaky hands. Finally gaining control back over his still-stunned-stupid body, he pulled out a handful of coins and thrust them at Potter.

"Thank you. You didn't... You didn't have to do that."

Potter shrugged, glancing at the clock himself. "You were in line. It's only what's fair." He took one glance at the coins Draco was holding out and simply looked away- no reaction to them whatsoever. "What good is a little fame if you can't use it sometimes?" He added with a small wink.

Draco knew what that meant and sighed, shoving them back into his pocket. "Let me repay you somehow. I'll get your coffee next time."

"Tea," Potter corrected absently, meandering down to the station where they picked up their drinks.

"Your tea, then. What are you even doing, getting tea at three in the morning?"

"Tea at three," Potter repeated, humming thoughtfully. "Good assonance."

Draco blinked at him. Had he just made a joke about rhyming?

He had to have gone barmy. There's no way he'd met Harry Potter at a truck-stop Café at three in the morning, making jokes about rhyming vowels!