A Cup of Tea, Please

8 | Re-introduction

Harry didn't know why he was so damn excited for Malfoy to come over even though it was a really stupid idea. So stupid, in fact, that Harry knew he couldn't tell Ron or Hermione. If anything went awry, he already had his trunk packed. Or perhaps shooting himself with the Killing Curse would be more noble? Harry may have been a Gryffindor, but he certainly wasn't brave enough to face anyone after sharing the location of Grimmauld Place to a potential threat. Or maybe Obliviate would be better . . . hopefully Malfoy hasn't worked on his self-defence recently. . . .

But all of these worries were put to one side when Harry finished mopping the kitchen floor and stepped back, admiring the sparkling floor with a smile. However, his face fell when he remembered that the majority of the house was still home to mushrooms, insect species unknown to man and fungi . . . well, they were definitely not fun.

All that Harry could hope was that Malfoy wouldn't go anywhere other than the kitchen, which wasn't too ornate in comparison to the rest of the house, so that wasn't the best place to take him. But what other choice did he have now?

Fuck. Could Harry actually not use his brain? He was convinced that in the past year, his brain was slowly becoming dormant from the lack of exams and classes he had to take. That or maybe a Wrackspurt had burrowed into his ear.

Harry couldn't think any further, since he took a glance at the awfully tall grandfather clock at the far end of the room and noticed how late it was already getting. Had he really spent the entire day cleaning the kitchen?

*     *     *

"So this is what you call early?" Malfoy asked with a raised eyebrow from behind the counter as Harry stepped into the cafe.

"Sorry, I got caught up with cleaning," Harry said, trying to be as polite as possible. He didn't want to accidentally worsen the rivalry in an attempt to get rid of it all together.

"Who on this planet cleans until bloody nightfall?" The blonde folded his arms. "Your house had better be pristine. It's half-nine!"

Harry laughed, "Don't set your expectations too high. And I'm still half an hour earlier than the time you told me." He then looked around at the deserted tables and chairs. "I thought you said that today was going to be busy?"

"I'm not a psychic, Potter," Malfoy snorted.

"Kind of ar——" Harry started, but he silenced himself when he saw the same young girl from the night he'd first visited the cafe pop her head around the corner.

"A dispute with a customer?" she asked in a sing-song voice.

"Not at all," Malfoy responded with a smile that Harry had never seen him wear. It was weird seeing Malfoy genuinely smile, considering that all Harry had seen during his years at Hogwarts were sneers and grimaces which were not nearly as pleasant. Perhaps the cheery workers had some sort of impact on Malfoy? Come to think of it, how long has he worked there for?

Harry stopped his mind from spiralling with questions, reminding himself that he'd find out soon. Hopefully.

"Harry here is just my— er," Malfoy briefly looked at Harry before turning back to the other worker, "friend."

"Ooh! Exciting," the worker beamed, examining Harry from head-to-toe, making him feel like an exotic object on display, "where from?"

"School."

"Which one?"

"Er, secondary school?" though what came out of Malfoy's mouth sounded more like a question.