Enemies Over Espresso

Bumblebee Books

-★★★-

WAR CRIMINAL AND KNOWN DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY WALKS FREE AFTER TESTIMONY FROM GOLDEN GIRL AND THE CHOSEN ONE

Yesterday evening, the highly anticipated trial of Draco Malfoy took place under the observation of the full Wizengamot. To much surprise, two familiar faces arrived, not to set the final nails in the winner of Witch Weekly's 1996 'Wizards to Watch' coffin, but to offer him a lifeline. That's right, Golden Girl, Hermione Granger, and none other than the Chosen One himself testified on the Death Eater's behalf.

Due to this shocking turn of events...

The bell up front chimes and I hastily stuff the Prophet into the book in my hand, silencing its spiel and slamming the cover down of the glowering face smirking up at me.

"Be right with you!" I shout out cheerily, masking my unrest. Abandoning the books I had been reshelving, I whisk myself toward the front of the store, where a small cafe resides.

I pluck my apron off the old doorknob nailed into the side of a bookcase and loop it around my neck, quickly tying it around my back as I slide behind the counter.

"Alright," I breathe out, tucking flyaways behind my ears and grabbing a mug off the back shelf. "What can I do for you today?"

I spin on my heel to face the customer, a smile on my face. Looking up, I meet their eyes and my smile drops just as a surge of magic thrums through my veins—the mug in my hand cracks in two.

He smirks, just like he had in the Prophet. "Bit too strong of a grip there."

My eyes flick from his face to his fingers trilling on the counter, then to behind him where the bell still swings, chiming incessantly. A couple passes by the window on an early morning walk, bundled in their winter clothes and smiling into their cups of coffee.

The world moves on, while mine freezes as I try to process the man standing before me, fixing an amused stare at the ceramic fragments now littering the counter. It's been almost a full year since I've seen him, and I had been counting on it being the last.

I had no love lost for Draco Malfoy, as there was no love there to begin with. His actions in the war had surprised me least of all. He had been a twat since the day we met, on the evening of our Sorting Ceremony eight years ago, and he had never shown me he was anything but that.

My eyes settle on him again, fitted out in a black wool coat and knitted green scarf. He quirks a brow, and I realize I haven't spoken in at least a full minute.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I manage, releasing the mug handle I've been holding aloft.

He shrugs innocently. "I was hoping to get a coffee."

I look at him blankly, blinking a few times as though he'll disappear if I try hard enough.

Because, truly, why the fuck is Draco Malfoy in Muggle Cambridge.

"You know very well what I meant," I say simply, still with a vacant, disbelieving stare.

He tutts. "So, is that a no on the coffee?"

I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head. "Is that a no on the—" I mutter under my breath, reaching under the counter for a dustpan. "Shouldn't you be interviewing for Witch Weekly somewhere? Or drowning in your inheritance?"

I glare at the pile of ceramic that was formerly a mug, firmly sweeping it away and dumping it into the trash.

"Don't you read the Prophet?" He counters. I look up, and he's now leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. "Or do they not deliver out here?"