Turn DRARRY

Chapter Eleven

"D'you want a refill, love?"

Harry looks up from his ever-so-casual flipping through the pages of the Daily Prophet to see the older waitress hovering at his table with a stack of empty plates in one hand and several dirty cups clutched in the other. Her bright, friendly eyes flick from Harry's empty mug to his face as she waits for a response.

Harry sighs as he nods and holds out his mug. "Thanks." He can't quite believe he's been here long enough to need a refill, especially when he tried so hard to be just a little bit late. As it was, despite his best efforts, he still managed to reach the cafe with five minutes to spare. And now he's waiting for Draco. Of course he is.

He finds a smile for the waitress when she returns with his cup. It's not her fault that he's awkward and idiotic and too wound up to think straight. It doesn't seem to matter that there's nothing more to this than coffee with a man who thinks he's insane; he's nervous.

"Fuck's sake," he mutters, slumping back in his chair and watching the sulky waitress as she sweeps up crumbs and bits of soggy biscuit from beneath the table where a young family have been sitting. She's starting to feel like an old friend. Harry suppresses the urge to sketch a little wave in her direction and instead watches her more amiable counterpart bustling around behind the counter and humming to herself.

When the bell above the door clangs, Harry forces himself not to look. He blows on his coffee (casually, of course), heart leaping when there's a creak and a sigh and a wave of cold, citrus-scented air washing over him.

"You're late," he says, fighting a smile.

"Yes, well, some of us haven't packed in our jobs," Draco points out. "Yet."

Harry looks now, meeting harassed grey eyes and inhaling carefully at the sharp jolt of pleasure that spirals through his chest. "I take it you're having a bad day."

Draco's mouth flickers at one corner. "There are very few good days in the finance industry."

"Get out of it, then," Harry says carelessly.

Draco's rough bark of laughter is startling and unexpected, making the approaching waitress jump slightly and direct a withering glance at the side of his head. Harry casts covert glances around for her colleague, but she seems to have disappeared, leaving them to their fate. He wonders how this Draco will react to her individual brand of customer service.

He doesn't have to wait long to find out.

"Can I take your order?" she says, regarding Draco with disinterest and tapping her pen against her notepad.

Draco, who has been quietly absorbed in folding his coat over his lap, lifts his head at the sound of her voice and levels a cool glance in her direction. "You could sound more enthusiastic about it."

The girl sighs and looks at Harry, as though to enquire exactly who this man is and why Harry has seen fit to bring him here. Amused, he shrugs, and she rolls her eyes.

"Specials today are on the board behind you," she says. "I can recommend the garlic soup, it's very... nice." She pauses, dark eyes trained on Draco. "Will that do, or would you like me to do a little dance?"

Harry chews on his lip and watches Draco, idly wondering if he should throw up a Shield Charm in front of the girl, just in case.

And then Draco snorts. And smiles.

"That won't be necessary, but don't let me stop you." He picks up his coat and deposits it with care on the nearest empty chair, then crosses one leg over the other and settles himself, straight-backed, and regards Harry. "Just coffee, please. Large. Cream. Sugar. Whatever else it comes with."