FIC: Second Cup (Dudley/Draco, additional pairings, PG-13) Part 2/2
Title: Second Cup
Author: katmarajade
Prompt: Coffee Shop Fic
Pairing: Dudley/Draco (with sides of Zacharias/Marietta & Angelina/Alicia)
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Some language; discussion and a brief, non-graphic scene of bullying; excessive caffeine.
Word count: 11,867
Summary: Down on his luck, Dudley finds his second chance in a most unexpected place: a coffee shop owned by Zach and Marietta. He learns how to roast coffee beans, make a mean macchiato, and that he’s not the only one struggling to move on from past mistakes.
Author's notes: Written for the 2013 dudley-redeemed. Thanks to aigooism for looking this over and general cheerleading, wwmrsweasleydo for her detailed beta and britpick, starsandgraces for cheerfully answering a bajillion britpicky questions, my many f-listers who helped me come up with all the coffee drinks in here, browngirl for her guidance on Angelina’s hair, and also my husband, who betaed this like the hero he is (even though I don’t think he cares one bit whether Dudley is redeemed or not!)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters and settings remain the intellectual property of JK Rowling and her associates. We are very grateful for permission to play with them. Also, if you are twitching and dying for a good cup of coffee after this-- good! But I am not liable for your crazy, espresso-lustful actions! ;-)
Part One Here
His skills improved daily and soon he could sling espresso like a professional, though Angelina was still the superior barista, no question. Sometimes Zach ventured out to help during the big rushes and a few times a week a quiet but efficient woman named Lisa worked the register, but in the afternoons and on the usual quiet days, it was more often than not Dudley and Angelina by themselves.
“Probably better this way. Zach and Mary are brilliant at what they do and they keep this place running-- do all the behind the scenes type stuff that I wouldn’t even have a clue about, but they don’t like being out here,” Angelina said. Then she showed Dudley how to make a new drink. Dumping two expertly pulled shots of espresso into the cup she called it, “Extra hot, extra dirty chai-- my favourite.” After a pause she poured a small amount into a cup for him to taste.
“Not bad,” he agreed, secretly pleased that his coffee palate was expanding and that Angelina seemed properly impressed by his ability to drink beverages without at least two sweetened flavour shots in them now.
He loved hearing her rattle off the long, complicated names of some of the drinks, and was amazed at how she remembered so many of the regulars. But slowly he began to remember them too.
“Small skimmed single pump hazelnut latte with an extra shot for Hermione! Medium cappuccino with a shot of sugar free vanilla for Padma! Triple espresso for Justin! Large iced raspberry mocha with extra whipped cream for Tracey! Earl Grey, extra hot for Jean Luc! Small iced soy latte for Su!”
Dudley found that he truly enjoyed working at the shop. He enjoyed getting up early (though not as early as the proprietors, thankfully) and helping Mary carry out trays of baked goods from the kitchen. One of his favourite parts of the evenings after closing was watching Zach work the roaster, and he was getting better at recognising the various stages and distinctions of each roast and which type of roast would best highlight a particular kind of bean. Just the other day Zach had called him a natural born coffee roaster and promised him that sometime soon Dudley could man the roaster himself, with supervision of course.
Other than boxing, no one had ever told Dudley he was a natural at anything. And considering what he’d started out doing with his punching prowess, he did not feel he could claim that as an admirable skill set. He had a punching bag that Zach told him he could hang from one of the exposed rafters in his flat. Boxing was a good way to blow off steam and keep fit, but he didn’t like advertising the fact that he was skilled at hitting anything, even if the only thing he would ever allow himself to punch these days was a dingy black training bag.
Mornings were full of setting out pastries and watching Mary cluck over Dennis, the new bloke they’d hired to help with the baking and to cover for Mary when the baby came next summer. Dennis was a scrawny, fiery man who wore extremely tight trousers and thick-rimmed eyeglasses that Dudley wasn’t sure were functional or just fashionable. It was entertaining to watch the two pastry creators bicker about their art, and Dudley found it oddly comforting how those arguments were always warmer than the fights he remembered from his youth, with Dad shouting, Harry bellowing, and Mum looking like she would pass out from the stress. Dudley also liked how both of them tended to have flour smeared on their faces and always smell like almond shortbread and raisin scones.
Angelina showed up just before six on every day but Sundays, when the shop was closed anyway, and Thursdays, because she had the day off. She liked to bring the espresso maker back to life, so Dudley usually left that for her, and he opened the doors, letting their regulars trickle in.
The first four hours tended to be quite busy, the long morning rush getting to work. Dudley discovered that the Ministry of Magic did not keep set hours for their employees. Many of them took advantage of that, either starting earlier so they could finish earlier or coming in to work a bit later.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays Lisa worked the register and Dudley’s job was a blur of bean grinding, pour over coffees (sometimes five at a time), and handing out the drinks that he and Angelina were making. On Tuesdays it was usually quieter and he and Angelina alternated working the register and the making the drinks. On Thursdays when Angelina wasn’t working, Dudley was in charge of the espresso machine, which was a bit of a thrill, though he preferred the relatively slow speed of regular coffee brewing to the hissing hurry of espresso drinks.
Lunch time was quiet and usually spent chatting with Angelina. The afternoons brought a different crowd, usually including a few people who were just walking by (a rarity in the mornings, when nothing on the street was open yet save the Ministry.) Draco’s early afternoon coffee became a daily ritual and Dudley found himself endeavouring to make it better each time, though a few times his attempts had caused Draco’s face to scrunch up at first sip and then Dudley would insist on trying again.
Cormac and Ernie usually came in a bit after three in the afternoon, settling into a table as they drank at least two large depth charges a piece. They were both Healers in Training at the Wizarding Hospital, which meant long days, early mornings, late nights, and a great deal of stress. Dudley could never figure out their schedule, as some days they were just finishing eighteen hour shifts and some days they said they’d be starting in an hour or two. Tuesdays were the end of their work week after several extra long shifts in a row and Cormac tended to top his coffee off with a hefty slug of whisky on those days. It wasn’t really the thing, but as long as he wasn’t dancing on tables Dudley, Zach, and Angelina tended to look the other way.
The shop closed at five each day and Dudley even enjoyed cleaning the place afterward. He must have gotten a bit of his Mum in him after all, because he enjoyed wiping down the counters, washing the cups, and taking apart the coffee makers and coffee grinder for a more thorough clean. Angelina cranked the wireless after they locked the door and some days Zach would pretend to be disapproving, but Angelina’s ridiculous floor sweeping/dance moves made even Zach, whom she sometimes referred to as Ice Man, laugh. Angelina usually left soon after that.
After helping finish closing and cleaning (which was a far simpler task when the shop owner could use magic), Zach would begin his daily regimen of pacing in front of the roaster, trying to decide what the next blend should be. Dudley tossed out ideas and Zach would dismiss them with a wave, but eventually they’d come up with something that caught Zach’s interest and he’d get to work. Watching the roasting process was relaxing and smelled good, so Dudley usually hung around for it. Mary often came down, sometimes bringing dinner, and she introduced him to Gobstones, for which he found he had a real knack, and Wizarding Chess, which annoyed him because the pieces (and they’d tried several sets) refused to listen to a Muggle and would wander off the board in protest if he tried to move them manually.
The schedule was full and Dudley worked all day every day but Sunday, despite Zach and Mary repeatedly offering him additional days off. He preferred it that way; it helped him sleep soundly at night and gave him little time to dwell on anything else. For the first time in years, he felt he could move past the mistakes of his youth and focus on becoming someone better. The guilt still gave him twinges from time to time, as he hoped it always would, but he started to see himself differently. For the first time in his life he felt useful and productive. He began to see himself as a man with talents and skills and a purpose. It was exciting and new, and he found it was giving him a lot more confidence. Real confidence and purpose, he discovered, were far more satisfying than the arrogant bravado he’d affected as a youth.
“My usual, please,” said Draco, pulling off his fancy gloves and setting them on the counter. Dudley was glad to see that there was a hint of a strut in Draco’s usual hunched shuffle and that he was holding his shoulders more squarely. The man clearly needed a bit of confidence.
“All right, but we’re branching out today just a tiny bit, all right?” Dudley said with a grin. Draco looked worried and his shoulders fell slightly but he said nothing.
“Really, it will be great! I know you love the dark stuff, but this one is just a touch lighter-- still on the dark side, don’t worry!”
Draco winced at that and Dudley paused. “I really think you’ll like it.”
“It’s fine, Dudley. Proceed … please.”
Dudley cheerfully ground the beans, which he’d watched Zach roast just last night, adding a pinch of coarsely crushed cinnamon (which he had discovered over the last few weeks worked better than the ground powder he’d accidentally added that first day) and slowly poured the water.
“It’s a high-altitude Guatemalan bean with a city roast to highlight the complexities of the bean, including a hint of spice and chocolate,” Dudley recited from the card Zach had left.
“I like French Roast,” Draco said, a hint of petulance in his voice.
“Yes, well, we’ll give you a beret with your coffee tomorrow, but just for today you need to try this delightful roast of the day, especially because the cinnamon is going to make this thing bloody pop, I swear.”
Draco choked out a laugh while maintaining a slight pout, which amused Dudley. For all his terse bravado and suave arrogance, Draco was also funny, if a bit high strung, and a lot more vulnerable than Dudley figured he meant to let on. As Draco took a sip of his freshly brewed cup, Dudley watched with anticipation. Pale eyebrows rose slightly, grey eyes brightened almost imperceptibly, and Dudley was convinced he spotted the tiniest possible upturn of the left side of Draco’s mouth.
“It’s adequate,” Draco sniffed and Dudley let out a loud burst of laughter. For a moment Draco looked affronted, but his expression softened as Dudley kept laughing.
“It’s fantastic and you know it,” Dudley choked out between torso-shaking bouts of laughter.
“It’s … decent.”
“It’s bloody brilliant, Draco. You love it! Success!” Dudley was almost dizzy from laughing and the absolute high of making a risky call that paid off with dividends. (The fact that he had consumed probably eight shots of espresso at that point may also have been a contributing factor.)
Draco allowed a small smile. “Yes, all right, I find it perfectly enjoyable.”
Dudley was sure he had not laughed this hard in years. For some reason this handsome, pouting, difficult-to-please, slightly snobby man allowing Dudley to change his usual order (minutely, but still) gave him an unbelievable rush. Just from their short acquaintance, Dudley could tell that Draco did not allow himself to be dictated to and that he would be rather dangerous if pushed. (Though Dudley was sure that he could take Draco in an honest fight, he imagined that Draco fought dirty and had learned that the hard way. Plus, Draco had a Magic wand and, as such, a bit of an unfair advantage.)
And he liked it! Draco liked that cup of coffee, the cup that Dudley chose for him so carefully and it was brilliant.
“I think you’ve had altogether too much caffeine,” Draco sniffed, but his grey eyes were soft and Dudley knew he wasn’t really as annoyed as he sounded.
“You’re not wrong,” Dudley said, still feeling uncharacteristically giddy.
Draco smiled, a full-fledged, face-shifting, teeth-showing smile. And Dudley’s belly lurched at the sight.
“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” Angelina said, eyeing them curiously. Draco flushed and looked back down, muttering something, and slipping quietly through the door.
“Malfoy, huh?” she said. “Interesting.”
“He liked my coffee-- I made him try Zach’s Guatemalan blend today.”
“That’s only slightly over medium,” Angelina mused, displaying once again her impressive memory for her regulars.
Dudley grinned and she shook her head. “Whatever floats your broom. Now go take your lunch. Point of interest-- the shop on the corner has spiced chicken dumpling soup today and it’s sublime.”
Dudley nodded, hung up his apron, pulled on his coat and scarf, and went in search of soup. He had only taken a few steps into the dreary afternoon air when he nearly ran into someone. In front of him, to his surprise, stood a nervous-looking Draco.
“Hello,”
“Er, hello, again. Just saw you three minutes ago, after all,” Dudley said.
“Right,” Draco pursed his lips and stared irritably at a traffic light.
“So I hear the place on the corner has good soup. That’s where I’m going. To get soup.” Dudley continued, gesturing towards the shop with the blue awning.
Draco hesitated but then said, “I like soup.”
“Fancy getting some lunch then? I wouldn’t say no to the company.”
“Oh, if you like,” Draco said off-handedly, as if the thought would never have occurred to him otherwise. Dudley gave him a curious look but simply shrugged.
Dudley and Draco both ordered their bowls of soup, which came with hearty French bread and thick slabs of butter. Dudley attempted a few conversation starters but Draco looked uncomfortable, so they simply ate in companionable silence.
“Nice, er, running into you, Dudley,” Draco said as they deposited their trays at the rubbish station. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the shop probably. I do enjoy my afternoon coffee.”
“See you tomorrow, Draco,” said Dudley, offering a wave, before heading back to work.
“Your tea, ladies,” Dudley called, setting the small ceramic pots that they used for the customers enjoying their tea there in the shop next to a pair of slightly chipped tea cups. He pointed at the two pots. “Fujian Jasmine Pearl for Luna and Victorian Rose for Ginny. Enjoy!”
He leaned back against the counter, feeling more comfortable with himself than he had in a long time. It was nice feeling like he belonged somewhere and that he was doing a good job. It was nice not feeling like the big, slow bully who’d been a total arse as a schoolboy. It was nice sipping coffee (a Costa Rican blend very lightly roasted to highlight the sharp acidity and citrus flavour) and actually enjoying it like a bona fide adult.
Late mornings were a quiet time in the shop, which were enjoyable too. As the weeks passed, Angelina explained everything there was to know about the espresso machine during their down times, and then she moved on to her thoughts on home espresso makers. From there she talked about which biscuits she and Alicia preferred and her theory on why she hated bananas. She explained in vivid detail the hours of work that went into creating her elegantly braided Mohawk hairstyle, which took an entire day to accomplish. The hairdresser would take out her braids, wash, oil, and comb her hair, and then rebraid everything, and while that was happening her hairdresser’s mother always wandered around in her dressing gown and complained about the government, the world, the weather, teenagers with their trousers falling off, and pretty much everything else under the sun. She explained the basics of the War, of which Dudley had only had a partial understanding. Angelina was an open book and she was very fair and non-judgmental, especially about what people had done during the war.
“We were kids and times were really tough. I don’t think it’s reasonable to expect every school child to be able to save the world. We all have our own crosses to bear and reasons for doing what we did. Now our whole community is judging each other on what you did or didn’t do to win the war. I think that some of us made better choices than others, some of us were less brave than we should have been, and some of us looked out for ourselves and our loved ones instead of trying to save the whole world. It’s never as simple as they say it is.” She looked sad for a minute and Dudley began making her a dirty chai, extra hot just how she liked it.
After hearing some of the stories, he understood a little better why Zach and Mary were so guarded and why Draco flinched when someone called out his last name. He also felt a bit better too, because he wasn’t the only one with a tricky past that would never quite go away.
He just finished pouring a decaf cafe au lait with honey and a full-bodied, medium-roasted Kenyan pour over coffee for Zach to take upstairs when Draco walked in. Zach gave Draco a once over and a nod, which was his version of a cordial hello.
“Smith,” said Draco, inclining his head politely. “I heard you and your wife are expecting. Congratulations.”
Zach narrowed his eyes momentarily, as if gauging whether the statement was intended as an insult to Mary, but when he seemed satisfied at the genuineness of Draco’s words, he actually smiled. Briefly.
“I put a couple of the big, chewy ginger cookies there for you too, Zach,” Dudley said, pointing. “One of your old school chums was here earlier, a Pufflehoof I think she said. Anyway, she mentioned ginger was good for morning sickness.”
Zach and Draco both smiled at Dudley’s wording, quick, blink-and-you’d-miss-them expressions.
“Thanks. Stop by after closing if you want, Dudley. Other than baking in the mornings, she’s been sleeping half the time. The bloke we’ve got helping her out is getting decent though. He’s the one who made the muffins this morning. Mary still hasn’t relinquished her scone recipe, but it’s only a matter of time.”
Once Zach had gone back upstairs, Draco cleared his throat delicately, as if he were trying to find a nice way of stating something that was sure to be received poorly. That always made Dudley nervous, because it was what usually happened right before he was fired or told that it might be better if he didn’t come around anymore.
“Yeah?” Dudley asked, his tone a touch more aggressive than it needed to be.
Draco blanched and his mouth bobbed open and closed several times at a loss for words. Dudley immediately felt a twinge of guilt; perhaps Draco hadn’t planned on saying anything objectionable at all.
Angelina chose that moment to walk in from her lunch break and Draco immediately tensed and reassumed his typical straight-shouldered, ducked-headed, averted-eyed stance.
“Malfoy,” Angelina said. “I’m beginning to wonder if you might have someone watching me. It’s curious how you always show up when I’ve gone off for lunch, even though that time is a bit different each day. I wonder why in Merlin’s name that could be?”
Draco flushed and muttered what sounded like crazy coincidence.
Angelina grinned and gave Draco an I-know-what-you’re-up-to wink. He fled, leaving Dudley calling weakly after him that his coffee wasn’t finished yet.
Looking at the full cafetière of bold, French Roasted, Ethiopian Kaffa coffee that he’d been brewing for Draco, Dudley sighed.
“Want a coffee? Dark roast with cinnamon.”
Angelina shook her head and gave him a strange look.
“Er, Dudley?” she asked.
“Yeah?” he asked, only partly listening as he pushed down the plunger on the abandoned coffee anyway, not wanting the perfectly customised cup of specially roasted coffee to go to waste. The last few weeks on Dudley’s request, Zach had been making at least one or two special dark roasts a week, usually French Roast varieties but sometimes a slightly lighter Vienna or slightly bolder Italian Roast to mix things up. This was a new batch that Dudley had helped Zach create himself, one whose flavours would really be highlighted with a touch of cinnamon.
“Dudley, look at me,” she demanded.
“What?” he said, glancing up briefly as he poured the coffee into a mug. He leaned back against the counter and inhaled the spicy, smoky aroma of his perfectly roasted and brewed cinnamon coffee. He couldn’t bear to toss it, so he took a sip, nodding to himself when he tasted how perfectly the cinnamon blended with the beans. He met Angelina’s irritable gaze.
“You do realise that Draco is completely arse over teakettle in love with you, yeah?”
Dudley spewed cinnamon coffee all over the floor.
“What?!” he exclaimed. “What the hell are you on about? That’s completely stupid.”
“Is it? He comes in here every single day and usually makes sure he gets to see you, alone if possible. He smiles, Dudley. He smiles at you!”
“So do almost all of our other customers,” Dudley pointed out. “Making a bloke laugh certainly isn’t the same as making him fall madly in love.”
“Woah woah, laugh? You make him laugh?! You make Draco Malfoy laugh?” Angelina gave a disbelieving snort. “I don’t think Malfoy has laughed since long before the war. He keeps to himself, doesn’t talk to anyone if he can help it, does his job at the Ministry so that he can keep up respectable appearances, and takes care of his mother, who hasn’t left their house since his father was taken to Azkaban. He used to be the brattiest bully in school, all cocky smirks and strutting about. I mean, he screwed up colossally during the war, but I almost miss that self-righteous little prat he used to be. Anyway, just trust me. I haven’t seen Draco smile in literally years. And you make him laugh. Hell, he’s practically glowing whenever I see him in here.”
“Maybe he laughs because I’m funny. And maybe he smiles at me because I’m the only person in this little world of yours who doesn’t remind him of his past mistakes. That’s not love. It’s the desperate desire for someone-- anyone-- to see you as something other than a great bullying bastard and to understand that maybe you’re not as rotten and useless as you were as a stupid, selfish, spoilt kid.” Dudley was annoyed now and Angelina was giving him an odd look.
“I would guess that’s exactly what Malfoy would want. You know him really well, don’t you?”
“I know myself really well. Draco I can only guess at.” Dudley said, sighing and taking a fortifying sip of coffee.
“If I’m right, if he fancies you as much as I think he does, would that be something you’d be interested in?” Angelina asked, watching him closely.
“Interested? I … well, it doesn’t matter. You’re not right, so it doesn’t do much good worrying about it.”
Angelina smiled. “That’s what I thought.”
“What are you talking about?” Dudley glared at her but she didn’t answer. The door opened and Cormac and Ernie walked in, both laughing about something. Dudley turned and started measuring out the beans for coffee.
Angelina let it go until she hung up her apron for the night. As she pulled on her hat and waved at Alicia through the window, who’d just stopped by to walk her home, she turned to Dudley.
“You might not believe me, but I happen to know people. And I’m right. I also know that he will never ever do a damn thing about it. I’d call him a coward, but I honestly can’t say that I blame him. He’s scared and lonely and feels guilty. It’s a crappy situation. But he’s not really a bad sort. I think you two would be good for each other, but if you ever want that to happen, you’re going to have to make the first move.”
“Let it go,” Dudley said, his voice flat.
Zach walked in and glanced between them. “Is something going on I should know about?”
“No,” they both said in unison. Angelina gave Dudley a loaded look and ducked outside. Dudley watched her and Alicia walk away, arm in arm, and let himself wonder for just one short second, what it would be like to have something like that.
The next few days were difficult. Dudley felt as if his trusted co-worker had betrayed him by giving him some sort of ridiculous false hope. Before Angelina had said anything, he’d been perfectly content to think of Draco as another nice regular, a bloke to joke around with a bit and impress with his coffee making prowess, someone with whom he could share lunch perhaps, but nothing fancy-- just a quick, quiet snack between mates. But now he was second guessing everything.
He barely spoke to Angelina, who seemed to realise she’d pushed him to his limit and was willing to give him a bit of space. He went upstairs early three days in a row, which had Zach and Mary concerned. His coffees were still excellent, but it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it as he handed out the drinks, not bothering to call out the names like he usually loved doing.
As for Draco, that was simply disaster. Armed with Angelina’s theory, Dudley kept trying to see for himself if it were true. Unfortunately, his attempts were mainly long, suspicious-looking stares, which made Draco jumpy. After the first couple of odd glances, Draco began avoiding eye contact with Dudley and when he didn’t show up at the coffee shop on Thursday, Dudley’s mood soured even further.
Friday was awful. Dudley, having barely managed to sleep the night before, snapped at Mary in the morning for absolutely no good reason, which caused Zach to yell at him. Angelina was two minutes late and Dudley purposefully started the espresso maker without her, pulling a pair of lattes for the first customers and leaving her to work the cash register.
When a customer complained about her coffee not being hot enough, Dudley had to physically check himself to keep from shouting at her.
“Our barista will make you a fresh cup,” he said stiffly. He turned to Angelina. “Sorry, but I think I need some air. I’ll be back later.”
Angelina gave him a relieved look, which told him he’d probably been horrid all day, and he tossed aside his apron, pulled on his jacket, and stalked out the door.
The easiest way to clear his head was to work it off. A very brisk walk sometimes did the trick and Dudley figured he could use the fresh air anyway. The January afternoon was damp and cool, grey mist flirting with the buildings and a distracted breeze shaking dangling signs then wandering off. Dudley stormed down the street for about fifteen minutes before heading back towards Second Cup. His spirit was slightly calmer as he neared the shop, his face flushed from the chilled air and mild exertion, his blond hair quite windblown.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dudley saw someone approach from the alley. Still on edge, Dudley spun around, feet apart and hands raised loosely in front of his chest; this odd-looking position allowed him to slide seamlessly into his orthodox boxing stance if necessary while not appearing quite as defensive if the person proved little or no threat. Years in the ring had taught him caution and care.
Draco’s startled expression caused Dudley to drop his hands instantly.
“Draco, er, sorry. I’m a bit jumpy today, it seems.”
“Right,” Draco’s skin flushed and Dudley was pretty sure it wasn’t from the cold.
“You didn’t come in for coffee today,” Dudley said, trying to keep his voice neutral, like it was just an off the cuff observation. “Or yesterday.”
“I … I felt a little off the past couple of days and thought I should avoid the caffeine,” Draco said, not meeting Dudley’s eyes.
“Right.”
“What are you doing out here anyway? Aren’t you usually working at this time?” Draco asked, as if he didn’t know Dudley’s schedule by now.
“Needed a break. It’s been a bloody long day.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Draco said, eyeing Dudley carefully.
“Yeah, Angelina’s been on my case about … something lately. And it’s got me on edge and I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Are you all right?” Draco asked, concern obvious in his voice.
Startled, Dudley answered, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just she thinks that … well, she thinks some ridiculous nonsense and I’m just all confused now. I don’t like it. Makes me feel stupid and I get-- I don’t like how I act when I start feeling like that.”
“You’re certainly not stupid,” Draco said with conviction, his shoulders pushing back and his nose raised up slightly, as if disdainful of anyone that disagreed with his obvious assessment.
Dudley let out a short laugh, more surprised than amused. No one but his myopically devoted parents had ever believed in him so strongly.
“Well, you’re not,” Draco repeated, a bit waspish this time, seemingly offended by Dudley’s reaction.
“Thanks,” Dudley managed, running a hand through his hair and suddenly feeling shy.
“No need to thank me,” sniffed Draco, who looked snobbier than Dudley had ever seen him but also rather vulnerable.
“Angelina thinks you’re in love with me,” blurted out Dudley. His face flushed at his sudden, embarrassing outburst but he couldn’t quite keep his eyes from watching Draco, waiting for some sign that either this information was the stupidest thing ever, or maybe, perhaps, just possibly that it contained the tiniest glimmer of truth.
Draco stared at him, grey eyes enormous and frantically searching. “Why … why would she say that?”
“Well, she’s got this mad notion that we’re perfect for each other or some such rot, I dunno.”
“Mad notion,” repeated Draco, looking a bit panicked.
“Yeah, well, I told her that you probably weren’t interested. I mean, successful, handsome men like you don’t go for thick-headed Muggler blokes like me, whose only skills are making a fucking cuppa and hitting … stuff.”
Draco’s nose rose up even further and his tone turned unbelievably snooty as he said, “Best fucking cuppa in London, I would dare to wager.”
Dudley just laughed and Draco paused, watching with something like sadness in his eyes.
“She’s not wrong, actually,” Draco finally said, averting his gaze.
“Not wrong. You mean Angelina? About the stuff?”
“Yes, about the stuff,” huffed Draco, annoyed that his confession was not being properly received. “As in, I do happen to, well, you know, love you … a bit. I’m not bothering you, simply enjoying a daily cup of coffee like many other customers, so I should hope that this won’t affect our … relationship, as it were.”
Dudley tilted his head, amazed that Draco could hold his nose that high and still breathe; he thought that was a skill only his mother had. Now was the time to take his shot, to make the move that Angelina said he’d need to make.
“What if I promise to make you the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had,” said Dudley. He bit his lip, terrified that this was going to blow up in his face.
“The best?” said Draco sceptically.
“Well, yanno, your emotional state can really affect your taste buds,” Dudley explained in his most serious voice. “So my theory is if I start making an absolutely brilliant cup of coffee-- your beloved French Roast French Pressed with a bit of that pricey Saigon cinnamon-- and then I set the timer and snog the life out of you until it goes off … well, all those whatsitcalled, er, endorphin thingies would make it taste rather amazing.”
Draco’s eyes widened comically and his bratty, aristocratic expression vanished, replaced by honest, stunned confusion. Dudley shrugged and gave him a hopeful smile, at which Draco finally regrouped, assumed his most regal face, and nodded.
“Very well. As long as it’s French Roast.”
Dudley laughed and Draco joined in a moment later.
“Er, I’ve got the necessary supplies back at the Manor … would you mind if I took you there via Side-Along Apparition?” Draco explained the process to Dudley, whose libido overrode his fear of Magical transport, and he agreed.
One terrifying moment later, Dudley arrived in a very fancy foyer with a crystal chandelier that probably cost more than he would make that year.
Draco gingerly took his hand, as if worried that Dudley might object, and lead him towards another room. Dudley looked around at the fancy green divan and intricately carved end tables with confusion.
“Erm, where’s your coffee?”
“I think that, just for today, I’m going to skip my afternoon cup,” Draco said. His voice was lighter and his smile brighter than Dudley had ever seen before and it was terribly distracting.
“But I thought I was going to …”
“I thought you were going to kiss me,” finished Draco firmly.
“Oh, er, well, I can do that.” Dudley grinned and his large hands shot out, yanking Draco’s narrow frame to him in an instant.
Draco watched him carefully with a look of nervous anticipation, which made something inside Dudley’s chest twist almost painfully. Sliding his hands into Draco’s fine blond hair, Dudley lowered his mouth to Draco’s, kissing him softly, slowly for a long moment. Draco’s lips were thin and fitted to Dudley’s perfectly, pushing against him just as impatiently as Dudley would have expected from Draco. Dudley pulled away for a brief second to meet Draco’s dove-coloured eyes then dove back in, this time firmer, harder, faster.
Slender arms snaked up between them and Dudley felt himself pushed towards the emerald sofa. In that moment, he knew he had to make a choice.
And Dudley Dursley, who had lived his entire life never ever allowing anyone to have the upper hand against him, allowed himself to fall.
And fall hard.
The rest, as they say, is history. Running his coffee-stained fingers through Draco’s soft hair, slightly matted from sleep, Dudley still can’t believe that someone like him could wind up as happy as this.
But that’s a lesson he’s learned from his job. That sometimes you can screw up a cup of coffee beyond saving. Too burnt, too weak, too strong, too bitter. Any number of bad choices or mistakes can leave you with a horrible taste in your mouth.
Sometimes, you need to toss the rubbish, wash your vessel until it’s clean again, and make a second cup.
Author: katmarajade
Prompt: Coffee Shop Fic
Pairing: Dudley/Draco (with sides of Zacharias/Marietta & Angelina/Alicia)
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Some language; discussion and a brief, non-graphic scene of bullying; excessive caffeine.
Word count: 11,867
Summary: Down on his luck, Dudley finds his second chance in a most unexpected place: a coffee shop owned by Zach and Marietta. He learns how to roast coffee beans, make a mean macchiato, and that he’s not the only one struggling to move on from past mistakes.
Author's notes: Written for the 2013 dudley-redeemed. Thanks to aigooism for looking this over and general cheerleading, wwmrsweasleydo for her detailed beta and britpick, starsandgraces for cheerfully answering a bajillion britpicky questions, my many f-listers who helped me come up with all the coffee drinks in here, browngirl for her guidance on Angelina’s hair, and also my husband, who betaed this like the hero he is (even though I don’t think he cares one bit whether Dudley is redeemed or not!)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters and settings remain the intellectual property of JK Rowling and her associates. We are very grateful for permission to play with them. Also, if you are twitching and dying for a good cup of coffee after this-- good! But I am not liable for your crazy, espresso-lustful actions! ;-)
Part One Here
His skills improved daily and soon he could sling espresso like a professional, though Angelina was still the superior barista, no question. Sometimes Zach ventured out to help during the big rushes and a few times a week a quiet but efficient woman named Lisa worked the register, but in the afternoons and on the usual quiet days, it was more often than not Dudley and Angelina by themselves.
“Probably better this way. Zach and Mary are brilliant at what they do and they keep this place running-- do all the behind the scenes type stuff that I wouldn’t even have a clue about, but they don’t like being out here,” Angelina said. Then she showed Dudley how to make a new drink. Dumping two expertly pulled shots of espresso into the cup she called it, “Extra hot, extra dirty chai-- my favourite.” After a pause she poured a small amount into a cup for him to taste.
“Not bad,” he agreed, secretly pleased that his coffee palate was expanding and that Angelina seemed properly impressed by his ability to drink beverages without at least two sweetened flavour shots in them now.
He loved hearing her rattle off the long, complicated names of some of the drinks, and was amazed at how she remembered so many of the regulars. But slowly he began to remember them too.
“Small skimmed single pump hazelnut latte with an extra shot for Hermione! Medium cappuccino with a shot of sugar free vanilla for Padma! Triple espresso for Justin! Large iced raspberry mocha with extra whipped cream for Tracey! Earl Grey, extra hot for Jean Luc! Small iced soy latte for Su!”
Dudley found that he truly enjoyed working at the shop. He enjoyed getting up early (though not as early as the proprietors, thankfully) and helping Mary carry out trays of baked goods from the kitchen. One of his favourite parts of the evenings after closing was watching Zach work the roaster, and he was getting better at recognising the various stages and distinctions of each roast and which type of roast would best highlight a particular kind of bean. Just the other day Zach had called him a natural born coffee roaster and promised him that sometime soon Dudley could man the roaster himself, with supervision of course.
Other than boxing, no one had ever told Dudley he was a natural at anything. And considering what he’d started out doing with his punching prowess, he did not feel he could claim that as an admirable skill set. He had a punching bag that Zach told him he could hang from one of the exposed rafters in his flat. Boxing was a good way to blow off steam and keep fit, but he didn’t like advertising the fact that he was skilled at hitting anything, even if the only thing he would ever allow himself to punch these days was a dingy black training bag.
Mornings were full of setting out pastries and watching Mary cluck over Dennis, the new bloke they’d hired to help with the baking and to cover for Mary when the baby came next summer. Dennis was a scrawny, fiery man who wore extremely tight trousers and thick-rimmed eyeglasses that Dudley wasn’t sure were functional or just fashionable. It was entertaining to watch the two pastry creators bicker about their art, and Dudley found it oddly comforting how those arguments were always warmer than the fights he remembered from his youth, with Dad shouting, Harry bellowing, and Mum looking like she would pass out from the stress. Dudley also liked how both of them tended to have flour smeared on their faces and always smell like almond shortbread and raisin scones.
Angelina showed up just before six on every day but Sundays, when the shop was closed anyway, and Thursdays, because she had the day off. She liked to bring the espresso maker back to life, so Dudley usually left that for her, and he opened the doors, letting their regulars trickle in.
The first four hours tended to be quite busy, the long morning rush getting to work. Dudley discovered that the Ministry of Magic did not keep set hours for their employees. Many of them took advantage of that, either starting earlier so they could finish earlier or coming in to work a bit later.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays Lisa worked the register and Dudley’s job was a blur of bean grinding, pour over coffees (sometimes five at a time), and handing out the drinks that he and Angelina were making. On Tuesdays it was usually quieter and he and Angelina alternated working the register and the making the drinks. On Thursdays when Angelina wasn’t working, Dudley was in charge of the espresso machine, which was a bit of a thrill, though he preferred the relatively slow speed of regular coffee brewing to the hissing hurry of espresso drinks.
Lunch time was quiet and usually spent chatting with Angelina. The afternoons brought a different crowd, usually including a few people who were just walking by (a rarity in the mornings, when nothing on the street was open yet save the Ministry.) Draco’s early afternoon coffee became a daily ritual and Dudley found himself endeavouring to make it better each time, though a few times his attempts had caused Draco’s face to scrunch up at first sip and then Dudley would insist on trying again.
Cormac and Ernie usually came in a bit after three in the afternoon, settling into a table as they drank at least two large depth charges a piece. They were both Healers in Training at the Wizarding Hospital, which meant long days, early mornings, late nights, and a great deal of stress. Dudley could never figure out their schedule, as some days they were just finishing eighteen hour shifts and some days they said they’d be starting in an hour or two. Tuesdays were the end of their work week after several extra long shifts in a row and Cormac tended to top his coffee off with a hefty slug of whisky on those days. It wasn’t really the thing, but as long as he wasn’t dancing on tables Dudley, Zach, and Angelina tended to look the other way.
The shop closed at five each day and Dudley even enjoyed cleaning the place afterward. He must have gotten a bit of his Mum in him after all, because he enjoyed wiping down the counters, washing the cups, and taking apart the coffee makers and coffee grinder for a more thorough clean. Angelina cranked the wireless after they locked the door and some days Zach would pretend to be disapproving, but Angelina’s ridiculous floor sweeping/dance moves made even Zach, whom she sometimes referred to as Ice Man, laugh. Angelina usually left soon after that.
After helping finish closing and cleaning (which was a far simpler task when the shop owner could use magic), Zach would begin his daily regimen of pacing in front of the roaster, trying to decide what the next blend should be. Dudley tossed out ideas and Zach would dismiss them with a wave, but eventually they’d come up with something that caught Zach’s interest and he’d get to work. Watching the roasting process was relaxing and smelled good, so Dudley usually hung around for it. Mary often came down, sometimes bringing dinner, and she introduced him to Gobstones, for which he found he had a real knack, and Wizarding Chess, which annoyed him because the pieces (and they’d tried several sets) refused to listen to a Muggle and would wander off the board in protest if he tried to move them manually.
The schedule was full and Dudley worked all day every day but Sunday, despite Zach and Mary repeatedly offering him additional days off. He preferred it that way; it helped him sleep soundly at night and gave him little time to dwell on anything else. For the first time in years, he felt he could move past the mistakes of his youth and focus on becoming someone better. The guilt still gave him twinges from time to time, as he hoped it always would, but he started to see himself differently. For the first time in his life he felt useful and productive. He began to see himself as a man with talents and skills and a purpose. It was exciting and new, and he found it was giving him a lot more confidence. Real confidence and purpose, he discovered, were far more satisfying than the arrogant bravado he’d affected as a youth.
“My usual, please,” said Draco, pulling off his fancy gloves and setting them on the counter. Dudley was glad to see that there was a hint of a strut in Draco’s usual hunched shuffle and that he was holding his shoulders more squarely. The man clearly needed a bit of confidence.
“All right, but we’re branching out today just a tiny bit, all right?” Dudley said with a grin. Draco looked worried and his shoulders fell slightly but he said nothing.
“Really, it will be great! I know you love the dark stuff, but this one is just a touch lighter-- still on the dark side, don’t worry!”
Draco winced at that and Dudley paused. “I really think you’ll like it.”
“It’s fine, Dudley. Proceed … please.”
Dudley cheerfully ground the beans, which he’d watched Zach roast just last night, adding a pinch of coarsely crushed cinnamon (which he had discovered over the last few weeks worked better than the ground powder he’d accidentally added that first day) and slowly poured the water.
“It’s a high-altitude Guatemalan bean with a city roast to highlight the complexities of the bean, including a hint of spice and chocolate,” Dudley recited from the card Zach had left.
“I like French Roast,” Draco said, a hint of petulance in his voice.
“Yes, well, we’ll give you a beret with your coffee tomorrow, but just for today you need to try this delightful roast of the day, especially because the cinnamon is going to make this thing bloody pop, I swear.”
Draco choked out a laugh while maintaining a slight pout, which amused Dudley. For all his terse bravado and suave arrogance, Draco was also funny, if a bit high strung, and a lot more vulnerable than Dudley figured he meant to let on. As Draco took a sip of his freshly brewed cup, Dudley watched with anticipation. Pale eyebrows rose slightly, grey eyes brightened almost imperceptibly, and Dudley was convinced he spotted the tiniest possible upturn of the left side of Draco’s mouth.
“It’s adequate,” Draco sniffed and Dudley let out a loud burst of laughter. For a moment Draco looked affronted, but his expression softened as Dudley kept laughing.
“It’s fantastic and you know it,” Dudley choked out between torso-shaking bouts of laughter.
“It’s … decent.”
“It’s bloody brilliant, Draco. You love it! Success!” Dudley was almost dizzy from laughing and the absolute high of making a risky call that paid off with dividends. (The fact that he had consumed probably eight shots of espresso at that point may also have been a contributing factor.)
Draco allowed a small smile. “Yes, all right, I find it perfectly enjoyable.”
Dudley was sure he had not laughed this hard in years. For some reason this handsome, pouting, difficult-to-please, slightly snobby man allowing Dudley to change his usual order (minutely, but still) gave him an unbelievable rush. Just from their short acquaintance, Dudley could tell that Draco did not allow himself to be dictated to and that he would be rather dangerous if pushed. (Though Dudley was sure that he could take Draco in an honest fight, he imagined that Draco fought dirty and had learned that the hard way. Plus, Draco had a Magic wand and, as such, a bit of an unfair advantage.)
And he liked it! Draco liked that cup of coffee, the cup that Dudley chose for him so carefully and it was brilliant.
“I think you’ve had altogether too much caffeine,” Draco sniffed, but his grey eyes were soft and Dudley knew he wasn’t really as annoyed as he sounded.
“You’re not wrong,” Dudley said, still feeling uncharacteristically giddy.
Draco smiled, a full-fledged, face-shifting, teeth-showing smile. And Dudley’s belly lurched at the sight.
“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” Angelina said, eyeing them curiously. Draco flushed and looked back down, muttering something, and slipping quietly through the door.
“Malfoy, huh?” she said. “Interesting.”
“He liked my coffee-- I made him try Zach’s Guatemalan blend today.”
“That’s only slightly over medium,” Angelina mused, displaying once again her impressive memory for her regulars.
Dudley grinned and she shook her head. “Whatever floats your broom. Now go take your lunch. Point of interest-- the shop on the corner has spiced chicken dumpling soup today and it’s sublime.”
Dudley nodded, hung up his apron, pulled on his coat and scarf, and went in search of soup. He had only taken a few steps into the dreary afternoon air when he nearly ran into someone. In front of him, to his surprise, stood a nervous-looking Draco.
“Hello,”
“Er, hello, again. Just saw you three minutes ago, after all,” Dudley said.
“Right,” Draco pursed his lips and stared irritably at a traffic light.
“So I hear the place on the corner has good soup. That’s where I’m going. To get soup.” Dudley continued, gesturing towards the shop with the blue awning.
Draco hesitated but then said, “I like soup.”
“Fancy getting some lunch then? I wouldn’t say no to the company.”
“Oh, if you like,” Draco said off-handedly, as if the thought would never have occurred to him otherwise. Dudley gave him a curious look but simply shrugged.
Dudley and Draco both ordered their bowls of soup, which came with hearty French bread and thick slabs of butter. Dudley attempted a few conversation starters but Draco looked uncomfortable, so they simply ate in companionable silence.
“Nice, er, running into you, Dudley,” Draco said as they deposited their trays at the rubbish station. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the shop probably. I do enjoy my afternoon coffee.”
“See you tomorrow, Draco,” said Dudley, offering a wave, before heading back to work.
“Your tea, ladies,” Dudley called, setting the small ceramic pots that they used for the customers enjoying their tea there in the shop next to a pair of slightly chipped tea cups. He pointed at the two pots. “Fujian Jasmine Pearl for Luna and Victorian Rose for Ginny. Enjoy!”
He leaned back against the counter, feeling more comfortable with himself than he had in a long time. It was nice feeling like he belonged somewhere and that he was doing a good job. It was nice not feeling like the big, slow bully who’d been a total arse as a schoolboy. It was nice sipping coffee (a Costa Rican blend very lightly roasted to highlight the sharp acidity and citrus flavour) and actually enjoying it like a bona fide adult.
Late mornings were a quiet time in the shop, which were enjoyable too. As the weeks passed, Angelina explained everything there was to know about the espresso machine during their down times, and then she moved on to her thoughts on home espresso makers. From there she talked about which biscuits she and Alicia preferred and her theory on why she hated bananas. She explained in vivid detail the hours of work that went into creating her elegantly braided Mohawk hairstyle, which took an entire day to accomplish. The hairdresser would take out her braids, wash, oil, and comb her hair, and then rebraid everything, and while that was happening her hairdresser’s mother always wandered around in her dressing gown and complained about the government, the world, the weather, teenagers with their trousers falling off, and pretty much everything else under the sun. She explained the basics of the War, of which Dudley had only had a partial understanding. Angelina was an open book and she was very fair and non-judgmental, especially about what people had done during the war.
“We were kids and times were really tough. I don’t think it’s reasonable to expect every school child to be able to save the world. We all have our own crosses to bear and reasons for doing what we did. Now our whole community is judging each other on what you did or didn’t do to win the war. I think that some of us made better choices than others, some of us were less brave than we should have been, and some of us looked out for ourselves and our loved ones instead of trying to save the whole world. It’s never as simple as they say it is.” She looked sad for a minute and Dudley began making her a dirty chai, extra hot just how she liked it.
After hearing some of the stories, he understood a little better why Zach and Mary were so guarded and why Draco flinched when someone called out his last name. He also felt a bit better too, because he wasn’t the only one with a tricky past that would never quite go away.
He just finished pouring a decaf cafe au lait with honey and a full-bodied, medium-roasted Kenyan pour over coffee for Zach to take upstairs when Draco walked in. Zach gave Draco a once over and a nod, which was his version of a cordial hello.
“Smith,” said Draco, inclining his head politely. “I heard you and your wife are expecting. Congratulations.”
Zach narrowed his eyes momentarily, as if gauging whether the statement was intended as an insult to Mary, but when he seemed satisfied at the genuineness of Draco’s words, he actually smiled. Briefly.
“I put a couple of the big, chewy ginger cookies there for you too, Zach,” Dudley said, pointing. “One of your old school chums was here earlier, a Pufflehoof I think she said. Anyway, she mentioned ginger was good for morning sickness.”
Zach and Draco both smiled at Dudley’s wording, quick, blink-and-you’d-miss-them expressions.
“Thanks. Stop by after closing if you want, Dudley. Other than baking in the mornings, she’s been sleeping half the time. The bloke we’ve got helping her out is getting decent though. He’s the one who made the muffins this morning. Mary still hasn’t relinquished her scone recipe, but it’s only a matter of time.”
Once Zach had gone back upstairs, Draco cleared his throat delicately, as if he were trying to find a nice way of stating something that was sure to be received poorly. That always made Dudley nervous, because it was what usually happened right before he was fired or told that it might be better if he didn’t come around anymore.
“Yeah?” Dudley asked, his tone a touch more aggressive than it needed to be.
Draco blanched and his mouth bobbed open and closed several times at a loss for words. Dudley immediately felt a twinge of guilt; perhaps Draco hadn’t planned on saying anything objectionable at all.
Angelina chose that moment to walk in from her lunch break and Draco immediately tensed and reassumed his typical straight-shouldered, ducked-headed, averted-eyed stance.
“Malfoy,” Angelina said. “I’m beginning to wonder if you might have someone watching me. It’s curious how you always show up when I’ve gone off for lunch, even though that time is a bit different each day. I wonder why in Merlin’s name that could be?”
Draco flushed and muttered what sounded like crazy coincidence.
Angelina grinned and gave Draco an I-know-what-you’re-up-to wink. He fled, leaving Dudley calling weakly after him that his coffee wasn’t finished yet.
Looking at the full cafetière of bold, French Roasted, Ethiopian Kaffa coffee that he’d been brewing for Draco, Dudley sighed.
“Want a coffee? Dark roast with cinnamon.”
Angelina shook her head and gave him a strange look.
“Er, Dudley?” she asked.
“Yeah?” he asked, only partly listening as he pushed down the plunger on the abandoned coffee anyway, not wanting the perfectly customised cup of specially roasted coffee to go to waste. The last few weeks on Dudley’s request, Zach had been making at least one or two special dark roasts a week, usually French Roast varieties but sometimes a slightly lighter Vienna or slightly bolder Italian Roast to mix things up. This was a new batch that Dudley had helped Zach create himself, one whose flavours would really be highlighted with a touch of cinnamon.
“Dudley, look at me,” she demanded.
“What?” he said, glancing up briefly as he poured the coffee into a mug. He leaned back against the counter and inhaled the spicy, smoky aroma of his perfectly roasted and brewed cinnamon coffee. He couldn’t bear to toss it, so he took a sip, nodding to himself when he tasted how perfectly the cinnamon blended with the beans. He met Angelina’s irritable gaze.
“You do realise that Draco is completely arse over teakettle in love with you, yeah?”
Dudley spewed cinnamon coffee all over the floor.
“What?!” he exclaimed. “What the hell are you on about? That’s completely stupid.”
“Is it? He comes in here every single day and usually makes sure he gets to see you, alone if possible. He smiles, Dudley. He smiles at you!”
“So do almost all of our other customers,” Dudley pointed out. “Making a bloke laugh certainly isn’t the same as making him fall madly in love.”
“Woah woah, laugh? You make him laugh?! You make Draco Malfoy laugh?” Angelina gave a disbelieving snort. “I don’t think Malfoy has laughed since long before the war. He keeps to himself, doesn’t talk to anyone if he can help it, does his job at the Ministry so that he can keep up respectable appearances, and takes care of his mother, who hasn’t left their house since his father was taken to Azkaban. He used to be the brattiest bully in school, all cocky smirks and strutting about. I mean, he screwed up colossally during the war, but I almost miss that self-righteous little prat he used to be. Anyway, just trust me. I haven’t seen Draco smile in literally years. And you make him laugh. Hell, he’s practically glowing whenever I see him in here.”
“Maybe he laughs because I’m funny. And maybe he smiles at me because I’m the only person in this little world of yours who doesn’t remind him of his past mistakes. That’s not love. It’s the desperate desire for someone-- anyone-- to see you as something other than a great bullying bastard and to understand that maybe you’re not as rotten and useless as you were as a stupid, selfish, spoilt kid.” Dudley was annoyed now and Angelina was giving him an odd look.
“I would guess that’s exactly what Malfoy would want. You know him really well, don’t you?”
“I know myself really well. Draco I can only guess at.” Dudley said, sighing and taking a fortifying sip of coffee.
“If I’m right, if he fancies you as much as I think he does, would that be something you’d be interested in?” Angelina asked, watching him closely.
“Interested? I … well, it doesn’t matter. You’re not right, so it doesn’t do much good worrying about it.”
Angelina smiled. “That’s what I thought.”
“What are you talking about?” Dudley glared at her but she didn’t answer. The door opened and Cormac and Ernie walked in, both laughing about something. Dudley turned and started measuring out the beans for coffee.
Angelina let it go until she hung up her apron for the night. As she pulled on her hat and waved at Alicia through the window, who’d just stopped by to walk her home, she turned to Dudley.
“You might not believe me, but I happen to know people. And I’m right. I also know that he will never ever do a damn thing about it. I’d call him a coward, but I honestly can’t say that I blame him. He’s scared and lonely and feels guilty. It’s a crappy situation. But he’s not really a bad sort. I think you two would be good for each other, but if you ever want that to happen, you’re going to have to make the first move.”
“Let it go,” Dudley said, his voice flat.
Zach walked in and glanced between them. “Is something going on I should know about?”
“No,” they both said in unison. Angelina gave Dudley a loaded look and ducked outside. Dudley watched her and Alicia walk away, arm in arm, and let himself wonder for just one short second, what it would be like to have something like that.
The next few days were difficult. Dudley felt as if his trusted co-worker had betrayed him by giving him some sort of ridiculous false hope. Before Angelina had said anything, he’d been perfectly content to think of Draco as another nice regular, a bloke to joke around with a bit and impress with his coffee making prowess, someone with whom he could share lunch perhaps, but nothing fancy-- just a quick, quiet snack between mates. But now he was second guessing everything.
He barely spoke to Angelina, who seemed to realise she’d pushed him to his limit and was willing to give him a bit of space. He went upstairs early three days in a row, which had Zach and Mary concerned. His coffees were still excellent, but it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it as he handed out the drinks, not bothering to call out the names like he usually loved doing.
As for Draco, that was simply disaster. Armed with Angelina’s theory, Dudley kept trying to see for himself if it were true. Unfortunately, his attempts were mainly long, suspicious-looking stares, which made Draco jumpy. After the first couple of odd glances, Draco began avoiding eye contact with Dudley and when he didn’t show up at the coffee shop on Thursday, Dudley’s mood soured even further.
Friday was awful. Dudley, having barely managed to sleep the night before, snapped at Mary in the morning for absolutely no good reason, which caused Zach to yell at him. Angelina was two minutes late and Dudley purposefully started the espresso maker without her, pulling a pair of lattes for the first customers and leaving her to work the cash register.
When a customer complained about her coffee not being hot enough, Dudley had to physically check himself to keep from shouting at her.
“Our barista will make you a fresh cup,” he said stiffly. He turned to Angelina. “Sorry, but I think I need some air. I’ll be back later.”
Angelina gave him a relieved look, which told him he’d probably been horrid all day, and he tossed aside his apron, pulled on his jacket, and stalked out the door.
The easiest way to clear his head was to work it off. A very brisk walk sometimes did the trick and Dudley figured he could use the fresh air anyway. The January afternoon was damp and cool, grey mist flirting with the buildings and a distracted breeze shaking dangling signs then wandering off. Dudley stormed down the street for about fifteen minutes before heading back towards Second Cup. His spirit was slightly calmer as he neared the shop, his face flushed from the chilled air and mild exertion, his blond hair quite windblown.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dudley saw someone approach from the alley. Still on edge, Dudley spun around, feet apart and hands raised loosely in front of his chest; this odd-looking position allowed him to slide seamlessly into his orthodox boxing stance if necessary while not appearing quite as defensive if the person proved little or no threat. Years in the ring had taught him caution and care.
Draco’s startled expression caused Dudley to drop his hands instantly.
“Draco, er, sorry. I’m a bit jumpy today, it seems.”
“Right,” Draco’s skin flushed and Dudley was pretty sure it wasn’t from the cold.
“You didn’t come in for coffee today,” Dudley said, trying to keep his voice neutral, like it was just an off the cuff observation. “Or yesterday.”
“I … I felt a little off the past couple of days and thought I should avoid the caffeine,” Draco said, not meeting Dudley’s eyes.
“Right.”
“What are you doing out here anyway? Aren’t you usually working at this time?” Draco asked, as if he didn’t know Dudley’s schedule by now.
“Needed a break. It’s been a bloody long day.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Draco said, eyeing Dudley carefully.
“Yeah, Angelina’s been on my case about … something lately. And it’s got me on edge and I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Are you all right?” Draco asked, concern obvious in his voice.
Startled, Dudley answered, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just she thinks that … well, she thinks some ridiculous nonsense and I’m just all confused now. I don’t like it. Makes me feel stupid and I get-- I don’t like how I act when I start feeling like that.”
“You’re certainly not stupid,” Draco said with conviction, his shoulders pushing back and his nose raised up slightly, as if disdainful of anyone that disagreed with his obvious assessment.
Dudley let out a short laugh, more surprised than amused. No one but his myopically devoted parents had ever believed in him so strongly.
“Well, you’re not,” Draco repeated, a bit waspish this time, seemingly offended by Dudley’s reaction.
“Thanks,” Dudley managed, running a hand through his hair and suddenly feeling shy.
“No need to thank me,” sniffed Draco, who looked snobbier than Dudley had ever seen him but also rather vulnerable.
“Angelina thinks you’re in love with me,” blurted out Dudley. His face flushed at his sudden, embarrassing outburst but he couldn’t quite keep his eyes from watching Draco, waiting for some sign that either this information was the stupidest thing ever, or maybe, perhaps, just possibly that it contained the tiniest glimmer of truth.
Draco stared at him, grey eyes enormous and frantically searching. “Why … why would she say that?”
“Well, she’s got this mad notion that we’re perfect for each other or some such rot, I dunno.”
“Mad notion,” repeated Draco, looking a bit panicked.
“Yeah, well, I told her that you probably weren’t interested. I mean, successful, handsome men like you don’t go for thick-headed Muggler blokes like me, whose only skills are making a fucking cuppa and hitting … stuff.”
Draco’s nose rose up even further and his tone turned unbelievably snooty as he said, “Best fucking cuppa in London, I would dare to wager.”
Dudley just laughed and Draco paused, watching with something like sadness in his eyes.
“She’s not wrong, actually,” Draco finally said, averting his gaze.
“Not wrong. You mean Angelina? About the stuff?”
“Yes, about the stuff,” huffed Draco, annoyed that his confession was not being properly received. “As in, I do happen to, well, you know, love you … a bit. I’m not bothering you, simply enjoying a daily cup of coffee like many other customers, so I should hope that this won’t affect our … relationship, as it were.”
Dudley tilted his head, amazed that Draco could hold his nose that high and still breathe; he thought that was a skill only his mother had. Now was the time to take his shot, to make the move that Angelina said he’d need to make.
“What if I promise to make you the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had,” said Dudley. He bit his lip, terrified that this was going to blow up in his face.
“The best?” said Draco sceptically.
“Well, yanno, your emotional state can really affect your taste buds,” Dudley explained in his most serious voice. “So my theory is if I start making an absolutely brilliant cup of coffee-- your beloved French Roast French Pressed with a bit of that pricey Saigon cinnamon-- and then I set the timer and snog the life out of you until it goes off … well, all those whatsitcalled, er, endorphin thingies would make it taste rather amazing.”
Draco’s eyes widened comically and his bratty, aristocratic expression vanished, replaced by honest, stunned confusion. Dudley shrugged and gave him a hopeful smile, at which Draco finally regrouped, assumed his most regal face, and nodded.
“Very well. As long as it’s French Roast.”
Dudley laughed and Draco joined in a moment later.
“Er, I’ve got the necessary supplies back at the Manor … would you mind if I took you there via Side-Along Apparition?” Draco explained the process to Dudley, whose libido overrode his fear of Magical transport, and he agreed.
One terrifying moment later, Dudley arrived in a very fancy foyer with a crystal chandelier that probably cost more than he would make that year.
Draco gingerly took his hand, as if worried that Dudley might object, and lead him towards another room. Dudley looked around at the fancy green divan and intricately carved end tables with confusion.
“Erm, where’s your coffee?”
“I think that, just for today, I’m going to skip my afternoon cup,” Draco said. His voice was lighter and his smile brighter than Dudley had ever seen before and it was terribly distracting.
“But I thought I was going to …”
“I thought you were going to kiss me,” finished Draco firmly.
“Oh, er, well, I can do that.” Dudley grinned and his large hands shot out, yanking Draco’s narrow frame to him in an instant.
Draco watched him carefully with a look of nervous anticipation, which made something inside Dudley’s chest twist almost painfully. Sliding his hands into Draco’s fine blond hair, Dudley lowered his mouth to Draco’s, kissing him softly, slowly for a long moment. Draco’s lips were thin and fitted to Dudley’s perfectly, pushing against him just as impatiently as Dudley would have expected from Draco. Dudley pulled away for a brief second to meet Draco’s dove-coloured eyes then dove back in, this time firmer, harder, faster.
Slender arms snaked up between them and Dudley felt himself pushed towards the emerald sofa. In that moment, he knew he had to make a choice.
And Dudley Dursley, who had lived his entire life never ever allowing anyone to have the upper hand against him, allowed himself to fall.
And fall hard.
The rest, as they say, is history. Running his coffee-stained fingers through Draco’s soft hair, slightly matted from sleep, Dudley still can’t believe that someone like him could wind up as happy as this.
But that’s a lesson he’s learned from his job. That sometimes you can screw up a cup of coffee beyond saving. Too burnt, too weak, too strong, too bitter. Any number of bad choices or mistakes can leave you with a horrible taste in your mouth.
Sometimes, you need to toss the rubbish, wash your vessel until it’s clean again, and make a second cup.