Archive of Our Own ^beta

***

Harry’s brain feels foggy and heavy. The uncharacteristic London heat is oppressive, and the cooling charms Harry knows aren’t enough to keep cool. Frustration mounting, Harry puts down his quill as a lost cause and throws on his shoes to head outside.

On the streets, if he sticks to the shade, the breeze feels cooler than inside Grimmauld Place. His mind wanders as his feet wander, and for a while, his mind is thankfully blank.

When he slowly becomes aware of his thoughts again, he also becomes aware of the sweat collecting at the base of his neck, trickling down his shirt. He spies a patch of green—no small feat in a place like London—and heads there with the hope of cooler shade. When he reaches there, he finds one of the rectangular public gardens scattered across London. He also finds that all the shade has been taken by other opportunistic Londoners.

Harry sighs in disappointment, and discreetly casts a wandless cooling charm on himself to momentarily take the edge off. He glances idly at the shops across the street.

One catches his eye, promising ice-cold teas and air-conditioning inside. Quickening his pace, Harry heads over.

Tea Lounge has an open front sitting space with shade cast by umbrellas and green leafy plants. There is a smattering of people sitting outside, and Harry’s interest increases when he sees various iced drinks and frozen desserts some of them are eating. The facade is cream and yellow and gold, and there are wide windows. Harry can’t see much inside given how bright the outside is. Feeling reckless in the unbearable heat, Harry heads inside, pushing the glass doors open.

The cool of the air-conditioning waves over him.

“Harry Potter, welcome to the Tea Lounge,” the host says, nodding his head at Harry.

Harry nearly jumps of out his skin. “Zabini?” He takes a half-step back.

Zabini gives Harry a genial smile and a small bow. “The one and only.”

Zabini is all neat and pressed, so much so that Harry feels suddenly uncomfortable in his t-shirt and shorts—and not only because it’s Zabini whom he hasn’t seen since Hogwarts years ago. The only thing that could be worse is if Malfoy is here too. Harry winces at the thought.

“How can we help you? We currently have a great selection of cold drinks, both caffeinated teas and non-caffeinated.”

It’s not as though Harry can back out now. “Yeah, that would be great.”

Zabini smiles. “Since it’s your first time here, let’s take a look at the drinks counter. You can order whatever you want, and we’ll bring it to your table—if you’re drinking in—and payment happens when you leave. We have books on the shelves that you can borrow and read, if you wish. And there is free wifi, if you were so inclined.”

Harry tries to take all that information in, even as Zabini is gently leading him to the counter.

And that’s when Harry spots Draco Malfoy, standing, equally neat and pressed, behind the counter.

Malfoy’s eyes are wide with surprise, which is honestly probably also Harry’s expression.

“P-Potter,” Malfoy forces out.

“Uh, Malfoy,” Harry says half a beat later.

“I take it that you know each other?” Zabini smirks. He winks at Harry.

Malfoy glares at Zabini. “Oh, cut it out, Blaise,” he bites out.

“As you can see, we have an extremely large collection of teas, any of which can be iced,” Zabini says, sweeping his hand across the shelves behind Malfoy which are lined with many, many labelled tea canisters. “To go with it, there are also many mix ins, such as boba pearls, fruit and icecreams,” Zabini continues, directing Harry’s eyes to the different divisions under the glass of the counter.

Harry blinks, the choices overwhelming him.

“Blaise, go attend to someone else and let me do my job,” Malfoy says, exasperated.

“Then be nice to Harry,” Zabini says back. He gives Harry a conspiratory smile, which Harry returns despite himself. “Let’s humour Draco, shall we? I’ll leave you to his capable hands. You can take any table you wish.” With that, Zabini heads off to one of the tables to chat with the other customers.

“So. Potter,” Malfoy says, drawing Harry’s attention back. “I recommend an iced tea float. The best ones are the teh tarik, raspberry tea, matcha, earl grey and black tea. If you’re unsure, I can give you a taste of some.”

“I think the teh tarik,” Harry says.

Malfoy nods, a small smirk appearing. “The sweetest of them. Will you be drinking in?”

“Yeah,” Harry ignores Malfoy’s first comment. He’s not ignorant—he has had teh tarik before and he knows it’s sweet. He just feels like he needs it after seeing two ex-Slytherins in the space a minute.

“If you’ll give me a moment, then,” Malfoy says.

Harry watches with interest as Malfoy works with the various muggle machinery. The ceylon tea comes out hot, and the condensed milk is cold. Malfoy pulls the tea between two large cups, frothing the tea up. He takes a large glass, and ice cubes dispense from the machine. The tea is poured on top, and Malfoy tops the entire frothy thing with even more frothy icecream and a dusting of Milo.

Done, Malfoy slides the glass across the counter. It is immediately cold in Harry’s hands, refreshingly so.

“Thanks.” Harry smiles at Malfoy, anticipating the drink.

Malfoy looks taken aback. “You’re welcome. If you find yourself peckish, we also have a range of food available. This time is perfect for afternoon tea service.”

Harry’s eyebrows go up. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind. I’m—uh—going to sit down now.” He ducks his head and heads to a table near the bookshelves. He takes a sip of his sweet, cold tea and tilts his head to look at the book titles.

There are a mixture of old books and newer ones. Nothing that Harry usually reads.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe peaks Harry’s interest—he would very much like to discover the secrets of the universe, or at least better understand his place in it. After a moment, he fetches it.

Harry skims through the book’s blurb, and then the first few pages. Unwittingly, however, his eyes leave the book and travel around the tea room, taking in the brightness of the space, and the relaxed nature of the other people in the room.

He can’t quite make out the scrawling across the blackboard behind the counter. Nor the different boxes of tea, which look like decoration from Harry’s distance. But he does spot Draco Malfoy again, who is currently making some ridiculously colourful and piled-high-with-ice-cream concoctions for a group of teenagers.

Something twinges in Harry’s stomach. Malfoy looks at ease with his work. Malfoy looks like he knows what he’s doing, knows his purpose in the world. The teenagers pay and take their sugar concoctions to go, and Harry quickly looks back to his book. The back of his neck prickles with the weight of Malfoy’s gaze, though.

He tries reading the book. When he can’t concentrate, Harry drinks his float and eats the icecream on top before it melts. He stares at the words in the book again, but his thoughts don’t stop.

Unlike the fog before he left his house, his mind is flitting back and forth.

What is Malfoy doing here? What is Zabini doing here? What is Harry doing here?

Harry tries to read some more. The book starts off in the summer, by a poolside.

Harry can’t swim. Maybe Harry needs a real change of place. Maybe he should go to the seaside with Teddy.

Voices around Harry shift, and suddenly he hears Malfoy’s voice from a couple of tables over. Harry sneaks a look. Malfoy is standing there, pouring tea for a pair of people, all the while talking about the tea. There is an ornate afternoon tea setting on the table.

Malfoy speaks comfortably and with ease. In contrast, Harry cannot seem to get words down on the page when he’s trying to write.

Maybe Harry should find a real job. Maybe Harry is too stupid to be a writer. Maybe Harry should just give up.

“Potter.”

Harry’s heart jumps to his throat and he quickly looks up. Malfoy is standing by the other side of the table, looking stiff.

“My apologies for interrupting. May I clear that? Would you like something else to eat or drink?”

Harry looks around, and then turns to Malfoy again and sighs. “Yeah, I’m done.” Harry pushes his chair back and stands up.

Malfoy immediately spreads a hand out. “Potter, I didn’t mean you had to leave!”

“I should get going anyway,” Harry says. Excuses line themselves up behind his teeth but he won’t say them. He might regret it later, but he might also regret saying something weak or false. He closes the book and fishes out his wallet.

Malfoy’s lips twist. “Very well. Let’s go to the counter so you can pay. You can take the book, if you want. Or else, just leave it on the table and someone will put it away.”

Even as Malfoy says that, Harry has taken the few steps over to the bookshelves to put the book back, where it was before.

“Did you enjoy the teh tarik?” Malfoy asks at they make their way to the counter.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees shortly. He pays, they exchange goodbyes, and Harry’s out of the tea room as fast as possible.

The entire experience leaves Harry with conflicting emotions. Malfoy must think that Harry is a loner layabout, coming in at a time where normal people are at work, all by himself. This outing hadn’t helped Harry with his writing motivation at all.

***

The Tea Lounge remains stubbornly on Harry’s mind. He can’t get it out.

So one day, with the thought of the place loud in his mind as ever, Harry goes back.

It’s after the morning rush, and Harry has taken some of his writing things because he is going to do work and he is not going to appear pitiful.

Zabini is once again at the door. “Good morning, Harry,” he says warmly. “Working today?”

“Yes,” Harry says firmly. “If that’s alright,” he adds.

“Of course! We like to craft a productive place here,” Zabini says.

“I’ll head over to Malfoy myself, thanks,” Harry says.

“So familiar already,” Zabini smiles.

Harry nods firmly and walks solidly over to the counter, where Malfoy has been eyeing him.

“Malfoy. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Potter.” Malfoy leans a little to the side. “What are your plans today?”

“Uh—” Harry did not quite expect that question from Malfoy. “Writing. Working.”

“Then you would like something inspiring, and also caffeinated,” Malfoy muses.

Harry nods.

“Then I would recommend either a matcha latte, a Kashmiri chai, or an earl grey cornflower tea.”

After a moment of indecision, Harry says, “The chai, then. I’ll be at one of the tables.”

Malfoy nods and Harry turns around sharply. His original table is free, and he goes there immediately and unpacks all his writing things. After an internal struggle, he goes and grabs the book he was reading last time, too.

It’s Malfoy who brings Harry’s tea over. He sets down a tray containing matching a white-gold floral teapot, cup, saucer, a small bowl of sugar, and two tiny containers of cream and crushed pistachios and almonds. There is also a pale pink rose.

“Your tea,” Malfoy says, pouring out some of the tea in to the cup. The tea is a delicate pink. “You can add cream, and the crushed nuts, to your liking. You can also add sugar, though that is not traditional.”

“Thanks.”

Malfoy looks as though he wants to say more, but he finally nods and returns back to his place behind the counter.

Harry sips the tea. It’s creamy and a little bit salty. Harry decides to add in the crushed nuts and sugar. This way, the salt brings out the sweetness, and the texture of the nuts makes this tea a new experience for Harry.

Harry muses. Perhaps it’s a sign that he should try to write something new, something different that he hasn’t before. Maybe it’s time for him to write something soft and little surprising instead.

The writing flow takes over, and Harry writes and writes and drinks his chai. He’s almost approaching the end of his notebook when the flow tapers off, and he sits up, straightening his back. His tray of tea is gone, sometime after he finished drinking it, and the tea room is louder and busier as lunchtime sets in.

He’s not quite ready to sit through that. With a little regret, he puts the unread book back on the shelves and packs his things up.

Behind the counter, there is now more than just Malfoy—there’s also Goyle and some other ex-Slytherin whose-name-Harry-has-forgotten managing the lunchtime crowd. There’s no time for Harry to talk more to Malfoy, only to pay and leave.

***

Harry’s productive streak continues for a couple more days, and ends when he finishes a rough draft of something that he will never show to anyone else.

The Tea Lounge calls inside of him, and with little resistance, Harry takes some writing things in a half-hearted hope that inspiration might strike again and goes over to the tea room.

It’s the afternoon, and it’s much too hot for Harry to be walking across London to reach the Tea Lounge, but the air-conditioning makes up for it. He does not yet know the area well enough to apparate without Muggles seeing.

“Welcome back, Harry!” Zabini says. “How are you? We haven’t seen you since last week.”

“I was working,” Harry says, a little proudly.

“How fantastic, glad that the Tea Lounge helped.” Zabini smiles. “I’ll let you head over to Draco.”

“Yeah.” Harry smiles.

“Oh, and a tip, call him Draco, will you?” Zabini adds, winking.

Harry frowns. “Sorry, why?”

Zabini has a little smirk. “This is your—third time back, isn’t it. It pays to be on first names with him, don’t you think?”

“Oh, right.” That makes sense, although Harry is still dubious about it. It feels wrong for him to call Malfoy by his given name without Malfoy’s permission first.

Harry lines up behind two people who are getting both tea and cake to go. When it’s Harry’s turn, Malfoy startles a little.

“Potter, you’re back.”

“I am.”

Malfoy ducks his head. “Right, what can I help you with today?”

“What do all the cool kids drink these days? I’ll have one of them.”

At that, Malfoy smirks. “Feeling old age settle in already?” he drawls.

Harry snorts. “You’re older than me. Projecting, aren’t you?”

Malfoy lifts his chin. “My biological age is no doubt lower than yours.”

Harry makes an unconvinced sound. “Whatever you say.”

Malfoy ignores this. “Kids these days drink bubble tea and smoothies.”

“Oh, those little round things, right?”

“I’ll make you a taro milk tea with boba, then,” Malfoy decides. “Go take a seat and it’ll be with you shortly.”

The directive leaves Harry floundering. “Right, okay.” Feeling out of his depth, he goes to his usual table and picks up his book from the shelves.

He stares at his writing for a while, but nothing appears in his brain. When he hears Malfoy approaching, he quickly closes his writing book.

Malfoy sets down a tall jar filled with purple liquid and those little black balls at the bottom. There’s a comically fat clear straw too.

“Enjoy, and don’t choke, please,” Malfoy says.

“Well, you’ll just have to save me, won’t you?” Harry shoots back despite himself. Honestly, how could Harry choke on a drink?

Malfoy smirks. “And then I’ll be your hero. I hope you enjoy.”

Harry wrinkles his nose at Malfoy and picks up the jar. He pushes the straw aside and takes a sip. It’s sweet and creamy.

Malfoy sighs in exasperation. “You’re supposed to drink through the straw. That way, you’ll get the little boba at the bottom. Do you need me to demonstrate?”

Harry shifts away. “No, thanks.” Sulking a little, he uses the straw. First, sweetness, and then one of the boba. Glaring at Malfoy, Harry stops drinking and chews the boba, finding it surprisingly sweet too.

Malfoy now makes a sigh of relief. “You survived. I’ll leave you to it, Potter.”

Harry smiles sweetly. “Thanks, Draco.” After checking that Malfoy is indeed shocked, Harry leans back and opens his book, pretending to read without a care.

Malfoy leaves him be, and Harry gets deeper into the book. With the sugar keeping him alert, Harry finds himself increasingly engrossed in the book. When he resurfaces at the end of a chapter, he finds that he’s halfway through it, and his drink is all drunk up. He doesn’t feel like he has discovered himself in the book yet, regardless of how engaging it is.

But he does wonder about the two main characters. And he wonders about himself.

Harry looks at his watch and starts. He’s supposed to have dinner with Hermione and Ron tonight. Regretfully, Harry puts away his book and takes the empty jar up to the counter.

“You could have just left that on the table, and someone would have cleared it,” Malfoy says.

Harry shrugs and pays.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“It was good. Though I noticed that you keep giving me pastel coloured drinks.”

“Milk teas tend to be pale coloured,” Malfoy says with an eyeroll. “Come back next time and I’ll find something more solid for you.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Draco.”

Malfoy isn’t as flustered this time at his name. “I’ll see you again, Harry.”

A little thrill goes up Harry’s spine. Zabini is right, hearing your given name feels a lot more powerful, more close, than family names. Harry cannot, for the life of him, remember Zabini’s given name though, and so gives him only a perfunctory, “bye” as he leaves the tea room.

***

Harry feels confident when he approaches the Tea Lounge with Luna by his side. It’ll show them that he’s not a loner.

Zabini does his customary smile when he sees Harry—and his smile brightens when he spots Luna.

“Luna!” he says. “Welcome, so lovely to see you again!”

“And you as well,” Luna says with a grin of her own. “Harry, you didn’t say that we’d be seeing Blaise! Blaise, you didn’t tell me you worked here!”

Zabini—given name Blaise, Harry tries to remember—gives Luna a hug.

“You’ve come at the perfect time for afternoon tea,” Zabini says.

Luna claps her hands. “Yes, that is exactly what Harry promised today!”

Zabini chats more with Luna as he leads them to Harry’s usual table.

“Now, we have various different afternoon tea services available, depending on your tastes,” Zabini says, finally also addressing Harry.

“I’m sure Draco could pick for us,” Harry says, his words well rehearsed. “He usually chooses for me, after all.”

Zabini smirks. “Very well. Is there anything I can get for you right now?”

“Some tap water,” Harry says.

“Of course.” Zabini walks to the counter, where Malfoy has been eyeing Harry.

Luna looks around the tea room, delight on her face. “This is a lovely place. Oh, look at that artwork!” She points at something that looks like random splashes of colours as far as Harry can tell. “How did you find this place?”

“On accident,” Harry admits. “I was just in the area.”

Luna lights up. “The place does draw you in, doesn’t it?”

They chat some more: mostly, Luna talks about all the things she’s been up to. In a natural lull, two people approach their table: Malfoy and one of those ex-Slytherins. Thankfully, Luna seems to know everyone’s names.

“Daphne, Draco!” she greets. “The day is not nearly as lovely as it is to see you both.”

Harry is perplexed when Daphne gives Luna a rather warm smile. “Welcome to our tea lounge, Luna. I hope you enjoy what we have for you today.”

“Luna, it’s always a pleasure to see you,” Malfoy says, also sounding uncharacteristically polite. He avoids Harry’s look and continues, “As the central element of your afternoon tea, I have chosen a masala chai, well spiced.” Malfoy sets down the contents of his tray: tea cups and tea pot. He pours out the chai for both of them. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Draco,” Luna says, happily reaching for her tea cup.

Malfoy nods, and says, “I’ll leave you to Daphne.” Now, he glances very briefly at Harry, before quickly turning away.

“Don’t mind him,” Daphne says, smirking at Harry. She has a metal trolley next to her, and she transfers a tall three-tiered stand, consisting of three equal sized plates filled with food, onto the table between Harry and Luna. She then gives them two identical cards. “Luna, Harry, for your afternoon tea to accompany your masala chai, we have a selection of modern finger sandwiches, samosa and vada pav bites. Traditional scones are accompanied with a coconut clotted cream and mango chutney, and for dessert, we have gulab jamun, ginger cake slices and cardamom cheesecake. Details and ingredients are all listed on the cards. Any questions?”

Harry shakes his head. Luna smiles back at Daphne. “Thank you, Daphne.”

“It’s my pleasure. Please, enjoy. And if there is anything you need, please just alert one of us.”

They eat the delicate little pieces of food and drink their chai and Luna delights in it all. She speaks freely about absolutely everything, and Harry soaks up her words. They continue speaking even once their food is finished, the three-tiered stand taken away and their tea topped up.

Harry likes knowing that Malfoy is occasionally watching them. He likes knowing that Malfoy knows that Harry does in fact have friends.

He and Luna get up when Luna mentions she’ll like to go for a walk. Confidently, Harry walks to the counter to pay.

“Did you enjoy your afternoon tea?” Malfoy says, mostly looking at Luna.

“Yeah, it was great,” Harry says.

Luna laughs a little. “Yes, it was. Do you mind getting me a jar of that mango chutney?”

Malfoy’s eyes slide away from Harry to Luna. “Of course.” He turns to the shelves behind him and grabs a jar. “Would you like anything else?”

“No,” Harry says. He takes out his muggle coins and pays for it all.

As they leave, Zabini also asks them, “Did you enjoy your afternoon tea?”

“It was fantastic,” Luna says first. She lifts up the jar of mango chutney. “I even got this!”

“That’s great to hear,” Zabini says. “I hope I’ll see you again soon! Owl me, won’t you? Or I’ll owl you, in case you forget.”

Luna laughs. “That’ll be best. Goodbye, Blaise!”

“Ciao, Luna. Harry.”

Harry nods back.

He and Luna stroll through the park and talk some more, before they part their separate ways.

***

It’s another hot day that Harry finds himself in front of the Tea Lounge again. He wonders about the name, why it feels so understated, and not something grandiose, like ‘The Dragon’s Tea Room’.

Those thoughts are delaying techniques though. And the sun gets hotter the longer he stands outside. Suddenly realising that those inside can probably see that he is outside, Harry hurries in.

Zabini is there, of course. “Welcome back, Harry,” he says warmly.

Harry feels a bit guilty that he has once again forgotten Zabini’s given name. “Hi. I er, I’m going there,” he says, pointing to the counter where Malfoy is.

Zabini chuckles. “Very well.”

Harry Does Not look at Zabini as he makes his way to Malfoy.

“So, Potter, what do you fancy today?”

Harry squints at the blackboard behind Malfoy, and then squints at the different boxes of tea set out. “Ummm...I...I want to read a book.”

“Green tea,” Malfoy says firmly. “Good for the mind. We have a couple of different options for green tea—our standard single origin, the matcha latte, a matcha bubble tea. Would you like anything to eat?”

Harry muses for a moment. “Nothing to eat. The latte, then?”

“Good choice,” Malfoy gives something of a smile. “Why don’t you take a seat? Once it’s done I’ll have it sent over.”

Harry nods. “Thanks, Malfoy.” He feels like his entire body is stiff as he makes his way to his usual spot, grabbing his book along the way. He opens to where he has readuntil, but cannot quite concentrate. Instead, he looks around, and looks at Malfoy making his tea from across the room. The tea room is calm but for the studious work from some of the other customers, and Harry cannot see Daphne anywhere.

Malfoy walks out from behind the counter with a rather large mug. Harry alternates between watching Malfoy approach and trying to look back at his book. He looks up just as Malfoy sets down the tea.

“Ah, thanks,” Harry manages to say, letting the book half-close over his left hand, keeping his place, whilst taking the tea mug with his right. The green tone is lovely, and there is a white decoration that looks like leaves...and a heart? Did Malfoy do that on purpose?

“What are you reading?” Malfoy asks.

Harry angles the book towards him.

Malfoy’s eyebrows go up. “A good choice,” he says slowly. “Apparently, there will be a sequel.”

“Okay,” Harry says with lack of anything else to say.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Malfoy departs, leaving Harry to deflate due to his utter inability to hold a conversation.

Harry allows himself a moment to wallow before he takes a sip of the latte. It’s slightly sweetened, and the matcha doesn’t seem to taste bitter at all. Malfoy is now where he is usually, back behind the counter, serving some more customers. Harry puts down the latte and refocuses back on the book, this time successfully.

His stomach starts to grumble near the end of the book, but Harry pushes through until he finishes. The endpages suddenly appear and Harry is left stunned, not quite believing that he actually read the entire thing. He reads the last few pages again, just in case, but it is as finished as it was a few minutes ago. Malfoy’s statement of there soon-to-be-sequel now makes more sense: it feels comforting to know that this isn’t the last Harry has seen of Aristotle and Dante.

Harry closes the book and stares at the front cover.

Does he feel like he discovered anything about himself? Maybe he has. Maybe something to do with Malfoy...

A clatter of the chair in front of him makes Harry look up. But it’s not Malfoy. It’s Parkinson.

“Hello there, Harry—may I call you Harry?” Parkinson says briskly.

“Oh, hi, yes,” Harry says, trying to catch up with reality. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you, Harry. We’ve been quite happy since you started coming here. Especially you-know-who,” Parkinson says.

“I-know-who?”

Parkinson merely turns to the tea counter, where Malfoy is suddenly busying himself.

“Him?” Harry frowns, looking back at Parkinson. “He doesn’t seem that happy to see me. Not abnormally happy.”

Parkinson smirks. “That’s his happy face. And I noticed you’ve been reading this,” she says, tapping a finger on the book. “Take it. Re-read it.”

Harry shakes his head. “No. I want to put it back. Let someone else read it.”

“That’s what Draco said,” Parkinson says, “even though I gifted it to him.”

“To him?”

Parkinson leans in closer. “Sometimes even queer adults like to read something affirming,” she says quietly.

Harry just looks at her, speechless.

“Talk to him some more. Draco needs more than us Slytherins around him.”

Harry narrows his eyes. He doesn’t want to say it, but he thinks he knows what Parkinson is trying to do. “I’ll see,” he says noncommittally.

Parkinson smiles enigmatically. “If there is anything you need, we’re here to help. We have a wide selection of other LGBT-plus literature you might also like.”

“I’ll see,” Harry says again.

Parkinson huffs a smile. “I see how this is going,” she says, standing up. “Very nice chatting to you, Harry. Please do come again.” She gives Harry a firm handshake, and then she’s off to talk to someone else.

Harry avoids looking back to Malfoy as he puts the book back. He takes the mug back to the counter, and awkwardly hands it back to Malfoy.

“Can I pay for that? And can I get a box of that masala chai from last time?” he adds before he forgets.

“That masala chai was not a blend we carry,” Malfoy says, grimacing. “Making it was a step-by-step process with ingredients added at different times, and it was prepared especially for you and Luna.”

Harry deflates. “Oh.” He busies himself with taking out some cash. “It was good,” Harry mumbles.

“No—” Malfoy starts quickly. “How about you come back later, and I’ll show you the amounts and process?”

It takes a moment for Harry to comprehend. “Oh. Oh. You’d do that? For me? Or do you do that for anyone?”

Malfoy looks disgruntled. “Yes. No. If you don’t want to—”

“No, I do,” Harry says. “I’d like to see your process,” he clarifies.

Malfoy exhales. “Well then. The tea room closes at 7pm. Whenever you’re free, we can schedule a meeting here.”

Harry thinks for a moment. “How about next Monday night?”

“Yes, I can do that.” Malfoy’s expression relaxes.

Harry smiles a little in response.

Malfoy smiles back a little too.

Harry drops his eyes. “Okay, I’ll see you then, Malfoy.”

“See you,” Malfoy echoes.

***

For the rest of the week, Harry feels like there is something wrong with his chest. Nothing sits quite right. The fiction novel he is supposed to be writing feels pointless.

Harry has this suspicion that there are certain questions he should ask himself. He wanders around the house, does pointless writing exercises, does some physical exercise, and drinks a lot of tea, all the while trying not to think about it.

Late at night, though, his face muffled in his pillows, the thoughts and questions are loud in his brain.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe is a queer book. That it could be didn’t even cross his mind when he had first picked it up, weeks ago.

Just like the thought that he might be queer had never crossed his mind in the last two-plus decades of his life.

And Parkinson...! She clearly meant to say that Malfoy was queer, didn’t she?

Harry clenches his fists. Oh, what he would give for a library or book store right now. He wants to re-read that book. He wants to read the other books Parkinson alluded to. But it is past midnight, and all Harry can do is wait anxiously for the next day.

And on the next day, bright and early, Harry glamours himself and heads to his local Waterstones. With a light Notice Me Not charm for good measure, Harry pores over the LGBT section. He grabs a handful of fiction and non-fiction books—and another copy of Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe. Then he hurries home to read them all.

Something swells within Harry’s chest.

He knows why his work is getting stuck.

He knows what he wants to write. Something new. Something...not so straight.

***

In the London summer, the sun is still warm in the sky at 7pm. Harry arrives a little before then, and Zabini ushers him in with a grin.

“I heard you’re having a one-on-one with Draco. Careful, he’s extremely persnickety with his tea-making.”

“Isn’t he supposed to be like that, though?” Harry asks, brows drawing together. “A tea master, or whatever you call them.”

“That he is,” Zabini laughs. “Let me tell you a little something—when we all first started this place, Draco wanted the very best sourced tea from around the world, and we went right over our budget for it. But as it turns out, some Londoners like that kind of detail. And here we are, still open. And here you go,” Zabini says louder. “Draco, your Harry is here.”

“Blaise!” Malfoy hisses. “Potter, please ignore him.”

“O-kay, I will?” Harry wonders about Zabini’s words though. Did he mean that Harry is the only person that Malfoy knew with the name ‘Harry’? Or...did Zabini mean in a romantic sense—if Parkinson knows that Malfoy is queer, then Zabini would too.

Zabini just laughs. “Have fun.”

Malfoy huffs. “We’ve just about finished cleaning up, so you can come to the back with me, where the magic happens.”

“Literal magic? In this muggle shop?”

“The art of making tea should be considered a form of magic,” Malfoy says sternly.

Harry quirks a grin. He can see now what Zabini meant. “You’re the master.”

Malfoy flashes him a self-satisfied smile before leading him to the back, past Goyle in the kitchens, and into another room with shelves full of canisters of tea and various other ingredients.

“This is...a lot more than you have out front,” Harry says with awe. He hadn’t realised there could be so many different things one could mix into a tea. There is also a central worktable, piled high with various canisters and jars, and plates and little tea spoons.

“Take a look,” Malfoy says, “but don’t touch!” He heads out again, leaving Harry to wait in what feels like a treasure trove.

Harry reads some of the different labels. He bends over as close as he can get to all the different little cups and spoons, and sneaks a peek at the open pages of a notebook left on the table. There are little sketches and lists of ingredient amounts.

“Potter.” Malfoy reappears in the doorway.

“I wasn’t touching!” Harry protests, jumping back.

Malfoy gives him a look. He takes out his wand, and everything on the table levitates up to the ceiling, leaving the table clear. Then, he levitates over a new tea set, a tea canister, some ingredient jars, jugs of water and milk and another notebook. A portable hotplate, saucepan, mortar and pestle arrive next.

“Come closer,” Malfoy says. “And pay attention.”

Harry nods silently.

Malfoy measures out various spices and grinds them up. “You can substitute the pre-powdered versions here,” he says, “but the flavours will weaken, and you will need to add little more.” All the different ingredients are added to a saucepan, and it slowly starts to bubble. Malfoy stirs. Harry waits in the awkward silence as the tea steeps, and he is glad when Malfoy deems it done and strains the tea into two cups.

Malfoy picks up one of the teacups, and Harry follows his lead to take the other.

Sipping the tea immediately reminds Harry of the afternoon tea he had with Luna. He hums appreciatively.

“So, do you remember everything?”

“Er—maybe? Yes?” Harry can see all the different spices and ingredients. He could certainly remember that. The measurements though, not so much.

“No, you didn’t.” Malfoy puts down his tea cup and produces a pencil. “I should have done this earlier,” he mutters, as he writes down what Harry hopes is a list of detailed instructions.

It is indeed detailed, and after looking over it, Harry folds it up and tucks it away.

“I believe you should have most of the spices already,” Malfoy says. “But...” He summons a tea canister and hands it to Harry as well.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms. “What’s this?”

“It’s a pre-made blend,” Malfoy says.

“Oh!” Harry lifts the tea canister up. It says Masala Chai on it. He skims over the smaller print, of the ingredients and directions for brewing, and then sees his name on it. “You made it just for me. Malfoy, how can I repay you?”

“By not mentioning it again,” Malfoy mutters, looking away.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Fine. If I wanted to make it iced, I would just pour it over ice, right?”

Malfoy recovers himself. “There are such things as dumb questions,” he drawls. “Yes, that’s what you should do.”

Harry tries to think of something to say. “What if I want something without caffeine?"

Harry’s stomach takes the inopportune time to grumble. Harry flushes. “Drinking tea on an empty stomach does that sometimes,” he mumbles.

“We’re done here,” Malfoy shrugs. “If you use all the same spices but don’t add the tea leaves, then it won’t have any caffeine.”

“Um, do you have any dinner plans?”

Malfoy shifts. “I was going grab something from the nearby M&S.”

“You could come have dinner at my place,” Harry can’t help but say. He doesn’t want the night to end here.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I can’t make fancy tea, and I can’t really bake, but I can cook,” Harry insists. “Think of it as thanks, for this.” Harry raises his eyebrows in challenge. “You’re not scared of my cooking, are you?”

Malfoy lifts his nose. “Of course not. Very well, since you insist, I accept your offer.”

Harry smiles. “Great. My place isn’t far from here, if you don’t mind walking.”

“Wait for me outside, then,” Malfoy orders.

Harry complies. The streets of London are little quieter at this time, and long shadows make everything feel a little cooler.

Once Malfoy emerges, locking the doors behind him, Harry leads the way.

They walk silently. Harry’s thoughts wander, and he wonders what Malfoy is thinking about. It’s when he is right at the door of Grimmauld Place that he suddenly remembers that his house is not ready for guests, since he had not expected that this would actually happen. He winces, thinking of all the clutter, and hopes he can hustle Malfoy into the kitchen before he can see too much.

“The old Black house?” Malfoy says quietly. “I’ve been here before, as a child.”

Harry looks at Malfoy in surprise. “Yeah, Sirius left it to me. It’s been massively redecorated after the War.”

Malfoy makes a noncommittal sound and follows Harry inside.

“That’s the lounge room, and there’s a bathroom upstairs. The kitchen’s this way,” Harry walks to the kitchen as fast as he can, hoping to limit Malfoy’s looking-around.

The kitchen is filled with the smell of herbs and spices; Harry hurries over to the slow cooker to turn it off.

“You were cooking before you came to the shop,” Malfoy says, peering over Harry’s shoulder.

“It was on almost all day,” Harry corrects. “I just started it after lunch and left it be. Wait, you don’t have any food restrictions or protocols or allergies, do you? You didn’t seem to have any back at Hogwarts.”

“Not particularly. But I’m not too good with strong spices,” Malfoy admits.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. Take a seat, and I’ll get it all prepared.”

Malfoy dutifully takes a seat at the table. Harry busies himself making a lemon-herb dressing. He then slices up some seeded bread and pops it into the toaster to get them a little crispier. He serves the slow-cooked aubergines, vegetables, and beans on the nicest plates he owns (pulled from the back of the cupboard and dusted off, used only once before), and everything goes on top as well as some feta cheese and flaked almonds.

“Did you want anything to drink?”

“Just water,” Malfoy demurs.

“Not tea?” Harry teases, but he gets some water for them both. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s very colourful.” Malfoy pokes at the food with his fork.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Now you’re just saying that to rile me up.”

Malfoy smirks. “Old habits die hard.” Nonetheless, he begins to eat.

Once Harry is sure that Malfoy doesn’t hate it, he begins eating too.

“What tea would you drink with something like this?” Harry asks.

“Something light,” Malfoy muses. “A black tea would compete with the taste of the food. I would recommend a white tea.”

“What, a white-people tea?” Harry grins, but he’s seen them before in the tea aisle.

Malfoy snorts. “It refers to the level of oxidation and processing. White teas are minimally processed, and then you have green tea, oolong, and black, broadly speaking.”

Harry looks at Malfoy with interest. “Really?”

Malfoy straightens up in his chair. “Potter, aside from herbal infusions and a few other exceptions, most tea are all derived from the same plant—the Camellia sinensis. How did you think all the different teas are made? They grow the plant under different conditions, pick different parts of the plants at different stages of growth, with different ageing processes and roasting or oxidation. It’s actually more diverse than coffee,” Malfoy adds, looking rather displeased. He pins Harry with a look. “You don’t drink coffee, do you?”

Harry coughs. “No. Hey, I mean it!” he adds, when Malfoy shoots him a look. “It’s really too bitter, and if I have to add a lot of sugar, I might as well do it to tea and get even more sweetness out of it. But er—what does oxidation mean?”

“It’s a chemical process, completely Muggle.”

Harry looks at Malfoy blankly.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Typically, the leaves are heated in some way, and it changes the compounds within the tea, and hence the different tastes. Some teas, like Pu’erh, are even fermented, giving it a peaty taste. But it’s traditionally drunk with sugar,” Malfoy adds.

Harry smiles wistfully. “I wouldn’t know until I try, right? That sounds interesting, I’ve never thought to sit down and compare different teas, you know?”

“You drink mostly black tea, because it holds up best to additional flavours,” Malfoy intuits.

“Yeah.”

Malfoy is silent for a few moments, as they both eat.

“Potter...” Malfoy starts. “If you’re interested, I can give you a tasting session of the different teas.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“There are such things as stupid questions,” Malfoy mutters. “I just offered. Are you going to say yes or not?”

“Of course, yes! If you’re offering, then I’m not turning you down. I saw a lot of cool teas in the back room.” Harry grins. “I wouldn’t mind going behind-the-scenes.”

“One’s tea collection grows over the years,” Malfoys say primly. He tilts his head to the space right next to Harry’s kettle, where all his different hodge-podge collection of teas are, along with the canister from earlier.

“I’m British!” Harry protests. “And it’s nothing compared to your collection.”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “Well, I’m British too, and I run a business.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I know, you’re blooming posh with your Queen’s English.” Harry considers Malfoy. “How did you even open the tea room in the first place? I can’t imagine all the Muggle red tape.”

“We needed something productive to do,” Malfoy says. He looks away. “And for a few years after the War, our accounts were restricted by the Ministry, so we needed money.”

“But it costs money to set up, right?”

Malfoy looks down at his plate. “It was hard,” he finally says. “We had to do a lot of odd jobs at first, live in really shit places, and when were able to pool our money together to make something sizeable, we opened up the tea room. We still had to take out a Muggle small-business loan, but we made it.”

Harry exhales and picks up on the positive note. “But why a tea room and not a regular coffee shop?”

Malfoy immediately glares him. “Because I abhor coffee and love tea.”

“So you’re in charge,” Harry says teasingly.

Malfoy wrinkles his nose. “The others didn’t have a preference. Greg likes baking—he used to stress-bake. Pansy has an eye on the money and management and the business details. And Blaise...well, he’s the person we throw at people when we want something.”

Harry’s eyebrows rise. “Should I tell him that you said that?”

Malfoy scoffs. “Our own running joke, don’t you worry. Blaise needs to talk to people, the more the better. He’s the text-book definition of an extrovert.”

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, I can see that.” Harry rests his elbow on the table and puts his cheek in his hand. “So, you and tea.”

“My parents made me attend tea ceremonies and afternoon teas as a child. You can’t imagine all the different people they met up with, from extended family to Ministry officials and business partners. I didn’t really care—well, I did, but not any more. But the tea stayed. It was always good.” Malfoy has a wistful smile on his face. “I wanted to capture the satisfaction. And the diversity of tea, as well.”

“I really like your tea room. You’ve all made a really nice place,” Harry says with a smile.

Malfoy smiles back. “Thanks, Potter. Now if only you could tell my parents that.”

Harry makes a face. “Your parents kinda suck sometimes,” he says.

“The Ministry’s stopped restricting our accounts now, and they don’t want me to work anymore,” Malfoy mutters. “Not that they ever did work—they just went over to one of our French properties and have been living there since, probably drinking wine all day.”

Harry hums noncommittally. He doesn’t actually care what they’re doing now. Sure, Narcissa Malfoy might have helped him once during the War, but he thinks he more than helped her back during the War Trials.

Malfoy clears his throat and his gaze sharpens. “What are you doing? I saw you were writing a while ago.”

“I’m an author, or I’m supposed to be one, at least,” Harry says sheepishly.

Malfoy frowns. “But I’ve never seen any of your books.”

Harry huffs. “As if I would publish under my own name in the wizarding world.” After a moment’s hesitation, Harry says tentatively, “I write under the pseudonym of ‘James Evans’.”

Malfoy muses on this. “Children’s books, and adventure novels, if I remember correctly. We might have one of them in the Tea Lounge’s shelf.”

“Yeah, I saw them,” Harry admits.

“I’ve never read any of them,” Malfoy say. “I’m horrible at reading recreationally.”

“But you read Aristotle and Dante,” Harry says. Once the words are out, Harry’s heart rate jumps.

“Pansy forces them upon me.”

“Them?”

“Queer books. LGBT literature. I believe—I believe that she wants me to live more openly.” Malfoy groans. “I’ll just say it. I’m bi.”

Harry’s heart rate has not gone down at all. “Bi—as in bisexual?”

“Yes.” Malfoy looks as though he’d rather be anywhere than here with Harry.

And Harry’s mind is screaming at him to say something deep. And vulnerable. Because Malfoy is right there and just said that he’s bi. And—

“I’ve been reading about that lately,” Harry says slowly, unable to stop the waver in his voice. “And it makes a lot of sense that...” Harry wrings his hands. When he dares a look at Malfoy again, Malfoy suddenly looks attentive.

“Yes?” he encourages.

Harry looks down at his hands again. “That I might be gay. Or bi. Whatever. Ugh, I feel so stupid saying this right after you said it, too.”

“I’m honoured that you’ve told me, nonetheless,” Malfoy says sincerely.

Harry lets out a breath. “Yeah. Same.” Harry smiles.

Malfoy smiles back.

Feeling braver, Harry asks, “I—how did you know? I mean, you basically know my story now. I read a book and realised.”

Malfoy’s cheeks redden. “Ah. Well. I had crushes on certain people at Hogwarts. I couldn’t do anything then, with the War going on, but...I’m sorry,” Malfoy suddenly says.

“For what?”

Malfoy looks pained. “You’re making me say this? I’m sorry for being a horrible person to you during Hogwarts. And for all the things I said and did. And I never properly thanked you for your presence at my trial—so, thank you, as well.”

Harry lets out a breath. “Okay. How did we get to this topic?”

“I can’t remember,” Malfoy says.

“You do remember,” Harry accuses.

Malfoy pouts. “I had crushes on people during Hogwarts,” he says, a little sharply. “People of different genders. So. That’s how I knew.”

Harry gives Malfoy a sly look. “Do I know any of these people?”

“Yes,” Malfoy says shortly.

“Are you going to say any names?”

“No,” Malfoy says shortly.

Harry drops it. “You’ve known for a long time, then. Do your parents know?”

Malfoy grimaces. “They know, but they pretend not to.”

“Oh.” Harry deflates.

“We already know my parents disapprove of everything. But your family and friends would love you,” Malfoy puts in. “You don’t have to tell them, but if you do, they’ll support you. Just because I had a bad experience doesn’t mean you will too.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Luna’s queer as hell, and she’s dating Ginerva. No one in your group has a problem with them, do they?”

Harry feels like a whole new world is opening up. He’s sure he knew these things, but he never connected the dots before. “No, they don’t,” Harry says, feeling as though his mind is floating. “Can I ask you more questions?”

Malfoy smirks. “You can, but whether I’ll answer them or not is up to me.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he does continue to ask Malfoy questions about coming out, about being bi in general. Harry knows Malfoy likes being knowledgeable, and Harry’s happy to work it to both their benefit. They move into the lounge room to continue talking, where all of Harry’s recent books are spread out, but that’s fine because Draco knows.

It’s only when Harry literally yawns that he checks the time.

“Oh Merlin, I’ve kept you for ages!”

Draco shrugs. “If I had wanted to leave earlier, I would have said so,” he says. He gives Harry a smirk. “You know I speak my mind.”

“Yeah, I know. We should do this again, it was great.”

“Of course, that’s because I’m great,” Draco says, striking a pose.

Harry laughs a little. He stands up, and pulls Draco up with him. “When can I see you again?” he asks as they walk towards the door.

“I’m at the Tea Lounge daily. You can drop by whenever you wish.”

“I meant for dinner. I don’t want to just chat with you over a shop counter.”

Draco places his hand over his heart. “I’m touched. I don’t have any plans for the next few nights, so just come by after the shop closes.”

“How about tomorrow? I have plans on Wednesday.”

“Very well.”

Harry nods, firmly sticking this in his brain. “And the tea tasting? When would you be free?”

“Monday and Tuesday mid-mornings tend to the calmest times.”

“So, tomorrow then.’

Draco looks alarmed. “Dear Merlin, no. I need to prepare! Next Monday. Say, 11am.”

“Great, I’m looking forward to it.” Harry smiles widely. He opens the front door and Draco goes out.

Draco looks at Harry. “Tonight was lovely,” he says quietly.

Harry bites his lip. “Yeah.”

They share a moment of awkward silence.

“I’ll be there tomorrow evening,” Harry says.

Draco nods. “I’ll see you again, then.” Draco steps away and disapparates once outside the wards.

Harry closes the door with warmth in his chest and a smile on his face.

***

Speaking with Draco has brought so many more ideas into Harry’s brain, and as soon as he can the next day, he’s writing and writing. In the afternoon, he remembers to get some more groceries, and he has everything mostly prepared by the time 7pm comes around.

Harry stoutly ignores Zabini’s smirk when he drops by the Tea Lounge to pick Draco up. They have dinner back at Harry’s again, and again continue talking into the night. Harry even talks to Draco about some of his story ideas, some of the things he has written, and Draco helpfully provides input.

The next evening is Harry’s dinner with Ron and Hermione.

He spends much too long beforehand thinking about what to say to them, and in the end, he brings one of the LGBT reference books with him to their place and asks Hermione, “Have you read this?”

It takes her a few moments to read the title, and then the blurb. Then, she notices the little bookmark Harry has inside and she flips the book open to the page talking about bisexuality.

Suddenly, her head snaps up and her mouth opens. “Harry!”

Meanwhile, Ron is unsuccessfully reading over Hermione’s shoulder, and at her exclamation, he takes the book from her hands.

“Are you?” Hermione asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says.

Hermione gives him an encouraging smile.

Harry strengthens his stance and says it out loud. “I’m bi.”

Ron looks at the book, and then back at Harry. “Right,” he says calmly. “Do you mind if I just read this for a moment?”

“Not at all, I bought it over for a reason,” Harry says. He turns back to Hermione, who is giving him a rather speculative look. “I don’t mind answering questions,” he says preemptively, “but can we sit down to dinner first, rather than standing in front of the floo?”

Hermione startles out of her thoughts. “Oh, of course!” She ushers them all to the dining table, where the food is set out.

Ron closes the book and sets it on a nearby cabinet surface. “This makes sense, retroactively,” he says. “Thanks for telling us, Harry.” He claps Harry on the back.

“It must have been on your chest for a while,” Hermione says, apologetic. “I’m sorry that we didn’t make it more clear that we love you, regardless, including everything that makes you you.”

There’s a block at Harry’s throat. He simultaneously wants to tear up, and to jump up and down with joy, and also to laugh.

“Now mate, your face looks all funny,” Ron says jokingly.

“It’s just that...” Harry face-palms. “You’re going to think I’m so dense, because I only realised a week ago and this is literally the earliest time I could have told you both in person. I literally never considered the possibility before.”

Hermione looks even more suspicious now. “What happened last week?”

Harry says smugly, “I read a book.”

Hermione huffs and rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “And which book is this?”

“Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, by Benjamin Alire Sáenz,” Harry recites dutifully.

Hermione frowns. “I haven’t heard of that book before.”

Ron gasps dramatically. “You haven’t? Harry, this is a momentous occasion! You’ve read something that Hermione hasn’t even heard of!”

“Ron!” Hermione protests. “Where can I find it? It can’t in Flourish and Blotts, or the other bookstores I go to.”

“It’s Muggle. I saw it in the LGBT section in Waterstones,” Harry says. “But.” He looks away, feeling his cheeks heat up inexplicably, “I first read it at this tea room. It’s called the Tea Lounge and yeah. The book was there. And I didn’t even realise that it was going to be gay.”

“Lucky!” Ron says. “Or else you’d’ve been oblivious to yourself for even longer.”

Harry pulls a face at Ron, and Ron pulls a face back right at him.

Harry huffs and serves himself some food, and Ron enthusiastically follows suit.

After they have each taken a few bites, Hermione relaunches into her interest in the Tea Lounge: where it is, what it’s like. Harry decides not to tell her about who exactly the staff are—after all, it would seem as though he was warning her, but there isn’t anything nefarious to warn her about. A part of him also wants to keep it his own, at least for now.

Harry leaves their house feeling content. He chuckles to himself when he remembers he left the reference book behind there—since Hermione didn’t give it back, it means she probably hasn’t read that book either.

***

At weekly Sunday dinner at the Burrow, Harry does his little coming-out spiel, confident with Ron and Hermione and Luna and Ginny there as well. It feels good to let them know. And just as Draco had reassured him previously, it goes just fine.

***

When Harry arrives on Monday morning at the Tea Lounge, Draco has set one of the tables up with many different kinds of tea, as well as with an electric kettle. Daphne is now behind the counter instead.

“Are you ready to taste the world, Harry?” Draco says, eyes bright and a little mischievous.

“You have something that I won’t like, don’t you?” Harry gives him a narrow look.

Draco smirks. “Not all of these teas are customary to London, I will allow. Take a seat.”

Harry does so, and Draco takes the seat opposite.

Draco starts with the lightest teas first, starting with a white tea, explaining their origins and the modes of preparation. He then moves onto a sencha, and then an oolong. He skips the black tea with a wink, and moves right onto a dark tea.

“That’s strong,” Harry blinks. He takes another sip, but then decisively puts the cup down.

“Tea has varying amounts of caffeine, too,” Draco says with a shrug.

What comes next is a milk tea from Mongolia. Harry narrows his eyes when Draco suddenly puts salt into the pot, instead of sugar.

“You’re not scared of a little tea, are you?” Draco says, taking a sip of his own cup. “Think of salted caramel.”

“I don’t like salted caramel,” Harry pouts. “I prefer treacle tart.” Nonetheless, he gamely takes a sip of his tea.

It’s not horrible, but the taste at the end of it, the salt, is extremely different from all the heavily sugared milk teas Harry usually drinks. It’s not that Harry’s never had salt in sweet things before, but there is a bit too much salt in this one, and no sugar at all. “It’s rich and creamy...But not for me.” Harry puts the cup down. “Can’t you put sugar in it?

“No, you may not.” Draco laughs. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Draco kindly finishes off the session with a bright fruit tisane, which Harry very much appreciates.

At the end of it, Harry grins at Draco. “Not bad.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Tea is always more varied than you think,” he says pompously. “But that concludes our tea tasting session.”

“Thanks, Draco.”

Harry offers to help clear away all the items, but Draco declines, and Daphne instead comes over to help him.

For the first time ever, Harry wanders over to the food counter and flicks through the lunch menu at the Tea Lounge. He laughs under his breath when he sees that each lunch item includes an accompanying cup of tea.

Ultimately he chooses a summer salad, which comes with a black tea. Daphne delivers it to him—Draco is back behind the tea counter.

Harry eats and observes the lunchtime rush, and he thinks about all the tea he just had. It’s but a small fraction of all the tea behind the counter, and an even smaller fraction of all the tea he knows is in the backroom.

When he goes up to the counter to pay, he also asks Draco for a canister of the dark tea.

“Did you like it?” Draco says. “I thought you would have wanted the fruit tea.” He grabs it nonetheless.

“It’s not for me,” says Harry as he pays. He thinks Hermione would appreciate its caffeine content. “Are you free after 7 today as well?”

Draco smiles. “I am.”

Harry smiles back. “Great, I’ll see you later.”

***

When Harry comes back after 7pm, Draco is all bright eyed and humming with excitement.

“What happened during the day without me?” Harry teases.

Draco gives Harry a look and puts on a big smirk. “It was something due to you, actually.”

Harry flails inwardly. “Uh—what did I do now?”

“People saw what we were doing, and a couple of them are interested in having tea tasting sessions. And Pansy’s given the go ahead, so I’m planning out all the different combinations and tasting packages that we’ll advertise for.”

Seeing Draco so bright makes Harry smile fondly. “Glad I could help.”

Draco gives Harry a suspicious look. “What are you looking at?” he grumbles, as he pushes Harry out of the tea room to lock up.

Harry hums noncommittally, and his fond smile doesn’t go away.

***

Things become routine very quickly. Harry and Draco have dinner on Monday and Tuesday nights; on Wednesday nights, he’s at Hermione and Ron’s place, Saturdays are with Teddy and Sundays are with the Weasleys. Harry often comes by to the tea room in the morning if he wants a change of place to work; he comes by the afternoon if he wants something sweet and relaxing.

It amazes him how many things he can talk to Draco about—the current news, Draco’s customers, the things Harry’s writing, the books Pansy has told Draco to read, what constitutes a suitable to gift to children, and what doesn’t, and on and on.

Their dinners aren’t secret. Everyone at the Tea Lounge knows, and Harry eventually tells Hermione and the others that he has a standing commitment with Draco on Mondays and Tuesdays when they ask him about it.

He feels like he’s flying high, and words are almost flying out of his head and onto parchment. The novel is different from what Harry has written before—brighter, happier, and Harry really likes it.

However, his agent isn’t so happy with what Harry is writing. They think that it doesn’t match with James Evan’s writing reputation. They think that it’s not ‘mainstream’ enough. They think that it’s not publishable, and tell Harry to re-write it so that the characters stay friends.

Upon grouching about this to Draco, Draco suggests talking to Luna. Harry had forgotten that, since she has a newspaper printing press, she might also have a book printing press or at least access to one.

Luna agrees to help, and she also plays editor to Harry’s manuscript.

When she hands it back to Harry, with red writing all over it, she has a grin on her lips. “It’s really good. I’ll get Dean to design the front cover.”

Harry grins back. “Wow, that would be great.”

Luna tilts her head. “Has Draco read this?”

Harry’s grin turns into a sheepish one. “He still hasn’t read any of my books. I had to read some of them out loud to him.”

Luna hums. “You should tell him to read this—no, don’t wait until it’s published,” she adds.

Harry closes his mouth.

“The publishing process will take time,” says Luna. “Let Draco read it. He’ll read this one.”

Harry sighs and smiles. “Alright.”

***

Even if he said he would, Harry delays things a little. He makes all the changes from Luna’s first round of edits first. Then he figures out how to bind a book at home, and messes around with that until he gets something mediocre rather than poor. Then he hides the ‘book’ under his pillow where Draco would never see.

“You haven’t talked about what you’ve been writing lately,” Draco notices.

Harry tries not to look guilty. “Haven’t I?”

Draco smirks. “Are you writing erotica these days?”

Harry flushes. “Draco! No!”

“Not sorry!” Draco laughs. When he finally stops, he says, “But you have been quiet. Is there anything I can help with?”

Harry deflates and sighs. “You never read any of my books anyway. I wasn’t really sure you cared...”

Draco winces. “I’m sorry if I gave that impression. I do mean to read your books, but I still have this pile of LGBT literature Pansy wants to me to read, and so I’ve just been putting off reading anything.”

Harry cracks a smile. “I see. But, well.” With a deep breath, Harry summons the hack-job-of-a-book from his bedroom. Hesitantly, he hands it over to Draco.

Draco’s eyebrows go up—both of them. He reads the front cover, and turns the book in his hands. The cover is plain, softcover, and all the pages are held in with a mixture of glue and thread.

“Did you make this yourself?” Draco says slowly.

Harry sighs grumpily. “You mean it looks terrible.”

Draco smirks. “You said it, not I. It only says ‘Working Title’?”

“Me and Luna are still debating about it.”

“So this is what you’ve been working on?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. The one that my usual agent won’t back.”

Draco perks up a little. “Can I open it now?”

Harry looks away briefly. “Sure, I guess. It’s for you.”

“Then I’ll read it,” he says firmly. Draco doesn’t open the book, though, but he does give it a smile before shrinking it down and tucking it away into his pocket.

Harry lets out a breath. “Okay, I’ll hold you to it.”

“You went into all the effort to make it yourself. Couldn’t Luna have made a mock-up for you?” Draco is smiling at him, all soft edges and exasperation.

“Do you know anything about publishing?”

Draco straightens up and puts on an aloof expression. “Harry. I’m a tea specialist.”

Harry chuckles. “Then that’s a no. Publishing actually takes a really long time, and that book won’t go out until at least next year...”

***

Okay, so many Harry isn’t always a Gryffindor, because he avoids the Tea Lounge for the rest of the week while Draco is—hopefully—reading Harry’s book. He fills the days with discussions with Luna and chats with Dean about the book instead.

Come Monday, Harry cleans around his house, unable to sit and write. He waits anxiously in his lounge room until it’s time to go. Draco’s doing some final things when he arrives, so Harry pokes around at the books on the shelves. Some of them are books he has donated himself.

“Alright, let’s go,” Draco calls out.

Harry whips around. “Right, okay.”

They exit the shop and apparate to Harry’s. The moment they get inside is as long as Harry can wait.

“Did you read it?”

“Hmmm.” Draco walks straight towards the kitchen.

“Draco? Did you read it?” Harry repeats.

Draco stops and turns around. He exhales.

Harry holds his breath.

“I did.” Draco pulls out the book from his pocket and enlarges it. There are little book tabs sticking out everywhere.

Harry breathes. “And what did you think of it? Did you like it?”

“I enjoyed reading it. But...the characters...are they us?”

“Which characters?” Harry delays.

“The two male leads,” Draco says. He leans back a little. “They seemed awfully familiar. Black, messy, hair? And a man with white hair?”

“Mmmaaayyybe…?” Harry looks away from Draco. “Let’s have dinner!”

Draco ignores this. “They get a happy ending. All dates and being boyfriends,” he says. “Harry, are you trying to tell me that you also...” He places a hand on Harry’s arm.

Harry looks at Draco’s hand. “Maybe.”

“Harry...do you fancy me?”

Harry looks at Draco’s lower arm. “Maybe.”

“Harry...do you want to go out for dinner with me?”

Harry looks at Draco’s upper arm. “Maybe.”

“Is ‘maybe’ the only thing you can say?” Draco sounds exasperated.

“Maybe.” Harry chuckles a little to himself. He looks at Draco’s shoulder. “Anyway, why? We’re having dinner now. Right here.”

“Not right now, but do you want to go out for dinner with me? Tomorrow night. On a date. Out at a restaurant,” Draco keeps adding, sounding even more exasperated.

Harry’s eyes skip Draco’s neck and snap right to his face. “Maybe?” His voice comes out higher than usual. “I don’t even know if you fancy me!”

Draco’s voice remains exasperated, but Harry can now see his fond smile. “I do. I have, for a while,” he admits. “But I feared it would be awfully wrong for me to date you.”

Harry blinks. “Oh. Okay. Why?” Harry frowns. “It’s not because of—”

“You were like a little baby queer!” Draco says. “I was meant to be helping you come into your identity, not moon over you!”

“A queer baby deer,” Harry quips. “My father was a deer animagus, and my mum would have been too. That’s sweet that you were mooning over me.” Harry flutters his eyelashes.

Draco lifts his chin. “Yes, well.” He composes himself, lifts his hand from Harry’s arm, and goes to flip through the book. “Now, according to this, you would like to go out for some Mexican food, and then dessert after, and we’ll drink a lot of masala chai. We can go to the seaside another day, and—”

“Ugh, stop!” Harry flushes. “I didn’t self-insert everything in there!”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “These are some good date ideas, though,” he says innocently.

Harry pouts. “Of course they are, I wrote it.”

Draco’s smile becomes wistful. “I couldn’t have imagined that it would lead to this, when you first walked into the tea room.”

“Lucky I walked in, then,” Harry says lightly.

“Yeah.” Draco makes an “mmhhh” sound and takes Harry’s hand. “Harry, I fancy you quite a lot. Will you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

In the same grave tone, Harry says, “Draco, it would be my pleasure.”

Harry spends a moment looking at Draco. He’s sure they both have equal smiles on their faces.

“No, it’s my pleasure,” Draco suddenly says.

“You’re taking me out to dinner, so the pleasure is all mine and the organisational angst is all yours,” Harry argues back.

“But I’m going derive pleasure by being a date with you,” Draco says.

“No, I will!” Harry bursts out laughing. “And we haven’t even kissed yet!”

Draco suddenly leans into Harry’s space and pecks him on the cheek. “There you go,” he says smugly. “Thanks for making dinner tonight, darling.”

“Ugh, that was barely anything. Do it properly,” Harry complains. “And you’re so domestic.”

“No, you’re domestic,” Draco teases. “Just this once, I’ll allow a kiss before we even have our first date.”

“Oh, we could wait—”

But Draco leans in and cups the back of Harry’s head and kisses Harry properly. Harry’s chest feels like it’s about to burst.

“Thanks for making dinner, darling,” says Draco.

“You’re welcome, babe,” Harry smirks. “Can you get the cutlery?”

Now Draco wrinkles his nose. “You’re so domestic.”

“But you like-like it, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry laughs and jumps away from Draco’s swipe. He hums to himself as he prepares the food. He knows that their first date is technically tomorrow...but secretly, he thinks that this is no doubt a date too, especially now that he can see Draco’s fond smile for what it is.

***

*********

***

Draco glares at his to-do list for the day’s event. Everything is marked off, but there is something missing. He takes a deep breath and walks around the tea room one more time to check that everything is set up.

It has been over a year since that fateful day when Harry Potter walked through the doors of Draco’s (and his friends’) tea room. Over a year since Draco’s past reared its head and Draco’s next stage in life began.

Draco berates himself for reminiscing. Draco has no time for daydreams at the moment.

“Sit down and have a cup of tea,” Blaise calls out.

“How can I?” Draco shoots back, a little frustrated. He can already see the line forming outside the doors, people of all shapes and sizes, some of them carrying the same, distinctive book that Draco now knows by heart.

“Did you get everything on your overly excessive and detailed list?” Blaise says.

“Yes,” Draco grudgingly admits. Glaring at Blaise, who is laughing, Draco folds the list up and tucks it away, and proceeds to make a cup of herbal tea—he doesn’t need caffeine to make him even more nervous, thank-you-very-much.

Pansy emerges from the back room, and she surveys the space and nods approvingly. “Very good,” she says.

Draco sighs a little and looks over the space again.

It’s pride month, and so there are a number of semi-transparent rainbows across the windows, casting coloured light into the usually white-and-gold tea room. The art is modern and striking, all made by LGBT artists, and the bookshelves are filled with books about and written by LGBT authors. In the wall space between the hanging art and the bookshelves, are multiple different hand-sized flags for all queer identities that they could find. A few of the tables remaining on the main floor are up to the side, holding shiny new copies of the book, and the chairs are arranged facing an a makeshift raised platform. Importantly, there is a selection of tea and finger food along the counter.

It’s all ready for Harry’s book reading and signing.

Draco exhales and puts away his empty cup. “Very well. Blaise, start letting people in.”

“Yes, sir,” Blaise says cheekily. Just a few steps from the doors, he turns around and asks with smirk, “Oh, Draco, where’s Harry? Since you’re living together, I thought he’d be here by now.”

Draco’s eyes widen and he curses. “Harry’s not here!”

Blaise chuckles and he goes to open the door. Meanwhile, Draco races to the back area. Going in deeper, there’s a floo, and Draco’s just about to throw in the floo powder when it flares green. He jumps back just as Harry stumbles through. It’s a bit difficult to catch Harry one-handed to stop him from falling, but Draco manages from fair practice.

“Glad that you finally joined us,” Draco drawls, to hide his relief.

Harry flushes. “Sorry. I was cleaning and I forgot the time.”

Draco groans. “I knew I should have dragged you out with me earlier.”

Harry grins and gives Draco a hug. “Love you too,” he says easily.

Draco smiles wryly. “The moment they see the both of us there, they’re going to connect the dots. All the dots.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Harry says. “I wrote it from my heart.”

At that, Draco softens. “You did.”

They share a moment of silent gazing, until Pansy walks in and shouts, “James Evans! You’re up. And you, Draco, are you really going to let Blaise handle your tea?”

“No, he can’t be!” Draco exclaims.

Pansy merely raises one eyebrow. She spins around and strides out.

“Well, it’s action time,” Harry says.

Draco, ignoring his urge to take down Blaise as soon as possible, frowns a little at Harry. Harry looks...nervous. Draco takes Harry’s hand and squeezes it.

“It’s going to be good, and may hell sympathise with any person who attempts to make it otherwise,” Draco vows.

Harry huffs. “Don’t murder anyone for me, darling.”

Draco smirks. “No promises, darling.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, you’re so domestic.”

“No, you are,” Draco responds. “Now come on out, everyone’s here to see you.”

Draco, still keeping Harry’s hand in his, tugs him out into the tea room.

“And here he is, James Evans!” Pansy says.

Clapping and cheering rise up—and then wolf whistles.

Draco rolls his eyes. “I knew it.”

Harry shakes his head. “Thanks, Draco.”

“No, thank you, darling.” Draco gives Harry a little push, and he goes with it willingly.

With that, Draco goes to take back his rightful place as tea master from Blaise.

Today’s event is Harry’s first official book reading and signing of his best-selling novel.

It’s Harry’s debut, in a sense, as well. After this day, it will be known that James Evans is Harry Potter’s pen name. But that isn’t important. Harry is what’s important, and Draco listens with a smile as Harry reads out his favourite chapter of his novel.

And to think, this all began with a hot day and a good cup of iced tea.

*

The End.

***