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Hermione stares up at the menu boards. Three separated sections stare back at her. Wakeful. Wacky. Wild.
Her eyes trace first and foremost under wakeful, because that’s what she needs. She’s exhausted and she’s not sure she can make it through her 12-hour shift at A&E without some caffeine in her. The text, chalked on the board in colorful handwriting, is hard to focus on this early in the morning. There are so many choices, so many options that she’s never heard of, she’s feeling a bit—
“Overwhelmed?” the barista asks with a grin.
Hermione looks from the menu boards to the red-headed man and nods hesitantly. “I’ve—I’ve never been here before.”
“Well, better latte than never,” he smirks, reaching for a cup. “Caffeine or no caffeine?”
“As much caffeine as you’re legally allowed to give me,” she says.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Well we can—“
“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘better latte than never’?” Hermione asks, her brain catching up in their conversation.
The redhead tosses his head back and laughs. “Alright, your caffeine is coming right up.”
“But I haven’t ordered. Or paid.”
“I’m gonna guess your order, and it’s going to be on the house,” he winks. “Allergies?”
Hermione frowns. “There’s really no need—“
“Trust me, the boss is fine with it,” he promises. “Allergies?”
“Even so, I can pay—“
“You can pay next time,” he says. “Now, allergies?”
“Uh—none.”
“Great!” He makes his way towards the coffee machines.
“Wait, I do have one,” she says.
He turns towards her.
“Free handouts.”
The barista snorts. “I’ve got an EpiPen on hand, and you look well-equipped to handle it on your own.” She glances down at her dark blue scrubs with a blush. It’s a stark contrast to his own graphic tee and jeans. “Cute, by the way. You save lives, just like me.”
Hermione quirks an eyebrow. “You save lives?”
“Every day,” he grins. “Directly and by extension. I mean, I bet your patients are going to be glad you’ve had a cup of coffee when they’re being treated.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs softly at the barista, watching as his fingers flit across the machines. She’s got no idea what he’s doing, but she can tell he does. And it’s second nature to him. He isn’t a new employee, and he’s certainly not just making his way through. He’s skilled at this, properly good at concocting these coffees. For a brief second, she wonders what his story is—how he came to be here, why he chose a coffee shop.
Because it seems like he chose the coffee shop. This doesn’t just seem like a job that he got when he was sixteen and he never got away from. He looks content—he looks happy. She doesn’t think a lot of people who get stuck in their teenage jobs are quite as pleased with that fact as he seems to be.
He finishes her drink and turns back to the counter, picking up a marker from the counter and poising it over the side of the cup.
“Now all I need is a name for the order.”
Hermione looks around her. “I’m the only one here.”
“Harsh. Business will pick up soon, it always does. But I can’t possibly hand a coffee over without your name written on the side,” he protests. “What will you take a picture of for Instagram then?”
She quirks an eyebrow. “I strike you as the coffee-on-my-Instagram type?”
“And books,” he grins.
Well. He’s got that one.
“Hermione,” she tells him.
“Her-mi-o-ne,” he says as he scrawls her name over the side of the cup. When he’s done, he drops the marker and grins, handing the cup over.
Immediately, Hermione passes her card over, sure that he had been joking.
“No,” he says, apparently not having been joking. “It’s on the house. You might not even like it.”
“But I—”
“Just come back if you like it,” he suggests. “How’s that?”
She frowns. “I don’t want you to get in trouble…”
He scoffs. “My boss is very understanding,” he says. “So we’ve got a deal?”
Hermione glances at the cup, and then at the time. Oh, she’s going to be late. “Deal,” she agrees.
“I’ll see you soon,” he smirks.
“I haven’t tried it yet,” she argues.
“I’m confident,” he says with a shrug.
Hermione laughs. Yes, he is. “See you soon,” she agrees. She turns to leave, heading towards the hospital. Once she’s made it some distance from the coffee shop, she lifts the drink to her lips and takes a sip.
Flavor bursts across her tongue and—while it’s unique, it’s not unpleasant. She stares at the cup in her hand. “Oh.”
Well.
She guesses she’ll see him soon.
*\
“Ah,” the barista grins. It’s the same red-headed man from yesterday. Once again, Hermione scans his chest for a nameplate but comes up empty. So be it—she’ll name him herself. After all, it feels quite obvious. Red. “So Kneazle Girl is back,” Red says.
Hermione blinks, feeling her eyebrows furrow in anger and offense. “Kneazle girl?”
Red holds up his hands. “I just meant that I made you our Kneazle latte yesterday,” he says, eyes full of panic. “I wasn’t calling you—I would never—you’re not—”
“It’s okay,” Hermione waves him off, feeling her shoulders loosen. “I didn’t know that’s what the drink was. Kneazle, though? Aren’t those the mythical cats?”
“Precisely!” Red exclaims. “Dangerous, but not overly dangerous. The Kneazle latte is one of the mid-level drinks. Usually a good place to start with new customers.” He leans over the counter, whispering, “I added more espresso to yours, though.”
Hermione smiles and laughs softly at the man in front of her. “So what would you give me if I said I liked it but it was a little weak?”
“A woman after my own heart,” Red sings. “So, Hermione,” he says, finally using her actual name. She’s only slightly surprised by the fact that he remembers it. “How does a Griffin Espresso sound to you?”
“Considering I know quite literally nothing about it, I wouldn’t know—uh…”
“I’m Fred,” Red tells her.
Hermione blinks. She tilts her head to the side, scratching at the itch in her brain at how Red was so close to Fred.
In front of her, Red—no, Fred frowns. “Y’alright?”
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I am. It’s only—I’ve been calling you Red in my head—you know, because of…” She gestures towards his hair, bringing out another grin. “And it’s just… it’s very close to Fred.”
Fred tosses his head back and laughs. “Only one letter off, yeah.” He plucks a cup from next to the register and moves to a machine that Hermione has no idea what it might do. “Right, though. Griffin Espresso will meet your taste, I reckon.”
“So, what, you’re going to call me Griffin Girl tomorrow?” Hermione asks, arching an eyebrow.
Fred turns back to look at her, a sly smile on his face. “As long as you’re here tomorrow.”
Hermione presses her lips together to immediately blurt out that she will be—that he made her the best cup of coffee she’s had in a long time—maybe ever—yesterday. But she can’t give herself away like that, so she lifts her shoulders in a shrug and tells him, “I haven’t decided yet.”
She doesn’t think it’s very convincing, because Fred lifts his eyebrows. “Oh, is that right?”
Hermione nods.
(She ignores the knowing look she gets the next morning when Fred spots her walking in.)
*\
They form a habit after that.
On the days that Hermione has her day shifts, she stops first at Weasleys’ Wizard Wake-up. Fred is always there, without fail.
“Your boss is as sadistic as mine,” she says one day.
Fred laughs, tossing his head back as he always does, and grins down at her. “Yeah, the boss is a real pain.”
Still, she’s been visiting for three weeks at this point and the only time she’s ever managed to pay was when Fred was in the back and a nice girl named Verity took her order. Fred had come out, watched Verity hand Hermione back her card, and frowned. When she left, he gave her a tart that she hadn’t ordered. She nearly left it out of principle, but he was looking at her with wide, pleading eyes, and she couldn’t say no.
So, yeah, they form a habit. Hermione goes to the coffee shop, Fred gives her free coffee, and—she thinks most notably—they talk.
They talk about anything and everything.
Hermione tells him (vaguely) about patients that she’s seen in A&E. In turn, he tells her about some of his more extreme customers, she tells him about what she’s reading, and he tells her about what he’s studying. She’s surprised to learn he’s taking business courses in university.
“Do you want to own your own business one day?” she asks.
Fred flashes a feral grin, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Something like that,” he says.
Hermione frowns, unsure of what he means, but positive that she won’t get anything more out of him. She’s learned little quirks like that about him by now. He likes being cryptic, likes keeping people on their toes, likes making you guess what’s coming next. Hermione doesn’t know what’s coming next. She never does, when it comes to Fred.
Well, except for the free coffee.
Case in point:
“What do you think is higher education’s biggest failing to its students?” Fred asks.
Hermione has to stay on her toes.
She loves it though. It’s been a long time since she’s had genuine discussions with someone who wants to hear her answers on these topics. Not everyone can keep up with her—it sounds conceited to say, but it’s simply the truth. She’s a passionate person with a lot of opinions. She understands that other people are happier to go with the flow, but that’s never been her style.
It’s not Fred’s, either.
Fred is just as passionate as Hermione, and while it sometimes causes them to clash, in the end, they don’t suffer for it. In fact, Hermione feels her respect for Fred grow every time he takes a stance against one of her opinions. It’s admirable the way that he knows his self and his beliefs so fully and truly that he’s able to articulate his thoughts while arguing against Hermione. And Hermione is good at arguing—it just so happens that Fred is too.
He’s just also very good at derailing conversations, if she’s being completely honest.
“The Ood are not slaves!” Hermione cries, clutching her drink to her chest in offense. She’s been showing up at the coffee shop earlier and earlier so she has more time to spend talking with Fred, but so that she still makes it to her shift on time. She’s been shocked to see him step off to the side some days—like today—to let another barista take over for him so he can talk to her. She had called him out on it at first but he waved her off without any concern for his job.
“And I’m not—I’m not saying that they are ,” Fred says, holding his hands up in front of his chest as if he thinks Hermione is going to attack him. It’s a wise move on his part. “I’m just saying that if the Ood enjoy working, is it wrong to give them work?”
Hermione scowls. “There’s been nothing to suggest that the Ood enjoy working—only that they’re trustworthy and will do as directed. But if they do enjoy working, there’s a difference between employment and slavery.”
“Well…”
Hermione glares.
“If we think about it, if it’s something they enjoy, would it be work, recreation, or leisure?” he challenges.
“You can’t be serious!”
Fred rocks onto the balls of his feet with a grin. “Let’s say for the sake of argument I am.”
“All right,” she says, “for the sake of argument, professional football players enjoy the sport, and it’s both recreation and work. Because the two can coexist.”
“But—”
“I don’t know if you’re being deliberately obtuse or just doing a good job at it,” Hermione moans, pressing her forehead against the lip of her drink.
Fred laughs, leaning in and winking at her. “Can’t tell you all my secrets, Hermione.”
“You haven’t told me any secrets, Fred,” Hermione points out.
“That’s a lie. I told you I thought I was a wizard when I was a kid and tried to fly on a broom by jumping off the roof.”
“That’s not a secret.”
He gasps, “Have you broken my confidence? Told everyone?”
“No,” she says, “but your family knows.”
“They don’t, actually,” he says. “Only my brother George does, and that’s because he was right next to me. We fell into a big bush and walked away with scrapes and bruises, but we were always covered in those.”
Hermione gapes at him. “You jumped off the roof and your parents never even knew about it?”
“Nope,” he grins. “There’s a lot my parents don’t know that I got up to. Georgie at my side of course.”
“So is it just you and George and your parents, then?”
“Oh, gods, no,” Fred shakes his head. “There’s Bill, then Charlie, Percy, me, then George, then Ron, and Ginny.”
“Oh,” Hermione breathes. “I’ve just—you’ve only ever spoken about George.”
“Yeah, well. He’s my best friend,” Fred shrugs. “What about you, though? What’s your family look like?”
“Just me and my parents,” Hermione says. “Well, I’ve got a cat, Crookshanks, too. But I don’t think that’s quite what you meant.”
“Of course it is,” he says. “If Crookshanks is part of your family, he’s exactly who I want to know about. My parents never let us have pets—probably because they were too busy running around keeping up with us to be expected to look after a dog or cat as well. Ron tried to keep a rat he found once, called him Scabbers. Our parents only got him to surrender him to the local wildlife sanctuary when they explained that rats can’t live alone or they’ll become depressed.”
“Is that actually true?” Hermione wonders.
Fred nods. “It is, yeah! There are a few species that can and do live on their own, but not in the UK. Rats usually live in larger groups, they’re a social animal. Ron actually owns a trio of them now that he’s moved out from our parents—the breeder he got them from wouldn’t sell him less than two at a time and suggested three in case anything happened to one of them, then they’d still have a friend until Ron could get another pair.”
She hums. “That’s so interesting,” she says honestly. “I never would have guessed that about them.”
So, they form a habit.
Hermione comes to the shop in the morning, they talk, they argue, and, well.
Hermione maybe falls a bit in love.
*\
Hermione breaks the habit.
Typically Hermione only goes in before her day shifts, not her night shifts. Her night shifts earn her the ability to sleep in until the last second, and instant coffee from her cupboard on her way out the door. It’s a system that works, even if she should probably reevaluate it at some point.
But she gets called in.
One of the other nurses called out sick, and Hermione gets called in, and she was meant to go shopping today because she’s out of instant coffee, so her only option is to stop at Weasleys’ Wizard Wake-up.
(All right, maybe it’s not her only option. There are three Starbucks on her way to work as well, but if she’s being entirely honest, she’s considering never visiting another Starbucks as long as Weasleys’ stays open.)
The coffee shop is crowded when she enters, but there isn’t anyone in line. She makes her way to the register quickly and is pleasantly surprised when Fred makes his way over. He looks… different, somehow. His smile is duller, though no less friendly, and it looks like he styled his hair differently.
She’s about to comment on it when he greets her with, “Welcome to Weasleys’, what can I get you?”
Honestly? It throws her. He’s never once offered her a greeting like that, and it’s almost like he doesn’t even recognize her. It feels like some sort of game, almost, so she smiles at him and orders her drink.
And then he tells her the total.
She’s never heard a total come from his mouth until right this second.
But, as she looks around at the crowded shop, maybe it’s strategic? He doesn’t want anyone else thinking they’re entitled to freebies—not that she’s entitled, not at all. But it feels strange, handing her card over to him and having him actually take it. The back and forth they always do is entertaining, but he’s never laid a hand on her card before. (Except for one memorable instance when she tossed it over the counter and he had to give it back.)
Either way, she’s relieved he’s letting her pay finally, so she offers her card without hesitation.
When he hands it back, it’s with a chipper smile and a “have a nice evening!” before he turns to start on the coffee.
She blinks.
She wonders momentarily if he finally got in trouble with his boss, but she doesn’t dwell on it orask him about it, not when he’s clearly trying to be a model employee. She’ll find out another day—maybe when it’s not so crowded in here and they actually have a chance to talk.
Yes, that’s what she’ll do.
So she waits patiently for her drink, and when Fred hands it over, she offers him a reassuring smile but makes no comment.
Tomorrow things will be back to normal.
*\
She ends up at Weasleys’ the next evening, ready to make sure everything is all right with Fred.
Her main worry is that he got caught by his boss and decided that to get back on track, he’ll go and treat Hermione like every other customer there is. That she’ll lose her talks with him and he won’t even care. She wonders if they’ve always meant more to her than they have to him, and decides that’s plenty likely. After all, he sees hundreds, probably thousands, of people every week with his job. She’s not the only one who can offer stimulating conversation, is she?
But she wants to see if it was… a blunder.
So, she goes back.
Even if it turns out Fred hates her now, she’ll still go back because she loves the coffee and it’s hard to find coffee that she actually, truly likes. Coffee that she actually, truly likes that can manage to keep her awake.
As always, he’s there.
As always, he’s entertaining the customers with witty one-liners and charming them with sweet smiles. He dances around the machines with ease and she recognizes this side of him, even if she’d been questioning the whole… other side that she’d witnessed yesterday.
That’s when she spots it.
It’s just a flash, but it catches her attention enough that she goes searching for it, and finds it once more. Another flash, a reflection of light catching off the polished ring sitting on Fred’s left ring finger.
Oh , she thinks. Oh, she’s such an idiot.
She’s been here flirting with a married man.
How could she have been so stupid?
She does think that a bit of blame goes out to Fred—he certainly hasn’t been dissuading her away from it! She had even though he’d been flirting back! Free drinks, taking breaks when she came in, and a whole host of other signs. But—was that even what was going on?
In the mornings she was dressed in her scrubs compared to after shift—maybe they gave free drinks to first responders.
She’d flirted with him almost from the start—maybe he was just being nice.
She can hear in his voice even now as he talks to other customers and employees that he’s just got… a way about him. He’s teasing and light and friendly but he’s not flirting. Had he been like that with her all along? Or had she just been a game to him?
Gods, she hopes not. That’d hurt more and be more embarrassing than anything else. The idea that he knew all along that she fancied him and he just wanted to have a bit of fun—maybe remember what it was like before he was married. Maybe make her think she had a chance before doing something—something like this where she just… sees him and has to face the music.
Because she never came in during the evenings before Wednesday, so he wasn’t expecting to play their game. That’s… it’s understandable, she supposes. But it also hurts.
Listen, Hermione meant it when she said she’s going to still go back.
But she can’t be here tonight, not when she feels so utterly humiliated.
She can’t face Fred tonight and plaster a smile on her face and pretend everything is okay.
Eventually, she will.
She just… she just needs some time, okay?
*\
She finally makes her way back three days later.
It’s morning and she’s on her way to her shift, but she’s only given herself five minutes to get in and out for her coffee. It’s strategic, and she knows that Fred is going to probably notice, but she doesn’t care.
There’s one other person in line in front of her, but even while they order, Fred glances up and smiles, wide and bright, at her. She’s not… not cruel , so she offers a smile back, but there’s no heart to it, and by the way Fred’s smile falters, he can definitely tell.
She’s not looking forward to ordering and considers turning tail and leaving this instant. Before she can though, the other customer is stepping out of the way and Fred is motioning her forward.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Fred says as she steps up to the counter.
She wants to argue that three days isn’t that long , but it’s felt like an eternity to her as well, so she’d be talking out of her arse. Instead, she nods and looks up at the menu. “My shifts got switched around a bit,” she tells him, though she wonders to herself why she’s explaining herself to him.
But—they can still be friends, can’t they? There are just lines that she won’t—refuses —to cross. Like all the free handouts, and the flirty teasing, and the quick touches. But… apart from that, she likes Fred. Enough that she wants him in her life, even if it’s not the way she initially hoped he would be. Of course, she’s a bit cross with him for playing up so much of the classic, textbook flirts when he’s got a partner at home. So… maybe that’s why she shouldn’t indulge a friendship with him. Even though he never technically made any moves, there are still lines that shouldn’t be crossed when you’re married.
She shrugs the thoughts away.
“I’ll take a Dragon’s Eye,” she says and pulls out her card from her bag.
She reaches into her bag to take her card out, expecting Fred to enter her order like he did the other night, but he’s simply staring at her. “Did I… do something to upset you?” Fred asks hesitantly.
“No,” she answers quickly, handing over her card. He stares at it like it’s foreign.
“I clearly did,” he says, gently pushing her hand, which was still holding her card, back towards her. “What did I do? I can fix it. Sometimes I don’t think before I speak—”
“It’s not anything you said,” she dismisses, and reaches her card back towards him. He keeps staring at it.
“But it is something that I did.”
She huffs, feeling her cheeks heat up. “No, I just—feel embarrassed and stupid and—I didn’t think about you having to make pastries in the morning, so obviously you would take your ring off, and—”
“What ring?” he cuts her off quickly.
Leveling him with a glare, Hermione scoffs. “I just didn’t know you had a wife, is all.”
“I don’t,” he says, perplexed.
“Husband, then,” she rolls her eyes.
“Hermione, I’m not married,” he frowns. “I’m not even dating anybody.”
Her jaw dropping is more reactionary than a choice she makes, but—what? “But—you were wearing a ring!”
“I genuinely do not know what you’re talking about.”
“Three nights ago!” She reminds him.
“Three nights ago? I didn’t see you three nights ag—three nights ago ,” he whispers, sounding horrified. He lifts his hands—ringless—to his face and buries it in them. He looks up at Verity and nods his head, motioning for her to take over the counter. He moves out of the way, beckoning Hermione after him and she, reluctantly, follows. “Here?” he clarifies. She’s not sure why he has to clarify, but she nods. “Hermione,” he says, lifting his head just enough so he can look at her. “ I’m a twin.”
Hermione stares at him, waiting for him to grin, laugh, shoot finger guns in her direction and shout ‘gotcha!’, or… or anything . But he doesn’t. He doesn’t, and Hermione feels her face flood with heat from the embarrassment of her interactions with his apparent twin—which now explains those. She looks back at him and scowls. “You didn’t think to tell me?”
“I didn’t know you’d come in when I wasn’t here!” he defends, holding his hands up in front of his chest.
“I’m an A&E nurse!”
“So?”
“So, my schedule was made by the devil!”
“Oh,” Fred breathes. He looks intensely guilty which makes Hermione feel much better before she feels much worse.
She sighs. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have any reason to tell me.”
Fred looks at her, frowning. “I didn’t?”
Biting down on her lip, Hermione shakes her head. “I—I wanted you to tell me, but—”
“I wanted to tell you,” he cuts in. He looks at her, eyes bright. Then frowns. “Well, no, not that in particular, I don’t really think about telling people I’m a twin because most people just… know? But… I want to tell you other things. About me. And I want you to tell me things about you.”
“I’m not a twin,” Hermione says.
He tosses his head back and laughs, booming across the store. It draws the attention of several customers to them, but where Hermione might typically be embarrassed by drawing attention, she’s not this time. She just feels her chest glow with a warmth that she can’t name, but that she knows is entirely too close to affection.
“I should probably tell you too,” Fred says once his laughter has quieted down, “my last name is Weasley.”
She blinks. “Weasley,” she says.
“Weasley,” he confirms.
“Like…” She glances up at the sign above the counter.
“Exactly like that,” he grins. “George and I opened the shop three years ago,” he tells her, a hint of pride in his voice.
“So that’s why—I’ve been worried for weeks about your boss finding out you’ve been giving away free drinks!” she huffs, crossing her arms. “Turns out he knew all along.”
“Oh, no, technically I’m a boss. Georgie didn’t know until two weeks in.”
“Why wait two weeks to tell him?”
Fred looks down at her and offers a small smile. “You’re beautiful, ‘Mione,” he tells her in a sincere sounding voice. “And I wanted to impress you. You were witty and smart, if a bit sleep-deprived, and it felt too good to have you just… appear out of nowhere. So I was skeptical about it for a minute. Wanted to make sure you could keep up with me before I decided to fall heels over arse.”
“Oh.”
He stares, seemingly waiting for her to say something, but she can’t think of… anything to say. Me too? That feels too weak for what he just declared, more over how he declared it. He took the time to get to know her, just like she did, and fell for her, just like she did. So, doesn’t that warrant a ‘me too’?
No.
He deserves more.
She draws in a deep breath and says, “Me too.” Oh, bugger. “I mean—I didn’t want to impress you.” She freezes. “No, that sounds wrong.” Why is this so hard? “So much of my self-worth comes from impressing people. Top of my class, competent at my job, being smart… I didn’t want to impress you, I just wanted you to like me.”
“I think it is quite literally impossible that there was a chance I wouldn’t have liked you,” Fred laughs. He reaches over the half door he’s hiding behind and grabs her hand. “I didn’t stand a chance.”
Hermione looks up at him and hums. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says, voice lilting into a chirp, “that once our sadistic bosses give us a day off, I’m going to take you out.”
“If this is your way of telling me you’re a sadist—”
Laughter bursts from Fred’s lips and he tosses his head back, squeezing her hand as he does so. “No, George might be though.” He looks back down at her and winks. “I’ve got a good feeling he might let me off the next day you have free, though.”
“I guess that means I have to say yes, doesn’t it?”
“No,” Fred says firmly. His expression is still happy and light behind the seriousness of his answer. “But I’d really like it if you did.”
Hermione stares at him. She squeezes his hand in hers and nods. “Then it’s a date.”
They stare at each other with goofy grins for a long moment before something strikes her.
“Oh gods, I am so late for work.”
Fred’s laughter follows her from the building.