𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 (𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭) : 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵: chaotic, clumsy slytherin muggle, meets scorpius, who helps them? i think it'd be so cute ☺️☺️ hope you are well!
𝘢/𝘯: ok hear me out … scorpius coffee shop au
𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵: when you spill the coffee order all over the attractive customer, you expect him to scream at you. what you’re not expecting is for him to profusely apologize. he even asks if you’re alright. um, what?
“Double-shot espresso,” you call, raising an eyebrow at the name written on the receipt, “for Scorpius?”
It’s a strange name, that’s for sure. You’ve seen your share of strange names, even though you go through the entire ordeal of trying to repress the last five years of your life. You shake your head, trying to clear things out of your mind. It’s near closing hours, and there’s only a few more minutes until you’ll get to leave. Yet to your dismay, there are still people inside the coffee shop: students loitering around the dim lamplight and listening to music through tangled headphones, couples quietly holding their lover’s hand, little kids opening and closing the door to hear the whoosh of wind and soft bell clink.
You let your eyes roam around the coffee shop, trying to guess who this ever elusive Scorpius is. Maybe it's the older man leaning on his cane, doing his best to regard the different porcelain mugs despite failing eyesight. It would make sense, considering this Scorpius hasn’t come to get his coffee yet. Or maybe, even, the little kid yawning and tugging at his mom’s sleeve. Little kids get all sorts of strange names these days, because apparently the more unique the better.
But before you can contemplate any longer, there’s a screech of metal to your right, and you watch in amusement as an older boy your age comes running up to the counter, hopping on one foot in an attempt to regain the balance lost from his rush. There’s another loud clatter as his chair leg regains its balance against the floor. “Here, here, hi Scorpius --” he frowns, out of breath. “Wait … you’re not … I’m Scorpius.” His cheeks flood pink, and he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. His eyes sheepishly meet yours. “Sorry, I promise I haven’t done that in years. Today’s just been a mess.”
Well. You never thought this Scorpius would be cute.
But you end up laughing softly at him, shaking your head in amusement. “I gathered. You’re drinking a double-shot espresso at closing hours, and I think it’s safe to say I’m just a little concerned.”
“Pssh,” Scorpius says, shrugging bashfully. “I just needed a jump after the apparating. I’m exhausted.”
You let out a screech. Is he insane? Your hands drop forward, and you watch in horror as the recycled paper cup you’re holding teeters forward and sloshes all over Scorpius and his nice coat. The cup rolls against the floor, and you freeze, terrified. Shit.
“Oh my god. Oh my god I--”
“Agh,” Scorpius yelps, stepping backward to mournfully look at the coffee staining his wool sweater. Then he bites back a hiss as he wrings out his hand, his bottom lip clenched in-between his teeth. “Ouch.”
You’re suddenly all too aware of the other customers watching you with blank, unimpressed stares, some even going to the extent of ignoring you completely due to second-hand embarrassment. The little kid with his mom finally manages to convince her to walk out the door, and the little bells jangle twice as they exit.
You turn your attention back to Scorpius. “I’m so, so sorry --”
Scorpius’s eyes quickly dart back to yours, and you wince, expecting him to yell. Or at least hit you with a disgusted gaze and demand a refund. But instead, he panics? He steps forward again, clearly forgetting about the mess on the floor and the coffee sloshing against his shoes, and he reaches a tentative hand out toward you. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make a mess, can I, can I help? Fix it, I mean.”
You’re speechless, all your words disappearing. All you can do is stare in stupored awe, wide-eyed and speechless at the boy who stands across from you. Here he is, this strange, strange boy, who talks about apparating out loud and apologizes to you for something that was entirely your own fault.
“What?” Is all you can manage. “Wh--”
“Are you okay?” Scorpius repeats, gently and clearly concerned. “It was hot. I, erm, really hope you didn’t burn yourself.”
“But I spilled it on you?”
Scorpius shrugs. “Well, must’ve been a reason, no?” He laughs bemusedly, shrugging good-naturedly. “And besides, it’ll dry out in seconds. It’s no big deal.”
“I’ll just magic it out.”
Your mouth drops open. He didn’t seriously just say that, did he?
Scorpius stuffs his hand over his mouth, and then stammers, “I mean, the washing machine will do wonders. Like magic.” He turns, grabbing a handful of napkins from the counter and immediately starts dropping them to the floor, using his foot to seep up the coffee.
You watch him with wide eyes. “I’ll do it, you just sit --”
“No, it’s the least I can do --”
“Oh my god, I’ll get a mop.”
You run into the back room, the double doors swinging behind you as you let your face fall into your hands. After taking in a few breaths, you let your eyes scan around the cabinets and extra bags of coffee grounds, and you shakily reach for the mop in the corner, nearly knocking over a box of glass supplies.
When you re-emerge from the back room, you watch with bewilderment as Scorpius reaches for something in his jacket pocket, freezing when he sees you. “Oh, perfect!”
He cheerfully takes the mop from you, all too eager to help clean up.
“Hey, wait a minute. You want anything to eat?”
Scorpius’ eyes widen, and he sneaks a look at the pastry shelf. “No, I … I shouldn’t. Albus didn’t give me that much muggle money,” he sneaks a look at the coins held in his hand, “he only gave me these. Said it was enough for the espresso?”
Albus? This Scorpius really ain’t sly.
But you nod, busying yourself with fixing him another espresso, this time making sure to create it as perfectly as you can and to fill it to the brim. As soon as you slip the lid atop the cup, you wander over to the patisserie display, reaching for the metal tongs to sneak in two iced gingerbread men and a loaf of banana bread.
He perks up, leaning against the mop and then stumbling, flushing a bright red. He quickly places the mop against the side of the wall, and then turns to you as he sees the drink in your hands, pleased. “Is that my espresso?”
You nod, handing him the cup (carefully this time), and then the parcel of baked goods. “Here. It’s the least I can do. It’s on the house.”
Scorpius blinks. He tilts his head slightly to the side, his eyes filling with awe. “Wow,” he whispers, his lips parting. Then he gingerly reaches out to take the parcel, his face lighting up as he looks inside. “You gave me three?”
You smile sheepishly. “Yeah.”
Scorpius attempts to slide over the coins he has, but you stop him, placing your hand over his and pushing the coins back to him. “It’s on the house.”
Scorpius’s mouth drops open. “But --”
“But I can’t accept this.”
“Well, you’re going to.” You laugh, shrugging. “Tell Albus Potter to teach you more about muggle etiquette.”
Scorpius grins. And then he frowns, eyebrows scrunching up. “Wait, what? Muggle? What’s that? I mean, what? Erm, how do you know that?”
You laugh, lips twisting up into an easy smirk. “I’m a Hogwarts drop-out. Magic wasn’t really my thing, so I decided to come back. Finish up school and work here on the side.”
You hold up a finger, “you mentioned apparating,” you hold up another finger, “literally said ‘muggle money’,” and then a third finger, “and then you said Albus. The Potter’s are practically famous, you know.”
“And the phrase, ‘on the house’.”
Scorpius looks at his shoes, obviously flustered. “Oh, I, uh --”
“It’s cute, though. You should come back, one day. I’d give you my number, but I don’t think you have a phone.”
Scorpius frowns, then smiles shyly. “Do you have an owl?”
You quickly write your address down on a napkin. “Here. Owl me one day.”
Scorpius’s fingers fumble as he reaches for it, and the smile that spreads across his face lights up the room. “Okay. I’ll come back. And I’ll write you. Every day!”
You laugh. “I’m counting on it.”
