(no subject)

[person4]

Ginny had told him once, several years ago when she’d first moved into the spare room in his flat and discovered his drinking preferences, that the way he had his coffee should be declared the eighth deadly sin. Her own coffee habits had been taught to her by the old boyfriend who’d first introduced her to the drink, and who had instilled into her the belief that the only way to drink it was black and incredibly strong, and that adding so much as a spoonful of sugar was a small step away from heresy.

On the other hand, Harry didn’t really like the taste of coffee and just drank it because he’d often worked himself into exhaustion during the war and needed something to keep him going. Potions that could do it were either horribly addictive if used on a regular basis or else hard to make and extremely expensive, he’d had several bad tea related experiences during his period of servitude at the Dursley’s and now couldn’t drink it without bad memories coming back, and soft drinks were too difficult to get in the wizarding world. So, coffee it was, but coffee that was half milk, flavoured with cinnamon, cocoa powder, and a splash of rum, and with so much sugar poured in that it almost crunched. In the end the coffee flavour was almost completely obscured, which was just the way he like it.

He’d somehow forgotten the way she felt about it. Time had passed and she’d first stopped teasingly insulting him about it, then snorting whenever she saw him preparing it, then finally stopped throwing long-suffering glances at him when he drank, as though the very action was a personal insult against her.

He wondered if she still minded, taking a long drink and thoughtfully swishing it around in his mouth as she staggered into the kitchen, blurry-eyed and bed-headed as she made he way to the coffee pot and poured herself a giant mug full of it. He gave her enough time to guzzle down a large portion of it before saying, “Hey, Gin, come over here a sec?”

She grunted an affirmative, but her eyes seemed clearer and she was walking steadily now as she approached. When she stood before him he sat down his cup and pulled her down to kiss her lightly.

After a moment she pulled away, laughing. “What was that for?” she asked, her eyes glittering warmly at him.

“I just wanted to know what you thought of my coffee now,” he said.

“Well, you didn’t even really give me a taste there. Let me see....” She leaned forward and kissed him again, this time sliding her tongue along his lower lip then dipping it into his mouth when he opened up for her. He almost pulled away at the bitter taste of her, so bitter that he didn’t think she’d be able to taste anything through it anyway.

Instead he kissed her back.

After a long moment she pulled away, and smiled softly. “Sweet,” she murmured, pushing her long hair back over her shoulder with a long sweep of one hand. “Very very sweet, and completely wrong. Really Harry, can’t you drink you coffee like a big boy? That,” she gestured towards his cup, “is a crime against nature.”

Then she pulled away from him, laughing again, and headed off toward the bathroom. “I’ve got to get ready for work. Don’t forget, I have a date with Morag tonight, so you’ll have to make yourself dinner. Try not to burn up any of my good pans too badly.”

He watched her go, taking a deep swig of his drink to drown out the bitterness of her tongue.


The way Harry drinks his coffee is the exact same way I do. And my tea, minus the cinnamon, cocoa, and rum. And coffee and tea purists do bitch about it (and don't tell me such and such a tea can't handle milk. If it doesn't curdle it on contact it can handle it. And even if it did I'd probably still drink it, pop with milk does that but I loved it when I was little.). Hence the drabble's inspiration.

Ginny became the second character when I was thinking over who it could be and suddenly my brain began insisting that someday down the line she's going to date a coffee drinker and learn to like it black as sin. Which is rather appropriate, what with her evil chicken-killing ways. Things ballooned from there (well, as much as things can balloon in a six-hundred-odd word drabble).

They aren't at all serious, they're just fucking friends (so to speak) with her brothers occasionally hounding Harry about his intentions. That's the most I can imagine them ever being, though that could change if her personality continues to grow in the next two books as it did in the last one.