Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Only the great JK Rowling has that privilege. Bless her.

Author's Note: Well, it's been a while since I indulged in writing about my favorite wizardry OTP, so here's a fluffy oneshot... Muggle-verse. I've been itching to try my hands at the whole "coffee shop AU" trope, but because I have a distaste for the beverage, I decided to tweak it to make it about tea. Because why not?

Note: "Football" = "soccer." Not American football. Also, there are a few swear words, but no F-bombs.

That said, enjoy! Be sure to leave a review!

The Perfect Brew

She was here again today.

Harry's stomach did a back flip as he watched his favorite customer enter his parents' tea shop, with clumsy attempts to push open the door with her hip, as her arms were too occupied carrying several bulky books, despite sporting a tote bag on her shoulder. She looked so cute with her face flushed pink from the crisp, autumn air, and her bushy hair even frizzier from the wind and rain. Once inside, she straightened herself up, glanced at Harry (who was trying not to stare at her too much... trying), turned an even brighter shade of pink, and hurried to take a seat in the mostly empty tea shop.

Blushing a bit himself (though not entirely out of shame), Harry busied himself with finishing his order and calling out the name of the wild-bearded, rather large customer who ordered a "particularly strong cuppa Irish black, two or three bags, please, and add a touch of brandy."

As he began to brew the next cup of tea (a mixture of vanilla rooibos and strawberry herbal), he kept his eyes on his favorite unknown. She was sitting in her usual spot by the window, her books piled next to her feet and a few others piled on her solitary table. She pulled a notebook out of her bag, opened up a particularly large book, and proceeded to jot down notes. Every so often she chewed on the end of her pen, but mostly her eyes were glued to her textbook, glancing down only to write a note. She would be at this for another half hour or so until her thirst finally overtook her studying, then she would come up to this cash register and order a cup of tea. Usually black, always loose leaf, with a dollop of milk and some honey. (But sometimes, she was rather wont to choose a soothing herbal tea.) Then, she'd return to her spot and continue where she left off, this time with tea to be an additional break in her reading.

He knew her routine so well, it almost scared him. But it wasn't too surprising.

After all, she had been visiting his tea shop every day for the past six months. Always arriving around four or five in the afternoon. And always gone minutes before closing time.

He called to the customer who ordered the rooibos, and then proceeded to pretend to clean his work area, all while watching the bushy-haired stranger who had been on his mind from the moment she first stepped foot here.

Harry Potter "temporarily inherited" the shop from his parents, who still technically owned it and handled its finances, but were currently on a year-long holiday around the world. Harry had insisted on it. He had recently graduated from community college, with an associate's degree, but had no particular interest in pursuing a Masters or Bachelors. His only real passion in life was sports, especially football, and he was pretty good at it, for that matter. After winning various awards in school, and later in college, Harry eventually made it to a professional level, helping his team win tournament after tournament, until finally winning the World Cup last winter. With those winnings, Harry wanted nothing more than to give his parents the chance of a lifetime. It was the least he could do.

His fame as a star football player gave him a mixture of praise and indifference. Hardcore sports fans practically fainted in his presence (once they got over the initial shock of THE Harry Potter working in a tiny, local tea shop in a British village way out in the countryside), and though it was embarrassing for Harry, he was always relieved to have something to talk about with them. Those who never watched sports didn't bat an eye when they found out his name (except for one rather strange woman, who walked away with her black tea, muttering, "Harry Potter... has a nice ring to it... Yes, I think that will do nicely..." and Harry noticed her jot down something on a notepad before she disappeared from his sight).

Among those customers who hadn't made the connection yet was the Nameless-Girl-He-Kinda-Sorta-Liked. And that intrigued Harry.

He had formally announced in wake of the World Cup that he would be taking a break from football, in order to watch over his parent's shop and home. But he reassured his fans that he would still be training during his free time, and, he added jokingly, was up for any casual games in his home town with anyone who wished to give it a try. So far, he had twelve challenges, mostly from former school boys, but also a couple of fans who traveled to his village just so that Harry Potter could beat them in a little "two-player" football. Well, it wasn't a total loss, even if it meant dealing with starstruck strangers, because Harry would use any excuse to play. It took his mind off of a certain someone...

His parents had been gone for four months now. After the initial celebration of World Cup euphoria, and Harry's father bragging to every person he met that HIS SON secured Britain's championship, Harry bought tickets and brought brochures of every kind, surprising his parents. During the first six weeks after the surprise, Harry worked alongside his mother and father intermittently, both of whom pretended not to notice him "making eyes" at the bushy-haired bookworm. That is, until the day they took off to their first location (New York), when his mother hugged him tight, and whispered, "When we come back, we expect to meet her. Ask her out already!"

(Harry blushed profusely at this, and halfheartedly protested. His father laughed, clearly in on the scheme, while his mother feigned innocence.)

Sorry, Mum. Your son's a bit of a coward. He wasn't sure what scared him so much. He was twenty years old, and even dated a couple of girls in high school. He had his fair share of "snogging" and physical intimacy (okay, no, he never went that far), and he even flirted with a few other hot girls at his college. So, what was freaking him out now? What was it about this girl, who wasn't the "hottest" girl he'd ever seen, and clearly not the "popular" type, that attracted him so much? And also replaced any manliness he acquired over the years and filled his legs with jelly every time she was near him?

"Excuse me?"

Shit! She's trying to order something! Get yourself together, dumbass! Harry shook himself and plastered a "customer service" smile on his face.

"I'm terribly sorry, how can I help you?" His practiced words disguised his shaking legs behind the counter. But even so, he couldn't resist staring a bit longer into her eyes. Chocolate brown, with little flecks of gold. How he would love to drown himself in them... so sweet...

(Her lips are moving. Such pretty, kissable lips... but wait! She's talking! She's ordering! Shit!)

Kicking himself inwardly, Harry forced another smile, looking no doubt as sheepish and stupid as he felt, "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

She gave a little huff, rolled her eyes, and repeated herself. (Was it wrong that he found her frustration kind of cute? Probably. What the hell was wrong with him?) This was slightly different than the usual order. She wanted a hot Earl Grey, with foam on top, and extra sugar on the side. Harry bustled about, prepping her drink, trying in vain to think of a way to save his fumble. He would apologize. Nice, clean, and simple. Yes, that was it. He would present her the tea, smile and apologize sincerely for acting like such a prat. Then, they would part and he would watch again from afar...

Done. He walked over to the pick-up counter, where she stood patiently, watching him with a keen interest. Gods, she must be wondering what kind of an idiot I am. Bracing himself, he handed over the cup. Their hands touched. Eyes met.

And the last words he ever, ever wanted to come out of his mouth burst forth.

"Can I get your number?"

Hermione started, feeling her face heat up. Though she had been hoping for this, she had always shelved it as impossible, a pipe dream. A mere crush from afar.

Shy, awkward, bookworm Hermione Granger had no experience dating or flirting with men. She spent her entire teen years keeping her nose in her books, answering teachers' questions, and scoring high on every test. Oh, she had one or two close friends, mostly from her early childhood who somehow stuck around, but mostly she stuck to herself and her books. Thanks to her love for studying, she got into a good college, and threw herself head first in a tough curriculum, resulting in her graduating with top marks in two years, plus earning a few degrees. Her impressive resume managed to land her an early career as a librarian, something Hermione always wanted since she first learned how to read.

Though technically done with school, she still studied in her free time, mostly invested in the world of mythology and the concepts of magic in various cultures. In truth, she was eventually planning on saving up to study at Oxford to get her Bachelors, if not beyond. She had plans to travel the world, do some good, and possibly even be lofty enough to become an ambassador or Prime Minister. And in case things don't go entirely her way, her role as librarian would always be a safety net to fall back on.

With such ambitions, Hermione never had a chance (or gave herself the chance) to date anyone. She barely harbored any crushes, with the exception of a handsome teacher in middle school, and one rather nice football player, who was also a transfer student, whom she met and befriended in high school. But both men were gone from her life once college started, and with her "insanely busy" schedule (well, everyone else called it that; Hermione thought it was merely productive), romance took a backseat.

Until the day she wandered into a little tea shop.

And saw the young man working behind the counter.

And dared to think he was rather cute.

Really, Hermione was rather surprised with herself. In the past, whenever she "crushed" on anyone, it was bottled up in public and only revealed in her diary. With the exception of that transfer student, who had spoken to her first, she never even talked to them. But this guy! She talked with him every day! Well, technically, they didn't actually say much to each other, except brief small talk and her ordering a cup of tea. But then she actually had the gall to hang around for hours afterwards! Thankfully, he never seemed to mind.

If he knew how much I was crushing on him! I feel like I'm twelve again!

And then, a miracle of miracles: this cute black-haired young man with stunning green eyes, said it! He actually said it! He asked for her number!

But something felt wrong. She didn't have his name, and she was quite sure he didn't know hers. That must be remedied. She opened her mouth to invite him over to chat, when he burst out with,

"Sorry! Sorry, I don't know where that came from! I meant to apologize, but then I said that... Sorry, sorry, I'll leave you be now..." His face was bright red, and his eyes looked particularly bright under his glasses. Hermione was seized with sympathy and grabbed hold of his sleeve.

"W-wait, you don't need to apologize for anything! What I was going to say in answer to your question," she blushed at the memory, "was if you would like to sit down and have a chat? See, I don't feel comfortable giving out my number to someone whose name I don't know yet." She smiled shyly, trying to show her sincerity.

He cleared his throat and glanced around the shop. She followed his gaze: the two other customers who were there when she came in were gone now. Hermione wondered vaguely if they left on their own accord or because they were uncomfortable with two college-aged kids flirting with each other. Wait, are we flirting?

"O-okay," he was saying, grinning a tad nervously. (Why is he so nervous? He's clearly the cuter one between the two of us. I should be the one quaking. So why do I feel so calm?) "I'll put up the 'Closed' sign. No one will disturb us then. If that's okay," he added quickly, wincing slightly at the implication of his words.

Hermione giggled. Five years ago, she would have coolly walked away, pretended indifference towards a boy's advances, while secretly feeling too flustered to react any other way. Her time in college, and living away from home, gave her a confidence she never knew she had. She almost completely forgot her lack of experience in the dating world.

Perhaps it's because he was obviously as nervous as she felt.

Perhaps it's because she spent months observing him and gauged that he was a decent sort.

Perhaps it was something in the tea.

"Come on, then," she said, heading back to her rather cluttered table. "Excuse the mess."

"I don't mind, trust me," the Stranger-She-Almost-Knew-and-Definitely-Liked said. He sat across from her, while she sipped her tea, trying to ignore his probing gaze. Finally, he cleared his throat. "So. What's your name?"

"Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"I'm Harry, Harry Potter. Heard of me?" he added with a teasing glint in his eye.

"'Fraid not," Hermione said, grinning. "What, do I have the honor of speaking with a celebrity?"

"Not exactly, just a run-of-the-mill football player."

"Ah. Well, I hate to break it you, but my knowledge of that field comes down to a solid zero."

"No worries. I'm not too surprised, honestly."

"Am I that much of a bookworm?"

"No! Well... kind of, but not in a bad way. Honestly, I admire how you can just zoom through these," Harry gestured to the pile of books. "The best I can handle are James Bond novels."

"My dad loves those," Hermione said with a grimace. "I'll take Tolkien and Austen any day."

"Sure... Who are they?"

Not long after, the two of them were laughing and chatting together. The cold autumn rain was all but forgotten, and soon Hermione was sharing a pot of tea with Harry, talking late into the evening.

Two weeks later:

"Goodness, is that the time?" Hermione suddenly exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I've got to run home and get some sleep. Tomorrow is a special event at the library, and I need to get up early for that."

"Sure thing. I'll walk you home."

"Oh, no! You don't need to do that," she said, blushing.

"Please. I insist." Harry's heart pounded loudly, in spite of his calm voice. They had spent the last few weeks getting to know each other (at last!), and he was anxious to try to move things along. At least, a little bit.

Hermione giggled nervously, then nodded. They stepped out of the shop, Harry locked the door, and walked down the cobbled steps toward her little house down the street. The whole way, they chatted and flirted and laughed, and Harry wondered why the hell they hadn't done this before.

Too soon, they reached her home. They exchanged their goodnights. But then Harry was seized with an urge, turned back around, and blurted out the words before he could resist.

"W-would it be too bold to give you a quick kiss?"

Hermione spun around, stared at him, then flushed bright red. "A-all right," she said. Her voice sounded higher-pitched than usual.

Heart pounding, Harry stepped closer. He leaned in but paused when he felt her tremble. When he tried to step back, she clutched his hand.

"D-don't mind me, I just, well, I never really kissed anyone before," Hermione whispered rapidly in one breath. For a wild moment, Harry thought she was bluffing. But that blush... her trembling...

"Are you serious?"

"Definitely. I mean, is that really a surprise?" Hermione's tone suddenly took on a touch of bitterness. "Studying and reading is all I cared about and no one wants to date an awkward nerd-"

Harry couldn't help it. He cupped her face and kissed her. Chaste, sweet, but also long enough to make an impression. When they parted lips, he rubbed one thumb over where he had tasted her, at last.

"Well, if this jock wants to date this nerd," he said, teasingly poking her at the mention of "nerd," but kept his eyes locked with hers to show his serious intentions, "then anything's possible. I've been wanting to kiss your sweet, nerdy lips for months. Especially these last few weeks. So, honestly, I have no idea what you were talking about."

Under the starry sky, Hermione's dark eyes reflected their distant lights as she gazed at him. Then, she pressed closer, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him passionately back. It was a little sloppy, but with so much feeling! After only ever kissing girls with the perfect technique and no emotion, Harry eagerly embraced this strange, wonderful sensation. He wrapped his arms tightly about Hermione's frame, and joined her kiss with equal passion.

And somehow he did not mind her hair getting in the way.