Ella's Oneshots

[Ella]

Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: Lord Voldemort is determined to win this year's best-coffee-in-town contest. Harry Potter coffeeshop AU. Crackfic.
Words: 1271

The Perfect Coffee

It was a bleak Tuesday night, and to any Muggle in sight the café would have seemed completely abandoned. The windows appeared unwashed, and the sign saying ‘Morsmordre’ looked as if it could fall down and crush an unsuspecting pigeon at any moment. Inside the café, however, life was stirring, as more and more men and women appeared with loud ‘pop’s. All were dressed in black to match the grim interior. Although it seemed somehow unusual that any of these people would enjoy the taste of coffee at this time of night (in the corner, a half empty bottle of Fire Whisky would already be spotted), and much less would work at this place, all of them seemed to blend naturally into the interior.
“Silence,” their Master hissed, the slits that were his eyes narrowing bit more, until nothing but a faint glimpse of red was left to his eyes. “December is nearly upon us – you all know what that means.”
“Halloween?” Goyle asked.
“That’s in October, dumbass,” Rabastan Lestrange said. “I’m appalled you don’t have any distinct memory of it. I believe my brother tried to set some dressed-up candy-begging kids on fire; it was all rather exciting,” he mocked, which got him a punch in the side from his older brother.
“How was I to know they weren’t real vampires?”
“In Zalazar’s name, Rodolphus, one of that kid’s fake teeth had fallen out.”
“But come on, they could have been.”
“Christmas is in December,” Lucius offered in a weak attempt to be helpful, but the Dark Lord only rolled his eyes at him.
“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” Lord Voldemort said. “Sometimes I can’t believe what fools I surround myself with,” he muttered to himself.
“What is it then, my Lord?” Bellatrix asked.
“It’s the annual best-coffee-in-town contest, of course,” their Lord said, with a strange sort of excitement which was hard to get out of him. Murder and torture would usually do the trick, and although most of his followers still had to get used to the idea that their Master got excited over the simple ownership of a coffee shop, despite it being three years since the opening, they unanimously agreed that making coffee was far less labouring than killing, so they simply let him be. “Despite your inferior intelligence, I bet most of you can guess who our most realistic opponent will be this year…”
Those words produced some sighs and groans. Every years since the opening they had competed for the title, but for three years straight the award had come to Mrs Molly Weasley, who owned the small tea shop on the other side of the road. It was on thing that they were beaten by a Blood Traitor, but by a tea shop – that’s really where one had to draw the line.
“As we all know, last year’s idea was not too successful,” their Lord continued, and his eyes rested for a moment on Draco Malfoy.
“I’m sorry – it was a perfect opportunity. How should I have known that it wasn’t Potter who would drink that poisoned latte? Not that I think the world is any less without Katie Bell around, but –”
“Silence, you insolent boy. Potter’s death is of second-rate importance now. It’s December.”
Draco grumbled a bit, but after a stern look from his father, he decided to keep quiet.
“Now, does anyone have any original ideas for this year’s coffee?”
Goyle put up his hand.
“Yes, Goyle?”
“Coffee with pumpkin juice!”
“For the last time, Goyle, Halloween was two months ago. Get over it.”
“We could just poison all the judges this year. Then we win, right?” Bellatrix mused.
“No, no, no; that’s not how it works,” Voldemort exclaimed. “We have to make a good coffee – the best coffee – and they have to award us for it. Otherwise it spoils all the fun.”
“We could add something authentic,” Snape offered. “Bat’s wings, rat tails, something like that.”
“This isn’t potions, Severus,” Lucius whispered from aside.
“Do you have any better ideas, then?”
“We could make Irish coffee.”
“No, we couldn’t.”
“Something stronger?”
“Why don’t you just understand that I don’t need any of these silly ideas,” the Dark Lord fumed. “I JUST NEED THE PERFECT COFFEE.”
Quirinus Quirrell made a small sound. “W-we could j-just make black coffee.”
“Black coffee?” Voldemort’s nose slits narrowed as he breathed in sharply.
“Y-yes.”
“It would make the colour of your soul stand out really well, oh my venerable dark liege,” Peter Pettigrew said.
This proposal seemed to please the Dark Lord immensely, and he clapped his hands. “Black coffee it is,” he said. “Now chop chop – you’ve got this evil task at hand, my villainous friends. Make me the best black coffee this stupid town has ever tasted, and we will finally be able to defeat the Weasleys, once and for all.”
***
Ten days later, all the Death Eaters were gathered around the small picnic table in the local park. The Weasleys were just a few yards away, eyeing them cautiously.
“They won’t know what hit them,” Lord Voldemort whispered. “You have all done terrific, my slaves – I mean, friends.”
“Well, well, if it isn’t our good ol’ fellows from the other side.” Mr Weasley politely took off his hat, but the sight of his red hair only disgusted most of the men and women sitting around the table.
“How do you do, Mr Weasley?” Voldemort said, equally polite.
“Fine as always, fine as always.”
“I will crush you,” the Dark Lord whispered, when he was sure the judges weren’t looking.
Mr Weasley smiled as he looked at the older man. “Not if my wife crushes you first.”
***
Two hours later, Rabastan looked around him and wondered how it had come to this. The majority of the Death Eaters was stained in the bright colours of Mrs Weasley’s accompanying carrot cake, while the Weasleys, without exception, were stained in coffee. Some people lay motionless on the ground. He didn’t know if they were dead or simply not moving, and found he didn’t care that much.
“I can with certainty announce,” Rita Skeeter proclaimed, haughtily, “that neither of these very unsporting parties have won this year’s award.”
It had all ensued after one of the Weasley twins had thrown the first cake to Lucius Malfoy, who had of course immediately reacted by dumping his cup of steaming hot coffee over Mr Weasley’s head – or was it the other way around? It didn’t matter. Neither of them had won this year, and according to Rabastan, that was better than losing from a Weasley.
This, however, left the question as to who had actually beaten them.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lord Voldemort grumbled as they saw who was climbing onto the stage.
“I thank you all for this great new opportunity. It really means a lot to me. After losing my career as a writer – oh, and my memory – I thought my life would be over. But this opened a new prospective for me, and I want to thank all my faithful fans out here. Of course, you may all have my autograph.” Gilderoy Lockhart threw a sickening smile into the audience, and to Rabastan’s amazement, they devoured his attention like he was a person of actual interest instead of a mindless lunatic. Oh well, he then thought as he looked at his own Master, who now appeared to be on the verge of tears. I shouldn’t be a hypocrite.
“Does he make coffee too now?” Lucius asked, trying to get some of the sticky orange out of his tangled blond hair.
Arthur sighed. “Who doesn’t?”