Cappuccino After Eleven

I have recently moved to Italy for an exchange year, so this story is actually inspired by my neighbour (yes, from the opposite side of our Italian backyard), who I once saw from me and my flatmates' balcony.

For reference: one of the travel tips for Italy is to not order cappuccino after 11 since it's considered a "morning drink". In my experience Italians don't really care, but whatever, I'm just going with the flow.

PS: I was a bit unsure whether or not to post this since it's been a long time since I was writing actively. Still, I hope you like it.

Now, it's winter and foggy in my city, and not that idyllic, but summer is hopefully on the way! I'm in the middle of exams, it's my birthday soon, and I'm having a midlife crisis because of it, so naturally it was about time to get back into writing.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story!

With tons of love, faintblue

Chapter 1

Windowsill

Hermione puffed out a small breath, thinking back to when she finally had received her acceptance letter, after months upon months of waiting for the answer.

She had ripped open the seal of the envelope as if it were a band-aid. Quick, to ease the hurt of the sure disappointment waiting inside.

Congratulations, it had said in bold writing.

The air had been pushed out of her lungs.

Congratulations on your admission to the Muggle Culture Exchange Initiative.

Her mind had been racing both with fear and excitement at the same time. Her heart had been beating so wildly in her chest, thumping against her skin like the massive iron bell of a clock tower.

A fresh start – and in Italy, too!

Now, however, that excited feeling had seemed to die down and wither back into nothingness. All the same problems she had faced back home in the US seemed to follow her here, even all the way to Italy. The same things she had been hoping to escape from, by distancing herself from them by the thousands of kilometres that separated them now. But in truth, nothing had changed.

Making friends had always been difficult. Here, everyone else met in bars or parties, or on guided tours, or simply through the network group they were all added in.

To Hermione, though, it all seemed impossible.

She had of course gone to the bars, to the parties and the guided tours, but every time she started a conversation and thought she had made a new friend, they always ended up slipping away.

It seemed like everyone around her became better friends with each other than with her. She was always just part of the group. Part of the friends, but not really.

Which was why she was now sitting on her balcony, sipping her cappuccino silently, listening to the sound of the backyard electricity powerhouse humming.

Maybe she was the problem, she pondered, and not the place she was in.

When she had applied, she had made sure that she got a room in one of the non-Muggle university dorms, which she was happy for. Her flatmates kept mostly to themselves, but she had access to the balcony, which the others didn't.

It was her own private space.

Which she was happy for.

In reality, it wasn't totally private. It was closed off to the city streets, facing inwards into their backyard. No one could see her or disturb her peace. Except for the neighbours' balcony beside hers – also Ilvermorny students –, and the windows of the Hogwarts block on the opposite side.

But it didn't bother her.

Especially, the tall redhead who always sat in the windowsill. Often, she would see him with half his body out the window, dangling his foot as if he wouldn't fall three floors down if he lost his balance.

Her eyes swept over to his window, neck stiff.

She half-expected him to not be there, and almost spilled her cappuccino when she met his gaze almost immediately. In a swift motion, she awkwardly lifted her cup as if saying "cheers", and immediately felt her chest sink when he looked away.

The excitement she had felt when she had first seen him, fell flat in her belly, now barely simmering in the bottom of her stomach like a thousand angry bugs.

She didn't know why, but she had begun to think of him as a friend.

The way both of them always sat there aware of each other's presence, simply enjoying the tranquillity that the backyard (and the drumming of the powerhouse) provided.

He disappeared from the window, and she suddenly felt cold. Abandoned. The loneliness was much easier to handle when she knew that she wasn't truly alone.

Her eyes caught a bird doing dives in the sky. It wasn't as good as human contact, but it was the next best thing.

And, she did enjoy the enthusiasm it expressed for its own winged freedom.

It dived again and disappeared behind the corner of the building, silent as the wind.

A cold breeze swept over the balcony. A sudden chill went through her. She frowned. Maybe she should go back inside to get her sweater.

Hermione was just about to stand up and head inside when suddenly, in her side vision, she saw the familiar flutter of fabric. The curtains split, and out of a sudden, he was there again.

The redhead was back in the windowsill.

Her chest bubbled with joy, and she suddenly felt lighter. The breeze stilled, but she still felt strangely cold.

This time, the redhead held something in his hand.

It was coffee, she realized, just in time for her to notice that he was holding it up towards her. As if he was saying "cheers" back.

Her cheeks burned warm, and she had trouble meeting his gaze. All the confidence she had felt in the safety of her balcony deflated, like an empty balloon.

With a fluttering glance, their eyes locked, and he smiled at her. It was a bright smile that showed off all his teeth. Even from their distance, she could tell his eye colour. Bright blue.

Then, he looked away and the connection was broken.

Hermione realized with a cringe that she had been squinting. She must have looked ridiculous, sitting there staring at him with her cooling cup of coffee. She drummed her fingers along her thigh. Maybe, in the future, it was time to get her eyes checked out. She was sure she needed glasses.

The redhead dangled his foot, dangerously leaning over the edge of the windowsill.

He wore mismatched socks, she noticed.

One red, the other white.

It looked ridiculous, but somehow, she found it charming.

Even from her distance, she saw his mouth move to the tune of a silent melody. The wind snatched away his tones as he whistled.

She wished her balcony was closer.

No, she realized, like she had just jabbed herself in the chest. She wished he was closer.

Her cheeks burned stronger, the warm blood pooling right beneath her eyes. She blinked away the dryness in them.

With a shallow breath, she took another sip of her cold coffee.

Her cup was empty.

With a sigh, she got up, spared the redhead a last glance, and walked inside.

Hermione hoped he felt disappointment when she left. The same disappointment she felt every time his curtains closed, and his windowsill again was empty.

A/N: Please leave a review and tell me what you think about the story! I appreciate it to bits, even more than the wonderful Italian cappuccino;) (psst, don't tell the Italians)