Chapter Text
The sun is just starting to rise as I make my way to work. I quicken my pace cursing myself for running late (again). I can already feel that the day is going to be another hot one. It's not even June yet and the temperature so far is approaching 90°F (32°C).
Entering the café I can see it's going to be a long shift; we were already slammed, and from the look on Lisa's face I can tell she is not happy that I'm 5 minutes past my start time.
"Sorry Lisa," I manage as I squeeze past her.
I quickly make my way to the back to finish changing into uniform. Thanking no one in particular for being a barista at that moment as I only needed to tie an apron around my waist and I was ready for work.
******
It was nearing 3PM.
Nearly there.
"Y/n, is there something more important than the customer at your register?"
Hearing Lisa say my name pulled me from my day dream. I quickly put on a big "customer service" smile.
"So sorry about that!" I began, "I completely spaced out!" hoping the man in front of me would understand.
He gave a slight nod of his head and the smallest smile.
"Americano. Black."
Waiting for him to pay I notice a few foreign bills amongst his wad of cash.
British currency?
Interest piqued.
"Are you from England?"
He stops counting through the money, looking at me with disdain.
"Yes. I am."
"You don't have an accent."
I ignore the look he's giving me.
"Well, aren't you the perceptive one."
He hands me a $20 bill.
I make his change.
"Thank you!" I say in my best customer service voice.
As he's walking away I notice how odd he's dressed. A black cloak, over black everything else.
In this heat?
His hair is snow white, long and slicked back, a stark contrast from the outfit he wore. He's also using a cane despite him looking no older than 40. I smirk, rolling my eyes.
British people.
He stops walking, turning back around. He doesn't say anything, but his expression seems amused. Instantly, I feel my face get hot.
Did I say that out loud?!
"Y/n, you can go, but first I need to talk with you in the back," Lisa said, startling me.
Grateful for the distraction, I nod, already knowing what the conversation is going to be about: my tardiness. It was becoming a problem, but I just could not sleep at night. None of the usual tricks were working either; reading, counting sheep, drinking tea...even trying some pills my co worker offered! Nothing.
"I'm sorry Lisa," I offered, "I'm just having such a hard time getting to sleep."
"Well," she began, "maybe you should be seeing a doctor about that Y/n."
******
Approaching the entrance to my apartment I notice a man I've never seen before reading a newspaper out front. He's leaning against the wall, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette; my eyes are drawn to the moving pictures on the front page. I stop walking.
The Prophet?
I recognize the newspaper from seeing it in my home growing up. Mom being British, born and raised, she still liked to keep up on the news "across the pond," as she'd say.
What is he thinking reading that out in the open like this?
But then it clicked.
Why is he reading it at all?
Why is he here, in front of my apartment?
I can feel my heart in my chest; can feel the panic begin to root there. I turn around, preparing to get the fuck out of here. But I run right into something, or rather, someone. It's a man. But not just any man: the one from the café.
"Hello Y/n."
Before I can say anything he has a wand pointing at me and mutters what I recognize as a spell before everything goes black.