A/N: I'd like to thank my wonderful beta Silver Apocalypse. You've done such great work with this and I really appreciate your comments. Thanks!
Disclaimer: Sadly enough, Harry isn't mine. Neither is Little Whinging. They both belong to J.K. Rowling. *sob* But...Marla and her coffee shop are mine. All mine. So there. *sticks her tongue out at JK*

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The bell rang as another customer entered the coffee shop. I impulsively glanced at the door, my hand pausing it’s cleaning of the corner table. The boy who walked in was about my age and wore an enormous shirt over his baggy pants. I barely held in a snort. Boys who dressed like that thought they were so cool, when really, they were just the opposite. I could do without seeing their underwear, thank you very much. My hand began pushing the rag under it around the table again.

The boy walked up to the plywood counter reluctantly, as if every step cost him a minute of his life, glancing around the coffee shop as he went. It was late, and the few customers that remained looked about ready to go home. I stifled a yawn as I straightened the napkins on the table. Soon the cramped coffee shop would clear out completely and we’d be able to shut down. I still had some studying to do after that as well. It was going to be a long night.

The boy told my brother what he wanted in soft undertones that matched the atmosphere of the shop. As he waited, a couple in their early thirties got up, nodding to me as they left. I crossed the room and started to tidy up the table they had been sitting at. The boy anxiously ran a hand through his untidy hair almost unconsciously. I glimpsed a scar on his forehead before it was covered by his hair once again.

I moved to the right and started on another table as my brother handed the boy a wide blue mug filled with steaming hot coffee. The boy sat down next to one of the few windows and moodily gazed through his glasses out at the steadily darkening sky. The bell on the door rang again as a woman with smeared lipstick exited, mumbling to herself. I bent down to pick up some fallen packets of fake sugar. I hoped the boy didn’t take too long drinking his coffee. I had a test tomorrow to study for. My brother started to wash the dishes; the running water and the sipping of coffee were the only sounds in the coffee shop.

As I wiped down the last dirty table, my father came in through the side door, smiling. As the same time, the boy sighed. My father’s smile quickly changed to a stern look as he spotted who had made the noise. I sighed and straightened my shirt. My father expected me to talk to customers if I wasn’t busy. I walked over to the boy, who hand was running through his black hair again.

“Tough day?” I asked, slipping into the wicker chair opposite him.

He looked up, his green eyes showing his surprise. But then his mouth issued another sigh. “Tougher than you could imagine.”

I sat there for at least thirty seconds in silence while he drank from the mug. The sound of running water abruptly ceased as my brother finished washing the dishes. Outside, stars were starting to appear through the dark blue sky.

“I’m Harry,” the boy told me suddenly, sticking out his hand.

I shook it. “Marla. Want to talk about your day?” If I was going to talk to customers, I was going to do it right.

“I can’t,” he replied, shaking his head sadly.

“Why?” I questioned puzzledly. Did he think he’d be giving me too much personal information? He had already given me his name.

“Er,” he stuttered, shifting uncomfortably, “I, uh…I hardly know you,” he finished apologetically. He took another sip of coffee. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I glanced at the clock. “Oh.” Our official closing time was in ten minutes, but my father would make us stay as long as this customer did. He had better leave soon. I turned to find him looking at me oddly. “What?”

He blushed slightly. “Er, maybe you would. Understand, I mean. My godfather died a month ago today. And I spent all day re-tarring the drive.”

“Gosh,” I breathed, “that must’ve been hard.” I wasn’t sure if I meant his godfather dieing or him having to re-tar his driveway. I wondered why a boy like him was wearing such awful clothes.

He nodded. “But he’s not really gone. I can see him right now.”

For a moment I questioned his sanity, but then I saw his finger pointing out the window. I followed both the finger and his gaze to the brightest star in the sky.

“Sirius? The Dog Star?” I asked curiously.

He took a big swig from the mug of coffee. “Yeah, that’s right. His name was Sirius.” He smiled wistfully.

I glanced around the coffee shop. Neither my brother nor my father was in sight. “Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Uh,” I blushed and opted for a question that was easier to ask. “Uh, where do you go to school? I’ve never seen you around Little Whinging before.”

“Why do you want to know?” he countered sharply, his head whipping around to face me. When our eyes met, he seemed to realize his mistake. “Sorry,” he muttered, “but you wouldn’t have heard of it anyway. It’s, er, private.”

“Really?” I perked up. “Me too!”

He smiled, but it looked forced. “Yeah, brilliant.”

I gathered up the courage again. “Harry? Do you, uh…do you believe in magic?” I said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

A funny look washed over his green eyes. His hands groped for the blue mug and he drained the dregs in one gulp, as if he needed something to occupy his body. I realized that this way exactly the wrong person to ask this question to.

“Sorry,” I choked out, “It’s just, I’ve been thinking about whether or no there is magic for a long time now and,” I hesitated. Should I say what I was thinking?

He looked at me warily. One of his hands crept up to graze through his black hair, but it stopped just as it reached his forehead. “Marla, is this about my scar?” he queried, showing me the scar on his forehead I had noticed earlier.

Slowly, I nodded. I now saw that the scar was shaped exactly like a bolt of lightning. It completed the feeling I had about this boy, and made me even more sure of my conclusion.

“Marla, you’ve got to listen to me,” he hissed, “There’s nothing special about my scar. I got it in a car crash.” He got up and placed a five-pound note on the table. “There. For talking to me tonight.” He made to leave the shop.

My hand reached out and stopped him gently as I stood up as well. “Look, I’m sorry. But you really do have this thing about you that seems almost like magic. It’s beautiful,” I whispered softly, smiling up at him.

He looked at me for a minute. “Yes, I do believe in magic,” he replied all of a sudden, “I believe in it like,” he glanced around the coffee shop, “like I believe that that,” he pointed to the chair I had been sitting in, “is a chair.”

It was all I could do to keep from gasping. “So do you mean-”

“Yes,” he cut me off, “but you must understand you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

I nodded solemnly. Knowing was enough for me. I didn’t need to tell and I never would.

He grinned, relieved. “Good,” he said as he walked over to the wide glass door.

“Harry?”

He paused, one hand already on the door handle, and turned to face me quietly.

“I’m never going to see you again, am I?” I asked sadly.

He shook his head. But then his eyes lit up. “I have an idea. Turn around, will you?”

I complied. When my back was fully turned, I heard the rustling of his oversized clothing and a whisper. Then I heard him say I could turn around again, so I did.

He was grinning. “Come outside with me, okay?” He turned the handle and held the door for me as I left the shop, following right behind me into the cool, dark night. “Here,” he said, handing me a business card. “Have a good night.”

As he walked off, I glanced at the card. It was blank on both sides. I smiled to myself and turned to lock the doors of the coffee shop behind me. It was time to go home. I had to study.