Work Text:
This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang, but with Harry blowing everyone’s motherfucking faces off.
The End.
Okay so maybe not exactly like that. Pretty close though.
It all started when, right after graduating Hogwarts he had the bright idea of opening his own café / restaurant. He knew how to cook and he knew how to bake (no thanks to his nasty-ass relatives).
So he thought, what could go wrong?
Turns out….. Everything.
The first few weeks of business were great, customers were happy. Complimenting him on such lovely service and coffee. Then it all started going to shit.
First were the old people who had burnt off their taste buds and constantly complained that their coffee was ‘too cold’. Because anything under 80 degrees was obviously from the ice cap.
Then came the customers that didn’t seem to understand why they would have to wait for 15 minutes for one coffee or muffin. It took all the Harry’s strength of will to grin and explain that, no. You are not special and no, you cannot skip ahead of the 7 people who have ordered before you. How would you like it if I gave the people who ordered after you their food and drink first?
Not too long after that came the rude and entitled customers. There is only one Harry and try as he might, he has not created the ability to clone himself. Snapping their fingers and pointing at things is not sign language, nor is it polite. Yet still, Harry grinned and bore it.
It couldn’t get worse than this, he thought.
He was wrong, yet again.
Nearly every night, without fail, an elderly woman came in. Harry was fairly certain she had either suffered from a stroke, or she was just that senile. Or a bitch, fact of the matter was, you could never make that slut happy. First it was a large half shot cap with 12 sugars, warm, no chocolate powder. Then it was 14 sugars. Then 15 and with chocolate powder. Then it was 13 sugars, small and full shot. She changed her mind nearly every night and expected Harry to know exactly what she wanted.
One day, 8 months later, it was like the universe was conspiring against Harry’s happiness (yet agin). Fate is a bitch, and then you die. Or so the saying goes. Everything that could go wrong on that frosty winter’s day, did go wrong. The morning’s delivery was very late. The fresh fruit he had gotten yesterday, went mouldy. 75% of the customers had their bitch-o-meter set at x200.
The final straw was when a squirrelly older woman, returned her chai tea latte, which has an accurate description. Complaining that it was absolutely disgusting. It was the worst Chai Latte she had ever tasted.
Harry snapped.
Wandless Avada’s every-which-mother-fucking-way.
Dusting his hands off the young green eyed man decided that his café was perfectly crushed into a fine dust. It was now time to go home and enjoy and lovely glass of wine and his new colouring in book.
The End.
For real this time.