"Name?"

"It's Barney - that's B, A, R-"

"I know how to spell Barney," the barista snapped, scribbling the name on the cup.

Every morning at 7 o'clock sharp for the past week, the bell tinkled and he trudged in. And every morning, she asked for a name, was told a completely fake one, and wrote it on a medium coffee cup to be filled with Weasley's signature medium roast.

Neville Longbottom, Winnie (as in, the Pooh), and even her own name, Ginny, was thrown in her face. It was weird. He was weird. At first, she raised an auburn eyebrow and laughed at the blank expression on his face. Before long, however, it became a ritual - and one does not giggle in a ritual.

The first time he tinkled his way through the coffee shop door, she sipped in his appearance. His hair was by far his most distinguishing feature - rising and falling in lawless, black waves - framing a brown face devoid of expression. He was about a head taller than Ginny's 165 centimeters, with limbs like an Aspen tree - sinewy. She had to blink rapidly each time to clear her head of impetuous fantasies.

He also wore round, black sunglasses. Inside. Which infuriated Ginny more than she'd like to admit.

He would grab his coffee and treacle tart to go and leave immediately after a polite, "Thanks." She did not know where he went. She used to want to know, but had given up on Fit Sunglasses Man after day three of little engagement, figuring he probably had a love-hate relationship with her family's coffee shop - as in, love the coffee, hate the woman who brewed it. He never indicated otherwise.

Until that morning, when he chuckled at her flare of anger.

The Sharpie in Ginny's hand froze halfway through the 'y.' But when she dared to glance up, all signs of humor had retreated behind his dark shades. But she was Ginny Weasley, and Ginny Weasley was not known for being bashful.

"Something funny?" she asked, eyes still trained on his face. He darkened slightly.

"Er, of course not," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. "That's a 'y' there…" He pointed at the unfinished name on the cup. She scowled.

"I know." She finished looping the letter, capped the Sharpie, and tapped his order into the cash register. "Three pounds." Grinning, he handed her the money.

She had deduced that he was not blind on Tuesday, when she purposely set his daily cup and treat on the wrong side of their island counter space and he walked the full length to retrieve it with no audio cue. She figured he didn't have a black eye - it would've healed after a few days or so. And she took an educated guess that his eyes were not embarrassing in any way - a bloke that fit had to have normal to above average eyes.

So, she reduced her theories to two: he was either (1) a secret agent who'd been ordered to never reveal his eyes lest someone use them to enter an eye scanner and break into MI6 or (2) he drank himself to a hangover every night.

As she made his coffee, a plump middle-aged woman with hair the exact same shade of burnt orange as Ginny's sidled up beside her.

"You really mustn't roll your eyes at the customers, dear." Ginny sighed. Having a manager monitoring her every move was one thing, her mother was a whole different story. In fact, most of her family worked in the small coffee shop, hence the name. As the youngest, she noticed an uptake in shifts - especially as school let out for summer holiday - due to her six older brothers scattering out into the world and away from Ottery St. Catchpole while, she, Ginny, remained glued to the small town.

"It's rude," she grumbled, pouring the coffee. "What he's doing is rude."

Molly Weasley shot her a stern look. "He owes you nothing but his money, Ginny Weasley. Now quit your fussing and hand the poor dear his tart."

Muttering made-up curses under her breath, Ginny did as she was told and delivered him his order. He grabbed the tart and coffee cup and nodded his head in thanks.

"Ginny."

"Bloke whose name I don't know." Another chuckle escaped and this time, Ginny stared. He waved.

As she wiped down the counter, she watched him go and wondered, for the first time in a week, where that might be. A chuckle, Weasley? That's what does it for you? She was going to figure him out - an open rebellion against the man with the nonsensical names.

Except maybe not so 'open,' she thought, with a quick glance at her mum.

The not-so-open rebellion began on Monday when she wrote, " Oliver Wood is not your bloody name " on Fit Sunglasses Man's coffee cup and handed it to him with a shit-eating grin. Coincidentally, her mother was out of the shop due to the early ripening of the tomatoes in her garden, which desperately needed to be plucked.

Fit Sunglasses Man was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, his dark hair messy and his eyes shielded as ever. Ginny thought he looked divine, albeit with a dash of irritating.

His mouth quirked up in a half-smile upon receiving his graffitied cup, revealing a dimple. Of course he has a damn dimple. He raised the cup to his lips and paused.

"How d'you know I'm not Wood?" Ginny blinked.

"Come again?"

"Wood, my, er, name," he sipped his coffee. She snorted.

"If you're Oliver Wood, I'm Gwenog Jones." His face scrunched up beneath his sunglasses.

"Ergh, no. At least pick a decent player."

"Are you joking? Jones was almost player of the year last year AND her team smashed Puddlemere into the dirt last Saturday."

"I have to leave. I can't enjoy my coffee in the midst of a Harpies fan." To this, Ginny waved sweetly.

"Don't let the door hit you, Oliver Wood." He laughed and took another sip and Ginny suddenly couldn't stop herself from asking, "Why d'you wear those?" He nearly spit out his coffee.

"Pardon?"

"No - it's just, I don't know all that much about you, except that you enjoy medium-roast coffee and treacle tarts. And now, I guess Puddlemere United."

"I-er, well-"

Ginny felt his discomfort and switched gears by picking up a newspaper one of the patrons had left on the counter.

"'Harry Potter to hold first football camp for at-risk youth…'" read Ginny. "My brother works with him, never shuts up about it actually. Reckon he's in love-" She looked up from a grainy photograph of Harry Potter smiling and blinked. The shop was empty.

On Tuesday, Molly Weasley was out yet again, this time tending to nasty welts on her hands from a day spent plucking tomatoes sans her missing gardening gloves, which left Ginny manning the 7-tabled shop and her rebellion solo. About half of the tables were filled with early risers when he walked in. Despite her residual annoyance of him from yesterday, Ginny couldn't help but sigh with relief at the fact that he'd returned.

"What's it going to be today?" she called. "Dr. Who? Sherlock?" A few of the patrons glanced up from their newspapers and conversations and then returned to grazing. Fit Sunglasses Man scratched the back of his head and stopped just short of the counter, dimple and all, making Ginny's stomach flutter.

"The name's Gary." He reached inside the pocket of his slacks and pulled out coins.

"Gary?" Ginny narrowed her eyes and crossed her freckled arms.

"Gary," he said, simply. Eyes still narrowed, she uncrossed her arms and took his money.

"Well, Gary, we have a new rule around these parts." He quirked an eyebrow and Ginny gestured grandly to a very clearly handwritten sign at the base of the cash register - stage 2 of the rebellion.

No Sunglasses Permitted Whilst inside Weasley's Coffee Co.

"'Whilst?'" He snorted.

"Whilst."

"This feels targeted."

"I'm not going to steal your eyes or anything," she paused. "Or judge you. In any way." Fit Sunglasses Man had the expression of having been clubbed over the head.

"Hold on. Steal what ?"

"You're stalling. Official policy, I'm afraid."

He laughed and took off his sunglasses - just like that. And before Ginny could process the incredibility of her rebellion, she saw, for the first time, his (very green) eyes and was simultaneously hit with a wave of vague familiarity. He rummaged in the pockets of his trousers and pulled out a pair of round eyeglasses.

"My eyesight is terrible," he explained, putting them on.

"Excuse me," an angry voice pulled Ginny back to the present, and all at once the whirring of the espresso machine and chatter of the short line of customers behind Fit Sunglasses Man came into existence. She grabbed the Sharpie and a cup, scribbling hastily before filling it with medium roast and grabbing a treacle tart.

"Here, take this before mum kills me," she said, taking one more look at his face. Her heart skipped as he read her message and grinned, his dimple now paired with crinkles around his eyes.

"Would you hurry up, I haven't got all day!"

"Alright, alright," snapped Ginny, winking at Fit Sunglasses Man.

"Let me get this straight," said Hermione Granger, frequent flyer of Weasley's due to her need to study 6 hours straight every Wednesday. Ginny considered the frizzy-haired girl one of her closest friends. "There's a man-"

"Supposedly."

"Who wears sunglasses indoors-"

"Wore. Until yesterday."

"And when asked for his name, gives a multitude of aliases but never his actual name." Hermione paused. "And he's been doing this for weeks."

"Correct. Although 'alias' is too pretty a word for being a right nutter."

Hermione's eyes glimmered as she sipped from her lavender cappuccino. When she set down the cup, she was grinning smugly. Ginny's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her favorite Harpies t-shirt. She hated when Hermione was smug.

"What."

"Has anyone else in your family noticed this man? Mentioned him?"

"I mean, mum's usually there when I'm working, but-"

"And he comes in at the same time every morning?"

"As far as I can tell."

"When you happen to be at the cash register for your shift?"

"I know what you're insinuating, Hermione Granger, and I'll not have it." Ginny glared at her, doing her best to imitate her mother's blazing look, but Hermione merely grinned and returned to the book she'd been reading before their conversation. She was too clever for her own good.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"He doesn't like me," Ginny pressed, leaning forward so she could speak lower. " I had to ask him out. For all I know, he'll ditch today."

"Maybe he's timid."

"You're delusional."

"And you're in love with that man." Ginny scowled.

"Tell me, why do you come here for six bloody hours on a Wednesday?" Hermione's eyes snapped to the front counter, where Ron Weasley was currently wiping down the counter, gazing aimlessly out the front window of the shop.

"You know I like to read."

"Mhmm. Reading. You do know it's summer?"

"All the more time to read," she paused. "You're avoiding my question."

"It felt more like an attack, to be honest," said Ginny, following Ron's gaze out the window. Her breath hitched as a familiar figure rounded the corner outside. Hermione whipped her head around and then grimaced, clutching the back of her neck.

"Oh that hurt -"

"Shh! That's him!"

"Oh, do excuse my pain. I'm so terribly sorry-"

"Hermione, I love you and I'm sorry you have temporary whiplash, but if you don't shut up, I will call my dear brother over to this booth." Hermione glared at Ginny, but did not speak. Ginny shifted her gaze back to the door, where a tall man with sunglasses was...peering in the window? His sunglasses were doing a spectacular job of obstructing his eyes - it was difficult to pinpoint what he was looking at or for.

"See?" Hermione muttered stiffly, "He's looking for you."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Ginny, not even convincing herself. "He's just checking for a rush." The early morning rush had filled the tables enough so that Weasley's was buzzing with conversation. It was now or never - Ginny was acutely aware that Hermione's eyes were on her and not Fit Sunglasses Man. Who, for what it was worth, was now in Weasley's and at the front counter talking to Ron. Ginny let out the breath she didn't know she was holding and turned to Hermione, who wore her signature smug grin.

"Our coffee's really good here," said Ginny inconsequentially.

"He's very good-looking, for what I can tell."

"Don't let Ron hear you say that."

"I- what? Why?" It was Ginny's turn to grin.

"He'd throw a fit," she shrugged. Hermione seemed pleased with this statement.

"OI!" Both girls jumped slightly in their seats.

"Speak of the devil…" muttered Ginny, rolling her eyes.

"GINNY." Both men were looking at her. "How d'you work the cappuccino machine again? I forgot." Of bloody course he did. She shot a look at Hermione, who had wide eyes, and rose.

"Since when d'you order cappuccinos?" she directed at Fit Sunglasses Man.

"Since you weren't up here to give me grief." Ginny couldn't help but smile slightly at his boldness. Ron, meanwhile, looked very confused.

"You two know each other?"

"Depends what you mean by know," said Ginny, pressing the espresso powder. "I feel like I need to at the very least know a name to consider this bloke someone I know." Ron looked even more confused.

"You mean Harry?" Ginny whipped around, spraying Ron with hot foam, which was met with a startled yelp.

"What did you just say?" Fit Sunglasses Man was shaking his head emphatically at a very distracted, unobservant Ron.

"Harry Potter. My mate I've been talking about." Audio blips of Ron's voice queued in Ginny's ear - " Harry said the kids at the orphanage… don't know how Harry bloody does it all...my mate, y'know, Harry Potter, said that…"

"Oh my God." Ginny stared, wide-eyed, at Fit Sunglasses Man. "You? You're the bloke my brother keeps name-dropping?"

"Er, yes." He looked sheepish.

"What's happening?" Hermione had come to see what all the fuss was about. "Ron, why are you covered in milk?" Ron spluttered a response.

"This is Harry Potter," Ginny gritted through her teeth. "Fit Sunglasses Man is Harry bloody Potter and has been teasing me for weeks- "

"Weeks is a bit of an exaggeration-" said Harry, holding his hands up.

"You're Harry Potter? I've read all about you!" said Hermione.

"Whoa - fit?" input Ron.

"It's really not," said Ginny, speaking to Harry.

"I only did it because-"

"Because why?" she demanded.

"Because, because...you intimidated me."

"I intimidated you ."

"Er, yes."

"I intimidate YOU." All conversation in the shop had ceased and eyes were now on Ginny and Harry. Harry, wisely, did not answer her this time. "You - with your bloody sunglasses and dimples and hair and, and now , all over the tabloids doing annoyingly nice things for people-" She'd moved out from behind the counter and was directly in front of him now. She was waving her hands around - hair flying, eyes blazing - when he caught them mid-poke to his chest.

"We can start over," he seemed to beg. "That first day - you asked for my name and I- I panicked."

"You panicked?"

"I didn't want to tell you because...because of the whole fame thing. I wanted it to be genuine. I should've told you. I was being stupid."

"Wanted what to be genuine?"

"This."

His lips fell into hers, soft against the hard line of her mouth, and she froze, not quite realizing what was happening to her. And then, like a rush of caffeine, her eyes closed she was kissing him even more determinedly than he was kissing her. And it was slow, like sipping fresh-brewed coffee - he was warm and soft and he cupped her face with one hand, the other at the small of her back, pulling her closer. After a few moments, or minutes, or quite possibly several sunlit days - they broke apart.

There was a beat of silence in Weasley's Coffee Co. followed quickly by an outbreak of whispers and several phones pointed their way.

"Is that Harry Potter?"

"Who's the girl?"

"Molly's daughter."

Ron, meanwhile, was spluttering incoherently. Harry and Ginny, still loosely embracing, let their arms drop awkwardly. Ron looked between the pair and Hermione, who was beaming. "B-but I thought you just met!"

"Right," Ginny cleared her throat and grabbed Harry's hand in hers, her stomach fluttering. "We're going on a walk."

"We're going on a walk?" said Harry.

"Yes, Gary, a walk. Ron. Hermione." Ginny nodded to both of them with as much dignity as she could muster and tugged Harry out the door, the bell tinkling in their wake.

They had much to discuss - theories of MI6 involvement, for one.