The bell above the broker's office door jingled sharply as Harry pushed it open. Inside, the air smelled faintly of old paper and coffee, the walls lined with framed photographs of shops and apartments for sale. Behind the desk sat a tall, thin man with slicked-back hair and a tie that looked too tight for his throat. He peered at them over his spectacles, his eyes lingering on Harry's sharp clothes and steady posture.
"Good afternoon," the broker said with a quick smile. "Looking for property?"
"Yes," Harry replied, stepping aside so Sally and Andromeda came into view. "A small shop. Ground floor, near the road if possible."
"For…?" The broker arched a brow, pulling a notepad closer.
"A bakery," Andromeda said crisply, folding her arms.
"And a café," Sally added. "Nothing big. Just a place to bake, sell, and maybe let a few people sit down with coffee."
The broker scribbled something, then nodded. "I think I have a few properties that might suit. If you'll follow me?"
The first shop they saw was narrow and dark, wedged between two larger businesses. Sally wrinkled her nose the moment they stepped inside. "It smells like onions."
The broker coughed. "Previous tenant was… ah… in the spice trade."
"No," Andromeda said firmly, spinning on her heel. "Next."
The second place was larger, with shiny tiles and bright lights — but it was also tucked deep into a side street where barely a trickle of people passed.
Sally stood at the window, looking at the empty cobblestones. "We'd have no customers."
Harry agreed. "This won't do."
Finally, the broker led them to a small, medium-sized shop on the ground floor of a corner building. Its windows were dusty, the old sign half-hanging from one chain, but the location was perfect: right on the main road, where people strolled past all day. The scent of roasted coffee beans still lingered faintly inside.
"This used to be a family-owned restaurant," the broker explained. "The owners retired, and it's been empty for nearly a year. They're eager to sell."
Harry glanced at Andromeda and Sally. Both women were already wandering through the space with measuring eyes.
The front had a broad glass window facing the street — perfect for displaying shelves of golden bread and pastries. Inside, the main room was small but not cramped. "We can fit four tables in that corner," Andromeda murmured, pointing. "Enough for eight people."
"And the rest is takeaway," Sally added, already picturing paper bags filled with warm rolls.
In the back, a decent-sized kitchen waited, along with a storage room large enough for flour sacks, ovens, and cooling racks.
Sally turned, her face lit up. "Andi… this is it."
Andromeda smiled, nodding. "It feels right."
Harry didn't even wait. "How much?" he asked the broker.
The man blinked, startled. "Well, it's listed for—"
"I'll take it," Harry interrupted, already pulling a small, heavy pouch from his coat pocket. "Full payment today."
The broker's mouth fell open. "I—sir—that's—"
Harry pressed the pouch into his hand, the dollar stacks are unmistakable. "Write the papers. The shop is ours."
Within an hour, the shutters were pulled down and locked. To the outside world, the little shop looked abandoned still. Inside, however, Harry rolled up his sleeves and drew his wand.
"Stand back," he said with a grin. "Time to make this place new again."
The air shimmered as Harry flicked his wrist. Dust lifted from the floorboards in a sweeping gust, vanishing in sparks. Cracked tiles smoothed and gleamed like fresh porcelain. The faded sign on the wall dissolved, leaving bare wood ready for their own.
Andromeda tapped the walls, muttering spells that expanded the shelves slightly without warping the space. Sally clapped her hands when a long glass display case appeared across the front, its panes gleaming.
"Oh, that's perfect," she said. "People walking by will see everything."
Harry conjured sturdy wooden tables and chairs, only four, and placed them neatly in the corner. The rest of the room he left open, airy, welcoming.
"This feels like home already," Sally whispered, running her hand along the polished counter.
Andromeda's eyes gleamed. "We'll need a good oven, stronger than a mortal one. And a grinder for coffee beans. Nothing too fancy — just solid, reliable."
Harry nodded, already summoning parchment to make a list. "Done. By tomorrow morning, you'll have everything you need."
Kreacher appeared with a pop, carrying a tray of teacups. "Master Harry is building a shop? Kreacher approves. Mistress Andromeda and the Muggle woman may bake, but not in the mansion's kitchen."
Sally laughed despite herself. "I'll take that as help, then."
Andromeda smirked. "You'll get used to him."
The shop glowed brighter by the minute, each flick of Harry's wand erasing years of neglect. Soon the place looked brand new: clean counters, shining floorboards, fresh paint on the walls.
Sally stood in the doorway, her eyes misting. "I never thought… I'd have something of my own again."
"You don't just have something," Andromeda said warmly, slipping an arm around her. "You have us. We're in this together."
Harry stepped back, surveying the finished space. The little café was far from grand, but it was perfect: modest, warm, and full of promise.
"Welcome to your new bakery," he said with a smile.
And in that moment, the small shop by the roadside no longer felt like an old restaurant. It felt like the beginning of something new.
The shutters rolled up for the first time in a week, and the smell of fresh paint gave way to something richer — butter, yeast, sugar, cinnamon. The little corner shop, once a forgotten restaurant, now gleamed like a jewel on the busy street. A polished wooden sign hung proudly over the door:
The Black Cafe
Harry stood back on the pavement, Teddy perched on his hip, both of them admiring it.
"Look, Teddy," Harry said softly. "Our name's on the front."
Teddy clapped. "We have a shop!"
Kreacher hovered disguised, his chest puffed out as if he had personally carved the letters into the sign. "At last, the noble name of Black is honored in the Muggle world. Kreacher approves."
Inside, Sally bustled between shelves, her apron already dusted with flour. Andromeda stood at the counter, arranging pastries with the precision of a general setting troops for battle. Steam rose from the coffee machine Harry had imported and enchanted, filling the air with a rich, earthy aroma.
By mid-morning, guests began arriving. Neighbors peered curiously through the glass, drawn in by the smell and the glow of the warm interior. But it wasn't only mortals who came.
A shimmer in the air, and Artemis stepped into the cafe in her hunting cloak. Athena followed, her eyes sharp as they studied every detail of the new shop. Aphrodite drifted in last, hair shining like sunlight, though she wore mortal jeans and a silk blouse. And Hestia, who had insisted on being the cook for the first day, stood already at the oven, sleeves rolled up, firelight dancing in her eyes.
Hera arrived a moment later, regal as ever, though her expression softened when Teddy ran to hug her.
The presence of the goddesses made the room hum with an energy that no mortal could explain — yet the customers who entered only felt welcome, as if the place itself blessed them.
The bell above the door chimed constantly that day. People came for curiosity, and left whispering about the taste.
A young man bit into a roll and stopped mid-chew, eyes widening. "This… this is the best thing I've ever eaten."
A mother with two children tried the sweet buns and wept softly, claiming they tasted exactly like her grandmother's recipe from years ago.
Unbeknownst to them, Hestia's hand guided every loaf, every pastry, every cup of tea. She moved like a flame at ease, her touch infusing each dish with warmth and comfort beyond mere flavor.
"Food should be more than filling," she murmured to Harry when he caught her watching the customers. "It should remind them of home."
And it did. Every bite carried not only taste but memory, joy, comfort. Word spread so quickly that by the afternoon, a small line curled around the street corner.
At the counter, Sally beamed, cheeks flushed from work but glowing with pride. She poured coffee into a customer's cup, laughing when he asked if she had sprinkled happiness into it.
"This feels right," she whispered to Andromeda between orders. "I'm not serving anyone else's dream. This is ours."
Andromeda nodded, her eyes shining. "Yes. And we've only just begun."
Harry leaned against the doorframe, watching the two women work side by side. His chest filled with quiet pride. For once, he wasn't saving the world. He was simply helping family build something that belonged to them.
Teddy darted between tables, carrying a tray with careful steps. "First customer service!" he cried, setting down a plate with exaggerated care. Customers laughed, slipping coins into his pocket as tips, which he proudly delivered to Sally.
Kreacher scowled at the crowd but preened every time someone praised the cafe's name. "The noble House of Black, remembered at last," he muttered, straightening chairs and glaring at crumbs until they disappeared under his magic.
By sunset, the shelves were nearly empty. Hestia finally wiped her hands, stepping away from the oven. "That will do," she said gently. "The rest must be theirs to make."
Sally hugged her, tears bright in her eyes. "Thank you. No one will ever forget today."
Andromeda nodded in agreement. "You gave us the perfect beginning."
Harry looked around at the small café — four tables filled, laughter spilling through the glass, the aroma of baked bread lingering in the air. It wasn't just a shop. It was a promise.
The Black Café had changed everything.
Andromeda spent her mornings in the kitchen, hair tied back, apron dusted in flour, and her evenings closing the accounts with Sally. She had never looked more alive. Harry sometimes stopped by after his college classes, watching her beam with the kind of satisfaction that no amount of gold could buy.
At home, Teddy was never left wanting. Kreacher proved himself remarkably capable, waking the boy on time, preparing breakfast, and even helping with homework in his gruff, muttering way. "Letters neat, Master Teddy," he would say, squinting at the child's scribbles. "No sloppy hands in the House of Black."
And when Harry couldn't be there, when Andromeda was busy with the café, others came. Artemis would appear at the door in silver light and whisk Teddy to a nearby forest to teach him how to track deer prints in the soil. Athena sat with him at the library, explaining words longer than his arm with patience Harry never expected. Aphrodite once took him to a seaside boardwalk, filling his arms with candied apples and stuffed toys until Teddy laughed himself breathless. Hera herself brought him to a museum of ancient sculptures, explaining with regal pride what the mortals had once built in her honor.
Harry had worried, at first, that the visits would turn into competition again, but they didn't. The goddesses respected his boundary now. They took Teddy on little adventures, taught him, showed him wonders. And Teddy flourished, carrying back stories every evening that made Harry smile.
Life had found a rhythm.
Until the phone rang.
Harry picked up the call in the study. The voice on the other end was frantic, yet joyful.
"Harry? This is Emma. Hermione's gone into labor. We're at St. Mary's. She asked for you."
For a moment, Harry's heart clenched. Hermione — his closest friend, his sister in everything but blood — was bringing new life into the world.
"I'll be there," he said at once.
He hung up and turned, already gathering his wand and wallet. "Andromeda!"
But she was at the café, managing the evening rush. He could hear her laughter faintly through the Floo connection, too busy to leave.
Teddy looked up from the rug where he was playing with his enchanted blocks. "What's wrong, Daddy?"
"Hermione's having her baby," Harry said quickly, crouching to his level. "I need to go to London."
Teddy's eyes grew round with wonder. "A baby? A real baby?"
"Yes."
"Can I come?" Teddy pleaded, bouncing on his knees. "Please? I'll be good. I want to see the baby."
Harry hesitated. The journey was long, and Muggle London meant no easy Apparition or portkeys with a child in tow. But Teddy's face was alight, his excitement bubbling like a fountain.
"All right," Harry said finally, ruffling his hair. "But you have to listen to me the whole way. No running off."
"I promise!" Teddy shouted, throwing his arms around him.
The next morning, Harry found himself guiding Teddy through the bustling halls of an airport. For once, there was no magic — just the ordinary chaos of Muggle travel. Teddy held his hand tightly, eyes darting everywhere: the rolling suitcases, the glowing boards announcing flights, the planes visible through vast windows.
Teddy giggled, tugging at his seatbelt once they boarded. "Daddy, when the baby comes, can I play with it? Can I hold it?"
Harry smiled softly, watching the boy's eager face. "If Hermione says it's all right. Babies are small and fragile, Teddy. But yes… you'll get to meet her child."
As the engines roared and the plane lifted into the sky, Teddy pressed his nose to the window, squealing as the ground fell away beneath them. Harry leaned back in his seat, heart thudding with anticipation.
Hermione's life was about to change. And Teddy's, too.
Because soon, there would be a new life — a new child — and Harry knew it would mean more than any of them could yet imagine.
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