II

Cora can feel the familiar buzz of a headache trembling inside her skull, a reminder of a little too much champagne consumed the previous night at Harry's thirteenth birthday party. It takes some dutch courage for her to approach a crowd, and she'd always been particularly prone to hangovers. Even so, she has learnt to work through them, and forces herself up and out at just gone five in the morning.

The bakery is dappled with early rays of morning sunlight that peek through the blinds, casting shadows onto the hardwood floor. Cora is the first in today, having promised Winona a well deserved lie-in after the chaos of the recent news. She wonders how her friend will tell her nephew, and although she supposes it isn't really her business, her heart aches for the little family she has come to know so fondly over the last few years. She can see the terror in Winona's eyes, even as she hides it so well in front of Harry for the sake of his childhood innocence, which seems to be rapidly declining with every passing year at Hogwarts.

Despite the hangover, she enjoys the peace. There is little time to think for yourself when you are shoveling pastries onto plates and perfecting latte art for pensioners, Cora thinks, and she relishes the time spent kneading dough and checking oven temperatures as she bakes her way through the café's menu. This is her passion, after all, not customer service, which she finds herself dreading more and more with each awkward customer.

She always keeps to the kitchen through the back where she can help it, finding the quiet thrum of the dishwasher a welcome break from the heavy flow of patrons that shift through the store every few minutes. She likes it back there, with its thin floral curtains and flour-dusted countertops, which are a gorgeously rustic spruce wood when freshly cleaned. On the wall, there is a noticeboard which Cora often inspects as she works, stamped with minuscule reminders in Winona's neat handwriting and grainy photographs, of both the magical and muggle variety. Harry features largely, and there are plenty of old polaroids from their school days, but Cora's favourite is hiding in the corner, a moving photograph of herself and her brother, Connell, shimmering with summertime sweat and squinting against the sun, but delighted all the same.

She is staring at this photo in particular today, daydreaming about her elder brother and his magically superior lifestyle, when there's an interruption at the back door. Harry Potter pokes his head around the frame, hair sticking up in stiff peaks not dissimilar to the meringue mixture she plans to create later that day. When his eyes land on her, they light up, satisfied, and he clears his throat comfortably, alerting her of his presence.

"Morning, Cora," he says, padding across the floor in his old, scuffed trainers. It is evidently the first time he has spoken today, as she can hear the scrape of new mornings at the back of his throat.

"Hi, Harry," she replies from behind her mixing bowl, sparing him a rare glance of returned eye contact. "You're up early."

"I suppose. Aunt Winnie's gone back to sleep, though."

"Good idea. I think she needs the rest." Cora nods, and abandons her bowlful of cookie dough to check on the fruit scones she has left in the oven. "Fancy some breakfast?"

Harry nods eagerly and rakes a chair across the floor to situate himself more comfortably at the countertop. Cora hauls the scones out from where they have been baking, entirely pleased with the golden-brown finish the sweet treats have adopted. With the help of her wand, she transfers them swiftly to a large wire cooling rack, although not before stealing two onto a plate for Harry, who is observing hungrily. Summoning a half-empty jar of jam and casting a cooling charm across the scones (instead of piping hot, they are now deliciously warm), she sets the plate on the table, content.

"Not the healthiest, but we won't tell your aunt, okay?" Cora urges, always happy to indulge Harry's sweet tooth more than she ought to.

"Thanks, Cora," Harry says, smearing his serving in thick mountains of raspberry jam and digging in as if he hasn't been fed in weeks.

There is little chance of her getting much work done in Harry's presence, Cora thinks, and sticks the kettle on with a flick of her wrist. Although she returns to the cookie dough, she finds Harry is remarkably chatty in the mornings, and despite it being barely seven a.m., he is eager to pull a conversation out of her tired brain. No multitasker, Cora struggles to keep up with the two tasks at hand simultaneously.

"Did you enjoy the party last night?" Harry asks sweetly, and when he smiles at her, his teeth are coated grotesquely with the sticky red conserve.

"It was lovely," Cora agrees because she would never tell a thirteen year old that his birthday party had been a great source of anxiety for her, considering her hatred for crowds of strangers. "It was nice to finally meet your friends. Hermione and Neville, was it?"

Harry nods enthusiastically, and the nest of brunette hair shakes like tree leaves in a brutal storm. "Yeah! But my best friend, Ron, he couldn't make it. He's on holiday now with his whole family."

"Oh, that's a shame," Cora says conversationally, struggling to pay attention as she balls up blobs of red velvet cookie dough onto a greased tray. "Where're they off to?"

"Egypt," Harry says, eyes wide with wonder at the very mention of the far-off destination. "They're visiting his older brother at work."

Cora's head snaps up, and she eyes Harry curiously. For the first time that morning, she feels truly awake, as if he has doused her suddenly with a bucket of freezing cold water. She almost feels she has predicted the conversation, given she has spent the entire morning so far thinking of her brother, who has been hiding away in Egypt for the past eleven months without coming home to visit.

"Oh? What's he doing for work?" she asks, feeling foolish for even questioning a kid for information that may make her feel closer to her sibling.

"He's a Curse Breaker, I think," he answers, although he seems far more interested in sliding the residues of jam stains off of the plate and onto his tongue with the pads of his fingers. "I don't really know much about what that is, though."

Cora swears her heartbeat quickens unnaturally, but quickly places that down to the heat of the oven that is still baking away behind her getting to her head. She takes a moment, standing by the open door where the chill summer breeze is shifting through the air delicately, graceful like a ballet dancer.

"That's what my brother does. Maybe they know each other," Cora suggests, feigning indifference. She misses her brother more than words can say, and the very mention of him tends to send her into delirium these days.

"Wicked!" Harry says, and she realises from the distance of his voice that he has now left the table to reboil the kettle, which she had promptly forgotten about. He grabs two mugs from the cabinet overhead and fills them with Yorkshire tea bags. "Maybe we could go on holiday there, too. I'd love to go."

"We'll have to ask your aunt about that," Cora hums, watching him fondly from the doorway as her long, linen skirt shifts and shivers with the cool wind's movement. "A holiday would be nice."

The kettle whistles again, and Harry pours two steaming mugs of tea, which Cora is beyond grateful for. He has left a lot on her mind for contemplation, and while he scampers back to his seat, nicking the remaining globs of cookie dough from the bowl on his way past, Cora sips thoughtfully from her cup, ignoring the burning sensation that coats her tongue like an unwelcome hug.

With all that is going on in the world, made only worse by the drama of Sirius Black's return, Cora wonders if a holiday could even be on the cards. It seems awfully cruel to leave Winona and Harry on the edge of what feels like disaster, but the urge to see Connell again has been squeezing her tight lately, vice-like and suffocating her every thought.

"Cora," Harry pipes up, lips still pressed taut against the rim of his mug as he blows desperately on his tea, hoping to cool it. "It's almost eight, you know. Have you opened the tills?"

Shit. The tea can wait, and so can Connell. Winona will have her guts for garters if she doesn't open the shop on time, and so will their regulars, who arrive at eight on the dot each morning.

"Fancy helping out?" she asks Harry, offering him a sheepish smile.

He rolls his eyes, but good as gold, the mug is left on the counter, and the pair disappear through the front together, ready for another gruelling day of work. He starts counting through the till's float diligently while she heads to unlock the door, and mind running a mile a minute, she's unbelievably thankful for the company. Actually, Cora's not quite sure what they'd do without him.

Through the large front windows, Cora can already see the gaggle of nine-to-five workers approaching, trundling towards the bakery as if their daily croissant and coffee combination is their life source. She wonders if Harry, who is still sporting his bed-head and swiping sleep from his eyes, will be open to serving them today while she finishes up with the last of the baking, but before she can ask him, is interrupted by the solid impact of knuckles on glass.

"That'll be the morning rush," she says over her shoulder, and Harry hums in acknowledgment, already shoving the tray of scones she'd made behind the display glass, well-trained in his abilities to help out these days.

When she opens the door, the queue floods in, drowning her in morning greetings and stomach rumbles. Harry is smiling by the till, engulfed in the nearest floral apron, and Cora watches fondly as she flips the door's sign to OPEN. She is reminded in an instant why she adores this place, the café and all the West Mayborough regulars that come with it. Harry and Winona, the sickly sweet smell of constant baking and the Joni Mitchell tracks that crackle along on the record player. Immediately, Egypt — and Connell, she supposes — are pushed to the back of her mind, slotting themselves away in a folder of things to be considered later. They can wait. Winnie's Kitchen, after all, can not

ahh, my first chapter of Savior Complex! i hope you're all enjoying it and specifically Cora, my little mind baby. thank you for reading and happy new year! xx

— Kirsty