Chapter Text
"So, have you liked New York so far?" Harley asked.
Harry shrugged slightly. "I guess it's a little early to judge." he said honestly. Harley nodded casually in response to the boy's hesitant answer. "I can imagine." he said, then his eyes drifted to the camera in Harry's hand.
"Do you want me to take your picture? I'm a great photographer." Seeing the boy tense up and pull the camera slightly towards himself, Harley added mischievously, "Don't worry, I'm not a thief or anything."
Harry waved his hands quickly in the air, trying to salvage the situation. "Oh, no, no, it's not that. I'm just not someone who gets their picture taken very often, you know..."
Harley puffed out his chest with a confident air. "Don't worry, I'm great at it."
Harry smiled slightly at this excessive self-confidence. "You're very self-assured, I hope so," he said, handing him the camera. He wasn't actually afraid of his camera being stolen. Hermione, inspired by an adventure book she'd read, was fascinated by his camera. No matter what, it would eventually return to him.
As soon as Harley grabbed the camera, he began guiding Harry with a professional air.
"Move a little further to the right, Harry... Okay, that's it, don't move. You look great, just like that!" he said, pressing the shutter.
After finishing a few photos, he wasted no time going over to Harry and showing him the pictures he'd taken.
"See, I wasn't boasting for nothing, was I?"
Harry looked at the screen and grinned slightly. "Well, not bad." he said. Harley put his hand to his heart as if he'd been greatly insulted.
"Not bad?! Is that all, Harry?"
Harry raised his eyebrows mischievously. "Were you expecting more compliments?"
"Frankly, yes!"
"Next time then." Harry said, laughing.
"Then it will be paid, I'm telling you upfront."
Harry paused, searching for the right words. "You Americans are very... Very..."
"What are we then?" Harley asked, his smile widening. Just as Harry was about to answer, Uncle Vernon's grating voice interrupted their conversation. "Come on, boy, we're going!"
Harry looked at Harley with a sad expression. "Oh, well, I have to go. I was really glad to have met you." Harley smiled genuinely. "Me too. By the way, can I have your number? Let's stay in touch for your next photoshoot." he said, winking playfully.
Harry's face fell slightly. "Well, I'm not allowed to use my phone during the holidays." he said. Of course, he couldn't explain to a Muggle that being a wizard meant he didn't need a phone, or that the Dursleys wouldn't make unnecessary expenses for him.
Harley, without showing any sign of distress, said, "Then I'll give you my number." and scribbled it on a crumpled piece of paper he pulled from his pocket and handed it to Harry.
After saying goodbye to the blond boy and getting his number, Harry quickly started walking after the Dursleys. He had an uncontrollable smile on his face. He had a friend. If Hermione saw Harry socializing with a stranger so "normally" and without acting strange, she would definitely be proud of him. He had a smile on his face as they drove to their new destination.
The next place the Hargroves took them was the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Harry thought it resembled Gringotts, probably much smaller, but just as imposing.
Mr. Hargrove was enthusiastically recounting the history of the museum to Uncle Vernon, whom Harry didn't think cared much. Aunt Petunia was talking to Mrs. Hargrove about something that didn't interest Harry at all, and Dudley, already bored, was devouring the last bits of his ice cream next to the sculpture.
Harry wasn't particularly interested in art or rather, while he was with the Dursleys, he did almost nothing but housework, and at Hogwarts, he was trying to escape from the people who tried to kill him those year. The closest thing to art for him was the drawings he'd made as a child and hung on the wall of his cupboard. Still, looking at the enormous sculptures would be enjoyable; perhaps he'd even take a few photos.
Harry took a deep breath. Inside, it was far quieter than the noise of New York outside.
"Yes, this is it," said Mr. Hargrove proudly, spreading his arms. "Egyptian wing. We're going to the Temple of Dendur."
Harry felt strange as he walked past the enormous pharaoh statues. These stone faces seemed to blink as he passed. Perhaps it was just a play of light, or perhaps they were magical, he thought. When they reached the enormous windowed chamber where the Temple of Dendur was located, Harry gasped. Opposite a small pool stood a real, millennia-old sandstone temple. Through the huge glass windows on the side, he could see the buildings and gardens.
Harry approached the reliefs on the temple walls. He longed to touch the cold surface of the stone with his fingertips, but it was forbidden; it was better to avoid trouble in a foreign place. The figures on the walls, figures holding wands, and strange gods. There must have been wizards among the ancient Egyptians. Could their gods have been shape-shifting wizards, or were they gods like Thor? he wondered.
While Uncle Vernon and Mr. Hargrove discussed the temple's cost rather than its architecture, Harry moved to a dimly lit corner of the temple. "Come on Harry, stop standing there like a statue!" Aunt Petunia called out, as she led the others to the next gallery. Harry took a few photographs. Perhaps he could ask Ron's brother Bill some questions when he returned to England.
Harry looked at the hieroglyphs and statues one last time. There must have been a weariness of thousands of years on the walls. In the middle of New York, amidst this crowd, this temple felt as foreign as Harry.
He followed the others. Their next stop was the hall with the knights in armor, and Harry wondered if one of them would greet him.
As the Hargroves and Dursleys made their way into the enormous hall displaying medieval armor, Harry's attention shifted from the swords on display to a small family in the crowd.
Among the museum's modern and stylish visitors stood three figures, dressed in long robes unsuitable for the New York weather. One of them wore a huge, bright purple hat. He'd seen many wizards and witches dressed like that in Diagon alley. He quickly adjusted his bangs, trying to hide his scar.
Unfortunately, it didn't work very well, because the moment Harry and he made eye contact, the man in the purple hat's eyes widened. The museum brochure he was holding fell to the floor, but he didn't seem to notice.
The woman beside him excitedly grabbed his arm and pointed at Harry. They were silent, but their expressions were as if they were standing before a living legend, which they were. The woman put her hand to her heart, while the man bowed his head to Harry in an exaggerated but silent greeting.
Their mouths dropped open as if to say, "Oh!" Harry sensed it before he could hear the whisper of "Harry Potter!" that was about to escape their lips. Harry felt his face flush and immediately lowered his gaze to the polished marble floor in front of him. Even on the other side of the world, that famous scar betrayed him.
Aunt Petunia, with her sharp eyes, instantly noticed. She gritted her teeth to avoid letting the Hargrove family notice. The way those strangely dressed people were looking at Harry was a blow to his "normal" day out. There was a great disgust and fear in their eyes; she was terrified that these people would suddenly pull out wands and start shouting in the middle of the museum.
When Mrs. Hargrove asked, "The suits of armor here are truly fascinating, aren't they, Petunia?" Aunt Petunia forced a smile. "Absolutely, dear. They're wonderful."
But just as the man in the purple hat took a step closer to Harry, Aunt Petunia's patience snapped. She glided beside Harry like a shadow. She said nothing, made no move that would attract the Hargroves' attention, but placed her hand between Harry's shoulder blades and, with a firm and impatient gesture, gently pushed Harry forward, as if to say, "Come on, don't dawdle." Harry stumbled a few steps, and they quickly began to move away from the group.
Harry didn't look back, even though he knew the wizards behind him were still excitedly nudging each other.
I hope I don't end up in the prophet, he thought.
They caught up with the others as if nothing had happened. But Aunt Petunia continued to look around for the rest of the walk.