Chapter Text
The mind was a strange, fickle thing.
Harry knew that well.
The mind, his especially, seemed hellbent on remembering every little detail about his neighbor.
He remembered what your favorite food was, your music taste, even how you shelved your books.
By emotion. Who the hell did that?? Harry wasn't entirely sure.
What he was sure of was that it had been three days since he'd learned that information, and he still hadn't stopped pondering it.
Harry stood in his kitchen, stirring a pot of soup while glancing absentmindedly toward the window above the sink
Your lights were on, which he noted that immediately.
The realization should've been concerning.
Instead, it felt oddly… nice.
Your curtains were open tonight. He could see vague movement inside your house.
A silhouette crossed the room. Then disappeared. Then reappeared.
He frowned.
What could you possibly be doing? Running laps or something?
The silhouette vanished again.
A few seconds later, music drifted faintly through the open window.
Harry couldn't make out the words. He could hear enough to know it sounded old.
Cheerful. Warm.
He found himself smiling softly. Then immediately stopped.
He was smiling because his neighbor was listening to music.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
Harry was beginning to understand why Hermione sometimes looked at him like he was particularly difficult.
He abandoned his soup and wandered into the sitting room.
Maybe he'd read.
He picked up a book. Read the same sentence six times. Set it back down carefully.
The music outside grew louder for a few moments.
Then..
Laughter. Your laughter.
Harry blinked.
He looked toward the window.
There it was again.
You sounded like you were having the time of your life, giggling all the while.
He couldn't help himself.
He laughed too.
Mostly because he had absolutely no idea what could possibly be happening next door.
The silhouette appeared again. It was dancing. You were dancing, alone, in your living room.
Harry stared, then snorted.
You spun, nearly tripping yourself in the progress, but you thankfully caught yourself, raising your arms triumphantly.
Harry laughed harder.
"You alright?"
Harry jumped, not expecting a voice.
Ginny stood in the doorway, seemingly already tired of his shenanigans.
He looked guiltily toward the window, then back at his wife.
Ginny followed his gaze.
Silence.
Then..
"Are you watching neighbor dance?"
"No."
"You absolutely are. It’s kinda pointless to defend yourself.”
"I was not watching."
"Then why are you smiling?"
Harry frowned. He was smiling yet again. That was becoming a problem.
"I don't know what she's doing."
Ginny walked beside him, peering through the window.
"Oh."
She sounded delighted by something.
"What?"
"I know this song."
"You can hear it?"
"Harry, her windows are wide open."
“Oh."
Ginny listened, then smiled gently.
"Stevie Wonder."
Harry blinked, dumbfounded.
"You know Stevie Wonder?"
She looked offended, shoving him playfully.
"Harry Potter, I am not ancient."
"You've said that exact sentence before.”
"Because you keep acting surprised whenever I know songs. You’re older than me, y’know!” She said, all while grinning.
Then..
"Isn't She Lovely?"
Harry looked at her, puzzled.
"What?"
"The song."
"Oh."
Ginny looked back outside.
Your silhouette was still dancing.
Now you appeared to be holding something.
Microphone, perhaps.
"She's adorable."
Harry nearly choked, surprised by his wife’s words.
"What?"
"I said she's adorable."
"Why are we judging our neighbors?"
"We’re not judging, though.”
"We're absolutely judging."
Ginny laughed, rolling her eyes.
The sound was familiar.
Comfortable, easy even.
Harry looked at her for a moment.
Then back outside.
You were laughing at something.
You seemed happy.
The sort of happy that spilled out of people accidentally with no restraint.
He realized he'd never seen you like this at Hogwarts.
Back then everyone had been tired. Anxious.
Growing up too fast.
The war had stolen a lot of ordinary moments from people.
Seeing you dancing in your living room felt strangely important.
Proof that ordinary things still existed.
"Harry?"
"Hm?"
"You look like you're thinking very hard."
"I am."
"About?"
He considered telling Ginny, but shut that down quickly.
"I'm not sure."
Ginny smiled softly, her eyes crinkling on the edges.
"You do that sometimes."
"What?"
"Think so hard about things that you forget to simply enjoy them."
Harry looked at her. She looked a bit tired tonight. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes.
When had those appeared? He wasn't sure.
They sat together in silence.
You were still dancing, the melody flowing through the open window alongside your laughter.
Eventually the song ended.
You stood in your living room, giggling while catching your breath.
Then you disappeared from view.
A few moments later the warm lights switched off, the house growing dark.
The smile slipped from Harry's face before he could stop it.
Ginny looked at him again, noticing.
Interesting. Very interesting.
However, she said nothing.
"Well," Harry announced. "I'm going to eat my soup."
"Of course you are."
…
The next morning was pleasant.
That, in itself, was unusual.
The sky was clear, the air was warm.
Harry had somehow slept somewhat peacefully through the night.
No dreams. No waking up breathless. No memories.
He felt…
Good. Pretty good.
That was unusual too.
He was halfway through making tea when he looked out the window.
You were outside, stepping outside your front door.
You stretched, rubbing at your eye rather roughly.
You strolled to your car, fumbling with your keys, dropping them in the process. You caught them before they could hit the floor. Then you looked disproportionately proud of yourself.
Harry laughed, rather loudly at that.
You looked up, but apparently you'd heard him.
There was a beat of silence. Then you grinned, raising your keys in your hand victoriously.
Harry laughed harder.
You bowed for good measure.
Then disappeared in your car, driving off.
Harry stood in his kitchen.
Tea forgotten. Smiling yet again.
This was becoming a genuine issue.
…
The bookstore smelled like old paper and Jasmine tea.
Harry was beginning to suspect it always would.
The little bell above the door chimed.
You perked up from behind the counter, your entire face brightening the moment you laid eyes on him.
"Harry! Hi!”
Harry paused for a moment.
"You seem happy to see me."
"I am."
"Oh."
You frowned, tilting your head to the side.
"Was that too enthusiastic?"
"No, you weren’t.”
Silence.
"You want tea?" you asked.
"I've been here for a total of twelve seconds."
"..so is that a no?"
Harry smiled, shaking his head.
"No."
"Excellent."
You vanished behind a door. He could hear cabinets opening. Something clattering loudly. Even a quiet curse.
A peaceful beat past, then your voice echoed through the room.
"Found it!"
You reappeared carrying two mugs.
"You just keep tea behind the counter?" He questioned.
"I keep everything behind the counter." You answered.
"Everything?"
You looked thoughtful.
"Not tax documents."
"Not a concerning answer at all.”
You grinned, handing him a mug.
Harry gladly accepted the mug.
It was warm. So was the smile you gave him.
He looked away first, adjusting his glasses.
The bookstore was quite tranquil today.
Sunlight spilled through the windows.
Dust floated lazily through the air.
You hummed while rearranging books.
Harry recognized the tune.
"You really like Stevie Wonder."
You blinked, pausing your shelving.
"I do in fact.”
"You listened to him last night too."
You turned your head at him, staring. A cheeky grin slowly spreading across your face.
"You heard me?"
Harry suddenly felt like he'd answered incorrectly.
"I could hear it through the window."
"Mhm."
"Your windows were open."
"Mhm." You repeated, going back to putting books on the shelf.
"You were dancing."
"I was." You said, blowing dust off some weathered book.
"You almost fell." He added, grinning at the way you flushed slightly.
"I did not." You protested, a tad embarrassed he saw that.
"You absolutely did."
You laughed, smacking his arm with a dusty hand.
Harry's stomach hurt. Because apparently hearing you laugh was funny.
Who knew?
"You're weird," you decided.
"You organize books by emotion."
"That has nothing to do with anything."
"It has everything to do with everything."
You looked scandalized, your cheeks a bit rosy as you just kept shelving books. Then you laughed again.
The sound settled warmly somewhere inside his chest.
How strange.
You spent nearly an hour talking.
About books, music, and absolutely nothing important.
Harry learned: You doodled stars in book margins. You liked old songs because they sounded warm. You named your first broomstick; it’s name had been Clementine.
"Why?" He asked, looking at the side of your face as you shelved books endlessly.
"I was eleven."
"Fair."
"You named your owl Hedwig."
"That's different."
"How?"
Harry thought, then frowned a moment later.
"It just is."
You looked entirely unconvinced.
He found himself laughing again.
When had he started doing that so much?
Eventually he glanced at his watch.
"Oh."
"Oh?" you repeated.
"I should go."
"You don't want to?"
Harry blinked.
"No, I do."
You bummed thoughtfully for a moment, then responded. “You sound devastated."
"I'm not devastated."
"Mhm."
Silence.
Neither of you moved. Interesting.
You looked toward the shelves. Harry looked toward the door.
For another few agonizing long seconds, you spoke, a bit quieter than usual.
"You can stay longer if you want."
Harry looked back at you.
"Oh."
You looked equally surprised by your own words.
"I mean, if you're busy then don't."
"No."
"No?"
"No."
You smiled.
It was ridiculous.
How bright you looked when you smiled. How lovely.
The thought appeared from absolutely nowhere.
Harry stared, then looked away. You, thankfully, didn't seem to notice.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. Comfortably.
Eventually Harry did leave.
The little bell rang overhead. He stepped onto the pavement.
Then paused.
The sky was still blue. The air was still warm.
And he felt… lighter. If that was the right word. He felt as if something heavy had quietly shifted.
That evening he found himself looking toward the bookstore again while passing it.
The lights through the glass doors glowed warmly.
He smiled. The smile came easier these days.
He didn't know why.
Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was the tea. Maybe it was because the house next door no longer felt empty.
Maybe.
Or maybe the human mind simply liked collecting little things.
A laugh, a song, a bookstore that smelled like old paper, a neighbor who danced in her kitchen and organized books by emotion.
Little ordinary things.
Funny.
Sometimes ordinary things felt a little like magic.