Chapter Text
It was Dudley’s birthday, or in other words, Harry’s favourite day of the year.
Dudley was a spoiled child. He never lifted a finger around the house and ate till his heart’s content every night at dinner. His birthdays were just another excuse for him to act the role of prince of England by being treated with a day out. This year was no different. In the last month, Dudley had become infatuated with reptiles after he and Harry learned about them in biology class at school. He demanded books upon books about crocodiles, snakes, lizards, and all the other gross animals that reminded Harry of the boy.
Still, Harry owed a thanks to their science teacher. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were going to the zoo to look at the reptile exhibit. Aunt Petunia had explicitly told Harry they would be there all day. That meant he would be at home and at peace all day.
Harry was only ten. He knew that he shouldn’t be home alone. He knew that his aunt and uncle knew he shouldn’t be home alone, but it seemed their hate for Harry ran deeper than their parental instincts. Harry thought about that a lot.
Anyway, Harry could take care of himself. He had been for as long as he could remember. When Aunt Petunia forgot to feed him, he’d make dinner for himself when everyone had gone to bed. He washed his own laundry and hung his own clothes. He did all the chores and learned first aid because Dudley kept beating him up at school. Harry was responsible. He could stay home alone.
So he woke up with a smile on the 23rd of June. He turned on his lamp, put his glasses on, and turned over to mark the calendar under his pillow with a big red ‘X’.
“Happy birthday, Dudley. Enjoy the zoo,” Harry said to himself, still smiling.
An aggressive knocking interrupted Harry’s blissfully private moment. “Wake up, you scrubby rat!” Uncle Vernon’s voice boomed from the other side of the tiny wooden door. “We’re leaving!"
Harry relished in the fact he wouldn’t have to hear that voice for the next several hours.
“I’m awake, Uncle. Have fun,” Harry said..
“What do you mean ‘have fun’?” Uncle Vernon said, and Harry didn’t know why but the man always sounded as if he were about to run out of breath. “You’re coming with us!”
Harry felt like he had been slapped by Uncle Vernon’s large sweaty hand.
Harry hated reptiles. Snakes, crocodiles, chameleons, all of them. All they were good for were rich people’s shoes and bags.
He was supposed to be home, making waffles for breakfast and watching television. He was supposed to be away from the Dursleys, not spending time with them. They had made it very clear they did not consider him as part of their family and he had accepted that a long time ago. He felt like a hostage being forced to watch Dudley enjoy his birthday like this when they all largely ignored his.
He apparently wasn’t the only one who thought so. A security guard who’d approached them at the iguana section kept making eye contact with Harry and tried to signal to him if he was okay. Harry understood his hand gestures well enough but just looked up at the tall man. The man had good reason to suspect something was wrong. Harry was a very skinny and short boy dressed in Dudley’s old clothes and he was following around a family of well-fed and well-dressed individuals.
While Harry was malnourished and his room was a literal cupboard under the stairs, he preferred the Dursleys over being a foster kid. He was already an orphan and the last thing he needed was to be placed in an actual orphanage.
The guard eventually left to return to his position at the entrance but Harry felt like one of the iguanas being watched the entire time they were there.
Dudley was most excited about the snakes. He’d brought one of his books with him, and he even managed to correctly identify the species of a few of the snakes. Despite what his name implied, Dudley was not a dull child.
His cousin ran up to the glass of one particularly active snake and called out to his parents. “Mum, Dad, look!” he said, then turned back around to smush his face and palms against the glass.
Harry stepped up to the railing to take a look at the snake hanging from the tree branch. It was nothing exceptional, boasting the same odd mulch brown that the snakes in Aunt Petunia’s garden were, except it was much bigger and, Harry assumed, much less interested in his aunt’s semi-wilted flowers.
The snake stared at Harry just as Harry stared at it and Harry wished it was a bit less ugly. If he was going to be looking at this thing instead of a television screen it might as well have the decency to be easy on the eyes.
The snake flicked its tongue at Harry and Harry frowned. He did not look like an electrified squirrel.
Yesss, you do.
Harry opened his mouth to respond when he realised he could understand the snake’s hisses.
That startled him and he took an instinctive step back, causing him to fall and land on his bum. He suddenly felt a surge of… of something that gave him the urge to sneeze, and he suddenly heard screaming and a splash.
Harry looked up to find Dudley gone and Aunt Petunia cautiously leaning over the railing. She was trying to look into the snake habitat but was seemingly deterred by the brown snake staring directly at her. “Dudley!” she tried to call out before whimpering as the snake neared her.
It was more curious than anything and very aware of the effect it had on the humans in the exhibit, Harry could tell, and when it had taken its fill of the frightened people, it slithered through the air, supported by the rest of its body wrapped around the branch, in the direction of Harry. Once it reached the ledge, it opted for the solid ground.
Harry did not move as it approached him, ignoring the yells advising him to. The snake hissed again and Harry understood perfectly.
Sssuch a ssstrange crowd you travel with, it said, ssso normal for sssomeone like yourssself.
“What do you mean ‘normal’? I’m normal,” Harry said.
The snake seemed to sigh and slithered over his legs, resting its still ugly head on Harry’s thigh.
Children. Sssuch cluelesss creaturesss. You can’t do anything with them.
Harry started to respond when the snake hissed again.
You are conversssing with a sssnake, little child, and in a language no other human in thisss room underssstandsss. Tell me, isss that normal?
Harry shook his head no.
Isss it normal you made the glasss of thisss habitat disssapear?
“I didn’t make the glass—” Harry cut himself off when he glanced up and finally spotted his Uncle Vernon trying to carry a crying and mud-covered Dudley out of the snake habitat. Harry looked back at the snake with wide eyes. “I did that? But how? I’ve never… I mean, I’m just Harry.”
The snake hissed at him again, but there were no words this time. It slowly slithered up his chest and its heavy body was now curled up on Harry’s lap, with part of it draped around Harry’s shoulders.
Your name doesss nothing to decide how ssspecial you are. You were born with a gift, Harry. It would be a shame not to ussse it.
Harry did not want to be special. He was already the boy who had security guards thinking he had been kidnapped and now he was supposed to be the boy who could talk to snakes and make things disappear? All Harry wanted to do today was eat waffles and watch the telly, not discover he was a freak.
Harry was on his bike at nine in the morning, pedalling towards Woking station.
He was supposed to be in his room, writing a thousand and one ‘I will not talk back to my aunt and uncle’s, but Harry had a life. He had friends that were excited to meet up with him and a whole city to explore before the school year started.
Thrice a week that summer, he, Hermione, and Ron would cycle to the train station and hop on the train that headed into London each morning. Harry wished they could've gone more often but Ron worked the other three days of the week and Hermione babysat her neighbour’s toddler every Sunday.
Today was Monday though, so Ron wasn’t working and Hermione didn’t have to babysit.
Harry got off his bike at the pelican crossing opposite the entrance of the station. He pressed the button for the pedestrian light and waited for the cars to stop. He managed to glimpse Ron and Hermione at the bike racks in front of the entrance to the station. Ron was sipping on a soft drink, watching people walk by and Hermione was already nose-deep in one of her many maps.
Ron spotted him first and shouted with a wave. “Hey, Harry, over here!”
Harry couldn’t stop his smile and even though the light hadn’t turned green yet, there were no incoming cars so he quickly ran across the road, rolling his bike beside him.
Hermione looked up just as he made it to them. “That’s very dangerous, Harry. You should be more careful around cars,” she said and before he could respond, she continued. “The train’s about to arrive, so we should go in soon.”
Harry knew she was telling him he was late.
“All right, all right, let’s go in then. Give me a second,” he said. He parked his bike into the rack and locked the chain in place. He also cast a little protection spell on all three of their locks so that if touched, they would give any potential thieves a nasty burn. He turned back to them and smiled, draping his arms across their shoulders (with quite a bit of difficulty as Ron had a growth spurt over the last few months) and walked with them into the station. They bought their weekly passes in time for the train’s arrival and got on the metal carriage. Harry and Hermione sat next to each other and Ron sat opposite Hermione.
Ron finished his soft drink and placed the empty can in one of the pockets of his dad’s large coat. He rested back in the cushioned chair and crossed his foot over his knee. “Where are we going today? That is, if there is anywhere else left to go. We’ve gone so many times, it feels like we’ve been everywhere.”
“It’s not possible to have been everywhere in London,” Hermione said, meeting his eyes. “For example, we still haven’t been to the palace.”
“I told you, I’m not going there,” Ron scoffed. “What’s so great about looking at the house of some lazy rich people?”
“Well, for one, the architecture is at least 200 years old and there’s a marching ceremony the Queen’s guards perform every day that’s quite mesmerising to look at—”
“What are you? A monarchist? Dreaming you’ll marry a prince one day?” Ron mocked her, his lips bent in a frown.
Hermione hotly blew air out of her cheeks and looked back down at her map. “You’re far too stubborn to listen anyway so why waste my breath?” she said, then added quietly, “I’m honestly just surprised you know what the word ‘monarchist’ means.”
Harry glanced over at Ron but it didn’t seem to catch his ear as he was staring out the window with a grumpy look on his face.
“How about we relax for the morning? It seems like we could all use it,” Harry suggested. “Let’s just find a nice tea shop or café to sit in for a few hours and decide what we want to do over breakfast? I’ll treat us.”
Hermione looked at him first and seemed to settle down when she saw his affable smile. She sighed, closing her map and looking back at Ron. “It’s true I haven’t eaten yet. Maybe I’m just a bit hungry.”
“Me too,” Ron mumbled but it was enough to lighten the mood again.
They got off the train at Waterloo and agreed to walk around until they found an appealing café. Ron and Hermione talked about their jobs and saving money. Ron was helping his parents with the house bills and saving up for a new pair of trainers. He had his eye on very particular ones that he saw at the shopping centre when Fred and George had taken him out on an occasion. Hermione, on the other hand, was putting her money aside for university. She had a university fund (Ron rolled his eyes at that one) that her parents managed and decided she wanted to be 'active in securing her own future’.
Harry didn't have a job. He wanted one but had too much dignity to ask his aunt and uncle if he could get one. The answer would be no anyway.
When he was younger and much more naive, he’d try to be on his best behaviour in hopes of gaining Aunt Petunia’s and Uncle Vernon’s approval and getting something he really wanted. It took him far too long to realise it would never work.
Harry decided a while ago he did not need the permission of anyone to do what he wanted so at the start of summer, he’d applied for a couple of jobs through the daily newspaper but had not heard back from any with the exception of one job at the local theatre. He’d been excited for his new job but soon learned the smell of butter popcorn made him nauseous. After that, he suspended his job search but fully intended to continue soon.
The three had been strolling for a good amount of time when they came across a little coffee shop nestled between a pizza restaurant and a fish and chips shop. Its architecture wasn’t particularly stunning but that didn’t matter because it was painted unlike any other shop in London. Pastel blue bricks bordered floor-length windows and a saffron canopy shaded the pink door. Painted across it and the windows were the words ‘Olly’s Breakfast and Coffee’ in white cursive.
They all exchanged looks and wordlessly agreed that this place was worth their time and money.
Harry led the way, pushing in the door and stepping inside. A chime came from above and they were met with the tantalising smell of hot drinks, freshly baked pastries, and all the qualities of an excellently made breakfast.
Hermione gasped as she looked around, and Harry thought it was a justified reaction. The exterior of the café did little to hint at what lay inside with the only similarity being the colour scheme. The walls were the same calming saffron, and the floor was chequered white and the same pale blue as the brick outside but the similarities were strained beyond that. A large, extensive painting of children playing in grassy hills covered most of the yellow on the walls, perhaps to give customers the effect of having a picnic outside, amplified by the abundance of strategically placed potted plants around the café. The tables were either a dusty yellow or pink, with matching chairs and a pink flower in the middle of the yellow tables, and a yellow flower on the pink ones. All the tables were spread in the large space at the left, and on the right was the counter with several baristas working behind it. The counter itself was made of pink brick that gave way to a blue marble counter and it was purposely tucked away to the right of the store to reduce the noise of the kitchen. The wall behind it was a mural made of odd scraps and bits like coffee cup tops and plastic utensils that spelled out the word ‘WELCOME’ next to a cup of coffee. It was somehow all very cohesive and yet graphically abstract.
A “good morning” was sent their way by a smiley server who was carrying a tray of steaming mugs across the café.
“Ron, pinch me,” Hermione said quietly, still very much in awe. “I must be dreaming.” Ron made to do so but Hermione pulled away and glared at him. “Not really! It’s an expression!”
Ron shrugged. “All I care about is if it’s got good food,” he said nonchalantly. “So are we gonna get food or just look around?”
“Food. We’re definitely getting food,” Harry answered. He walked over to the counter, his friends following, and got in line. He turned back to Ron and Hermione. “What looks good?”
“The tomatoes look really good in the picture,” Hermione suggested after studying the menu above. “I don’t mind that with toast and eggs.”
“I want meat,” Ron said. “I’ll get what she’s having but with sausages.” He met Harry’s eyes again. “How ‘bout you, mate?”
“Yours sounds good. I’ll get the same thing,” Harry decided, and in time too as the person in front of them finished ordering and left the line. Harry relayed their orders to the barista along with their beverage choices, with him getting orange juice, Ron getting coffee, cream, and sugar, and Hermione getting jasmine tea. He paid with the few crumpled up bills he had and afterwards they found a table right by a window. Hermione took the opportunity to lay out her map again.
“We could just spend the day at the library? I mean, I have my library card in my bag and have a list of books I wanted to read anyway,” she offered, smiling up at both of them as she pointed to a public library in the area. The smile fell when she saw their unimpressed faces and she sighed. “It was worth a try.”
“What about an aquarium?” Harry said.
“What’s so exciting about fish if it’s not cooked?” Ron yawned.
“Ron!” Hermione said, scandalised.
“What? You wouldn’t want to go look at a field of cows, would you?” he defended.
Hermione huffed. “There are people out there who are into that.”
“Yeah. Weirdos.”
“Aquarium it is then,” Hermione said, ignoring the redhead. “I’m taking marine science this year anyway, so it could be a learning opportunity.”
Ron frowned. “Why the hell are you taking GCSEs early? You know we don’t have to take them for another year, right?”
“I was written a recommendation.” Their friend bristled proudly at that. “They said I have the mental capacity to be accelerated and take the exams early.”
Ron and Harry glanced at each other. Why anyone would be so dedicated to take on so much unnecessary work was completely beyond either of them. They had enough problems as is going into Year 8. Harry was mostly worried about having Mr Snape for chemistry class. All the seniors hated him, including all of Ron’s older brothers, so the man couldn’t be good news.
“Yeah, but why?” Ron asked again.
Hermione paused. “Well…” she started again, “I could graduate early, and it would be impressive to universities.”
“And you get into university a year sooner?”
“I mean,” Hermione said, looking up in thought. “I’m already a year older than everyone, so age isn’t a problem. I think… I think it will give me more choices. I could go to university, or take a gap year, or maybe even start an internship.”
Harry could tell Ron wanted to point out that Hermione could do any of those things without being accelerated but the redhead seemed to completely forget about the conversation when he noticed a waiter with a tray walking towards their table.
The waiter had barely left when Ron stuck a fork into a sausage and ate half of it in one bite. Hermione was appalled at his manners but Ron just looked at them, oblivious as he chewed. “What?” he said. “Try it. It’s really good.”
Hermione sighed with a shake of her head and turned her attention to her plate. She buttered her slices of toast, carefully placed the eggs and tomatoes on it, and took a bite. Nearly immediately, she closed her eyes and moaned in delight. “He’s right, this is amazing,” she said, opening her eyes and looking over at Harry. “Have yours, Harry.”
Harry did and his friends were right. This was the best breakfast he’d ever had. Certainly better than anything Aunt Petunia ever fed him and, though he felt bad for even thinking it, better than Mrs Weasley’s eggs and bacon. Ron didn’t seem to be bothered, however, and ate until he had nothing left on his plate.
“Aw, thanks for the breakfast, mate,” Ron said, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his stomach. “I don’t think I’ve had food this good since… well, maybe ever!”
“Yeah, thanks, Harry,” Hermione said with an appreciative smile. “I hope it wasn’t too much. I would be happy to pay you back with some of my babysitting money.”
Harry shook his head. “I appreciate it, but it’s all right. I really did mean my treat,” he assured her.
Ron gave him a curious look. “Where did you even get the money?”
“I helped Ms Paisley water her plants when she went on holiday,” Harry answered, fully aware he’d stolen it from Uncle Vernon’s wallet.
“That was nice of you,” Hermione said. “You should help her out more even if she doesn't pay you. She’s getting much too old to be living by herself. Doesn’t she have any children who can take care of her?”
“They all moved out of the country,” Ron reminded her. “She told Mum that at church before she stopped showing up.”
“Poor her,” Hermione turned back to Harry. “Keep taking care of her, will you, Harry?”
Harry nodded though he had no intention of doing so. Hermione and Ron didn’t know Ms Paisley had died of a stroke six weeks ago and he thought it would be rather inappropriate to share the news now.
He continued eating as Hermione and Ron talked about the dead Ms Paisley before circling back to church. Neither were particularly religious, Harry knew, but were involved in the church community because of their parents. He learned they were planning a bake sale to buy a new piano.
Harry was nearly done with his plate when he felt the air around him thicken. The hair on his arms stood up straight and the hand holding his fork cramped up, making him drop it onto his plate and create an unseemly clatter. Even then, Harry was not concerned with himself or the noise. He was more interested in the odd, almost ticklish sensation that dragged across his skin, making him inexplicably excited and dizzy.
Harry turned his head in the direction his magic seemed to be pointing him to: the café entrance.
Except there was nothing there.
He felt uneasy. His magic had never acted up like this before. Sure, he had a few accidents here and there, like when he blew up his aunt into a balloon and she floated away last year, but he’d ultimately wanted everything that happened to happen.
This was different from all those other times. It was like something was pulling him, inviting him and his magical aura. But how could that be when nothing was there?
“Harry? You all right, mate?” Ron asked and Harry looked back at him. Ron glanced behind Harry before meeting his eyes again.
“Yea. Yeah, I am,” Harry said. “I thought I heard something.”
Before Ron could reply, the shopkeeper’s bell rang through the café. Harry turned in his chair in time to see three kids their age 一 two boys and a girl, just like them 一 walk through the door.
Harry’s magic flared and the table rattled in response, causing Ron’s mug of coffee to fall over and spill on him.
“Bloody fucking hell!” Ron exclaimed, pushing his chair back and hastily standing up.
“Language,” Hermione said, stirring her tea with an indiscreet smile of amusement.
Ron looked at her disbelievingly. “Language? I just had hot coffee spill all over me! Not to mention these are Fred’s trousers! He’s going to kill me! What the…? Why the fuck are you laughing, Hermione! I’m serious!”
Harry drowned the two of them out and refocused on the group of friends who excited his magic. They had joined the line at the counter and two of them were talking to each other. The third was perusing the menu above.
Harry felt his magic pulling him towards them.
He stood up from his chair and looked between his friends. “I’ll go ask the barista for some napkins and help you in the loo. Meet me there. Wait here, Hermione,” he said.
Hermione shrugged slightly. “I’ll just tidy up here then.”
“Thanks.” Harry tucked in his chair and walked over to the counter. He tried to get as close to the three friends as possible to see how his magic would respond and sure enough, the closer he got, the stronger the pull.
He was just a couple of metres behind them when the tallest of the three, a dark-skinned boy talking to the girl, glanced over at Harry.
Harry quickly looked away and a second later, the pulling stopped, leaving the slight tickling sensation that felt as if something was brushing up against his arm.
The third of the pack, a boy with white-blond hair, turned to his friends and joined the conversation.
Harry had to stop himself from feeling disappointed. The three of them looked like normal kids, the same way he — subtract the secret magic — Hermione, and Ron were. Even if he were to go up to them, what would he say? He couldn’t just tell them he had magic and thought they did too. And if they did have magic, wouldn't they have felt the same things he had or had theirs flare up?
It was his fault for getting excited in the first place.
He left the three alone and went up to the counter. He asked a barista for some napkins and she gave him a handful. He thanked her and walked into the loo to meet Ron.
“What took you so long?” Ron said with quite a bit of frustration. Harry glanced down at the front of his trousers. His friend had clearly tried, and failed, to remove the obtrusive stain.
Harry sighed. No amount of napkins could fix those trousers.
“Take ‘em off. I’ll do it,” Harry said and Ron gave him a look.
“. . . All right then. I need to go for a dump anyway,” Ron said. He undid the belt and took off the trousers then handed them to Harry. He walked into one of the bathroom stalls and closed the door.
Trousers in hand, Harry moved to the sink and turned on all three of the taps. He laid the trousers on the edge of the sink, carefully as not to get them wet, and stepped back.
Harry was getting better at using his magic. He’d even bought some comprehensive Latin vocabulary books, which, admittedly, were a bore to read, but greatly helped him understand and perform magic. He used some of the words to make spells, and wrote down and memorised the ones that worked. It was a process but it made Harry feel less like a freak, knowing his magic could follow unknown rules.
“Tergeo,” Harry whispered, sweeping his hand over the stained trousers. The dark brown stain lifted within seconds, leaving only a clean pair of beige trousers.
Harry turned off the taps and stuck the trousers under the hand dryer for effect, before draping them over his arm.
Ron was taking a really smelly shit.
Harry placed his shirt over his nose, trying desperately not to gag or run out of the bathroom with his friend’s trousers. He was starting to wish he’d worked more on his instant air freshening spells.
After what felt like forever, Harry heard a flush and a “sorry!” before the stall door opened and Ron exited the stall. He immediately went over to the sink to wash and dry his hands, his ears and neck pink in embarrassment the entire time.
“Again, sorry about that. Mum made lasagna last night,” Ron said, scratching his neck. “Did you get some of it off?”
Harry handed him the trousers and Ron held it out in front of him. Ron went slack-jawed as he studied the fabric, turning it over and over. “What? How did you…? I swear it wouldn’t come off when I tried…”
Harry shrugged, barely able to hide his smile. “I didn’t do much. It came right off with a scrub. Now get dressed, Hermione’s waiting for us.”
Ron glanced between his trousers and Harry, then nodded, but not before giving Harry a suspecting loo
Harry let himself smirk at his friend then left to give him some privacy. He wasn’t quite paying attention however, and bumped into someone on the way out.
“Oh, my apologies,” the blond boy said, looking down at him. He had his hand outstretched to help him up.
Harry looked up at the boy’s hand, then met his eyes, and nearly immediately after doing so, his skin burned in what Harry could only describe as surprisingly pleasant. Then he sneezed.
“Bless you,” the boy said with a slightly amused smile. “Should I drop my hand, or do you want my help?”
Harry flushed. “I’d like help please,” he said. He took the boy’s hand and somewhere to the side, he heard Hermione scream. “Er, thanks.”
“It’s nothing,” the boy said. “Well, I’ve got to piss so if you wouldn’t mind—”
“Harry,” Harry blurted out.
The boy frowned. “What?”
“Uh.” He shook his head slightly and put on a friendly smile. “Sorry, I meant, I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”
The boy seemed a little confused, Harry thought that was fair, but followed his lead. “Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you. Now if I could just…” He looked behind Harry to the entrance of the loo.
“Oh, right. Sorry,” Harry said, stepping aside.
Draco gave him a small smile and walked past him just as Ron arose from the loo. Ron held the door open for Draco, who thanked him, and made the short way over to Harry.
“Hope the bloke hasn’t much of a sense of smell,” Ron said, chuckling and Harry cringed. “Either way, I’m ready to go look at some fish.”
“Yeah, me too,” Harry said, glancing back once more.
Harry and Ron found Hermione at their table, wiping their table down with a semi-soggy napkin.
“Woah, what happened here?” Ron asked, then stepped back slightly when Hermione glared at him.
“I have no idea! One minute I’m eating, the next, my tea bursts out of the cup and gets everywhere!” she explained, clearly exasperated. She groaned, stopping her cleaning to look up at them. “Well, were you planning on helping me?”
“All right, all right, we’re helping,” Ron said, and the two boys helped their friend stack their plates and cups and wipe the chairs Ron and Hermione’s hot drinks had gotten on.
When they were done, Hermione told a server what happened, apologised, and they left the café to look at some marine animals.
Draco quite liked the café. He expected he would. Pansy had good taste in… well, in everything. Blaise, on the other hand, needed some more convincing.
“I prefer the one in Brighton, and we don’t have to drive an hour to get there,” he said, clearly unamused. “It’s bigger and doesn’t look like the walls were painted with highlighters.”
“The food here is much better than Brighton, Blaisey,” Pansy said with a disappointed pout. “I know you’re not a terrible fan of London, but this place is really nice. Don’t you agree, Draco?”
Draco nodded. “It’s unconventional but it does have a charm to it.”
Blaise frowned at the both of them. “It’s tacky.”
“You think everything is tacky,” Pansy huffed, sitting back in her chair. She crossed her legs and took a sip of her coffee before letting out a deep sigh. “Well, if you really don’t like it, we can find somewhere else to have breakfast.”
“What? No, we’ve already ordered. It’s fine,” Blaise said. “Better here than anywhere else in this damn city.”
Their food was ready in a matter of minutes, pleasantly surprising Draco as he had found himself with an appetite when he woke up that morning. It was plated well too, with none of the different items on his plate touching which made Draco only want to eat it more.
Blaise had only gotten a butter croissant and hot chocolate while Pansy had three plates of vastly different breakfasts. One had two pieces of toast, baked beans, roasted tomatoes, a pair of sausages, and eggs. The second was a short stack of pancakes, the third a fruit salad drizzled with brown sugar syrup.
Draco’s stomach hurt just by looking at it.
Blaise raised an eyebrow at their friend. “Perhaps we should postpone shopping?” he suggested.
“Don’t be silly. I have a corset packed,” she said. “Really, Blaise, what do you take me for?”
“Someone who wouldn’t wake me up at 6 in the morning to drive an hour for shopping a week before the school year starts,” he answered with a sigh.
Pansy rolled her eyes and turned to Draco. “Thank you, Draco, for not being a whiny baby about today. It’s refreshing to know I have nice,” she tossed a glare at Blaise, “supportive friends.”
“No problem,” Draco said. “I need new black shoes anyway.”
Pansy smiled and patted his cheek. “We’ll get you some new black shoes, Draco. Now tell us who was that boy you were talking to? He’s kind of cute, don’t you think?” she asked, at which Blaise audibly disapproved. Pansy took a moment to hush him then continued. “Are you friends? Does he go to Brighton?”
Draco expected no less and no more from her. “We’re not friends. We just met and I seriously doubt he attends school with us. Too clumsy a type,” he answered. He also did not see the ‘cute’ she had mentioned. The boy was the exact opposite of Draco himself. Messy hair, crumpled clothes, and glasses held together by Sellotape. Truly everything his mother and father despised.
“You would think so but that Longbottom boy has been in our class since primary,” Blaise said, distaste spilling into his voice. “He can’t even tell his left from his right.”
“I suppose,” Draco conceded, “but he seemed confused. Even told me his name when it wasn’t called for.”
“What is it?” Pansy asked.
“Potter. Harry Potter.” Draco noticed Blaise frown. “What? Do you know him?”
Blaise shook his head, though hesitantly. “Not personally, but my mother used to associate with a couple with the last name Potter. I doubt there’s any relation though.”
“It’s a shame he doesn’t go to Brighton with us. I’m getting bored with the boys in our set,” Pansy said with a sigh as she took a bite out of her toast. “Maybe he’ll be here next week.”
Blaise flashed her a stern look. “I am not coming back here, Pansy.”
“That’s fine, Blaisey. I’ll just come with Draco,” Pansy said, hugging Draco’s arm. “At least one of my friends cares about me and my interests.”
Draco slowly pulled away from her, making her give him a look of betrayal. “I love you, Pansy, but I am not sitting in a car for an hour and a half just for you to meet up with a scruffy boy. Especially not when we have school in a week.”
“I’m heartbroken,” she said, wiping away fake tears. “Truly heartbroken.”
Blaise shook his head with a fond sigh and took a sip of his hot chocolate. Draco saw the surprise on his face and he turned his head away from them as he drank more of it.
Draco had a feeling this wouldn’t be their last time in this coffeeshop.
Mother approved of Draco’s choice of shoes. “You could even wear them to the charity banquet Thursday,” she had said. “They’ll look excellent with your white suit.”
At six, he had his piano lesson in the ballroom with Miss Kalman, a tall Jewish woman with the talent of Mozart himself. Well, that was Draco’s own opinion but he didn’t think it was an exaggeration. More impressive than that, however, was Miss Kalman’s ability to make Draco open up around her by starting every lesson with asking how his day was.
“I had breakfast with Blaise and Pansy in London then I bought new shoes and a new belt at Harrods. I’ve had more exciting days,” Draco answered with a noncommittal shrug.
Miss Kalman smiled at that. “It’s good to hear you ate today, and I love that you’re spending time with your friends. You’ll have to tell me more about them after today’s lesson, okay? Now let’s warm up with stretching, scales, and then I have a new piece for you to play.”
They finished at seven, Miss Kalman left at seven-thirty, and dinner was ready at seven-forty. Draco skipped it.
At nine, Draco was in bed, laying on his stomach as he flipped through his chemistry textbook. He found the subject a bore, but it was the only one he hadn’t reviewed over summer, and he definitely needed a refresher. Still, he was having a lot of trouble keeping his eyes open.
Sighing, he pushed the book aside and turned off his lamp. He turned onto his back to stare at the same spot of ceiling he always did. It hadn’t been anything special at first, it was just the section of ceiling directly above his pillow but last year he’d painted a green — green because that was the colour of his house at school — ‘X’ there. It was grounding and made him feel a little less weird for staring at nothing for years.
His thoughts wandered to the day’s events. Specifically to one Harry Potter.
Draco hadn’t any time to properly dwell on the incident but thought it was odd the boy just helplessly sat on the floor after being knocked over and looked at Draco with wide eyes that had made him very uncomfortable. Sure, he could have just been slow and incompetent like Goyle, but somehow it was different. It was like he knew something about Draco. Something that was supposed to be a secret.
Draco groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and turning onto his side. He was overthinking as per usual. He would never see Harry Potter again so there was no point in analysing anything.
Draco sighed. He really wished he could be like Blaise and not give a crap about anything. Things would be so much easier that way.
Harry had been distracted thinking about Draco Malfoy the entire day. He’d been called out on it too, with Hermione getting upset after he blanked out for the third time in an hour. Harry felt bad but he wasn’t particularly interested in learning about bioluminescence either.
Harry needed to contact Draco as soon as he possibly could. At first, he considered going back to the café but deemed it too risky to sneak out again when he was supposed to be grounded.
Harry’s second and probably better idea was to call him.
The sun had set by the time Harry arrived back in Surrey. He rode his bike from the station into the quiet neighbourhood and hid it behind Ms Paisley’s overgrown peony bushes and snuck back into his room through his window. He scraped his knee on the worn windowsill but it was nothing the first aid kit couldn’t handle.
The lights were off and everything was still where he’d left it so he figured no one had come to see him since none of the Dursleys had any respect for his belongings. He checked on the pen he’d spelled to write his lines and it was laying beside a stack of paper. Harry flipped through them and the lines were filled with cursive ink. There had to be at least two dozen pages on the desk. If he actually had to write those, his hand would have fallen off. All he had to do now was show Uncle Vernon.
Harry took off his dirty shoes, grabbed the stack of paper, and ran down the stairs. He found Uncle Vernon passed out on the sofa in nothing but a vest and underpants with his laptop propped up on his stomach.
Harry couldn't believe his luck. Usually, he wasn’t allowed to call any of his friends and one of the Dursleys always seemed to have their eye on the telephone in case Harry dared. But with Aunt Petunia out with her friends (Harry was still surprised she had any), Dudley wherever the hell he always went off to, and Uncle Vernon snoring his brains out, Harry was free to call whoever he wanted.
He cautiously placed the stack of notebook paper on the coffee table, then walked over to the bookshelf — why have one if none of them bothered to read anything on it? — and pulled out the giant telephone directory. Harry had to carry it with two hands.
He heaved it onto the worktop and immediately got to searching, skipping all the way to ‘M’s.
Harry wasn’t completely sure if Draco or his house phone would be listed in the book. If it was his house phone, then what would Harry even say? He didn’t know Draco, and lying didn’t seem like a good first impression.
Choosing to worry about that later, Harry went through the names. Mccarthy, MacDonald, Madley, Magnus, Maine, Malady, Malbourne, Maley, Mal… Malfoy!
There were actually quite a few Malfoys. It wasn’t a common surname so Harry figured they were relatives of Draco.
A, Malfoy. L, Malfoy. N, Malfoy. D, Malfoy.
D, Malfoy had to be Draco.
His heart drumming with excitement, Harry memorised the number, repeating it in his head as he walked over to the phone. He took the handset off the hook and started to type in the number when he heard the front door open.
Harry looked over to find Dudley dusting his feet off on the mat and closing the door behind him. His cousin had a pleased look on his face which meant nothing good for Harry.
Harry wracked his brain for a spell that would make him invisible, or would blind Dudley, either worked, but Dudley spotted him before he could think of one.
“Oi, what are you doing by the phone, Harry?” Dudley said with a frown. “I thought you didn’t have friends to call.”
Harry was not nearly in the mood for this. “I do have friends, Dudley, and I wanted to talk them.”
“Know what? Whatever. I’m actually in a good mood tonight,” he said, sniffing and Harry thought he saw something of a blush on his cousin’s cheeks.
“A date? With Isabella?” Harry asked. He was more surprised than curious. Isabella was a nice girl who fed the class rabbit in primary, and Dudley was… Well, Dudley was Dudley. Harry didn’t need to elaborate more. And if he were being completely honest, he’d always thought of Dudley as a little racist. His aunt and uncle certainly were.
“Yep. Asked her out last week,” Dudley answered. “I think she might be into me.”
“That’s… That’s actually sort of nice,” Harry said, not quite sure how to feel about what was happening.
Dudley nodded and the two of them stood there for a while, both clearly in unfamiliar territory.
“Right. Mum’s going to be home really soon so I suggest not doing whatever you were going to,” Dudley said, glancing at the handset in Harry’s hand. “And don't ever mention this to anyone.”
Harry agreed, still incredibly weirded out by the situation. Dudley gave him a firm nod goodnight and headed up to his room. Harry waited until he could no longer hear footsteps then hung the handset back on the hook. His cousin was right. If he was caught breaking one more rule, he’d have bars installed on his windows and a million and one lines to write.
Maybe Draco Malfoy could wait until tomorrow.