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Summary
Harry doesn’t mind being isolated though. Not any more than he minds anything else, that is. He spends his days alone, and he’s gotten used to it. He never really liked people anyways. It was only really just a few people that he ever genuinely liked, only one that he ever really wanted around, and they’re all long gone from his life, save for his sister.
Harry shakes the thoughts of him out of his head, and makes his way back down the stairs. If he’s going to be stranded by the storm, then he’ll need to go into town for supplies. Besides, it’s Sunday. Harry always goes shopping on Sunday. It’s when the fishermen come in with their weekend hauls, and the farmers bring in their produce and animal products, so everything is at its freshest. As a bonus, half of the town is in church, so there are fewer people around.
Harry always prefers dealing with fewer people. It means that there are less people to stare and gossip. There are less people to point and whisper things, as if he can’t hear them. As if he can’t see all on his own that he’s a phantom, haunting this small village with his presence.