Chapter Text
I know when to go out
I know when to stay in
Get things done
I catch a paperboy, but things don’t really change
I’m standing in the wind, but I never wave bye-bye
But I try, I try
Harry hummed the tune to his current favourite song, his head resting on the window as he stared wistfully at the rapidly passing by countryside.
He knew it was useless, no begging or pleading would change his mother’s mind. It didn’t matter to her that his entire life was here in France. He shook the thought out of his head, of course it mattered to her. She had confided in him that she has spent many years deliberating both the split from his father and the move to England. Maybe it was the nerves of moving back to his home, or living with his apparent step-father, or even moving schools. Though that wasn’t much of a change. Probably one for the better actually.
Harry wasn’t the most liked in Beauxbatons, he wasn’t elegant in his speech or as he would say, snooty. He spoke perfect English, and actually rather detested the French language.
Harry knew this move would probably help him, he could finally see his God-father and favourite uncle again. Merlin, it had been atleast 2 years. International appirition wasn’t the most common thing, however Sirius Black had been rather proficient in it. Its just a shame James Potter decided that shielding his ruins of a relationship was better in the long run.
Harry sighed. He was on this train, alone. His mother travelled via portkey, which he didn’t mind much. He actually opted to go the longer route, it gave him longer to think. He was already in England, just on the final stretch to London.
He already knew his school was in Scotland, and that he would be attending in 2 weeks, on the 1st of September.
Not that he needed to, although he hated Beauxbatons with a passion, it was an incredible school and rather misjudged by the others. They were incredibly ahead in most subjects, with their workloads being notably heavier and demanding.
Hogwarts.
Not a very appealing name to say the least.
Harry hoped to just get through 6th year, he would be 17 then.
Old enough to move out, if he so needed to. Another oddity was the houses, Hogwarts had a strange system whereby they split the students into 4 different groups based on, personal qualities?
Harry thought this to be quite rubbish, why restrict the students because some old hat thought he was clever enough to wear a blue tie?
He ran a hand through his hair. Light brunette, with auburn tints throughout. Sparkling green eyes, pointed chin. He was his mother’s child through and through. His father’s genes had barely tried, not even passing on his rather measley height.
So there he was, Harry Potter, in all his 5’7 glory, confused as ever, ready to brave the nooks and crannies of London.
———
Harry exited the station, whatever it was called and instantly came across a vintage looking shop that sold a lot of records, and most importantly, posters and CDs.
Harry loved CDs with a passion, he surely had nearly 100 in his collection by now.
He did have some muggle money on him, converted at some eurochange desk at the trainstation.
In France, he divide between the muggle and wizarding world wasn’t as prominent. Sure, they still had the statute of secrecy and muggles had no idea wizards and witches even existed, but a lot of magical folk actually lived quite muggle ish. One outstanding example is money, Galleons, Sickles and Knuts were definitely used, but all students had the opportunity to use Euros instead, which Harry definitely preferred.
But now, he had to use all his pound coins before school, incase one of those pompous pure bloods have a heart attack. He strolled into the shop, intently gazing at the pops of colour decorating the walls.
”Alright mate. Lookin’ for anythink in particular, or?” The man behind the counter near shouted.
“I’m good.” Harry called back, grimacing at the slight French tinge in his accent. He’d have to do something about that. Not that he hated it, but it was sure to bring attention to him at school, and thats what he wanted to avoid.
As he walked down the aisles, his heart rate slowed down and he felt strangely at peace. He used to dream of moving back to London, braving the busy streets and hustle and bustle of it all. Angry taxi drivers flashing the v’s at anyone who dared to even rev near them.
London.
Harry could definitely get used to it.
He left that shop, DJ Digsy’s, quite content with his findings and still smiling at the shop name, wondering if it was a nod to the oasis hit (their best song.)
He was holding a carrier bag filled the brim with CDs he knew he wanted, or ones he didn’t know existed but still wanted to listen. He also picked himself up an obscene amount of posters, prepared to cover his walls completely with the faces of Bowie, Jeff Buckley and the Gallagher brothers.
He checked his watch, and swore softly under his breath.
Right. He had somewhere to be.
12 Grimmauld Place ; his Godfather’s old house, until he sold it to his mum at an extrordinarily low price considering the sheer size of the place. His father hadn’t liked that.
He shook his head and waved at an approaching taxi, nodding his head as it swerved over to him.
”Alright son.” the taxi driver nodded at him. “Where you off to?”
”12 Grimmauld Place please.” Harry winced at the slight shock on the man’s face, but the professional taxi man just nodded and motioned Harry to get in.
”So, you just move here or what?” The taxi man called from the front.
“Yeah mate, what gave you the impression?” Harry grinned at him, looking up at the mirror.
The taxi man caught his eye and smirked.
They exchanged a few words as the man, Ray, Harry had learned expertly swerved him through London.
“This is it.” Ray said, “Don’t worry about the fee. Consider it a welcome gift.”
”Alright. Thanks Ray, see you about.” And with that Harry got out the taxi and took a deep, shuddering breath as he walked up the steps.
About to knock, he remembered he had a key, and he let himself in.
Jesus Christ, he thought.
He hadn’t seen more of a tip, boxes everywhere, strewn about the hallway.
Harry’s mum had spent the last few months going back and forth between England and France via portkey, decorating and making the place habitable, yet this was an absolute state.
Not caring enough to maybe move a few boxes and help his new family out, he went straight up the stairs, to the very top floor. He had learnt from his mother he had the loft, the entirety of it.
Harry had never seen a bigger room, once he got to it. His heart swelled at the effort his mum put in, a whole new, double bed encased in dark green bedding. He had a black double wardrobe where all of his clothes were either hung up or folded, and also a matching desk, bedside table and
On the desk, sat his pride and joy, his CD player. Next to it, a large cardboard box containing all of his CDs.
His mum felt guilty, he realised, at disrupting his teenage life and making him move countries. He didn’t mind that much, he would make sure she knew that.
Harry got to work, sticking posters on the walls and the slanted roof. Once he had finished, he stood back, admiring his room. He kicked his shoes off, and promptly fell face first onto his bed. Moving was exhausting, and he had barely done anything.