I'm Coming For You, Draco Malfoy!

Harry Potter and Lady Fortune

There was a newness or freshness to Harry Potter as he stood in court before our trial. One might have expected Harry to still be wearing those un-shapely jeans, his scruffy trainers, and that formless, colourless zipper jacket over a grey t-shirt, or perhaps the new smart black clothes of the Remembrance Day Memorial. And yes, I was painfully aware that I knew precisely the contents of Harry's wardrobe: between mockeries, I had itched, for years, to dress him properly. So, Harry's appearance, that is, his clothing, had taken me aback. He had appeared in the Wizengamot Court with the appearance of one who was conforming to all the expectations of Wizarding propriety. He was wearing a black knee-length tailored coat that was somewhere between a robe and a muggle frock coat. My expert eye meant I knew immediately that it was extremely expensive and exceptionally well-tailored coat. It fell from Harry's shoulders to his knees in fluid lines and moved like well-cut silk considering the weight of the material. And there were exacting little details too: silver dragon-embossed buttons, green satin piping around the high velvet collar and cuffs, trim to the pockets, the deep-green satin lining, all of which revealed high-quality and surprising, if not elaborate, taste. I did think that perhaps the coat would have looked more formal if Harry had bothered to fasten it over his black shirt, instead it looked rather like he'd just thrown it on.

I didn't sneer. My days of sneering at others were over, though I did wonder why it always appeared that Harry hadn't even bothered to run a comb through his wildly-unruly black hair in an attempt to smarten it for such an official occasion. Especially now it was longer. It all intrigued me; the lack of understanding I held of the man in front of me, and he was a man now, that couldn't be denied. I observed him, trying to decipher what I saw through my own eyes and experiences rather than through my father's biases and influences that he'd passed onto me.

Harry had simply thrown his hair back into a messy knot at the base of his neck that seemed to be nonchalantly held in place by the fucking Elder Wand. I nearly shook my head in disbelief, wondering if anyone else realised. And I didn't know if the man was outrageously idiotic to wear the wand so indifferently in his hair, being disrespectful, or if he was playing with the power he held for his own private amusement. I had a dreadful feeling it was the latter option. I wondered what would happen if anyone tried to snatch the wand from his hair... undoubtedly something horrible.

In fact, after a brief moment of staring at Harry's raven-black hair in commingled horror and the utter desire to loosen it and run my fingers through it, I was barely able to contain the twitch of my lips when I realised that it was actually very carefully styled to be so very messy. The clue was that Harry wore it off his forehead revealing his scar. I knew he'd always tried to hide that in previous years and even at the memorial. The only conclusion I could come to was that Harry was purposely shoving his history, his past, his heroism, in the faces of those who sat in a sea of red around the courtroom. Especially when I noted the pierced right earlobe as a silver lightning bolt dangling pretentiously from a hoop flashed in the darkness. I wondered if he'd charmed the earing in some way because it seemed to flash unnaturally and catch attention. It was all an overt reminder of who he was and what he'd done for the Wizarding World. That he'd survived the Killing Curse twice, for all of us.

I inherently knew something had changed in Harry; I knew him too well after years of watching him not to realise that. Though I was beginning to wonder if I'd really known him at all or if it was simply assumptions from through my Malfoy-tinted glasses. I wondered what in particular was different. Was it different or had this undercurrent difference always been there? I openly studied the man intently; he was still a scrawny git, but he wasn't as hollowed as he looked at the memorial service. And, actually, I knew it was actually all Seeker muscle. He still had that same stubborn and unbendable presence that he'd shown in front of the Aurors after the battle but now...