My Soul, Your Heart

those who respect boundaries and those who don't

Harry shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and sighed.

It was Sunday and he'd decided he needed to leave his depression cave just for a little while (mostly to restock on cigarettes). he needed fresh oxygen and the looks Fawkes kept giving him were starting to effect Harry.

So he had showered and left the house, walked to the nearest American equivalent of a corner shop he could find and bought 12 packs of cigarettes, 3 bottles of the strongest liquor he could find and a bag of chicken legs for Buckbeak (since the soft creature had barely left the house in 3 days to be Harry's emotional support pillow). Fawkes was a picky eater and refused to eat any of the meat Harry offered him so Harry wouldn't try and offend him by buying food.

it had been interesting trying to buy the items, the shop keeper had glared at Harry with a 'piss off kid or I'll call the cops' kind of vibe, so a sneaky Confundus charm had been put to good use. Harry had left the man an extra $50 to attempt to make up for it.

So here Harry was, walking back to his home, bag of concerning groceries in his arms still dressed in Ron's jumper and black jogging bottoms. His boots were currently hiding the precious socks that Dobby had made him and he'd thrown Sirius' leather jacket over his clothes again. Being covered in all of his comfort clothes made Harry feel slightly better and worse all at once.

Better because the items were coated in a thick layer of sentiment as well as protection spells, designed to protect the clothes rather than Harry. Harry didn't care much if he was blown into a billion tiny pieces, but if a single thread of his socks came loose he'd have a meltdown big enough to flatten the whole of Forks.

Worse because at age 57 he felt he should be over the phase of needing objects or things to make him feel better. That was something a toddler had not a middle aged (by muggle standards) man.

Harry was deep in his self-deprecating thoughts so was surprised to hear someone say his fake name.

"Harrison?" Harry's head whipped up to see Jasper Hale, standing on the other side of the road looking oddly relieved to see him.

That made Harry hesitate, old paranoia creeping in once again.

Had Jasper been looking for him? Trying to follow him? Find his house even? Not that he'd have any luck with that, the suffocating layer of protective wards that surrounded Harry's house made Hogwarts look like a garden shed. No way anyone was getting in their without his permission, excluding Fawkes of course.

Jasper was crossing the road to join Harry, Harry wasn't in the mood to talk to Hale but decided to allow him for now. Letting him join Harry on his walk back home. His wand in his sleeve if he desired an escape.

"How are you?" Jasper's voice was a little lower than usual as he examined Harry with a critical eye. Harry wondered what he saw, he had showered so his hair was no longer greasy and he no longer had sweat from night terrors clinging to his skin but he still probably looked a wreck.

The lingering smell of nicotine, alcohol and tears probably didn't help his case either. Nor did the bag of more nicotine and alcohol plus raw chicken. Harry had no doubt that Jasper bunny muncher Hale could smell all of these things, hence the look of curious concern.

"Fine." replied Harry shortly, not bothering to a. be honest or b. ask how Jasper was in return. His eyes were a brighter shade of gold, indicating he had eaten recently.

Jasper nodded though looked unconvinced, glancing down at the bag with the expression of a parent who'd found their child trying to eat worms.

"Been shopping?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the bottle of muggle whiskey that was peeking out of the bag.