Thursday, November 3rd, was Harry's day off. On his days off, Harry didn't like to follow the news. It reached him regardless, woven in between old Wizarding classics that drifted through his kitchen from the wireless, a tapestry of scratchy, melancholic tunes.
The news was full of rubbish Harry didn't need to know: Oliver Wood, goalkeeper for Puddlemere United, had broken up with Cassius Warrington of the Tornados yet again. Known for his scandalous and viciously salacious howlers, Warrington had – not for the first time – managed to ensure his owl found its way into Puddlemere's packed stadium the night before.
"And I only ever pretended to get off on you holding your - while I - you as hard as I can until you - anymore and - all over yourself you depraved little - ," Warrington's vexed voice shouted in an endless loop, Banshee wails blocking half of his words. For the small price of only two Galleons, listeners could purchase access to the uncensored version of Warrington's wrath, the wireless cheerfully advised.
Alongside trivial rubbish the news was stuffed with political discussions Harry winced at with guilt, unable to shake the feeling he should be more involved than he was. Should the wards between the magical and non-magical world be dismantled? If so, how could optimum security and quality of life be ensured for folk on both sides of the barrier? There were arguments and think pieces and reader opinions and crude political caricatures and Harry wanted to care, he did care, but everytime he thought he had finally wrapped his head around the issue, knew how to best work towards an integration of both worlds, the discussion twisted and spiralled and gained several additional layers of complexity. It left him entirely overwhelmed. Of course, the public had long since stopped looking at Harry for political guidance.
At least, thirteen years after the war, Harry rarely heard his own name on the wireless anymore. He was gradually disappearing from the papers too, his face plastered underneath lurid nonsense headlines becoming less and less of a common sight. Finally, Harry was fading into obscurity.
Letting the news trickle along the edges of his attention, Harry spent his morning off on the couch in Grimmauld's dusty kitchen. It was a drab autumn day, the early morning light lacklustre and thin, grey around the edges. The threat of rain hung heavy in the air. A brisk autumn wind clawed at the yellowing leaves of the oak trees, tore them loose and draped them over monochrome neighbourhood cars.
He should buy a car, Harry thought idly. A colourful one, red or yellow or a loud and obnoxious lime green, to add interest to the dull street in a way his blackened, shrouded house never would. Perhaps, he could paint a set of garish racing stripes onto the sides of the doors: The Dursleys had always disapproved of those cars the loudest, sneering at them from the safety of their own colourless car.
Learning how to drive would give him something to do when he wasn't working. After all, travelling by car seemed fun, but endlessly time-consuming. Angelina swore by it, but avoided it most days since there was never any free parking near her and Hermione's flat. There was never any parking near Grimmauld either. Harry would have to circle the streets, waiting forever for a gap to slip into. Participating in the circus that was trying to find parking in inner London: It would certainly fill his time.
Working a finger in between a couple of loose seams in the mangy couch cushions, Harry watched the grey, mundane stretch of street through his kitchen windows. His neighbour, who wore a threadbare plaid dressing gown every time Harry saw him, made his way up the street, sticking angry notes to leftover rubbish bins, indignantly reminding everyone to wheel them back where they belonged.
YOU ARE READING
Cut From the Sky
Fanfiction"I'm stuck in a time loop, reliving November 2nd. This is the 111th time I've lived through today." Draco stilled. His moody eyes, the tension in his hands where he gripped onto his umbrella, the careful mask of blankness flickering over his face...
