Cut From the Sky

Chapter 5: Invitations

The next time Harry entered Cut From the Sky was on the 54th of November 2nd.

Right after keeping two unsuspecting Ministry workers from diving into fish tanks, Harry took a brisk, sodden walk to the dock. There, a witch in heavy layers of mudcoloured lace examined his wand, then welcomed him on board the peeling boat. This early in the morning, on such a dreadfully dreary day, only a handful of other passengers huddled on the deck, and they floated through the city in sleepy silence, the rain a muddled patter on the tinted roof. A curtain of wards folded over Harry's shoulders and then suddenly there was the boutique in the distance, tucked under a chestnut tree.

The first one to step off the boat, Harry swiftly hurried to the shop, chased by the wind and insidious rainclouds.

The door was locked. Harry groaned, jiggling the ancient doorknob.

Opening times,

Mondays: 10.00 - 13.00, 14.00 to 18.00
Tuesdays: Closed
Wednesdays: 10.00 - 13.00, 14.00 to 18.00
Thursdays: 10.00 - 13.00, 14.00 to 18.00
Fridays: 10.00 - 13.00, 14.00 to 18.00
Saturdays: 08.00 - 13.00, 14.00 to 18.00
Sundays: Appointments Only

appeared on the door in Malfoy's neat silver script.

Over two weeks had passed since the last time he'd sought Malfoy out. Every day Harry had considered venturing to the boutique and every day he'd dismissed the thought.

"If after your date, you feel inclined to go on a date somewhere else, with someone else, you may ask me out tomorrow," Malfoy had said, perfectly outrageous, and Harry wouldn't. He wouldn't . Hiding underneath a glamour and tricking Malfoy into going out with him was all kinds of wrong. Even though no one would ever know, Harry would know, and he already had enough guilt for a lifetime. And besides: It was Malfoy. Harry didn't want to ask him out.

Still, Harry needed the robes. Deeply annoyed, he pulled a crumpled-up candy wrapper from the pocket of his jacket and transfigured it into a rather thin, rather plasticky cushion, which he placed on the rainy steps leading up to the store. Then he drew an Impervius bubble around himself. As long as he wasn't moving, he could easily keep it up, and it wouldn't have to touch his skin. Falling heavily onto his bright yellow cushion, Harry waited.

In moments like this the soothing effect of his Mysteries' job on his body was clearest: When Harry had been an Auror, his body had screamed in protest at nearly every movement. Dull and sharp pain, faint aches and blooming bruises, failing pain potions always at the ready. These days, Harry wasn't quite free from aches and pains, but he thought his body probably didn't feel much worse than anybody else's. Sitting on his meagre cushion on hard stone steps, for instance, didn't make his back immediately spasm like it might've back then, and while the cold was bothersome, he didn't feel it quite as deeply in his bones as he used to. In that way, joining Mysteries had been a blessing. Even if his actual missions tended to be rather frustrating. His current mission, in particular, was testing his patience. It was meaningless and maddening, could have been avoided entirely. Could have been performed by anyone but him.

Most stores around him lay dormant. Barely any people were trudging through the cobbled streets. The magical folk of Strasbourg either had nowhere to be this early in the morning or had the good sense to choose Apparition or the Floo over getting rain stuck in their eyelashes. A lonely man walked a limping crup along the riverbank. A screeching child clutched her mother's hand as she eagerly hopped from puddle to puddle. Harry took off his glasses, closed his eyes and leaned his head heavily against the shop door.