Cut From the Sky

Chapter 15: Enemies to Lovers

"You're a natural at this." Emerence set aside the hot-wire cutter and leaned in to examine Harry's work. The small workspace he'd cleared for himself in between piles of Emerence's clutter held sheets of tilia wood, a scalpel, and a set of marking knives.

"I've done wood carving before," Harry explained, waving aside her compliment with a pleased grin. "It's been forever though. Maybe I should take it back up."

"You absolutely should!"

Harry grinned down at what would become his first ever dresser – mid century modern, Emerence had called the style he'd chosen. The nice dresser in Ron's hallway, Harry called it. He'd picked out the handles already and lined them up neatly next to his coffee cup.

Guided by the grid of his cutting mat, Harry measured each piece of tilia meticulously before cutting with the wood grain. Using magic, the process of cutting the wood and assembling it to mimic Ron's dresser would have cost him far less time – especially now that his hand so rarely shook anymore. Not using magic, however, kept Harry entirely engrossed in his work. He was having a brilliant time.

So brilliant, in fact, that it was almost half past one by the time his dresser stood and was functional but for one drawer that wouldn't properly shut.

Harry stared at the traitorous clock hands feeling just a little crestfallen. He'd planned on taking Malfoy to lunch once more. After, he would have gone to the beer garden and made reservations for the night – Malfoy had seemed fairly enthusiastic about the merfolk concert. Or, perhaps, he wouldn't have made any reservations at all and would have intentionally drifted through the streets until Malfoy led them back to the riverbank.

If he were to leave now, it would be far too late to take Malfoy out to lunch. Harry peered at the wonky drawer he'd made, pulled it out and turned it between his fingers. He could always visit Malfoy in the evening, after closing time instead, he decided, reluctant to settle on not seeing him at all.

Running a finger against the lining of the drawer, Harry was aware of a niggling sense of worry that tapped at his mind. The last and only time he'd visited the boutique after closing time had been a disaster. Today, however, would go far better, he decided, pushing away the shy twist of apprehension low in his gut. Grabbing a piece of sandpaper from one of the drawers, Harry dedicated himself to righting his drawer.

***

"What do you do for work?" Emerence asked him and only then did he realise she'd never once asked before. It was approaching five – he'd have to leave soon. His work had found a home in a display case. Emerence had let him rummage through the compartments under her glass table top where he'd grabbed a porcelain vase and a bundle of flowers to arrange on top of his dresser. He'd added a snake plant, too, and a stack of mail, keys in a bowl and a pair of headphones.

Harry sighed. "I'm searching for something to do," he settled on, after a pause long enough to let her brows travel up her forehead in amused interest. He was a third of the way through making a closet – a curved top, a swirling, intricate carving on the doors.

"You know," Emerence pushed her thick glasses down her nose and regarded Harry over the even thicker rim of them, "I was a roofer once. Not a bad job, honestly, but not what I wanted to do. Had a grubby flat in a grubby town." She smiled at Harry the way that only people above the age of seventy were capable of – a smile that came with a wealth of wisdom inaccessible to the young. "It took me until my late forties to start aiming for the life I wanted," she went on, "I moved here. I discovered miniature making. I finally took steps towards living as a woman. And life's been so much better since."

"Oh," said Harry.

"You're very young," said Emerence.

"Oh?" Harry wasn't certain he felt very young. He was too old, surely, not to have sorted out his life more successfully than he had.