How's It Hangin Potter?↪Drarry One-Shots 🔞

✏"Alohomora!" 2/3

Requests welcome
(and insisted apon!)

In which Harry finds a hallway, a door, a shirt, stick, and group.

Part two of The Spells Mini-Series

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Harry enjoyed his job. He was his own boss, he had the most wonderful staff and met a very wide range of characters at the bar. Outside of it, he had a good friend group, enough money to make a more than decent living.

But when he was in his apartment at night, alone. He felt off. Like he was hanging just to the right of how reality was supposed to be and he had no clue as to why.  His father Sirius ran the trains, so he was often gone for a few days at a time. And everytime he left Harry's feeling got worse. Until he half expected reality to pop back into place like an overstreched rubberband.

Sirius ran the trains, so he was often gone for a few days at a time; those days were always the worst for Harry. It wasn't a physical longing. Sirius Potter didn't even live with him. They still phoned just as regularly. But he felt like he was supposed to be somewhere, where ever Sirius was. 

But why would he need to be on the trains? 

It was a Wednesday, and he always closed up early on weekdays, so he had hours to spent alone. It was sometimes a blessing, but sometimes a curse. 

That day, his mental state was bad, and he didnt want to deal with his anxiety anymore than needed. So, he decided to pay his father a visit. 

The walk was short, number twelve Grimmauld place was just outside of Harry's neighborhood, and the early spring weather was perfect to walk through.

As soon as Harry turned the street corner he senced something was off, and felt it was bad enough that he should not the rest of the way. The first real warning sign was that every light was off. Sirius never remebered to turn off the lights, in fact he insisted they stay on when he was home.  He wasn't due for a train, and he always texted beforehand. 

"Probably just at the corner store." He reasoned, clamoring the steps of the apartments and unlocking the apartment door.

The inside was how it normally is. Sirius tended to get excited and leave things strewn about, so a mess was never really alarming. 

He looked around a bit, calling for his father.

"Not in the kitchen. Living room. His room. Maybe down this hallway." He thought to himself. Before he got this horrible feeling of anxiety. It happened, a feeling that something was changing, was wrong, or out of place.

It wasn't until he was a few steps down the hallway he realized what was out of place. And it was him.

Because his father's apartment was small. He didn't have a hallway.

Something screamed to him that he should turn around. Did he have a physicians appointment? Was the oven turned off at the bar? As hard as it was to fight the urge to flee, he kept on. 

He giggled most of the doors on the right side were but all were locked, including the last one, it was made of heavy iron But at this point Harry's anxiety was so heavy about this hallway, it turned to anger. 

He gave the iron doorknob one hard turn. 

Frustration built inside of his chest. He swore he heard voices. Were they coming from behind this door.

"Alohomora!" He swore at the door, a word that he had never heard before. Even he was unsure what he had meant. He figured he was venting in an odd way. Until he heard a faint click, as though the door hears the insult and contemplated, then decided to give in. He gently tried the knob again. And found it unlocked.