Everything Black | Harry Potter

3. Someone Else

The two boys had stared at each other in astonishment for a few moments, both as equally stunned, both boys' plans thrown completely off centre by the appearance of the other. Almost simultaneously, the two started to speak in harsh low whispers;

"What are you doing–"

"I should be asking you!–"

"Well, I don't know how–"

"Oh, very typical Potter–"

"Oi! You can' just automatically–"

"Isn't everything usually your fault?"

"How is that even remotely–"

"Everything alright dears?"

The two boys jumped, having not notice Madame Malkin enter the room, silent as a wraith as she'd been –or perhaps Harry and Draco had just been too invested in their childish game of 'point-the-blame'.

Probably the latter, but neither would ever admit it aloud.

"Yes, we're quite fine," Malfoy replied, clearing his throat and subtly leaning away from Harry, as they had both unconsciously moved closer during their totally-not-immature-and-actually-quite-grown-up argument.

It didn't take long for the seamstress to finish with their measurements and garments, meaning the two boys quickly found themselves sitting at a table outside Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, a quite tension straining between them.

The two time-travellers were silent, both of them just watching people chatter and walk past, no sign of shadows in their eyes.

No sign of marionettes that shuffled through the day, people that were nothing but husks of their former selves, ghosts of war clinging to their skin like a Permanent Sticking charm.

". . . sorry," Harry said eventually, "about before in the shop. The– about snapping at you? I. . . I guess, I just–"

He didn't continue.

He didn't have to.

"It didn't quite feel real, did it?" finished Malfoy softly. "Before. . . before it was just you, all on your own. And on your own, there was a small part of you that could pretend; Maybe this is all in my head. Maybe this is just me, going crazy. Maybe I'm dead. But now. . ."

He didn't continue either.

He didn't need to.

Now, Harry thought, it's real because there's someone else here; someone I definitely didn't –couldn't have– dreamt up. Now, feels real because it is real.

"Yeah," he replied.

They went back to people watching for a few minutes before Draco broke the silence.

"We should probably talk more about this, shouldn't we?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, not quite willing to let go of the calm that had descended around them. "Probably, yeah."

A little kid dropped his ice cream and started bawling, until his mother waved her wand and the ice cream was back in his hands in pristine condition.

The child stopped crying immediately.

". . . do you remember how you got here?"

"Not really. . . one minute I was there, next minute I was here."

"Oh. . ." Harry said, "same."

". . . we kind of suck at this, don't we?"

Draco's satirical attempt at self-depreciation sounded downright hilarious coming from his eleven-year-old self, and Harry couldn't help the sharp laugh that bubbled out of his chest. At the blonde boys' annoyed look, Harry tried to bite his chuckles back, but couldn't help the smile that stretched the corners of his mouth.