Aquarelle [h.s]

forty-six

The next weekend we found ourselves on the road to my parents' house. Harry hadn't been too excited about going back to that town, but once we'd agreed that him going back there didn't mean he had to have any kind of interaction with his adoptive family, he hadn't been too opposed to it either.

We got there by lunchtime so we decided to leave our overnight bags into the car and just leave them in the hotel later on. My mother had tried to convince us to spend the night at her house, but there was no way I would've slept with Harry in my old bedroom, so we'd quickly turned the offer down.

We went up the couple of steps that brought to the front door and I rang the doorbell, holding my breath as I prepared myself for the hurricane that was my mum.

She meant a lot to me, but that didn't mean that I wasn't absolutely terrified at the simple thought of her meeting Harry for a prolonged period of time. I could just hope she wouldn't have ended up asking him a thousand questions - which usually was her way of showing that she cared - because the last thing I needed in that moment was Harry getting overwhelmed and running away.

She opened the door greeting us loudly and moving to the side to allow us to walk in, loudly calling my dad downstairs and inviting us into the kitchen as she told us that since we'd got there a bit late, the table was already set and the food was ready.

"So, how are you two?" My mother asked during lunch, shooting us an attentive glance from where she was sitting, twirling her spaghetti bolognese in her dish with her fork.

"I'm alright" I replied, sitting back against the chair as I sipped some water, side-glancing at her as I did so.

She gave me a little nod, shifting her attention to the man that was sitting next to me. "What about you, Harry?"

He looked up at her as soon as he heard his name being spoken, a surprised look in his eyes, as if he hadn't expected her, or anyone, to ask him a similar question directly. "I'm fine" he said tentatively, sending me a little glance as soon as he was done speaking.

It surprised me how he always shut down whenever he talked to my mother. I knew he wasn't shy and he definitely wasn't afraid of speaking with other people even though he usually was on the quieter side, so it almost didn't make sense for him to sound so unsure whenever it came to her - he wasn't even like that when it came to my father from what I could remember, and he surely could've seemed much scarier than my mother.

"I'm very happy to know that" my mum replied with a warm smile, that seemed to put Harry a little more at ease - and me with him.

"So what do you do, Harry?" My dad asked unexpectedly, earning an eye roll and a squeal from my mum.

"He's an editor, I told you a month ago!"

"Oh, that's fun" he said, acting as if Harry himself had given him the answer. "Edited anything interesting recently?"

I raised my eyebrows at my father's sudden interest in him, but didn't say a word. It was a bit uncharacteristic of him to want to know more about my friends - and people I was dating alike - but I definitely couldn't complain.

Harry puckered his lips, thinking about it for some instants before replying. "I would like to say I have but I'm not sure it'd be the truth."

My dad let out a thunderous laugh at his words, giving him a knowing nod and taking a sip of his beer. "I have this friend, he's a literature teacher" he said, "whenever someone asks him what is favourite and most hated part of teaching is, he always says that correcting essays is the answer to both, because sometimes while doing that he finds gorgeous pieces of work, but the majority of them is just useless rant about things the students saw on the internet."