Indifference Towards Difference || Harry Potter

7 | Surviving The First Breakfast

"One should not attend even the end of the world without a good breakfast."
Robert A. Heinlein

~~~

Breakfast had gone down horribly. Both the event and the actual meal. Harry had been surprised he hadn't chucked up the second he'd left the dining room.

He'd arrived a few minutes earlier to breakfast, oddly refreshed after a light, blissfully dreamless sleep and a shower, with all his wounds bandaged tightly. He could only hope they'd hold throughout the entire day, or at least until lunch.

The dining room was...large. A dark, varnished table fit for at least eight people, with hardback, wooden chairs. A crystal chandelier glittered in the daylight, the scattered rays dispersed around the room. Behind what Harry presumed was the 'head chair' was an elaborate mantelpiece, and a golden-framed portrait with an empty throne, wooden carved snakes as armrests and painted emeralds for the eyes.

Did House choice also depend on family as well as personality? All the Weasleys had been Gryffindors, apparently all the Malfoys had been Slytherins...had all Snape's family been Slytherins as well?

Before Harry could think any further on that, he heard the tell-tale creak of the fourth step on the staircase (it was always good to know which stairs to avoid when sneaking about), and Harry had slipped straight into the seat furthest from the head of the table, on the side facing the door. Snape entered with an elegant swish of his robes, followed by Malfoy, both of whom completely ignored Harry's presence.

Well, that was fine by him. He was perfectly used to it. Happy with it, even.

The second the Slytherins had seated themselves; Snape at the head and Malfoy right by his side, only on the opposite side to Harry, his breakfast materialized before him.

And Harry's mouth had watered.

He knew house elves liked to out-do themselves, but this... this was something else. The scent of the scrambed eggs was so strong Harry could practically taste it, teasing the tip of his tongue. It had been a while since he'd had real food, instead of just a stale bread roll and cold milk.

He'd at least remembered his place, allowing Malfoy and Snape to serve themselves first before he served himself—Snape had looked at him oddly for that. Well, not all Gryffindors were ill-mannered buffoons at mealtimes. That was just Ron.

All had been well. Harry with food, food with Harry. He'd even forgotten the current company he was keeping. He cared only for the food.

Until one familiar, snowy owl flew into the room with a loud screech, causing Malfoy to upset his pumpkin juice onto his lap. Hedwig dove straight for Harry's breakfast, snatching up some of his toast before landing on her owner's shoulder, one leg outstretched.

"Hey, girl." The owl simply gobbled up her stolen treasure, ruffling her feathers proudly.

Harry smiled lightly at Hedwig's antics; she'd been one constant in his life he truly wouldn't be able to live without. Especially after Umbridge's attack, the bond between owl and owner had only grown stronger through Harry's worry and Hedwig's suffering.

Ignorant to the background buzzing that he presumed was Malfoy whining (not that he cared), Harry reached for the waiting letters. One from Ron and Hermione—ink that had bled through the parchment indicated Ron's chaotic scrawl, and Hermione's more uniform print created a satisfying pattern for one to run their fingers over. And another from Remus, which would, as usual, be wishing him well and wishing the Dursleys well (give or take a few minor, implied threats).

It had only just occurred to Harry...now he would be writing his letters. He'd been writing them before, but that was when he'd been acting as some sort of transcriber, writing every word from Uncle Vernon's mouth, verbatim. And then getting his head smashed in, or his ribs bruised, or some other punishment for "your freaky little friends destroying what little peace we get in this house with you around!"

Slap. Kick. Punch. Pain.

That was something he'd have to think about later— how hard could it be to carry that same, dull, monotone mood into his letters without Uncle Vernon? It had been unfortunate that the Muggle news had found it appropriate to advertise Sirius' death and innocence, right after his uncle had come from work. It had served as a good excuse to quell his friend's suspicions for his un-Harry like replies in later letters; "I'm fine, just not feeling great..." "...you know how it is..."— all vague and obscure enough to encourage Ron and Hermione's sympathies and Remus' consolations.

Ignoring Malfoy's glare and Snape's curled lip, Harry continued to push around his scrambed eggs, his shrunken stomach already quite full. Hedwig however, decided breakfast had gotten a little boring, and had turned her attention to other matters. Her beak latched on to the flimsy sleeve of one of his favourite shirts and tugged at it stubbornly.

"Hedwig!" Amber eyes narrowed in defiance. Harry knew what she wanted; a couple of weeks ago she'd come a few minutes after the Daily Prophet owl, just in time to see Harry tally the lives lost down his wrist using the jagged mirror edge. She'd squawked and screeched up such a frenzy Harry's uncle had threatened to kill her right there unless she shut up. Since then, he'd revealed whatever cuts he'd made immediately and let her nuzzle against them.

But now was not the time, something Harry was trying to get across to his obstinate owl to no avail.

"Hedwig, not now girl—Hedwig!" A small tear echoed in the pin-drop silence, as Hedwig straightened proudly, a fragment of his blue shirt in her beak.

I'm not sorry. The lack of remose in her golden orbs said it all.

Harry would've slammed his head into his scrambled eggs if he wasn't completely frozen in horror. He was lucky enough, he supposed, that the tear was small, but still...

Why? Just...why?

Sighing, completely ignoring how warm his cheeks felt and the dread pooling in his stomach, Harry turned to face the Potions Master, though he couldn't bring himself to meet the man's predictably hard gaze.

"Professor, could I—"

"Be punctual to our lesson, Potter. And do discipline your owl. I believe a trip outside from your room window may help."

"Thank you, sir." Standing hesitantly, he held his right arm up for Hedwig to perch on, careful to keep his left arm pressed to his side. Better to be safe than sorry.

Once a few steps out the door, though unaware that he wasn't completely out of earshot, Harry hissed out a breath of relief.

"For the love of Merlin, Hedwig..."

Snape caught a twitch of his lips just in time as he heard the boy reprimanding his owl, and an indignant hoot. He remembered vividly how Lily had done the same to one of the school barn owls that had taken a piece of bacon from her own owl. Her aged pet had maintained a quiet reign over the others after that, before it died peacefully in their sixth year.

His expression turned sour at the memory, tuning out his godson's complaints of "Potter and his parrot of an owl" and how "Imperius would never".

He has Lily's heart, Severus.

Snape ground his teeth over the Headmaster's woefully veracious wisdom.

***

A/N: I swear I put more thought into Draco's owl's name than writing this chapter. It was a toss up between Julius and Imperius, but Imperius sounded more... wizardy. Maybe because of the curse? I don't know— I hope no one minds the name anyway :)

Also why was breakfast a whole ass chapter?