Flower Shop Boy | Drarry

Of Unsure Escapades

Diagon Alley reeks of poor life choices and bad decisions, Harry thinks, not to mention rapidly depleting Gringott's bank accounts. Loud, intruding, still snowy and bustling with parents clutching at Christmas wishlists in their hands, determined to make this Holiday Season a special one. The silent hum of magic that graced both him and Pansy last week is gone, replaced with a newer, denser feel of energy that encases him, Lavender Brown and Ron Weasley.

It's disgusting, it really is, the way their hands can't seem to separate from each other; or the way Ron's lips are constantly attached to Lavender's.

Listen.

Don't get Harry wrong, he's happy for his mate, he really is. But Harry's just never got Lavender. She didn't like random, quirky bookish finds like Hermione did, didn't like experimenting in the kitchen with Ron like Hermione used to. Not to mention the curls in her hair are all wrong. 

Harry suppresses a scowl as he eyes the limp waves, mouth twisting bitterly as he's reminded of Hermy's chestnut curls, bouncy and alive; practically breathing out character.

If anything, the only thing those two - Hermione and Lavender, that is - have in common is the oddly smart, but infuriating advice that both of them would give Harry when he dared complain about something.

And now, it seems, is no exception. "Look, Lav - I'm fine, really. I already said I don't want to go anywhere near -"

Ron pats Harry on the arm, shutting him up with a look that reads mate, just let her have this. And who is Harry to deny his greatest friend of something? Even if that friend is currently trying to lead Harry away to his death. It's his hero complex, he concludes and resolves to fix the dastardly issue someday. 

But then again, he's glad he never did, otherwise, they'd all be cowering under some No-nosed bald guy's rule.

"Oh hush it, Harry. Don't worry," the woman giggles, nose patched a very vibrant shade of pink, and her gloved hand tugs at his elbow,"it'll be so fun! Just think, you and Malfoy -"

Harry did not want to think, thank you very much. He had spent the last 9 years thinking, and quite frankly, he was bored with it. Merlin only knew the anxiety his thoughts had caused him, and so right now he wanted to go with his gut feeling. And, would you look at that, Harry's gut is promptly telling him to get the fuck out of Diagon Alley before 'you're roped into something you can't escape, Harry.'

He doesn't know what to say to make the woman shut up - though, with the way Ron's piercing blue eyes are regarding him, Harry isn't sure he's quite allowed to. So he settles for blocking out the sound of her incessant squeak of a voice, mind switched off as he people-watches.

Everyone looks so jolly, so fucking jovial that Harry can't help but think, 'is this it?' Is this the future he'd been pining for as a kid, still stuck in that awful closet under the stairs? Was this the future little 11-year-old Harry had when he first heard the words "You're a wizard, Harry," escape Hagrid's lips? 

This haze of barely-there feelings and pale coloured thoughts? This mess of a life where men with silver pools for eyes and soft, curled hair haunt him in the dark escape behind the closed skin of his eyelids?

The world hates him.

"- so that's why we're dragging you to his shop. Like, right now."

Wait, what? Harry turns sharply to face Ron, ripping his arm away from Lavender's leering touch - the girl was far too soft, all skin and fat with curves galore - she reminds Harry of a leech; of a very special redhead with crimson lips and a pretty smile. Of Ginevra Weasley.

-

a bit short, but the next chapter is so worth it.