Indifference Towards Difference || Harry Potter

18 | Through The Mercy Of God

"The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly."
F. Scott Fitzgerald.

~~~

⚠️TORTURE⚠️

~~~

After the unfortunate events of yesterday's breakfast, Harry decided he'd try a new approach to attending his meals at Prince Manor. Rather than appearing several minutes beforehand, thereby opening himself to probing stares and questions from Salazar, he'd figured he'd just appear at 7 on the dot.

And that was how Harry found himself watching the Slytherins leave together from Snape's study— their double entrances every morning made a lot more sense now. With a quick crack of his knuckles, Harry walked in to the dining room, only ten seconds past the hour.

It was definitely easier entering the room, fixing his eyes on his chair rather than finding some excuse to keep his head bowed. And he was doing well, two steps away from his seat, until a strangled groan made him look up.

Malfoy was looking up and down at him in horror.

Am I naked?

Harry looked down at himself to check. Ron had predicted that for him once during Divination and he couldn't be too careful, especially now. But no, he was definitely wearing clothes. Well, more they hung of him, but same difference and all that.

And yet there Malfoy was, staring at him as though he'd turned up wearing purple and yellow polka dot undies.

"Are... you ok? Malfoy?" Harry inched a tad closer to his seat. Malfoy was starting to look a little mad in his eyes.

"Pine and dijon, Potter? Really?"

Were those words even English?

"Erm... come again?" Harry saw Snape hold his head in his hands out of the corner of his eye.

"Your colour co-ordination is usually rather bad, Potter, but—"

"Potter, sit down," grated Snape. "Draco, not another word."

With an awkward hesitancy, Harry lowered himself into his seat. This time an assortment of buttered and honeyed toast appeared on the table. He reached for his own buttered slice right after Snape and Malfoy had already done so, eyes fixed on the amber crust to avoid Snape's usual puzzled glance. Honestly, it was like he hadn't been doing such every damn day he'd been here.

The toast crunched beautifully as Harry bit into it. He wondered what house elves did use to cook toast; he highly doubted wizards had toasters. Perhaps he could find out, and that would spare him some extra beatings for 'not getting the toast right'.

The ambience of the room was not-so stifling as it had been before; calm and quiet but comfortable in the way he found his lumpy mattress at the Dursleys to be. Salazar however, decided it was too calm, too quiet.

"I do believe Harry Potter's stockings differ in colour also," the Founder said smoothly.

"What?!" Malfoy glared at him with revolted outrage. "At least tell me the other sock marginally matches, Potter!"

Harry wondered how quickly he could speed-write his will. There was no doubt if he didn't tell, Salazar would definitely snitch. "It's... blue and red. Striped."