Edited Version.
Petunia jumped and spun around with a squeak, her hand flying to her mouth and her eyes wide with astonishment. Just outside the window an owl pecked impatiently on the glass. Not hard enough to cause damage but enough to get the point across. She sighed with relief and evident irritation. Her hand shifted down over her racing heart and she glared at the owl as her cheeks were painted with embarrassment. "Ruddy bird" she muttered angrily. It was much too early for these sort of things Petunia thought whilst stalking over to the window, her red high heels tapped loudly on the kitchen tile. She threw open the window, nearly toppling the poor bird and ushered it in before the neighbors could see.
Tentatively she reached out with her delicate fingers to the owls proffered leg, tugging at the letter strings as though repulsed by an insect. When it was free from the brown lump of feathers she hastily shooed it back out the window, careful not to touch the godforsaken animal. Slamming the window close she huffed, "How barbaric!"
"What is?" a voice from the doorway asked grumpily. Petunia quirked an eyebrow at her nephew and sniffed, "Your appearance for one."
Harry Potter was in a state of disarray. His hair was greasy and stuck up so stiffly his aunt very well thought he might be picking up on radio waves. His clothing hadn't changed only the quality of it was far less than hygienic and the boy was in desperate need of a shave. However, she noted, he looked much better rested than he had all week.
Harry rolled his eyes, "Sorry Aunt Petunia." he grumbled and staggered forward sleepily. Petunia likened his lack of a bitterly sarcastic response due not having any caffeine yet that day, the boy was an addict. He reached out across the table to grab the mail when she snatched them from the surface.
"You're not getting these letters until you shower, brush your teeth, shave and for god-sakes, boy, put on some clean clothes!" she snapped at him. Harry glared at her for a moment then turned away to do as he was told. He had given up arguing with his aunt when she was determined. Since they had recently mended their relationship he discovered that his aunt almost always was looking out for his best interests. They got along relatively well, even gone so far as having civil and emotional conversations. However, Harry wished she would use his name more often in place of just 'boy'.
Petunia shook her head as her nephew reluctantly left the room, mumbling under his breath. No doubt complaining about being ordered around. She turned away to get the coffee going. Yes, Harry would be in a much better mood once he was caffeinated.
Once he looked and felt like he belonged among civilized society, Harry came back downstairs to the kitchen to drink his coffee whilst reading his mail. Aunt Petunia still thought he looked a bit disorderly but supposed there was no helping that now. She would have to be content with the fact that he was at least clean. Sitting with him at the breakfast table, she watched him as they ate silently, Harry engrossed in his letters.
"Hmm," Harry grunted around his pancake, he finished chewing and without looking at his aunt he said, "My friend Ron and his family want me to stay with them for part of the summer again."
Petunia gazed at him with interest, "Will you go?"
He sighed, "I should but..." he trailed off, glancing guiltily off to the side. It's been a while since he responded to their letters. Harry loved the Weasley's, they had always been good to him but after everything that happened in sixth year, destroying the horcruxes and defeating Voldemort, he couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible for their losses. He wasn't conceited enough to believe it was entirely his fault; it was war and people died. Dobby, Tonks, Remus, Dumbledore and Fred...Harry shut his eyes as his mind flooded with memory.
"Harry?" his aunt called to him gently, placing her hand on his wrist, "You don't have to feel obliged to see them just yet."
He opened his eyes and nodded, refusing to look at her no doubt concerned expression. Clearing his throat he moved on to his Hogwarts letter. He would confront his emotions later. This was the first time he wasn't looking forward to returning but he had to finish his seventh year, at least. The letter held the usual introduction and supplies list but there was something else too. Harry blinked at the parchment in front of him. An arts festival?
Apparently there was an event to take place at Hogwarts that hasn't occurred in almost 35 years. The war had given way to a peace that seemed to settle over the entire globe. Wizarding schools from around the world were sending their best artists, dancers, actors and musicians to Hogwarts to compete with one another and celebrate the freedom of choice and expression. Harry actually found himself nodding in approval. This event could take the students' attention away from him.
"Vernon won't be in from Manchester until late tonight and Dudley will probably be spending the rest of the day with his friends at the beach," Petunia talked as she cleared the table, "what do you want to do today?" She glanced at him then leaned over to see what had him so fascinated. "Ooh an arts festival, your mother and I used to do piano recitals."
Harry immediately perked up, it wasn't often Petunia mentioned his mother so lightly, "You did? Were you any good?"
Petunia chuckled, "Lily didn't have the patience to go far with it, she'd much rather play outside with...Severus," she sneered; ironically looking like him, "I still play sometimes at the local church," she finished dryly.
Harry was about to ask more questions but his aunt gave him a look that clearly said she was getting annoyed. He shuddered remembering what his aunt said about Dudley being at the beach. For the sake of the other people on that beach, he hoped his cousin kept a shirt on.
Later that day Harry went into London to keep busy. He would much rather have stayed indoors with his aunt to avoid the public eye but she had insisted and when he stubbornly refused she forced him to leave even going as far as to lock the doors. He stayed clear of the Leaky Cauldron for obvious reasons and just to feel more secure he kept the hood up on his gray jumper. Wondering when his aunt had become so adept at being sneaky, he fingered the money she slipped in his back pocket. It must have been from all that spying on the neighbors.
Harry wandered the streets, looking at shop displays until one caught his eye, a music store. Remembering what his aunt had said he shrugged and stepped inside. He milled about for a bit, looking at the array of instruments, he was just observing an interesting design on a guitar when noise from behind him caught his attention.
A young man that seemed to be about his own age was tuning a piano. Something about him seemed curiously familiar. Harry picked up a catalog and pretended to browse through it as he regarded the young man with intrigue.
He looked like he belonged there, surrounded by instruments, he seemed in his element. Much like a doe in the woods, foraging among the trees. His visage reminded Harry of the posters he'd seen of rock stars. Tearing away his gaze he chose to glance around the store; only three other people were there with him. A girl stood behind the register, browsing through her MP3 player, a man with a fauxhawk was eying up a drum set and then there was him...the piano man.
The piano man, as Harry called him in his mind, was about Ron's height but the way he carried himself with such confidence made him seem taller. His clothes were simple: t-shirt, pants, boots, chain wallet and wristbands all sporting a common theme. Black. Even his hair was black and it came down to his collarbone in soft layers. Harry watched his arms as he worked the piano and noted with no small amount of approval the muscles he saw there. Fast becoming embarrassed with the way his thoughts were going, he shifted away to the other side of the store, deliberately keeping his eyes off the piano man.
Nonetheless he couldn't help feeling self-conscious knowing the guy was there just behind him. He was wondering whether he should sneak another glance over his shoulder when suddenly as if he'd been hit by a freight train Harry's mind seized up. A lively melodic tune grasped his ears and he turned, slowly, enraptured. The piano man's slender fingers glided across the keys and caressed them, gently guiding them to release sweet note after note. The movements were so fluid, so hypnotic, so seductive Harry found himself drifting closer. His body was being tugged forward unwittingly as though attempting to absorb the music through proximity.
The piano man's nimble hands could have been dancing along the surface of water for all their flighty grace. Each note was like a strike of a hammer against hot metal in Harry's brain, it created a ringing that sung through his body and singed, pleasantly, at his nerves. A shiver passed through him.
When the short piece ended a new tune entered his world and it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Harry jolted back to reality and discovered himself to be locking gazes with the piano man, who was smiling at him smugly.
"I take it, it was awful then." Gentle brown eyes surveyed him knowingly.
"Err..." Harry wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and wracked his brain for the proper response; "it was beautiful!" he blurted then glanced down sheepishly. Stupid! Stupid! He thought.
The young man just shrugged and stood, "It was alright for what it was. Vocals would have made it better." Harry only nodded in agreement even though in his opinion it was more that just "alright".
"Are you a musician?" the piano man asked, bending down to retrieve a fallen music stand.
Harry licked his lips nervously as he watched the motion, "Er no, I'm just looking."
"Want to become one then?"
Harry shrugged, "Maybe."
The other man smirked, "What's your name?"
"Harry P-"
Stiff Kittens by Blaqk Audio playing in bad quality cut off his reply. The piano man took out his cell phone and cast him an apologetic look. He backed away to answer it, "Hello? Padre?" he went off in a string of Italian. Harry's eyebrows shot up; he thought he had heard an accent.
"Sorry about that, parents, you know how they are." said the young man.
"Actually I don't." Harry replied rather bitterly. Immediately he regretted his tone because he didn't like seeing the other's downcast expression.
"Mi dispiace. I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it." Harry mumbled.
"Hey, I have to go, nice meeting you though. Maybe we'll see each other around?"
"Sure nice meeting you too." He really meant that.
"Well...ciao!" The piano man stood there looking at him for a couple seconds then left.
It wasn't until Harry was lying in bed that night that he realized he'd never gotten his name.
AN: Mi Dispiace means I'm sorry in Italian. I will be including bits of the language but I will make it clear what it means. Let me know what you think and especially let me know about grammar/spelling mistakes. I need a beta.
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