God Rest You
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
Warnings: See Chapter 1
Harry climbed out of Josh's battered old mini and gazed through the early morning haze at the small coffee-shop opposite which they had parked. The large window on the building's front had completely fogged up with condensing snow and breath, and Harry could only make out vague shapes and colours behind. Glancing up, he noticed a traditional hanging sign announcing to the world that the shop was called "The Piping Brew", under which was featured a picture of a beaming mug with face and arms, smoking a pipe.
The snow had stopped falling, and was beginning to melt in the light of the rising Sun. Josh led the way across the road, crunching the slush underfoot. While the town was quite small, by Muggle standards, Harry hadn't yet visited this street. It was further afield from his house than he would usually venture.
"They do really good croissants here," said Josh, indicating the café. He said 'croissants' with a very convincing French accent, reminding Harry of the last time he had eaten croissants – at Shell Cottage, the morning he had first awoken from his three-day-long sleep following the final confrontation with Voldemort. Having someone else's soul ripped out of your body really took it out of you.
Josh pushed against the wooden door, the windows of which had also fogged up, and a small silvery tinkle sounded as the door knocked against a set of wind chimes hung on the other side for that purpose. The door swung open to reveal a small, cosy looking coffee-shop, furnished mainly in deep, soft armchairs, interspersed by spindly tables. A couple of other customers were sunk low into the comfortable seating, sipping from large mugs of steaming liquid, and perusing the paper. One also had a generous helping of cake on a plate in front of him. The walls were decorated with an eclectic mix of paintings and posters – so many that the walls were barely visible. A small counter was set back at the rear of the shop, bearing a spectacular array of cakes and pastries on one end. The other end bore a rather old-fashioned till. A middle aged woman, whose greying hair was pulled back into a loose pony-tail, stood behind the counter, and when she saw Josh her face lit up.
"Josh, dear!" she called to him as he and Harry weaved their way through the armchairs to the counter, gradually shedding outdoor layers. "Haven't seen you in a bit!"
"Been busy, Cara," answered Josh, as they leaned across the counter to peck each other on the cheeks. "How're things?"
"Oh, well, you know…" Cara waved her hand in a funny little disparaging gesture. "Big coffee-making corporations are a pain in the backside, but who's to question the ways of the world?" She chuckled, and then seemed to notice Harry for the first time. "So who's this then?" She tilted her head to the side and gave Harry an appraising look.
"Hi, Harry Potter," answered Harry. He held out his hand to shake hers. She took his hand in a surprisingly firm grip, but not overly so. After she released him, she looked at him thoughtfully, drumming her fingers against her chin.
"Hmmm… The name rings a bell for some reason. You been in the newspaper or something?"
Not any you'll have read, thought Harry. He shook his head and smiled nervously, and ran his fingers through his hair. An anxious twitch he really must get out of the habit of doing.
Cara's eyes widened in surprise, and pointed at his scar, now exposed from under his fringe. Harry froze in shock. Josh frowned in curiosity.
"I'd recognise that scar anywhere!" exclaimed Cara. "You're the boy those funny people on Privet Drive took in." It was Harry's turn for his face to show his surprise. He was taken aback by this blast from the past, but he still appreciated the irony of the Dursleys, who prided themselves above all for their normality, being called funny by anyone.
"Now what was their name…? 'D' something…" Cara was tapping her chin again.
"The Dursleys," supplied Harry.
"Yes, that's it!" said Cara triumphantly, brandishing her hand above her head as if she had just made an impressive goal on the football field. "You're their nephew, right?"
Harry nodded. "So, did you know them?" he asked.
"No, I didn't," sniffed Cara, as if offended to be associated with such people. She brushed non-existent dust from the counter. "I lived at Number 7. Mrs Dursley was always spying on my garden. They didn't really strike me as the parental type, judging by their noisy son. I always wondered why they took you in."
Harry shrugged. "They were my only living relatives," he explained, decidedly briefly.
Cara's face softened. "Oh my Dear, I'm so sorry." She touched his hand lightly across the counter. "Let me get you two some coffee," she said, patting Harry's hand and bustling away from the counter through a door to the left.
Josh's mouth lifted in a slight smile. "Cara thinks coffee solves everything. Let's sit down."
They took the chairs closest to the counter, sinking deeply into the soft furniture. Cara returned with piping hot mugs of coffee, and hurried off again. She was back soon after with a plate of croissants.
Harry and Josh sat in silence, sipping their coffee, until Josh spoke.
"So… how did you get that scar then?"
"Err… in a car crash," answered Harry. "The same one… killed my parents. Sorry, I don't really want to talk about it." He glanced away across the room.
"No, that's ok. I'm sorry." Harry looked back at Josh, who was looking at him anxiously. Harry reassured him with a weak smile.
"So how do you come to find yourself in Penleigh?"
Harry pulled a face. "Things were a bit… difficult," he improvised. "I needed to get some time away."
It was an understatement. The dementors had destroyed Voldemort's soul, but his spiritless husk still remained. Harry hadn't been able to destroy it – he could barely raise his wand against it. Even after a few months, when everyone else was beginning to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives, Harry was stuck in the past, constantly reliving the downfall of his enemy. It had been Luna's idea to take some time away from the wizarding world, somewhere he could live unmolested by reporters and well-wishes, and try to move on. But even Luna hadn't anticipated it taking six months.
Harry noticed that Josh was staring at him from across the table. He shrugged, and Josh blinked.
"Oh, okay," said Josh. The awkward silence hung in the air between them.
xxx
They left the coffee-shop half an hour later, pulling their coats on in preparation for the cold outside. Harry realised that he had actually had a reasonably good time – better than he'd had since Voldemort's fall – at least once conversation turned to matters that didn't involve Harry's past. Josh pulled the door open and stepped outside, holding it open for Harry. The snow on the pavement had hardened to ice, and was slippery underfoot.
"D'you need a lift anywhere?" asked Josh, turning away from the door, where he had been waving goodbye to Cara. But as he spun to face Harry, he slipped on the ice, and fell forward, directly into Harry's arms.
"Careful…" began Harry, before he was momentarily blinded by a bright flash, which was followed closely by a loud crack. Harry's head snapped up, scanning up and down the road. It was empty save them and a few parked cars. But the imprints in the snow on the verge across the road from them said otherwise. A single set of footprints, not followed or preceded by any, clarified without doubt the Apparition of a wizard. A wizard who had had a camera.
"Sorry about that," grinned Josh, as he extricated himself from Harry's arms.
"Don't worry." Harry returned the smile, but his mind was really on the photographer.
"So, can I see you again sometime?" asked Josh. His face was again screwed up with the same anxiety with which he had asked Harry out the first time. Harry was beginning to find it endearing.
"Sure," said Harry.
"Okay then!" Josh positively glowed. "Here's my number," he said, scribbling it onto a scrap of paper from his pocket. "Give me a ring." He smiled again, before crossing the road and getting into his car. He glanced back once before driving off.
Harry looked thoughtfully down at the scrap of paper in his hand. He stuffed it into his pocket before carefully making his way across the ice back to his home.
AN: Thanks to my readers, particularly the reviewers. Please continue to review; it is sustaining, especially constructive criticism.