AN: Here is the next chapter. I have also enabled guest reviews, so please tell me what you think
Different Coloured Masks
A couple of weeks later, everything seemed to be back to ordinary. Harry had had his disciplinary hearing at work - and was lucky enough to escape with a verbal warning.
Harry finally found time to send an email to Ms Feller, Frances - as she asked him to call her, with a couple of songs attached, 'Kicking cotton balls' included. 'His' Draco was swooned by the fact that he wrote a song for him and, could not have been any happier to have it officially released. Gryffindor records had now taken the video off youtube, as they held now the copyright. Harry didn't mind.
He regularly met up with Hermione and Ron, and it seemed that his two friends were getting cozy. Harry was happy for them. They would be great together, he was sure of that.
His own love life was a less promising; Ginny seemed to have disappeared since the fiasco on his party, but the lack of interest in the relationship was mutual. It was truly better that way.
Harry was sitting on the tube, on his way home after a tiring morning shift. He just wanted to crash on his couch, TV remote in his hand, some stupid reality show on the screen, and a spliff.
He kept on promising himself that the next one was going to be his last, and he would say his final goodbye to Draco. He knew very well that it wasn't really Draco he was talking to, but a mere fragment of his imagination. But he didn't feel ready to let go yet.
Harry also realised that hallucinating was not quite considered heathly, and that he should see a doctor about it. He just wasn't ready.
Harry missed his tube stop again. It was the third time in a row, and the approximate eighth time this month. And it was only the middle of March. Harry shook his head at his own stupidness. Determined, to pay more attention the next time, he started walking home.
The Envelope that had been put through is post box was thick and heavy. It was made from stark white paper, that seemed to be of the expensive kind. A logo, that looked like a lion wearing headphones was imprinted. Harry's heart started to beat louder. That letter would tell him whether Gryffindor wanted to work with him.
Harry decided that he needed a cigarette.
Te smoke, calmed his nerves a bit, yet he still felt too anxious to open his letter. He lit up a second fag, than helped himself to another cup of coffee. Taking a deep breath, he sat down at his kitchen table, the letter in his hands. With shaking fingers he ripped it open, and found a big number of documents inside, accompanied by a five paragraph letter from Frances, congratulating him.
They. Wanted. To. Work. With. Him.
He was in! He was really in! They wanted to publish his song! HIS song, playing on the radio, selling records, concerts, tours, the full programme! His dream was about to come true!
Harry couldn't believe it! Practising six degrees of goldfish impressions, this moment felt just too surreal to wrap his head around!
"Oh my God oh my god oh my god!" He sat there, chanting until his voice got sore. This was just unbelievable!
He felt a sudden urge to jump up, and run around his flat in an awkward pattern, that resembled the victory dance of a hippo-frog-hybrid.
He turned every surface in search for a pen to sign the contract and send it back straight away.
Fate didn't quite favour him, and no pen was turning up, no matter how hard he looked. Harry didn't let this affect his mood. He donned his jacket, and flew down the four flights of stairs to the stationary shop on the other side of the road. If a pen was what he needed, a pen was what he would get.
The shop on the other side of the street was closed. Harry checked his watch. It was only four in the afternoon, a rather unusual time for a shop not to be open on a busy street like this one. Harry decided not to worry, and hurried farther down the road towards Tesco's. They sold stationary too.
The selection at Tesco's wasn't the best, or perhaps Harry was just not looking properly, but the only pen he found was a sparkly pink 'my little pony' pen. But as signing the document was the single most important thing on Harry's mind, he didn't care, and paid an entire two pound fifty for this writing device.
With the same speed he hurried back home to sign his life away.
Harry cleaned his kitchen table of all its mess, then put the paper down, his pen ready for attack, but just before the ball-pin hit the paper, Harry pulled his hand away.
"Wait!"
A voice told him loud and clear in his head. For some reasons it sounded a lot like that of his father.
The voice continued. "Never sign a contract without having someone read over it. At the end, a lawyer is always cheaper then a lawsuit."
Harry kind of knew that. He didn't need his dad to tell him something that was quite common sense. Heck, he had demanded getting his contract checked by a lawyer when he met up with Frances Feller at the hotel!
Finally, Harry knew why his dad kept on insisting of repeating things over and over: that he could remember them when necessity arose.
Harry put the contract aside (he slid it neatly back into the envelope, and stored it at the bottom of his sock drawer), then started his computer. After he waited for the usual eternity to load, he googled law advisors.
He wasn't surprised that it came up with a never ending amount of pages. Immigration law, crime law, laws that he had never heard about, more immigration laws, more of everything... With every page he skimmed, he got more confused at the right person to contact. He had never had to deal with a lawyer his entire life.
He tried to specify his search a bit more and added 'contracts' to the search bar, but it only limited his search slightly. There were still too many to chose from. Maybe he was better advised to do an image search instead, and pick the one with the smartest looking office? After all, the ones with the mahogany desks were the best, right?
Unfortunately for Harry, he didn't find any mahogany desks on the image search. There were mainly portrait shots of various fifty year old men with salt and pepper hair, and different coloured ties.
After a while he found one that looked promising, and clicked on the picture to be redirected to this lawyer's webpage. It was very professional looking, with a smart looking header, and a silver and dark blue theme. On the website, he found photographs of all lawyers, and legal advisors that were working for the company. Funnily, none of them was a fifty year old man with salt and pepper hair wearing a navy tie with funky stripes. That was a good sign. Harry clicked on the picture of one woman.
Legal Advisor
Katie Bell
contract & employment law
Yup, that was her! That was his lawyer, Harry decided. He looked up the phone number, and called immediately. The secretary on the other line was a bit rude, but nevertheless booked him an appointment for the second of April. At first Harry snorted at the long wait, but the secretary pointed out that this was a rather short waiting period for a lawyer. Harry was a bit surprised. From the list he'd seen on google a moment ago, one would think that every second person in London had a career in law! Anyway, he agreed to the appointment.
A two weeks waiting time! Harry wasn't too happy about that. He just realised how much he was actually craving this change in career, and felt like he couldn't wait for another second. But well, Draco had always nagged him for being too impatient. This was the time to practice patience.
Harry decided against telling anyone about the contract. He wanted to ensure there was nothing dodgy about it first. Sure, Gryffindor was a superb company with many great artists under their wings, but that didn't automatically mean they would make it easy for an inexperienced nobody.
He jotted the date and time of his appointment on piece of paper. After second thought, he placed a second reminder on a post-it on his fridge and another one on his bathroom mirror.
The sun was shining outside, and most flowers stood proudly, waving their petals in a light breeze. Trees were blossoming and the grass in the parks looked greener then ever. Birds were happily chirping somewhere close by and the entire city of London seemed to be in an uplifted spirit.
Harry decided to join the contagious vibe, and packed some snacks, drinks, a blanket and his guitar and hopped onto the the tube to Hyde Park.
It was still a bit chilly, but that didn't bother him. Wrapped up in a blanket, and with his Ray Bans on his nose, the guitar and was completely forgotten, as he listened to the random chatter surrounding him.
He really should do that more often. Go out, relax, with nothing on his mind. He wondered how he could have ended up being such a hermit, that looked himself into his flat whenever possible. He was just about making a promise to himself to go out more often, when a memory of Draco teasing him came to his mind. Previous spring, he had made exactly the same promise. Draco had laughed and called him Harr-mit. Harry had rolled his eyes, but joined the laughing. "I guess I am," he had said, shaking his head.
Whenever they went to Hyde Park together, they would always sit under the same tree. When he went to the park today, Harry had subconsciously chosen the exactly same spot. Even the small H+D, carved into the side of the bridge was clearly visible from where he was sitting. Draco had put it there after a couple of summer evening picnics because it had felt 'right'.
Harry sighed. Ever since that day, he had been following Draco like a lovesick puppy. Until the Victor Krum incident
Harry opened his can of beer and took a deep sip. He didn't want to think about that now, but couldn't help wondering what would have happened, if he had found the balls to asked Draco out. Would he still be alive?
Harry let his mind drift to how Draco's life changed that night.
Gossip papers had called him a 'socialite', football fans named him a 'queer slut' and everyone who recognised him on the street, shook their head in disapproval.
If Draco was offended it any way, he never showed. Quite the contrary, it looked like he thought it funny, and - in true socialite fashion - entered the red carpets of the city, and amazed reporters with the fact that there was actually a brain somewhere inside his blonde head.
Now, Harry wondered how true that was. Perhaps Draco had been broken, and hid it underneath his every smirking mask, that he, as his best friend should have noticed.
Harry shook his head, trying to get the miserable thoughts out of there. He guessed that he had to learn to live with this feeling of guilt. He opened another cans of beer, and emptied half of it into his mouth. The rest spilled down the corners of his mouth, and drooled onto his shirt. He wasn't bothered. He hardly even noticed.
Harry continued to lie there for a while, memories of Draco circling around his mind.
There was this one time they went skinny dipping in the serpentine...
It had been a hot summer's day, that was spent sitting in front of the opened fridge door, complaining about the heat while eating ice cream and sucking ice cubes. They hadn't been able to afford air conditioning at the time.
When the sun dawned, and the air cooled enough to be called breathable, Harry joked that he wanted to find a puddle to jump in, no matter if it was the the dirty Thames, or a fish tank full of hungry piranha's.
Draco had sighed and nodded, telling him that he would join instantly, and had another sip of mojito.
Two hours later, they found themselves climbing over the fences to Hyde Park, giggling like children, and chasing each other down to the serpentine. They managed to get rid of their clothes on the way, then jumped into the cool water with a loud splash, probably scaring some swans to death.
Harry couldn't help but giggle at the memory.
They had splashed around for a short time, when a park keeper started shouting that he would call the police.
Harry had jumped out of the water, and hurried to find their sprayed clothing as if he was scared for his life.
With shaking fingers he fumbled his shirt over his head, realising that he put itthe wrong way round, but too afraid to care. Draco couldn't stop laughing, and made a show of putting his pants back on while waggling his backside much more than necessary. His gaze was on the uniformed man, who stood there, gaping like a goldfish. When Draco was done, he swayed his hips, and swaggered to the exit, were Harry already stood waiting. He had made a run for it as soon as his pants were high enough to move is legs.
Seeing him standing there, Draco bent over laughing: "Scared, Potter?"
Harry huffed in reply, and mumbled something unintelligible. Together they trotted back home, not without picking up some bits and pieces from a Sainsbury's on the way, then climbed up onto the roof of their flat and had a midnight picnic under the stars.
A sad smile played around Harry's lips. The night had been so perfect, so romantic (though the feelings were one sided). If there was a way turn back time, he would have stayed in that moment forever.
In a reflex, he reached for his guitar, and started to play a tune.
The chords erupting from Lily were beautiful. They were sad, warm and deep, a bluesy song with some little twists here and there, completely draining the instrument.
He was so lost in his little world that he never noticed the people around him, sharpening their ears, stopping their chatter to listen to him.
In an area like Hyde Park, where one talented musician or another showed off their skill ever so often that it went mostly ignored, this was remarkable.
Soon, there was a crowd gathering around Harry, listening intensely and even trying to lower their breathing as not to disturb the beautiful music. Meanwhile, the artist himself had his head stuck in some memories, and was completely oblivious.
It was a talent he was born with. Whenever he was playing an instrument, even as a little boy, he was getting carried away. He would forget where he was, and who he was. Only the melody in his head mattered. His mum used to joke that he could fiddle an earthquake away, even from within its centre.
After a while, the melody of wasn't enough. Lyrics formed in his mind, as cryptic and bluesy as the song. In his deep and raspy voice Harry sang about being lonely, and his struggle to continue his life. The constant feeling of being misunderstood.
"My former solitude is now suffocating me,
I feel trapped in a place where I used to be free.
Everyday I'm wearing a different coloured mask,
Bright and fancy, with no one able to recognise
The many lies I used to glue them to my face.
I feel like I'm trapped in a broken time-machine,
A voyeur of my own black and white memories,
Blind to the colours surrounding me
I used to live my life on fast forward,
but I stumbled, and ended up trapped on rewind"
He didn't bother with making sense, rhyming words, or pronunciation.
The crowd grew bigger. Behind people in summer dresses stood a few pinstriped suits and people in bright yellow oversized t-shirts that read 'The Big London Tour.'
Squeezed in between all of them was a group of children, all dressed in dark blue polo shirts with the logo of their school stitched onto the breast pocket. Left and right to them were three adults in similar outfits, looking mesmerised by the beautiful music.
As young as the kids were, first years or second years, none of them caused trouble. They stood and listened to the music, their mouths gaped open.
One little girl with ginger pigtails and round glasses started clapping her hands to the rhythm, and was soon joined by her classmates. Other people started to join, and soon the crowd complimented the song with a steady, matching rhythm.
Harry finished his song, and was just about to put his guitar in its case, when he discovered the people surrounding him. He immediately blushed, and stumbled over some incoherent words before he gathered his belongings, and legged it out of the park as if an axe murderer was hot on his heels.
Harry went over the memory a million times. Shocked by the many people, Harry had almost dropped his guitar case, but after discovering that they all just wanted to encourage him to play another song, he felt quite pleased and even proud of was just about to comply, when...
"Harry, I loved the song. Please play some more."
It was faint, quiet and he didn't see his face in the crowd. No blonde hair, no ugg boots, but it had been enough. He had to get out of there.
It was one thing to sit at home, roll a spliff, and wait for the hallucinations to kick in, but a completely different story when said hallucination turned up randomly while he was sober.
It had scared him. Terrified him!
He needed a cigarette and a drink! He needed to forget this had ever happened! Harry tried to convince himself that there was no hallucination to begin with. It was just a trick his mind had played on him. That was a reasonable explanation, and it eased his nerves. Nevertheless, he promised himself not to touch any marihuana in near future.
Two more stops to go. They felt like an awfully long time, squeezed into the small carriage with too many people, pressed against another. It was oddly strange that when relying on public transportation, you end up having more physical contact with complete strangers than friends or family.
Harry shuddered. He had never really thought about that before, but now that he did, it grossed him out. He could feel them sweating against him, passing on germs from their bodies to his, touching, squeezing, pressing.
Harry had to count to ten with eyes closed. He couldn't wait for his stop.
He felt like the walls were closing in on him. Was it just his eyes or did the carriage significantly shrink in size all while slowing down in speed?
Sweat started to drip down his back, and his breathing got shallow.
Where did all the air disappear to?
Harry started to cough. He was going to suffocate! Or squeezed to death! Black spots had started to appear in front of his eyes.
At the next stop, he escaped!
He left the station as quickly as possible, and found refugee in one of the almost completely empty side streets.
Harry bent over. His breath came out in short puffs, and his lungs felt as if they were carrying heavy stones dripped in acid.
He was shaking now. What had happened to him?
Slowly, Harry started to walk home and hoped that the fresh air would clean his head.
Once Harry had walked through his door, he dove for the weed that was hiding between his salt and pepper shakers, and a tin of Italian herbs, crumbled it and threw it into his bin. Then he got rid of the almost empty bottle of JD on his bedside table, the two cans of fosters in his fridge, and even threw away some left over white wine that had been living inside the fridge for only god knows how long.
After he was done, he sat down on his bed and starred at the wall across. Refusing to leave the house for the reminder of they day, he ordered a pizza and was now waiting for it to be delivered. In front of him was a selection of DVD's that he hadn't watched in some time. No horror films and action thrillers were part of the selection.
Probably something funny and stupid was the best for now, so he put Austin Powers and American Pie on top of the 'approval' pile. Then, no longer in the mood for solitude, he decided to phone up Hermione and Ron to ask if they wanted to come over.
Ron was working a late shift, but promised to pop down a bit later, and Hermione did not answer her phone. Harry thought that she was probably with a customer, and could hardy stop in the middle of a tattoo because her phone went of, so he left her a voicemail.
When his phone started to ring a bit later, he was sure that it was her, and didn't check the name on the display. "Hi Mione," he slurred into the device, "fancy coming over and watch some hilarious nineties films, that are stupid as shit?"
"Harry?" He heard a voice on the other line. "Is that you?"
"Yeah, its me," he replied in a puzzled tone.
"Hi, erm, how are you?" Hermione asked nervously.
"Hermione, what's up?" He laughed at his friend, while making himself more comfortable on the couch.
There was a pause on the other line.
"Mione?" Harry asked, now truly wondering if his friend was okay.
"Erm no Harry," the voice broke of, as if not knowing what to say next.
Harry laughed nervously: "okay Mione, how hard did you hit your head?"
"I'm not Hermione" the voice said. "Its me, Lav"
Something hard and big just got stuck in his throat, and Harry tried to swallow. He definitely hadn't expected Lav to give him a call. How did she even get his number? And what did she want from him? Did she expect him to reconcile their friendship, now that Draco was gone? Honestly, how stupid did Lav think he was?
"I'm calling from Hermione's. I'm in her studio, getting a fairy tattooed on my left shoulder." Harry had to roll his eyes at that. Former punk - or 'goth' girl Lav with a cheesy fairy hadn't Hermione refused her? Then he remembered that they were friends. Of course she would not kick her out of her studio, and of course she would let her play with her phone.
Suddenly, he didn't want to see Hermione any longer. It was probably better to watch a film all by himself.
Harry started to regret getting rid of his alcohol earlier. A drink was what he needed now.
He hung up on Lav without muttering another word, and ran back to his kitchen and took the weed out of his bin.
It was only to calm his nerves, he told himself. Then he would never ever touch that stuff again. And to be extra safe, he wouldn't leave his flat tomorrow or see anyone, before he was certain that his system was 100 per cent drug free.
