Summary: Harry grows up working on his Aunts Garden and develops a love for it, meeting Samuel and eventually Max, who gives him a Mark of his own. He finds Magic to be a Wonderful Thing. Rating may change later. Warning for language
Many many people have been asking about the rest of the Theft scene, some wondering if there's a continuation, some wondering why the scene was so brief, and others generally unhappy that what they thought would be the next part was, in fact, Aunt Petunia's point of view.
There IS a reason I had that break there, even if I ended up writing chapter 37 before I finished 36.
Because of the huge amount of questioning reviews (which, if I haven't answered, it' because it requires more typing than I'm willing to do on my phone's little keyboard—No internet, remember? Only a bit on my phone), I may end up posting this chapter on it's own sooner than planned, with more time inbetween chapters so that I can once again post a bundle of chapters.
You all seemed to like that, even if you seemed shocked (and some, who had prjects/assignments to work on, appalled) that I would post that many chapters all at once.
Thank you for your patience for my brief stint in the woods!
I didn't want to cut this into more parts, so that's my reason for the continued
WARNING FOR MAX's THOUGHTS! Some swearing.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Chapter 38—The Continuation
Harry closed the door behind him, but kept his eyes open.
They stung horribly, and he felt warm, his breath stuttering in his chest, hitching, before he let it loose in a shuddering sigh.
Repeat.
When the first hot trail of fire ran down his cheeks, he was breathing in short, quick breaths, and the second he finally clenched his eyes shut, feeling a well of tears spilling over.
He stayed at his door, sliding down the old wood to crouch on the floor, hands clenched into fists at his knees.
Harry couldn't remember the last time he cried—if he'd ever cried—and a distant part of him wondered why it had to be so messy.
He felt his backpack crushed behind him, his folded clothes cushioning his back, and he felt the lead weight in his stomach drop down further.
There was no firm press of bound papers in his back, no line of spirals to dig into his ribs if he shifted weight, nothing.
Nothing.
That weight in his stomach twisted, and he let out a silent sob.
Oh, Harry lost Max's present for him, he didn't know what to do.
He'd come straight back rather than going to Max's shop.
What would he say to Max?
Max had said that he had most of his day booked with appointments, so he would understand—would he?—if Harry didn't stop by that day, but what about tomorrow?
Harry couldn't face Max with an empty backpack.
Harry slumped down farther, and quietly, carefully, lay on his side, knees still curled up.
He maneuvered his backpack under his head, and rubbed his face against the rough canvas, listening to the loud beating of his heart in between sniffles.
It was like a tap had been turned on in his nose and behind his eyes, because the tears kept coming.
Stupid Emily and her stupid lies, and Sebastian and Sally being stupid Fucking Muggles for letting her get away with it.
The only good thing about this—if it could be said to be good, and not just not horrible—was that right then his sketch book (what would he tell Max?) was in a locked safe at the Rec Centre where his Defense lessons were hosted, and not being jostled about, folded this way and that, and stained in Emily's pink Barbie backpack.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Harry eventually moved from in front of his door to his bed, burrowing under his covers until he was crouched by the baseboards. It almost felt like his Cupboard.
I deserve the Cupboard for losing Max's gift to me. I deserve it.
More tears fell, absorbed into his grass-green sheets, and he welcomed the uncomfortable scratch on his cheeks they provided. He relished in the smothering warm air under the covers. The way his hair stuck damply to his tear-stained face.
I don't deserve Max, I don't. What'll he say when he sees that I was so irresponsible with his gift—what'll he say when he sees that I trusted a bunch of Fucking Muggles?
Harry knew that it was all business-level politics that caused Sebastian to make the decision he did, and with Mr. Liam's backing. He knew enough from Emily's bragging that her parents were both Lawyers—famous ones if she was to be believed—and that there would be consequences if things were not dealt with delicately.
It didn't matter that his sketchbook was obviously his.
"I'll have to hold onto this until next class," Sebastian had said, gently taking his sketchbook from the safety of his arms. "By next class we'll have this sorted out."
What was left unsaid was that when this was 'sorted out' it would mean that one of the two would be kicked out from the class.
Harry was enjoying the class. Sebastian was still too touchy-feely for Harry to be entirely comfortable with him, but he was enthusiastic and willing to teach Harry just about anything he got up the nerve to ask about.
Mr. Liam was strict, just as Sebastian had warned, and already a good portion of the class had lost the right to have a private lesson time with him during class, which is why Harry had had the chance to work with him so soon. But Mr. Liam was the one to teach Harry about muscle groups, showed him where each of his exercises worked on his body, showed him a number of new exercises to even out his routine, and was even starting to teach Harry the basics on a wide range of defense techniques.
It involved a lot of redirecting an opponents attacks, and moving out of the way, and Harry loved that he was learning exactly what he needed.
Sebastian had even started working with him on it when he saw what he was doing during the lulls in class and during the time he had before class.
So the idea that Emily could end up having Harry kicked out from the class was devastating. Even more so when he was forced to consider that she may end up taking his sketchbook as well. That was unacceptable.
Though he didn't think Sebastian, Sally, and Mr. Liam would let his sketchbook be stolen, fear clogged his throat.
He'd told Max about how nice and fair they had been so far.
He'd told Max about what he was learning, had even demonstrated the new exercises he was being taught, and had admitted to liking his instructors a bit.
They were nice, and hadn't tried to get him to do anything he didn't want to do. Didn't try to tell him to do anything without first explaining why they wanted him to do it. They answered his questions.
They Talked to him.
They Listened.
So Harry didn't think that Max would fault him for trusting Sebastian, Sally, and Mr. Liam to the degree he had, no.
But Harry had trusted the other children in the class.
He had, in a way, trusted Emily.
Max had told Harry that he didn't hate stupidity as much as he hated stupid stupidity.
"That's being purposely fucking ignorant, kid. That's knowing there's a problem an' ignoring it anyway. My problem with most Fucking Muggles is that they see and don' do anythin' 'bout it. That's what separates Muggles from Fucking Muggles, kid."
Harry had seen that Emily was not to be trusted—had told and complained to Max about it, even— and he'd done so anyhow.
By trusting that she would follow the rules.
By trusting that she wouldn't try to get around the rules.
By trusting that the rules would be taken seriously by any of the students.
Harry hated Emily almost as much as he hated himself right then.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Sebastian put away his personal yoga mat, and went to the instructors change room to have a quick shower before he headed home.
He was worried about the kid.
Since that first day, he'd decided that Harry Potter was a bit of a funny duck.
He'd already figured he was a strange kid when he was doing yoga about 20 minutes before class, but hadn't really had it sink in until he'd listened to the kid.
Well, it wasn't so much his voice he listened to as his physical voice. Body language and all that.
Pretty aloof with the other children, a kid used to being, if not the odd one out, then the Different Kid.
Sebastian hadn't ever been that kid when he was growing up, but his best friend David had, and maybe he would have been as distant as Harry had he and Sebastian never become friends.
The other kids had looked at Harry before class, obviously curious, but while he could tell that Harry could see that, Harry didn't go out of his way to brag about doing adult things.
He'd figured that's what the kid would do, once he left Sebastian where he was to go sit with the other children, to show off how adult he was and to tell the others all about yoga and how long he'd been doing it and all that.
Sebastian would have. He had, even, when he was little.
It was David who always pulled him down to earth from his pedestal.
It was David who he went to after that first class, after Harry jumped back from his naturally physical way of teaching (for godssake, he just touched his foot!), after Harry refused to be aggressive in the way the under-10's were when challenged by their fellows (he was usually good with his students, but he was more than a little exasperated with Emily Poter), how Harry had done more laps than the others (and wow what form, the kid's parents must have him working with trainers or is at some posh school), how he'd thrown himself—quite literally—into the first lesson (and wow would the kid have gotten quite a few bruises from that.
After a lot of things, really.
Sebastian had gone to David after nearly every class with Harry, but more often than not he had the same answer, or something close to it.
"The best thing to do to get to a kid like that is to figure out what he wants, and then urge him to go for it, helping where you can. It doesn't sound like he's as unsure of himself as I was as a kid, but he might have a couple of older siblings, or younger siblings."
"Overshadowed, huh?" he'd asked, thinking how different that was from his own family, but figured that with how rich the kid's family must be. Yoga classes and track and field trainers at his age, he must be upper class.
He'd suggested that maybe this class was his way of being independent from his siblings, then, since this wasn't exactly the highest quality (read: most expensive) class.
David nodded, and Sebastian had taken that as leave to complain and comment on all his other students, lamenting his obvious problem student Emily, and the ones who were most likely to be kicked out for fighting.
David, the psychologist mindset he was perpetually in, suggested what he could do to keep the peace, and though conversation regularly went to the problem that was Emily and Harry interacting, showed the infinite amount of patience he'd had since he'd known him.
Sebastian wondered what David would have to say about the sketchbook situation.
Wondered if he could properly explain the look of utter devastation that crossed Harry's face when his sketchbook was taken from him, the look of horror when Emily had claimed the sketchbook was hers.
Sebastian knew Emily was lying; she didn't seem to realize that she got this tone in her voice when she was lying, but without having the matter looked into until at least next class, they were more likely to have legal action taken against the program, and they really didn't need that.
So he'd had to take the book—and wow were there some amazing sketches in there, that Emily had somehow managed to not smudge—and he'd be returning it to Harry at the end of Thursday's class.
He just needed to have a talk with David is all, to figure out how he was going to get through filing the paperwork for Emily to be removed from the class without feeling too victorious or relieved about it.
He only worried Harry wasn't taking it too hard or worrying about it.
Though the kid took the class seriously enough that perhaps he should be worrying…
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Harry woke to a damp pillow, but did not let his tears fall outside if his room.
He didn't go to Max's shop, and felt his absence like shears twisting under his ribs. He did not think to go to the Alley on his own, or to contact Mr. Grant Barley about not going into work for the next couple of days. He did not think about not being able to be surrounded by Green, and did not think which was worse, the absence of Max or the absence of Green things.
He tried his best to not think at all.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
He did not go to Max's shop the next day either, nor the day after that. Class was a blur of grey and brown things, dead things, unimportant people as bland as their un-inked bodies, as story less as their unscarred skin, and Harry didn't see anything.
He tried to find comfort in his Garden, but he couldn't do more than be distracted and kept busy as he worked to keep the leaves he found there from yellowing more, and worked to keep his late-blooming flowers from inexplicable wilting.
By the end of the day, every flower was bare of petals, and each leaf was showing unhealthy yellowing.
Harry couldn't help but think that even his plants were disgusted with him for losing his Sketchbook.
He was disgusted with himself, and kept his tears for the solitude of his room.
He'd likely never see Max again after he confesses to losing Max's gift to him.
He did not notice leaves wilting at the thought.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Max watched the door to his shop, thinking.
The kid hadn't been by his shop for three days now, if he didn't show up by the end of the day.
Hadn't even been to the Alley, either, as far as he could tell.
He'd already been planning as much, but perhaps his visiting plan would have to change.
Tomorrow was Sunday, he knew, and the kid had his fucking classes.
Liked the classes, so the kid was likely to be there even if he was feeling sick or whatever it was that had the kid away for so long.
He hadn't given in to visit the kid when he came down with a Muggle disease, which was the longest the kid had kept from visiting him since he'd first brought him to the Goblins, and the only thing that had kept Max from apparating over and checking to make sure his Fucking Muggles were looking after him alright was the mistaken notion that the kid held him at a distance.
And wasn't that a Relief/Joy/BuggeringWasteOfTimeBeforeTh at when he realized that the kid thought of him as more than that wizard who dropped him off at the Alley.
He certainly never imagined himself as child-friendly, and he supposed he could still count himself as that.
He was just Harry-friendly.
He winced at the thought of having to deal with other brats, and snorted at the kid acting like any of the brats he saw more often than not at the Alley.
Certainly wouldn't be all chummy with any fucking brat, that's for sure.
But the kid not coming to the shop was worrying.
He thought some more, and made a decision.
Number 4 Privet Drive, the Fucking Muggle neighborhood, could wait.
The Fucking Muggles the kid lived with could wait.
The kid couldn't.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
"Harry, Emily, we'll get the issue from last class sorted out at the end of today's class." Sebastian told them before directing the class to run laps around the gym.
Harry went through the motions with a heavy heart, wondering if this would really be the last class for him.
He didn't mind the endless number of pushups and sit-ups, the jumping jacks, the running.
He didn't mind any of it and had not once complained about the work.
He thought it was wholly unfair that he would likely be kicked from the class.
Emily kept shooting him snide remarks, and he did his best to ignore her. What did he care, after all, if she seemed to know this would be his last class?
The pot of flowers Sally kept by her desk wilted and yellowed.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time for the rest of the students to leave, many lingering in the hopes of catching sight of sound of what was going to happen.
Harry hated that they stayed so long, hated that their parents weren't dragging them off as he'd seen them do before, hated that he had to wait around for what was to happen, hated that he felt like he would cry, hated that Emily seemed to be able to see that.
Hated that her parents stared down at him, an arm around Emily's shoulder, a hand in her hand, silently accusing.
What did you do to my daughter? Said their eyes.
Why would you be so horrible? Accused their expressions.
How could you?
How could you?
How could I?
Harry stood on his own in the small office space, looking at the shiny white on his well-cleaned sneakers, hands relaxed at his sides so he wouldn't have the urge to lash out. He counted his breaths. In, and out.
One.
How could I have let this happen?
Two.
This is horrible.
Three.
I hate this.
Four.
I hate Emily.
Five.
I was so stupid.
Six.
Max will hate me.
Seven.
Please don't let him hate me.
The door opened.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Sebastian sighed and held the sketchbook delicately in his hands. He freely admitted to flipping through the pages and admiring the work and care put into the drawings, and amazing over how the pencil drawings hadn't been smudged by Emily's rough handling.
He wouldn't mention this to anyone but David, but this was another reason he couldn't believe Emily had drawn any of this.
There was time, patience, and hard work put into these drawings that Emily just couldn't have given.
Emily was a problem student in more ways than one.
Yes, she was a mouthy little girl, but he'd dealt with the type before, and had even worked through it with them, but it was the lack of will to put much effort into the classes that made her more of a problem student.
Sebastian honestly wanted to teach these kids to defend themselves, to teach them to avoid confrontation unless needed, to teach what that need actually was.
And he couldn't do that if they tried to rush through it all.
He couldn't do so when they were being encouraged to skip steps by a stubborn little girl who wanted to be able to fight with the least amount of work put into developing the skill.
He couldn't teach her the values of hard work when she cut corners around the gym when she ran, when she did less of each exercise than the other students, when she taunted other students for trying hard in class.
She wanted to be an action star over night; she wanted to move onto the actual fights; she wanted to give out bruises like candy to the other children; she wanted to do it all NOW.
She didn't want to work on her holds, or her stance. She wanted to be able to stop anyone in his or her tracks NOW.
She didn't want to work on her upper body strength she didn't want to just learn the proper grip. She wanted to be able to flip someone over her shoulder NOW.
She didn't want to be able to run away from a stronger opponent. She wanted to run after any opponent who would 'chicken out' enough to run away.
She wanted to be the meanest, toughest, strongest little girl around.
Now.
And no matter how much he worked with her on it, he couldn't get her to actually work.
You couldn't get as good at drawing like this without patience and practice.
You couldn't be this good at drawing with the ego of someone like Emily, and not have mentioned it during class to anyone who would hear.
And he'd feel bad for thinking this if David didn't agree.
If David hadn't agreed with Sebastian, if he'd even hinted that perhaps Sebastian was being even the slightly bit biased, he would change his tune. He would sit down and do a serious rethink.
But David could see in a way that Sebastian never could. He looked at people and didn't see the personality that they projected, he could see past the bullshit and see what they were actually about.
And he could, through Sebastian's biweekly ramblings, figure out ways to help children he'd never seen.
He saw and knew what to do.
It was why he was such a good therapist.
It was why he'd even bothered becoming Sebastian's friend.
He trusted David wholly.
And David agreed with him in the case of Emily Poter.
Looking at Harry Potter, standing in the main office looking as if the world was about to end, he wondered if he maybe should have pulled the boy aside to talk to him at the end of last class.
"Mr. Pinotez, I hope that this situation will be dealt with sometime soon? Emily has told us that this boy has stolen something of hers." Mrs. Poter said, heavily plucked eyebrows raised.
"I would assume that her belongings would be returned." Drawled Mr. Poter, giving a scornful look to Harry.
Sebastian sighed slightly.
"Harry, are your guardians going to be here for this?"
Harry shook his head minutely, and Sebastian frowned. He couldn't remember ever meeting Harry's guardians, or even seeing them after class. That would be something he would have to ask about later.
"There was indeed an issue with theft, and I'd like to remind you all our rules against that. The forms you and your guardians signed agreed that the rules of this establishment would be obeyed, and we have a strict—"
"Yes, yes, we know all that. I have a meeting in an hour and I'd like this to be over with sooner rather than later." Mrs. Poter interrupted with an imperious wave of her well-manicured nails. Emily smirked, and Sebastian resisted the urge to frown.
Unprofessional, Sebby, Unprofessional… David's voice said.
A glance at Harry showed that his face was ashen, looking like he might be sick.
He should really hurry and get this over with; he didn't want the kid to go through this much stress for any longer than necessary, but—
"I'm sure, but I'm required by law to make sure you were aware of the rule before I go any further. Are you saying that you understand that you are still held by the agreement that you signed?"
"Yes, of course." Huffed Mr. Poter.
Sebastian again looked to Harry, and the boy nodded somberly.
"Yessir."
Sebastian bristled at the look the Mr. and Mrs. Poter sent his student, and it was hard to keep his voice even.
"Then I'll cut straight to it and say that Emily is no longer welcome in my class. Theft is unacceptable in my class, something you were made aware of first thing. Please collect your things and have a nice day." Sebastian carefully pulled the sketchbook from his desk drawer, and held it out to Harry. "I'm sorry this had to happen, Harry. Here's your sketchbook back."
There was a moment of shocked silence before Harry darted forward with the widest smile he'd ever seen on the boy's face, carefully (but quickly) taking the sketchbook back.
His smile was so wide he could see hints of his back teeth, and if he didn't know Harry like he did, he might've thought it was a rather creepy smile, somewhat.
It was just shy of too wide for a face to hold. Sebastian assumed it was the elasticity of a child's face that kept it from looking too shark-like.
"That is Unacceptable!"
"Preposterous!"
Burst out the two elder Poter's. Emily's face was frozen in shock, but Sebastian saw the quick glance at her parents before her face scrunched up and started turning red. Tears were squeezed from the corners of her eyes, and cliché though it sounds, Seb knew them to be crocodile tears.
There was a knock at the door, and Seb sidled towards it, fielding off the outraged protests the three Poters were spilling out, Emily now bawling.
Cracking the door open, Sally's face peeked in. She said something, but over the protests of the three in the room (Harry was just beaming in the corner of the room), and he spun around to give them his best Mister-Tian-Look. He'd been on the receiving end of the look enough that he should have it down pat by now. Not as effective as the original, perhaps, but effective.
"Excuse me. I have to take this." He turned back to he door, trying to pull it a bit wider, but Sally glanced quickly behind her and kept it mostly closed.
"Yes?"
"There's a… there's a man here. To see Harry. He's just, just, um. Umm…" She glanced behind her again, and jumped a bit, startled. "Excuse me, sir, if you just wait one moment—"
"Is the Kid in there or am I wastin' my time?"
Sebastian pulled the door wider at the low voice, and looked past Sally.
A face you'd expect to see hiding under your bed, or perhaps in your nightmares, grinned back at him.
He felt his face go slack even as his shoulders tensed.
Good gods the man had fangs!
Admittedly, it was only one, and wasn't natural, by the silver shine of it, but his face was as nightmarish as they came, without makeup.
Ropey scars crawled up the one side of his face, interrupting dark stubble that stretched around the man's grinning mouth.
He was immediately reminded of his nightmares as a child that he'd gotten from reading Alice In Wonderland, of his even now lingering fear of cats.
That smile was too wide by far. Smaller scars marked up the rest of his face, and up his highly tattooed arms, some he recognized as being from knives, and others from things he couldn't even imagine at.
He would guess that the man was blind by his milky blue eyes, if not for the way they had focused immediately on him, assessing, eyes blinking to show a brief glance of tattoos across his eyelids, ouch, and dark silver-grey hair was only starting to grow back, maybe a couple of months worth of growth.
All in all, scary.
Scary and mean looking.
And looking for Harry.
Protective instinct reared their heads, scenting danger, and he bristled when the man called out "Kid?" like he had any right to be here.
In a moment, the grin was shrunken to a small smirk, one side of his mouth permanently twisted up, the Joker to my Batman, when he recognized something familiar.
Where have I seen you before?
"Max? Max?"
He felt a hand tug at the back of his shirt a moment before being pushed slightly to the side, and for a moment, Seb wasn't going to move, but in a moment, he placed the face to memory. Max. Max? Max.
It was only slightly different to the drawing in Harry's sketchbook, less hair, and only smirking, not grinning like a cat from his nightmares.
Max.
Right.
"Max!"
Seb hadn't ever heard Harry sound so delighted, or rush towards anyone with such obvious glee. Sketchbook still clutched to his chest, Harry only stopped short right besides the man, beaming up at him. He'd thought that his smile earlier had been wide, but now Harry's grin was wide enough to match the man's.
Seb blinked, surprised.
"Excuse me! Are we going to have to wait here all day?" the voice of Mrs. Poter demanded behind him. Seb sighed softly to himself, and caught the man—Max, what the hell was with that?—glancing at him and grinning again.
He opened the door the rest of the way, and walked into the front waiting room, not wanting to be stuck in the same room with all three Poters without any kind of backup (and wasn't it funny he'd thought of Harry as backup), and saw Harry speaking lowly to Max, quickly, looking anxious. Sebastian suddenly remembered the first day of class, just after Emily had finished being a bother for a bit.
"I like to garden and draw, and my best friend's name is Max. I like that he's different, and that he helps me draw better."
"Oh, he's a bit of a better artist then? What's he draw?"
"Tattoos."
Sebastian had grinned. Had grinned and thought of David, hearing, I like that he's different, and that he helps me remove my head from my arse on occasion. Harry and Max might not be like Seb and Davey when they grew up, but it had sounded like they might be. Sebastian looked at the pair now and boggled.
"Wants to be a tattoo artist when he's older, does he? I think I wanted to do that when I was a kid too."
Harry had looked at him strangely, and now he could see why. Seb would have done the same.
"No. He is a tattoo artist. I visit his shop regularly and he helps me with my drawings."
Harry had looked so happy right then that most of the other kids in the class had smiled with him.
Harry had visited the man enough that he did what Seb's cousins sometimes did with him. Imitate gestures, expressions, and interests. He didn't think Harry's interest in drawing came from this Max character (if it was, he put in a lot more effort than his cousins did), and he certainly couldn't see this man as much of a gardener…
Then again, he couldn't see him as Harry's Max, either.
Don't judge the book by its cover, David's voice said.
Don't buy a sword for its ornamentation, Mr. Tian's voice corrected.
He certainly has a lot of… ornamentation, Seb thought to himself, agreeing more with the sword metaphor.
"Excuse me! I demand—"
Mrs. Poter cut herself off at the sight of Max, Mr. Poter stumbling into her back when she stopped so abruptly from storming form the office.
Even Emily stopped crying for a moment to look terrified.
Mrs. Poter took a deep breath, her pearl necklace heaving with her, and she seemed to take courage from her husband backing her.
"I demand you return my daughters sketchbook thing immediately."
"Ey, there. What's this then? The Kid says your fucking brat stole his sketchbook." Max rumbled behind Sebastian. He had to keep a smile from stealing over his face for a moment, before he remembered that Harry was here too.
"Language, Mr. Max." he reminded the man, looking at him. Max raised a lierced eyebrow, and smirked.
"English." Was the only reply.
Oh hell, he and David would get along… He thought despairingly. He ignored the fact that he was warming to Max himself.
"I'd hardly take the word of that miscreant above my daughter, sir." Sneered Mr. Poter, setting one hand on his wife's shoulder.
"Oh really, yeh think yer bratty li'l girl 'ere's not a thief then, eh? When I can tell yeh I know f'r a fact that's the Kid's book?"
"And how would you know that, Mr. Max?" Mrs. Poter scrunchd her nose at him and turned to the side, as though to create more distance between them.
Or perhaps to create a smaller target.
"'Cause I'm the one who gave 'im the book. It's an old one o' mine."
"And I assume you're an artist of some sort then?" She said the word artist like one might say the word slut.
"He gives people Marks." said Harry proudly, and Sebastian only now noticed that while one arm was securely holding the sketchbook to his chest, the other held onto Max's hand like a lifeline, standing close. Max grinned down at Harry for a moment, before turning back to the Poters. Sebastian felt very much like a referee, standing to the side beside these two groups facing off. The grin he gave the Poters was less a smile and more like him bearing his teeth. Showing off his fangs.
Fang. Singular
"A Tatoo artist, yeah... and," he added, grin widening even further, if that was even remotely possible, "I bet your li'l fuckin' brat's never seen my face in 'er life, has she?"
Sebastian immediately knew what he was going for, and stayed silent to enjoy the show.
Emily's face, which by now had dried of tears but stayed blotchy from crying, immediately twisted up in disgust.
"Ew, no way!"
"Are you insinuating that our little girl would ever lower herself to get a tattoo? For God's sake, she's not even eleven!"
Max grinned and made a small gesture towards Harry with the hand not occupied.
Harry was smiling still, smaller and with less teeth, and still stood close to Max's side, and unwound enough to hand his sketchbook delicately to Max.
One handed, Max flipped open the book to one of it's beginning pages.
"Then she likely never drew this, yeah?"
Sebastian could only see it at an angle, but he knew which page it was on, and from the look of realization on all three of the Poter's faces as they looked between the picture and the man holding it, they understood.
"U-um, well, I mean, I sort of remember you, you're the guy from the, the um, tattoo parlor, place, right? I see you when we drive past, I must have, um, Mommy, Daddy? I must've seen him, of course, I just have a better memory than you realized, how could you even start to doubt? What, you think I'm a liar? I'm not the one who stole the art book, he is. You have to believe me; you're my parents. Make them give it back!"
Emily, starting off stuttering, now stood burning with righteous fury, fists on hips as she scowled at Harry and Max.
"Thank you, I'm sorry for any inconvenience—"
"Mommy!"
"—we may have caused you with this… incident. Mr. Pinotez, I apologize for my daughter's behavior."
"Yes, thank you for teaching her these past few months, we are sorry to have to find another institution—"
"Daddy!" Both parents were pulling their daughter to the exit, heedless of her attempts to yank their arms for attention.
"—but if she doesn't learn proper behavior, there will be consequences when we get home, and I assure you there is no need to talk of this matter any longer, we will recommend you, of course to our associates, thank you for your time, goodbye!"
The door closed softly, slowly enough to hear the beginning of what was sure to be an epic scolding;
"I have never been so embarrassed—!"
"Young lady, you have a lot of explaining to do—!"
before cutting them off with a hushed click.
Harry was beaming up at Max, glancing at Sebastian, and he could recognize that look.
He saw it when parents first showed up to pick up their kids, children proud of their parents.
That look usually said 'Lookit! Lookit! This is my person/people!'
Sebastian smiled at the pair, and tried not to wince when Max (what is his last name? He can't keep calling him Mr. Max) return it with his shark-like grin.
"Harry, I am sorry about all that, I hope you understand that…"
"Yeah, legal reasons, right? Thank you for returning my sketchbook."
Sebastian smiled, and then remembered that he and Max whatever-his-name-is hadn't been properly introduced.
"Sorry, we haven't been introduced. My name is Sebastian Pinotez, I'm one of the instructors here." He held out his hand to Max, and was only mildly surprised to have it taken up and shaken.
"Max Ritter."
Harry beamed. This is my person. Isn't he amazing?
Harry gave a brief tug on Max's hand, and when he looked to him, he whispered something to him that made Max relax some. His grin looked less like he was bearing his teeth as a threat.
Seb just caught it, but missed a word. He couldn't figure out what else Harry could mean, it sounded like nothing that would work in context.
Later, after some small talk where Seb told Max about Harry's progress (having missed telling this to anyone in Harry's life so far these past two months), and waved after them as the door clicked shut behind them.
He still wondered what that word could be.
Don't worry Max, he'd whispered, a secret smile on his face. He's not a fucking Muggle.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
And that's that for now.
Does that answer the many, many questions? Perhaps.
I'm sure you'll have more for me.
Feel free to ask/comment/review :)
Also, it's raining like hell here, just in time for the fire ban (in effect since July 27th, I believe) to finish.
Some campers are pissed, but I'm laughing here in the staff house :P
NOTE: That was a while ago, the fire ban finished before the summer was out, but it was still funny, if irritating. I'm back home again, and hopefully I'll be able to finish this story by NaNoWriMo so I can do its sequel that month.
Comment/review and tell me what you think, all you complainers :) How's my solution?
~Doodled93~