Chapter Seven

Happy Holidays

Like most things she did in this life, it was a risky manoeuvre. Harry Potter was a magnet for trouble—there were literally seven whole books detailing all the crazy crap he was implicated in—and so, by inviting him to her house, she was practically asking for karma to bite her in the back.

But, when Alex saw the wide-eyed elation light up Harry's face, she couldn't find it in herself to regret her decision.

"You're serious?" asked Harry, stunned. He forced the swing to a stop, dragging his well-worn shoes into the sand. "Your family is inviting me over? For a whole week? For Christmas?"

Alex smiled. "Well, I'm not Sirius," she said automatically, "but it's true. So, um, pack your bags I guess?" She hadn't really planned for this part.

Harry was still gaping at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. "But why?"

Because you're a child doomed by fate to never be truly, wholly happy. Alex shrugged. "I miss you. We need to catch up. And I'm fairly certain you'd rather company that aren't the Dursleys."

Harry grimaced. "True," he conceded. "Won't I be a bother, though?"

"Please. My parents are dying to meet their favourite daughter's first friend."

"You have a sister?"

"Harry, I'm an only child."

Harry, the jerk, snickered. "Your parents sound fun."

"You'll have to meet them first. We'll pick you up tomorrow morning, if that's alright with you. Will your family mind?"

Harry thought for a moment, tracing random figures in the sand with the tip of his shoe. "No," he decided. "They'll probably be relieved that I'm gone so long."

Alex frowned, but said nothing on that topic. "10 o'clock good? Great. By the way, can I ask you to try to hide your scar while you stay with us?"

Startled, Harry grazed the scar on his forehead in concern. "Why?"

"My mum is something like a soldier," she said, wondering if that half-truth counted as a lie. "Scars can sort of act as a trigger for her."

"Oh. Then sure. Should I wear a hat or something?"

"Nah, just keep your hair brushed over it."

After that, they chatted a bit more. Harry was bemoaning his life with Dursleys, as well as the weird and magical (though he didn't know it yet) mishaps that occurred around him. Alex listened with half an ear, the rest of her breathing a sigh of relief at how easily Harry complied with her request. By obscuring view of his infamous lightning scar, Alex could minimise the chances of her parents realising that her friend Harry was, in fact, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

In doing so, her parents wouldn't have freak out or spill the beans to anyone willing to hear – which was probably the entire wizarding world, now that she thought about it. Alex couldn't really see her mum gossiping away, but her dad was a big-mouth who loved gossip an indecent amount. Customers of the ice cream parlour had quickly learnt to keep their secrets to themselves, lest the ice cream man caught wind of it and soon let the rest of the city know. Alex worried about him sometimes.

"Thank you for the Halloween treats," Harry said during a lull in conversation. "I don't get sweets often, so it was nice."

Alex smiled. "What did you think of the jelly beans?"

Harry pulled a face, as if he had just eaten a whole lemon. "I think that Bertie Bott fellow is nutters. What sane person makes an ear wax flavour? Yuck."

Alex suppressed snicker as a shudder of disgust wracked through Harry's small, scrawny body. During one of their many written correspondences, she had sent him some of the tamer magical lollies, such as the Every Flavour Beans as well as other innocuous treats spotted in the Great Hall.

"Wait until you get a bogey-flavoured one," she whispered ominously.

She didn't bother hiding her laughter at Harry's rapidly paling complexion. It was nice to know strangely flavoured jelly beans were the worst of his worries for now. The innocence of youth. Not for the first time, Alex wondered how that felt.

Mum knew how to drive, thank Merlin. She had to, if she was undercover posing as a muggle for extended periods of time. It was Christmas Eve morning when they sped off to 4 Privet Drive, her parents growing visibly excited while, for Alex, it was the opposite. She wasn't sure how the Dursleys were going to react to her whisking off their live-in slave for a week; worse still, she didn't what she herself was going to do once she laid eyes on them. She'd already two bouts of accidental magic this year, but at least they were in controlled environments. Out here in the muggle world, though, one extra snap of her nerves could mean terrible trouble for the Fortescues.

Oblivious to his daughter's steadily rising panic, Florean stared intensely at the passing houses. He never really got used to the sensation of riding in an automobile – it was much smoother than he had anticipated! "Number 2, number 4 – ah, we're here!" he declared, a second too late if the sudden braking of the car was any indication. "Sorry, dear," he muttered, noting the fierce glare his lovely wife was shooting at him.

"Dad," piped up his little girl, "can you come with me to the door?"

"Of course, of course," he said cheerily. "After you."

Florean hopped out of the car and absorbed the sight of the neighbourhood with muted wonder. It was odd how every lot looked almost exactly the same. The same roof-colour, the same sort of bricks, mailboxes, gardens – you name it! It was almost as if someone had cast a mass-wide replication spell. Now there was a thought…

"On second thought," said Alex, "do you mind waiting here, by the plants?"

If her dad was bemused by her request, he didn't show it. He simply smiled and nodded, seemingly content to continue drinking in the sight of the muggle neighbourhood. She sighed softly. Suddenly Mr Weasley's fascination with the muggle world made so much sense.

Alex approached the door alone, trying not to feel as if she was walking straight into the lion's den. She raised a fist and only managed to get one knock in on the varnished door when it swung straight open, and she was graced with the sight of a man so grumpy he could put the Grinch to shame.

"Who are you?" he barked roughly. "What do you want?"

Now she was really glad her dad had stayed behind.

Rude piece of s— Alex straightened herself with indignation. "I'm here for Harry," she declared stonily.

Vernon Dursley's beady little eyes scanned her, as if gauging whether she was a freak or not. "You're that Fortescue girl, eh?" He glanced at her parents in the background. "What do your parents do?" he asked abruptly.

Alex felt her brow wrinkle in confusion. What kind of question was that? "One owns an ice cream shop. The other is a police officer." The magical equivalent, but what Dursley didn't know wouldn't hurt him. For now. She was half-tempted to ask him what he did, but she didn't want to get Harry killed, so she reigned in her temper and asked with forced calm, "Is Harry ready?"

"Yeah," the only decent person in the house said, "I am."

Dursley opened his great big gob to say something to Harry—probably an insult or a vaguely threatening reminder—but the boy in question rendered his efforts naught by shuffling past him, a bag shrugged onto his back.

As he walked by Dursley, Alex noticed the man's meaty hand twitch jerkily. But it stilled as he noticed her once more. What little brainpower he had must have been working overtime as he figured it was best not to try anything in front of witnesses.

Alex was ready to leave this place and never look back, but Harry stopped by the entrance for a moment. "I'll be back in a week," he said, as if to reinforce the fact that he wouldn't be leaving them well and good. A shame, too, that. Damn blood wards.

Huffing like the arse he was, Dursley slammed the door shut without another word. Harry looked unfazed as he turned to her and mustered up a smile. "Hi," he said.

Alex smiled, amused. "Hi," she said, beginning to head back to the car. "Have you read the works of Roald Dahl, Harry?"

"Uh, no," he replied, shuffling awkwardly.

She wouldn't have either if she lived the life he did. No book was safe around Dudley Dunce Dursley. Unperturbed, she continued. "He once wrote that a person's appearance was reflective of their soul. Looking at your uncle made me remember that."

"Why?"

"He has the manners of an ogre."

It took a second for Harry to understand, but once it clicked, a grin split his face in two. "I guess I'll have to check his books out sometime," he noted, giggling.

"We have the whole collection," informed Dad as they approached him. "Harry, yes? Good to meet you. I'm Florean Fortescue, Alexandra's father."

"And ice cream extraordinaire," she added in a mumble.

The effect was instant. Dad lit up like a Christmas tree and immediately began boasting about his wonderful shop. Not that Harry could visit it, of course. Not yet, anyway. "I have several pints at home, in fact!" continued Dad. "You should try some and tell me what you think."

"That's a lot of ice cream, Dad," Alex reminded him, pulling the car door open. She gestured Harry to enter first.

Dad nodded, his face grave. "Looks like Harry will have to eat nothing but ice cream while he stays with us."

"Florean," Mum warned, but the effect was ruined by the slight twitch of her lips.

Dad laughed as he climbed in. Smirking, Alex looked over to Harry over his backpack. Though a bit bewildered by the back-and-forth, the smile he sported was a good sign that they hadn't scared him off. So far so good.

Her parents continued to talk to Harry as they headed home, with person of the hour answering somewhat shyly and uncertainly. Alex made sure to shoot him assuring smile and chip in her own two cents here and there, and so Harry gradually loosened his tense shoulders and relaxed in the car.

Once they reached home, Alex grabbed Harry's backpack before he had even unbuckled his seatbelt. The boy immediately protested. "It's okay, Alex," he assured her. "I can carry it."

Alex exaggerated a scoff. "You're a guest here, Harry. Leave the dirty work to us." Her tone and mannerisms brooked no room for argument, so Harry agreed, albeit hesitantly, and she was showing him to her room in a jiffy.

"This," she said, setting his bag by the bed, "is your temporary room for the week. It's a bit cramped, I know, sorry," she said, glancing at the stunned expression on Harry's face.

"I get my own bed?" he asked, green eyes wide with surprise.

Alex roughly tugged her mittens off, trying not to ponder on whether or not Harry had ever slept in a real bed before. Cupboards didn't afford much room for such luxuries, after all. "Yeah," she replied, ensuring her voice was as even as possible. "We don't have any spare rooms"—because they were filled with the magical items her family was forced to hide for the week, and shrinking charms or no, it was a lot of crap—"so it was either here or our living room…which can be freezing this time of the year. Besides," she added, placing her mittens by her dresser, "we had a spare bed."

Harry eyed her oddly. "Why do you have a spare bed?"

The lie rolled off of her tongue easily. "My cousin comes to sleep over rather often." Alex didn't know if she had any cousins. Her mum's family was practically non-existent, and her dad's already-small family was made even smaller in the war against Voldemort. "We normally keep her bed in the storage, so there might be some dust on it. S'that alright?"

Harry nodded. He moved closer towards his bed—it was shoved to the other side of room, right against the wall and parallel to hers—and touched it almost reverently. "It's brilliant," he murmured.

A dull ache throbbed in Alex's chest, but she paid it no mind. "Come on, Harry. Let's grab some lunch."

Lunch was nothing special; just some leftover chicken and mushroom penne from dinner last night. Alex had volunteered to cook, having missed her comfort food which traversed lifetimes. To her mounting dismay, Harry yet again appeared shocked when Alex remarked that he could have as much as he wanted. It was just pasta. Still, she couldn't deny the small happiness she experienced when Harry enthusiastically devoured his meal, even if it was much less than what she ate (most of the chicken went to her cat, though).

"Don't forget the ice cream later," chimed in Dad from the sofa. He was perusing the Daily Prophet, careful to angle himself so that Harry wouldn't catch sight of the moving images.

Magical GIFs, Alex thought to herself, smirking. "Wouldn't dream of it, Dad." Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and her smile flipped into a frown at the sight of Harry collecting the dirty dishes. "Harry, don't. Like I said, you're the guest."

Flinching, Harry gazed down at the dishes in mild surprise. "Right. Sorry." He hemmed and hawed for a bit, and Alex realised he was torn between putting it back on the table or placing them in the sink.

She huffed in amusement. "Pass them here, then. We'll do it together."

Relieved, Harry nodded and followed her to the sink. They worked quite well together, with her washing while he dried. He did it quickly and efficiently, barely paying attention to the work. The mundane chore must be ingrained into him by now, considering how often he must have done them under the loving care of the Dursleys. Alex scowled. It probably explained why he had automatically collected the dishes in the first place.

"Um, Alex?" Harry said anxiously. "I think that plate is clean by now."

Alex's hands stilled, her scowl loosening with confusion. She had unknowingly been scrubbing away furiously at the plate in her hands, which practically glistened with cleanliness now. She sighed, somehow not very surprised. At least she hadn't released any bursts of magic this time.

"Right," she said shortly, handing him the plate.

He accepted it, and they continued without another word.

Although Alex was more than ready for ice cream, Harry swore he couldn't eat another bite. Not wanting to pig out by herself, she suggested a game to kill the time. After going through their usual routine of rock-paper-scissors, I Spy, and hangman, they eventually switched to board games. Unfortunately, they couldn't use the magical kind (it was a bit hard to explain the animate figure pieces, changing colours of the board and the random minor explosions) so Alex dug out a classic: Monopoly.

Finding it proved difficult, since her parents had done their best to hide it in the attic. As she set up the game in the living room, she saw the way her parents practically froze, tragic memories of the last time they played rushing through their mind.

Hopefully, Harry wasn't as competitive as her family. She really didn't want their budding friendship to end so soon.

"Ugh," Alex groaned a good deal into the game. "Come on, Harry, you've already won everything else. Let me have this."

"Sorry, Alex," replied Harry, smiling. "Rules are rules."

Grumbling, she grudgingly handed her friend the appropriate amount of money she owed. "At least stop buying everything you land on."

Harry shrugged. "It's working so far."

"Play nice, you two," Mum warned from behind her mug of tea. "Alex, remember what happened last time we played."

"Yes, Mum," she mumbled, face growing warm.

Harry, noticing her reaction, asked, "What happened?"

Alex dedicated her attention to anywhere but him. She fiddled with her piece – a bathtub, because why not? "Someone might have lost their temper and flipped the game," she said quickly and quietly.

Harry snickered. "Was that someone you?"

"No!" she cried, indignant. When Harry merely looked at her, she deflated with a sigh. "To be fair, it was an accident. I was getting up when my hands coincidentally tipped the board over."

"Mmhm," he hummed. "An accident. Sure."

"Shut up and play, Harry."

She lost painfully. Harry Potter was a relentless tycoon – who knew? No untimely accidents occurred this time, though, so she accepted her loss with as much dignity as she could muster. (It wasn't much. She had lost to a ten-year-old.)

Still, Monopoly wasn't too fruitless of an endeavour. Harry was finally peckish enough to try the famous Fortescue ice cream, and so they chose the safest sounding one: white chocolate miso. Thank Merlin Harry didn't appear too interested in the popping candy flavour; though generally safe, the magical version tended to make you see fireworks in the back of your mind as a rush of flavour overwhelmed you.

"It's good," noted a faintly surprised Harry. Granted, the combination sounded odd in the first place.

Alex hummed in agreement around her spoon. "It's Mum's favourite."

"What's yours?"

"Chilli and dark chocolate."

Harry almost choked on his morsel of ice cream. "You're not serious."

Alex simply smirked in response.

Feeling somewhat bloated from the dessert, the two children decided to go for a walk. Alex's parents were inevitably dragged along, because mentally mature or not, creeps were everywhere. When suppertime grew close, they opted to eat out for dinner. As he was the guest, Harry got to choose. When he chose pizza, both Alex and her father were pleased. The matriarch was less so.

"Today was a good day," Harry announced from his temporary bed.

Alex dragged her eyes away from the frame of his bed. When hers was replicated to create his, it copied everything from the shade of the wood to the light scratches decorating it. "It's only the beginning. Happy Christmas Eve, Harry."

Harry's smile was visible even through the dim lamplight. "Happy Christmas Eve, Alex."

Alex's nightmares were subdued that night.