Author's Note: Trigger warning for mentions of suicide, sex, and drugs.
CHAPTER FOUR
To Be
Even if there were any magical folk in Aldeford, they would hardly recognise Harry Potter now. Said man shuffles down the street in his worn clothing, dyed grey from a washing mishap. His unruly hair now reaches past his shoulders and though he tries his best to grow a beard, there is only a patchy, uneven stubble that graces his face.
The former Chosen One is often seen with a bottle in hand or a big bag of shopping as he carries out an errand for the Aldeford matriarch. When the sun goes down, the Aldeford locals would expect to see the raven haired drunkard to be sitting with the town's other fools, Gideon and Jobe, helping them rustle up enough money for their next hit.
June Pinkerton, the local cafe owner, serves Harry a cup of coffee every morning as he staggers home from the latest bender. Black, eight sugars. She wonders what Mrs. Aldeford sees in the man, to have taken him under her care so easily and continue to do so five years on. 'Tom' is an unfriendly, unhygienic individual with no care in the world aside from the drink and those two junkies by the station. Well, and Mrs. Aldeford, June would admit, albeit begrudgingly. He is rather good with the old crow and the town is protective of their matriarch.
June wrinkles her nose in disgust as the scruffy man exits her cafe, cradling his steaming coffee cup in his trembling hands. She does feel a slight twinge of pity despite herself. Her father was also an alcoholic in his prime and she had grown up watching the most wonderful man she knew wither away into a dribbling husk. She watches the raven disappear up the road and wonders briefly how old he was. Yesterday he seemed to be older than her and today he appeared to be but a child. How strange. With a shake of her head, June turns to the next customer and forces a smile. "What will it be today, Mr. Thompson?"
He'd gotten an earful from Margaret the day before after Draco finally left. She only stopped berating him when he tossed her the envelope full of money. "You can't pay me off, boy!" is all she said, before creaking back to her office whilst thumbing through the notes.
Harry was glad to rid of her, but he was also glad that he was able to give her something in return. Even if it weren't his own money to begin with.
Keeping an eye out for the tell-tale flash of white hair, Harry makes his way through the Sunday crowds at Aldeford Station. Families and friends dressed up and travelling to zoos and picnics and movie theatres, and whatever else it is that normal people did. Harry envied them to the point of loathing. How nice it would be to be normal. Was he ever?
"Tom! Get your scrawny ass over here!"
Breaking out into a smile, Harry turns his trajectory to the bins by the station. Jobe, a broad faced woman with big brown eyes and dark skin, waves him over with a grin. She's missing a few teeth in her smile, but it's dazzling all the same. Jobe readjusts her overalls and crouches down on her haunches, cigarette dangling from her fingers. "How is it that even though you live in that fancy house of yours, you always look worse than I do?"
Harry huffs a laugh and sits down beside her, making sure not to accidentally kick her coin-filled cap. "I offered to pay for a room, didn't I?"
"Nah, it's not for me. Can't see the stars behind those four walls. And anyway, I bet it stinks like old people in there too."
"You're not wrong," Harry sighs, sipping at his coffee. "Where's Gideon?"
"Off making money, where else?" Jobe busies her hands with her dreads, twisting them between her fingers. "Hey, where did you get off to the other night? We were looking for you for ages, man."
He shrugs and quickly gulps down the rest of his coffee, scalding his mouth. Scrunching up the cup, he takes aim at the nearest bin. "I told you I don't like parties like that." A miss. The cup bounces off the bin and lands near the station entrance. A boot crushes it entirely as it stomps on through.
"Oh yeah? And why's that?"
"The strobe lights. Not a fan."
"You epileptic or something?"
"Or something," Harry mumbles, hunching over his knees.
"Well, you gotta come to the next one. I swear it's more chill. And no strobe lights." Jobe flashes him another sweet smile as she draws a cross over her heart with her finger.
"I don't know, Jobe...I was going to take it easy tonight..."
"Take it easy?" The woman grabs Harry's shoulder and gives it a slight shake. She gives him a wide eyed look. "You dying?"
The raven gives her a wry smile. "Not yet."
"Well, then you're coming! No excuses." She gives him a pat on the back and sits back down, picking up the guitar laying by the cap. "Any requests?"
Harry leans back against the wall. "Do you know how to play any real songs?"
Jobe scowls at the man and strums hard. The guitar is sorely out of tune. "I know real songs. Now shut the fuck up and let me earn my money, bitch."
Shaking his head, the man sits silently, listening to his friend tune her guitar. He mulls over his thoughts and, more specifically, Draco's sudden visit.
'Dark Lord', he had said. He served his 'Dark Lord'. So. The Malfoy heir must have finally become a Death Eater. Even though he had never known the blonde to be a true ally, he never thought of him as a true enemy either. He knew that Draco was terrified of Voldemort and his followers. He was all bark and no bite. And yesterday...
Yesterday he offered Harry protection. Just the thought that his actions helped Voldemort in any way made him sick to his stomach. He knew that by living Voldemort would be impossible to kill. And prophecy be damned, everyone knows the truth now. Everyone knows that Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort were inextricably linked. One must die for the other to die. One must live for the other to survive. They were interdependent. Parasite and parasite. Doomed to live, doomed to die.
If he weren't so paralysed by fear, he would do it himself. Throw himself off the bridge over the river. Stand in front of an oncoming train at the station. But why? Why did it have to be him? He wants to live. He wants to be alive, even if it is agony. Because he only has one shot at it and he hardly got to live at all. Whether it be under the Dursley's abuse or Dumbledore's suffocating hold, there was no time to truly live. To be as he truly was. To simply be.
So that's what he does, sitting here with Jobe and Gideon outside Aldeford Station. He simply is and it's the purest kind of joy he has ever felt, even if it was minute.
"You alright there, Major Tom?"
Harry blinks. "Huh?"
Jobe laughs and strums her perfectly tuned guitar. "I asked if you were alright, dumbass."
"Yeah. Fine." Harry forces a smile and focuses his attention on his friend.
"Well, look sharp, Tommy, this one's for you."
Draco Malfoy strides into the alleyway, scanning for any other people. It's a dead end, so if there were any accidental intruders, he would see them coming.
He turns to face the filthy muggle, money in hand. "You see this? You can have this and more if you do as I say."
The muggle, an older man with the look of a starving, rabid dog, twists the bottom of his tattered hoody with both hands. A look of anxious delight lights up the man's face. "You'll be wantin' the full service then?" he asks, words slurred and thick.
The Death Eater narrows his eyes in confusion. "Full service? If that is what you call it, then yes."
With no hesitation, the muggle drops to his knees in front of Draco, head uncomfortably close the blonde's crotch. Dirty hands rise to his zipper and tug.
Draco lets out a rather high pitched shriek and he backpedals, kicking the muggle aside with an urgency. "What do you think you're doing?" he snaps, heart pounding a mile a minute.
The muggle curses and rubs his ribs, giving the blonde a confused look. "The full service. It's wha' you wanted, righ'?"
"That...that is most definitely not what I wanted!" Draco huffs and zips up his pants, suddenly feeling exposed.
"Ah...righ'...sorry." The muggle stands, bent slightly over his bruised ribs, and gives the wizard a perplexed look. "So...wha' do you wan'?"
Draco gives a slight shudder and whips out his wand, not the one returned to him by Potter, but the one he had been using since the day he was disarmed five years ago. With a mirthless smile, Draco mutters something under his breath and reluctantly draws close to the muggle.
"This is what I need you to do..."
With glazed eyes, Gideon listens.
