Title: Treasures of Old
By: Adarial Ciao
Summary: The War ended 7 years ago, and since then, Harry has exiled himself from the Wizarding world. He lives alone in a small flat in muggle London, and slowly, loneliness starts to overcome him. But when someone from his past comes back into the picture, his life takes a turn....for the better? Let's hope so!
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jk's. Plot (ha! plot, thats funny) mine.
Chapter Two
Later that evening, Harry was lounging around his flat. He had tried watching some TV, just flipping through the channels, but became disgusted with what he saw. It was either news reporting the depressing trials of the day or some silly TV show that didn't hold an ounce of intelligence. Now he remembered why he prefered the pages of a book over television.
Abandoning his seat infront of the TV, he wandered about his apartment, looking for something to do. He didn't wander for long, seeing as how there was no where to wander. His flat was rather small, with only three rooms. The first room was a large white room, which served as a living room on one end with a couch, two chairs, and the TV, and a kitchen at the other, with a small bar seperating the two areas.
The next room was his bedroom (also white) which stood at the end of a short hall off of the kitchen. It wasn't dreadfully tiny, but it wasn't that big either. His double bed, which aqquired much of the space, stood in the middle of the wall opposite the door, and was adorned with a large red and gold comforter ( a true Gryffindor isn't he?) and several more matching pillows. At the foot of the bed stood his old Hogwarts trunk, packed full with memorbelia from his school days, including his broomstick(shrunk down to size) and his old robes (now far too small, after Harry had filled out quite nicely, coming to reach the nice height of 6' 1", with broad shoulders and muscled arms from years of Quidditch, and now rolling paint onto tall walls with heavy rollers). His wardrobe stood to the right of his bed, and held all of his wrinkled clothes (he wasn't one to care much about his appearence) and his old Gryffindor quidditch robes, which he kept immaculate and wrinkle free in a muggle dry cleaning bag. On the other side of his bed was one of the only windows in the flat, which held a beautiful and breathtaking view...of the brick building next door. Next to the door was a bookshelf, one of many in the apartment, which was completely full of books which he had brought home over the years, many of them discards from the store that were in too mangled condition to be sold.
The next and last room was Harry's bathroom, which stood opposite the bedroom in the hall. It was surprisingly of a decent size, compared to the rest of the flat. Not too much to say about it, other than it got the job done. The hall was actually lined with bookshelves and looked reminescent of Marlow's Treasures of Old itself. They were positively overflowing with books that Harry had either read, or had taken home and completely forgotten about. One might say this was a waste of space, but Harry loved his books and would never dream of getting rid of them. Hanging above and between the shelves were countless pictures. Many were from his school days, and some were even wizard pictures, that would wave at him when passed. They held the likeness of Ron, Hermione, the entire extended Weasley clan, members of the Order and Dumbledore's Army, Hagrid, his parents, Dumbledore and many many more. It was basically his past, held in store bought frames with dusty glass. His favorite picture was one of an Order party, right before he left. It was one of the wizard pictures, and in it people were chatting amongst themselves and laughing, himself included. The only person in the picture not smiling was hiding in a corner, obviously uncomfortable with his surroundings, trying to cover it up with sophisticated aloofness, though he wasn't wearing scowling or smirking like one would think. In fact, he almost appeared to be enjoying himself just listening to those around him, and if one paid enough attention to him, they might catch him smiling just a little at one of the Weasley twins' jokes or looking at the Boy Wonder with an odd look in his eyes.
After finding an old, abused looking book that he must have forgotten about, Harry settled back down on the couch to read, having found his amusement for the night. He had only made it to the thrid page when his phone rand shrilly. Relcutantly rising, he went to answer it.
"Hello?" he said into the mouthpiece, the earpiece cold against his ear.
"Hello there. I haven't got much time, but is this Harry? Harry Potter?", said a masculine voice impatiently on the other line.
"Er...yes it is. May I ask-", he started, but was quickly cut short.
"Like I said, I don't have much time. I need a painter. Hermione recommended you. Said I should call, so I did. For some bid or something. I want to start as soon as possible, and the only time I've got free this week is Friday at 5:00, that okay with you?", said the mystery person all in a rush.
"Yes, but who-"
"Good then. See you Friday at 5:00. The address is 1287 Hutcherson Rd.",and with that the line went dead.
"Well, it was nice talking to you too, you seem like a wonderful bloke. I can't wait to work for you. Good bye!", Harry answered sarcasticly into the mouthpiece. /How rude!/ he thought. /Then again, he did say he was in a hurry. Who knows. Hopefully he'll be nicer in person. Whoever he is/ and with that thought, Harry went back to his seat on the couch and continued to read late into the night.
*
After an eventless week of many sleepless nights, Friday evening finally rolled around. Harry had been somewhat anxious all week, trying to figure out who the mystery caller was. If it was the person that Herm had told him about, which it obviously was, then he was a wizard. That fact worried Harry greatly. After all he had gone through for 7 years to not be caught, he could jeaopardize his safe life by doing one job. And now that they had already called, they knew how to find him. He mentally beat himself up, he should have thought of all this before he said he'd take the job. But he was just having so much fun with Hermione, he wasn't really thinking. Surely though, Hermione wouldn't do that to him. /Would she?/ No, he decided. She wouldn't put him in that sort of danger, she repsected his decision. /Oh well, too late now. Guess I'll just have to trust her/.
As Harry sat on his stool behind the counter trying in vain to focus on the words in front of him, he continued to ponder the identity of the caller. His voice seemed vaguely familiar. It was smooth, almost pleasant to the ears, and held an elegance that stirred his memory. Perhaps it was someone from Hogwarts, or maybe the Order. He didn't remember any of them ever talking about realstate, or starting their own company though. /Who could it be? I have a feeling I know this bloke.../
Harry glanced at his watch, and saw that it was 4:29. In one minute his handy dandy alarm would go off, and it would be time to leave. /Thank Merlin!/, he thought. He had been so distracted all afternoon that he hadn't read barely any of his book, and he was starting to get nervous. This was going to be his first interaction with anyone from his past in years, aside from Hermione and Ron that is. This was going to be interesting to say the least.
His alarm sounded and he quickly turrned it offf, and went to the back to say good night to Mrs. Marlow. After wishing her a good weekend (his only response was a grunt of acknowledgement), and set off for his apartment at a near run.
Getting home at 4:43, he threw his keys on the bar, and went straight to the bathroom, taking a look in the mirror. He had learned when he first started that it was always a good thing to look good for bids. People trusted you quicker and were more willing to let you have control of their flat or home while they were away if you looked fresh and clean as opposed to how he looked at the moment, which was gritty and worn. His face looked gaunt and slightly pale from lack of sleep, and there were dark bags under his eyes. Not to mention the quickly forming five o'clock shadow. He pulled out his wand and cast a refreshing spell on himself. Now, his face held more color and the bags were gone. His eyes however still looked tired and weary. /Oh well, I look a little bit better. At least my glasses will hide my eyes./ Moving onto his hair, he sighed. It was, as always, messy and tangled, with the fringe covering famous scar. He left his hair as is, knowing that any attempt to tame it would be hopeless. He looked down at his clothes. Wrinkled. Exiting the bathroom, he crossed the hall into his room, looking in his wardbrobe to try and find something acceptable to wear. He finally settled on a pair of nice jeans that actually fit, and a white collared shirt. Nice and professional, but still casual, and not all that wrinkled.
Deeming himself acceptable, he glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 4:56. Grabbing a pad and paper for note, and pulling his wand out of back pocket, he apparated to 1287 Hutcherson Rd.
*
With a soft pop, he was standing in front of a three story brickstone. It was surrounded by other similar building, but this one stood out. It looked quite quaint, with vines growing and crawling up the front. There were several windows, a couple per floor, with white trim and red shutters. A very nice building, he could see why this bloke bought it. Before he could observe much more, he heard another soft pop behind him and then the same voice from the phone calling his name.
"Why, hello there, Potter. Long time no see", and without turning, he recognised the voice immediately. Groaning he turned around slowly.
"Malfoy."
TBC
a/n: muwhahhahah! cliffie! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks to those who have reviewed my story thus far. And Kandice, running into a parked car? Very nice, that takes talent. heh. The next chapter should be up soon. Probably later tonite even. Tootle pip!
By: Adarial Ciao
Summary: The War ended 7 years ago, and since then, Harry has exiled himself from the Wizarding world. He lives alone in a small flat in muggle London, and slowly, loneliness starts to overcome him. But when someone from his past comes back into the picture, his life takes a turn....for the better? Let's hope so!
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jk's. Plot (ha! plot, thats funny) mine.
Chapter Two
Later that evening, Harry was lounging around his flat. He had tried watching some TV, just flipping through the channels, but became disgusted with what he saw. It was either news reporting the depressing trials of the day or some silly TV show that didn't hold an ounce of intelligence. Now he remembered why he prefered the pages of a book over television.
Abandoning his seat infront of the TV, he wandered about his apartment, looking for something to do. He didn't wander for long, seeing as how there was no where to wander. His flat was rather small, with only three rooms. The first room was a large white room, which served as a living room on one end with a couch, two chairs, and the TV, and a kitchen at the other, with a small bar seperating the two areas.
The next room was his bedroom (also white) which stood at the end of a short hall off of the kitchen. It wasn't dreadfully tiny, but it wasn't that big either. His double bed, which aqquired much of the space, stood in the middle of the wall opposite the door, and was adorned with a large red and gold comforter ( a true Gryffindor isn't he?) and several more matching pillows. At the foot of the bed stood his old Hogwarts trunk, packed full with memorbelia from his school days, including his broomstick(shrunk down to size) and his old robes (now far too small, after Harry had filled out quite nicely, coming to reach the nice height of 6' 1", with broad shoulders and muscled arms from years of Quidditch, and now rolling paint onto tall walls with heavy rollers). His wardrobe stood to the right of his bed, and held all of his wrinkled clothes (he wasn't one to care much about his appearence) and his old Gryffindor quidditch robes, which he kept immaculate and wrinkle free in a muggle dry cleaning bag. On the other side of his bed was one of the only windows in the flat, which held a beautiful and breathtaking view...of the brick building next door. Next to the door was a bookshelf, one of many in the apartment, which was completely full of books which he had brought home over the years, many of them discards from the store that were in too mangled condition to be sold.
The next and last room was Harry's bathroom, which stood opposite the bedroom in the hall. It was surprisingly of a decent size, compared to the rest of the flat. Not too much to say about it, other than it got the job done. The hall was actually lined with bookshelves and looked reminescent of Marlow's Treasures of Old itself. They were positively overflowing with books that Harry had either read, or had taken home and completely forgotten about. One might say this was a waste of space, but Harry loved his books and would never dream of getting rid of them. Hanging above and between the shelves were countless pictures. Many were from his school days, and some were even wizard pictures, that would wave at him when passed. They held the likeness of Ron, Hermione, the entire extended Weasley clan, members of the Order and Dumbledore's Army, Hagrid, his parents, Dumbledore and many many more. It was basically his past, held in store bought frames with dusty glass. His favorite picture was one of an Order party, right before he left. It was one of the wizard pictures, and in it people were chatting amongst themselves and laughing, himself included. The only person in the picture not smiling was hiding in a corner, obviously uncomfortable with his surroundings, trying to cover it up with sophisticated aloofness, though he wasn't wearing scowling or smirking like one would think. In fact, he almost appeared to be enjoying himself just listening to those around him, and if one paid enough attention to him, they might catch him smiling just a little at one of the Weasley twins' jokes or looking at the Boy Wonder with an odd look in his eyes.
After finding an old, abused looking book that he must have forgotten about, Harry settled back down on the couch to read, having found his amusement for the night. He had only made it to the thrid page when his phone rand shrilly. Relcutantly rising, he went to answer it.
"Hello?" he said into the mouthpiece, the earpiece cold against his ear.
"Hello there. I haven't got much time, but is this Harry? Harry Potter?", said a masculine voice impatiently on the other line.
"Er...yes it is. May I ask-", he started, but was quickly cut short.
"Like I said, I don't have much time. I need a painter. Hermione recommended you. Said I should call, so I did. For some bid or something. I want to start as soon as possible, and the only time I've got free this week is Friday at 5:00, that okay with you?", said the mystery person all in a rush.
"Yes, but who-"
"Good then. See you Friday at 5:00. The address is 1287 Hutcherson Rd.",and with that the line went dead.
"Well, it was nice talking to you too, you seem like a wonderful bloke. I can't wait to work for you. Good bye!", Harry answered sarcasticly into the mouthpiece. /How rude!/ he thought. /Then again, he did say he was in a hurry. Who knows. Hopefully he'll be nicer in person. Whoever he is/ and with that thought, Harry went back to his seat on the couch and continued to read late into the night.
*
After an eventless week of many sleepless nights, Friday evening finally rolled around. Harry had been somewhat anxious all week, trying to figure out who the mystery caller was. If it was the person that Herm had told him about, which it obviously was, then he was a wizard. That fact worried Harry greatly. After all he had gone through for 7 years to not be caught, he could jeaopardize his safe life by doing one job. And now that they had already called, they knew how to find him. He mentally beat himself up, he should have thought of all this before he said he'd take the job. But he was just having so much fun with Hermione, he wasn't really thinking. Surely though, Hermione wouldn't do that to him. /Would she?/ No, he decided. She wouldn't put him in that sort of danger, she repsected his decision. /Oh well, too late now. Guess I'll just have to trust her/.
As Harry sat on his stool behind the counter trying in vain to focus on the words in front of him, he continued to ponder the identity of the caller. His voice seemed vaguely familiar. It was smooth, almost pleasant to the ears, and held an elegance that stirred his memory. Perhaps it was someone from Hogwarts, or maybe the Order. He didn't remember any of them ever talking about realstate, or starting their own company though. /Who could it be? I have a feeling I know this bloke.../
Harry glanced at his watch, and saw that it was 4:29. In one minute his handy dandy alarm would go off, and it would be time to leave. /Thank Merlin!/, he thought. He had been so distracted all afternoon that he hadn't read barely any of his book, and he was starting to get nervous. This was going to be his first interaction with anyone from his past in years, aside from Hermione and Ron that is. This was going to be interesting to say the least.
His alarm sounded and he quickly turrned it offf, and went to the back to say good night to Mrs. Marlow. After wishing her a good weekend (his only response was a grunt of acknowledgement), and set off for his apartment at a near run.
Getting home at 4:43, he threw his keys on the bar, and went straight to the bathroom, taking a look in the mirror. He had learned when he first started that it was always a good thing to look good for bids. People trusted you quicker and were more willing to let you have control of their flat or home while they were away if you looked fresh and clean as opposed to how he looked at the moment, which was gritty and worn. His face looked gaunt and slightly pale from lack of sleep, and there were dark bags under his eyes. Not to mention the quickly forming five o'clock shadow. He pulled out his wand and cast a refreshing spell on himself. Now, his face held more color and the bags were gone. His eyes however still looked tired and weary. /Oh well, I look a little bit better. At least my glasses will hide my eyes./ Moving onto his hair, he sighed. It was, as always, messy and tangled, with the fringe covering famous scar. He left his hair as is, knowing that any attempt to tame it would be hopeless. He looked down at his clothes. Wrinkled. Exiting the bathroom, he crossed the hall into his room, looking in his wardbrobe to try and find something acceptable to wear. He finally settled on a pair of nice jeans that actually fit, and a white collared shirt. Nice and professional, but still casual, and not all that wrinkled.
Deeming himself acceptable, he glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 4:56. Grabbing a pad and paper for note, and pulling his wand out of back pocket, he apparated to 1287 Hutcherson Rd.
*
With a soft pop, he was standing in front of a three story brickstone. It was surrounded by other similar building, but this one stood out. It looked quite quaint, with vines growing and crawling up the front. There were several windows, a couple per floor, with white trim and red shutters. A very nice building, he could see why this bloke bought it. Before he could observe much more, he heard another soft pop behind him and then the same voice from the phone calling his name.
"Why, hello there, Potter. Long time no see", and without turning, he recognised the voice immediately. Groaning he turned around slowly.
"Malfoy."
TBC
a/n: muwhahhahah! cliffie! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks to those who have reviewed my story thus far. And Kandice, running into a parked car? Very nice, that takes talent. heh. The next chapter should be up soon. Probably later tonite even. Tootle pip!
