There are crowds of people when they make it to the edge of London. There are people everywhere, and Harry is amazed by the haphazard nature of them all. He can't stop watching them. He doesn't understand this. It's the first time he's actually come into the city since he's been here, and he doesn't have any clue what it's like.
He stares at people and doesn't see any of his Auror training at all. People just look like animals to him, with their richly dyed hair, tanned skin, and bright garments. They shout at him and hold up their hands, staring at him like he's an alien from a science fiction movie. One old woman demands, "What's the Cursed Child?"
Harry laughs. "You're not even listening."
She rolls her eyes. "Well, what's it about? I haven't read the book yet, so I'm as lost as the rest of you.
"It's not about an imaginary boy," Harry explains, "It's about Harry Potter."
She flinches, her body going rigid. "It's not true," she says. "It's just a story."
"That's what Harry tells it to his kids," Harry replies, his voice soft, and she looks at him warily. "But he writes it down, too, and I'm going to write it down, too, to make it real."
"She stares at him for a moment. Her eyes are still glassy from the wine. "Okay," she says. She turns to talk to another group. Harry watches her go, amazed. After a moment, he turns to the group of people around him. They're lost, too, of course, and their voices are all shouting and squabbling. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stares at them until they notice him and shut up.
"I'm sorry," he says, "I don't speak your language."
They stare at him with confusion. Then they gather around him and speak at once.
"I'm sorry!"
"We don't understand."
"Look at that wizard!"
"He's a really bad actor."
"Who's playing Harry Potter?"
"Narcissa!"
"No," he corrects them. "My sister, who is playing Hermione."
"You should come to the show! It's really good."
"Thank you, but I'm not interested."
"But you want to see the real Harry Potter play?"
"No, I want to see Narcissa Malfoy in it. I want to see her with my own eyes, so I know I'm not making this up."
"And then you'll make me come?"
"Yes."
"That's terrible!"
"I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to meet my actual sister, though. I didn't even know she was in town!"
"Oh, it's you!" the boy says, craning his neck as if he's afraid that he's going to miss something.
"It's too late to catch the play," Harry says, shaking his head, "but I can show you the stage."
The boy nods eagerly. "I've seen people backstage before," he says, "but they're all really short. I'm really short."
"No," Harry says, shaking his head. "They're only actors. I'm sure it's really good, but I don't understand any of it."
The boy nods. "I'm Henry."
"I'm Harry."
"What's your costume?"
"I'm Malfoy," Harry replies. "I'm Draco's son."
Henry turns to his friend and whispers, "He's Draco's son. I think he's going to try to get to Voldemort."
"Who's Voldemort?" Harry asks.
"Voldemort is," Henry replies, pointing up at the stage. "He's the leader of Voldemort's Army."
Harry shakes his head, grinning. "Voldemort? I've never heard of him."
"I haven't, either," Henry says. "But he's up there, right?"
"Yeah, but I don't understand any of his speeches."
"He's in the back row," Henry says. "You can sit with him after the show."
"Do I look like I'm into that?"
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to."
"Okay," Harry replies. "I'll wait until the show."
