Chapter Three - Regularity
Harry was used to waking up at the crack of dawn to manage his workload of chores back when he was still living with the Dursley family, so getting up at half past five was not that difficult for him, especially with his alarm clock blaring into his ear with the most annoying sound he had ever heard in his entire life. It was like someone was strangling Voldemort on helium.
He was able to settle into a routine easily. After all, practice makes perfect, and he had plenty of that from his years with his relatives.
He stumbled out of his cocoon of blankets, forgoing to make his bed (Nakamura had proposed the idea of a futon when he had first moved in but Harry was not comfortable in them. It reminded him of how he had been sleeping during the times of war, close to the ground, although he was certain that a futon would be more comfortable to lie in) then went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He was one of the persons who brushed their teeth after eating.
The first thing he hurried to do was to make himself the largest cup of tea he could, barely leaving it to infuse - plopping two ice cubes in there for fast cooling - downing it in a few huge gulps as soon as possible, and still scalding his throat on the way down as he cracked two eggs on the pan, the sizzling somewhat a soothing background noise. He was still groggy and half-asleep, even if he was used to ready so early in the morning. Hermione, Ron and he had stayed up late last night since Hermione was apprehensive and excited by the fact that she was at the closest to reaching her parents. The couple had planned to visit them just this afternoon. Harry hoped that Hermione would be able to retrieve their memories safely and without troubles. Harry had no doubt that the team of memory specialists Hermione, Ron and he had been able to assemble would allow a smooth transition for the Granger parents.
His eggs were finally done cooking. He took a second to decide whether to fry some sausages, but chose against it. He had a delicate stomach in the morning, and stuffing himself full would only make him feel queasy for the rest of the day. Two eggs were already pushing his limit. He settled on peeling a tangerine to enjoy after he would eat his eggs.
Harry weighed his option for a homemade lunch to bring at work. He could make sandwiches, but he was not in the mood for bread. He settled instead on the leftover from his dinner, roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, and tomato salad he quickly chopped and put into a Tupperware. His breakfast was lukewarm by the time he finished preparing his lunch, but he had a cat's tongue, so it worked for him. He chowed them down in less than five mouthfuls. He knew that it was bad practice, but it was a habit from his childhood and time of war that stayed with him.
He knew that he could also have made his breakfast easier by using his magic, but physical work helped him focus for the day.
He looked at the clock hanging on the wall of his tiny living room. It was still only quarter to six, giving him just the time to go through his daily cleanup and grab a shower. He crossed the way through his apartment towards his bedroom, groaning when he spotted his unmade bed. It was time to roll his sleeves and clean up.
By then, he had been able to up his time managing skills, and he had the advantage of the short distance between his favourite bakery, his apartment and the store. He still was almost late to the flower shop. He simply was relieved to have survived his mad dash to the bakery to grab some pastries and to the flower shop. He really should start exercising more. Harry had the vaguest feeling that he would have to run much more very soon.
He entered the shop through the back door, taking the time to check his surroundings for stay delinquents or if he was lucky, a yakuza member, before going into the alley. With his infamous luck, he could probably attract the heir to some kind of mafia empire and have to fight and stop them by ripping both their arms off by force. Although he doubted he had that kind of physical strength, he would be forever haunted by the possibility of being so bloody unlucky.
For the time being, he was quite happy that Nakamura was not yet chewing him out for cutting so close. He was not late as far as he knew, and he still had plenty of time to get ready to open the store. He only had to mop up the floor - just for that extra shine since he had gotten used to tidy up after closing time - and take care of the flowers in the display pots. Nakamura would have also handed the flower production section as well, but the old man was frankly too attached to his long time friends. Harry could understand his reluctance to let go of whom he considered his closest and oldest friends, but he also thought that the old man should go out more often. There was nothing wrong with wanting to avoid human interaction - Harry often did it as well; avoiding all his friends for weeks at time - but having only a war veteran who was also some forty years younger than him and plants to talk to would maybe have a negative impact on his emotional state. But who was Harry for him to talk? He had been going to the therapist for only so long. He had to admit that talking was helping, as well as medications. He had still nightmares, and was still an insomniac but he was getting slowly better.
He went up the stairs, softly greeting the plant that hid the way. Harry had picked the habit of greeting and talking to the plants from Nakamura. It was weird at first, because a lot of their clients would wonder out loud if Harry had the same Quirk as Nakamura. Both of them were flustered because it also held the implications that Harry was perhaps a family member with whom Nakamura shared his Quirk with. Warmth blossomed inside his chest however.
Harry had dreamt of one day building a large family, one which would be as welcoming, loving and open-minded as the one he had never had. The Weasleys may have been the closest of what could be a proper family to him, but there was always that barrier that he could not define. It had something to do with his status of orphan and Saviour of the whole freaking Wizarding world. He had hoped that his relationship with Ginny would have been the one and only. He had been mistaken. They ultimately decided that they would not continue where they had left off, instead they found out that they were perfectly happy not being romantically involved. She was too alike to his mother anyway. Fierce, strong and protective. They even looked physically similar. It would have been a remix of the previous Mr and Mrs Potter. Their dying relation also allowed them to explore themselves. While they went against the general public's expectations of them, their loved ones understood their struggles.
Harry, Ginny and their peers had been thrust into a war that had spanned over three different generations; one whose outlook seemed terrible. They were all teenagers, not even out of school and just barely legal. Not only they had to battle against political figures, but as well as engage into physical altercations. They had lost one of their mentors, who was said to be the only one who could have put up against the foe. They suffered. They changed and were forced to grow up too quickly. He had been entrusted the will and goal of a man as flawed as one could get. Dumbledore was perhaps not the best person would could have taken care of an entire school of magically and emotionally growing teens, and was the reason that pushed Harry towards death. But his envisioned future would have been devoid of the greatest threat in Europe since the last World War. Harry would only have needed to take a deep breath and allow himself to embrace death like an old friend. The lost of one person outweighed the total ruin of a whole society. Admittedly, Tom Riddle and Harry Potter had lived very similar lives. Orphans, left behind by their only remaining families, bullied for being different. Harry wondered if he would have lost himself like Tom did if he had not met such amazing friends.
Harry absently noticed that he was going in too deep. He needed to calm down before he would require help. Anxiety attacks are bad, and he had no intention of scaring Nakamura if he was the one who would find Harry crumbled on the ground in a dead faint from the effect of the stress. He took a deep breath and held it. He found it difficult to hold it more than a few seconds, but persevered. His therapist had been very patient as ze taught him how to handle his attacks. He was not as terrified as he had been the first time. He exhaled slowly, struggling to maintain a steady flow of air from his lungs. He repeated the exercise several times, until his breath evened out and he could blink the black spots from his vision.
Boy, it would be a pain to tell his doctor about this. Now, if only he could get some tea and bring the box of pastries that he had been clutching in his hand up to Nakamura, he would be infinitely much better. He was already exhausted. It would be a long day.
"Nakamura-san, can you please watch over the store while I go deliver these flowers? I'll try to be quick," Harry called out as he slipped on a helmet.
"Okay, brat. Take care. Rosy here needs me anyway," Nakamura answered, tenderly caressing a leaf of his rose bush, the last flowers he and his late husband had planted together. It reminded Harry of Neville and how his plants absolutely adored him. They always seem to bristle whenever Harry approached them before the war. It got a bit better afterwards. The carnivorous pitcher plant at least stopped trying to swallow him whole whenever he visited Neville. Thankfully, non-magical plants seemed to be alright with him, if Nakamura had not lied to him about this.
Harry grabbed a helmet and the bouquet he had been working on for the past fifteen minutes, which consisted mostly of baby breath flowers, pink carnations and white roses. It took him a while to assemble it as the whites of the baby breaths and roses blended in together, making them look like dandruff stuck to the roses. He had to separate each of them with the carnations. It looked lovely now, and the mother who would receive them seemed to be a loved woman.
The client had phoned Harry half an hour ago, asking for a flower bouquet for a reunion with their mother after a long period of time not having any contact with her. He was given the freedom of choosing whichever flowers he saw would be most fitting. Harry was glad he had been able to help someone convey their feelings, even as subtly as with flower language. It was however a bit saddening: he was to deliver them to the Matsuzawa hospital - which was found a bit further away in Metropolitan Tokyo. The only information his client had given him was that they would wear UA's uniform and wait for him at the entrance of the hospital.
As he made his way towards his destination by bicycle, the bouquet tucked carefully in the front basket, Harry allowed himself to think. He had been in Japan for a few months now, and UA's Sports Festival only just ended, so he was becoming more and more familiar with current events in his country of residence. He had watched only by passing the festival, as at the time, Nakamura and he were trying to keep up with the demand of floral arrangements which were on the rise. The flower craze leveled down as when the festival ended. Harry's guess was that the spectators wanted to congratulate and encourage the participants. It was kind of a sweet gesture, even if some of them sent loads and loads of petunias. Which could mean hatred or anger, or wanting to spend time with someone due to being enjoyable company. Harry doubted it was the latter.
He also got interested in Quirks and their natures. As far as he could tell, they were not very common in England, and Europe in general. He had asked Hermione how she knew. She told him that she just watched and read international news. It made sense. She detested being uninformed, and since Takeshi was Japanese, Harry could draw conclusions for himself. She had known all along and allowed him to go to foreign countries without any knowledge of Quirks. Or perhaps she had assumed that he would have been more informed since she had been insisting that Ron and him learnt more about worldwide events.
So, he searched more on Quirks online (thank Merlin for technology. He loved his phone to pieces, ever since he was taught - by Nakamura - how to browse the internet and set up an email). He had found out that 20 percent of the world population was Quirkless, most of them residing within Europe, and the remaining 8 percent scattered all over the world. Quirks are passed down by genes, and essentially spread throughout the world, so geographically, it was a bit bizarre that Quirkless people were centered in Europe, especially since nowadays people mingle more and more with other countries.
The Dursleys had been the most "normal" people he knew, and now he knew that instead, they were part of a minority. It was ironic that they used to bully him over his magic. They probably had chosen a neighbourhood to reside in where every neighbour would be Quirkless as well. Ickle Dudleykins should by all cost be protected from freaks of nature - given by their reactions to any kind of magicals Harry could imagine Petunia say something like that.
Harry briefly wondered what kind of Quirk he would have if he had been born with one. It could be something that would be terribly useful in his younger years, like the ability to float, or fly. He would have sold his arm and half a leg to see it happen, even if it was something as tiny as explosive sneezing.
At least he had retained enough paranoia from his time in the war to not to be stupid enough to use openly his magic in from of Quirk users. He feared what would be the consequence of him showing powers that would undoubtedly look different from Quirks. Actually, it was a miracle that no one came at his door - in the apartment he just moved in after spending months in a hotel then downgrading to a motel to a manga cafe - to drag him to face the Japanese authorities as he had confided to Nakamura that he had magic (although he had not explicitly told the old man that magic existed. The old man assumed that it was a sort of Quirk; it worked to Harry's advantage).
The ride to the hospital was unexpectedly short. Harry arrived safely to his destination, without causing any kind of bodily harm or accident. Immediately, he spotted a head that was glaringly obvious in the pale background of the hospital compound.
His client was Todoroki Shouto.
Harry was able to meet with one of the most promising rising Heroes of the generation. He could clearly remember his Quirk, especially during his match against the self-destructive Deku, a kid whom Harry thought was a bit over the top, but he shouldn't judge. He had literally thrown himself into the maws of death to be able to kill off the Horcrux that was clinging to him, while the boy only broke most bones inside his arm, and fingers. The combo Quirk - ice and fire were an interesting yet odd occurrence - was mesmerizing, although all the other Quirks were amazing as well.
Taking the time to safely put his bike into the slot allocated to them some metres off the car parking, Harry walked to his client. He subtly studied the teen, noticing his height first. For someone his age, he had to be tall. He was quite possibly already on his way to grow way taller than Harry could ever achieve. The second detail that jumped to his face was his perfectly parted hair. There was no mixing of differently coloured hair strands, and it looked smooth and silky. Harry wanted to run his hand through it, but that surely would make him a creep.
Also, the teen hero-to-be looked uncomfortable as hell. He did not fidget, and his gaze was steady and fixed, but he clearly was sweating on one side while his right side was turning frosty, tiny crystals of ice covering his brow and shining under the glare of the sun. He had to be quite nervous to lose control of his Quirk. Surely, it worked like the basis of magic. Young children would have problems controlling their Quirks during emotional situations, like magical children. Todoroki looked like he had enough control on his Quirk during the sports festival for him to maintain a decent grip on his power in normal circumstances.
As he stepped closely, Todoroki immediately snapped his head towards his direction, making Harry jump the slightest bit before settling down. The teen gave a once-over to the bouquet, then turned his eyes back to Harry. His client looked like he appreciated the flowers as he nodded and reached for his back pocket. Harry wanted to tell him not to put his wallet where he could not see it - vaguely recalling Mad-Eye Moody saying something about losing a buttcheek.
Todoroki thankfully handed him the exact amount (since Harry was a stupid idiot and forgot to bring a purse of change), trading his handful of notes and coins for the bouquet. Harry did not linger for very long, as he was still on-duty and Nakamura was waiting for him back in the shop, throwing a cheerful "Thanks for your patronage" over his shoulder before going back on his bike. He kind of wished he could have met the mother of such a brave young man, but in the end, it was an intimate encounter with family. Embarrassed at his own thoughts, Harry slunk away from the hospital.
Apparently, Todoroki liked his floral arrangement so much that he requested another one soon after the first. This time, he was the one who went to collect his order from the shop.
Harry had been at his usual spot behind the counter, Yagi having left the store mere minutes before the teen came in, the cups they were drinking from still sitting on the tabletop, waiting to be washed and put away.
The bell chimed again. Harry vaguely thought that Yagi had perhaps forgotten something, which was in itself peculiar as Yagi was a very organised man. He slowly turned to the door, stumped to find a head of red and blindingly white hair instead of the sunny blond he was expecting. His eyes started to water slightly from the reflection of the white directly into his face.
Luckily - not really for him - Nakamura had pounded manners into his skull, with the help of Rosy and Hyacinth, both flicking him very, very discreetly in the face if he made a mistake. He greeted his customer, satisfaction curling in his guts as none of the plants assigned to supervising his manners scolded him. He had learnt well, and quickly.
He received a somewhat awkward bow back. That was surprising. The teen must surely have been raised in a stricter environment. The other adolescents who frequented the shop were usually more open and less formal. To be fair, Harry was not the best one to come to when it was about 'normalcy'. Magic, personal experiences, or Quirk status.
"How may I help you today, sir?" Harry asked, trying to be helpful. The teen visibly flushed, the blood rising fast high on his face. It was an adorable reaction. Harry also observed an immediate frosting over of his nose bridge. Todoroki was also obviously using his Quirk in an effort to cool himself down. That was probably the cutest thing Harry had ever seen in his life. He should also avoid any kind of teasing if he wanted to avoid having the ghost of Nakamura haunting him to the end of his life because the teen standing in front of him decided that lighting himself on fire was a good way to deal with embarrassment.
The teen shuffled over to the counter, eyeing the cups, before looking straight to Harry. That kid was full of surprises. He was weirded out and uncomfortable by the situation, but still had enough courage to toughen up and stare into a stranger's eyes. Harry had to applaud his stance. He was still relaxed, his back ramrod straight but his shoulders were not tensed up. Harry theorized that it came from his Hero training: ready for everything.
"I would like a bouquet for a... friend," Todoroki requested. Harry noted the slight hesitance, nodding in understanding. He had heard that the Hero world was an unforgiving cutthroat one - which he found ironic. One young hero had to start forming alliances quickly, even one who had familial backing. Or perhaps Harry was reading too deep into the slight pause in the teen's voice. He did tend to overthink. It was maybe for a mate. That was how adolescents called their datefriends, right? Harry did not have the correct social skills to confirm.
"Of course, sir!" he chirped, giving his client a small smile he hoped was encouraging. Since Rosy did not found it necessary to flick him, he guessed it was a decent smile. "Which flowers would you like? We have those ones on the stands, or would you rather like something more special? However I must warn you, if you choose a customization, it'll require a bit more time to finish the bouquet."
Information-dumping the kid might not have been the best way to approach him, as Harry had no desire to overwhelm him, but there they were. The younger seemed to take it in strides however as he responded quickly. "Something more lilac toned, please? The rest is up to you."
Lilac was one fancy way to put it, but Harry was not one to judge. Purple flowers were not very trendy at the moment, so their selections were limited. They had some more popular anemone flowers still on hand, and some roses and lavender left over from a wedding. There may also be some daffodils and crocuses back in the storage room, and the cultivation room. He needed to ask Nakamura.
"I'll be done in about ten minutes," Harry concluded. He offered a seat to the youngster (Harry was not that old. He was barely in his twenties) who took it with a small "Thank you" then got to work. He searched in the sectioned off parts of the shop to confirm which flowers he had to work with, bumping into Nakamura in doing so. No one was hurt in the process.
Todoroki left the store exactly nine minutes twenty seven seconds later, a bouquet of daffodils and crocuses in hand, wrapped prettily together with a forest green ribbon. Ron always told him that his colour coordination was awful, but Harry thought that the mauve-green combination was one of the best he could produce. he sighed, satisfied with his work. He could take a break after cleaning up his work station and possibly pass by a café after he closed the shop for a cup of hot chocolate. He would need the sugar. Hermione and Ron were supposed to ConvOrb him to tell him about their meeting today.
And I'm done for this time guys. I hope you enjoy as much as I did while writing it. It's not very action-y right now, but things are going to change soon... That's ominous and so overused, but whatever I didn't have enough coffee to deal with myself.