AN: A beefier chapter than usual, but enjoy! also, please leave me reviews if you can! they really do help me keep writing, even if they are short and sweet.

Word count: 5,000


Chapter Two - Marie And The Art Of Not Touching Anything


If Harry had known the meaning of the word hell before Dudley's tenth birthday, he was sorely mistaken; the next couple days afterward was worse than he could have imagined.

Click. The lightbulb above Harry's bed flickered on, and a small shower of dust fell on him as he struggled to sit up.

There were only a few precious moments Harry had to himself the past week; the Dursley's had made true on their promises and threats, and he had been picking up after Dudley and working night and day to appease them since the whole whipped cream incident. And he had done his best to stay out of trouble, honest.

It wasn't like it was his fault anyway, but no matter what he told Aunt Petunia, she still grounded him 'for life!' she had said, and he was still put to bed without dinner for the next couple of days. He wasn't even sure how long the punishments would last, or the starvation, but they had him working on the house and doing chores so hard he barely had the energy to complain.

And it was all because of that girl...

Honestly, if the Dursley's had known who she was or even made mention of her, Harry's life would have been a whole lot easier. But as it was, living life as Harry James Potter just wasn't easy, because of course the Dursley's had to blame him, because of course, he had something to do with it. Without blaming him, their whole world might crumble down, and he couldn't have that, could he?

Truly, he was doing them a favor. When the days of perfect boy Dudley ended and Harry was free to live his life far away from his relatives, then they would learn what life would be like without him. Then, they would look back and realize the sacrifices he made to keep their world turning. Harry, by all accounts, was a saint. His one failing was that nobody knew, and nobody cared.

"Yeah right."

Harry rolled his eyes as he peeled his blankets off him, and picked a piece of frosting out of his hair. He looked at the remains of Dudley's birthday cake for a moment and then sighed. He was still pretty sure he smelled like whipped cream since the birthday party, and Dudley was having another one this weekend to make up for the one before.

They were going to the waterpark outside of Surrey, and on a shockingly unanimous vote, everyone had elected to leave Harry at home for the day. Harry hadn't been surprised. From the look in Uncle Vernon's eyes, any argument would have been met with contempt and complete dismissal. In the eyes the Dursleys, Vernon was Judge, jury, and executioner in all things related to Harry's hopes and dreams; he was basically already their prisoner. So, as any good prisoner doing eighteen years to life, Harry nodded his head, stayed in his lane, and hoped he wouldn't get any more solitary confinement.

By the time he had crawled out of the cupboard under the stairs, the Dursley's had already left in the car and abandoned him; which, for any kid other than harry, would have been terrifying, but came at great relief. There was a long list of chores taped the wall outside written in Aunt petunia's handwriting, and he didn't forget the similar, scathing orders from his uncle given to him the night before, but with time to burn, Harry made his way towards the kitchen to get something to eat.

Having to skip supper for the past couple days was starting to wear on him, and as he opened the fridge door, he found a tiny plate with burnt scrambled eggs shoved to the side with his name written on it.

As he pulled it out and put it into the microwave, Harry tried to figure out if this meant aunt petunia cared enough for his well being, or if Dudley just hadn't liked his breakfast that morning; but then the timer went off and he was too concerned with eating than really worrying about it.

The list of chores he had to do before the Dursley's came back was long and overly complicated, and he found his breakfast gone before he knew it, hardly at all satisfying. He put his dishes in the sink and washed up before he padded back to his cupboard to change clothes. He put on one of Dudley's oversized sweatshirt and reached for the one pair of pants that really fit him (with a belt, the only belt the Dursley's had ever given him, if only to keep him from embarrassing them when his pants fell down in public) He found himself strangely drawn to one of the pockets.

With everything going on, he had forgotten about the small treasure he found in the garden. Now, in the proper light, Harry knew he was holding someone's wedding band. But why hide it in someone's garden?

After he finished getting dressed, he stuffed the chore list into his pocket and made his way to the bathroom to clean off the dirt on the ring. On the inside, the dirt washed away to reveal delicate inscriptions, worn away from years of wear and tear, but now that he had time he could make out the letters 'Tog' and 'forev'. the rest was too far gone for him to tell.

Strange. Harry couldn't recall any Eva p's, nor could he remember anyone in the house ever mentioning something called 'evap'. Perhaps it came from the people who lived in the house before them? though, Harry wasn't around then to tell if they were the kinds of folk who buried their wedding bands in the dirt. Wouldn't aunt petunia have come across it before him?

There was a knock at the door then, startling Harry, and tucked the band back into his pocket to go see what was the matter. He expected the sitter to come by since Vernon had promised him that he'd have Mrs. Figg stop by to keep an eye on him, but instead the person standing at their door was none other than the girl from before. Marie Antoinette.

"U—um..." Harry stared at her dumbly, not sure what he was expected to say. "Can I help you?"

The queen of France gave him a funny, look, and crossed her arms over her chest. She was wearing the same purple sweater as the day of the party. "Does everyone ask the same question around here, or is that just you?"

"Sorry?" Harry blinked, not sure how he just offended her. She shook her head in response.

Without a word, she pushed her way inside and into the hallway, leaving Harry to stand and stare at her in shock. "I take it the Units are away? Funny how that is, letting you stay home alone while they go out hunting and gathering. In the old days, you'd be eaten by a saber tooth tiger or left to fend the elements all on your own. That's like, basically murder, isn't it?"

Harry was starting to get the feeling she was always going to say weird things like this. He shut the door behind him. "What did you call them this time?"

Marie padded down the hallway, not boring to take off her shoes, and poked her head into the living room to look around. "You know, Parental units? Like, they come in pairs and everyone has them, they're a bit like robots if you ask me. Empty inside, Autonomous, always working on a track as if everything Is predetermined. I'm pretty sure if you look hard enough for yours, you can see a few screws missing."

He watched her walk over to the TV and turn it on, falling into Vernon's chair without a care in the world. If Harry had done that while the Dursleys were home, they'd have given him the belt or shut him in the cupboard for a week. His face darkened. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Marie paid him no mind as he came to sit down next to her, and she scooched over since there was more than enough room enough for the both of them. After flicking through a couple of channels, she sighed and threw back her head. "there's like, five channels to watch here, that's so boring."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered as he took the remote from her.

The weather channel was about as entertaining as watching paint dry, but at least it was better than the other shows on; nothing really good played in the morning anyway, and the Dursley's would be back a little afternoon. He watched her get up and approach the screen when it flickered a bit and sighed to himself.

"You won't be able to fix it—just leave the antennae alone and hope for the best, it's not like there's anything interesting on anyway."

She shot him a flat look, and reached up to the antennae, ignoring him. Harry winced and scrambled up to stop her, because if those were off and the TV was broken, the Dursleys really would know he was watching the TV, and they'd ground him even more,but the second she poked them with her finger, the channels changed and the TV was suddenly blaring some action movie with full color and not a single glitch.

A man in a clean suit walked out from the darkness, his eyes glinting with a hate-filled glee. "No Mr. Bond, I expect YOU to die!" and a hail of bullets rained down on the hero as he dove out of harm's way, heart in his throat.

Harry was on the edge of his seat, enthralled before the channel changed to something else and he cried out. "Hey! I was watching that.

"Sorry," Marie looked down at the TV screen as the channels switched again, her hands still fiddling with the Antennae. "I've seen that one so many times."

Without the remote, Harry had no idea how she was doing what she was doing, but as another show came on he was hardly bothered. He leaned back into Vernon's chair.

It was a scene from a dark crime drama, with a cop on the edge, turned bad. Mafia style. The scene was set and the movie was already on its way, the narrator spoke over the action going on.

"You know, we always called each other Goodfellas. Like you said to, uh, somebody, "You're gonna like this guy. He's all right. He's a good fella. He's one of us." You understand? We were Goodfellas. Wiseguys. But Jimmy and I could never be made because we had Irish blood. It didn't even matter that my mother was Sicilian. To become a member of a crew you've got to be one hundred percent Italian so they can trace all your relatives back to the old country..."

The channel changed again, and Harry's mouth opened, outraged. "That one was fine! you didn't have to change it."

"Whoops? Maybe I can go back...?" She fiddled around more with the antennae, but couldn't find the channel again. After five minutes, and Harry getting up to try and help her, they gave up and settled for a newer one Harry hadn't seen yet.

A confused Megan Mcallister turned to one of her brothers, caught off guard by his lack of fear that one of their own had been left behind. "You're not at all worried that something might happen to Kevin?"

Buzz, with all his bravado and confidence, scoffed and appeared to roll his eyes at his sister's antics, as if her fear of something happening to his younger brother home alone was completely impossible.

"No, for three reasons: A, I'm not that lucky—" the younger McAllister said, smirking to himself, and Harry through of Dudley in all the corners of Buzz's expression. "Two, we use smoke detectors and D, we live on the most boring street in the whole United States of America, where nothing even remotely dangerous will ever happen. Period."

"I guess you and Kevin have a lot in common, huh?" Marie said, picking up on the way Harry's scowl deepened. She was laying on her stomach on the carpet and kicked her feet back and forth in the air. "Does that make me a wet bandit?"

"I don't think so," he said, frowning. As the movie faded out and onto commercials, He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her from his lofty position in Vernon's chair. "What are you doing here anyway? I'm still in trouble after Dudley's party, after you ran off. you know they blamed me for what you did?"

She considered him for a moment. "Is that why you were hiding?"

"I wasn't hiding!" Harry leaped out the chair. "It's not like I went in there because I like it."

"Oh," she said and pursed her lips. she sat up and looked out towards the hallway, where his cupboard was. She turned back to him, and her eyes seemed to zero in on something in his hair that he missed. "Did you like the cake?"

Harry spluttered in confusion. "Did I like the—no, no that's not what— I didn't even—"

"You have some in your hair," she pointed out, and this time Harry sighed and shook his head, sending a dozen rainbow sprinkles onto the carpet. She shot him an apologetic look. "I mean, it looks nice on you."

Wearily, he was reminded of the massive list of chores the Dursleys expected him to do before he got back and mentally added 'clean carpets' as he looked over at the clock. It was ten thirty; by now Dudley would already be at the pool and pretending he was the next little mermaid.

"I don't have time for this, you shouldn't even be here. I have work to do before they come back, and there's a sitter that should have been here by now..." Harry padded into the hallway to check the door, but there was nothing. "It's not like Mrs. Figg to not show up."

Of course, it wasn't like he really wanted the old woman to be there in the first place— he rather disliked her. She was stern and snappy, and he often got the impression that she rather hated children, not having any her own, but he wasn't surprised how well she got along with his relatives. In terms of their personality, Mrs. Figg and the Dursley's was a match made in heaven, and a match made in hell if Harry was concerned.

"Oh, sweater vest?" Marie rolled onto her back and watched him upside down, folding her hands on her stomach. "Yeah I saw her. She seemed kinda grouchy though, so I told her to go take a nap."

"And she listened to you?" he asked incredibly, and to his credit, she nodded. He couldn't believe that. "She's not the kind of person to just go— to take a nap because someone told her to. She doesn't even know you."

"I can be very persuasive," she shot back, crossing her arms. He didn't believe her. "Fugg… Fuc— uh, Frick… Mrs whatever seemed like she needed some beauty sleep anyway. A couple words were all it took, it was easy. You let me inside your house despite being angry at me, right? I'm just that good.."

Harry was going to argue that he didn't actually let her in, she let herself in, actually, but he had no idea how to argue with her. He didn't even know how they were having that conversation now, there was no reason for her to be there, and he had completely forgotten it in favor of watching movies with her in the living room instead of doing the work he had been assigned because of her. Behind them, the commercials on the TV stopped, and home alone continued, but Harry was hardly interested in watching anymore. He was more interested in the stranger in front of him probably lying through her teeth. for all he knew, she could have kidnapped and murdered the old woman.

He found himself watching her warily, afraid of what she would do next. "And are you going to make me take a nap too? is that what you do? invite yourself into people's houses and... do what with them?"

"What do you think I am, some sort of serial killer?" she snorted before her face got oddly serious. "Wait, no I'm the wet bandit. Do I play Harry or Marv... Harry or Marv... I mean you could be Harry since you're already a Harry but then who would be Kevin? no, no okay I got it. hold on, lemme get the voice right..."

She got up onto her feet and gestured for him to stay quiet, clearing her throat.

"It's too late for you, kid.." She hunched over and pitched her voice real low and gravely like she had smoked six packs of cigarettes every day for her entire life. "We're... I'm already in the house. I'm gonna get ya!"

Harry gave her a blank look and said nothing.

"How was that?"

He figured being honest was probably for the best. "Pretty bad."

"Oh," she sighed and stuffed her hands into her pants pockets. "I'll work on the impressions... And just stick to clogging the drain like how the real wet bandits would do. Yeah..."

"Do not," Harry said quickly, blocking her way as she tried to get to the bathroom. "You're not even supposed to be here if you damage anything else I don't even know what the Dursley's would do. I'll never see the light of day. Don't touch anything."

"Nothing?" With the same deep gravelly voice of Marv, she looked up at him with a deeply conflicted expression on her face. "But Harry, it's our calling card! All the great ones leave their mark. We're the wet bandits!"

"We're not the wet bandits," he said, crossing his arms. "In fact... I don't even know you. Where did you even come from?"

"Oh, you know, around..." She was purposely being vague, and Harry had no time for it. There was still dishes to do, and laundry to fold, beds to make and then there was the garden to weed again, and a whole other list of chores the Dursleys dumped on him because of her.

Harry turned and marched towards the kitchen, leaving her in the living room and hoping beyond hope that she'd listen to him and not touch anything at all. He took the list out of his pocket and set it down onto the counter so he could keep an eye on it. When he got to the sink and leaned down to grab a pair of rubber gloves, he glanced over his shoulder, just to check on what she was doing, before—

"Oh, my g—don't sneak up on me like that." Harry just about jumped out of his skin seeing her just a couple feet away from him. He watched as she jumped up onto the counter and sat down, right next to the sink. "What are you doing?"

"Watching?" She drew one of her legs up and rested her elbow on it, eyeing the soapy water filling up the sink. "Do they always leave you alone and make you do dishes?"

"Yeah," he muttered, pulling out a little step stool from underneath the sink. It was better than not being able to reach the plug, so now he and his home intruder were on a more even eye level. He pursed his lips and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Then again it's also because of the whole... thing..."

"Right... yeah.. the thing... I remember," she said, looking like she very much did not remember. After a few moments of him staring and a prolonged silence on his part, she finally clued in. "Right! yeah. Sorry about that... Do you want help with your chores?"

Harry blinked, not expecting that response but glad it came up anyway. "Um, yeah if you're willing—"

"Cool, then I can do these ones while you do dishes or whatever..." Marie hopped off the counter and snagged the list off the counter and made her way towards the laundry room.

He didn't realize she knew where the laundry room actually was, and he turned off the tap and called after her. "Wait, do you even know what you're doing—"

"Oh yeah, don't worry about it. Aunt Peanut just wants the laundry folded, right? that's easy. And I won't touch anything either so you don't have to worry."

That sounded almost suspiciously too good to be true. "You're not going to touch... anything?"

A second later, he could see her come back into the kitchen with a full basket of laundry, and set it down in the dining room. there, he could easily watch in case she did anything else... yeah, this could work out. Harry instantly felt a whole lot stressed about the whole thing as he turned back to the sink. He felt almost... pleased. Working like a slave for his aunt and uncle didn't feel so overwhelming when he had a friend to help out.

Wait—friend?

Harry paused in between scrubbing a plate and pursed his lips. Could he really consider this friendship already? Granted, he didn't have a lot of experience in that department to really tell. Harry Potter and friends really just didn't... happen. He didn't even know anything about her. She just kind of... showed up. How desperate for friends did Harry have to be for him to start considering weird kids who talk their way into his house as friendship material?

Then again, when hadn't Harry also been the weird kid? Maybe he had been judging her too harshly.

"Your name isn't actually Marie Antoinette, is it?" Harry placed a dish on the drying rack and turned around to look at her, only to freeze and stare at her openly. "What."

"What?" Marie looked back at him with her entire basket of laundry folded and done. But.. but there was absolutely no way she could have done that because there were at least a hundred different shirts and towels and—what?

"Did you just—" Harry got off his stool and walked over to the table to get a better look. Okay, well, every single piece of laundry was folded and organized. That just happened, almost like—

Like magic.

Harry narrowed his eyes and took a couple thoughtful steps backward to the sink, never tearing his eyes away from Marie and her magic folding laundry pile. Right.. magic laundry. The kind of magic laundry that the Dursleys would abhor and blame him for. The kind of impossible... weird thing... they'd get angry about.

Weird... like the girl sitting in front of him, waiting for him to say something.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, definitely... not..." Maybe she was just a real fast folder. Maybe he had just spent a whole lot longer cleaning that single plate than he thought. Maybe it was all in his head.

But then again, maybe... he wasn't as alone as he first thought.

"Okay..." He said slowly, getting back up on his stool. The water was still warm in the sink, and he grabbed a cup, watching her over his shoulder. "If you're done with laundry, there's... Dudley's room that needs cleaning. Usually, he just leaves his blankets and clothes on the floor so if you go in and pick things up—"

"On it!" She left the laundry on the table and made a beeline for the stairs. He was certain he didn't even tell her which room belonged to his cousin, but a few moments later she came back down declaring a job well done, in a fraction of the time any normal person could have done it.

"I have to admit," Harry said, looking over Dudley's clean, spotless room. "I have no idea how you did this so fast."

Next to him, without a hair out of place and her purple sweater without a single wrinkle, Marie shrugged. "Oh, well, you told me not to touch anything, so I just didn't."

"You didn't touch... you know, that doesn't answer my question. Actually, that only makes things worse." Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose where his glasses rested. "How do you do anything without... touching anything...?"

"I mean when you put it like that..." Marie tilted her head and looked at Dudley's room. "In a way, I think a bit of me did touch things, in the metaphysical sense that, after the body ends, the mind itself extends and our will changes the environment. In that sense, I am touching everything, at all times, everywhere, and yet not at all. To touch, to feel, to make contact... if you really look closely, the atoms I'm made of, as well as the rest of the matter in the universe, and here in this room, aren't touching each other at all, but floating in close proximity, which we consider is close enough. Our nerves feel the impression of matter, and so we consider it contact even though they don't actually touch one another. It's all free-floating matter, but where does it really begin? and where does it really end? So no, Harry, I don't think I touched anything. But then I also did, and have, and am at this very moment."

Harry stared at her.

"Does that answer your question?"

There was a long pause.

"...Sure."

"Really? because you were kinda quiet there—"

"Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure? I could explain it again in more detail—"

"It's okay, I think I got it."

"Oh! good, I'm glad we're on the same page." Marie gave him a sunshiny smile, bright and warm, and it just about made him forget whatever the hell she just said. It was nice. And for a moment, they just stood there, happy.

"I.. um..." He said lamely, scratching behind his head. He gestured back downstairs. "...still have some dishes to do."

"Right." She nodded and followed after him. They still had a little while before the Dursleys would be back, and a good chunk of their list left to do. Marie scanned the list over as they walked back to the kitchen, and made her way over to the garden.

Five minutes into scrubbing another one of his uncle's coffee mugs (why did he even need this many? and why did he have to drink hot coffee with every single one of his meals? that much caffeine couldn't be healthy) Harry peeked out the kitchen window to check on Marie's progress. He had made a pretty decent dent in the dishes while she was out... not touching anything, and he had a big pile of dishes stacked up by his side. He stood up on his tiptoes to try and make out the top of her head amongst Aunt petunia's flowers, but there was nothing. No sign of a purple sweater. He braced himself against the wet countertop just in case he missed something, and—

"So I finished the garden." Came a voice directly behind him.

"Shhhh—"

Harry's grip slipped, and his arm reached out to grab something, anything, and instead hit the dishes, the mugs, what he had been working so hard on— he fell back, the stool tipping, and found a firm hand propping him back up, and another hand holding onto the one dish keeping the whole thing standing.

Heart in his throat, Harry righted himself, the tower of dishes wobbling to his side. "T-thanks—"

But he spoke a little too soon, and a single teacup, a mug, about the exact same size and shape as the one he had broken before, wobbled off the top, out of Marie's grasp, and fell towards the floor with a crash.

They looked down at the broken cup for a moment, neither of them saying anything.

Then, Harry sighed. "Damnit."

"You're gonna get in trouble for this, aren't you." Marie poked half the handle with her shoe.

There wasn't even any denying it. "Y...yeah..."

Maybe he could hide the pieces? but surely, eventually, they'd notice a serious lack in coffee mugs. it wasn't like they were identical— the green and blue leaf pattern on the side was the only one they had, and he was pretty sure Vernon had enough sense to remember if his mugs went missing.

"Hm." Marie bent down to pick up the pieces, and he was about halfway through telling her not to bother, that he'd clean it up and that it wasn't his fault, but then she did something peculiar, and Harry really didn't know what to say. He got the feeling that this was going to be something of a recurring theme, with Marie.

The cup fused itself back together in her hands. No sleight of hand, no cheap trick. He plucked the cup out of her hand, turned it over in his, put it up to the light, and still... It had fused itself back together, like magic.

Harry looked down at the cup and then back at Marie. Then, back down at the cup. "You..."

Fixed it? Can do magic? Are like me? Harry had a million and one questions, but with the sound of a car pulling up, Harry looked back up to the spot where he expected Marie to be, to tell her that his relatives were back, and it would probably be a good idea to hide, but then...

She was gone as if she had never been there in the first place, with Harry standing in the middle of the kitchen, a perfectly good coffee cup in his hands.