Chapter 6: Princess Pauper
"..What do I wish for? Love or money? Dear Djinn, broaden your horizon. I choose fear." -Jhadar Ashwald, as a young man.
Some days, Harry wondered if it was a good idea to let Stevens be his butler.
The two had been wandering the upscale stores on Oxford Street for hours. At first they bought reasonable things. New linens, towels, and some expensive looking kitchen set Steven insisted they needed. From then on things went to progressively more extravagant items. Decorated candles, scented oils, and rare imported India teas. When Harry thought that they had bought enough things, his butler did the impossible and managed to drag him into a round of boutique hopping. Ralph Lauren, Hugo Boss, Dior Hommes. The names of these luxury brands began to blur together that they're as indistinguishable as ancient runes.
Harry had been poked and prodded, measured and stretched, noted and commented upon by strangers wearing loud flamboyant colors and their overly excited disposition. They call themselves 'In-House-Designers' and they charge an absurd amount of money to find his 'style' from their collections.
"Oh don't 'cha worry your pretty little head about anything Mr. Black. We'll take very good care of you." One of the store manager said, his long pointed nose only seemed to accentuate the greed in his voice.
"What a load of bollocks." Harry muttered irritated as he was herded onto yet another pedestal to have his measurement taken. Again. Just how many dinner jacket does a young Lord need?
Stevens ignored his sullen little master and simply handed a check sizeable enough to appease any offended shop keep. When the check touched his hand, the slimy manager finally went away, leaving Harry and his butler alone in the private dressing room. A pretty young thing came in and greeted them demurely before closing in to take Harry's measurement.
As yet another stranger began to fiddle with him, Harry let his eyes wander over the source of his suffering today. He looked mighty comfortable, sitting on a stool in a corner while he browsed a fabric book. "Don't you think I ought to have a say on what I will wear?" Harry quipped up.
"Maybe next time." Stevens said while comparing two perfectly identical piece of silk.
"Ch'." Harry grumbled and dropped the idea. As much as he hate to admit it, the genie is right. He really have no eye for these kinds of stuff.
The assistant working on hemming a fabric down smiled at the interaction. "How nice of you to take your son shopping. I have to say you both look so much alike!"
Harry face visibly darkened with irritation. Stevens only laughed out loud, completely enjoying the situation. "Ah how nice of you to say miss, but I'm afraid I am his butler not his father."
The young lady blushed and apologized profusely. She would never expect the teenager with long unruly hair was important. Her apologies fell in deaf ears sd Harry was halfway stalking out the store door. "I think I'll be getting some tea." Harry said aloud. He'll use any excuse to escape that fitting room, even if it meant he would look like a spoiled little prat.
The employee called him back with a desperate promise of a discount, but Harry had enough clothes shopping for one day. He walked briskly through the busy London street until he found a small café and plopped himself on a corner table.
Harry didn't even want to be here in the first place. Stevens kept badgering him about going out for 'supplies'. Wanting to avoid Hogsmeade at all cost, he told Stevens to go to London instead. He only blurted out Oxford Street because he knew that it was a famous shopping area. He didn't know that it would be swarming with tourist and snobbish rich muggles.
Harry sighed and began massaging his throbbing forehead. After months of not seeing anyone, being around crowds irritates him. 'I really need a cup of tea with a side of laudanum.' Harry thought to himself. As if on cue, his butler appeared wearing a concerned look. "Too much people?" Steven asked. Harry just silently nodded and asked for something to drink.
Within two minutes Stevens had ordered a silver tray with a pot of steaming tea along with a tiered plate set stuffed full of exquisite pasties and cheese. Harry could complain about Stevens all he want, but even he admit that his tea serving skills is impeccable.
It was then that Harry realized that they in a place that sells teas and crumpets at a price that would make Mrs. Molly faint. Harry shifted on his feel uncomfortably in the oversized love chair. He felt so out of place with his jeans and jumper. Everyone around him looked so… rich. Despite having all of the designers bags crowded at his feet, Harry couldn't help but wondered if people are judging his three year old jumper.
Stevens, oddly enough, didn't look that much different than a muggle in his grey butler suit and vest. Put a cellphone and a briefcase in his hand and he'll be transformed into a young business executive out on a luncheon. Well, maybe not. It's rather hard to imagine a business executive waiting on the hands and feet of a ordinary looking teenager.
"I don't like this Stevens.." He muttered quietly to his Butler as he began to serve him a trio of macaroon on a small place.
Steven raised an eyebrow. "Ah I'm surprised. I thought you were incapable of having any preferences." The Butler said dryly, taking away the plate with a huff. "Two hours people have been making you buy overpriced fabrics, and now you draw the line on scones?"
"No not that." Harry sighed. "I was talking about this whole afternoon. The twenty five pounds tea and cakes. The thousand dollar suit with fifty different shades of grey." A girl on the table next to them giggled. Harry ducked down and lowered his voice. "The only place that I would blow my money out is at Flourish and Bolts, and even then its only for gifts!"
Stevens couldn't help but chuckled, delighted on the arrays of new emotions he could see from his master. "Sir, if I may remind you, you have about thirteen vaults of gold from your Black inheritance. If that article by Rita Skeeter was correct, then you deserve a shopping spree after living with muggles."
"Skeeter? Really Stevens, that's where you get your sources?"
"Well I was curious about my new master she was the most recent journalist to write about you. Apparently you cry yourself to sleep and had sexual relations with a Ms. Granger?"
"No. Wrong. Completely inaccurate. And get those pink pastries off my table!"
The genie sighed. It was too much of a stretch to think that Harry would enjoy the outside world that quickly after his hermitage. "Well alright sir, if you insist. We only have one last stop and then we can go home."
"Merlin, thank you." Harry sighed, his tense shoulder dropping in relief. "Please don't let it be another boutique."
"It's not. I have a feeling that you would enjoy our next stop." The genie gave him a mischievous smile. "Anyways I'll just quickly pop back into the manor to drop off the bags and we can get on our way."
"What- wait. What am I supposed to do while you're gone?"
Stevens gave him a look. This child really does have some issues. "Relax. Enjoy your tea. Have a macaroon or two." He smiled, leaning don to tousle his master's hair. Harry gave him a look. "I'm off!" The butler waved dramatically, walking behind a waiter with an armful of bags and disappearing into think air.
"Wait- goddam genie." Harry sighed.
This morning they had been in the kitchen together, locked in the longest silence. Neither of them knew how to break the ice. And now the butler were shoving pastries onto his plate and giving him a friendly tousle.
'What a nut job.' Harry thought to himself. 'That man couldn't be Kreacher. They are two completely different people. Two different people.' He keep repeating the phrase like a mantra. He could not be living with his Godfather's murderer. He couldn't he couldn't he co-
"Hey there, Sorry to interrupt but you look like you need some company. Mind if I sit here?"
For as long as she could remember Cerisa Grindelwald had always been poor. Her house has always been small, and food has always been scarce. Her mother worked in a 24 hour diner, and the times when she wasn't working were spent staring into the empty static of their broken television set.
Cerisa didn't have many friends, so she would make do with her old tattered dolls and books she would borrow from the library. Her imagination would take her everywhere, and ideas of great men would teach her what her mother could ever afford.
Her life never really bothered her until a neighbor began to whisper about her mother not paying her bills. For some reason, the opinions of a stranger made her pale checks flush. She was humiliated. When she would go to the library, she would be too embarrassed to write down 'Grindelwald'. After all, that is the name of the poor house at the very edge of the village.
Ever since then Cerisa promised herself that when she could make something of herself. Someday, she will be rich enough that people would like her. Someday, she will not be humiliated by her own name. She will never grow up to be like her mother.
So at her eleventh's birthday she didn't mind that some distant family members in odd-looking robes took her away. She didn't miss her mother much, not when there were magic and newfound friends to occupy her time.
Her relatives changed her name to Cera Glenette. Cerisa held little resistance to the notion. She never were proud of her name, and better way to start her new life than by taking up a new name? Day by day she began to forget about the small drafty flat on the edge of the Sussex, but she never forgot the promise she made to herself.
Her new family of stern aunts and ancient looking grandmothers introduced her into the wonders of magic and makeup. They taught her to paint her lips so people will think nothing of her. 'Make them believe that you are nothing more than ditzy blonde, and they will never expect a Stupefy coming from those lips.'
They trained her, pushed her to her limit until she would break down and cry. Her days consisted of being locked up in the huge worn out manor with a different relative each day. The aunts would drill her in spell casting and potion making, while the grandmothers would sat her down and taught her about history and language. Cera was good, very good and the aunts noticed it. They began to hope that she will be the one that will restore the glory of the Grindelwald name.
Despite her new family and the wonders of magic, Cera found herself still alone. Every time she would try to make friends with the neighborhood children, one of her aunts would drag her into the basement and give her a lashing. "The descendant of Gellert Grindelwald does not associate with commoners!" It was then that young Cerisa Grindelwald began to hate her life.
She hated the old rickety manor they called home, how it smell musty and dank. She hated her controlling aunts, and she hated her overbearing grandmothers. And most of all, she hated the fact that she still lived in poverty. She hated everything and everyone. Her teenage years are filled with sullen frowns and rebellious silence. At fifteen years old one of the grandmother finally slapped her and repeated the same words she promised to herself.
"Never be like your mother."
Now there she was, standing in a rented out dress in front of a rich young Lord whose name she couldn't care less about. She may hate her aunts, and her grandmothers, but she still shared their vision. She will restore glory to the name Grindelwald, even if it means throwing herself into a loveless marriage with a stranger.
She will never be like her mother.