Awkward Meeting
WizardsGirl's prompt(s) : Harry Potter/Harry Dresden, HP/HD, Harry - Floo Meeting (if you remember "Calling Harry" this actually happens before that, is hinted to)
There is nothing left for Harry Potter do to with his life. Voldemort is gone, the Weasley family and the remaining Order of the Phoenix have things well in hand reshaping the Ministry without him.
Nothing left to do but go home.
Harry thinks it's kind of funny, when he was a hero no one would give him peace, now – peace is all he has, too much of it. It isn't the attention he misses; it's how he felt useful, as if he had a purpose. Now, he doesn't.
He doesn't know what to do with his life, the goblins have told him he is the Heir (and used that word, too – as if there are Kings and Queens, but there are not – he'd asked) what it means is, roughly in the world, he is the richest wizard: the Potter riches, the Black fortune, and when he died Albus Dumbledore had given him all the resources of the Order of the Phoenix.
It also means he has a home he didn't know he had. He stepped into the floo, just as someone called his name. Harry himself was saying the name of his home.
"Harry – "
"- Dresden Manor."
He caught a glimpse of the whites of wide eyes, and then the floo roared up and swallowed him.
It coughed him up, and he staggered out, dizzily landing on the floor. He couldn't catch his balance, but his hand had clenched automatically onto his wand.
"Who the hell are you?" It was demanded of him from the most indignant sounding man, and Harry looked to him, wand pointed without hesitation.
"Better question, where am I?" Harry asked with a sneer, not at all pleased to be spoken to like that. Or at all. Floo travel just didn't agree with him over long distances, and judging by that accent, this was indeed long distance. Harry eyed the fireplace wondering at his chances of getting back to where he came from.
"Uh, my fireplace, my rules: no one has ever done that before, so how did you?" Judging by the blasting staff now being held (not, yet, pointed at Harry) in the man's hand, he was a wizard.
"It's called Floo, and I'm called Harry Potter." A blink, a stunned frozen face: he doesn't know how to react.
"When someone introduce themselves it's polite to do the same." As well, not stare at them as if they are insane. Harry gets to his feet, fighting his sea-sick feeling, and a headache. He feels he needs to stand, if only to be on equal footing with this man.
"Dresden." He says, hand outstretched for politeness sake, Harry shakes– and then as a wave of heat warms him, rolls over him, he sees the blasting staff in the other hand, and curses himself for a fool.