AN: I recently visited New York City, where this idea popped into my head, and I had to write it. I wrote this fast because if I tried to make it good then I'd never write it at all. And since religion is mentioned in this, a friendly reminder that a fictional character saying something in a fictional story does not mean the author believes what is being said.
No magic. He's had too much magic in his life lately. He needs a break.
Just for a week, Harry wants to be a normal ordinary teenager, one who hasn't defeated the Dark Lord, one who hasn't spent every minute since he was eleven in the eye of the public.
So he's in New York City, America, incognito, sitting in Central Park. His spot isn't comfortable, the sky isn't clear, the grass isn't green, the air isn't clean, the children aren't quiet, and the tourists aren't sparse. Despite this, he uses no magic to improve his circumstances. If this is the way things are naturally, this is the way they will be.
For many minutes he attempts to continue his book, but he can't. It isn't a good read, and the noise-canceling headphones aren't canceling. He is not at peace. He is not enjoying himself. Central Park is, well, underwhelming.
No magic.
Harry gets up and leaves, not knowing where he's headed. If this won't do, he'll find something that does.
Just past 86th Street, Harry sees a sign that catches his attention and reminds him how hungry he is. Barney Greengrass: The Sturgeon King. Greengrass.
A Jewish Deli in New York City? He can go for that.
The inside is charming—green walls and white tables, lively patrons, the smell of delicious food, the warmth of a happy place, and in front of him a beautiful blonde woman whom, with a start, he realizes he recognizes.
"Daphne?"
No magic.
She looks up, surprised. "Potter?"
"Er, yeah. What are you doing here?"
"Me? I work here."
"You work at a deli?"
"It doesn't say Barney Potter on the sign, does it? Family business."
"Sorry, I realize how that must've sounded," Harry says. "Wait a second."
"What?"
"You're Jewish?"
"Is that a problem?"
"No, no. I was just surprised. I didn't think anyone at Hogwarts was Jewish."
Daphne snorts. "There were plenty of us. Muslims, too. Try being either and going to an overtly racist school where teenagers can attack each other with no real repercussions. You learn not to broadcast it."
Harry pauses. "Good point," he says awkwardly, before looking around again. "The colors make more sense now."
"If Astoria were here it'd be a garish yellow. You picked a good time." She looks over his shoulder. "I better seat you now. Don't worry, I'll cover your table."
"Figure out what you want yet?" Daphne's back at his table again.
"Er, no?" Harry's a bit embarrassed.
"Try our Sturgeon and Nova Scotia Salmon specialty. You won't regret it."
"I'll have that then."
While waiting for his food, Harry looks around. It's an awkward place to eat alone, not because he's lonely but because everyone else has someone to talk to. He slouches in his seat. How are Ron and Hermione doing? He had sort of run off abruptly, letting them know he'd be gone for a bit so that they wouldn't worry but not telling them where he was going. They needed a break as well.
Daphne comes back. She places the food in front of him and herself in the seat across from him.
"I don't want to keep you from doing your job," he starts, feeling awkward.
"It's alright. I run the place." She smirks.
He looks down at his food, then back up at her. "I'm sorry."
She's confused. "For what?"
"I never really thought about how it'd be for others to be different outsiders at Hogwarts. I was pretty self-centered in hindsight."
Daphne rolls her eyes. "You don't have to apologize. We were all young. And you more than anyone had good reason to be a bit preoccupied, given everything."
"It's weird. I've never thought how strange it is that wizards celebrate Christmas, even though we know Jesus was just a normal wizard."
She grins sardonically. "That's okay. Nobody does. Christians control everything."
"How so?"
"The winter holiday was originally Yule, but Christians took that. In fact, the whole calendar revolves around Christian beliefs. We've had Ministers of Magic from multiple sexes, races, and sexualities, but the even thought of having a non-Christian one has never crossed the public's mind. But it's okay."
"Why's it okay?"
"Because we have the best fish." Daphne smiles. "Go on, try it already."
He does.
She's right.
"Well?" She's still smiling, already knowing the answer.
Harry can't help but smile back. "Daphne, I think you and I will be seeing a lot more of each other this week."
It's not magic running into an old acquaintance from school in a different country, right?
1 Week Later
He waits for her shift to finish. He waits for the restaurant to close. They stroll along Riverside Park as the sun begins to set over the water.
Harry looks over at Daphne. "You know, I feel bad that we didn't get to know each other sooner."
"Being in rival houses at Hogwarts will do that."
"You know what I mean."
She smirks. "I do. And 'you know'" she says, teasingly emphasizing his filler words back at him, "for what it's worth, Harry, I feel the same."
They walk some more. They talk some more. She tells him about her time at Hogwarts. He tells her about his.
As Harry regales her with some of his adventures, trying to set the record straight on what did and didn't happen, she sees through his attempts to underplay and understate the danger and stakes he faced, and continually calls him out on it. Looking back, it's absurd trying to explain everything at once—there's just so much ridiculousness.
Harry tells her that he can't believe that she believes him.
Daphne laughs.
It's the sweetest sound he's heard all week, and he looks at her again realizes, again, that she may just be the prettiest woman he's ever seen, and that makes him realize that it's pointless trying to be anything he isn't, anyone he isn't, and that it's pointless trying to have a week of no magic.
Harry doesn't have to be a wizard to see magic everywhere he looks.