Chapter 9: Squeaky clean
Harry stood in an unfamiliar bathroom, a towel in his hand and a pile of men's clothes, clean but wrinkled, at his feet.
After the mishap with him leaving the kitchen earlier that morning, Harry had wondered whether James would try to make him talk, once Sam and his sisters were out of the way. He'd wondered what he should do if James did start questioning him – he'd even come up with a vague plan…
To say he'd been surprised when James had declared he wanted a shower and had offered Harry the opportunity to do the same would be an understatement. And then he'd felt his cheeks flame – he really must stink if a man who thought he'd trespassed into his home told him to have a wash…
Mechanically, Harry peeled off his old clothes. His trousers were so stiff with wear they pretty much stood up on their own. His t-shirt was stained with sweat, blood and mud. He didn't think he'd changed his clothes since the final battle… If he'd had his wand, he would have been sorely tempted to set fire to the whole lot. Instead, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on so hot it burnt his skin, leaving angry red patches on his arms and chest.
He washed his hair over and over again until the overlong strands felt soft under his fingers. Then he washed his body until the soapy water swirling down the plug finally ran clear instead of a greyish brown of old filth. And then he simply stood there, letting the water pound against him, tiny pinpricks of heat. His mind was blissfully blank.
Once out of the shower and dried, Harry cleared the condensation from the mirror and contemplated the plastic razor and shaving foam James had dug out from the back of a cupboard. He couldn't remember ever having to shave the Muggle way – back when he was still living at the Dursleys' he didn't have enough facial hair to warrant a shave and since then, he'd either not bothered or used his wand, and Merlin knew where James had put that particular possession of his…
The thought brought with it an uncomfortable twinge that he'd been trying to ignore. If it did turn out to be a trap – though the more time passed, the more Harry thought it unlikely – he'd be more than screwed without it. But what unsettled him more than that thought, was how little he found himself caring about it.
After all, what did he really have to lose if anything were to happen? A world full of people who hero-worshiped him but did not really care about him as long as he solved their problems. Friends who were most likely better off without him anyway. No family – at least no family he wanted to acknowledge… Of course, there were the Weasleys. And Andromeda Tonks and little Teddy… But they had each other, and he honestly didn't think him being there would make an awful lot of difference to them.
He had been out of his world for a long time, he realised. Floating. Detached. And now, the epitome of detachment, he was effectively living in his dream…
A knock on the door made him jump.
"Everything alright in there?" came James's voice.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry croaked back.
"I'll wait for you here – just knock when you're done," James said, and Harry heard the creak of a floorboard which seemed to indicate that the man had taken a seat on the staircase outside the bathroom.
His eyes snapped up to mirror which had fogged up in the time he'd spent lost in though. With a sigh, he wiped it again and quickly finished shaving.
The clothes he'd been given were far too big, but they felt soft on his scrubbed skin. Harry looked around the bathroom. Spotting a bin under the sink, he hesitated then quickly stuffed his dirty old clothes into it.
"I'm ready," Harry called and, with a click, the bathroom door opened.
He followed James into the kitchen and took his seat without a word. Just as wordlessly, James recast the confinement charm before pocketing his wand. Then, he filled the kettle and started to methodically arrange the contents of a tin of biscuits around a plate, as if Harry were a guest.
In an attempt to distract himself, Harry called forth his mental catalogue of photos of his parents and surreptitiously compared them to the version of James he had in front of him.
He'd never been one for faces, but things were different when it came to his parents. He'd cherished each and every picture he had of them, memorised their features to the point where, had he boasted any artistic ability, he could've have drawn them with his eyes closed.
James stood taller than he'd expected – almost a full head taller than Harry himself, and he couldn't help but wonder whether maybe, without the Dursleys and their miserly rations of food, he too would've grown tall…
Other than that, the man was the spitting image of the James in the pictures – or rather… Harry frowned and cast another discrete look across the kitchen.
It wasn't the hair – that had remained the same through the years, black as soot and as unruly though shorter than Harry's own. No, it was something else… Maybe – maybe it was the lines, thin but visible, around James's mouth and eyes. Or maybe it was the fact that his hazel eyes, so similar to Sam's Harry now realised, were calm, serious when they met Harry's across the kitchen table.
That's when it hit him. James was no longer the twenty-odd-year-old Harry was used to seeing, smiling cheekily at his mother, on the pages of Hagrid's photo album. James had lived almost twice as long as he had in Harry's world.
He'd aged.
The thought left Harry with a lump in his throat. He quickly lowered his head, letting his fringe hide his face from view.
Suddenly, there was the crack of Apparition and a woman's voice, calling from further into the house.
"Jamie? James?"
Harry swallowed convulsively, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him.
"We're in the kitchen," James called back.
Harry turned around and watched as if in slow motion as the kitchen door swung open. There was a hand on the doorframe. Followed by a freckled arm. A flash of red hair – and there she was.
His mother.
A/N: Happy Monday everyone! Thank you all for reading, and a very special thank you to those of you who've written a review. Your feedback is always really appreciated!