After the meal, Guidry folded up the chairs and packed them away into some storage closet Harry hadn't seen before.
Mrs. Cormier stacked up the dishes and began cleaning up. She was flustered and shocked when Harry offered to help her.
She was also delighted.
Guidry pulled him aside as Mrs. Cormier started washing the dishes, setting himself on his usual stool, and rolling up a cigarette. "C'mere," he indicated, motioning to a pillow that had been set before his stool. Harry obliged and sat down with his legs crossed.
He didn't want to admit it, but he felt more comfortable in these oversized, weird clothes than in his usual jeans. "Now that you slept on it," said Guidry, lighting his cigarette with the fire. "You got a plan?" He asked, observing Harry keenly with those massive, eerily clear, and intimidating eyes of his.
Harry ducked under the power of his gaze, but he also became nervous and jittery when he had to think about the future.
He didn't respond for a while, and after a second or two, Guidry spoke again. "Them fellas - one's came before you - headed off to New York, one to Chicago. Something about the stock.
I don't know what kind of stock they got in New York, but it can't be any better than here.
Any case, being from… your time means you got an advantage no one else got.
Sure, ain't no one here knows you exist. Because you don't. But you got some knowledge, kid, knowledge you maybe don't even realize you got."
But Harry didn't want his knowledge. He didn't want to invest in Microsoft or computers or whatever the hell it was that was about to blow up in this time - all he wanted was to go back home. Still, he knew that the England that he craved, that England as he knew it, didn't even exist, and so he wasn't even tempted by the notion of returning to his motherland, not even for the familiarity of the accents.
If he was here, in the butt of the world, or if he was in the middle of London, none of it made any difference because he didn't have any place anywhere.
That was what hurt the most - since he was eleven years old and Hagrid had destroyed the Dursley's doors, he hadn't felt like he felt right now, which was misplaced, a person without a purpose in the world. He knew he had things to do, things to accomplish, and people to help. He couldn't stay here.
Whatever it took, even if he messed up time more than it already was, he had to find a way to return to where he had to be, whatever it took.
"I don't care about that - I need to go back home," Harry insisted.
Now he really was irking Guidry, but he didn't mind that at the moment. "When are you gon' understand that that ain't ever going to happen, not in your lifetime - if you live long enough, you might be there in time for your birth.
You ain't ever returning anywhere. This," he said, wildly signaling to his surroundings, "is your new truth. Your new home."
Harry shook his head at that, much to Guidry's annoyance. "I can't. I need to find a way back." Guidry sighed. "Why you fixed on this? You ain't got a family, what's so important back there that you willing to risk something like time in getting back?" Harry hesitated.
Then, he lifted his fringe, so Guidry had his scar in plain view. "You said I was marked by darkness. I am.
I'm the only person to have survived the Killing Curse, and the man who did that to me is trying to kill everyone and everything I love," Harry told him breathlessly.
Guidry stared for a moment. Then, he burst into laughter. "Kid, you gotta be shittin' on me right now. Ain't no one survive the killing curse," he shook his head, and Harry blushed red at his words.
He knew that they wouldn't believe him if he suddenly sprung it up, but he had gotten carried away and now felt humiliated. Guidry suddenly stood up. "Come," he told him. Harry followed Guidry down the stairs, and there, he finally got his real first impression of the shop.
There were many displays, each showcasing some mystical item or another - some looked like cool trinkets, while others were a bit more disturbing and seemed to warrant walking around them.
Crystals and different-colored chains and ribbons hung from above, adorning the walls and ceiling much like the necklaces around Guidry's neck adorned him.
The shop seemed like an extension of Guidry's body, intimidating and interesting but with a certain energy that didn't make you feel completely at ease.
Harry was paused to look at all the different items, but Guidry kept on walking, right to a room at the back of the store. Opening the door, he waited impatiently for Harry to rush inside and then went in himself.
Inside, it was as dark as Harry's little alcove, and there seemed to be no light source until Guidry (somehow knowing where the lamp was precise) lit a match.
The whole room quickly became illuminated as Guidry lit lamp after lamp, and a great deal of them until the room seemed almost to possess a sun of its own. Harry looked around in amazement.
The place had to be a sort of workshop or study - there were many different lecterns of different sizes, with massive, hefty books opened or closed atop them.
An array of surfaces - mostly desks - were covered top to bottom with papers or magnifying glasses, quills, ink pots, pens, and pencils of all kinds.
There were also trinkets like those in the front, but these seemed more valuable, special, the kind Harry wouldn't risk getting his dirty hands on.
There were open sets of clamps and tweezers and all manner of objects Harry couldn't name but was sure they were meant for deep examination, and the kinda geologist would do.
And there were books everywhere - on the desks, strewn on the floor, and lining the complete length of the walls.
He expected this kind of space to belong to some ancient scholar from a massive, renowned school. Not a man like Guidry, who looked more like a gunslinger than a teacher.
Of course, hanging from the ceiling were crystals - but unlike those he had seen until now, these were massive, shining, clearly polished, and well cared for. That was clearly a Guidry mark.
When Harry looked back at Guidry, he expected the man to contrast harshly against his surroundings, belonging more to the chaotic space outside. But much to his surprise, Guidry blended in even better, leaning against a desk completely at his ease.
This was a man who had his own space, one that he had formed all on his own and was evidently very proud of.
Harry was the one who felt like an intruder. "This is it, kid," Guidry told him. "Where I gets all my work done." "If you don't mind my asking - what exactly is your work, Guidry?"
Guidry wiped his nose, and the previously pensive, proud look he had had in Harry's eyes left as quickly as it had come. "I deal with magical and mystical artifacts." "Witchcraft? I didn't know muggles could do that." "I don't know what in the gotdamned hell a muggle is, and it ain't witchcraft, son.
I don't like to classify it. Molly calls it voodoo, and that suits it better than ann'thin else." "I thought voodoo had… dolls. And things like that," Harry felt stupid the moment the words left his mouth. "And just where'd you get that idea, huh?
Some white folks that ain't know the first thing about voodoo, that's where I'd think." "I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to offend you," Harry said, blushing.
Guidry changed his defensive stance. "No problem, no problem. Reality of it is, kid, ain't a lot of people know what voodoo really is.
Not anymore, at least," he said with a dejected look. "So… what is it?" Harry asked timidly. "Voodoo… it ain't that easy to explain.
These people…" Guidry gestured out to where the streets were, "they follow they's religion. I ain't saying that's wrong, now.
What I mean is they all read they little book, they chant the same things over and over, and whatever their preacher tells 'em, well, there they is, following blindly along to something they don't understand," Guidry shook his head. "Spirituality, my boy," he said, nearing Harry, "it can only be true if it comes from you, what you be feeling.
Nothing else in this world gon' tell you what your spirit is, only you."
He prodded at Harry's chest, and Harry tried not to show his discomfort. Guidry paused as if hearing something from afar. "Come," he told Harry, swiftly walking to the door with those long legs of his. Harry stumbled after him.
In the corridor where the door that led to Guidry's workshop was, there was another door just opposite, and this one was decorated with symbols and carvings Harry didn't understand at all, drawn to follow circular shapes. Harry got nervous just by looking at it - they were only symbols, but they somehow felt dark. "What does that say?"
He asked Guidry, who was boldly heading to the door. Guidry looked at the carvings for a moment and then let out a single, loud guffaw that struck Harry harshly. "That?" He asked. "That don't mean jack shit," continuing a muffled laugh, he opened the door and went inside.
Harry was a bit confused. Did the symbols really mean nothing? Why were they even there in the first place? None of it made any sense.
Leaving the door open so he could see, Guidry began lighting some very low candles. In this room, it seemed to Harry it didn't matter how many candles you could light. It would always look dark.
Black drapes were hanging over the walls, and the floor was carpeted and of a deep maroon color. Yet, somehow, it was still the very room as an entity that seemed to be sucking up all the light.
It gave Harry the shivers. A large, circular wooden table stood smack in the middle, a few heavy chairs with purple velvet details set around it.
The table had a velvet covering and a heavy, intricate iron… object at its center. Harry didn't understand what it was. "This here," Guidry began, "is my little stage," he chuckled darkly, and now Harry could hear the weight that he seemed to carry with his words.
Though he laughed, Harry sensed that Guidry didn't like it one bit. "You see them white folks… no offense there, Harry.
White folks get a kick outta seeing these kind of shows: they like to dabble in what they think are the 'dark arts' or something like that, but they don't like gettin' too scared, so they come here.
Molly reads they palms, and for the less faint-hearted, I do a table session." "A table session?" Harry asked, pawing one of the black bead decorations hanging from the drapes. "Where we contact the spirits," Guidry huffed. "'S if the spirits would come to this dump.
To talk to those people. But it buys.
Hardly a few people nowadays come for my real work," Guidry signaled to the room in front, his workshop. "If it keeps Molly and myself afloat and takes some pretty coin out of a fool's wallet, errthing's fine by me."
Guidry gave Harry a tight smile. Harry considered - he was sure there was something wrong or immoral about what he was saying, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what that was. "Is any of it true?" He asked, quickly passing his hand over a low-burning black candle.
"Is what true?" "The spirit stuff." Guidry stood rigid where he had been, and Harry immediately wondered whether he had made a mistake in asking such a thing.
It seemed that this whole voodoo and spirituality subject was a sensitive subject to Guidry, and he was maybe taking it too lightly, discussing it like he would discuss it with someone from his own time, someone who wasn't personally involved or actively forming part of the history of something as massive as voodoo.
"You should know better than anyone, boy," Guidry finally said in a low voice, turning to face Harry as if he were possessed, the darkest look Harry had seen on his face yet bulging out his eyes and making his full mouth a thin, pressed line.
He walked over to Harry slowly, and Harry felt he was about to loosen his bowels. "That mark you got - if it's really what you said it was, then ain't no one know better then you.
You crossed over to the other side. Tell me that ain't change you. Tell me that ain't a curse on you.
It all came rushing back suddenly. Harry didn't know why he had thought about it nearly at all since he had arrived - well, he did know, it was because he was in 1905, Louisiana.
But all the times he had thought about home, his friends, the battle that had been taking place in the Department of Mysteries, he had never actually remembered the prophecy - a prophecy that had sounded more like a curse than anything.
It was because of that stupid crystal ball that everything that his life had been messed up from infancy, that everything awful had happened, and it was now because of another stupid crystal ball that everything had turned even more topsy turvy than it already had been.
It was the prophecy, the curse, that had cursed him, not that scar - but somehow, when Voldemort had attempted to murder him, he had also cursed him.
Harry thought of his scar burning last year as Voldemort touched it fervently, the way his head felt on the verge of bursting during dreams, like when he had attacked Mr. Weasley.
He had always thought that the scar had been a curse because of Voldemort, but what if the scar had been a curse because he had crossed over to what Guidry called the other side?
The parseltongue, the Sorting Hat's hesitation, his own desires and impulses oftentimes - were they really side effects of his inherent link to Voldemort, or something that he himself had acquired when he had been meant to die? Embedded into him, unremovable and permanent as the scar was.
He looked up at Guidry's eyes, panic reflected in his face, and not just because of Guidry's haunted, searching look. "You don't talk, but I know you know it's true, boy.
I seen it in your face, buried, it was, for sure, but there, alright. I can see it now, plain as day, that darkness you got inside you. It might be the worst I ever seen in anyone, and you just a boy, too.
I ain't want to be around when it's unleashed, neither. And I think you won't be, either." "Guidry," came the harsh, angry voice of Mrs. Cormier from the door.
"What in the hell you doing to that poor boy?" Snapped out of the trance by Mrs. Cormier's presence, Harry rushed to her side and away from Guidry, whose face had been so close to Harry's that he had been able to feel his hot breath on his face.
Guidry's eyes lost the horrible, vacant, yet obscure look they had had until a moment ago.
He straightened himself out and ran a finger through one of his necklaces. "Just showing him around his new workplace, Molly. That's all it was." "Mhm," Molly said through pierced lips, looking at him skeptically. She clearly wasn't buying it. "What do you mean?" Harry asked. "Well, you don't wanna go, ain't got no place to be.
Molly too good a woman to kick you outta here.
So you gotta work for a living if you want to keep sleeping under our roof, having Molly serve up those heavenly breakfasts of hers."
Harry looked back to Mrs. Cormier as if asking her to confirm if that was true, all the previous fear he had felt, and Guidry's terrible, frightening words momentarily forgotten.
Molly stopped staring threateningly at Guidry and instead turned her face down to look tenderly at Harry and smiled in confirmation. "Thank you, I-" "Don't thank us just yet. It's gon' be tough work.
You'll be in charge of a whole lot. Mainly this little spectacle. I think a white boy's gon' bring us some more customers - the chalkier the face, the more trust they got. "Guidry," Molly said disapprovingly, and Guidry suppressed a smile. "Well, it's true.
I'll show you the ropes - could be we add some new tricks, now that we got ourselves a wizard and all that," Guidry said, though Harry could've sworn his voice had a trace of bitterness in it. "And if you do your job right, might be I'll let you do some research on how to get back home." "Really? I c-" "Hold your gotdamn horses," Guidry put his hand up and rolled his eyes.
"This boy gets more excited than a child in a candy store," he remarked to no one in particular. "I'll be watching you.
And believe you me, I got more than one eye to keep on you, and ain't nothing gon' fly under my radar, you hear?
You can do all the research you want. But, that don't mean I'm gon' let you mess up the entire fabric of the universe just so you can play hero with your little friends."
Harry nodded at his words, content even for the opportunity. He knew he couldn't ever give up on returning to his time, to where he belonged, and if he had a roof, food, and a place to rest, he wouldn't have a great deal of impediments blocking his way back home.
He wasn't as witty and learned as Hermione, and he wasn't even that developed as a wizard overall. Still, surely if it was all he focused on night and day, and if he worked at it as best he could, he'd find himself back home. Soon enough, this whole ordeal - despite how grateful he was to Guidry and his wife - would only be a wild, feverish nightmare he had had and something he could just kick under the rug along with the rest of the dust of his many undealt-with traumas.
He could've jumped for glee or kissed Guidry full on the face, but he restrained himself and only nodded.
Now everything that Guidry had said before really did evaporate from his head. "Thank you," he said, trying hard to keep the foolish smile that had been building upon his from surfacing.
"It means a lot to me," he looked both to Guidry and Mrs. Cormier. Mrs. Cormier swept back his hair, carefully avoiding his scar. "You look tired, sugar," she said softly. "Don't you want to have a nap? All this must be horribly exhausting for you."
And, sure enough, the moment that she said it, he felt the weight of bad sleep and extreme circumstances weigh down on him.
He yawned and smiled a bit. "Sure.
Thank you, again," he said, turning away. "Remember tomorrow's Monday, boy! Gotta start your work then," Guidry called after him.
Harry nodded and headed out. Mrs. Cormier heard attentively as Harry went up the stairs and then shut the door to his room.
Once she was sure he was out of earshot, her face turned red with rage. "How you gon' give that boy false illusions like that? Setting him up for a lifetime of grief and disappointment," she exclaimed angrily. "He ain't gon' take my word for it, let him figure it out by himself," Guidry told her, shrugging. "He's just gonna waste all his time! You gon' break that poor boy's heart!"
She said, her voice cracking. "He determined, Molly. He'll break his own heart."
Molly's nostrils flared, and it looked as though she was about to say something.
Instead, she just huffed and turned away. Guidry straightened out a fake skull that had fallen on one of the tables.