Chapters 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22 and 23 are already on Pa tr eon
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Pat re on. c om(slash)wickedbunny(delete spaces)
Rewritten version.
A warm summer breeze caressed Harry's face as he walked across the street from the used bookstore. The information he'd gathered described Two Letters as "a haven for those seeking solace from the bustling city." As he entered the bookstore, the scent of old paper and leather-bound volumes filled the still air, sparking memories of his childhood.
Growing up, Harry spent countless hours hidden away in the local library, his nose buried in books. The county library was small and underfunded, with a poor collection of donated books, but it was his sanctuary to escape from the Dursleys. He always felt safe surrounded by books.
"This one looks interesting," he muttered, pulling a detective novel from the shelf.
The title was "Enigma Oakwood," written by C.Q. Barrington. The worn cover promised an exciting tale of mystery and deception, something he could get lost in for a few days.
"Excellent choice, young man!" came a voice from behind him.
An elderly man in thick glasses and a seersucker blazer approached him with a knowing smile. "Barrington's work is always worth a read," he said with conviction.
"I've heard of him, but never tried his work. Someone once told me he was a bit dull."
"Dull? My goodness, what an uncultured brute that person must have been! Barrington is an underrated legend."
"I mean, the cover looks pretty cool."
"Well, if you haven't read his work before, I suggest starting with another novel. This one is widely regarded as his most accessible."
He pulled out a battered hardcover and handed it to Harry.
"Redheads and Revolvers," Harry read. "Sounds like my kind of story."
"It's gritty and quite grim, but very satisfying. A bit like my second wife!"
"Hell of a recommendation," Harry laughed, feeling a kinship with the old man. "I'll take it."
As the old man rang up his purchase, Harry felt a familiar thrill of excitement. It struck him every time he bought a book. The joy of discovering a new world within the pages was a thrill that never got old.
"When you finish this one, come back for more," the old man urged. "You can trade it in for credit on your next purchase. At Two Letters, stories never end."
"Got it. Thanks again."
With his latest purchase safely tucked under his arm, Harry returned to the sunlit streets, eager to dive into Barrington's novel.
It was just past noon. He still had almost six hours before his shift at the Star Hotel. He had spent the morning running a few errands he'd been putting off—buying personal items for his apartment, renting a PO box, and a few other things.
His mind still swirled with thoughts of how expertly Bellatrix had sucked his cock the previous night. He didn't know how it would change his relationship with his boss, and he was eager to see her again to gauge her attitude towards him.
Harry thought he could use some time to decompress before work. Just around the corner was "The Daily Pour," a cozy-looking café he'd passed earlier in the day. The smell of freshly roasted beans drew him in like an invisible leash. An iced coffee seemed like the perfect treat on this warm summer day.
"Hi," the barista greeted him.
She was a pretty girl with pink-and-blue hair and several piercings adorning her face. Slim and maybe 5'3" in her Doc Martens, she looked like a pixie who got a day job brewing espresso. Her name tag read "Tonks." She threw Harry a cheeky smile as she wiped down the counter.
"What can I get for you today?" Tonks asked. "Let me guess. A banana protein shake with powdered peanut butter?"
"Iced Americano with half-and-half," Harry corrected her.
She frowned. "I thought a buff bro like you would want a protein shake. I'm surprised. One iced Americano with half-and-half, coming right up."
Tonks got to work on the espresso machine, her fingers deftly working the levers and knobs. As she prepared the drink, her eyes fell on his latest purchase.
"Nice book. Barrington's always a good pick."
"Oh, so you're a fan too?" Harry asked. "An old guy down the street recommended him. I've never read Barrington."
"He's intense. Dark and muscular prose with thematic subversion of genre through an existential incision of the human condition."
"I understood about a third of those words," Harry joked. "Care to translate?"
He pulled out his phone and noted down her words as she slowly repeated them. It would be a fun evening figuring out what the heck she had just said. "I'm so confused," he said, putting away his phone.
"Yeah. Me too, honestly. That's what growing up with my mother did to me—gave me the ability to spit out smart-sounding words."
They laughed, each appreciating the other's sense of humor. Tonks had a sharp style that usually didn't attract Harry, but she proved to be pleasant company. Tonks reminded him of Tracey.
"Any other recommendations?" Harry asked.
"Depends on what you like," she said, leaning on the counter and eyeing him. "I've always been a fan of classic detective novels—Chandler, Hammett, that kind of thing. How about you?"
"I like them too," Harry replied, feeling oddly self-conscious under her intense gaze. "But I'm always looking to broaden my horizons."
"I'll keep that in mind," she offered. "I'll have some recommendations ready the next time I see you."
"Next time?"
"Yes," she teased. "I can already see you becoming a regular at The Daily Pour."
"I can't wait," Harry said with a smile.
As he took his drink, Harry noticed a familiar figure at the back of the café. It was Fleur Delacour, the sweet and shy guest who had checked into the hotel earlier that day. She was sitting alone in a comfortable armchair, engrossed in what looked like a romance novel, with a pink cover adorned with the image of two silhouettes locked in a passionate embrace.
Harry took a step towards her but hesitated, unsure if he would be intruding. Fleur looked lost in her private bubble. But then he remembered the shy way she had smiled at him the previous day and thought a polite greeting wouldn't be out of line.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Delacour," he ventured cautiously, balancing his iced espresso in one hand and his book in the other. "I just saw you and thought I'd say hello."
Fleur's reaction surprised him. He watched as she hurriedly closed her romance novel and flipped it over on her lap, as if embarrassed to be seen with it. Her open demeanor from the previous day vanished, replaced by a cold and unfriendly one. She crossed her arms defensively, avoiding his gaze.
"It's you."
"Is everything alright, Ms. Delacour?" Harry asked, his voice calm despite the growing confusion inside him.
"Everything's fine," she replied curtly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I just...didn't expect to see you here."
"It's my first time here," Harry explained, trying to maintain a sense of professionalism given Fleur's sudden change in attitude. "I just dropped in for a drink. Sorry if I'm disturbing you. I'll let you get back to your reading. It was nice seeing you again."
"Goodbye, Harry," she muttered, her eyes flicking to him for a moment before returning to her book.
Feeling disheartened, Harry left The Daily Pour, his thoughts swirling with confusion and disappointment. Why was Fleur so cold? Had he done something to offend her?
Needing a distraction, Harry found a bench near the hotel and decided to read for a while. The bench was old and worn, its paint peeling to reveal the rusting metal beneath. It wasn't the most comfortable spot, but it was quiet, exactly what he needed to dive into the world of "Redheads and Revolvers."
As he turned the pages, the vivid imagery and gritty prose drew him in, allowing him to momentarily forget the shy woman who had left him perplexed. But occasionally, his mind would drift back to Fleur Delacour, her inscrutable expression bothering him.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath, frustrated by his inability to focus on the story.
Frank had told him that Fleur deserved kindness. There was a story there, one he wanted to understand. Frank didn't seem inclined to share it, so only Fleur could reveal the hidden depths behind the sadness she seemed to carry.
Harry sighed, closing the book and leaning back on the bench, scanning the bustling city streets, wondering what could have caused such a drastic change in Fleur's behavior and if there was anything he could do to help.
His gaze fell on a group of suspicious-looking guys emerging from the alley near Salazar's shop, their disheveled appearance starkly contrasting with the polished streets around them. They moved in tattered clothes with unkempt hair. Harry wondered how they had ended up in this situation.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his melancholic thoughts.
"Hi, Harry," Frank's voice greeted him, as always, jovial and teasing. "I've got a favor to ask. Would you mind accompanying Mrs. Longbottom from room 2A on a shopping trip? I know you're off now, but Bellatrix said she'll cover three hours of overtime. Maybe Bellatrix will reward you in another way too."
"Sure, Frank," Harry replied, images of Bellatrix on her knees flashing through his mind again.
The prospect of extra cash was tempting, but part of him wanted to stay on the bench and continue reading. Still, he couldn't pass up the chance for additional money, especially considering the state of his bank account.
"Fantastic. I'll let her know you'll be coming. Thanks, Harry!"
With that, Frank hung up, leaving Harry to gather his thoughts and prepare for the upcoming task.
"Time to put your concierge charm to good use, huh?" Harry muttered to himself, closing the novel and standing up. "Duty calls."
As Harry walked to meet Mrs. Longbottom, his thoughts kept drifting back to Fleur Delacour. The way she looked at him before he left lingered in his mind. Her blue eyes were too beautiful to look so sad.
Chapters 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22 and 23 are already on Pa tr eon
If you would like to read the next chapters faster, see exclusive content, or support my work, please visit
Pat re on. c om(slash)wickedbunny(delete spaces)
Rewritten version.