A/N: First off, a big thanks to Warlocke, Chime, Jon and the lot at DLP for their help with the grammar and spelling of this chapter. Secondly, I've gotten a few reviews lately that deal with the religious consistencies and fact of the story. I'll be honest, apart from going to a Catholic school for the better part of my school days, I'm not religious. I have a basic knowledge of Christianity, but that's about it. So if I'm wrong or my stuff comes off as Catholic/Christian-centric, that's why. Just try to ignore it and move on with the story, I guess.
It was the sounds of clashing cutlery and tinkling goblets that finally made Harry leave the small room later that night. He had spent most of the day practising his spells, essentially reducing the room to a nine by seven graveyard of several different pieces of furniture and the very ugly wallpaper. It was only after that Harry heard his stomach grumbling that he realised he was hungry.
“I really need to eat something,” Harry muttered as he strode out of his room and down the large stairs.
He glanced at the house-elf heads mounted on the walls and grinned, raising his arm and pointing at one of the middle ones, a particularly fearsome one with hateful eyes and a snarl that seemed to have been permanently etched into it in death. “Hey, look at that one's mouth. It kinda makes you wonder what it was doing before they chopped its head off.”
'That was something I really didn't need to hear,' Meciel murmured, half-repulsed and half-amused. 'I must admit, the decor of this house is not what I had expected from the Order of Phoenix.”
“Which is probably why they're here,” Harry shrugged, jumping down the last flight of stairs with a springy hop. A small thump resounded in the hallway leading to the kitchen and Harry finally noticed a delicious aroma of hot food. “Now how about…”
It was at that exact moment that a pair of moth-eaten velvet curtains- its crimson colour almost completely faded- flew apart. For a moment, Harry thought it was a window but then he realised it was a portrait; the occupant being an old, and very ugly, lady, who was in the process of yelling and screaming. The yellowing skin at the corners of her eyes tightened, her narrow, spiteful face fixed in an expression of derision and hatred.
“Filth! Scum! Mudbloods and half-breeds desecrating the noble and ancient house of Black!' The old woman howled, her voice shrieking so loud that a nearby umbrella stand, which seemed to have been made from an amputated troll-leg, toppled over.
Harry winced, the hairs on the back of his arms rising as the woman continued unabated.
“How dare you invade the sanctity of the pure? How dare you defile three hundred years of noble history with your unworthy blood! You are all scum! You are all filth! You are all weak muggle-loving fools who will perish at the hand of the Dark Lord! He will strike down mudbloods and half-breeds and he will cleanse this world of weaklings and incompetents!”
“Hey, shut he hell up, you stupid, cranky bitch!” Harry snapped as he strode passed, glaring at the portrait, giving it a withering glare. “Your voice is enough to give anybody a bloody migraine.”
“You! How dare you speak to me like that?” The woman snarled, her eyes bulging as she rounded on Harry. She paused and seemed to sniff the air, before an expression of utter revulsion crossed her face. “Half-blood! I smell it on you! Half-blood! Weak, tainted, dirty wizard! How dare you desecrate…”
“Whoa, what the fuck did you just call me?” Harry snarled, his anger spiking, and he whirled around to glare at the portrait with narrowed eyes. “You'd better watch yourself, you wrinkled piece of centaur shit! The last time I checked, portraits couldn't cast spells, and I could.”
The old woman let out a loud bark of shrieking laughter, her imperious and haughty gaze coming down to rest upon Harry. From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed that the kitchen door had opened and a wizard quickly striding towards him.
“You!” The woman howled angrily, her eyes flashing with rage. Her face was twisted up with spite to the point where she was barely recognisable. “You, a measly half-blood dare threaten a lady of noble blood? You are filth, weak and tainted! To presume that you could...”
“Effodio!” Harry barked angrily, his wand flicking out in a blur.
A loud bang echoed in the hallway- there was a flash of silver light, an odd gong and suddenly the portrait flashed with sparkling blue magic, the blur of silver deflecting off it and into the roof. Harry hissed in anger even as broken bits of timber and dust fell around him, a dangerous glint coming into his eyes. The woman howled with laughter, pointing a wrinkled, yellow finger at him.
“Harry…” somebody called from behind him, but Harry ignored him and Hellfire flooded his body. Dark powers sped into his wand and smoke curdled from its runes, the tip glowing in an odd hellish light.
“Impressive spell, half-blood!” The woman cackled, clearly enjoying her triumph. She clapped her hands together, her eyes brimming with madness. “But my charms will subvert all your attempts to destroy me! It is the way of the pure, to shrug off the filth of the tainted and embrace a new…”
“Pestise ignis!” Harry hissed coldly and the woman cut off, staring down at Harry with dawning horror as she recognised the incantation.
His wand glowed, sulphur reeking in the air as Harry poured a blaze of seemingly liquid fire into his hand. Dark pleasures tingled in every nerve in his body as Harry, with slow, deliberate movements, swished his wand, forming a bright crow of cursed fire. With a malicious grin, Harry cocked his wrist and the fiery bird dove from his hand and into the portrait.
The cursed fire flashed and, with odd screeching noises, it exploded forward. Harry caught a glimpse of a vaguely-formed crow of flame amidst the writhing fire before it slammed into the portrait. The house rocked- Harry's eyes widened and he was almost thrown off his feet- as the portrait was engulfed in searing flames. The old woman howled in fear and pain, her screams indistinct and chilling as she clawed at her frame, almost as if she was attempting to flee. The fiendfyre pulsed, ripping across the charmed portrait and eating away at wood, paint and whatever magic lay beyond them, until there was nothing left except a blazing wall, the fire threatening to rage far beyond anybody's control.
Harry flicked his wand again, his brows furrowed in concentration and the fire paused its assault on the remainder of the wall and house, before, with a curious squelching noise, it was forced away from the wall and funnelled back into the tip of Harry's wand. An odd red glow remained until Harry swished his wand, and it disappeared with a shower of pale yellow sparks and a puff of smoke.
“Well, that takes care of that,” he muttered with satisfaction. He sighed, almost regretting the sensation of Hellfire draining away from him, and turned towards the kitchen, recognising the wizard who had approached him as Sirius. “Well, Black,” Harry remarked, his lips twitching, and he gestured at the still red-hot wood next to him. “I hope that bitch wasn't a friend.”
Sirius recovered quickly, his face transforming from a gape of shock to a fully-blown grin of amusement. He let out a barking laugh, shaking his head and thumping Harry on the back- an action that caused Harry to grit his teeth.
“Good work, Harry,” Sirius crowed as he led Harry into the kitchen. “We've been trying to get rid of that old hag for ages! We tried a lot of different spells, as well as a few muggle methods, but the whole wall was protected.”
“When in doubt, blow it up,” Harry said with a shrug, walking into the bright kitchen.
He paused, suddenly feeling a little wary as he took in the size of the table and the number of people behind it.
“What spell was that?” Sirius asked cautiously sniffing the air and glancing back at the blackened wall. He suddenly seemed cautious as the initial excitement over the destruction of the portrait disappeared. “I've never seen anything like it.”
“Fiendfyre,” Harry answered absently, staring down the table.
There had to be at least twenty people there, ranging from the venerable Headmaster to a whole litter of redheads- some he vaguely recognised from Hogwarts. With a pang of hatred, Harry noticed Snape amongst the people- although he took pleasure in the fact that the potions professor looked less than happy to see him as well.
“Fiendfyre,” Sirius mused carefully. 'I've never heard of that before.”
“Its dark magic,” a scarred and grizzled man growled and Harry recognised Moody, who was staring at him suspiciously with his glowing-blue eye. “Cursed fire. Very dangerous. Very powerful. I lost my leg to it.”
“Fiendfyre, Potter?” Snape hissed amongst the sudden hush around the table. The Potion Professor's sallow face flashed with a sudden wariness that Harry barely noticed. “It seems the Boy-Who-Lived is a bit on the reckless side.”
“That's enough,” Dumbledore commanded and the table fell silent. He gave Harry a small nod and gestured at one of the chairs.
Harry scowled in anger, smoothing down his robes and staring around the table. Most of the members were watching him speculatively or disapprovingly, a couple of crimson-robed men and women paying considerable attention to him. Still, there were some who were glancing at him curiously, several with outright looks of adoration or admiration on their faces- most notably a small, thin man that looked to be permanently high on some form of drug.
“You do realise that we are a resistance against the dark forces?” Sirius breathed in his ear harshly. Harry sighed and took the empty seat by Dumbledore's right, sitting down next to Moody.
“You are the real one, right?” he asked as Sirius handed him a plate from the kitchen bench. “Because I'll kill you again if you're not.”
“I am, laddie,” Moody growled, his blue eye revolving slowly in his empty socket. “I tell you, they'll never take me like that again. I'll be dead before I let that happen.”
He looked particularly paranoid, glancing at anything and everything. Harry noticed that his plate was still full and that the grizzled ex-Auror was discreetly flicking his wand under the table, casting every potion-detection spell Harry knew and a few he didn't. Harry frowned and looked at his own food, suddenly feeling wary. He sighed and pulled out his own wand, much to the grunted approval of Moody, and began casting his own spells.
“Harry,” Dumbledore greeted jovially. “So glad you could join us. Mrs Weasley has quite outdone herself this time.”
“Oh, Albus,” Molly mumbled, looking embarrassed and colour rising to her cheeks.
“You're Harry Potter!” the excitable little man exclaimed, his eyebrows disappearing under his wizard's hat.
“Really? I am?” Harry muttered in annoyance. He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for telling me that. I had no idea who I was. It's good that the Order has observant people like yourself to pass on such vital information.”
“Now, Harry,” Dumbledore reprimanded gently, as the excitable wizard looked crestfallen. “Surely you can put aside your temper for just one night?”
“I could,” Harry said, flicking his wand over his dinner again. He was satisfied with the results and placed his wand back in his robes, picking up his fork and shovelling it into his mashed potatoes. “But I won't.”
Dumbledore merely smiled. After a moment of surveying those assembled at the table, most of whom were chatting to each other while glancing over at Harry, the old wizard stood up and clanged his fork against his crystalline goblet.
“As you might have noticed, we have a guest joining us for dinner before our meeting,” he said politely. The Headmaster gestured at Harry, who grunted and gave a half-hearted wave with his hand. “Although most of you have not met Mr. Potter before, I am sure you have heard of his considerable efforts against the forces of darkness. He is also responsible for a lot of the information we now know about Lord Voldemort,” here Harry noticed many shudders and scoffed, “and Lady Vesper.”
“You're calling that anorexic bitch a Lady?” Harry scoffed loudly. He grinned at the reactions he received- a pair of redheaded twins giggling like children and a lot of the adults frowning in disapproval- before shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.
“Language, Harry,” Dumbledore said lightly, although his own lips were twitching. He gestured to the feast spread out on the table. “For those I won't see tomorrow, I wish you the very best Christmas. Now I suggest we dig into this delicious feast before Harry eats it all.”
“Oh, 'uck a 'uck,” Harry muttered, his mouth full of food.
'Elegant, Harry, very elegant,' Meciel murmured in amusement as the rest of the table dug into their dinner and the room exploded with talk and laughter again.
However, Harry noticed that she was distracted and focussing on something in his peripheral vision. Frowning, he turned his head and noticed that that the object of her attention was a slim, attractive woman with odd purple hair and eyes that literally flashed from red to blue to green to yellow, causing one of the Weasley brats, a girl Harry barely remembered the name of, to giggle uncontrollably.
'Okay Meciel, I know she's pretty hot but what gives?' Harry thought, idly gnawing on a chicken wing.
'Remember the Aurors that attacked us at the Leaky Cauldron?' Meciel asked and Harry stilled, his eyes scanning the woman's face with dawning recognition.
“Son of a…” Harry muttered, his eyes widening with surprise. He dropped the chicken bone and nudged Moody in the ribs. “Hey, who's the girl down there with the freaky eyes and the nice tits?”
“That's Tonks,” Moody grunted. His scowl distorted the scars on his face and suddenly he looked ten times as fearsome- and ugly- than before. He didn't say anything else but Harry noticed that the crippled Auror's magical eye never budged from watching him.
'That name sounds familiar,' Meciel said.
“Well, I don't think she'll recognise me,” Harry muttered.
Nonetheless, he kept his head down for the rest of the dinner, moodily poking at it with his fork. To the outside world, it seemed as if he was half-asleep. In reality, he and Meciel engaged in a humorous game of “guess what evolved from this pile of sludge?” within his mind. It was a lot more fun than it sounded.
It wasn't long before dinner was finished. Harry sat back, idly rubbing his now-full stomach, as Molly ushered the red-haired children away from the table, despite their protests and complaining. He grinned at them and waved at Ron, who looked even more disgruntled as he was shepherded from the door.
“Harry?”
Harry turned his head and noticed Dumbledore was peering down at him, a benign smile on his face.
“You called?” Harry asked lazily.
“We're about to have an Order meeting,” Dumbledore said gently. “And I'm afraid you are not permitted to attend just yet.”
Harry stiffened and dropped his fork. It landed on his plate with a clatter as Harry turned to Dumbledore, his eyes narrowing in anger.
“I'm not permitted?” Harry asked indignantly. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Dumbledore. “You're having a meeting to talk about a resistance against Voldemort and you want the person who's duelled him twice to go away?”
“You are not part of the Order, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly, stroking his beard and sighing softly. “There are protocols that must be adhered to. Besides, there is certain information that you are not ready for, not just yet, and the Order is playing a critical role in protecting this information.”
“I thought we were allies,” Harry said coldly, folding his arms over his chest. “I thought we were going to do this together.”
“An alliance must run two ways, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly. “And frankly, I fear that any information that is given to you will put our mission in harms way. You have a tendency to act before you think and the Order cannot afford to tip its hand at the present moment.”
“What if I said I wouldn't do anything?” Harry asked with a scowl.
“This lack of action- would this be similar to the time when you told me you heed my advice and stay away from the Leaky Cauldron?” Dumbledore remarked coolly.
Harry was silent, absently chewing his bottom lip as he eyes went blank.
“Fine,” he said after a moment's pause. Annoyance and anger surged through his veins as he got to his feet. “Whatever. I don't want to be part of your stupid club anyway.”
“Have a happy Christmas, Harry,” Dumbledore called out as Harry turned and strode towards the kitchen door.
“Yeah,” Harry grumbled under his breath as he left the room, ignoring Ron, the girl and the other red-haired brats that were crouching near the doorway, trying to eavesdrop. “Happy fucking Christmas, you old bastard.”
Harry woke up the next morning feeling rather disgruntled and annoyed. The former being residual emotion from yesterday, the latter being caused by the loud and excited laughter and chatter from the room next door. He sighed loudly and rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head and fumbling for the wand in his waistband.
“Huh,” he mumbled drowsily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his left hand.
'You sound hesitant,' Meciel noted.
“Thinking,” Harry replied shortly. He still felt drowsy as he sat up, a loud yawn escaping his mouth. “To maim or not to maim.”
'Aim three centimetres left of that dark patch on the wall with a silver-arrow curse,' Meciel advised. 'Judging by the sound, that will get one of the twins in the lower left ribs and pierce his liver. He'll have five to twenty minutes to live if he doesn't get immediate medical attention.'
“Tempted,” Harry groaned and sat up. He rubbed his bleary eyes again and threw his legs over his bed. “Oh so tempted.”
'It's my job,' Meciel said lightly.
A few minutes later, a fully-dressed Harry walked downstairs, fingering the collar of his shirt with a frown. The illusionary charms he had placed over his robes were extremely well crafted- it was Meciel's speciality, after all- but they itched when the illusion had to extend the disguise from the material underneath it.
“Good morning, Harry!” Molly Weasley greeted with a beaming smile. She was waving her wand over the hole in the wall where the portrait had once been, using some charms Harry had never heard of to remove the scorching and repair the hole. “Merry Christmas!”
Harry just grunted and gave a half-hearted wave. He strode for the kitchen and none-to-gently pushed open the door with his palm. It rocked on its hinges as Harry lumbered through, idly scratching his head and heading for the cupboards. The kitchen, which had been full of noise a second ago, died down as the redheaded brats stared at him. They were all seated at the table, scraps of wrapping paper lying around them.Harry ignored them and started opening the cupboards one-by-one, making a noise of disgust in his throat when he didn't find what he wanted.
“Um…Harry?” Ron asked hesitantly. The red-haired boy almost flinched when Harry's annoyed gaze swung towards him. “Mum's making a proper breakfast in a few minutes.”
“Not staying,” Harry grunted, slamming the last cupboard shut with a scowl.
“What?” The young-girl exclaimed. She ran her hand through her crimson hair and glared at him scandalously. “You can't leave! It's Christmas!”
“I don't do Christmas,” Harry snapped at her. He blinked, running his eyes up her nightgown-clad form appreciatively.
Ginny noticed his gaze and blushed, quickly wrapping her dressing gown around her body and scowling at him. The two twin boys narrowed their eyes and folded their arms in unison, staring at him flatly.
“You don't celebrate Christmas?” Ron asked obliviously. “How can you not celebrate Christmas?”
“Long story short, I broke my arm on Christmas day when I was five,” Harry said. Memories flashed before his eyes, ones he had buried deep down in his subconscious.
Dudley had pushed him down in the excitement of opening his presents, partly to get him out of the way and partly because he didn't want Harry to steal any of them like he had the last Christmas. To be fair, Harry had only taken a small plastic car that Dudley had thrown aside but his cousin, in typical childish fashion, had suddenly decided he wanted it when he saw Harry playing with it. Vernon and Petunia had taken him to a hospital and, when he was taken home, had shoved him in the cupboard for two whole days for ruining their Christmas dinner. It was recollections like these that made the murder of the Dursleys all the sweeter.
Of course, there was also a bit of conflict of interest involved, with Meciel being anti-Jesus, anti-God, anti-Holy Spirit, anti-saint and generally anti-anything that involved bright smiles and naive cheerfulness.
“What's this?” Molly said, bustling in and sighing as she started flicking her wand. Pots and pans jumbled out of the kitchen draining rack and cupboards flew open, the ingredients that Harry had just passed down flying out and landing on the bench.
“Harry's not staying for Christmas, Mum,” Ginny complained loudly.
Harry made a face at her and turned towards Molly, folding his arms and giving her a challenging look.
“Oh, is that so, Harry?” Molly asked, not looking that concerned. “Okay dear, we'll see you tonight then. You're more than welcome to pop in for our lunch. We're having a roast and everybody's going to be here.”
“Well, how is he going to get his presents then?” Ginny asked sourly.
“When you came down, there was a pile of wrapped presents on the table, right?” Harry asked her and she nodded. Harry smiled thinly. “Do you see a pile of presents for me? Better yet, do you see one present that's got my name on it?”
Ginny hesitated.
“Exactly,” Harry said coolly.
He gave Molly a short nod and stalked from the kitchen, striding past a bleary-eyed Sirius and the tall, dark crimson-robed Auror he had seen last night. The former opened his mouth to say something and the latter eyed him suspiciously, but before any of them could make a sound, Harry had opened the front door and stepped outside.
“I'm glad I jumped out of this country as soon as I could,” Harry muttered grumpily. He kicked a patch of snow and watched with a childish flare of satisfaction as it slammed against a letterbox, soaking a stack of envelopes poking out.
'It is a little bit colder than I remember,' Meciel admitted.
Harry grunted in agreement and wrapped his robes around him tighter, trying to ignore the biting wind that hit his face. There was an irritating itch under his chin- the illusion around him compensating for the extra changes- and he scratched it roughly- before blowing his warm breath onto his icy fingers. A moment later, Meciel skilfully adjusted his neural system and the temperature around him felt as if it had been raised a dozen or so degrees. Despite his changed perceptions, Harry kept the robes draped around him. Sure, he may feel as if he was warm but his body wasn't and it would be best he remembered that. The last time he had forgotten had left him with frostbitten fingers that he couldn't move properly for three days.
'I believe you were eight,' Meciel murmured into his head and Harry instinctively shivered at a sensation akin to a warm breath blowing across his ear. 'You were so young yet so angry. You killed five people in a month.'
“Two murderers, one rapist and a couple of punks that tried to mug me,” Harry murmured softly, cutting the road and ignoring the blaring horn of a speeding car that slammed on its breaks. Ice and snow crunched under his boots as he absently made a rude gesture with his hand at the driver and stepped onto the footpath.
'The demons didn't go hungry that month,' Meciel laughed and Harry's lips twitched.
He rubbed his eyes and crossed into a snow-covered playground. For a moment his mind flashed back to Little Whinging- there had been a playground just like this one that had been his favourite home away from home.
'You're being awfully introspective today,' Meciel observed carefully.
“I hate Christmas,” Harry answered sourly, kicking a clump of snow from the ground. It flew through the air struck one of the swings, just as a cry filled the air.
Harry's head whipped around, his eyes narrowing and Hellfire rushing through him in an instant. His entire body tingled as his hand literally flashed towards his wand, grasping the slim piece of wood tightly with a potent curse at the tip of his tongue.
'Paranoid much?' Meciel asked amusedly. 'Relax. It's only a group of children.'
Meciel was right. On the other side of the playground, Harry could see three burly teenagers crowded around a smaller child. Harry reluctantly released his hold on Hellfire and it left his body in a rush, making him shiver. But his eyes remained narrowed and he watched as one of the older kids shoved the smaller child into the snow, his two friends giving loud hoots of laughter.
'That's an entertaining way to spend Christmas,' Meciel noted. 'Just ignore them, beloved. Let's go back to that dreary old house. At least we'll be warm.'
Harry ignored her, his stare lingering on the smaller kid. It was a small and scruffy-looking boy with unkempt hair and dirty, soiled clothing. The boys above him were large, both in muscle and in fat and were eying the smaller boy with nothing less than pure disdain and scorn. Harry felt anger flicker through him and he ignored Meciel as he strode towards them with clenched hands.
“Hey!” He shouted loudly, causing the three boys to glance up. The leader, the brawny boy who had shoved the smaller kid, ran a hand through his mousy-brown hair and sneered at him with his piggy little eyes.
“What the fuck do you want?” the muggle snarled threateningly.” You got a problem, queer?”
“Queer?” Harry mocked, folding his arms and snorting in derision. “That's the best you can come up with? You really are a retard, aren't you?”
“What the hell did you just call me?” the leader hissed angrily, flexing his arms and motioning for his two buddies to flank him. They did, practically growling with anger, and Harry rolled his eyes.
“Whoa,” Harry said, widening his eyes theatrically. His sinister grin didn't fade as he brushed a bit of falling snow out of his hair. “Stupid, ugly and deaf- you've got it bad, don't you? You know, there's a reason why the doctors say that brothers and sisters shouldn't fuck. I guess you're exhibit c on that debate, huh?”
The boy frowned, clearly mulling over what Harry said, straining to understand what Harry had just said. Harry rolled his eyes and groaned.
“Fuck, you really are a moron, aren't you?” He snorted. “Okay, I'll go slow with the next part so it sinks in. You will go away or I will hurt you so hard that your children will feel it thirty-years from now and ask 'what the fuck was that?'”
Harry had been talking very slow and making animated gestures, first pointing at the three menacing boys, then tapping his fingers against his palm, then pointing at himself, then slamming his fist into his open palm, and then cupping his groin and giving an over-exaggerated wince. He finished it all with a brilliant smile and two-thumbs-up.
The ring-leader of the group snarled wordlessly at him but after an uneasy glance at Harry, who was sporting a rather sadistic grin and a disturbingly maniacal glint in his green eyes, the boy hesitated. Perhaps it was Harry's attitude or perhaps it was the very visible scar slanting down from his brow that indicated that Harry had been in a few brawls himself, but the teenage muggle backed off and sneered.
“Fine,” he snapped, jerking his head. “Come on, guys, lets get out of here and leave the gutter trash to mingle with his own kind.” He swung his eyes on the fallen boy. “You stay away from my house from now on or nobody will be able to help you! You understand me?”
The fallen boy didn't say a word as he hatefully glared up at the three with watery eyes, looking as if there was nothing more he'd like to do than kill all three of them at that very moment. As the three muggles strolled away, he clambered up from the ground and scowled.
“Thanks,” he muttered grudgingly. He brushed himself off and Harry noticed the palm-print bruises on his small and underfed arms. Something clenched in his stomach and he cleaned his throat gruffly.
“You should be home,” Harry muttered, glancing away from the kid and suddenly feeling embarrassed now that it was over. He glanced up at the overcast sky and frowned. “Fuck, this place gets cold.”
“My Dad doesn't like Christmas,” the boy said and hesitated. “He…I don't usually get any presents. It's better if I just come out and hang around the playground and leave him to himself.”
“Yeah,” Harry said awkwardly. “I…well, the person who looks after me doesn't like Christmas either. She's pretty nice though, so I don't really care.”
“Must be nice to have somebody who cares,” the boy muttered softly to himself, but Harry picked it up and frowned. The boy, who could only be about ten, had his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground with a downcast expression.
“I've been where you are, kid,” Harry said uncomfortably and the boy looked up, a curious expression on his face. “I…” Harry trailed off and cleared his throat. Impulsively, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-pound note- which he had nicked from a loose cloak last night- and threw it at the kid. “Use that. Go…and do whatever with it. Drugs, alcohol, whatever you use to keep yourself straight.”
“I don't drink,” the boy exclaimed quickly- a little too quickly in Harry's opinion. He snatched the fifty from Harry's hand and paused, only uttering “thanks,” before speeding off, almost as if he were afraid that Harry might change his mind.
'That was unusually nice of you,' Meciel noted carefully. 'It must be the festive spirit. I've never seen you part with money so willingly before. We could have used that to replace the silk sheets that were lost when the apartment went up.”
“Not everybody has you, Meciel,” Harry said absently, blinking and averting his gaze from the retreating back of the small boy. He scratched his head, ignoring the bitter wind that swept across the park, bringing up a fine mist of snow that caught onto his clothes. “No matter how much they need something like you, some people are just alone.”
'But not you,' Meciel reminded gently.
“Not me,” Harry agreed slowly. He paused and heaved a deep sigh. “Alright, do I need to kick a small furry animal or something or will you let this drop right now?”
'Does Black count as a small furry animal? I ask merely because if you wanted to kick him, I wouldn't complain,' Meciel wondered and Harry sniggered, turning away from the snow-covered playground and disappearing into the soft sprinkle of snow that drifted down from the stormy clouds above.