Chapter Text
Harry is now 11, and he is also homeless.
A week earlier, Vernon had taken out all of his savings and tried to relocate his whole family (and Harry) to France. The day they left, Vernon had gotten the mail—a very odd occurrence for the Dursley household—and after seeing a particular piece of post, turned a violent shade of purple. Blubbering, he took Petunia out of the living room up to their bedroom. They talked for hours and when they came out they told Dudley to pack his bags. Harry, having almost nothing to pack, just went back to his cupboard. If he pressed his ear to the roof of the cupboard he could hear Vernon talking to Petunia on the stairs.
“-thought you said he wouldn’t get the letter!”
“How was I supposed to know!”
Dudley started bounding down the stairs and the dust falling from his ceiling forced Harry to stop eavesdropping. A moment later, bangs sounded from his door, “Harry! We’re leaving for France! Get up!” he sounded excited, which usually wasn’t good for Harry.
Harry’s eyes widened and began putting the few broken toys he’d stolen from the bin into the rucksack he’d been given when he was 5. The dinosaurs with broken heads and the toddler toys Dudley’s too old for went into the bag. Harry considered leaving the only other pair of trousers and shirt he had but thought better of it and packed it. When he left the cupboard he was met with a very stiff looking Petunia and a still purple Vernon. They are standing in front of their luggage like he’s their personal porter.
Harry took their bags into the car for them.
In the car, Harry was the frequent victim of Dursleys’ play fighting. Although, Harry doesn’t seem to want to play. They quickly stop by the bank so Vernon can empty his accounts. Harry politely asked if he could use the toilet and Petunia went with him.
The walk to the bank’s bathroom is very quiet and very awkward. Right before Harry was going to enter the men’s loo, Petunia snatched him by his arm, “I’m only doing this for Lily, okay? The letters will not stop, I know they won’t. If you want to live a normal life, run!” She whispered in his ear and then let him go.
Harry flinches and stops, his brain still processing what Petunia said. She stands back up and doesn’t look at him, like she hadn’t said something that flipped Harry’s whole world. Would she let him leave now? Or would he have to lose them? Harry enters the toilets to see if he could escape from there, thankfully, it is blissfully empty. Harry checked his bag to see if there was anything useful, and to his surprise, found £200 and a Tube card.
His eyes grew round, he’d never seen so much money. His breath caught in his chest and frantically he looked around to see a small slightly open window. Harry could hear Petunia clicking her heels outside the door, it felt like a countdown. Harry climbed on the sinks and precariously made it to the window, pushing it open further. As he stuck his head out he could see the main road but no one else. He quickly dropped his bag down, far enough so he wouldn’t land on it. Slithering out of the window Harry almost went head first into a beautifully trimmed bush but twisted just in time to land with a light thud on his shoulder. He bit his tongue to stop from crying out. He quickly got up and dusted himself off. Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, he made it to the back of the bank where all of the employees took their smoke break.
The haze of cigarette smoke made it easier to skirt the outsides of the employees’ vision and reached the Tesco in the same shopping centre. He looked at his clothes and realised he looked homeless. He was homeless. As he walked to the Tesco, he mused on what his parents would think of this if they were alive. He didn’t know his father’s name. He didn’t even know his last name! Both words had been banned after Harry had asked about them too much. Getting Petunia to say Lily was torture enough. He’d always given himself new last names when he was bored in school. They put his last name as Dursley for school, but everyone knew that wasn’t his last name. Everyone in school knew he didn’t belong there.
As he got into Tesco, the shoppers eyed him with distaste, taking in the too big clothes and the gauntness of him. He was walking through the aisles trying to ignore the looks the other people were giving him and took a trail mix off the shelf, turning it over in a show of nonchalance. The price was a little much though, so he put the box down and grabbed the generic one. As he walked over to the canned fruit section, he was stopped by a worker, and their badge told him they were the manager. He seemed to almost pity Harry, looking him up and down like a lost puppy that was covered in sewage.
“I’m sorry young man, we’re getting complaints about your…presence. And we’re here to remove you from the premises.” The manager seemed very sorry about kicking a hungry child onto the street, but the beefy, muscles for brains behind him seemed ready to throw him out by his ears.
Harry wanted to speak up, say he had money and would pay. But his throat closed up and his tongue turned to lead. He just nodded and let the man walk him out. When he did, he noticed that the Dursleys’ car wasn’t in the bank’s car park anymore. So he hoped that they had left for France for good. If he ever saw Vernon again, it would be too soon.
He was able to glance at the manager’s watch before he was kicked out and it read 4:17. Harry only had one place he had ever wanted to go, it was a little town in the West Country. Petunia went there every year around the beginning of November. She would never say why but she never brought Vernon or Dudley. Every time she had come back she seemed unmoored, floating between two extremes. She almost seemed kind. One time Harry had caught a glimpse of the train ticket she bought and it stopped at Upper Hollow. Harry wanted to see what about this place affected Petunia so much.
But before he could reach the Tube entrance, a rumble came from his stomach. Harry glanced at the Tube entrance, hesitating in his next step. Food could reasonably wait, he didn’t need to eat. But he had the money to feed himself, he was hungry, he could eat. Little Hollow could wait. That was how Harry found himself sitting in a Frankie & Benny’s by himself. Ordering was tricky because his voice couldn’t seem to work until he tried at least 4 times, even then it was scratchy with disuse. He claimed it was his birthday after he saw another kid get a free ice cream for hers. The wait staff didn't seem amused. He ordered as much as he thought he could on his budget and ate like it was a feast. His burger seemed to disappear with each blink and the shake he ordered was gone before he even touched his fries. By the end of the meal he was sick with how much he’d eaten. He was more sad that he didn’t have any leftovers for the Tube ride.
The Tube ride in fact was very long and tiring. He got off twice to pee and to almost vomit up his food. But in the end he had made it to Upper Hollow in one piece. He walked around, it seemed to be quite populated but not crowded. It was a nice little town. Harry stuck to the shadows, not wanting to draw more unnecessary attention to himself. He had come across a church, it was small and a little rundown, but it stood tall and proud. The moss crept up the stone walls and the bell tower struck 6. Behind the little church there was a graveyard. It was full of headstones but Harry didn’t feel like looking through the names, so he just peeked through the window into the warmly lit church. There was a night mass starting, children in the stands singing and people in the pews. It looked perfect.
Harry felt it was wrong to peek into a church and walked away, but before he could get to the sidewalk one of the fathers spoke out. “Child! It is cold, do you wish to stay for mass?”
Harry couldn’t find a good reason not to.
♱
“Father Vale!” Harry turned at the sound of his name to face the voice. He found Michael running between the trees. He was holding a large tree branch and waved it around like a sword. The sight brought a smile to Harry’s face, Michael really needed this visit. The other kids were visiting the woods as well, but this was Michael’s first Halloween visit. They were a special thing, these woods. Harry had never felt closer to God than in these woods. Some of the kids could feel it too and Michael seemed to be one of those kids.
“Don’t run off Michael!” He called out as he lost sight of Michael, again. He quickly dashed to the larger clearing, having lost his branch somewhere. Michael’s bright red hair cut through the other kids’ browns and blacks, making him stand out. But the others didn’t treat him any differently, he was just another child of God. Harry had taught them better than to bully others. He told them everything he wished he’d heard as a child.
The kids played for a couple more hours before they all came to him, as a group, and asked for ice cream. The little manipulators knew he couldn’t say no to all of their faces. Harry put on his bravest face and stared them down. The kids looked like they expected this and all started pouting at once, it was coordinated. Harry was a strong man, just not to these menaces.
On the way back to St. Giles the class stopped by the local ice cream shop and Harry bought them all their favourite flavours. As Harry went to take out his cash, the attendant, Gregory Luis, pushed it away. “Think of it as a donation to the Church, Father.” He said in a tone that brooked no room for argument. Harry just smiled and started distributing the cones. They were all met with sounds of excitement, a couple were met with surprise, and all of them with thanks. Most of the students said some form of grace, those who didn’t, got a disappointed look from Harry, but it didn’t last. Harry could never stay mad at these children. They were all too sweet.
The walk to St. Giles was a long one, as the Ismire Woods were on the outskirts of Upper Hollow, but it gave the kids time to eat their ice cream. It gave Harry time to think. It was not often he had time to. There were always things to do, masses to preach, confessions to have, kids to placate. It felt like he barely had time to pray anymore. He didn’t want any less responsibility, he worked hard to get to this place. He just wished there was more time to breathe. The knot in his heart sat heavy in his chest. He tried to soothe it, but it just got worse. It was getting worse by the step.
Harry had reached the church and looked into the graveyard behind, checking for anyone who shouldn’t be there. He looked away when no one showed, herding all of the kids into the main hall for them to get picked up. The parents holding Halloween buckets and smiles for their children. Harry’s eyes stuck for a moment too long on a mother that looked too similar to Petunia.
After all of the children left for trick or treating, Harry went back into the graveyard behind St. Giles. The air seemed to tingle with energy, static that stuffed cotton into his ears. Harry checked on the dirty graves, the ones that got no flowers. He brushed off the dust, watered some flowers. Just before he went into the church again, his eyes caught on a pair of graves with an abundance of flowers. He walked over to the graves—James and Lily Potter’s, his mind supplied. They had flowers on their graves but they had dwindled over the years. He let his hands trace over Lily’s name. It was one of the many graves he didn’t have to tend to often, so he often forgot about them.
He appeared out of nowhere, just popped into existence. The man looked like a ruffled bird, smoothing his clothes and straightening his hair. The blonde of said hair was almost blinding in the golden hour that tinted everything else. The sharp lines of his dark green—almost black—suit made him look dangerous. He looked like a villain picked out of a storybook. He looked like the future and the past mixed into one confusing person. The pure grey of his eyes stared into Harry without quite seeing, a talent you could tell was practiced to perfection. The slope of his shoulders came from a life of responsibility and expectation. Finally, an expression of surprise that threw a wrench into the facade of a pristine specimen in front of Harry.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen you around.” Harry said with a small smile, holding out his hand in greeting.
“Father Harry Vale,” he added on as an afterthought.
The tiny light that entered his eye died quickly, “Draco Malfoy.” He shook his hand in a very proper manner. Harry’s smile widened.
“Are you visiting? Six o’clock mass is about to start.” Harry shifted closer to the man and got a whiff of the expensive cologne he was wearing.
Draco stiffened for a moment before responding. “Yes, I was,” a pause, “visiting.”
Harry took that pause to look at the graves again.
Lily Potter James Potter
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death
January 30, 1960–October 31, 1981 March 27, 1960–October 31, 1981
It took Harry a moment to realise. It was their 20th anniversary and probably why Draco was here.
Harry cautiously started, “Did you know them?” watching intently to see his reaction.
“Of them is more accurate. They were very famous where I come from.” He said in a far off tone, eyes drifting to a point in the sky.
“And where is that? If you don’t mind me asking.” Harry questioned, leading him to a bench off to the side of the church.
“Wiltshire.” He sat upright.
“Oh, that’s not far from where I was raised.” The odd phrasing stood out to Draco.
“And where was that? If you don’t mind me asking.” He said with a slight smile.
“Surrey, although I came here right before my eleventh birthday.” He voiced the practiced response calmly.
“And you’ve been practicing ever since?” He asked, gesturing to the church behind them.
“Pretty much.” Harry checked his watch, “I hate to cut this conversation short, but I must start the service. You’re welcome to join, even if you’re not religious. St. Giles is a sanctuary for all who ask.” Harry’s mouth quirked up before getting up and walking to the front doors.
Harry continues the service as normal, pretending not to notice the head of blonde hair that sits in the last pew. The man does not come up for communion, and does not sing with the rest of the congregation. But he did sign the cross at the door and seemed to listen intently. He even pulled out the communal bible to read along with Harry. After the sermon, the regular people came to talk about the verses and the next Sunday School lesson. It all warmed his heart, the feeling of community he’s cultivated in St. Giles. So Harry talks, even if it feels like he’s saying nothing at all, because these people are his family.
When all of the regulars leave the church, all that is left is Draco. He quietly rose to walk to Harry. There was a certain light in his eyes that seemed dangerous, it burned. As Draco walked closer, Harry got to notice the slight limp he held in his left leg. He was hiding it. Now Harry seemed to notice it ten times more, he couldn’t believe he’d missed it. Harry vowed to himself never to do that again. No one deserved extra pain.
“It was a nice service, Father. Very enlightening.” He praised with a bow of his head. “You were very articulate, Harry.” Draco said looking up into his eyes. Then his eyes drifted ever-so-slightly up. Harry drew up around himself, his shoulders came up and he bowed his head in thanks. “Thank you, Mr Malfoy.” He said formally. A flicker of emotion crossed Draco’s face before leaving instantly. “Anytime, Father.” He responded in the same tone.
When they said their farewells there was a fissure in their words. They were both holding back this time.
As Harry went to bed, he wondered what he could’ve done differently. He eventually landed on nothing, there was absolutely nothing he could’ve done. And went to bed wondering what roads he closed.
♱
The next days were a mix of anticipation and a valiant effort to ignore said anticipation. Whenever there was a hint of blonde in his vision his pulse spiked. He longed to talk to Draco, not for any other reason besides faith. Draco looked like he needed a place to get away, for peace. The day finally happened a week after Halloween. He appeared out of nowhere, just like the first time, and sat in the back pew again. It was the same routine as last time, he didn’t go up for the body and blood, didn’t sing, just watched. When people started leaving, he left with them.
It became a weekly occurrence, Draco coming to the service just to watch. Some days, he didn’t look as if he was listening, just sitting letting the calm of the church surround them. Harry started to be able to tell how he was feeling by how he sat. There had been times when he was shaking in the pew. Those were the times he wished he could leave the podium to just talk to him. Ask why he came all the way from Wiltshire to his church.
One night, Marcy came to the six o’clock mass for her older sister’s first communion. She had been sitting quietly in her seat until Draco came in. Marcy jumped up from her chair and ran for the man, almost bumping into him in her haste.
“You’re new! I haven’t seen you awound! What’s your name?” She looked up to him with her round emerald eyes.
Draco didn’t know how to respond, he looked around to make sure it was him she was talking to.
“Draco, yours?” He finally said bending down to talk at her level. His voice was a little rough from disuse.
“Dwaco? That’s a weird name. Mine’s Mawcy!” Draco’s eyes softened at her slight lisp.
Harry hated starting mass on time, he wished he could see this full interaction. Hear Draco’s voice a little longer, place the emotion that dripped on every syllable. When his eyes met Harry’s over the altar, there was a tangle of emotions in his grey eyes. Harry feared what would happen if he tried to unravel him.
The mass went as normal, if Harry’s eyes lingered on Draco and if Draco’s eyes lingered on Marcy, it was no one's problem. After it was over, Marcy ran to Draco again to talk about her sister.
“She was doing her fiwst communion! That’s what I’m twying to do! I like Father Vale, he makes learning fun!” She was pulling on his sleeve to meet her sister. Draco face pinches, reluctantly following Marcy.
He seemed to make conversation with the other members, making fast friends with Marcy and her sister. Although, Marcy seemed to only want to make Draco say things in his ‘funny accent.’ Draco’s shoulders looked lighter than ever before.