harry.exe has stopped working ━ hp x tmr | lv

7.

Chapter Seven: 

Narcissa is the quickest to school her shock into an emotionless facade. “It’s most certainly is the… hair.” She gives a forced smile, small and sharp. It makes the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand to attention.

“Forgive us.” Narcissa lowers her head into a barely there bow, a mockery of a real one. “It’s not everyday that we’re met with such a … daring hair colour.” 

“Yes,” Lucius agrees, curling his lips in distaste as he eyes Harry up and down with a critical eye. His gaze stops on Nimmy and Verde. “It’s daring, indeed.” 

“Master, you smell anxious.” Nimmy voices her worry. She raises her little head and bumps it against Harry’s cheek in a show of reassurance. Harry exhales a long, drawn out breath. He’s fucked. Here he was speaking in parseltongue and now he was fucking caught. Great going Harry, he snides at himself internally, now they know and you’re gonna have to kill yourself again cause you’re a god damn idiot. 

Verde seems to sense his want of offing himself because he unhinges his jaw and snaps it warningly at the Malfoy’s. Draco visibly flinches. “Enemies.” Verde hisses, fangs glinting. 

“Verde!” Harry warns and hurriedly pushes the snake back against his neck. “Not in public!” 

“Oh? So I can hurt them behind closed doors? Is that what you’re saying Master?” Verde flicks out his tongue against the hollow of Harry’s throat. “If they hurt you Master, I’ll hurt them back.” 

Flushing, Harry drops down to the plush carpet and starts closing the dress boxes and piling them upon one another. “That isn’t what I meant,” he mutters.

“Sorry,” Harry says, switching back to English. He sort of realises he doesn’t quite give a damn. Let them know. Let Dumbledore worry his ass over the small things when he finds out. Let the Malfoy’s think whatever they want. “Verde’s a little protective sometimes.”

Harry hauls himself up and holds out the dress boxes to a wide eyed Draco. 

Lucius clears his throat and settles his hand onto his son’s shoulder. It must have been some sort of coded message because Draco schools his features the same way Narcissa had moments ago and takes the dress boxes from Harry’s hands. “Thank you,” he says, dipping his head into a small nod. 

“Don’t be fooled, they smell of confusion.” Nimmy comments.

“And fear.” Verde adds gleefully. 

“Gee,” Harry mumbles, “I can only wonder why.” 

Madam Malkin tumbles out from between the curtains, a handful of colourful bags floating above her head. “Sorry for the long wait Mr. Potter, I couldn’t quite find all the robes you wanted.” She smiles and lowers the bags onto her desk. 

Harry turns around to give her a very, very grateful look. My saviour, he thinks. “It’s alright,” He mirrors her smile and pulls out a pouch filled with money. “There’s a little extra,” he says, placing it in front of Madam Malkin, “for all your hard work.” 

A blush covers the females cheeks, her smile widening. “Oh, you didn’t have to. Thank you though.” Madam Malkin flickers her line of sight over Harry’s shoulders by chance. When she realises who exactly is stood behind Harry, her smile doesn’t quite reach the corners of her eyes anymore. “Mr. Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, Heir Malfoy,” she greets quietly, lowering her head in a show of a bow. It’s not the mocking one, not like the one that Narcissa had given Harry. 

Sensing some weird-ass power play, Harry ducks his head, grabs all his bags (even the ones he had placed on the seating area before) and leaves before anyone can stop him. He hopes Madam Malkin understands. After a while of walking, he decides his long awaited arrival at Ollivander’s is up. With a sigh, Harry enters the old, dusty shop. Within moments of eyeing all the wand boxes, which are mostly covered in cobwebs, Ollivander strides somewhere from the back of the shop to stand behind his desk. 

He stares at Harry with his peculiar eyes, they’re sort of misty, filled with some odd type of haze. Luna had usually stared at him the same way. 

Clearing his throat, Harry utters a small, “Hello.” 

“Mr. Potter,” Mr Ollivander blinks the haze in his eyes away and starts talking. He mentions Lily and James, which brings a bittersweet taste to Harry’s mouth. His mum had been great, but his father… he had been a bully. And that hurt. When Harry finally wraps his hand around his wand and a familiar warmth shoots throughout his body, he releases a relieved sigh. He’s just glad to have it back. Unfortunately, he knows what’s next. The speech. 

“Curious.... Very curious…” Mr. Ollivander trails off. His eyes are now sharp and clear. 

“What’s curious?” Harry asks, pocketing his wand. 

With a tilt of his head, Ollivander answers in a quiet, soft voice. “I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. And it just so happens that the phoenix, whose tail feather resides in your wand, gave another feather. Just one other. It is curious that you should be destined for this wand, when its brother gave you that scar.”

Feeling his stomach churn, Harry opens his mouth to ask the same question he had many, many years ago. “And who owned that wand?”

“We do not speak his name. The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. It's not always clear why. But,” the wand maker pauses, “I think it is clear that we can expect great things from you, Mr Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things also. Terrible, yes... but great.”

Straightening his back, Harry pays for his wand with a forced smile and leaves.

He’s not Voldemort.

He’s not some golden boy.

He’s not some tool to be used for the war.

He’s not the boy-who-lived.

No. Not anymore.

Harry’s going to take matters into his own hands.

He’s going to tell fate to go screw herself.

Consequences be damned. 

1009 words//unedited.