Star Quality

Chapter 4

Harry took a deep breath. "If I said the word 'Hogwarts' to you, what would you say?"

Parvati paused, her flying fingers stilling, to hover over the phone's keys. She turned her head to look at Harry, a look of sympathetic interest on her face. "You feeling all right?"

"No, really," Harry persisted.

Parvati shrugged. "That posh school up in Scotland, isn't it? Bit like Eton, except it takes the thickos too."

"Right," Harry said, feeling a bit like a balloon with a slow puncture. "And . . . you don't have a wand?"

A look of pure incredulity painted itself across Parvati's face. "A wand?" she repeated, this time actually putting her phone down on the table to stare at him.

"No, sorry, ignore me. Feeling a bit delicate," Harry improvised in a panic. "Went out drinking last night, you know."

Parvati's eyes narrowed and she sniffed, before turning back to the table and picking up her phone again. "Well, don't think you're skiving off today, even if you have gone loony. I'm not doing a shift by myself. So get a move on, yeah?"

"Right," Harry said and, for a lack of any other ideas, went back upstairs and into his bedroom. Uniform . . . He had a uniform hanging in his wardrobe, he remembered. Horrible trousers, a horrible polo shirt that matched Parvati's and a horrible fleece jacket. Was he seriously going to have to wear it? He tugged open his wardrobe door to reveal that, yes, it was just as horrible as he remembered. But then yesterday he'd worn a horrible outfit too, and – and look how well that had turned out, he reminded himself brightly. Fuck's sake. What should he do? He examined his options. He could hide in his room, waiting for international arsehole Draco Malfoy to not come and visit him, or he could put on this terrible uniform and go to his job – whatever that was – with Parvati, who didn't seem to remember being a witch. Why didn't she remember being a witch? What did it mean? It was a puzzle – and one that any Auror worth his wand would want to solve.

Harry sighed and started to pull off his pyjamas to get dressed. When he thought about it like that, it was a no brainer.

^^^^^^

Harry worked in a convenience store.

It took him a good half an hour before he could actually take this in, process it properly. In this alternate dimension, or whatever it was, Draco Malfoy was a pop star, and Harry worked in a convenience store.

Not that there was anything wrong with working in a shop, Harry thought as he tried to use the till without making it obvious he'd barely seen one before, let alone operated one. Luckily, instead of mysterious buttons it had a touch screen with pictures. It was just . . . if he'd been in charge of constructing an alternate reality where he lived as a Muggle, he would have chosen a job as . . . What, exactly? Harry wasn't sure, but maybe a police officer, or a firefighter, or something.

Ron worked in a shop now, of course – he left the Aurors a year in, to run Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes with George – and that was fine, and Harry had sometimes helped out stacking the shelves when they'd had a run on a new product line, but even the thought of spending his working life confined behind a counter made him feel itchy and restless, somehow. He wondered if this was real. Whether if he had lived his life as a Muggle he'd have really made this choice, or if this was just a by-product of the wish magic. He found the whole idea depressing. No magic, no Hogwarts schooling. No girlfriend or . . . or . . . whatever. No Ron, no Hermione. No Kreacher. OK, he still had a house, and that was something to be grateful for, but what was the point of a house if he had no life to put in it?