Obliviate + Drarry

one

Harry Potter. A name, just a name. A ordinary one at that, no one knew a Harry Potter. How could they? Millions of people in the world, and the last name a single person would find of any importance is Harry Potter. 

Harry worked a typical job, lived a typical life, and had the typical friends—if you could really call them that. In London, which was where this very ordinary Harry Potter man resided, he had no authority, no mark on the world. How could he? He was a mere accountant who sat 8-4 every weekday in the same stuffy office doing the same boring work he had his whole life. 

Harry hadn't much family, for his parents tragically died in a car accident when he was a mere baby, leaving his aunt and uncle to raise him along side their hellion of a son, Dudley. Harry Potter had never gotten along with the Dursley's, and in adult hood they grew apart, never phoning, never talking. Hollidays were often spent alone and birthdays the same. 

But this Harry Potter fellow never minded all that, he had himself, that was enough. He had his work to keep him occupied and the sorry blokes at the pub to keep him company. All was well, all was normal in Harrys life. He liked it that way, he liked it normal, liked it the same. 

His apartment was small, but that was fine, too. It was only him, and him alone. He liked that as well, being alone that is. No one to impress, doing whatever he pleased, where ever he pleased without the constant eyes of judgmental people. 

Harry Potter, in his years, found that people were just that—judgmental. So most of the time, he separated himself from them. He found himself alone most of the time, passing every hour with writing or cooking a subpar meal he would end up throwing in the trash. 

Harry, although he hated to admit it, he was never quite good at much. Sure, he had an okay understanding of maths—which was why he became an accountant—but everything else, he was close to just awful at. His grades in school were average, if not below, and things people seemed to do in their everyday life, Harry never seemed to be able to get.

He deemed it a simple case of social anxiety, and in all honesty, any doctor would have said the same thing. Having communication and social issues were normal, and Harry Potter was normal, so why wouldn't he have them?

His commute to work was the worst though, he felt it took far too long and wished daily for faster and easier transportation. Walking all the way to the tube was far too lengthy on his 20 something year old knees and the stuffiness once inside was unbearable. He didn't like all the people, the smelly, stupid people. Maybe that was just the anxiety speaking though, it probably was. 

And this is where we are today, Harry Potter is uncomfortably close to a woman he doesn't know the first thing about and that smells strongly of cheap perfume on the public transportation tube of London. He is on his way to work where he will sit at a desk for the better part of the day, typing numbers out into a calculator, then into a bulky 2003 computer. Then, after work at around 5, he will find his way to a local pub. Here, he will find an old man named Bill, Bill's friend who's named Jake, and an older woman by the name of Tabitha. And then, finally after a long day, Harry Potter will return to his cold and empty apartment and fall asleep in his stiff bed, dreaming of nothing before waking up and doing it all again.

Sometimes, when he got a little too lonely, or a little too bored of his own life, Harry would sit and dream of other worlds, of different lives he could have. Harry Potter might not have had much, but hell, he had quite the imagination. 

"Hullo, John," Harry waved to his co-worker who wore a kaki suit and a red tie and was holding a steaming cup of tea. He had walked into the kitchen when he arrived to Banks Brothers Accounting Firm—which was where he worked if you haven't caught on yet.