The Outing
Harry stood at King’s cross station waiting for the bus to pick him up. He was dreading the return to the Dursleys. It was getting harder and harder to stand their hatred and mistreatment toward him.
He couldn’t wait to be of legal age to get a job and to start renting somewhere else. It really didn't matter if he couldn’t find a good place, even a slightly bigger closet would suit him if it meant getting away from his personal hellhole.
After graduation, he would probably have to find somewhere to live in the muggle world if he didn’t want to spend too much on rent, since the price of real estate in the wizarding world had skyrocketed after Voldemort’s demise. It would also allow him to live a relatively private life, away from admirers and haters alike.
The ride to Private Drive passed way too quickly for Harry’s taste and soon he was in front of the familiar immaculate lawn of his aunt. He spent a couple minutes staring at the house, trying to motivate himself with great difficulties.
His hand went unconsciously to his pocket, where he had put the quill using a shrinking charms. He needed to have easy access to it if he wanted to practice writing an answer to Lucius Malfoy.
He had put his new clothes at the very bottom of his trunk, keeping it safe for Dudsley’s grabby fingers. His uncle always locked his truck away immediately after he arrived, so that he couldn't practice any “freaky magic”, which meant he had to put some old clothes in an old backpack to use during the holiday.
Harry took a fortifying breath and opened the door of Private Drive.
He ripped the paper in frustration after his tenth attempt at writing an answer to Lucius Malfoy. After much practice, his handwriting had improved a bit, but it still looked to him like chicken scratches. He was also at a loss at what to write.
“Dear Lucius Malfoy”
“Hello Mr Malfoy”
“Hi, it’s Harry”
“Why did you sent me thi —
“I hope you are well
“Affectionatley, Harry”
In the end he settled for a simple sentence.
“Thank you for the gifts.”
It was lame but he couldn't think of anything else to say that would not make it weird. He chose not to sign the note in case it was intercepted, but now the problem was to find a way to send it to Lucius Malfoy. His owl was way too recognizable for the task.
Hermione was due to send him some mail soon anyway, so perhaps Harry could bribe her owl into making a little errand for him.
“Hurry up boy, if you don’t get a move we’ll lock you up in your cupboard for the weekend!” Vernon spat in his face as Harry struggled to put the suitcases in the car. His muscles and joints were killing him after his latest “correction” by his angry uncle.
Why did they have to take so much stuff for a 3 day trip anyway? It looked like Petunia had decided to pack her whole wardrobe as if she was going to meet the Queen. Harry was going to end up squished in the back of the car between all the luggages and a bored Dudley. It promised to be a hellish trip.
Despite the several hours of torture that awaited him, Harry couldn’t help but feel excited to finally get out of the house. They were going to London !
Uncle Vernon had to meet a wealthy client at a private hotel, and the trip was paid full by the company. The Dursley hadn’t wanted to take him of course, but it seemed like the company had made a reservation for 4 people, and if you came with less than the number announced you had to reimburse the already paid meals for the missing person.
And of course, his uncle being the cheapskate that he was, it was out of the question to pay a dime of his money. So they had decided to take him anyway, with the promise that he would stay out of everyone's view and eat his meals in the confines of his room. It was fine by him if it meant being left alone.
They finally arrived at their hotel after two long hours of driving, even if it had seemed like four hours to him. Uncle Vernon didn’t drive very well so Harry had been constantly poked on his fresh bruises by all the luggages. Thankfully Dudley had spent most of the drive loudly snoring next to him.
While Harry got the luggage out, his uncle grumbled at the valet not to damage the car, as if it was some kind of fancy sports car.
They entered the lobby, and were immediately overwhelmed by the lavish decor around them. Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, and the floor was covered with slick marble. Harry couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and discomfort, as this world of luxury was far removed from his usual life with the Dursleys. He was scared the hotel worker would kick him out for dirtying the floor with his old shoes.
“Oh Vernon, look at the chandeliers, it looks so expensive! I bet it is real crystal, not like the cheap plastic that my friend Sharon has in her house. She will be so jealous when I’ll tell her about this!” Petunia gushed excitedly, eyes going from one spot to another in quick succession.
Vernon and Petunia exchanged whispers and glances, their attempts to appear composed slightly faltering as they approached the front desk.
A courteous concierge greeted them with a polite smile, bowing his head slightly. If he thought they didn’t belong, he didn’t let it show.
"Welcome to the Grand Crescent Hotel. How may I assist you today?"
Trying to maintain a semblance of composure and self importance, Vernon replied, "We have a reservation for the Penthouse Suite under the name of Dursley."
The concierge nodded while checking the reservation book.
“Alright sir, you will be in room 65. Here are your keys to enter the Penthouse. Please be mindful not to lose them, as any loss will be facture.” the man said before guiding them towards the elevators. Harry couldn't help but marvel like a child at the view through the panoramic windows.
Upon reaching the Penthouse Suite, the doors slid open to reveal a room worthy of a prince.
The suite was filled with luxurious dark furnishings, a big plush carpet, a grand piano, and a private terrace with a sweeping view of the city. There were two bedrooms, one with a huge double bed and one with two singles.
Petunia went to Dudley, who was already eating snacks from the mini bar. “Alright, let’s go put your things in your room Duddy, and after that we’ll see if they sell ice cream at the hotel bar.”
“Boy, you’ll sleep here,” uncle Vernon said, pointing at the carpet, not the couch, “Our Dudley needs his own space, and I don’t trust you to not do something freaky next to him while he sleeps. So you will stay here and you better not put your dirty things everywhere, am I clear?”
“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”
The afternoon was spent unpacking their numerous belongings while Harry waited on the balcony, listening to the bubbling life noises of central London.
“We’re going to eat downstairs, boy. You call the reception to get your meal brought up. I better not see you out of this room, understood? ”
“Yes, Uncle Vernon.” Harry repeated for the hundredth time today.
When the door closed, Harry waited a couple minutes to see if they would come back before throwing himself on the couch with a sigh. At least he would get a full meal tonight.
He waited another fifteen minutes before calling the reception.
“Hello, how can I help you?”
“Hi. I’d like to get room service for tonight’s special, please.”
“Of course, please wait for a moment... We’re deeply sorry for the inconvenience but it seems like all our staff are already busy tonight. Would you mind coming outside of the restaurant area to retrieve your meal?”
Harry thought about what his uncle had said. He wasn't supposed to leave the room but he was terribly hungry. What was the risk anyway? His uncle would be too busy stuffing his face to realize Harry had come to the reception. It would only take a minute.
“That’s fine, I’ll get down.”
“Alright Mister, your meal will be ready in about ten minutes. If you could retrieve it on time, we would be very grateful. Tonight's special is a tenderloin of pasture-raised venison, with tomatoes, and marinated artichoke hearts.”
It was the kind of food he never had the opportunity to try, and it sounded absolutely delicious.
Harry discreetly made his way to the reception, razing the walls and making sure he didn’t run into any of his family.
There was a big trolley with fuming trays next to the restaurant, but Harry saw there were already two people in line. After waiting a couple of minutes it was finally his turn to retrieve his big tray of food, but he had trouble holding the thing with the throbbing in his arms. He carefully grabbed it and was about to walk to the elevator when he heard a loud familiar voice coming from the restaurant sitting area.
“For heaven's sake! Look at this nonsense, Petunia! We're sitting in this ridiculously overpriced restaurant, and what do they serve us? A bunch of pretentious, minuscule portions on oversized plates! I could eat all of this in one bite. And what's with these fancy names for the dishes? 'Foie gras with truffle infusion,' 'Ahi tuna tartare with microgreens,' 'Quinoa risotto with goat cheese foam'. I don't even know what half of these words mean. It's like they're trying to make us feel stupid!"
His loud voice resonated in the high ceiling room and the waiter next to him raised his head in bewilderment. No doubt they were used to more refined customers around the place. Harry felt ashamed to be associated with them. Couldn't they keep their opinion to themself for once? They were not in a steak house down the road but in a 4 stars hotel restaurant!
Harry felt sweat run down his spine as his anxiety skyrocketed. He needed to make a quick exit before he was spotted. He turned to go but the waiter stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Mister, would you care for a dessert? We have a fine selection of dishes tonight.
He really really didn’t have the time for that.
“No thanks, I’m not too hungry”. He tried to leave again but he was interrupted once more.
“What about something to drink before going to bed, perhaps a camomile tea or our new infusion o–”
Harry could hear the sound of feet stomping the ground and the voice of his uncle coming closer and closer. “This is unacceptable, I will not be disrespected as a paying customer. I demand to speak to the manager immediately!"
“I’m sorry but I really need–” Harry started to say as the doors to the restaurant opened with a bang.
The waiter took a step back in surprise, bumping into Harry who felt his tray starting to slip from his hand. Then it was an unfortunate series of unlucky events, with the waiter trying to help him and miserably failing, while his uncle slipped on cutlery that had fallen to the floor.
It only took a couple seconds before he realized the collision was inevitable.
BANG! CRASH! CLANG!
Harry couldn't breath under the weight of his uncle. He felt the burning plate scorch the skin of his neck but he couldn’t move as his arms were pinned under him.
“Oh my god, Mister, are you alright?” Several waitresses appeared and helped his uncle stand up. The man was too bedazzled to put up a fight. Harry knew it wouldn’t last and it was going to hurt a lot when he came back to his senses.
His eyes stopped on him and widened in recognition. “YO– YOU!” he roared at his face. The fancy suit his uncle had put on was drenched in various food stains and sauces.
A well dressed man appeared with a waitress trailing behind him, probably the manager of the establishment.
“What is going on here, is everything alright? Are you hurt?” he said while taking in the scene.
His uncle seemed to realize now wasn’t the right moment to yell at him if he didn’t want to be kicked out from the hotel, so he put on a fake saccharine smile and turned to him.
“Oh no. Everything is quite alright. It was just a little… accident. My nephew is quite clumsy. I think it is because he is very tired, isn’t that right, Harry? It would be better for him to go back to his room. I’ll accompany him, get a change of clothes and come back for the rest of the meal.”
“If you wait for a bit, I’ll prepare him another tray, Sir.” the waiter from before proposed with an awkward smile.
“No, no, my nephew is not hungry anymore, isn’t it right, Harry?” his uncle leveled him with a look full of hidden hatred.
“Right…I don’t feel so good.”
“Good, good, we’ll be on our way.”
Uncle Vernon caught his arm in a vice grip before dragging him harshly to the elevator. Harry was anxious about what would happen when they would arrive to their room. Surely his uncle wouldn’t beat him bloody in a hotel? People would talk and call the police if Harry showed up black and blue at the reception, right?
He didn’t know if he wanted the elevator ride to go quicker or slower.
Lucius was enjoying his evening, sipping a glass of whiskey at the restaurant bar. He had decided to have a little weekend retreat in muggle London to recharge his battery. As much as he disliked muggles, their world certainly had its advantages. The sheer size of London allowed him to walk the streets unbothered, and the city had big neighborhoods filled with shops dedicated to rich clients. Their food was also pretty good, even if it hurt to admit.
He had decided to spend a couple of nights at the Grand Crescent Hotel after a suggestion from a shop vendor. It was ok. Not the best he had slept in, but it had its charm.
He was thinking about what to eat for dinner when a whale of a man, his ugly pug-faced woman and their ugly child strode through the dinner area, demanding to be seated at the best table available.
Lucius didn’t hide his moue of disgust at the crude behavior. It seemed this place wasn't as exclusive as it appeared to be. These people certainly didn’t look like refined people at all.
It was obvious they were trying to appear like something they were not. Their clothes were a parody of good taste.
The buttons of the man’s suit were ready to pop and his wife looked like a rotisserie chicken with the fake tan and all the straps of her dress. As for their child, the way he was slouched on his seat stuffing his face with the bread told him everything he needed to know.
He managed to ignore the group of outsiders for about 10 minutes, before the calm was disturbed by the loud voice of the muggle.
"This is supposed to be a family dinner, not some kind of food exhibition! Where's the good old-fashioned roast beef and potatoes? I didn't come here to eat rabbit food!" the man fumed at his wife.
Lucius took a sip of his water, frowning at the lack of staff coming to reprimand the guests.
"And don't even get me started on the service! These waiters flit around like butterflies, and they keep refilling our glasses after every sip. Do they think we're going to dry up in the next two minutes?"
“Mom! I want a cheeseburger with fries!” the boy moaned.
“Of course duddykin, everything for my good boy!”
It seemed the man could no longer contain his annoyance, his face turning red like a ripe tomato as he stood up abruptly, causing the silverware on the table to clink loudly.
"Excuse me!" Vernon boomed, his voice echoing through the elegant dining room as he clapped his fingers. "I demand to speak to the manager immediately!"
The diners around him fell silent. A poor waitress trying to maintain a composed demeanor approached the man’s table. "Sir, is there something I can assist you with?"
“Are you the manager? No? Then don’t talk to me! I want to speak with your superior about the pook quality of your food.”
“I’m sorry, Sir, bu–”
“Out of my way! I’ll find the manager myself since you seem too stupid to understand simple words.” The man pushed through the newly arrived customers with determined steps, exiting the dining area.
Suddenly, there was a huge bang coming from outside the door with the sound of cuttery clattering and porcelain plates shattering on the floor.
Lucius stood up from his seat and walked calmly to the place of commotion, too curious for his own good. There was no way he would be able to eat next to these people anyway, especially after such an embarrassing conduct.
The scene that greeted him as he reached the reception was funny in its absurdity. There were already several curious people observing the fallen man flapping on the ground while the waiter tried to help him stand up. His suit was ripped at the seams and he was covered with food. He looked disgusting. It was only after he stood up and moved back that Lucius realized there was a second person on the floor. The poor man must have been squished to death by the dirty muggle.
Lucius couldn’t hear or see what was going on very well with all the other customers blocking the view, but as the two men walked away to the elevator he widened his eyes in surprise.
He would recognize this unruly head and ugly glasses anywhere. What was Potter doing in a place like that? And with those people?
There were too many unanswered questions. In a split of a second he decided to follow them to their room, hoping to glean more information. He looked at what floor number they stopped at, before taking the stairs to catch up to them quicker.
He strode through the corridor before stopping at the corner, and casting a disillusion charm on himself. He had a perfect view of the man and Potter.
Harry grunted in pain as he was slammed against the door outside their room, the impact rattling through his ribs.
“YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING LITTLE WRETCH!” Vernon roared, his face purple with rage. “How dare you embarrass me like that?! We should have drowned you as a baby when we had the chance! I WON’T TOLERATE SUCH DISRESPECT! Didn’t I order you to stay in your room?!”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Vernon, but the receptionist sai—”
“I DON’T CARE WHAT THEY SAID!” Vernon bellowed, spittle flying as he jabbed a thick finger toward Harry’s chest. “You should have stayed. In. The. Room! ” His voice dropped into a low, dangerous growl. “Oh, you won’t like your punishment when we get home. You can be sure of that.”
The cruel smirk curling his lips sent an icy bolt of terror through Harry’s chest. His hands trembled at his sides. For the first time, he truly feared for his life.
“I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, Uncle Vernon, I promise! Plea—”
Harry’s desperate plea was cut short by a sharp crack of pain across his cheekbone. His head snapped back, slamming against the wooden door and stars bursting behind his eyes.
“Shut up, you disgusting freak!”
Vernon loomed over him, his fist raised for another blow. Harry barely had time to flinch before a sudden noise echoed down the corridor, sounding like a door slamming open. His uncle stiffened, his beady eyes darting toward the source of the sound. With a grunt, he took a hurried step back, suddenly all too aware that a nosy guest could stumble upon them at any moment.
“You’re lucky I don’t want to keep Petunia and Dudley waiting, or I’d deal with you right here and now,” he hissed, his voice thick with barely restrained fury. “Get out of my sight while I change out of these clothes you ruined!”
Harry barely had time to brace himself before Vernon shoved him inside the room with enough force to send him stumbling.
“I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to see you. For the next two days, you’ll pretend you’re dead, do you understand me?” His uncle sneered. “You’ll sleep on the balcony for the rest of the weekend, and I don’t care if you freeze to death!”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Lucius stood in shock at what he was witnessing. He had come to the hotel for a relaxing escapade expecting a quiet and uneventful evening, but instead he had unintentionally stumbled upon a distressing scene.
The man, who was apparently the boy’s uncle, stood red-faced with rage berating his nephew. The boy looked so vulnerable and fragile, his green eyes filled with tears and body shaking like a leaf.
Lucius had always viewed the Potter boy as a mere inconvenience, a symbol of the light, and a puppet to Dumbledore. But witnessing this display of cruelty from a disgusting Muggle toward the defenseless boy was jarring, even for someone like Lucius.
He obviously had been wrong about Potter’s upbringing and the family that had taken him in. He had naively assumed that the boy was indulged and adored, living a life of luxury under his family’s care. But now he saw the harsh reality of the boy’s existence, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
As the muggle’s anger escalated and Potter took the brunt of the man's fury, Lucius felt an unexpected surge of sympathy and protectiveness for the boy.
When the man suddenly harshly hit the boy’s head and was about to do it again, Lucius knew it was time to intervene before it went too far. He took out his wand and threw a spell at the wall to distract their attention. Both heads turned in the direction of the sound before the man stopped and pushed Potter inside the room with him. Lucius hoped the boy would be alright with the man.
As he contemplated his next move, the door creaked open once again, and the muggle emerged with a new change of close, as hideous as the previous one. His face was still contorted with anger as he stomped his way through the corridor.
Lucius’ eyes narrowed as he observed the man, his usual disdain for Muggles now amplified by a newfound desire to shield Potter from harm.
Without hesitation, he stepped out from the shadows, his cold silver eyes locking onto the man’s.
The Muggle was seemingly taken aback by the sudden appearance of a tall, imposing figure dressed in finely tailored robes and radiating authority.
"You must be Potter’s uncle," Lucius drawled, his voice carrying a hint of menace. "I couldn't help but overhear your little outburst just now."
The man's face turned even redder, his mouth agape in shock and discomfort. He stammered, "Who are you? What do you want? If you're trying to blackmail me, you have another thing coming. Besides, you don’t have any proof of anything. How do you know the boy anyway?"
Lucius' lips curled into a sinister smile. "Who I am doesn’t matter. Let me be clear, you fat pig, I have no tolerance for disgusting muggle who harms children. Especially a fellow wizard. Also, why would I blackmail a worthless man like you when I can jump directly to threatening you." Lucius said in a sweet saccharine voice.
The muggle's eyes widened, a hint of fear flickering in them. He took an instinctive step back, suddenly aware that he was dealing with a powerful and potentially dangerous wizard.
“You– You’re a freak, like that useless boy! Get away from me! We thought we were done with the likes of you, we should have never taken that boy! If it wasn't for that old fool we would have gotten rid of him already!” the man spat at him.
Lucius stepped forward and caught the bubbling fool by the collar of his shirt, pushing him to the wall like the man had done to Potter a moment ago. He took out his wand and pressed it harshly to the neck of the muggle, his voice low and menacing, "You don’t know what I am capable of, you sniveling worm. If I ever hear of you or your family causing harm to a single hair of Harry Potter again, you will face consequences far beyond your imagination. Is that understood? I will be monitoring you closely, very closely…"
Despite clearly being at a disadvantage, the muggle did not seem to have a once of self preservation in him. The man grit his teeth and tried to push himself forward with his heavy weight.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do! You lot are a mistake of nature! Do you know who I am?! I know people in high places, I can get you imprisoned if you don’t let go of me this instant! Besides I know you wizards can’t do magic outside of your world, it’s forbidden!”
Lucius smiled, letting his sharp canine show like a dangerous animal ready to pounce. “I’m afraid you are misinformed.”
The muggle fumbled with his words, clearly confused why his threat hadn’t worked.
“But the boy can’t do magic when he is in our home, Dumbo– Dublem– the old wizard told us so!”
"Underage wizards are forbidden from performing magic outside the wizarding world. As for adults… well, that’s another matter entirely. So you see, I can do whatever I please, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Even if it were against the rules, do you really think that would deter me from hurting you? I am not a man to be trifled with. You wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to your son, now, would you?" Lucius sneered, tightening his grip as the man began to choke.
“Alright, alright! I won’t touch the boy!” the muggle sniveled, suddenly less sure of himself.
“I won’t repeat myself, stay away from Potter. And since I don’t trust a word you say, I’ll let you go with a little something to keep you on your toes.”
Lucius murmured a spell and a blue light shot from his wand and entered Vernon’s body. He couldn’t cast anything too dark in case the muggle received a visit from Dumbledore, but it was a nice preview of what would happen if he tried something.
The spell was his own creation, designed to inflict intense pain on anyone who attempted to harm or mistreat someone under his protection. It activated in response to physical violence or excessive verbal abuse, with the pain scaling to match the severity of the act, causing mild discomfort for yelling, sharp pain for insults, and unbearable agony for physical harm.
“Now, I have somewhere else to be, so you will have to excuse me. Let’s hope to never see each other again, alright?” Lucius said, patting the man’s shoulder in a patronizing way.
The man stared at him stupidly before he seemed to decide dinner with his family was more important than staying to argue with a dangerous wizard.
“Don’t ever talk to me again, freak!” the man shouted at him cowardly once he was safely inside the closing elevator, making Lucius snort.
What was Lucius supposed to do now? His one good deed of the year was already accomplished. Potter was protected from future harm, and that should have been the end of it. He ought to have been on his way by now, retreating to the comfort of his own home with a glass of wine in hand. And yet, he lingered.
Was he really considering knocking on Potter’s door just to check if the boy was alright? How…benevolent of him.
Then again, the look of sheer disbelief on the boy’s face would be delicious . And if he truly wanted to amuse himself, why not take it a step further? He could take Potter out to dinner, throw him entirely off balance. The perfect opportunity to confuse him even more. And not —absolutely not —because he wanted to see him fumble and flush in embarrassment when exposed to proper dining for once in his life.
Oh, who was he kidding?
With a resigned sigh, Lucius pulled out the Muggle phone he had begrudgingly learned to use and made a quick reservation. That settled, he knocked on the door and waited.
A pause. Then a hesitant voice, soft, cautious. “Who is it?”
The boy was less stupid than he thought.
“Room service.”
The door opened.
…Or perhaps not.
A head of messy black hair peeked through the gap.
“Hello, Potter.”
Harry blinked. “You’re not room service.”