Chapter 3
Harry settled in the first hotel he strolled up to. It had been a hotel and casino with a blinding light display outside the building. ‘Cognito Aram’ the sign blazed.
The price had been steep, nearly draining him for just a two-night stay, but it was a bed and breakfast, so if he hoarded enough food, he wouldn't have to spend much outside. Often, satiating his appetite hadn’t been too difficult, so at least that's a plus.
Harry gaped the first time he walked in.
It glittered. The floors were glossy, and the pillars loomed. The lights made the room look as if it were made entirely of glass—or perhaps water. He thought that if he stepped too heavily, the floor might begin to ripple. Harry craned his neck. The ceiling was a dome of stained glass. Constellations. His eyes traced the lines, instantly searching for Canis Major.
“A marvel, isn’t it?”
Harry jerked back, startled.
“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man apologized sincerely.
He was clearly an employee, clad in a burgundy suit. His skin, similar in tone to Harry’s, darkened from long hours spent in the summer sun. His hair was neatly clipped, and he held a clipboard and pen in his hands.
“I—um…” Harry coughed and glanced briefly back at the ceiling before meeting the man’s eyes, hoping the gesture conveyed his thoughts.
“Oh yes, I enjoy staring at it too. Hydra,” the man remarked.
“That’s meant to be a hydra?” Harry huffed involuntarily.
Before he could apologize, the man cut him off with a small laugh of his own.
“Yes, I suppose it doesn’t quite resemble a hydra. More like a snake with a tiny head, if you ask me.”
Harry sniggered. Unable to help himself, he pressed on. “Seems more like a squiggle and a poorly drawn circle. What’s the giant star there for?”
He hoped he hadn’t been rude to ask. Guileless questions weren’t something he indulged in often.
The man, who likely thought about it far less than Harry did, answered easily. “That would be Alphard, the brightest star in the constellation. My personal favorite.”
Harry relaxed. “You have a favorite star?” he quipped.
“Do you not?” the man answered smoothly, his head still tilted as he gazed at the dome.
Harry paused. The thought came to him naturally.
“Sirius.”
“Canis Major.” the man nodded. “Nice choice.” He tilted his head down, deep brown eyes then meeting Harry's own forest green. “Now, what are you doing here all alone?”
Harry was thrown off guard. The man had quickly shifted from odd and philosophical to casual and blunt. It was rather authentic actually. Harry decided he liked it.
“I need a room,” he said, turning toward the front desk.
“You’re a little young to be all on your own,” the man hummed.
“Been this way for quite a while, actually. I think I can manage.”
The front desk was empty. Harry swiveled, searching for the receptionist.
The man, who Harry still hadn’t put a name to, strolled behind the barricade.
“Hello, and welcome to Cognito Aram. I’m Satya, and I’ll be helping you tonight. A room, was it?” he jested.
Harry’s mouth twitched.
“Yes, whatever’s cheapest.”
“Whatever sir wants,” the man—or rather, Satya—smiled.
After checking the system for available rooms, he handed Harry a registration card to fill out details like name, address, and duration of stay.
Satya handed over the key. His expression shifted from warm to concerned as he momentarily eyed Harry.
“If you need anything, Mr. …”
“Potter,” Harry supplied.
“Mr. Potter, don’t be afraid to ask. I am at your disposal.”
That was the second time today, and with the only people he had interacted with at all. Maybe he’d have to do a rebrand when he did his mini-birthday outing tomorrow.
“Thank you, Mr. …” Harry trailed off.
“Oh, bloody, no need to call me mister. I’m hardly past my mid-twenties, give it a break. My friends call me Ty,” came the strained response.
“I’m your friend?” Harry asked, beguiled. “You called me mister.”
“You’re a guest; therefore, I’m obliged to call you mister. You’re aware this is a hotel and casino? Most of our guests are past twenty-one,” the man—apparently Ty now—stressed.
“And the friend part? You consider me, the fourtee— fifteen -year-old you just met, your friend ?” Harry pressed.
Ty was increasingly confusing. He was also charming, which seemed to counteract the weirdness enough that Harry hadn’t scampered away yet.
“Sure, why not. My point still stands. You need anything and the staff is here.” Ty stated.
“No, that's not what you said,” Harry said back, eyes narrowed but a smile visible as he’d failed to repress it.
Ty walked away behind giant arch doors with blaring music seeping through them.
Just then, a porter—a boy about his age—approached, head low and fidgeting with a Rubik's Cube, as he offered to carry Harry's bags. As Harry moved to indicate that he only had his backpack, he noticed the boy’s eyes widen ever so slightly when he glanced up.
Wizarding then.
Harry pulled a sheepish expression before speed-walking to the elevator.
His room was nice .
In one word: cushy.
Harry gently set out the Marauder's Map and the photo of his parents and resized his trunk. He took out one pair of pajamas. Also Dudley’s , he observed. They were loose and dragged behind him as he walked. They were so evidently not his.
Gringotts is the first thing tomorrow, he thought. He did want to treat himself. Birthday and all that. Harry frowned tugging at the frayed hem of his top.
An upgraded wardrobe would be nice. He’d spent the last fifteen years in stretched-out, torn hand-me-downs from his cousin, never having the chance to discover what he liked or what suited him. New clothes it was, then.
A small knot formed in his stomach. His mind immediately flitted to Ron—Ron, whose stylistic choices often matched Harry’s, and whose wardrobe mainly consisted of clothes handed down from the twins or Percy. Harry believed some of them dated back even further, possibly to Charlie or Bill.
He pursed his lips. Ron, who had felt so deeply put down last year when the Goblet spat out his name.
Harry felt a bit sour at the thought of Ron standing out between him and Hermione. Of course, it had already been somewhat evident in his stressed and faded robes compared to their otherwise vibrant red.
He shook his head and threw himself onto the thick, soft sheets. Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling.
Ron hadn’t bothered to send a letter—Ron, who had previously gone the extra mile, breaking him out of the Dursleys’ and welcoming him into his family. Was he really that bitter ?
Harry closed eyes. He was unable to stop himself from replaying the scenes of Ron stalking away and ignoring Harry. Images of Ron shutting him out and their mutual glares throughout the majority of fourth year flitted through his mind.
Harry let out an exasperated sigh. Hermione had always said advanced thinking wasn’t his strong suit.
Truth be told it–well it didn't hurt but it quite possibly left a small dent in the image of himself he’d had in his head.
Harry frowned. When he was little, he used to think emotions were pretty simple. All you had to do was look a little harder—or rather, look easier. Things often became complex and twisted when you forgot to focus on what was right in front of you. He’d learned that when he was seven, watching Aunt Petunia’s book club gatherings. Her guests would get into senseless quarrels and vent loudly. So he observed.
He’d thought himself quite perceptive. When your entire world was confined to a cupboard under the stairs with walls three feet apart, you had to entertain yourself somehow. So he’d sit and watch—or alternatively, listen.
It hadn’t been a warm childhood. No, it was unkind and unfriendly. Harry wished he had at least retained the ability for emotional foresight.
Harry woke up warm.
Curled in a ball with two layers of blankets encasing him in a cocoon, the sleep was phenomenal.
After nearly half an hour of internal conflict, he managed to drag himself out of the cloudlike sheets.
By the time he had showered and dressed, he was pacing his breathing and rolling back his shoulders.
This was the right move. He was right.
Leaving was right.
Harry wasn’t too keen on maintaing a glamor all the way to and through Diagon, his weariness from the morning clinging to him. So he opted for the shortcut.
He pulled out the invisibility cloak from a pocket in his backpack and held it in front of himself as looked in the mirror. It had always had the odd ability to fold itself smaller and smaller to fit anywhere.
Harry stared at his isolated face in the mirror, body hidden by the cloak. His face was marred by acne scars. Oh and of course his ticket to fame the scar that splayed across his forehead and nearly reached his eye, infamously resembling lightning. His jaw had grown sharper over the summer, his cheeks more hollow. But when he smiled, the plumpness that had left him never failed to reappear.
Harry stuffed the cloak into his pocket as he exited his room.
Immediately after he ran straight into the porter boy.