Coffee & Crackstone
Harry dreamt of green light and dead bodies that night.
Even when he woke up, he could still see the faces swimming in the back of his mind, their eyes lifeless and dull.
Accusing him.
‘You killed us,’ they whispered sharply while Harry showered.
‘You’re a monster,’ they laughed coldly while Harry brushed his teeth.
‘Everyone’s going to know,’ they grinned as Harry clutched the sink and stared into his tired eyes.
‘You’re going to go back. You’ll never be free.’
Harry screamed and slammed his fist in the mirror, shattering the glass and cutting his knuckles. He didn’t feel better afterward, but at least the faces disappeared and Harry was the only one he saw staring back through the cracked mirror.
If Harry had the choice, he’d skip classes and hide out in his room all day; burrow beneath the blanket and claim to be ill. Unfortunately, it was Outreach Day, and Harry didn’t have a choice but to participate.
The teachers had been discussing Outreach Day for the past few weeks and there were fliers posted in all dorms. On Outreach Day, in an effort to make connections with the townspeople, all the Nevermore students in the upper two years were required to go volunteer in town for the Founders Day celebration.
In Harry’s opinion, having the Founders Day celebration the week after the Harvest Festival was a bit of overkill, but nobody was asking for his opinion.
Certainly not Wednesday before she went digging in Harry’s past, finding more than he’d ever wanted anyone else to know about him. And now Wednesday held a hell of a lot of power of Harry’s head - his freedom, his whole future - with whatever evidence she’d found to link all those deaths together.
Nobody had before, but Harry knew Wednesday was a genius with a relentlessly curious spirit.
Which meant that Harry needed to stay far away from her from then on. If he couldn’t upset her, then she had no reason to tell anyone about Harry’s past.
Except Wednesday didn’t seem to understand that Harry wanted nothing to do with her, as much as it pained him to so quickly lose his first friend.
Harry stood outside the school, dressed neatly in his uniform, and silently accepted the assignment that Couch Vlad gave to him for his job during Founders Day. Harry hadn’t even had a chance to open the small blue folder with the details inside before a shadow covered the spot on the ground he’d been looking at and Harry looked up.
“What job did you receive?” Wednesday asked briskly, an identical blue folder in her hand.
Harry said nothing, just turned his head to the side and shuffled back a couple of steps. Wednesday followed, remaining directly in front of him.
“I don’t do apologies,” Wednesday said, as if Harry wanted to hear anything she had to say. “I do however occasionally offer explanations.”
Harry raised his head enough to peek through the blue part of his fringe and studied Wednesday’s face. She looked as bored and detached as usual, except the dark bags under her eyes were more pronounced and there were much less sparkles of life in her eyes. In fact, she looked nearly as tired as Harry felt.
Which made a small and cruel part of Harry happy.
Harry waited in silence, to see if Wednesday had an explanation, but all he heard were the excited chatters of their fellow students buzzing about their jobs in the town for the day.
Wednesday finally cleared her throat and thrust her folder out at Harry as she ripped his from his hand.
“My explanation is that I was curious about your past and have destroyed all evidence of any supposed crimes which you most certainly could never be convicted of,” Wednesday whispered in a rush. She flipped open the folder she took from Harry and nodded down at it. “And instead of a pointless apology that you would never know if it was genuine or not, I’ll trade you jobs. You now get to spend the day at the Weathervane and I will be taking your place at Pilgrim World.”
Harry felt a sudden flash of anger at Wednesday’s audacity and he lifted his head to scowl at her.
“Did you ever think that I didn’t want to trade jobs?” he snapped. “Did you think that I didn’t want compared to some monster tearing apart hikers? Did you think about what would happen if Enid saw all those pictures hanging in your room- where I would go if anyone put it together? No!” Harry yelled, drawing a few sets of curious eyes. “You didn’t think of me at all, only your own curiosity for things that aren’t your business!”
“Mister Potter, care to explain what you’re doing here?”
Harry looked up from the window he’d been peering out, the one in the day room that showed the fenced in grounds behind the school, and saw Mistress Medris standing behind him. She had her hands on her hips and her lips were paper thin as she glared down at him.
“I- I thought I heard something, ma’am,” Harry said quietly. He’d only been at St Brutus’ for a couple of months, but he knew better than to look the woman in the eyes while he answered her question.
“It sounded like a dog barking and I was just curious to see it,” Harry went on, knowing his explanation was weak. He’d just felt so desperately locked in, in his room he shared with three other boys. The others were friends, sharing jokes and stolen treats, and Harry’s loneliness had driven him out of bounds well past curfew.
He thought if he could just see the sky, somehow he’d feel less trapped.
Mistress Medris curled her lip up, her squashed face resembling one of Harry’s Aunt Marge’s bulldogs.
“And what have you been told about curiosity, Mister Potter?” she snarled, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder tightly enough that Harry knew it would bruise.
Harry shook his head, his entire body trembling when she drug him toward the room that the other boy’s crudely nicknamed ‘the beating room’. He’d only been in there twice, both during his first week, and he desperately didn’t want to go again.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Harry cried, fighting the urge against actually crying. “Please, I won’t do it again.”
“Curiosity gets the cane, Potter,” Mistress Medris said firmly as she shoved Harry inside the small room that held only a bench and a wall of canes of various sizes.
“Maybe next time you will curb your ‘curiosity’ and obey. the. rules.”
Like the other boys who attended St Brutus’, Harry had scars on his back and legs from lessons on curbing his curiosity. And even if he was allowed to be curious about things now - like the monster and the softness of Tyler’s curls and the book on witchcraft - it didn’t mean that Harry of all people didn’t understand that satisfying your curiosity came at a price.
Wednesday stared at Harry, unblinking.
“Would you prefer to work Pilgrim World or at the Weathervane with Tyler?” she asked him plainly.
That was an easy question, but Harry wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of answering, no matter how much he wanted to be friends again. Her ‘explanation’ was rubbish and Harry was too tired to deal with it.
Before Harry could say anything else though, Principal Weems exited the school and began walking directly toward them, her heels clattering on the sidewalk and filling Harry with dread.
Aside from a few questions here and there, Harry had never interacted with the principal as often as he did since Wednesday arrived.
“Harry, Wednesday,” Weems pulled to a stop in front of them and smiled warmly, “just the students I was looking for. Now, as you know, the Nevermore band will be playing during the unveiling of the new Founders Day statue at four this afternoon, and I told Mrs Welsh that the two of you would be joining them.”
Harry’s dread turned to cold shock- he hated performing in front of other people. But he knew better than to argue about it, so he simply ducked his head and murmured a respectful agreement.
Wednesday bit out a rude retort, exclaiming the likelihood of her ‘participating in such a charade’, but Weems only tsk’d at her and patted Harry on the shoulder before striding away toward another group of students.
“You’re actually going to play?” Wednesday demanded once Principal Weems had left.
Instead of answering, Harry turned and opted to ignore the shuttle sent for the students and began walking to town instead.
He’d rather take the time to calm down and wake up some than sit on a bus filled with students who were excited to spend the day with their friends. Maybe he’d see Dr. Kinbott while he was working, maybe she’d give him some free advice about playing the piano in public and about Wednesday.
Dr. Kinbott almost always had good advice.
Except… Harry scowled and kicked a pile of leaves when he realized the fatal flaw in that plan… he couldn’t ask Dr. Kinbott because then he’d have to explain about Wednesday’s invasive ‘Harry Potter murder board’ which would involve admitting that he’d been involved in more than one death.
Which then risked Harry’s permanent freedom.
And as much as Harry liked Wednesday, his first ever friend, he needed his freedom too much to risk it.
Not like she had.
Harry’s head was still a swirl of a mess when he reached the Weathervane. He’d actually bumped right into someone when he went to enter as he hadn’t been paying attention at all.
“Sorry,” Harry said automatically, taking a step backward. He glanced up and then looked right back down when he saw his classmate, Xavier, entering the same coffee shop he was.
“No problem, I probably owe you an apology, actually,” Xavier said, stalling and blocking the doorway. Harry saw Xavier’s feet shifting from side to side and thought that the usually quiet boy seemed nervous.
“What we did last night wasn’t right, and I’m sorry,” Xavier finally said. Harry saw from the edge of his vision when a hand came near him. “Are we- are we cool?”
Harry thought maybe Wednesday should get an apology as well, but she wasn’t there and Harry was. So Harry quickly grasped Xavier’s hand and then dropped it.
“Yeah,” he told him. “We’re cool.”
They weren’t, but Harry didn’t want to have a spat with multiple people in an hours timeframe. That seemed like something someone who wasn’t a ‘success case’ would do. And Harry wouldn’t let Wednesday ruin the one area of his life where he finally felt in control.
Plus, when Harry entered the Weathervane and saw Tyler behind the counter with his apron on and a dimpled-grin aimed right at him, some of Harry’s exhaustion and anger melted away.
Not disappeared, but pushed off to be dealt with later.
“Harry, hey,” Tyler came around the counter with two aprons identical to his in his hands. He tossed one to Xavier, hardly even looking at him, before he handed Harry his. Their fingers brushed each others lightly and Harry wondered if he imagined the spark he felt when they did.
“Wait, you two know each other?” Xavier asked, his voice sounding suddenly hard as compared to the soft tone he’d used to apologize to Harry.
“Yeah, is that a problem?” Tyler asked him, sounding just as abruptly angry.
Xavier glared in his face then glanced down at Harry before he scowled and shook his head.
“Not if Harry doesn’t mind being friends with a bigoted ass,” Xavier spat before donning his apron and stomping toward the other woman working the shop. The obvious tension between them didn’t make any sense until Harry remembered what Tyler had shared with him the night before.
“Oh.” Harry blinked at Tyler who had his head ducked and his shoulders curled slightly. “Is Xavier the one who painted the mural you and the others tore up?”
It would make sense. Xavier was a talented artist, and his gift made him even more so. Somehow, and Harry didn’t understand how, Xavier’s dad’s psychic abilities had been twisted in his son, causing Xavier to not see the future, but to instead bring the present to life in his work.
Once, during a particularly dull mathematics class, Harry had watched Xavier sketch out a little squat toad complete with boils and slime on its body, and as soon as he sat down the pencil, the toad leapt off the page and caused a couple of girls in their class to shriek.
Harry thought it had been funny, but he could see why Xavier didn’t find Tyler and his friends’ ‘prank’ funny at all.
“Yeah,” Tyler admitted. He turned his head to watch Xavier follow the woman in the back of the store and then gave Harry a look that seemed just as remorseful as he’d sounded when he talked about it before. “He doesn’t like me, and it’s not like he doesn’t have a good reason.”
Harry, feeling both stupid and shy, lightly swung his hand forward, brushing his fingers against Tyler’s and grinning a bit when Tyler linked his pinky in Harry’s.
“Did you apologize?”
“What?”
Harry huffed, “Did you tell Xavier you were sorry?”
Because even if Wednesday Addams didn’t do apologies, Xavier clearly did. So if Tyler had helped destroy his mural that he probably worked hard on, he seemed to be the type of person who would appreciate an apology.
Tyler frowned at Harry though, as if it were a foreign concept to him.
“I… I don’t think I ever did, no,” Tyler admitted slowly. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde curls and looked lost in thought before he blinked at Harry and his frown changed back to his usual easy-going grin.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a genius?” Tyler asked, leading Harry to the counter where Harry was finally allowed to step behind it.
Harry laughed, only a touch bitterly. “No.”
“Well you’re a genius,” Tyler said simply. “Here, let me show you how to work the register and I’ll go try apologizing to Xavier.”
Harry wished all things could be so easily mended with an apology. Not that Wednesday even bothered to give him one, but still. Just saying ‘I’m sorry’ seemed like a loophole to him, but if it worked, it worked.
*****
Wednesday felt like a fool standing in a pilgrims dress, handing out samples to tourists, sweating in the unwavering heat. And to add insult to injury, it was Enid who had been paired up with Wednesday by ‘Pilgrim Mary Sue’ to go around and give fudge to already overweight tourists and hope they became tempted to buy more.
What fudge had to do with a display of historical artifacts and old time cottages, Wednesday would never know. She was also wholly uninterested in finding out.
“Wednesday! What are you doing?” Enid cried when Wednesday dumped her tray of samples in the garbage. “We’re supposed to be handing those out!”
Wednesday rolled her eyes Enid. Enid looked almost as ridiculous as Wednesday did in her stark and starched pilgrims costume, it was jarring to see her out of her usual brightly colored clothes.
Not jarring in the way that Wednesday typically enjoyed, either.
“I believe I just handed them all out,” Wednesday told her. “I’ve got places to be, excuse me.”
Namely, Wednesday wanted another look at the statue at the entrance of Pilgrim World. The man on display, the founder of Jericho, looked like the mad man with the torch from her vision the night before and Wednesday wouldn’t let something as minor as Harry’s ridiculous emotions get in the way of her research.
That book, the woman with the black hair - with the angles of her jaw and chin that were too familiar - the girl with the blonde braids, the man with the torch, and the prophecy that drove Rowan to try and kill Wednesday and Harry… they were all connected, Wednesday was sure of it.
And she would prove it, with or without Harry’s help.
Enid seemed happy enough to help anyway, at least some people carried proper curiosity about mysteries.
“What are we doing?” Enid asked, skipping alongside Wednesday and drawing a contrast between Harry’s quiet and awkward gait and her loud and bright presence.
“Finding out more about him,” Wednesday said. She stopped in front of the statue and stared harshly up at the wooden face of the man depicted. That was the face of a man who wanted to burn someone that Wednesday suspected was an ancestor to ash.
It was a man who would try and burn Harry for his magic if he were still alive.
Wednesday ground her back teeth together and would have spat on the statue’s feet if it wasn’t a disgusting thing to do. And, more importantly, the man wouldn’t feel it anyway.
“‘Joseph Crackstone is the founding father of Jericho. A settler in 1625, Crackstone vowed to keep his village safe and was beloved by all that knew him,’” Enid read from a plaque attached to the sign in front of the statue. “‘For more information on Jericho’s founding father, be sure to visit the original remodeled Crackstone Cottage here in Pilgrim World’.”
Enid looked over at Wednesday and crinkled her nose up. “How’s it the original cottage if it’s been remodeled?”
“Never mind that,” Wednesday said impatiently. “I’m going to go check it out, see if there’s anything in there. Are you coming or not?”
Enid gave Wednesday a cheery smile, one that Harry would never have, and linked her arm in Wednesday’s.
“Of course I’m coming! I love a good mystery!” she squealed. Wednesday let the touching and squealing slide without retaliation because it was nice to have someone with a proper sense of curiosity accompanying her on her quest for answers.
“Closed for repairs,” Wednesday read the sign tacked to the front of Crackstone’s cottage flatly. “We’ll see about that…”
Wednesday drug Enid around back, searching for an alternative entrance, and nearly smiled when she found one.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to go in there,” Enid said hesitantly while Wednesday quickly jimmied the feebly locked window.
“If they didn’t want us to go in, then why would they leave the window open?” Wednesday asked with an air of innocence. “Keep watch, I’m going to see if I can find anything.”
As much as she acted like a goody two-shoes, Enid nodded and turned to keep her back to the window with her arms crossed and her shoulders set. Clearly some of the people Wednesday associated with had some measure of a backbone.
Harry followed you in the forest, he charged after the monster, he went in the Nightshade library with you, a small voice reminded Wednesday as she deftly climbed through the window. And he did that because you did, not because he cares about the mystery.
“He should care about the mystery,” Wednesday muttered against herself.
Some people would be concerned to argue with themselves, it was quite common in the Addams’ home though. You were your worst critic after all.
Pushing aside her thoughts on Harry, Wednesday went straight for the display case in the front room of the tiny cottage. There was a lock on it, but nothing that a certain hand couldn’t undo.
“It’s your time to shine, Thing,” Wednesday said, unclipping her bag and allowing Thing to crawl out. “I need this case opened, quickly.”
Wednesday studied the items in the case while Thing flexed his fingers and got to work. There laid a cap old enough that it could possibly be Crackstone’s, as the plaque suggested. Then a document yellowed with age written in script difficult to decipher, possibly an original list of Jericho settlers. But what Wednesday was most interested in was the thick brown book that the plaque claimed to be Crackstone’s personal journal.
A personal journal of the man who seemed to have started the drive to eradicate outcasts in the same town currently dealing with a monster and mysterious prophecy had to carry something interesting in it.
The moment that Thing cracked the code and the cabinet opened, Wednesday reached directly for the journal. If she had been hoping to receive a vision upon touching it, she would be disappointed.
Just as disappointed as she was when she flipped it open and saw that the pages were crisp, white, and infuriatingly blank.
Wednesday didn’t even get a chance to throw the obvious copy of the book before the backdoor to the cottage burst open and Miss Pilgrim Mary Sue stormed inside with Enid held by the elbow.
“I whistled, didn’t you hear me?” Enid asked as Mary Sue glared at Wednesday.
“No,” Wednesday told her before holding the book up for the woman to see. “The original, where is it?”
“The— have you lost your mind, girl?” the woman screeched at an unacceptable volume. “What are you doing in here? This location is off limits!”
“Research,” Wednesday said baldly. “The original journal by Crackstone, where is it?”
“It was stolen last month,” the woman hissed, her eyes narrowing in a way perhaps she thought was threatening. “Get out of here, right now, before I report you to your teacher!”
“Oh no,” Wednesday said as blandly as possible. “Anything but that, please, no.”
The woman was unamused, but Enid giggled as they were ejected from the cottage.
Typically, Wednesday despised people finding her amusing in any way, but Enid’s laughter was rather vindicating.
As was Thing’s forethought to steal the yellow document before scurrying after Wednesday.
*****
Harry didn’t have a ‘customer friendly personality’ like Xavier and Tyler had, but he was still enjoying himself as he tried to keep up with the drink orders behind the counter.
The heavy flow of customers brought in by the upcoming Founders Day statue unveiling had the Weathervane busier than Harry had ever seen it before, and he appreciated the pace keeping his mind busy.
It wasn’t until a quiet cough caught his attention that Harry looked up from the espresso machine into the kind blue eyes of Dr. Kinbott.
“Harry, what a delight!” Dr. Kinbott exclaimed with a smile. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Harry lied quickly. He bit his lip when Dr. Kinbott frowned and tilted her head at him, as if sensing the lie.
“Er… not fine, but busy,” Harry said instead. He forced himself to hold her eyes and gave her a weak smile. “It was a busy weekend.”
“I’m sure,” Dr. Kinbott said, looking over where Tyler served a table full of middle aged ladies. She turned back to Harry and winked, “I believe I’ll hear all about it at our next session?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said, forcing himself to sound natural and not like a liar. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No need.” Dr. Kinbott held up a sparkling tumbler for Harry to see. “I have a herbal tea I got from a vendor down the block, I just saw you in here and thought I’d say hello. And, just between us,” Dr. Kinbott leaned toward Harry and lowered her voice, “I love the new look.”
Harry’s smile still felt genuine even when Dr. Kinbott had left the shop.
“You know, therapist-patient relationships are forbidden.”
Harry looked over where Tyler was leaning against the counter, a playful smirk on his lips.
“That’s gross,” Harry huffed, feeling remarkably more cheerful. “I don’t think she’s interested in me.”
Tyler grinned and reached over, brushing Harry’s fringe off his forehead. “You never know,” he murmured, his face close enough to Harry’s that Harry could see a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “Maybe she likes rebels with blue hair.”
“I’m not much of a rebel,” Harry said wryly.
“No?” Tyler leaned back on the counter, leaving Harry disappointed in the distance between them. “You did say you spent some time in lockup. What for, anyway?”
As Harry’s brain stuttered and his tongue seemed to swell three times its normal size, his hand slipped from the top of the espresso machine to the touch screen on front, sending out spurts of steam that burnt his hand and sent a hiss between Harry’s teeth.
“Oh, damn.” Tyler reached out and grabbed Harry’s wrist, holding it gently. He lifted Harry’s hand in the air and frowned at it. “Hold on, let me get the first aid kit.”
“No,” Harry insisted quickly, embarrassed. He carefully yanked his hand back and hastily stuffed it in his back pocket, ignoring the sting from rubbing the cuts on his knuckles against his coarse denim trousers. “It’s fine.”
Tyler stared at Harry incredulously. “Harry, your hand is burned. It’s probably going to blister if we don’t get some cream on it. We’ve got a kit in the back, everyone’s burnt themselves before. Let me go grab it.”
“Really, I’m fine,” Harry said. His hand was already barely aching, he’d been more surprised than injured. “I don’t need a fuss.”
Tyler puffed his cheeks out at Harry and pointed a finger at him.
“You’re not getting a fuss, you’re getting some burn cream and a bandage. Don’t move.”
Harry scowled when Tyler jogged toward the employee room in the back. He pulled his hand out and inspected it, it was rather burnt. Harry poked it and didn’t feel any more pain, so he assumed Tyler was being rather dramatic.
It was… only kind of cute.
“It’s going to be hard to play piano with a burnt hand.”
Harry ducked his head, shame curling in his stomach as he realized that Xavier must have witnessed the whole embarrassing event. Although… he did wonder if he could use the burn to his benefit to get out of playing.
“Principal Weems told me I had to play herself,” Harry told Xavier morosely as he realized he wouldn’t get out of it.
Xavier hummed and took up Tyler’s spot against the counter. Harry knew loads of students thought Xavier was attractive with his shoulder length dark hair, straight nose, and his soulful looking eyes, but Harry preferred it when Tyler had been the one standing beside him.
“Yeah, I heard her when she interrupted your fight with Wednesday,” Xavier said, apparently shameless for eavesdropping. “What was that about, anyway? You guys seemed pretty tight last night.”
Harry wanted to snap at him, tell him it wasn’t his business, but Harry would never be Wednesday who told people off as easily as she breathed.
“It’s… private,” Harry said quietly. “Sorry.”
“For having secrets?” Xavier scoffed and when Harry anxiously glanced at him, he had an easy grin on his face. “Don’t be,” he told Harry. “Everyone has secrets.”
As Harry suspected he had quite a few more secrets than the average student, he said nothing.
“Also… I wanted to say thanks and I’m sorry,” Xavier went on after a moment. “I’m sorry I never really talked to you before, I was just really wrapped up in my own shit, you know?”
Harry did know, actually, but he thought his ‘shit’ had been easier to handle when he had Wednesday.
“And thanks. Tyler apologized, seemed genuine too,” Xavier explained when Harry must have looked confused. “He said you gave him the idea. Tyler and I had some problems, but I think he seems like a better dude now.”
Harry nodded and shrugged. “I like him,” he said simply. “We’re friends.”
“Friends?” Xavier grinned at Harry and it felt like a friendly enough smile, something Harry never got from him before. “You guys seem like more than friends.”
Harry felt his face blush as hotly as his hand has burned and Xavier chuckled when the door alarm chimed with another customer.
“Make sure he knows if he hurts you, your attack dog will rip their throat out,” Xavier said with a grin just before walking off to greet the new customers.
Harry’s brows pinched together and he pondered Xavier’s teasing words. Something pricked the back of Harry’s brain, bothering him about it.
While Tyler fussed over Harry’s hand, spreading cream across the good size burn, Harry watched Xavier take an order from Miss Thornhill who came in for a pastry.
Misunderstanding who it was that Harry was squinting at, Tyler looked over to Miss Thornhill and raised a brow at Harry.
“She’s a teacher at your school, right?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, shaking off Xavier’s odd comment. “She teaches botany, study of plants.”
“Aah.” Tyler smoothed the bandage down with his thumb. “Do you like her class?”
Harry made a noncommittal noise. He didn’t mind botany, but only because of the peace the plants brought.
“I’m decent at it,” Harry said diplomatically. “Good enough that Miss Thornhill pays me to care for the plants once a week.”
As much as Harry felt like hanging around people, having friends to talk with, had improved his ability to understand other people, he clearly still had a way to go. Because nothing he said should have made Tyler turn so pale that Harry worried for a moment that he would pass out.
“Get a new job,” Tyler whispered harshly, his hand curling around Harry’s wrist and squeezing tight. His eyes, usually so calm and open, were suddenly wide and frantic. “You can work here,” he added quickly. “We need another night shift cashier.”
Harry, who had been having a bit of a rough day since the moment he woke up, felt uneasy at the panic in Tyler’s voice.
“I like working with plants,” Harry said slowly, quietly. “Er… are you alright?”
Tyler bit his lower lip hard enough that Harry winced in sympathy and shook his head with his eyes clenched shut.
“No,” he said, sounding hoarse and pained. “I need some air, I’ll be back.”
Harry watched blankly as Tyler all but ran out the backdoor, leaving Harry to stand at the coffee counter and wonder what he said that drove Tyler away so effectively.
First Wednesday, then Tyler.
Perhaps Harry was just destined to be alone.
When Harry’s shift ended and he needed to leave to make it to the square on time for the performance, Tyler still hadn’t returned. Xavier, whose shift ended not long before Harry’s did, had sent him pitying looks the rest of their quiet shift.
The last thing Harry wanted to do was go play some daft piece for a group of people who would likely laugh at him anyway, but very close to that was how much Harry didn’t want to get in trouble with Weems for skipping.
Harry was halfway to the square where he could see the band setting up around a statue covered in a white cloth when someone called his name.
Wednesday.
Harry scowled at her as she ran to catch up to him.
“Leave me alone,” he muttered petulantly, still just as hurt by Wednesday putting her curiosity above Harry’s freedom as he’d been when he saw the board she made.
“Not until you look at this,” Wednesday insisted. She grabbed Harry’s elbow and yanked him to a stop before digging in her bag and pulling out a long sheet of yellowed parchment. “Read it.”
Harry accepted the parchment and stared at what seemed to be a list of names penned in black ink.
“Brilliant,” he said flatly, handing Wednesday back the paper. “I don’t care.”
“You should,” Wednesday said crossly, falling in step with Harry as he resumed his walk to the square. “Read these names right here.”
Harry glanced down where Wednesday pointed and squinted at what was written.
“‘Lot seventeen, home of Lincoln and Sarah Addams and their children May and Goody’,” Harry read, having difficulty deciphering the handwriting. He rolled his eyes at Wednesday, “I don’t care about your ancestor,” he told her, guessing at the reason she showed him the paper.
“It’s not my ancestor that’s interesting, not really,” Wednesday said, a thrum of excitement in her voice. “Look here, at the signatures.”
Harry sighed and looked at the loopy signatures beneath the lot assignment. Lincoln Addams had neat handwriting, if a bit cramped, and Sarah’s was so loopy that it took Harry a moment to decipher it. When he did, he carefully yanked the parchment from Wednesday to bring it up to his nose to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding it.
“‘Sarah Addams-Potter’,” he breathed, flabbergasted. He looked from the parchment to Wednesday and knew he had to be gaping like a fish. “Do you think…?”
“She was a witch,” Wednesday whispered in a rush. “The book you found last night? It was a record of her spells. And she was burned alive by the very man we’re about to play a song for.”
Harry didn’t know if it was a coincidence - a Potter with power, but one in a different country than where Harry had been born - but even if it wasn’t, Harry felt a surge of anger fill him as he glared toward the Founders Day statue that they would be unveiling soon.
“What do we do?” Harry asked Wednesday, his voice ice cold.
Wednesday didn’t smile, but her eyes lit up with the same fire Harry felt in his chest.
“I’m so glad you asked,” she murmured. “Thing and I have a plan.”
Harry nodded, his eyes glued to the statue of the man who burnt a woman alive for having the same power that Harry felt flowing through him in that moment.
“Oh, by the way,” Wednesday reached out and touched Harry’s wrist, waiting until he turned to look at her before continuing, “I am sorry, cousin.”