Who Was Harry Potter?
Harry didn't think he'd felt more relaxed in his life.
There was just something so soothing about the combination of Francois’ fingers massaging his scalp, the man’s accent and how some French kept slipping into his sentences as he spoke, the tingling mask on his face — Pansy mentioned it was clay but Harry didn't understand how that was — and the cucumber slices on his eyes that made the muscles in his body loosen.
“So, Mister Potter, do you attend school with Miss Parkinson and her friends?” the hairdresser asked him.
“I thought we weren't supposed to talk with the mask on?” Pansy said before Harry could even answer.
“Oh shush, Miss Parkinson. How else will I get to know the boy?”
Harry heard Pansy ‘hmph!’ and could almost imagine her pouting.
“As I was saying, Mister Potter, do you attend Brighton College?”
“Yeah, I started there two weeks ago,” Harry said. “Though I'm in a different form than they are.”
“Really? So how have you all become good friends?”
“Well, Draco is actually giving me media training lessons.”
“Media training? Why would you need that?”
“Um. . . It's sort of complicated,” Harry said, not quite sure how to answer.
“Harry’s attending Brighton on scholarship and it requires him to have interviews with the press,” Draco explained.
Harry appreciated the help and how Draco omitted the more sensitive and embarrassing parts. “Yeah. What he said.”
“ Je vois . Though I'm not surprised. Mister Malfoy has proved on several occasions he has a caring soul,” he said. “He must have volunteered to help you.”
“Don't spread rumours around like that, Francois,” the blond replied sharply.
“It can't be a rumour if it's true, can it?” Francois said and Harry just barely heard Draco’s scoff.
He didn't know what good it did Draco to put on such a cold facade. He'd only known Draco for a week but it was obvious Draco cared for the people around him. Or at least, the people around him he found important. For instance, he was much more soft-spoken and agreeable when he was speaking with Pansy and, though Harry hadn't quite figured out how exactly yet, Draco just seemed more comfortable around Blaise.
“What do you think, Mister Potter? Does Mister Malfoy seem like a caring person?”
Harry didn't have to think about it. From helping him with his maths homework to the media training and even his hair, Draco had made it more than clear to Harry what sort of person he was.
Just as Harry was about to answer, he heard Draco snap from across the room, “Answer that, Potter, and you will be walking back to Brighton.”
“Oh, don't be like that, Dracey. You're not quite as tough as you appear to be. We all know that,” Pansy remarked. “You're really a big sweetheart.”
“That's completely ridiculous. You must be confusing me with someone else, Pansy.”
Harry decided it would be better to play it safe for the time being. He wasn't nearly as close to Draco as Pansy or Blaise or even Francois was and he wasn't entirely convinced that threat had been a joke.
“I think Draco’s just helping me for the school,” he said finally but only Draco seemed to be satisfied with that answer.
“Thank you, Harry,” Draco said. “Our relationship is purely situational. Now cease this nonsense. You know exactly who I am, Pansy. We've been friends since birth.”
“That's the point,” Pansy sighed.
The conversation naturally flowed between the four of them with Blaise occasionally providing a short input before going silent again. Francois swiftly finished with Harry’s haircut — Harry had also gotten his first facial treatment, according to Pansy — and when he saw himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but smile. He didn't know exactly how it was, but just a newer, neater appearance made Harry feel slightly more confident. It also helped that Draco had complimented him and nodded approvingly.
Francois waved them goodbye with a passionate ‘au revoir!’ and they were on their way.
The next thing on their agenda was clothes shopping, which was clearly what Pansy had been most looking forward to.
After a bit of walking, she grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him into a shop.
“This is only my favourite place to buy anything. All the clothes here are super fashionable and they sell only recognised brands so you know you're only getting the best!” she explained excitedly. “We’ll definitely find you some sensible clothes here. Come with me!”
Pansy continued to drag him to the men’s section of the store and before Harry really knew what was happening, he already had a pile of clothes in his arms and Pansy was pushing him towards the fitting rooms.
“Try these on, I think they'll suit you perfectly!” Pansy said, and with a final shove, Harry was forced into a rather luxurious fitting room.
“Show us when you've put them on!” Pansy exclaimed from the other side of the door.
Harry waited until he heard her footsteps fade before collapsing onto the sofa. He felt dizzy and overwhelmed. He didn't know if he was cut out for this rich people lifestyle. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd stepped foot in a clothes shop.
With a small sigh, he looked over the articles Pansy had given him. As he'd expected, they were a little too fancy and put-together for him. Were rich people not allowed to just wear a shirt and jeans?
There was a sharp one-two knock at the door. He heard Draco's voice come from the other side.
“Harry.”
Harry opened the door and Draco didn't waste any time getting to the point. “Excuse Pansy, she gets excited when she’s surrounded by clothes like this. I'll help you.”
Harry stepped aside to let Draco in and shut the door behind him. “I figured but even then. . .”
Draco raised a brow at him. “Even then?”
“This doesn't feel like me,” Harry admitted. “I thought buying new clothes and dressing up all nice would help me fit in, but I just feel more like an imposter.”
“You're completely right,” Draco said.
Harry frowned. “What?”
“This isn't you. A hairstyle and some new outfits aren't going to change that.” The blond walked over to the sofa and picked up one of the clothes. It was a black turtleneck with an oddly long neck. Draco held the shirt up against his body and looked at himself in the mirror. “But Harry, do you even know who you are?”
Harry took offense to that. “Of course I know who I am.”
Draco turned his head to look at him. “All right. Describe yourself in three words.”
“Erm. . . Nice?”
“Anyone can describe themselves as nice , Harry. I need you to try harder. Dig deeper.”
Harry thought that was hardly fair. How was he supposed to describe himself on the spot? That was an impossible ask of anyone.
“It's not that easy, you know. Why don't you try it?”
“I’m disciplined, thorough, and versatile,” Draco replied almost instantly. “You can't answer because you don't know yourself, Harry, and that's perfectly fine.” He stopped in front of Harry and held up the shirt to his body. “I have this same shirt, I believe. It would look good on you.”
Harry glanced down at it against his body and met Draco’s eyes. “Ah. . . You think so?”
Draco nodded. “It'll go well with any pair of trousers and jacket. You should get it.”
“I think I will then,” Harry said. “Thanks.”
“No worries. And remember, they're just clothes. When you do find yourself, you can always get more that do feel like you,” the blond said as he handed Harry the shirt. He went back to perusing the rest of the clothes Pansy had picked out, shaking his head slightly as he examined them.
Harry looked down at the shirt in his hand before looking back up at his friend. Draco gave a lot of good advice and so passively, it made him seem so mature — at least, he did to Harry.
Harry wondered how Draco found himself. He was so secure and self-assured that Harry wouldn't be surprised if Draco knew exactly who he was right at birth. It was hard to picture Draco Malfoy trying to find himself. What did finding yourself even look like?
Harry supposed that was just one more task on his list of to-dos. Perhaps even the most important.
Who was Harry Potter?