Holiday
It was 10am on a beautiful Wednesday, and Harry was awoken by the shrill cry of the baby next door. He groaned and turned on his stomach side, pulling the white comforter up over his head. Mornings. He was attempting to block the golden rays of sunlight that spewed through the window next to his bed (bed was a nice word for it; it was really just a frumpy mattress on the ground.) He began to lightly doze off. Harry always did his best to get an extra 10 minutes, but gave up at 5, unconvinced he could go back to sleep. He pulled the comforter tightly around him and sat up. Big stretch. He arched his back, getting a satisfying click. Letting out a long sigh, he pushed himself up off the bed, nearly stumbling back. He always forgot to put his glasses on. He reached with one hand to the table next to his bed to grab them, the other hand clutching the blanket tightly around him. It was yet another morning he had woken up late for work, and now it was really convincing him that he needed to do something different.
When he managed to put his glasses on, and adjusted to the brightness from the windows, Harry trudged over to the small kitchen in his apartment.
Harry had first looked at the apartment roughly a year and a half ago. It was a nice one bedroom apartment, with cream walls and hardwood floors. The appliances worked well enough and he had managed to bring in enough muggle money to make himself comfortable. Ron and Hermione had been doing their absolute best to convince Harry to move out of the Weasley's, as they had gotten a flat together and it was really only Harry clinging to his pre-war state. in his brain, the war hadn't really stopped, he was just at war with other things now. Many months of nightmares and escapism had left him feeling deeply homesick, more so than he had ever been from the Dursleys (which, in all fairness, was not at all). He held on to every single bit of material and non-material things from his Hogwarts experience. Every photo, every badge, every item of clothing. Everything. Everything that had managed to survive the war. Harry had become a shell of his former self, and remained alone in Ron's room from May until October. After Ron and Hermione had finally convinced him, he didn't fully move in until september. He ached for his school life, his former purpose, the joy he experienced even when the impending sense of doom lay at his shoulders. He was deeply nostalgic for the thrill of it all. Despite this, Harry had still managed to go to Gringotts and transfer some of his wizarding money to muggle money. He paid off his beginning fee and first rent, and he was off.
In an effort to rest and relax, Harry had moved to the United States of America. He stayed in a small shanty town on the east coast, somewhere near New Jersey. He had come to know the area well, with the help of a few muggle school courses. He caught on pretty quick, remembering some of his studies from when he was a child. Arithmetic came easy to him. So did geography. He joined classes with adults, mostly recently released felons and a few old ladies who simply had nothing better to do on their time off. Harry had taken a special interest in muggle fashion and had taken a course for it with some young students. The need for style and clothing led him to pick up a part time job at the local coffee shop.
Harry loved his job in the winter. staying cozy inside making bagels and muffins, an occasional donut on saturdays. He enjoyed making black coffee and matcha lattes and seeing all the people come in wrapped in cardigans of various creams and reds. In fact, when he applied for the job in September, Harry really hadn't believed that he would be working summers. He thought he might take an advanced course, humanities or advanced religious studies or something like that. These dreams, however, melted along with the snow on the roof, and Harry decided his job had come to an end.
Eventually, as his job became more and more depressing, Harry had decided that he would start therapy. Much to the pleasure of his friends, he started working with a muggle therapist, whom he couldn't much talk to about anything, since he was a wizard and that could have gotten him locked up in a psychiatric facility. Soon after came a muggle psychiatrist, who prescribed him with some medication for the nightmares. He really liked his psychiatrist. She was an elderly lady named Debbie who had worked with mostly children in the past but invited Harry to visit after a recommendation from his therapist.
Recently, his nightmares had flared, and his depression started to become less and less manageable. He kept returning to work late, forgetting to eat his meals and had a newfound hatred for laundry day. Even a shower seemed like almost too much. Early mornings at the coffee shop and late nights lying in bed led him into a droning rhythm of sorts; It was tiring and lonely, and that was when Harry had decided that he would go on holiday.
The holiday had been booked for a few months' stay in a town on the coast of the Atlantic in france. He had booked a condo from June until August, which is when muggles usually had their holidays. He would be staying in a muggle condo right on the beach, with a lovely view of the sunset over the atlantic. He would be receiving regular massages and long walks along the beach, just what he assumed he needed in order to return to his mundane life back in America. His psychiatric appointments would be put on hold until he returned, and he was allowed to pick up a 3 months supply of his medication for the trip. He had no plans of staying in France, but just in case, he had decided to rent his apartment out to the kind and welcoming grandparents of the baby next door for the months he was away.
The sunshine dragged Harry out of his thoughts and into the present moment. He had already put in a notice to his boss that he would not be able to work for much longer. There was little point in even showing up now. It was already 7 hours into his shift and Harry was exhausted just thinking about going to work. His boss understood that Harry had to process some things and spend some time away, and had agreed with Harry when he said he needed rest and relaxation.
“Merlin,” Harry thought, “I need a holiday more than Ron needs a soak.”
Suddenly, a little click went off in his brain reminding him that his holiday was planned for tomorrow. He would be leaving at 5am to get to the airport, with the plane taking off at 8. He had his bags packed to the brim with various pieces, mostly from muggle designers. His favorite pieces from Vivienne Westwood had been safely stored in plastic for his journey, and the rest of the clothing remained in pristine condition under his leather luggage. He packed a small jewelry case, filled with earrings and chains. Earrings! One thing that brought Harry immense joy through his weeks of muddled depression was getting his ears pierced, muggle style. He knew in theory he could get it done at home, but the excitement of going into a muggle tattoo parlor and being around some of his friends from class had been quite interesting to him. He decided soon after that he would get his nose pierced as well, but had never quite gotten around to it. He thought a few days later he might get it done on holiday.
After a quick breakfast of egg and toast, cooked up in the cast iron skillet Hermione had gotten for him, Harry decided he would make a to-do list and set a few alarms for the following morning.
The idea of a cell phone was very new to Harry when he reached muggle America. He didn’t quite understand it, and thought that muggles might be using their own sort of magic to make such things work. He fiddled with his device for several hours before learning how to send a text. He texted Hermione first. She always sent him owls to check in, although she had a cellular of her own.
Hi Hermione. I think I know how to use a cell phone now.
Hi Harry! Glad you figured it out without having to ask me for assistance.
What are you up to?
Ron and I are having dinner out tonight. Would you like to join?
That sounds lovely! What time?
6:00 at the Three Broomsticks. Try to set an alarm on your cell.
I’ll ring Ron to let him know.
At that point in time, Harry had a good job at the coffee shop, and the winter days left him feeling warm and cozy. He got out more, Saw Ron and Hermione weekly and stayed on top of his letters. He was also taking some online courses on his laptop, which Harry found much easier to use than a cell phone. He made enough muggle money to heat his home, keep food on the table and buy some clothing he really loved. The holiday season felt even more jolly without the threat of Voldemort on the horizon. He got along well with his boss, and even ended up getting the people closest to him Christmas gifts.
Absent-mindedly, Harry arranged his house in an order neat enough to warrant company. He put fresh bedding on his mattress, swept and dusted in the kitchen and managed to fold the remaining laundry neatly into a pile. He decided to leave small notes everywhere, with instructions on how to use certain appliances.
After the majority of the busy work was completed, Harry rested comfortably in a nook of the couch. He turned on the tele, opening to a program about whale fishing and the various types of mastery that tie into it. He decided that because he had to get up so early tomorrow, he would take a muggle sleeping pill and just rest on the couch until the following morning. Satisfied with his decision, Harry slowly drifted off into a delicate sleep.