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Part 3 of Deathly Hallows and Drunken Butterflies: Variations on a Theme
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Published:
2021-09-10
Completed:
2022-02-18
Words:
29,061
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14/14
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The Boyfriend

Summary:

"I like the trees here," Harry said, his accent placing him far from home. "They keep my wrackspurts away." It was twilight, and he wasn't wearing any shoes.
"You can stay at my place," Charlie said.

One night turned into teaching Harry to use the coffee machine, and then he grew used to fresh pancakes every Sunday.
Until Charlie realized one day, while calling Harry down from the old oak out back, that he didn't want the man to leave.

A medley of FalconLux's The Boyfriend, hctiB-notsoB's I See The Moon, and The_Carnivorous_Muffin's Painting Red Madonnas.

Notes:

Chapter 1: Footwear

Chapter Text

Basic Plot idea inspired by FalconLux's The Boyfriend, Harry's unique neurodiversity inspired by hctiB-notsoB's I See The Moon and The_Carnivorous_Muffin's Painting Red Madonnas. Thank you for sharing your stories and letting me share my own in turn.

It was only supposed to be for a night. 

"You're sure you can't remember why you were wandering through the forest?" 

The man shook his head. It was startling how young he looked, barely out of his teens. Charlie tried not to think of Bella stumbling through Arizona, about whether or not René would notice in time. 

Harry's story came out in bits and pieces, disoriented as the man himself was. No, he wasn't running away. No, he didn't have anywhere to stay. No, he wasn't hungry, and he didn't know where he'd left his shoes. 

Charlie wasn't going to let him sleep on the streets if he could help it.

"We're here," he said once the car was parked. Harry was staring into the trees around the house, not bothering to unbuckle his seatbelt.

Charlie had checked, there weren't any asylum outbreaks or foster care runaways that fit the description. It had brought him to this moment, a man with bright green eyes sitting in his faded yellow kitchen. He found some fish fry in the freezer, better that than a microwave dinner. They probably didn't have microwave meals in Britain anyway.

"It's just fish tonight." Charlie shrugged. He didn't mind being quiet, but this man was making him feel self-conscious.

"I can cook," Harry said, and then he had his head in Charlie's fridge, sorting ingredients onto the counter. There were a few potatoes that were sprouting. "I can plant them," Harry said when Charlie tried to throw them away.

The smell of onions filled his kitchen. Charlie sat and watched Harry opening and closing cabinets, listened to him humming an unfamiliar tune.

They ate in front of the TV. Charlie always overcooked his fish, but tonight it was perfect.

He found an unused toothbrush and set Harry up to sleep in Bella's old room. "I don't mind the spiders," Harry said, nestling himself between blankets and cobwebs. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," Charlie said. He meant it as a promise.

.oOo.

Harry woke somewhere strange, with the spiders weaving the world into a familiar disorder around his head. He got up and walked down the stairs, knowing exactly which step creaked. There was an empty gun holster by the door. Outside, the air was thick with fog. 

Harry walked into the twilight with his arms stretched out in welcome, an embrace.

The trees here were beautiful, full of life and old magic. There was a hole in Harry's mind; somewhere along the way he knew he'd lost some pieces. Maybe they were here, in this forest? Harry moved south, touching them as he went. The moss under his feet welcomed him.

"Harry!"

He turned. Sunlight pushed its way weakly through the mist. 

"Harry, where are your shoes?"

Charlie's hands were rough and warm. Harry let himself be led back to the blue house with the yellow kitchen. "Should I make breakfast?" he asked. He wanted to thank the man somehow.

Something strange showed in Charlie's face as he rubbed Harry's feet dry. "I have to go to work."

"Okay." Harry looked around for the shoes he was supposed to be wearing. He wanted to climb the big oak he'd found; if he sat at the very top it'd feel almost like flying.

Charlie's sigh went on for a long time. "Sure, see what you can fix up for breakfast. I'll call the station."

There was some oatmeal that didn't have moths in it, and the milk was still good. With a tin of peaches, it was a fair meal. Harry made sure to eat everything in his bowl. He couldn't remember why, but eating quickly was important, and wasting food was worse than sin.

Harry didn't get to do the dishes. Charlie wrapped him in a coat and pointed out the right shoes, then drove them to a bakery. When they arrived at the police station Harry got to carry the box of donuts, and offered them around. 

"Sit." The chair had wheels and spun. Harry let himself whirl back and forth and around, listening to the sound of his own rushing blood. He didn't want to hear them talking about him. The coffee was disgusting, the tea didn't deserve to be called that, but the donuts were alright. Harry licked the glazing off his fingers one by one.

"You're making me dizzy," one of the american bobbies said. He placed a stack of dusty boxes on Harry's desk. "Here, sort these by year and name."

It was simple enough. Harry washed his hands, then got to work.

"Hey, he can read." Someone was laughing, and then Chief's voice rumbled out, "Harry isn't stupid."

The reports were mostly old speeding tickets and petty crimes. Nothing that they'd toss you through the veil for.

"What's the veil?" Harry asked Charlie as they went shopping after work. 

"Like, you want a definition? It's a thing brides wear, I guess. To cover their face. Here's the veggies, pick whatever you like."

Potatoes, leek, tomatoes, beans. No baked beans in stock. No kidneys at the butcher's either. "No, I mean the kind of veil that whispers." Harry remembered falling. He remembered being pushed.

"Sorry, I only know them white and lacey."

The veil Harry stumbled through had been made of shadows and death.

.oOo.

Charlie wished it weren't normal to find his house guest up in the tree out back. Wear shoes, he'd said, and stay on the property. Today was Harry's third day here, and the newest rule was Start the coffee machine when you get up.

Harry did well with instructions. It wasn't that he didn't know things, he just seemed to…forget.

Sometimes he reminded Charlie of Bella, but the sight of Harry balancing high on two thin branches reminded him that Harry was something else entirely.

"Next time you run the coffee machine, you have to add the coffee grounds too," Charlie called up.

"Yes, sir." Harry let go of a branch and saluted.

"No!" But Harry was already falling, twigs whipping around him.

Then Harry caught himself, swinging from a branch and hopping to land in the crunching leaves. He was only wearing one shoe.

"Oops," Harry muttered, digging his toe into the ground. 

"We'll get you lace up boots, the kind that won't come off," Charlie decided, but then the sneaker fell down, landing right by Harry's feet.

It was almost like magic, but Charlie brushed it off. He'd promised Rudi that Harry would help her in the bakery today, and they were already running late.

.oOo.

They settled into a strange kind of peace together. Harry earned his keep with Rudi in the mornings, and Charlie got used to coming home to a hot meal, and to Harry's warm presence beside him on the couch.

He didn't remember when he started hanging his gun by the door again, or when Harry stopped forgetting to wear shoes. He brought in a tree for Christmas, decorated with baubles René must have left in some cupboard.

"Thank you for letting me stay," Harry whispered, eggnog and fruit cake and turkey long abandoned. They both fell asleep on the couch together that night, waking with creaking backs and a sense of right that Charlie hadn't felt since before his girls had left.

.oOo.

All 14 chapters are completely written and posted.