Harry Potter and the Troubling Clothes Box
After years of doing other people's laundry, Harry Potter was not too keen on doing his own. He would, on occasion, mostly to stop Hermione from doing it seeing as Harry didn't take any kind of pleasure from watching her doing chores when she'd already set herself up with a busy schedule. But most of the time, if he couldn't just wear something again and there was nothing clean left, he would go to the clothes box before the washing machine.
The clothes weren't great, but after years of wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs, Harry wasn't picky. He ignored the absurd -- the leather waistcoats and spiked collars, the polka dot trousers and anything spandex -- but if he had to wear an orange t-shirt or one that said he was a "Twilight Addict" (whatever twilight was, other than the time of day), so be it. It wasn't like he cared what people thought.
Not most people, anyway.
He had come down to the store room that morning after a shower, his jeans and pants not too bad but his t-shirt stained. He hadn't noticed when he had left the house that morning, seeing as it was an orange juice stain and the shirt was orange. But now he needed to change it and probably grab a few things for the next couple of days. He would get to his laundry eventually this week. Or beginning of next.
But when Harry settled down in front of the clothes box, he didn't find shirts. No, he found socks. It was funny at first, pulling out a knee-high pair of purple striped socks and a pair that wouldn't even hit his ankles with glittering stars. But they kept coming, and single spies: green with red dots, black and white argyle, one with penguins, one with holly, a plain white gym sock and a plain gray dress sock. Harry forced out a dry laugh and kept going, too stubborn to be scared away by a box, even though terrible things could be hidden away in them. He pulled them out and tossed them to the sides, stupidly refusing to give up his hunt for a shirt.
It wasn't until he pulled out a white one with gold Snitches that Harry's hands started shaking. It wasn't the one Dobby had knit for him -- that one had been green -- but it was close enough. Close enough that he threw the thing back into the box and rocked back onto his heels, gripping his own hands to make them stop shaking.
He was so focused on that, Harry missed the fact that he had tears in his eyes.
[Not the best time to meet him, but not the worst. He'll play it off as nothing if he doesn't know your pup. Just remember that he's Harry Potter and can be prickly. ST/LT welcome.]
The clothes weren't great, but after years of wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs, Harry wasn't picky. He ignored the absurd -- the leather waistcoats and spiked collars, the polka dot trousers and anything spandex -- but if he had to wear an orange t-shirt or one that said he was a "Twilight Addict" (whatever twilight was, other than the time of day), so be it. It wasn't like he cared what people thought.
Not most people, anyway.
He had come down to the store room that morning after a shower, his jeans and pants not too bad but his t-shirt stained. He hadn't noticed when he had left the house that morning, seeing as it was an orange juice stain and the shirt was orange. But now he needed to change it and probably grab a few things for the next couple of days. He would get to his laundry eventually this week. Or beginning of next.
But when Harry settled down in front of the clothes box, he didn't find shirts. No, he found socks. It was funny at first, pulling out a knee-high pair of purple striped socks and a pair that wouldn't even hit his ankles with glittering stars. But they kept coming, and single spies: green with red dots, black and white argyle, one with penguins, one with holly, a plain white gym sock and a plain gray dress sock. Harry forced out a dry laugh and kept going, too stubborn to be scared away by a box, even though terrible things could be hidden away in them. He pulled them out and tossed them to the sides, stupidly refusing to give up his hunt for a shirt.
It wasn't until he pulled out a white one with gold Snitches that Harry's hands started shaking. It wasn't the one Dobby had knit for him -- that one had been green -- but it was close enough. Close enough that he threw the thing back into the box and rocked back onto his heels, gripping his own hands to make them stop shaking.
He was so focused on that, Harry missed the fact that he had tears in his eyes.
[Not the best time to meet him, but not the worst. He'll play it off as nothing if he doesn't know your pup. Just remember that he's Harry Potter and can be prickly. ST/LT welcome.]