Landlord ch.1

For the first time in his life, Harry Potter felt peace. He stood in the kitchen of his new home, looking around with a slow, almost dreamy gaze, and he felt genuine tranquility.

It was a quiet, calm state of mind. This was his first place of residence. Since the war, he had been unable to get out of debt. He had previously lived with the Weasleys, but when he had a falling out with Ginny, he preferred not to be under Mrs. Weasley's watchful eye.

It was like a collision with reality. While the Ministry had indeed accepted his help after the war, once everything had stabilized, he was informed that birthright and titles no longer guaranteed employment in the Ministry, but rather skills and results. Granted, Harry possessed the former, but the lack of exam results prevented him from securing a permanent job. For a while, he took up various menial jobs, occasionally encountering people in similar situations, but he finally managed to discover something he was good at. That's how he earned his first own home.

Admittedly, it was a Muggle house, but ever since he had been treated by the magical world, Harry had grown to like Muggles more and more, especially their technology. Only when you looked at it and started to understand how everything was created, did Muggles earn respect, while wizards lost it in their insular world.

He closed his eyes and listened for a few seconds. He heard the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the rustle and faint rumble of the heating, a gust of wind outside. And... nothing. Nothing more. It was silent, peaceful, so tranquil. Harry took a deep breath and exhaled slowly because it truly felt like he had sunk into this place that was now his own. He didn't hear some silly reality TV program playing on the television, nor arguing parents, nor the neighbor's dog barking incessantly, nor the never-ending loud music that his roommate liked to play...

He was alone, although that particular thought struck a dissonant chord deep inside him. It wasn't that he disliked people; he just seemed to have had bad luck his whole life when it came to the people he lived with. In fact, he enjoyed having someone nearby; he just couldn't find anyone he wanted to spend time with. Mostly. Hermione, in essence, became exhausting, especially now that she had become a high-ranking official herself. Ron, with his ignorance, was too simple, and his approach was starting to wear on Harry. True, they were heroes, but that didn't mean they were entitled to receive everything from the magical world. That's why Harry was drifting further and further apart from his friends, accepting his place in the wizarding world. Still basking in the glow of peace, Harry left the kitchen and entered the living room, taking a leisurely stroll through it and into the hallway that led to the rest of the rooms in the place that was now his home: two bedrooms and a bathroom.

Since the war, Harry had done everything to debunk the myth of him being the next Merlin. Now, when he entered the Leaky Cauldron, he greeted Tom and maybe a few other regulars, but no one rushed up asking for an autograph anymore. Harry had become just like everyone else

Every bedroom was mostly barren. Actually, the whole house was. He was lucky to scrape together even that amount of furniture.

As Harry entered his bedroom and stood beside the king-sized bed, reminiscent of a two-seater version from Hogwarts, he looked out the window. It was a gray, November day, undoubtedly threatening icy rain, and the wind tugged at the landscape. It bent trees and sent leaves into oblivion, while the house creaked intermittently.

A few thoughts raced through his mind. What should he do now that he had been ushered into his home? Well, not exactly his home, as he was renting it, but it was his in the sense that he didn't have to share it with anyone. After giving his bedroom another glance, he walked back out into the small hallway, pacing uncertainly. He still couldn't believe he had been so fortunate.

The move had been a hassle, especially considering he wanted to spend as little money as possible and didn't want to ask anyone for help. Not that he was opposed to help, but rather that he didn't want to involve anyone in his life anymore. Not the Weasleys, not former colleagues, not "friends," not former Gryffindor roommates.

No one.

Yet he had managed. It was closer to sunset than he would have liked, but the job was done with considerable effort and the use of a heavy-duty trolley. Moving in and using magic for it could attract unwanted attention from new neighbors. The worst part was the mattress. But he took a shower, shaved, got dressed, and then it started to sink in that the thing he had been trying to do for over a month, the thing he had planned and prepared for, had finally happened. It was overwhelming.

But it was also lonely.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Since the war had ended, British wizards had been catching up with the world, be it Muggle or wizards from other countries. It must have been quite a shock to realize that there were three additional departments in the Ministry dedicated solely to maintaining the statute of secrecy. Now, only the staunchest purists kept their distance from certain technological advancements, especially when it turned out that old gold still could buy a bit of new prestige, as every piece of electronics required runic shielding. He unlocked the screen and began checking his contacts, wondering if he actually had someone he could call for a social visit. Was there anyone left in this whole city whom he trusted or genuinely wanted to see?

Seamus? No, he stole a hundred Galleons from him and never admitted, apologized, or returned the money.

Ron? No, that guy was a walking smokescreen of toxicity that made them uncomfortable whenever they were in public places because he was so prone to picking fights with strangers.

Dean? No, he was probably drunk by now. Not that Harry had any issue with drinking, but it wasn't the damn personality or way of life. All he did was drink.

There were still a dozen or so names, including Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and he was tempted to strike them off right then and there, but something held him back. The others were colleagues and former roommates; he couldn't even remember why he had kept on the list, considering he quit his job and had absolutely no intention of living with any of those people again...

As he analyzed this, wondering if there were any real friends left in his life, the screen suddenly went black and then a number appeared as someone began calling him. He was so surprised that he almost dropped it, and as he studied the number, Harry was close to sending it to voicemail.

But...

He recognized that number. For two rings, he tried to recall where he had seen that number before, certain that it had either called him or he had called it, and on the other end was someone he would be somewhat acquainted with.

Finally, though unable to place it, something inside him urged him to answer. Maybe it was his sudden loneliness, or some strange omen, or something entirely different.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Harry?" came the woman's reply. He hesitated. The voice was familiar, yet he couldn't quite place it. "Uh, yes, this is Harry. Who is this?"

"It's Daphne." She sounded unhappy and awkward, and he oddly had a sense that she had been crying. "Daphne Greengrass." Awkward pause. "Y-you probably don't remember me, it's been a long time. Maybe I should..."

"No, wait, I remember you," he responded. "We were in the same year at Hogwarts, but we only really talked at work. We worked together last year for a few months."

"Yes," she replied, sounding relieved. Why, in the name of Merlin, would she be calling him? They hadn't spoken since... October of last year? Just over a year ago. But she didn't continue, and he wasn't sure what else he could say.

Her calling him struck him as quite unlikely; he didn't even know why she still had his number. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes... no..." she sighed heavily. "It's complicated."

"Are you... hurt? Is someone threatening you? Or something like that?" The first thought that struck him when he wondered why she might want to contact him was an attempt to find a "hero."

"No," she said, and that seemed to bring her back into the conversation. "I'm not in any danger. It's just... I feel like I'm losing my mind, and I have no one to talk to, and nowhere to go, and I don't want to be alone right now, and I still have your number... just your number." She hesitated, the silence stretching. Harry was just about to offer to talk when she cut him off. "I'm sorry, this is stupid."

He remembered that he was the one who bought her her first mobile phone under the pretense of being in touch with him, but she hardly used it; most of their conversations still took place at work, and evidently, she was still involved in the environment of the staunchest purists.

"No, wait," he replied. Something was definitely not right. "Something is really off. I'm free now, I don't mind having a conversation. If you want, you can come over or..."

"Yeah, I know the area around the Weasleys, maybe we can meet at a village nearby, at the market," she said.

"Oh, no. I actually just finished moving to a new place today. Let me send you a text with the address. It's in Muggle London, I haven't connected the fireplace to the Floo network yet, and I don't think I will."

"Thank you," she replied, and then hesitated again. "You're not still living with that Ron, are you? I remember when he came to work one day and..." He laughed, Ron's hatred for losing only grew stronger in recent years. "No, I'm living alone now."

"Okay. Alright, uh, I guess I'll see you soon."

"See you soon."

She hung up, and he quickly opened the text message containing his new address. After a moment, he received a reply.

"I'll be there in about ten minutes. Thanks again." He replied with a text saying, "You're welcome," and then sat on his couch, feeling dazed once again, but for a completely different reason.

Harry Potter summoned memories of Daphne. She wasn't the kind of woman you easily forgot. Being stunningly beautiful with those intensely blue eyes and, probably her most obvious characteristic, being taller than everyone they worked with, tended to make her stand out. He remembered her wearing black shirts and button-up pants. He remembered how serious she seemed when she worked, putting in so much effort to erase the stigma of being in Slytherin with her dedication.

He remembered the conversations they had. His second-to-last job was as a cashier and stockroom worker at a new bookstore on the corner. They paid shit, had shitty hours, and treated you like shit. Like most jobs. But it was a job he could do, and it was marginally less unbearable than waiting tables at the shitty café he worked at before. The only thing that broke up the dreadful monotony of work was that by chance, his break tended to coincide with her break, so he often ended up in the break room with just one other person. Daphne Greengrass.

She was proud, confident, and sociable, and after apparently studying him for a moment, she approached and asked if he wouldn't mind if she sat there with him. He managed to stammer, "I don't mind," and although it was initially a bit awkward, Daphne, with her natural charisma, was able not only to strike up a conversation but also to carry it even with his socially awkward self. It took some time, but they eventually talked three or four times a week, and it became easier. However, he never managed to stop feeling intimidated by her.

It wasn't just because she was stunningly beautiful, and not just because she was so tall (he guessed she was six-three or six-four), but there was something else. She had a certain presence, and he found out why when he got to know her. They talked about various things, but most of them were mundane matters, news, books, songs, world events, or strange stories. With silent agreement, they tried to avoid the topic of Hogwarts. They had many topics of conversation, considering his desire to become a runic designer. However, he eventually learned that she had been appointed and trained as an heiress, capable of managing a business and getting along with goblins. Before she started working as the sole accountant at their crappy little store, she had worked at the Ministry. She was "let go" when it was found out that she didn't have an official document confirming the completion of her studies or even courses related to management. Never mind that magical England didn't have such schools, she was pure-blooded, and according to policy, it wasn't old money that was supposed to dictate the new future.

She took the job at the store out of desperation, looking for another job more suited to her level of knowledge. And considering her skills, dedication, and expertise, she was only there for three months. And for some reason, she genuinely talked to him every day when they met in that break room. They even connected on social media, had some conversations, but it faded away until they stopped talking completely.

She was probably the most attractive woman he had ever seen.

As the minutes passed, Harry began to deeply ponder what could have happened to her that prompted her to call him. The only reason she had his number was that he introduced her to the world of Muggle technology.

He deleted her number about a month after she left because he honestly thought he would never meet her in person again.

Harry was still trying to wrap his head around the situation when he heard a car engine outside, followed by the sound of opening and closing doors. He stood up and walked to the door, opening it as she walked through his backyard onto the small porch.

"Hey," she said with a tired smile as she approached.

"Hello, Daphne," he replied, still feeling like a drifting man.

She really looked like she had been crying recently; her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and the smile she wore was convincingly polite, but it spoke of how anxious she was, unable to wipe it off. He stepped aside, and she entered. Harry glanced behind her, watching a low, gray sky as a taxi drove away.

A cold wind blew forcefully, kicking up dead leaves and causing the house to groan. Surely, rain was imminent. He closed the door and turned to look at her as she stood in the middle of his living room, awkwardly holding a nice black coat, apparently searching for a place to put it. She looked incredibly radiant and tall, just as he remembered.

"Sorry," he said, approaching and taking her coat, "there's no coat rack yet. The last one I had accidentally got enchanted and now I'm trying to learn how to play the violin in some magical void."

She looked at him, unsure if he was serious or just teasing her, but she placed her coat on the only available seat in the living room.

"It's fine," she muttered, glancing around a bit more. "Is this your place? Man, playing with runes must have really paid off since our last conversation..."

"Oh no, it didn't pay off," he replied. "I'm just renting. But, um... if you can pay your bills with runes... or do you have another job? I shouldn't assume."

"It's complicated," she answered awkwardly. His life situation was so strange that he wasn't sure how other people would react to it. He sat on the loveseat. "So, uh... what's going on? What... happened?" he asked.

A look of bitter unhappiness passed over her beautiful face, and she took a moment to push back her pale blonde hair, which cascaded over her shoulders and onto her face. After a while, she sighed in frustration. "Hold on," she muttered, reaching into her bag and rummaging around until she pulled out a hair tie. She gathered her hair up at the back and held it in a ponytail. Harry was starting to feel uncomfortable now.

She was seriously attractive, distractingly so, and it had been... quite some time since he had been with anyone. And he could feel it.

"There," she mumbled, placing her bag on the coffee table and then sitting down with him on the loveseat. "My life fell apart. Again." She took a deep breath, as if preparing to launch into a whole spiel, but then hesitated and looked at him more attentively. "I'm sorry, is this... too weird? I know it's been a year, and we never really developed any kind of relationship beyond work, but I just... it was always so easy to talk to you, and you actually listened to me..."

"It's okay, Daphne," Harry replied. "Honestly, I don't mind if you just unload on me. You're clearly stressed and unhappy, and you reached out to me when I needed help, so now I want to help you."

"Thank you," she said, closing her eyes. She took a deep breath, released it slowly, and then opened her eyes to continue. "My fiancé, chosen by my father, has been cheating on me. I just found out."

"Oh... my God, I'm so sorry," Harry replied, stunned and shocked. How could someone betray her like that? "Thanks... I suspected for a month now, when he kept 'working late to secure his job' and became evasive and irritable, and suddenly became overly jealous. Finally, he forgot to take his bag with him, and... I did the most cliché thing and checked it. And sure enough, I found letters, pictures... he was actually staying at the Ministry to... be with his lover." She abruptly stopped speaking, hugging herself and gazing into the distance.

"I'm really sorry," Harry murmured, unsure of what else to say.

She just sighed. "Yeah, it was pretty awful. I just grabbed some of my stuff, threw it in a suitcase, and left. Remember when we talked about Muggle transportation? I started taking their subway around town. I rode for hours, not knowing where to go. That's when he called me. I wanted to handle it calmly, maybe try to convince him to come clean, I don't know. But I lost control as soon as I heard his voice. I started yelling at him, and when he realized he was in deep trouble, he started yelling back, trying to justify himself, telling me I'm terrible in bed and that I gained so much weight, and everything I do is just fucking nagging him—"

She gritted her teeth suddenly and held herself tighter.

Harry felt a surge of empathy for her, and it pained him that he couldn't do anything for her. He couldn't even imagine how fucking awful it must feel. It must cut deep. Really deep. "Do... do you want a hug?" he asked.

Daphne looked at him, slightly surprised. "You know what? Yes. I do. I want a hug."

They scooted closer to each other and embraced, wrapping their arms around each other and holding on. She hugged him tightly, almost squeezing him, and he allowed himself to embrace her back, feeling her warmth, her... rather ample breasts pressing against his chest, trying not to think about it. It was far from the appropriate time to think about sex, and besides, it didn't even matter. She was so far out of his league that the idea of hitting on her was laughable.

"Thank you," she said again as they pulled away from each other. "I actually feel better now. God, he hadn't hugged me in... weeks. No one has. I mean, I understand the post-war issues, dealing with old blood supremacists in positions of power and all, but most of Voldemort's cronies are in Azkaban at the moment... doesn't matter. It's just another fucking stressful aspect of life. But anyway, I told him it's over between us, that he can stick his fucking engagement ring up his ass, and I'll deal with my shit later. After all that, I lost control. I cried so hard, sitting at the center station. Even a few Muggles stopped and asked if I was okay and tried to comfort me. After I got it out of my system, I started trying to think of people I could turn to, places I could stay until I sort out this mess all over again." She let out another bitter huff of irritation, staring at the ceiling and blinking a few times.

"How exactly did you end up, uh, finding me?" Harry asked. She looked back down at him. "Not that I'm complaining. Actually, it's great to see you. I'm sorry it's under such awful circumstances, but I'm still glad you're here... though I'm honestly shocked that you still even have my number."

"I never deleted it," she replied. "Every few months, I'd clean out my contacts list, and for some reason I could never really define, I couldn't bring myself to delete yours. I think... it's because, well, in all honesty, I trusted you. I trust you."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes, I trust you. All those conversations we had, the times I saw you at the store, interacting with customers... I don't know, Harry. You seemed a bit bitter, a bit tired, a bit cynical, but you never took it out on people, and our conversations were always so... genuine! I remember how I used to treat you and what I thought of you back at Hogwarts, how foolish I was. Maybe that's it, there was never any pretense with you. You never tried to put on a show for me. You were never—" she suddenly laughed, "—as we used to call it in Hogwarts, you were never a poser. Everything about you felt, and still feels, authentic."

"Well, uh... thanks," he replied.

"You're welcome. But that's precisely why I kept this number. The closest explanation as to why I held onto it was probably because I wanted to check on you, see how you're doing in a year or two, and see if you managed to kickstart your runic career. We talked a lot about it, your ideas, and they all sounded quite interesting. Plus... if I'm being completely honest, I thought it would be cool to know someone who became a renowned runic designer. It's a bit petty, I know, but—"

"No, I understand that," he said. "I mean, it's not an unattainable hope. And I never really got the impression that you were inauthentic. Actually, I know exactly what you mean when you describe our conversations because I felt the same way."

The conversation continued, reaching another uncomfortable pause, and Daphne shifted on the couch, looking down at the floor. Harry waited, sensing that she was gathering her thoughts again. He sympathized, remembering what it was like to be engulfed in a sea of unhappiness and angry, desperate confusion, frustration, and despair.

She looked at him again, her eyes less clouded but more focused, more angry now. "I'm going to get fired. That's the second part of this whole... fucking whatever it is. Breakdown. Crisis. I don't know."

"Why are you going to get fired?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. He never remembered her being anything other than professional, competent, and hardworking when he saw her at work. Then again, they only met because she got fired.

"The company I'm currently working for finally allowed me to work from home with everything that's been going on. I was nervous because I'm somewhat of a people person, and I wasn't sure how I'd manage. But when I started doing it, it was just... great! Everything was so much easier and more relaxed, and it made me realize that I was carrying so much unnecessary stress, or more accurately, stress that I started to recognize as completely unnecessary. I didn't have to tolerate coworkers coming into my office and talking about nothing while I tried to work, I didn't have to worry about my boss breathing down my fucking neck, I didn't have to stress about stupid, pointless meetings that exist solely to stroke the boss's ego, or mid-level managers babbling about some dumb new policy that is utterly meaningless and only exists as a power play..."

"And I was actually more productive! It was more efficient and it saved me money." She paused, shaking her head. "Sorry, I'm ranting. I haven't had anyone to talk to about all this for months. But what I mean is, all along, they fought tooth and nail to keep us from working from home, and the second they allowed it, they started trying to drag us back to the office. I was so reluctant to go back, but I did when we first returned, it was only two days a week, then eventually three days, and then we went back to how it was before."

"And I fucking hate it. I hate it so much. Doing it differently made me realize how long I've put up with stupid, pointless, petty bullshit that I never even considered there was another way. But now there is, and there's no real sacrifice! In fact, it would be more productive for me to work from home. I have more work, I wouldn't take up space in the office, they could downsize the building they use... but when I started trying to convince my boss to let me continue working from home, he just wouldn't budge. At all. And he quickly got angry, as if I was personally insulting him. He took it so weirdly personally."

"Why did you all start working from home in the first place?" he asked, being somewhat out of the loop, as he himself did most of his work on devising the proper rune combinations and layouts at home.

"It was a stupid directive banning apparition outside of designated areas. Harry recalled the huge uproar caused by revoking everyone's licenses for apparition after several instances were caught on Muggle cameras of wizards disappearing or suddenly appearing.

"That's strange," Harry said. "You'd think they would jump at the chance to squeeze more money out of the situation."

"That was exactly my thought. Last week, I decided to lodge a formal appeal. I even prepared a damn speech explaining all the objective benefits, and it... didn't go well. I can usually persuade people to certain things, but he just wouldn't budge. He got angry. Normally, I would've let something like that go, I know when to take a hint and just give up, but something changed. It was like... my whole life, I've been suffering from low-level pain, and suddenly I took a medicine that eliminated it, and I realized how good it is to live without that pain, and now someone is forcing me to stop taking the medicine, and there's not even a good reason for it..."

Silence fell again, and it settled in, and once again, Harry waited.

He had a feeling she wanted to ask him something, that she was building up to it, even if she might not realize it herself, and he wanted to give her time.

She sighed softly. "That's most of it," she said. "But I guess I should get to the point. I didn't just come here to vent to you. Of course, I'm not going back to my place unless it's to get my things, and even though I have the money, so I can arrange for a hotel if I have to, I wanted to crash somewhere. Somewhere I liked and wanted to be around, someone I could talk to, be in a low-stress environment. And I thought about it for a while, and I realized you're the only person I can think of who wouldn't, in one way or another, try to humiliate me or blame me for what I'm going through. So... I guess I'm asking if I can crash here for a while?"

Harry considered it briefly, trying to think of any obvious questions he should ask or any reasons why it might be a bad idea.

A few came to mind, like how long she intended to stay, where she would sleep, whether her ex-fiancé might show up and cause a fight.

But none of those things seemed important.

He remembered his loneliness, how it hit him almost the moment he started to finally calm down and relax, and how it pointed to a certain starling fact, something that should have occurred to him long ago but didn't.

Harry had been lonely for a very long time.

Even when he literally lived with other people, if not especially because of that, he was lonely. Because being alone was one thing, but being among other people and feeling completely cut off from them was much worse.

"Yes, you can crash here," he replied.