Harry leant against the door to the old building that he'd found a couple of days ago. It'd taken that long for him to, firstly, get himself a phone and secondly, get in contact with the agent that was selling the building and to set up this appointment.
Already he'd been waiting for close to a quarter of an hour, but he wasn't too worried about that - he had arrived early after all. Occasionally, a person walking past would look at him, but New Yorkers, he'd found, tended to stick to their own business, rarely if ever putting their nose in where it didn't belong. In fact, he'd had a first-hand experience of that just the day before. He'd been out exploring more of the city that he'd landed in when he'd noticed movement down an alleyway that he was passing.
Upon glancing down it, it was to see a group of four men beating up a fifth man. Judging by the whimpers coming out of the alley, not to mention the dull thuds that accompanied said whimpers, it'd been going on for some time and not one person had dared to intervene. Ignoring something like that simply wasn't in Harry's DNA. He hated bullies, had ever since his cousin Dudley and his friends bullied Harry when they were younger. And the fact that, when it came right down to it, old Tom Riddle and his merry band were nothing more than bullies intent on beating up people different then themselves emphasised it. Which was a large factor in why they and Harry hadn't gotten on so well.
Harry had just taken his first step down the alleyway to help out, a shake of his hand loosening his wand in its concealed holster in case it was needed, when he'd felt a hand on his shoulder.
"We'll take it from here," a large police officer said as he and his partner, batons in hand, passed him.
Harry nodded, pausing where he was. Within a very few minutes, the four thugs had been rounded up and the man on the ground was being attended to. Seeing that, Harry had continued on, content knowing that there were others willing to do the right thing.
"Mister Potter?" a voice asked, pulling him from his reminiscing.
"Yes," he said, straightening from his lean.
"I'm Amelia Larson," the woman said.
Harry smiled, recognising the name of the realtor that he'd spoken with on his phone. A quick glance took in the woman before him. She was older than she sounded on the phone, maybe in her late forties or early fifties. Her dark brown hair was cut in a bob that framed her oval face. Thin silver spectacles highlighted her brown eyes. And, as with most professional people in the city, Amelia wore a crisp navy blue skirt and jacket with a white button-up shirt. A dark blue scarf with tiny white dots completed her apparel.
"I understand that you are interested in looking at this building?" Amelia asked.
"I am," Harry confirmed.
"I'm sorry, but I simply must ask. Are you sure, Mister Potter? It's only that this building has seen better years, heck it's seen better decades and if it's an apartment that you're looking for, then I have a few dozen that you might be interested in or if it's a shop that you're looking for, then I know of three of four which might fit you better. And all at a much better price."
Harry blinked at the woman. He was sure that real estate agents weren't supposed to talk you out of buying a place that you were interested in.
"I'd like to see this one, if I may," Harry said. "It's got a good feel to it."
Amelia gave him a dubious look.
"Well, if you're sure," she said before turning to unlock the door.
Harry stepped in after her and had to instantly repress the desire to light his wand - the interior was that dark.
"I'm afraid that there's no power into this building at the moment," Amelia told him.
Using what little light that filtered through the open door, Harry looked around. It was a large room, deceptively large in fact. The room went back a lot further than he would have guessed from the outside. It was completely unfurnished as well, which may have helped with the impression of spaciousness. A long wooden counter ran across the room near the back. Walking over to it, Harry laid his hand upon the ancient wood and then promptly ran that hand down his pants leg to rid it of the dust and grime that it'd just accumulated.
Behind the counter was a space that was obviously designed for the staff of whatever shop this once was to serve their customers. Set in the back walls just to either side of the ends of the counter were a pair of doors.
"Would you be interested in hearing about the building?" Amelia asked, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room.
"Please," Harry replied.
"Like most buildings in this area, it was built in the mid-1800s," Amelia began. "This particular building was built in 1843. The outside is made up of the original red-brick that was the popular building material of the time. Because of this, the building has been heritage listed."
"What does that mean?" Harry asked, pausing on his way to the check out the door to the left of the counter.
"That means that the building cannot simply be torn down and something newer and more modern built in its place," Amelia explained.