In the months that Harry had been running the Marauder's Den, he had seen a lot of different people walk through his doors.
The largest group were the students from Midtown High, but even within them, there were as many different types of personalities as there were teenagers. There were the sporty-types, the 'jocks', he'd been told that they were called. They were often the most boisterous, the centre of attention. Then there were the ones who just wanted to 'hang out' with their friends, sitting in small groups, talking and laughing or sharing stories. And then there were the loners, the fringe part of the crowd, like Peter, who was often there, but off by himself, watching and taking it all in.
Most of his adult customers could fit into these broad categories as well. Some came to eat and relax with their friends. Others were there in body, but not in mind, their noses buried in reports or their phones. Occasionally there were small parties and groups that seemed to take over the entire place with their personalities, regardless of how much physical space or tables they occupied.
Thus, when the small bell tinkled above the door, Harry had grown into the habit of looking up and seeing if he could categorise his latest customer.
But Harry found the latest person to walk through his door hard to categorise. He definitely wasn't in the 'party' mode group, being as there was only one him. The way his eyes scanned every part of the room, taking it all in and noting the people in attendance, indicated that he could be a part of a smaller group, an idea that was squashed when he strode across the room and took a seat at one of the smaller tables by himself.
The man seemed to be a bit of an enigma. He carried himself with extreme confidence, but there was something there, something tiny, that told Harry that he was a little uncertain, a little unsure about things. And then there were his clothes. Now, Harry would be the first to admit that he had next to no fashion sense, but even he could see that the man's clothes were out of date.
He wore a plain button-up shirt under an old-style brown leather jacket. His pants were made from some sort of linen and were held up by a wide belt. To complete his look, the man had his blonde hair neatly combed and parted.
Harry waited until the man was seated and looking at the menu, a frown appearing on his face, before approaching him, his order pad in hand.
"Hi! Welcome to the Marauder's Den. What can I get you today?" Harry asked.
The man looked up with clear blue eyes, that frown still there.
"You know, I'm not sure," he replied.
"Well, we can cater to most things," Harry replied. "I can do you a meal or simply a dessert or a slice of some kind."
"Would you have any apple pie, at all?" the man asked.
"Sure do," Harry smiled. "Would you like it with cream or ice-cream at all?'
"Cream or ice-cream?" the man repeated with a small shake of his head. "No, I think I'll pass on those."
"And what would you like to drink? A tea or coffee? We can do latte or cappuccino or an espresso …" Harry trailed off at the lost look that appeared on the man's face.
"You know, I have absolutely no idea what those are," he admitted.
"How about I bring you a simple cup of coffee?" Harry suggested. "Would you like it with milk or sugar?"
"Just plain black coffee sounds great. Thanks," he replied, placing the menu back into his holder on the table.
"Be back in a moment," Harry promised.
By the time he returned with the man's order, it was to find that he'd pulled out a pad and a pencil and was in process of sketching the room.
"Thanks," the man said as Harry placed the coffee and plate of pie beside him.
"You're welcome," Harry replied before nodding to the sketchpad. "You're very good."
"Thanks, it helps me unwind. Hope you don't mind," the man said.
"Not at all. Stay as long as you want," Harry assured him. "This time of day is always quiet. That'll change later after school gets out, though."
"School?" the man asked.
"Yeah. The students of Midtown High have kind of adopted this place to hang out at every afternoon," Harry explained with a shrug. "Keeps them off the streets and out of trouble."
"And I'd assume that it's not bad for business, either," the man smiled.
Harry simply acknowledged that with a smile of his own.
"I'll let you get back to your drawing. Enjoy your coffee and pie and if you need anything else, all you have to do is ask," he said.
"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," the man replied.
ooo00ooo
Harry frustratedly flicked through page after page of the map book that he'd bought. Surely somewhere in it, it'd tell him where he was.
This whole adventure was beginning to grate on his nerves and he questioned the very wisdom of leaving the safe, quiet (well, sometimes quiet) Den and relying on others or the public to get around.
But, no. Somehow he'd been convinced that getting a driver's licence and a vehicle of his own was a good idea.
'More freedom to do what you want, go where you want,' he'd been assured.
'It'd be easier to take off at the drop of a hat,' had been another recommendation, that one from his new chef, David.
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