Humberto, from spending time with Julian, was slowly developing a french accent of his own, but that didn’t bother him too much, nor did he notice. “I like it being called a flat, it sounds nicer,” Humberto said. “A maisonette sounds fancy too.”
Humberto climbed into the passenger seat. He grinned at Julian and buckled up. He looked at his hair from the side mirror. He wanted to make it blue… maybe he would later.
When they got to the restaurant, the hostess had been a little rude… Julian wouldn’t have been able to hear it, but Humberto had heightened senses, so he heard the girl say “if people are gonna come to our country, they should speak our English.” Humberto squeezed Julian’s hand tightly, his teeth grit in anger. Then, the glass near the hostess shattered, for no reason. The hostess jumped, and quickly got Julian and Humberto to their table, which was a booth in the corner. Humberto sat across from Julian.
“… I’m sorry about the glass- she was saying bad things about you- I couldn’t- I cloudn’t help it.”
“I know, I heard,” Julian said, settling into the booth. He shrugged. “I’ve learned to ignore it, Humberto. Sometimes it’s best to ignore these things, or you might have more breaking around you.” He smiled softly.
He hadn’t been at all surprised by the shattering glass. One more reason he wanted to write to Headmistress McGonagall. Humberto was twelve, he would be a year behind in his studies, but either Draco could tutor him over the summer before he started classes, or he could just start a little late. Whichever McGonagall thought best, he supposed.
“Do you know what you want to eat?” He asked, glancing over his own menu, and not quite realizing the implications of having heard what Humberto had. Sometimes he forgot his own heightened senses from being a werewolf.
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