Characters/themes from the Harry Potter universe remain the trademarks of J.K. Rowling. Use is strictly of an inspirational nature.
Chapter 1:
Hard Times
Time was running out.
The chill night air beat against his face as he ran, cutting like dull knives, carving out the lines of his already fear-stricken face. Echoes of his boots splashing through trash-filled puddles in the ever-cluttered DC alleyway bounced and reverberated off the walls, rusted dumpsters and fire escapes, and broken down cars like a siren announcing his position. As he sprinted he strained to hear anything over the echo of the alley and the busy street noise from H Street and 12th Street a couple blocks away- a yell, a scuffling of feet, any sign to alert him that his pursuers were as close as his mind made him believe. His heart pounded against his chest, thrumming the same beat as his shoes winding through the alleyway's twists and turns. Risking a look back, he glanced furtively over his left shoulder, then his world toppled dangerously as he tripped head over on a stray milk crate hidden in the mud, smacking his head and side on the unforgiving pavement. Groaning from the deafening throb in his head, he rolled over as best he could using his arm as leverage to get the ground back under him.
Well, this is fucking great, he thought, as he struggled to move his right arm; pain coursed through from the shoulder to his finger tips. He tried to lift it a fraction of an inch, only to hiss at the blinding, white-hot pain. I can't even protect myself anymore. He rolled, somehow, onto his hand and knees; panting, shaking from cold, fear, and the water soaking into the knees of his jeans, he spotted his reflection in the puddle caught by the cracked alley light above him.
A strangers face stared back at him. Yes, there was the familiar slightly large nose, the shaggy thick brown hair hanging over his forehead, the "Ben Franklin" glasses he was so playfully teased about by his girlfriend, the strangely vibrant red beard that had been ever present since he could grow peach fuzz, and the permanent neutrals that made up the color palette of his wardrobe. What Iain didn't recognize, and what struck him, was the weight that had marked his face; the eyes no longer a deep vibrant blue but a dull sea grey, ringed by red. The lines so deep on his forehead that it almost seemed scarred. His round prominent cheeks diminished to razors edges as his jowls receded inward, giving him a drawn stressed look, almost as if he was going through withdrawal. The pervasive smirk he had worn over the years, both as a means of gaining allies and garnering walls against possible enemies had been replaced by a tight line as if a sharpie had been clumsily slashed across his skin, leaving a crooked definitive mark. This was the face of someone who had seen their demons come screaming out into the open; someone who had made a bad decision and had paid dearly for the consequences. As he looked, what alarmed him more was the somewhat smaller face of one of the dealers looking down over him at his reflection as well.
The kick came suddenly; it lifted him out of his crouch completely past the puddle and onto his right shoulder with a sickening crunch, blinding him with so much pain he couldn't even scream. Iain rolled onto his back instinctively, anything to get the pressure off of his shoulder as the dealer strode towards him.
"That hurt?" man asked, sneering at Iain twitching on the ground. "Good. Bet it feels close to how bad my man's head feels after you smashed it into the brick. We just wanted to...talk to you, and you gotta go do something like that, after the first time?" Iain instinctively grabbed for his shoulder, and then man tilted is head quizzically. "Oh, your shoulder busted, little man?"
"Fuck off," Iain seethed through clenched teeth. Nah, that's great. Piss him off some more, I'm sure that'll work beautifully.
"Fuck o- fuck off?! You motherfucker!" the man screamed, bringing his foot down on Iain's shoulder. He screamed then. "Who do you think you're fucking with, some shitkicking drugdie scum? This is the big leagues, motherfucker!" the man shrieked as he brought his foot down again and again on Iain's shoulder, hitting it so hard all Iain wanted was for his arm to break off; anything to get rid of the pain. Iain spat at him.
The man suddenly reached down for Iain's arm, wanting to demolish more than just his shoulder. Iain involuntary tried to pull his arm out of the man's vice grip and suddenly the thought flashed bright in his mind; he swiftly pushed his shoulder towards the man and he heard a loud crunching pop, accompanied by instant relief from the agonizing pain. Iain yanked his arm out of the man's hand, simultaneously kicking wildly; astonishingly to both him and his assailant the kick connected, sending the man tumbling and pinwheeling backwards. Iain scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, hoping to dash back down the alley before- nope, the man had found his breath and was on his way back up.
Iain finally breathed then, if only to gather his breath to sputter the incantation- his hand, of it's own accord, had reached deep into the fold of his jacket and had grasped the surprisingly swishy thin strip of driftwood, fourteen and a half inches long, that had hidden inside. It was an absolutely terrible idea, one that despite the leverage it would give him immediately was still remarkably stupid given a thrumming city center was almost beside them. But he had grabbed anyway, and without hesitation. It seemed almost as if it was vibrating in his palm, gleeful; thrilled to be used, giving it's master the upper hand in what apparently was a losing battle.
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" Iain roared. There was no light, but a sound like a whip cracked in the alley sharp and brutal, deafening him for a second. The man went stiff as a board, and Iain couldn't help but snort at the man's ridiculous look of shock and fear.
"I just remembered that one. Isn't that crazy?" Iain limped over to the man slowly, never taking his eyes of the dealer's, relishing how wide they got with each shambling step. "I hadn't done it in years; trial by fire works well enough for me, I guess."
Iain finally reached the man's head, and he knelt down carefully, feeling every bruise forming on his legs and ribs as he lowered. He quickly rummaged through the man's pockets, searching franticly but purposefully, until he felt the cool plastic of his cell phone on his palm. Pulling it from the man's pocket, he smiled downward, winking. "I hope we can call this even. You beat the shit out of someone I care about, take our stuff, I beat the shit out of you and take it back. Right?" he asked, toying with the man as if expecting an answer. "No? Rude. Off the Christmas list."
Iain gave the man a swift left jab right into the man's nose, feeling both it and his middle finger break. He barely winced from the pain as he rose, stuffing the cell phone in his back pocket. Iain arched his back, both enjoying the release as the little 'pops' dances down his spine, and then winced from the pain from everything else in his body. "Accio wallet," he said quickly, flicking his wand. The man gave a slight wiggle as his wallet struggled to escape his pants, then finally flipping over as the wallet leapt from his back pocket into Iain's hand; Iain swiftly rummaged through it, grabbing a wad of twenties and tens out of the fold, and tossed it back, enjoying the little 'pat' it made as it landed on the man's back. 'For the metro,' Iain had said. He turned and looked back down the alley where the man had came, wand held surgeon-steady at his side. He remained there, almost uncomfortably long, until he was sure no one else was going to follow suit, then turned and scampered down the alley, skirting the puddles and hugging the familiar safety of the shadowy walls.
The man watched him go, locked in the cold rage of his inability to move and the shock of what had just happened. There's no way he could go back to Dennet and tell him that this punk had not only gotten away again, but had used some kind of trick, some kind of demon shit to do it; he wouldn't just be looking at getting a beating himself then, but probably left tied up on the tracks of the orange line waiting for a train to come barreling down. But strain as he might, the man couldn't escape his invisible bonds. He watched Iain disappear into the shadows, and the last thing he saw was him whisper something over and over, pointing the stick at his fingers and ribs, which snapped back with an audible pops. Then he was gone.
Iain snapped awake, alert and tense. The beaten up, subtly graffitied metro car rocked a brutish back and forth, just enough to give a serious rumble, but not enough to jostle anyone from their seats. It didn't do anything to help Iain's headache, though. His whole body throbbed a painful rhythm, a mean-spirited cadence whose very beat seamed to give the proverbial finger to his developing migraine. It was lucky that this was the longest, and last, leg of the trip; he had been in a tense, adrenaline-fueled sensory overload walking back to the first station, wand held up his sleeve, prepared for anything. He groaned as he shook the exhaustion from his head, and scratched his beard out of habit. Fine powdery flakes fell to his lap; Christ, I need a shower, he thought. His skin felt sticky and flaky, covered in dried sweat blood as well in more than a few places. He wondered if he'd simply be snagged by the cops on the trip home for looking like he'd just fed a family to a meat grinder.
A cursory glance around the train car affirmed this- the almost aggressively apathetic nature he had enjoyed from people on this leg of the Blue Line train was replaced by worried glances from the adults and snide comments from the youth in the car, just loud enough for it to be heard and still seem clandestine. He wasn't surprised, really. He would probably put down a couple of those twenties he grabbed to bet that he looked just as bad as he felt- possibly worse, smelling like used fryer grease and month-old trash, covered in mud and alley viscera as he was. Plus it reeeally hurts to breathe, and I'm pretty sure that can't be good.
The conductor came over the broken loudspeaker, barely getting out "Stadium-Armory Station" before being lost in the garble of static as the train slowed. Iain stood using the rail beside him as support and tried the back cracking maneuver he had done after the fight, but it seems that his back wasn't coming out of its hunched over, crone like pose anytime soon, and it hurt like hell anyway. He shuffled his way over to the doors as the train stopped fully, chuckling to himself as the people in the couples seat by the door leaned away from him in thinly-veiled disgust. As he stepped through the doors, he waved a goading muddy hand at them as the train pulled away again grinning crookedly.
The station was quiet, only the sounds of the trains and intercoms played of the sterile-grey domed concrete walls. During the day, this station would be bursting with people- businessmen ignoring the kids trailing around them yelling insults, blue collar workers resignedly trudging their way from train to train, shouting "left side!" if you didn't clear enough room on the escalator, homeless people muttering to themselves while wandering the platform then suddenly bursting out in laughter, or shouting, much to the alarm of others on the dull beaten platform. Iain was grateful for the unusual silence as he hobbled to the escalator.
As he neared the top, noise finally broke the calm. Iain heard hurried, agitated whispers on the level above him; he silently drew his wand from his sleeve and softly cast the incantation for the Confundus Charm he had been studying on his jacket, threw its hood over his head, and prayed it worked well enough. The men barely noticed Iain as he walked briskly past them, painfully hiding his limp. Well, living with an Auror has its perks, he thought smiling, as the men went back to their clandestine whispering, peering down the hall. Iain took the chance to duck into a corner and cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself before shifting his pace to a shuffling speed walk, pausing only to gingerly take the stairs up the last leg out of the station. He jogged then, sharp ragged breaths fighting against his swollen chest, until he reached the fence around the skatepark across the intersection from the station; Iain instinctually found the wider room between the fence poles that he'd used so many times before and slid through to his typical hiding spot. He aimlessly wandered the darkened grounds, thankful for a chance to be (somewhat) at peace, then laid down on the grass for a well-deserved breather.
A loud crack snapped behind him. "Mates of yours? On the train?" a voice asked, and Iain hackled in anticipation, letting out his umpteenth hiss of pain for the evening.
"What, the people I waved at? No, just wanted to make their night as memorable as mine." Iain snapped, turning his head to Ted. "Didn't know you were down there waiting for me."
"That's what a Disillusionment Charm's for, if you remember. You should work on yours more, by the way; you're semi-transparent."
Iain ignored Ted, continuing his beratement. "And I'd appreciate it if you stop fucking Apparating right behind me; it's bad enough that you did it in public, or really everywhere, but especially when you know I jump at it. Plus, I feel like I just got run over by a bus, so the jumping doesn't exactly feel amazing."
"Jesus, man, don't get all shirty about it; I like a good laugh at your expense every now and then. Bet that chav you met tonight's doing worse than you anyway." Ted ribbed conspiratorially.
"Wait wha-"
"Putting a Full Body-Bind Jinx on a Muggle in an alley? A low move, that is. And sod off telling me to watch it in public after your shite tonight." Ted said curtly, feigning hurt while flicking a bit of lint off of his sleeve.
"He knows?" Iain asked, sighing sadly.
"He gets paid to. Plus, it doesn't hurt that he's actually pretty good at his job. Not sure what he'll say to you, though. I would say Ginny'd leather you with a hex, but lets be real- she's going to shred those eardrums of yours before her wand even comes out." Ted said, soberly. "So what was it, thought you'd go cruising again tonight hoping to find them and start something? Retribution? Thought you'd get in your fun and test out Obliviation?"
"That's- what the hell, man? You think I wanted to get the crap kicked out of me? You think I'd be stupid enough to pull my wand on a Muggle on purpose?" Iain seethed, unconsciously locking on his target to unleash all of tonight's rage at. "Yeah, 'cause a 25 to life sentence in Pullworth is really want I want after getting away by the skin of my teeth. Sorry, no Muggle-baiting today, just good old-fashioned magical assault and battery and of course probably breaking the Vow of Secrecy. That's exactly what the fuck I had on my schedule tonight, how observant of you!" Iain spat, giving Ted the finger and putting some 'umph' behind it.
"Whoa, mate, you need to calm down before you get a nosebleed. I was just taking the mickey out of you- I know you wouldn't jump into it with these guys again willingly, especially not with your wand."
"Tell that to the Venelegem Court." Iain said, darkly.
Ted sighed. "Seriously, how did you even get near those blokes again? After the first time I thought you'd put at least a couple bus stops between you and them, mainly with him barely get you out of jail time before with the self-defense charge. Now, it's-"
"Just shut up. I was walking home and they jumped me for my phone, alright? They didn't even recognize me, I think. Nothing like last time, and I didn't go fucking looking for it." Iain hissed witheringly. Ted got the hint and nodded, and sat against a concrete pillar abandoned in the yard beside Iain's patch of grass.
Iain didn't move, though. The night's events kept playing through his head on a loop, getting more vivid with each passing go; he couldn't see any way of doing it differently at the time, but now a million different options to escape the fight without using magic jumped out at him, and this only infuriated and saddened him more at his own recklessness.
Iain could hear it ring in his head. 'You've bollocksed it up again', Ted's favorite phrase to toss Iain's way, kept rattling around in his head cementing his feet to the floor. Had he really just had the final match before he was out for good? There's only so many times you can cry self-defense before other, more credible people have to start saying it for you, and when that's run its course…. Well, you're just shit out of luck then. And he'd pulled his wand in public on a muggle, jinxed him, and then scurried off; there's no way that guy's not going to run off to his other brute buddies and tell them what happened. And that asshole'll shoot me next time he sees me. No chat, just bang. If there is a next time. Fucking perfect. The probably wouldn't let him see Lily again after this- hell, if the lawmen got involved, he probably wouldn't see anyone again.
Ted jogged back over to Iain and waited, trying to decipher what was running through his head. He slowly circled him, prodding him with a finger like a child playfully poking at a sleeping pet.
"Come on. We'll figure it all out. We always do, right? Big Guy was meeting people about it before I came to get you, and he has that whole 'diplomatic immunity' thing going for him; He can toss some of that your way. Only good part about being in the States, I'd gather. Plus you look dreadful- if there was anyone down here you've effectively scared them all away with your Black Lagoon look."
Iain finally broke from his fugue, looking numbly at Teddy Lupin. His wiry frame, purposeful gait, what could only be described as mischievous swagger, and sly face with it's permanent smirk, as if Ted knew a joke that no one else had known and was dying to share it with you, always had a habit of warming the hardest of Iain's moods. Ted met his gaze and smiled warmly, patting the bigger man on the shoulder and leading him to the escalator.