After a long haitus, I'm finally writing again. Style may have changed a bit, pretty much uneditted. We'll see how this goes.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Prompt: HP x SH where they're either related or Harry's found during third year.
In hind sight, he should have taken a bus.
Instead, Harry manages to beg a ride to London from a stranger, gets dropped off in an alley near an orphanage, and is promptly roped into a hostage situation. One where he accidentally catches sight of an armed man forcing a kid into a blinking, bulky vest.
"Hey! What are you –" is all he manages to get out before another man covers his mouth from behind. Harry immediately tries to reach his wand, but his arms are forced behind his back. A large hand dives into his pockets and throws the stick away. Harry kicks his assailant and receives a backhand across the face. His glasses fly onto the sidewalk and are crushed underfoot.
Harry opens his mouth to scream, and feels the cold press of metal against his neck. "Not a word," the man said. Harry clicks his mouth shut.
He is then dragged into the building.
His assailant regards him dispassionately. "Shouldn't have gotten involved, kid," he said, tossing him next to a hiccupping eight-year-old with snot smeared across his face. The vest, Harry saw, wasn't on him yet.
It was in the hands of the man in front of them. "Look, kid," he said, addressing the eight-year-old, "This thing here is a bomb. If you flail like that, it will blow up on you, and we don't want that now, do we?" The kid only cries harder, and shrinks back when the man approached.
Harry does the reckless thing; he steps in front of the kid.
The man snorts at him. "What, you want to take his place kid?" he said.
"Yes," Harry said before he can think about it. The man pauses, then shrugs. "Suit yourself," he said, and roughly straps the vest onto his body. A mic is hooked onto his face, and a pager stuck in his hand. "Do whatever the pager tells you to do, and you might not die," the man growls.
"I'll just get rid of this one then," said the second man from behind him, and the kid begins screaming in earnest.
"Stop it!" Harry shouts reflexively, and gets slapped for his troubles. The screaming quiets down though, so he continues. "The kid stays or, or, I'll blow us all up!" With that he grips the wires on the vest, and the man curses.
The other, fortunately, steps away from the kid. The men regard him warily now, and Harry's hands are sweaty, but he stands his ground. The wires are a bit slick, and he's terrified he might accidentally yank on them by accident. It takes all he has not to tremble.
He doesn't want to die. But he's not thinking about it.
Finally, one of the men snorts. "Kid's got guts, I'll give him that." With that, he urges his partner out the door despite the other's protests. Harry hears "How the hell did you forget the tranquilizer –" "It was your turn to restock! –" before the door clicks shut and locks.
Harry collapses. There's a single window in the surprisingly small room, more of a closet, and when he squints he can see rooftops dotted with moonlight. The kid continues to sob quietly, but when Harry moves in his direction he scoots to the far side of the room.
Right, he's wearing a bomb.
Harry half-wishes his magic will kick in and whisk him away, but his accidental magic hadn't worked up ever since he got his wand, and a few minutes later a red dot appears on his vest. He knows from Dudley's games that it's for aiming guns.
The pager conveniently shows the time. It's 2am, he's blown up his aunt, run away from home, got kidnapped, and lost both his wand and his glasses. Even if he's found, he'll be arrested and expelled. If he isn't found, he'll die.
Harry settles down, and waits.
"Ten"
"Nine"
"Eight"
"Seven"
"Six"
"Five"
"Four"
"Three"
"Two"
"The Van Buren Supernova!"
After the SWAT team removed the vest, Harry is ushered directly to the hospital despite his protests. He's wrapped in a blanket, and someone had stuck a lollipop in his hand. The kid was in a different car, and had emitted another level of wailing when the police showed up. He didn't even know his name.
He's feeling – numb. Or something. The police say he's in shock.
He sits there for hours, as nurses check over his body and mutter 'malnutrition' and 'underdeveloped bone structure' under their breathes, and the police collect his statement and then try to get his identity. He refuses to give his last name; no way are the Durley's picking him up from here.
He's partway through a pudding cup and debating how to escape the hospital to collect his belongings when he hears a commotion in the hallway, and two beds are rushed by. Both of the people on them are singed; one has curly hair, the other is blond.
And that's it for now! Reviews please!