A/N: This is a "what if" story—an attempt at taking canon and following one small change through new views of the world as the results cascade into a different path for Harry. I started this several years ago (which just goes to show how little I've been writing, as it's not that long), so the beginning may be a bit rougher than the end, but I chose to leave it as is rather than rewrite two thirds in an attempt to polish it. (This may be a sign I'm not a very good editor.)
I'll probably have the entirety posted within a week or so.
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Dawn tinted the horizon, already leeching away the night's coolness as Harry eased open the kitchen door and hefted a recycling bin over the stoop and out of range of the screen door's arc. Once outside he dragged it with less care to the curb, then turned to shuffle back inside, and stopped. Movement caught his eye in the shadows of the hedge beside the garden shed in the corner of the yard.
Harry looked around, then glanced warily at the Dursley house. Nothing else moved, so he skirted closer to the shed, trying to get a better glimpse of whatever was lurking near it. The shape seemed large for an animal, maybe as big as he was, and it cringed when Harry cautiously moved a branch to look closer.
"You okay?" he whispered, pulling his hand back. A weak hiss answered, and the figure huddled into itself even further.
Harry bit his lip, then carefully unlatched the shed door and pushed it open a few inches before creeping back into the house. The thing sounded hurt, and he could understand wanting to hide from the summer sun.
Trash and recycling pickup arrived and Harry got another couple hours' sleep before his aunt rose and sent him to bring in the empty bin, unaware he'd forgotten to set it out the evening before. Harry glanced at the shed as he passed by but didn't dare stop with his aunt glaring at him through the kitchen window.
The temperature that day reached punishing. Harry worked on his indoor chores at a glacial pace so he wouldn't get to the outdoor ones until after the sun was setting—better to finish late and get less sleep than melt into a shimmering puddle in the rose beds. Nor might his aunt monitor him as closely as usual when it was harder to see out.
A hiss greeted him when he slipped into the shed and cracked the door shut behind him, staying still as his eyes adjusted to the single line of afternoon light filtering in. The shed was crammed with various tools and gardening supplies that his aunt refused to store in the house, but eventually Harry made out an unfamiliar dark shape bundled in the barest corner.
"Hey," he whispered, crouching, without moving closer. "You hungry? I snitched one of the rolls Aunt Petunia's made for dinner."
He held it out, nearly insensitive to the warmth of the fresh bread soaking into his palm. The creature sniffed. A skeletal humanoid hand extended after a second and grasped his, turning it over and tugging weakly. Harry leaned closer, bemused, eyes straining to resolve shadows as the shape bent over the knuckle he'd scratched earlier climbing a tree to escape his cousin and... kissed it?
He hardly noticed a brief sting as his brain initially tried to interpret the liquid he felt as saliva because tongues were supposed to be wet and skin dry. Then it clicked, and Harry watched, mesmerized. Maybe it had lost blood when it was hurt, so it was getting more from him? He thought people in hospitals did that.
An engine rumbled and died in the driveway followed by a car door's slam. Harry jumped, jerking his hand back, and the creature started and growled.
"Uncle Vernon's home," Harry explained hurriedly, shoving the roll into its hand and brushing at the knees of his jeans. "I gotta go—stay quiet in here, okay?" He scurried back into the kitchen a second before his aunt returned from putting away his cousin's laundry and his uncle stumped into the foyer calling a greeting to his wife and son.
After dinner Harry started his outside chores, but his aunt and uncle sat out on the porch in the cooling air so he never dared to linger in the shed long enough to make them suspect anything was unusual. His aunt called him in at full dark and watched at the door while he put the tools away, then oversaw his efforts to clean himself up to her satisfaction before he was allowed to bed.
In the morning she made him start on his outside chores first since he hadn't finished them the day before, but it was bridge club day so she was too busy to do more than glance out the window every now and then with a brief scowl whenever she was in the kitchen refreshing drinks. Harry determined to work diligently despite the heat, hoping she would eventually lessen her supervision regularly.
There was litter caught in the street side of the hedge, which he collected and carried to the trash can. The first time he opened the shed door the creature in the corner hissed and flinched. Harry stepped inside and shut it behind him after a quick glance at the kitchen window, and as the light leaking in dimmed he saw the shape seem to relax. By touch he located a dirty tarp folded on a shelf and pulled it down, proffering it tentatively in the near-darkness.
"Use this to cover yourself?" he suggested. "I'll try not to come in too much, but I have to get stuff."
Something grasped the other end of the tarp; Harry let go and didn't hear it fall. He stood for a moment listening to plastic rustling, then when he'd waited as long as he dared whispered, "Bye," and slipped back outside, opening the door only just enough to squeeze through.
Most of Harry's morning passed weeding around his aunt's prized scraggly rose bushes. He worked barehanded despite the thorns, as usual, since the only pair of gardening gloves he'd ever found in the shed were too big to even stay on his hands. Around lunchtime he padded into the kitchen to retrieve the scant sandwich his aunt had set out for him, automatically moving to the sink to scrub first even though she wasn't there. Then he paused, staring at his scratched, dirty hands, and reached for the sandwich—then turned around again and ran the faucet for a moment anyway so it wouldn't look like he had disobeyed.
The tarp in the corner made no sound or movement when Harry slipped into the shed with his lunch, so he left the door just barely cracked so he could see a little as he sat down. "Hey. Need any more?" he whispered, holding out one bare blood-traced hand just short of actually touching the bundle.
He saw the thin hand appear, still unnaturally wizened, and strained his eyes to observe as the tarp rustled and sat up a little with an audible sniff. Harry had to fight the urge to giggle as cool papery skin ghosted all over his palm and fingers, suckling, bizarrely dry. When his hand was released Harry examined it in the line of light and grinned as he saw it was clean.
"Did you like the roll?" he asked, peering around, and frowned when he saw it discarded whole on the floor. "I've got a sandwich—you like chipped beef any better?"
The creature let out a short hiss and seized his other hand instead when he hesitantly proffered the meal. Harry let out a single unprepared giggle as the tickling recommenced, shifting the sandwich to his cleaned hand, but his attention had been diverted. Surely the thing needed to eat, didn't it? It had been hiding in the shed for over a day, and acted hurt—hurt things needed food to heal, didn't they?
Well, he reasoned slowly, if it had lost blood and was getting more from him maybe that was all it needed to heal, but wasn't it hungry? Maybe it only ate meat—but it didn't want the chipped beef, so maybe it only ate vegetables.
Harry remembered once when he'd gotten sick, and hadn't had the energy to eat for what felt like days. Maybe that was it—it needed to heal first.
Harry looked between the roll and sandwich and decided the sandwich would probably last longer, so he carefully replaced one with the other and swallowed the roll in three bites. "I have to get back to work," he sighed when the creature released his other hand, this time not even managing a smile as he observed both looking just-scrubbed. "Better cover up."
The tarp curled up, and Harry left, squinting as the sunlight hit his face after the cool gloom in the windowless shed.
Later in the afternoon as he was getting a drink from the hose it struck him that he'd never offered the thing water. He had to return the hose to the shed every time he was done with it, so the creature couldn't have used it during the night. Maybe that was why it was so dry...
"Hey," he whispered as he poked his head into the shed, concern overriding the possibility of his aunt seeing. "You thirsty?"
The tarp stirred and sniffed as he tugged the hose nozzle inside, looking for something to substitute for a cup. He found a rusty pail he'd never used before, and filled it carefully before backing out. "Sorry. See you later."
No punishment issued for the brief derivation from orders, so eventually Harry decided his aunt hadn't seen and resolved to replace the water as often as he could. He felt tireder than usual by the end of the day, but didn't have the opportunity to snitch anything extra from dinner or sneak out to the shed again as his aunt made up for his earlier freedom.
The sandwich was untouched when Harry slipped in the next day to add a few reedy carrots, and the water level in the pail looked to be not much diminished. He used the opportunity to lean against the closed door for a few minutes and catch his breath, trying to imagine he felt the sweat layered between his clothes and skin evaporate in the coolness.
The carrots also stayed where he'd left them all day. Finally Harry purloined a wedge of cheese from the icebox right after his cousin raided it, unable to come up with any other kind of food group the creature might rely on, then had to sneak straight out to the shed with it as his imagination circled around how fast it might start to smell and expose his theft.
That evening one of his aunt's friends rang her up for what Harry determined by eavesdropping was likely to be a marathon gossiping session, which he gratefully took advantage of. He felt like just crawling into bed and sleeping for the whole night and possibly next day, but worry sent him creeping past the living room where his uncle and cousin lounged in front of the television and outside.
The tarp hardly stirred as Harry cracked the shed door behind him and sank to the floor. Faint moonlight and the glow from the nearest streetlamps illuminated the tiny pile of food that nothing more than some ants seemed to want.
"You're not doing so good, huh," Harry whispered, feeling even wearier with discouragement. "Would more blood help?"
He extended one hand, even though the idea made him a little uncomfortable since he didn't have any new scratches this time—it would have to bite him or something. The creature's pale fingers appeared and loosely circled his wrist, drawing it under the edge of the tarp, and Harry relaxed as he heard and felt a steady rasp of softish dry tongue strokes. The prick of what was probably fangs hardly seemed to merit an afterthought.
"Can't you even try eating?" he asked once it released his hand, apparently finished. "You'd probably feel stronger..."
He tried offering a carrot, but the thin hand smacked it back to the floor and then grabbed his wrist again, tugging it under for another sting—and then let go. Harry backed up against the door, rubbing his wrist absently as he tried to figure out its meaning.
Blood and water were at least both liquids, so he'd thought maybe blood could somehow substitute for water, or maybe there was water in blood and that was why blood was liquid. But could it possibly substitute for water and food? If food turned into blood then how come he ever had to go to the bathroom?
Well, maybe it was just different for the creature than it was for him. "Is that all?" he asked, still uncertain. "You really only need blood—not food or water or anything?"
The tarp didn't respond, but that was at least not a no. Harry glanced at the stale food and kept reasoning. He thought maybe he was tireder than usual because he'd been losing blood. He knew more food would make him feel better, and if he felt stronger he could keep giving blood, which would hopefully make the creature stronger too.
"Okay, then, if you're really sure... if I have this you can bite me again if you want?"
Again the tarp made no objection. Harry hesitated a moment, conscience slightly troubled by the lack of agreement, but another glance at the currently wasted food caved him. None of it had gone too off to digest, even the cheese, though it was a little ripe; he dusted each piece clean of dirt and bugs and ate as slowly as he could to to fill his stomach as much as possible. Once he finished he offered his wrist once more. The creature stirred, sniffed, and suckled for a moment before subsiding with a rustle of plastic.
"Hope it's really helping," Harry whispered. "G'night."
He carried another pilfered handful with him the next evening when he snuck in, which he sat and ate before offering his hand. "I figure if anybody notices me coming out here all the time and I have food they'll just think I'm hiding a dog or something. You think?"
The creature offered a sound that might have been a conversational grunt distorted by Harry's wrist in its mouth. After they both finished feeding they sat in silence for a little while, tarp and boy.
"I could call you Rover," Harry finally murmured. "If you wanna go with dog."
For a moment there was no response; then, with a minimal rustle, the creature underneath the plastic slowly pushed it back. Harry stared at a shape his brain insisted must be a person, even though he didn't think any human could have such smooth spindly hands or eat blood instead of food. The sort-of-person stared back with liquid dark eyes, half-sitting, leaning against the walls in the corner as though it needed the support with legs drawn up in front of it. It was weak. The pale form was mottled all over with some dark color Harry couldn't distinguish in the dim light, and had strange hollows that didn't fit on a human body that couldn't all be the effect of shadows, as if something had taken chunks out or caved in the bones underneath and just left it that way. It had to hurt, but he saw no sign of pain on its face as they looked at each other.
"Okay," Harry whispered. "Not Rover."
A car passed by on the street outside, the beams of its headlights cutting through the hedge and cracked door of the shed. The creature withdrew underneath the tarp, subsiding once more into a featureless shadow lined with dust. Harry waited until the bass of the car's stereo faded and crept away back to the house.
He limped into the shed the next evening, and sat down heavily against the door frame so his weight wouldn't push the door shut. "Hey," he mumbled, letting his eyelids droop as he carefully stretched his legs out in the creature's direction since that was the clearest space. "Sorry, I didn't get anything tonight."
The tarp rustled. Cool fingers skimmed his bare foot; Harry grimaced, then leaned his head back and let his eyes close fully. "Dudley decided it'd be funny to slam a door on it."
A second set of fingers joined the first tracing the faint discolored patch on his skin that indicated the development of a bruise. A moment later his foot stopped wanting to twitch under a familiar rasp, rasp and Harry was vaguely surprised by the following sting. Well, maybe bruises had to do with blood; when he skinned his knees they would often bruise as well as bleed.
When the creature finished Harry was curious enough to draw his foot up to examine. He blinked slowly when he saw no trace of discoloration left, only four tiny spots like from a cat's claws, almost as if there wasn't any bruise. Tentatively, he flexed it. "It doesn't hurt anymore!"
Maybe there wouldn't be any bruise now.
The creature made a short purring sound, both hands and a hint of its face visible under the edge of the tarp, so impulsively Harry moved to pull his shirt down one shoulder. "You wanna do another?"
He wound up half lying down much as the creature had while it bent over him, exploratory fingers a prelude to stroke and suck. Harry relaxed, getting sleepier and sleepier under the unfamiliar attention while it fed. It almost felt like being cared for.
When he started to heave himself back up once it was done, a groan escaped him at the effort necessary. He hurt less, but his head spun, and his body felt so heavy... Harry slumped in place, panting shallowly, and wished he could just lay down and sleep where he was for the night. Then he blinked, trying to make his eyes focus, and stared uncertainly at the creature crouched in front of him with one arm extended.
"I don't understand," he whispered.
The creature pulled its arm back, then in one swift motion pierced its wrist with one talon-nail and extended it again. Dark blood welled up just under Harry's nose.
Harry opened his mouth, hesitating; the creature moved its arm up to his lips and then there was blood in Harry's mouth so he swallowed, trying to figure out how to lap at the wound so it would stop bleeding like the creature did for him while his brain teetered on being disgusted or not.
After a moment Harry decided the taste wasn't really all that bad, like when he bit his own lip, even though his instincts couldn't quite adjust to blood in his mouth not meaning he was hurt, especially so much blood. After another moment the creature pulled its arm away. When Harry straightened it didn't take nearly as much effort as before.
The creature returned to the corner under the half-drawn tarp, and Harry leaned back against the doorway and rested since his aunt hadn't called him in to go to bed yet. Blood must be like food somehow after all, he decided. Or maybe he just felt better because he'd gotten back some blood after giving some away? But then how could the creature get better... maybe, by giving him a little, he'd be strong enough to give more than that back... so maybe it made sense. They were helping each other.
But his small pleasure faded as he watched how slowly the creature moved as it settled. Even he'd never had to be that careful when he was hurt. He wasn't helping it as much as it had helped him.
"I heard there was a gang wandering around a few nights ago," he whispered, while the tarp rustled forward until the only facial feature he could make out was a faint gleam of an eye looking back. "Everybody's been complaining about hoodlums since those new people moved in on Wisteria Walk. Uncle Vernon told the police they're selling weeds, but the police said they can't do anything. Aunt Petunia hardly lets Dudley outside anymore."
He paused. After a moment he was answered by a soft hiss.
"Maybe you could suck out Dudley," Harry muttered, then sighed. "I better go. I'm sorry—I'll figure something out, okay?"
All the next day Harry worked on how he could find more blood for the creature. He couldn't search while the sun was up or his aunt would notice him shirking, but he didn't want to sneak out for so long at night and risk her discovering he could jimmy open the lock on his door unless it was an emergency. By the time dusk had fallen he'd figured out what he was going to do, and lingered on purpose in the yard after dinner until his aunt noticed and marched up to the screen door.
"Time for bed, boy, get inside," she said sharply.
Harry combed his fingers through his hair and concentrated very hard on sounding convincing. "I found a stink bug in the roses earlier, Aunt, I think one landed on me."
His aunt shuddered clearly in the kitchen light behind her. "Make absolutely sure you're clean before you take a step through this door! And don't disturb the rest of us. I'll get pesticide in the morning."
"Yes, Aunt." Harry ducked his head meekly and kept combing his hair, to hide the slightly giddy grin he couldn't suppress. A short time later the last light in the house except his aunt and uncle's bedroom one snapped off, and he straightened, took a deep breath, and padded out of the yard to the street.
Roadkill turned out to be far rarer than he'd hoped. By the time most of the neighborhood was dark except for streetlamps he still hadn't found anything, and his aching feet finally made him trudge back toward Privet Drive even though he was reluctant to give up without success. Maybe there'd be a dead bird or squirrel a cat had gotten in the trees around the playground at the end of the street. Maybe he could convince his aunt to let him make a nightly routine of searching for stink bugs... but then he should have done just that and gone straight in earlier so she might not suspect.
A long shadow crossed his as Harry reached another lamp and he looked up, startled, to see an adult falling into step a pace away in the street beside him.
"It's awfully late for someone your age to be out; you live nearby, kid?"
The man sounded friendly, but Harry wasn't sure whether he believed that. He hunched his shoulders a little rather than replying.
"You aren't alone, are you? Parents ought to be more careful these days. Were you locked out? Or are you running away from home?"
Increasingly uncomfortable, Harry finally mumbled, "Going home," and drifted closer to the grassy edge of the sidewalk as he walked. The man drifted closer to the curb. Harry wished he'd noticed him in time to have gone another way and kept the man from noticing him.
"Why don't we go together, then. Is your house very close? Might serve your parents right to worry a little for losing you like this. You want to get a fizzy drink or something to eat before you head back?"
The man smelled strange and kept smiling at him. Harry glanced at the nearest house and recognized that he was only a few houses down and a street away from Four Privet—he could cut through and be almost right back in his own yard.
"Here's home," he muttered, hoping that would make the man go away, and turned around to head for the gap in between the two nearest houses.
"Now just a minute," the man said, still sounding friendly, but years of living with his cousin made Harry duck instinctively just in time to dodge the rustle of an arm reaching to grab him and he bolted, tired feet suddenly forgotten in a wash of fear as he heard the man chase him. Some stranger was chasing him! And he had no chance of outrunning hide get home quiet help...
The man had trouble wriggling through the small shadowed space Harry was already familiar with but he still heard the man pounding behind him as he raced into his yard, barely catching himself from slamming into the shed door as he fumbled to open the latch. He fell inside just as he saw the man enter the yard and kicked the door shut anyway, then huddled in the darkness, heart beating so fast he could hear his own harsh pants painfully clearly. He wasn't hidden now he was trapped—
The door jerked open. Harry cowered to the floor and kicked blindly in the tall figure's direction as it started to bend over him—and then in a blur it was gone. For a second Harry froze, unable to process what had happened; then he struggled to sit up. In the grass just outside the shed the man jerked and twitched, with a smaller darker form curled atop him slurping faintly and a heavy hanging smell of blood.
For a few endless seconds Harry watched to be sure the man didn't get up and come at him again, and then he kept staring, hypnotized, because he couldn't look away even though he didn't want to see. His mind seemed to have gone numb. At some point he pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, still watching, until the man stopped moving at all and the creature finally sat up and moved off it, picking its teeth clean with the nails and fingertips of one hand. He looked at the creature then rather than at the body. It looked much healthier than before, maybe even perfectly healthy: a normal human shape and coloring, with easy movements.
Harry took a deep shuddering breath and couldn't quite convince his muscles to unlock enough to let him get up or move. "I don't know if I can do that again if you need more."
The creature glanced back at him, its face looking strangely featureless in the moonlight, then finished with its teeth and licked its fingers clean too, thorough and precise, like a cat washing its paw. Harry watched and felt better by the time it put its hand down, rose, and almost flowed to the shed door, crouching again beside him. It pierced its wrist again and offered it to him.
Harry swallowed several times, hardly noticing the taste, then took another deep breath, and this time his legs worked. He got to his feet, not nearly as gracefully. "Okay, so... what now?"
He tried to think about it—to imagine his aunt and uncle's reaction when they woke up in the morning and found a... body in their yard. He gulped. It was hard to try to keep thinking about what he could possibly do to somehow make this a little bit better for him, much worse than the unknown of what the stranger wanted by chasing him.
After a few minutes only one idea remained in his head and therefore became the plan by necessity. Hands shaking only a little, Harry edged over to the dead man, trying very hard not to see the pale shrunken paper of his skin or the messy rip in his neck, and groped through his pockets until he found a wallet. A quick glance confirmed there was money inside. He stuffed it into one pocket of his oversized pants as he backed up and turned away.
"Come on," he murmured to the creature, staring directly at a streetlight for a second until his eyes burned. "Let's... let's go."
He felt far safer than he would have otherwise entering the street again now that he had someone with him who had so easily taken care of a grown man. He also felt better the farther they got from his aunt and uncle and the body they hadn't found yet. If they could get far enough away to never be found again, then they'd be okay.
Even after the adrenaline that must have helped wore off, only a dull ache began to slow his steps instead of real soreness. Harry pressed on without thought. The creature paced him with no sign of discomfort, occasionally drifting off in one direction or another but never so far that Harry lost the sense of its presence.
He was at a street corner almost to the end of the neighborhood when another stranger appeared close by on the cross street. Harry stiffened, this time without planning to run, while the creature slid to his side with a low hiss.
"So this is where you'd got off to," the man said. "I almost decided you must have been killed. Well? What do you call him?"
Harry looked from one to the other uncertainly. It didn't sound like the man was talking to him, but he wasn't sure who was supposed to answer. The creature hissed again. Harry glanced at the man to find him looking right back.
"What are you doing out at night walking willingly with a vampire?"
Harry shrugged a little. The man nodded, as though that was an answer that made perfect sense.
"Travel is always either to or from. Which has brought you out now?"
Harry glanced at the vampire again. Despite small signs of irritation, it seemed to be mostly ignoring the man, which suggested he wasn't a threat. Especially if the two knew each other.
He definitely didn't want to tell some stranger they were going away from the Dursleys and risk being dragged right back...
"To London," he murmured, raising his chin a little.
The man nodded again. "A city everyone finds reason to visit at some point. Well!" He snapped his fingers, startling the vampire, then waved his hand at it. "Taller, now; one of you will need to pass as an adult on the trains. Lazy creature."
The vampire grumbled, but straightened, and when Harry glanced up at it it had the shape of a grown man, but still felt like his friend. He glanced back to the stranger who seemed, strangely, to be helping them.
"You'll have your fare already, of course," the man commented, "judging by the bulge in your pocket."
Harry fumbled the wallet out, almost surprised to be reminded of it, and concentrated on determining how much money was in it. It was easier to not think about where the wallet had just been now that there was another stranger more important to pay attention to.
He transferred all the cash back to his pocket, then hesitated over what to do with the wallet—he didn't want it anywhere near him. Would it be all right to just toss it away?
"If you've done with it?" the man said, and when Harry glanced at him extended his hand. After another glance to the vampire, Harry gave the man the wallet. He examined it in the streetlight impartially. "Good leather. Not something you want to leave lying around for someone else to find. They'd likely give it to the police. I assume the owner won't be showing up to reclaim it."
Harry started to tense, but the man looked at the vampire, with an expression that seemed almost tolerantly amused. "You are going to be one for causing trouble, aren't you?"
"Jonny," Harry offered, almost surprising himself with the sound of his own voice.
The man nodded. "And—? Have you decided what you'll be called?"
Harry blinked. The man folded his hands behind his back as he started strolling along. Harry followed without really noticing, and the man matched Harry's pace.
"When people travel to, they usually leave behind a from. Some more vigorously than others. To leave something like this—" he gestured with the wallet, "—it's easiest to leave the who that was involved as well as the where. So—what would you like to be called?"
Harry walked slower, absorbing and considering the man's suggestion. He didn't think he minded the idea of not being Harry anymore—Harry who was Boy to his aunt and uncle, Freak to his cousin, and Nobody in school—especially since Harry would be looked for as soon as the neighborhood found the dead man, but he'd never thought of other names for himself. The only ones he could think of belonged to neighbors or classmates. Finally he took a deep breath and asked, "What—what do you think?"
The man looked thoughtful. "Clever. Not something thought of yourself, likely related to your old life."
Harry blinked. He hadn't thought like that, really, but the man sounded approving, so he said nothing.
"Will."
Harry considered. After a moment he nodded slowly.
"Now, here's another bit of cleverness Will works well with, as it's usually short for William. Make yours Willem, W-i-l-l-e-m, and spell it for those people and places you care to be known, and where you aren't—let them think you're William, and their records will be of a person that does not exist."
Harry blinked again, not sure he understood, but nodded anyway. The man nodded more briskly. "That settles itinerary and identity, and you'll find it easy enough in London to continue as you've begun—should be able to do quite well for yourselves. Most ordinary residents may not know of vampires, but the police in such large cities usually follow an unspoken rule of not looking very hard into the disappearances of the kind of people who won't be missed."
The man looked at him piercingly, and Harry nodded again to show he understood. It didn't bother him too much what had happened to the stranger who chased him, but he wouldn't want it to happen to any of the neighbors on Privet Drive. The man nodded back again, looking satisfied.
"And in such a large city there are enough of such people to keep yourself and partner supplied with blood and money. So. Here is your plan; will it do?"
Harry considered carefully. It all sounded sort of murky, but it was basically what he'd been thinking himself before they'd met the stranger, except more detailed. And it sounded better than living with the Dursleys even if there wasn't a body in their yard. After a moment he asked, looking up at his and the vampire's new benefactor, "Do you know where we can stay?"
.
Harry lifted a baseball cap out of the bin and tried it on, turning it backwards when it fell into his face, and grinned a little at his reflection. Suddenly he had almost no hair and an actual forehead, with his scar visible on one side until he straightened the cap. He didn't need any kind of hat, but he still relished having the power to buy what he wanted besides just food. After a moment of playing with a cowboy-style hat he dropped it back in the bin and retrieved the cap, then took a deep breath and headed to the till near the front door.
"Can I get these please?" he asked the lady behind the counter, holding up the cap and a pair of thick socks with no holes or dirty spots on them—a lucky find.
The lady peered down at him and picked up his things, pressing buttons on the till, so Harry relaxed a little. "Your mum isn't with you, dear?" she asked.
"She's finishing up next door. I've got to meet her in five minutes," Harry explained quickly. "She gave me some money though—is this enough?"
He offered a few one-pound coins, and the lady smiled and hummed a little in approval as she took them. He'd learned grownups stopped being concerned about him being alone if he mentioned specific times, even if he had no way to tell when five minutes had passed.
"There you are, dear, now run and catch up with your mum." The lady handed him a bag and his change. Harry took out his new cap and put it on, smiled shyly at her, and trotted out of the secondhand shop toward the "next door" which he passed right by. The grocery was his next stop, an almost daily one since he couldn't carry much. The socks went into one of his pockets and the now-empty bag into a trash can before he entered, and when he got out dusk had fallen enough that he knew Jonny would be awake.
Once in the attic of an empty flat they were currently staying in (it was, apparently, very easy for vampires to pick locks with their talon-nails) Harry transferred his purchases to the backpack that was his closet and cupboard. He and Jonny never stayed in one place long and usually moved on a whim. The vampire appeared from a corner under the eaves as Harry was changing into older clothes like what he used to get from his cousin, except for his new socks and cap, and then they set out into the city.
For all that they did find enough bad people interested in a little boy alone, there were also a lot who seemed genuinely concerned that Harry had to discourage from helping him find his mother or calling his parents. He wasn't sure if he'd just become a better liar through practice or if sharing his friend's blood somehow made him more convincing as well as stronger, but either way he'd yet to get into any real trouble that Jonny couldn't help get him out of. The only difficulty in the vampire playing adult figure for him was its lack of speech.
Harry ate just before they left, and was getting hungry again by the time they found a good prospect.
"Come here, child," an oily voice crooned behind him.
Harry only turned his head a little to try to spot the person, and then he was turning around and stumbling directly to the man, dragged by some kind of force that didn't make sense because nobody was touching him. Harry struggled to find a way out of the invisible influence while a part of his mind yelled for Jonny.
Harry came to a stop in front of the man, vaguely wondering why he was holding a stick, and the man suddenly gasped and straightened while staring at him. "Harry Potter."
If Harry had been able to move, he would have started, and run. He'd gotten so used to thinking of himself as Will that hearing his old name was a shock—and how did this stranger know?
Sweaty fingers knocked off his cap and thumbed roughly over his scar. Greed suffused the face breathing too close to his own. Harry forgot his flash of fear in an urge to duck and kick instead. Then Jonny fell on the man with an efficient bite that cut off his ability to scream before he'd gotten the sound started and Harry wrenched himself, determinedly, until he broke free.
Jonny had settled onto his meal, slurping softly with an occasional gurgle of escaping blood from the torn throat. Harry crouched beside him and gingerly pulled the stick out of the man's hand, wondering if it could somehow explain what had just happened to him.
It was very smooth for a stick; maybe polished, even. Small impressions in the wood around the bottom made him wonder if maybe that part was supposed to be a handle. When he tried touching the opposite, narrower tip, his finger jerked as if from static electricity even though he saw no spark in the darkness.
Harry rose with the stick in hand and looked around. A dented old tin can had fallen beside a dumpster in the alley just behind them. Harry pointed the stick at it like the man had done to him and concentrated, hard, on Come here.
The can didn't move. Harry tried harder, tried picturing it rolling, picturing an invisible string running from the tip of the stick to the can and reeling it in. He tried ordering it mentally, coaxing it, and wanting it as much as he'd ever wished for one of the toys his cousin got that he wasn't allowed to touch. MovemovemovemoveMOVE!
The can wobbled. Harry almost dropped the stick, then quickly tightened his grip and watched the can wobble again in disbelief. He looked at Jonny. "Did you see that?"
The vampire ignored him. Harry fingered the stick and waited for his friend to finish feeding. He almost forgot to retrieve the man's wallet before they left, but couldn't find a wallet anyway—only a little bag in an inner pocket that was full of unfamiliar heavy coins.
Harry exchanged a glance with Jonny, a little unnerved again though he didn't want to admit it. Would any shopkeepers take such money? And the mystery of the stick was solved—sort of—but how had the man known what his old name was?
He couldn't figure it out himself, and it bothered him too much to just forget about it. There was only one person he could think of to ask, even though he usually just left the money-emptied wallets without seeing anyone.
Jonny's friend just shrugged when he told him what the person had called him. "Perhaps you bear a resemblance. Did you keep the stick?"
Harry pulled it out from his sleeve and held it up. He probably ought to tie it to his arm somehow if he decided he didn't want to lose it.
"Ahhh, yes," the man said with a smile. "If you have the ability to use them, wands could be very useful to you."
"It didn't do much," Harry confessed hesitantly, fingering his new stick—wand—again. "Not as much as it did on me."
"Practice," the man advised. "The person who used it before likely trained in it and had it specifically fitted to him. You do not have such advantages, but this wand has already been ingrained for years to the previous owner's use. Thus it should be easier for you to make it do the same things."
Harry bit his lip. "What if he only used it for a couple things?"
The man shrugged again. "Collect more of them—different persons will have used theirs differently. You may find some wands easier for you to use than others."
Harry nodded slowly, looking at the wand. He liked the idea of being able to use it, or another like it, to do impossible things. But... "How do I find more people who have them?"
"True. They are far fewer than the ordinary masses." The man tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Patience, persistence, good fortune. Where you see one there may, perhaps, eventually be another. Your friend might not find it impossible to track them to usual haunts. Perhaps you may even be able to draw them out with the possibility of being this Harry Potter."
Harry wanted to squirm, but held himself still while he considered the option. He didn't like the idea of wand-carrying people somehow knowing his name, but... he wasn't really Harry anymore. Harry was who had lived with the Dursleys and always gotten picked on, not who fed himself with Jonny and had a friend who not only stuck with him but even protected him. He liked being Will much better than he ever had being Harry. But maybe he could pretend to be Harry, sort of, let any wand-carriers think he was, and then let Jonny take care of them like he did everybody else.
"What about this?" He held out one of the shiny silver ones of the strange coins. The man plucked it from his fingers and raised it close to his face to scrutinize.
"Not valuable to you, except possibly in trade to a coin dealer or jeweler, who would certainly ask questions. The metal could be genuine." He passed it back to Harry, who put it away carefully in a pocket. "You may eventually discover a shop that caters to such currency. If you like I'll keep it somewhere safe for you."
Harry considered, then nodded, and handed over the rest of the coins from the pouch. They'd get too heavy to carry around himself if he and Jonny found anyone with more of them.
"Thanks," he murmured, since he was pretty sure it was polite.
The man waved it off as the strange money disappeared into his coat. "The sun will come up in a few hours. You'll want to be well sheltered before then."
Harry nodded and trotted away, Jonny falling in on the roof above him. It had been a long night; he was as ready as his friend to turn in for the day.
.