Chapter 2

Harry barely kept himself from dumping the pilot on the floor when they arrived. Harry had never been able to land smoothly after portkeys, but he was improving. At least he no longer landed flat on his face.

With a quiet grunt, Harry lugged his armload over to the sofa, laid him down, and tried to arrange him comfortably. Stretching, he attempted to relieve the tension in his muscles. No good. Ouch!

Sighing, Harry turned his attention back to his guest, a bit concerned that he had not regained consciousness while Harry was pushing and pulling him around. Finding the release on the bubble helmet, Harry broke the seal and eased the bulky item off. After getting his first good look at the boy, Harry felt a strange protectiveness in his heart.

The boy in front of him looked to be about fourteen with messy chocolate brown hair and vaguely oriental features. Even asleep though, there was a sense of tension around him that Harry recognized. The boy was a soldier.

Shaking his head in disappointment and sadness, Harry searched for a way to get him out of that flight suit. After a couple of minute, Harry figured it out and started pulling bulky material off the boys thin frame. Tossing the yellow material aside, Harry surveyed the kid. Dressed in just black spandex biking shorts and a green tank top, the boy looked even younger.

With his worry over the boy's continued unconsciousness climbing, Harry fingered his wand. He really shouldn't, since the boy was probably a muggle, but Harry needed to get a better idea of his condition now!

Slipping the holly wand from his sleeve, Harry gently whispered the diagnostic spell Madame Pomphrey had taught him. The results that came up had Harry staring wide-eyed at the boy laid out on the sofa. No wonder he was out of it; he had cracked almost every bone in his body!

Harry dashed into the master bathroom to grab his potions, thankful that the diagnostic had also revealed nominal magic levels in the boy's blood. It wouldn't have been enough to get him into Hogwarts, but it was enough for him to be able to take some Skele-gro and a pain potion. Since those were the only things that Harry had with him, he was thanking Merlin than he had been wrong about the boy being a muggle.

Returning to the living room, he was please to see the boy had shifted a little. Then the thought that if the boy came to he would be feeling all those broken bones intruded, and Harry swiftly moved to the boy's side. Uncorking the pain potion, Harry lifted the vial to the boy's lips. Rubbing the boy's throat, Harry got the two potions down his patient, and followed them with a glass of water to wash away the horrible flavour. Thankfully none of the breaks were serious, so the Skele-gro would be enough to fix them as long as he didn't move around too much.

Sitting back on his heels, Harry waited for the boy to wake up, knowing that, while effective, Skele-gro was not the most comfortable sensation in the world.

When his patient groaned slightly and his eyes fluttered slightly, Harry leaned forward. "Hey, wake up. Are you all right?"

Harry had only a glimpse of confused cobalt blue eyes before the boy bolted off the sofa and adopted a defensive stance against the wall with one hand over his face. "Who are you? Did you see?"

Harry looked at him in confusion for a moment. How did he move like that with the pain he must be in? "If you mean your face, then yes. I found you in the surf outside of the city. I've done what I can to help you, but it needs some more time to finish working. You really shouldn't be moving around while the... medicines are working." Harry could see the suspicion growing in those narrowed blue eyes.

"You're British." It wasn't really a question, but Harry nodded his agreement anyway. "Who are you?" the boy demanded again.

Heero stared at the boy who was still kneeling beside the sofa, his hands resting on his knees in plain sight. The boy looked to be a year or so older than himself, but he was still rather short with wild black hair and bright green eyes. "Who are you?"

The boy looked nervous for a moment, then said, "I'm called Evan Jameson. I just moved here a couple of days ago."

Something about that seemed off to Heero. "You're lying," he growled as he crouched lower, his free hand slipping toward his hidden holster.

The boy cringed, "Not exactly. That is the name I'm known by here. My real name is Harry James Potter. My mother's maiden name was Evans. There are... certain people that I do not wish to find me, so I adopted the name to throw them off."

Heero cocked his head as he looked at the young man sitting on the floor. He could feel the truth of the boy's words, confusing though they were. "Why are they after you?" The boy didn't look like a criminal or a soldier, so why would someone be chasing him?

The boy snorted in disgust, "Because they're a bunch of backstabbing gits that want to control my life. They want a sacrificial lamb to be lead to the slaughter." Harry shrugged, "I disagreed."

Heero eyed the boy carefully. He was being truthful, but there were still huge blanks in that explanation. "What do you want with me?" he finally demanded.

Harry sighed heavily as he sat back and pulled his knees up. Propping his arms on his bent knees, Harry explained, "I don't want anything from you. I just wanted to help when I saw you caught in the surf. Merlin, is it so difficult a concept for someone to care for someone other than themselves without wanting something in return? I didn't know who you were. Hell, I still don't know your name."

Harry stared up at the boy's intense eyes, willing him to see his sincerity. Suddenly the boy straightened up from his crouch and dropped that hand that he had been trying to shield his face with.

"Heero," he said suddenly.

"What?" Harry asked in bewilderment.

"My name is Heero," he clarified.

"Heero," Harry tried the name out as he watched his guest relax minutely. It seemed to fit him, but Harry got the idea that the boy's name was Heero about as much as his was Evan. It might be part of his name, but it didn't tell the whole story. In any event, Harry would take what he could get however much he wished he knew what was going on.

"Well, then, Heero, I wasn't kidding when I said you shouldn't move around too much while the p... medicines are working. You really should lie down, or at least sit down," Harry amended when he saw a stubborn light growing in Heero's eyes.

Heero seemed to weigh his options before pulling a chair over to the corner of the room and sitting down, all the while keeping Harry in sight.

Repressing another sigh, Harry slowly stood, and though Heero stiffened, he didn't react negatively.

"Um, why don't I go get you something to eat? I don't have a lot in the house, but I can make some sandwiches." As Harry turned away, he paused, "Look I know you don't know me and can't trust me, but I'd like to help if I can." Looking back at the suspicious blue eyes, Harry continued, "I know what it is like to be used. To be turned into a weapon whether you want it or not. If you want to leave, I won't stop you, but the offer will still be open."

Silently cursing his overly developed 'hero complex', Harry strode off toward the kitchen not noticing the stunned expression on Heero's face.