To begin anew
Two people slowly walked up to him, both of them buzzing with some form of magic that, fortunately, didn't feel as utterly vile to him as the dark presence he had felt earlier.
The one with a clear magical aura was dressed in dark clothes and he approached Harry as a warrior might, tall, unyielding and with a hint of wariness in the tenseness of his frame. The other person seemed far younger – there was not much cautiousness in the boy's gaze, instead he looked curious.
It was also instantly obvious when this bright-eyed young man noticed the tears on Harry's face, because he stepped forward without caution, body lined with sympathy and a need to comfort.
The wizard's heart beat loudly in his chest when he found himself the recipient of that earnest kindness - for so long he had held himself apart from everything that this was... something.
Of course, then the other man stepped between them and the two of them erupted in something of an argument. Thankfully their language sounded as normal as English to the misplaced wizard.
"He's dangerous, Wil, stay back," the tall man commanded. He had a good voice, in Harry's opinion, strong and deep and calm.
The blond looked at his companion incredulously; "Seriously? Allanon, look at the poor guy. He's obviously hurting."
"I cannot read his mind and I can sense a deep well of magic within him - yet he is not one of my own. This man is dangerous, Will. Do not doubt me on this."
"Magic? Right, magic…" The disbelieving blond had pointy ears – like elves, true elves from Muggle stories.
"You don't believe in magic?" Harry asked because that was curious - he could tell that magic certainly existed in this world, and that this boy held some form of it. And he looked like an elf.
The elf turned to look at him; "Of course not, it's just something from stories."
"That doesn't make it any less real, though," he pointed out.
"That's… look, it doesn't matter," The boy said, walking around the cautious man who, to Harry's eyes, seemed to be mentally praying for patience - or deliverance, "Can you tell me your name?"
"Harry," he answered simply, not sure what else he could tell these two.
"My name's Wil Ohmsford," and the boy actually held out his hand for Harry to shake. For a baffled moment, Harry just stared at it. Then he dragged his gaze to the other man – a question in his eyes.
He'd seen enough in his life to know better than making sudden moves in tense situations, even if the potential for violence was either completely ignored or unnoticed by the elf.
The dark-haired man stepped forward and hovered over them like a silent sentinel, one hand on what was likely a weapon of sorts. Even so, the man, Allanon from what he gathered of their earlier conversation, nodded ever so slightly.
Taking that as the permission it was, the young-looking wizard slowly reached out to shake the boy's hand. It was warm in his grasp, surprisingly steady and very much alive.
Wil smiled at him, gently and almost encouraging, as if Harry was the young and vulnerable one here and that was funny enough that the ancient wizard couldn't help but shake his head and smile back. "You're a kind soul, Wil Ohmsford," he informed the elf, because it was the truth and because if there was anything he had learned over the years it was that people with a truly open heart were a rare find indeed.
The tall man didn't seem interested in exchanging niceties, though. He crowded in even closer, until both of them dropped their hands.
"Who are you, Harry?" Allanon asked forcefully.
Harry was very much not intimidated. "I am absolutely no-one," he answered with more cheer than may have been warranted. But then, his emotions were still all over the place and the fact that he was, indeed, no-one of any importance in the here and now was absolutely freeing.
That answer earned him a strange look from Wil, and a frown from the dark-haired warrior.
"Are you alright, though?"
Harry looked at the young elf with a question on his face and Wil awkwardly scratched his head.
"It just… it looked like you've been… crying?"
Oh. That. Harry silently raised his hand to touch his still wet face. "I was… relieved," he answered slowly, but honestly.
For a moment silence settled between them.
Wil seemed to be trying to be discrete - but it was clearly a struggle for the boy not to question him any further. And the magical warrior - he seemed to be trying to pick Harry apart with his eyes. The man obviously didn't trust him, though why Harry couldn't even begin to fathom. Surely if these were the first people he met in this world, the wizard couldn't be the only one with magical powers around here. Perhaps his powers felt too different to the man's senses?
Whatever the case may be, despite his distrust, the tall man hadn't made a single move to attack him - Allanon might have the look of a warrior, but he was not an aggressor. Instead the man was apparently waiting to see what the wizard would do.
And Harry, well Harry was patient these days - if time had taught him anything it was that. He was quite content to wait the other man out, so their silence remained.
"We must press on, Wil," Allanon finally urged the young elf towards the ruins, seeming to have come to a decision. "Don't touch anything. And you – stay here. If you follow us, I will not be merciful."
Harry raised an eyebrow but didn't reply to the vague threat. He also didn't move when the pair entered the ruins he had just walked out from - he'd seen all he wanted to inside, it really held nothing of interest to him. Except for these two, perhaps. But they would need to come back out the same way - there hadn't been any other exits.
"Was that really necessary?" Wil asked as he trailed after the man who walked into the ruins in great strides.
"Yes it was, and you are a fool to think otherwise," was the last Harry heard of their conversation before they left his hearing range.
Harry smiled, sat down again and decided that he liked both of them.
It was only a short time later that Wil ran out of the ruins towards him. Harry had barely regained his feet before the young man reached out and grasped his arm.
"Can you really do magic?" the blond asked him breathlessly, not waiting for an answer but dragging the wizard back with him into the ruins.
"Yes," Harry replied, gamely running with the boy and wondering what could have driven him to panic - he hadn't come across anything dangerous inside of there.
Moments later it become obvious what the problem was; Allanon.
"Then help him!" the young elf said, pushing him towards where the tall man was lying on the floor, talking in an entirely unfamiliar tongue.
"He keeps talking in ancient Druid or something, and he screamed - I think he's in pain, but I don't know why. He just started acting weird halfway through a sentence and collapsed or something and I don't know what to do."
Harry held up a hand, "Hush, Wil. I will help him."
Thankfully, the boy fell silent. So the wizard once more stretched out his magic and felt the darkness he had sensed earlier pressing in on the proud man that was, even now, clearly fighting against it with all of his willpower. The dark presence was powerful, it held far greater magic than Voldemort ever had, but Harry was no longer a schoolboy and as far as he could tell, this was nothing more than a mental attack.
This he could fight.
But before he could do anything, Allanon rose with a battle-cry, surging forwards - and then an invisible something pushed him back down on his knees.
Quickly, Harry laid his hand on the man's back and focussed on that invading presence. Suddenly he was in a different room, though it was also clearly the same one. It was darker, though, and Wil was not there. Instead there was a creature - twisted and pulsing with dark magic, with a clawed hand on Allanon's face.
He didn't know the magic of this world, didn't know how well his own magic would hold against it, but Harry did know battle - and there was nothing more effective than the element of surprise.
So he acted before either the creature or the man had even fully registered his presence. With a wave of his empty hand and a cry of 'Protego', the wizard pushed forward both mental and physical shields to envelop both him and the man he was touching in a golden light.
Harry could do magic without wand, without gesture and even without words, but it was easier to channel more power with either - and he put a lot of power in this spell, enough to push the creature backwards and to, thankfully, send both of them back to the regular plane of existence.
The tall man seemed confused for a moment, coming out of it - but Wil was kneeling in front of him, grasping his hand. "It's me, Allanon, it's me."
"Wil," the man seemed to recognize him quickly enough, "We must return to Arborlon. Hurry!"
The elf seemed to realise the other man's urgency and rose willingly enough beside him, throwing a quick glance at Harry.
So, quietly, the wizard followed the two of them outside, for once rather lost on what to do. He was a new player in a game that had been going on without him - with no knowledge of who or what that creature was, what kind of magic it wields and who or where Arborlon was. Or, basically, anything at all.
It was only when Wil held out a hand to help Harry mount the horse behind him that the older man seemed fully aware of him once more. To the wizard's surprise, the man didn't protest his presence, but instead kept quiet and urged his stallion into a reckless gallop.
With a sigh that was only audible to his fellow passenger, the younger blond followed suit.
Allanon set a furious pace ahead of them, but Wil fortunately had no trouble keeping up, even with the extra baggage. They rode in silence for over an hour before his companion finally spoke.
"Thank you, Harry," the elf said with an honest ease.
The wizard blinked and remained silent for a long moment. Then, with a strong voice filled with purpose, he promised, "Anytime, Wil."
Because suddenly Harry was right back where he had started - the way he had been all those years ago, when he was still full of hope and full of life. Back then he had been perfectly willing to throw in his lot with the first kind face, the first kindred soul he came across. Centuries later, he wasn't as desperate as he had been as a child - for love, for loyalty, for belonging.
But he was desperate enough to take it, to grasp this young man's hand, to take his kindness and his friendship - and to give his own freely in return.
Once more, Harry was just a lonely boy on a train who found himself joined by a freckled red-head and never looked back.
And he was glad of it.
