.

They end up at the playground, with wrought iron chains holding up flimsy plastic swings and a slide in desperate need of a re-paint. Harrie watches Erik from the corner of her eye (she doesn't even know his last name but he seems so much larger in real life). He looks at the hoop for basketball with a shine of something in his eyes, as if he's seeing something that's not quite there. It makes her nervous but not nervous of him. It doesn't make sense but then what about her life does right now? Dropping onto one of the swings, she's not surprised that he refuses to join her, instead settling for prowling back and forth before her. Hunched forwards with her elbows resting on her knees, Harrie runs her thumb back and forth across her arm, up and down the thick lash of scar from Voldemort's rebirth. It still feels like she's been violated, ripped apart and her blood stolen. Her mother's protection desecrated by the very monster that killed her. That it'd sliced right through her soulmark had only stoked her determination to get out of there. As with any other soulmark that'd ever been cut open, it's slowly bleeding through the scar tissue, the strange symbols alongside what she recognises as Parselscript steadily darkening over the blisteringly white skin of the scar. 'Orphan' and 'fighter' are visible again. She wonders if those words are for her or for Erik. He's only ever raged about exams before, or the teachers who look down their nose at him until he's stuffed the latest test he's blasted through in their faces.

"The fuck happened." It's not a question but then again it never is with Erik. It's ridiculous but it's one of the things Harrie likes. Because everyone always seems to be asking questions but Erik, he just demands. Like he fully expects her to give the answer and there's no right or wrong. It's just the answer. He doesn't know her as the Girl Who Lived, doesn't know her as the last Potter. She's just Harrie and he finds her wanting. That's okay because she finds him wanting too. He's angry all the time, he judges her on her appearance (not the wild mess of hair or the scar on her face but by the colour of her skin and that's not something she's ever thought she'd have to worry about) and he doesn't have any intentions of opening up to her. That's clear as hell. But he's driven, determined in a way that she's not because he's striving for something. Harrie doesn't know what the hell she wants with life and she's never been given a moment to really think on it. Maybe it comes with age; Erik is clearly older than her but not by too much. He's also rocked up out of nowhere, undoubtedly scandalising Aunt Petunia with his ripped jeans, short dreads and devil-may-care attitude. That alone has made her day. Perhaps that's why it all comes rushing out of her mouth. She tells him of the kidnapping, of Cedric dying before her eyes, of Voldemort's ritual and the theft of her blood, the way he'd circumvented her mother's protection. How she's been declared crazy by the Ministry and no one is listening to her because they'd all rather bury their heads in the sand then deal with the problem. Each sentence only has Erik's jaw tightening, the muscles in his neck twitching. He might not want her and Harrie might not be qualified for the bundle of rage that sits at his core… but she can't help but sit and think what could have been. If she'd been a little bit more impressive and if Erik had been willing to compromise a little more. He's iron set in his beliefs though and she's got enough on her plate as it is. She wouldn't even know where to begin on proving herself against whatever he's got against her.

As she finishes speaking, Erik's lips thin, hands stuffed deep into the pits of his trouser pockets. He's scanning their surroundings, eyes lingering on Dudley and his stupid little gang who are foolish enough to be looking over at them. Usually they'd be over trying to taunt her, insinuating things about her, no doubt. They used to whisper about her mother until she broke Polkiss' nose. They don't dare touch that topic again.

"Decide what the fuck you want to happen. Either let 'em lay in the grave they've dug or come out swingin'," Erik grunts, folding his arms across his chest and finally turning his sharp eyes on her. Harrie wonders what this looks like to anyone from the outside; Erik's clearly got two or three years on her and with his assessing gaze and dark mannerisms… but Harrie's far from helpless herself so she meets his gaze head on, fingers clenching into tight little fists. "Don't take shit from no one and start giving as good as you get. You gonna let these pure-bastards win walk all-over you just 'cause your Mama wasn't good enough for them?" The underlying 'you better fucking not' has Harrie's spine straightening. She's not sure when Erik decided that she was worth noticing, when he clicked that she only fights back when there's something on the line rather than for herself, or if he's just projecting on her. But he's right. Lily Evans was a muggleborn, a mudblood as they'd put it. Harrie wouldn't be here if it wasn't for that woman and every time she doesn't stand up against even the slightest bit of discrimination… well, if she'd been alive, those taunts would've been directed at her mother. She's punched Polkiss for it, why should it be any different for anything Malfoy says, or Parkinson or all the other bigots?

"No. I'm not going to let them do that."

"Then stop worrying 'bout shit and start doing shit instead." Erik's arms are still crossed over his chest but he's looking down at her appraisingly. Like she's proven herself interesting. How he, as a muggle, couldn't find a witch for a soulmate interesting, she doesn't know. Isn't that just another point Voldemort and his followers would pick up on, if they knew? Her muggle soulmate. He'd be in so much danger just by being linked to her. It's not safe for him here, is it? For once, she's thankful he lives in America, that he doesn't have enough invested in their mark (in her) to really consider making this thing work. That he's even here at all is surprising. The cost alone…

"You didn't have to come here… Do you want any money for travel?" She'd have to get to Gringotts to get it but seeing as no one seems to be keeping her in the loop at the moment and the Prophet isn't reporting anything other than how much of a dirty liar she is-

"I don't need you blood-money," Erik spits, scowl back on his face and isn't it stupid how she finds that expression such a relief, she's just so used to it. "I need you to get your shit under control and stop it leakin' through."

"I'll work on it," Harrie promises, ruffling a hand through her hair and Erik almost stops frowning.

"Good, 'cause I ain't comin' back."

.

He leaves after that, with only a moment to give her a quick glance over. As promised, she doesn't see him again for the rest of the summer but the aftertaste of his visit still lingers. When Dudley next corner's her, asking if she's selling herself to a black man now (though that's not how he describes him but Harrie refuses to think of the words he uses), she pops him one in the face. That it bruises so magnificently can be nothing other than magical interference; the rest of his gang scamper off, scream that she's a crazy bitch but all she can think on is the demand. 'Stop worrying 'bout shit and start doing shit instead'. It's the crassest piece of advice she's ever received. Perhaps that's why she listens to it.

When the dementors come, she whips out her wand and a Patronus.

When she gets whisked away to Grimmauld Place, she makes herself known. When Mrs Weasley tries to bar her from the Order meetings she slams down her encounters with Voldemort, wields her orphan status like a weapon. The Goblet of Fire dictated she's of age, why can double standards be applied here? When she's still barred with only Sirius fighting her corner, Harrie reacts how she thinks Erik would. She plots and plans and trains. The Black library is full of spells, some legal and some not so legal. Now in her dreams, Erik scribbles away on whatever he's working on and Harrie goes through the motions of her magic.

At the hearing, she's unbent and unbroken, refusing to bow before the weight of her elders (the vast majority of whom, she notices, are all heads of pureblood houses sitting on the government panels) because she is in the right. When they try to dismiss her demand they acknowledge Voldemort, she looks Fudge right in the eye and snarls he better hope they can find another Girl-Who-Lived to blow the bastard up when he comes back around, because with this treatment she sure as hell won't be throwing herself under that bus. It's a lie (Voldemort is the bigot who saw her mother dead simply because she dared to be born) but they don't know that. She hopes they're worried, they should be.

.

For the first time in her life, Hogwarts doesn't feel safe from the very start. There's the pink toad and Harrie never once buckles before her, no matter what she breaks out. Her hand is constantly screaming in pain and she rants at Erik practically every night. She's not sure how much attention he pays to her and she honestly doesn't care at this point. It's nice to have a place where she can just express herself without worry about retribution. At one point, Erik goes off on his own tangent about bigots that ends up spiralling into the old white men that runs his current school (collage? University? Harrie doesn't actually know) and their racist ways. Erik's a muggleborn in his own Hogwarts. Could those bigoted Slytherins be called racist, or would it be a different terminology? Certainly, it's discrimination, that much Harrie knows for sure.

She takes Erik's advice; she stops worrying about shit and just focuses on getting on with it all. She starts the Defence Association, her own revolution against the pink toad. She's almost never off her soapbox, proclaiming Voldemort's return for any and all to hear. Her hand drips with blood daily. Begrudgingly, she accepts Snape's lessons for Occlumency. She flinches when she sees his worst memory and almost feels sorry for the bastard, until she hears what he calls her mum. Snape rages at her but Harrie snarls right back, screams her mother was not lesser because of his blood and that he can take his bigoted prejudice and fuck himself with it. The two weeks of the detention she gets from that are the best so far this year and given they're with Snape, that's saying something.

.

Time passes, as always. She sits her exams with the single-minded determination to follow in Hermione's footsteps and do her damn best. When Umbridge had intruded on her career's meeting, Harrie had looked her in the eye and proclaimed she ride to Minister on her fame, fortune and talents to change the world for the better. For future witches and wizards like her mother. The fury in the pink toad's face had been worth the extra intense detention that's followed.

So Harrie tires her hardest, puts her all into it with a burning purpose she's not seen from anyone else other than Erik. For a moment, she can almost see why they've been paired up, why it is she's got such a fighter for a soulmate, muggle or not. She just needed the right push, the right kick in the pants to get going. Erik might not appreciate it, but she owes it to him, the burning in her gut and the throbbing on her hand. Harrie ploughs on and on and perhaps that's why the vision blindsides her when it happens.

.

Sirius dies. Sirius dies and so does that last little bit of Harrie that craved parental affection.

.


.

He feels it, once the ache wears from his muscles and the breath returns to his lungs. It's the standardised (and a little extra) fitness test for potential military recruits (a cunning disguise to weed out the strong contenders from the geniuses that are finishing their education sooner and at a higher level than expected) and Erik has aced it. He's blown every other fucker here out of the water, the few of his black brothers present and breezed past the crackers. It's with victory running through his veins and a massive scholarship grant that he retires to his accommodations on the grounds, throwing himself down on the bed. Even then, with all this triumph, the sorrow and heart-break still suckerpunches him in the gut. It's coming home and finding his daddy with panther claws in his chest all other again, it's the agony of knowing he's alone again with no one to rely on and it's an emotion that doesn't fucking belong in his life right now. Not when everything is starting to come together.

He's not sure when he drops off, still with his track boots on and probably rubbing the mud he's been caked on off onto his once clean sheets. But he knows where the constant barrage of sorrow is coming from when he gets there because Harrie's hunched in on herself with a thousand-yard stare. She doesn't even register he's here.

"Whitey," Erik snaps, storming over and crouching down. Her soulmark is clear on her skin, some of the squiggles have changed and the Wakandan word for a deep loss is smeared into the design now. She still doesn't look up at him, still doesn't register he's there and Erik scowls harder. It's the first time he's ever gotten down on her level, first time he's ever gotten this close to her. She's even whiter up close, paler than ever. The stupid scar on her brow almost matches her skin and there's the same dark bags under her eyes that he'd chased away over summer by telling her to buck the fuck up. This is not getting shit done. "Harrie," he injects as much iron- no, as much vibranium into his voice as he can and finally those glass green eyes wobble up to look at him. They shouldn't be glassy, they're usually the only colourful thing about her. She's not allowed to let that fade too, he absolutely refuses to be stuck with white washy trash. "The fuck happened." Her lips tremble, shoulders shaking and Erik does not have time for a breakdown now. No, that's not quite right, he's not got the patience to deal with it. He's seen one breakdown (his own) to last him a lifetime. He flat out refuses to witness another one.

"Sirius died." It comes out as a croak, her throat clearly wrecked from crying and the flesh around her eyes is swollen as fuck. It takes Erik a moment to recall who the fuck Sirius is; the godfather. Her last chance at a father figure. Nothing in him softens but, but there is an understanding there. Because he's not some high and mighty white asshole who can't understand suffering and'll look down on others for daring to be express it. Harrie's white as fuck but it's fucking painful how she's almost a negative-tone mirror of his life. No parents, incredible loss, the prejudice that smacks her in the face for the mother that wasn't pure enough. Erik's teeth grind back and forth, his hands clenched tight.

"Did you get the bastard who killed him?" Someone has to have killed him; she's acting like it was an utter shock, she's got that look to her face, the one Erik had seen in the mirror every day ever since he came back to the apartment to see the door ajar and-

"She got away… I, I got caught up and Voldemort was there and-" She breaks off in a choking sob, wet and weak. Erik scowls, catching her chin between his forefinger and thumb and forcing her to look at him.

"If you can't deal with loss, then get the fuck out of there. If you're gonna stand up and make sure no bigoted fucker can hurt you again, then stand the fuck up." He releases her face as soon as he's able to, refusing to stop staring right at her until she's got the fucking message. He does not have time for this shit. He's got a plan, he's got a goal and he sure as fuck doesn't need her mess bleeding over into his life. She's got her secret community where it's blood not skin (but the same in that it's all about pedigree) and he doesn't let his shit seep into her life. Whitey gotta show the same courtesy. Finally, something in her eyes seems to harden and it's not that defensive shit he saw the first time they met. There's something burning there now, something determined and bright. It's the first time Erik's looked at her and actually found the attitude worthwhile. Girl's been bitten too many time and is only now realising she's got fangs.

"I'm getting up," Harrie mutters and it's a firm promise, her face set. It's about fucking time. Maybe now he'll be able to get on with his own life and not have to worry about sorting hers out.


Damn every last one of you that left reviews. This was suppose to be a two-shot where Harrie used occulumency to close off the link as Erik requested, who'd then occasionally look at the soulmark and it's developments and wonder what she's getting up to, until he's dying before that sunset and she pops up, asking if, in death, he'd be willing to leave the ancestral plain for a little bit at some point to come talk to her, with some shit about not trying to cage someone and Harrie not going where she's not welcomed (the Wakandan ancestral plain).

Then you all went and gave me ideas.

I'm nervous about this because I know Erik is a beloved character (and he's so delightfully complex) and he's hard as hell to judge because it's difficult on how I can have him grow without compromising key components of his character. I'll try my best though.

Lots of love,

Tsume
xxx