Author Note: Now that I understand how to make a cohesive story, let's not have oddly done chapters . I took out some scenes that weren't really needed and added in ones that Event took out. I was hoping for a bit more feedback, but I made a promise to myself not to be put out by lack of reviews.

Chapter goes to Elderthuriaz for reviewing.

Semi-Automatic

Part One: Misplaced

Chapter Two: Misery Loves Company

"Commander Vine," Neverous's voice greeted the both of them as Vine pulled Harry into the lavishly set audience Hall. The boy felt his stomach bottom out, a new thread of fear joining the knot in his throat. The General, seated at a large mahogany table, was easily twice the size of Vine. Shoulders and hips narrow, but packed with lean and hard muscle. He commanded a room simply by walking into it and his eyes, the same colour as his armor, were cold and cruel.

He was forced to look away as Vine's men saluted, and Vine gave a slow nod to his superior. The center piece of the room was a finely polished table, a transparent half sphere just in front of Neverous that hummed quietly and the walls were pure black. Dark wall hangings with the insignia that decorated Vine's armor printed on them hung in intervals of three. The floors were dark stained wood, meticulously cared for and waxed. The back-most wall, however, was completely made of glass. It looked over the jungle Vine had brought Harry through to this place and the cloudless sky set on fire with the dying sun. It would have been a breathtaking view had Harry had the time to marvel.

"I did not rightly believe you," a gruff, richly baritone voice rumbled from across the long table.

Harry fleetingly glanced over Vine's shoulder to see a man unlike any he had seen since arriving here. He was more a mountain than a man. He was broad shouldered, easily over six feet tall, and with short dark hair graying with age and metal plates curved to the contours of his square jawline. This, he rationalized, must have been Baron Praxis. He was flanked by four men, two dressed in thick plated red metal with white script runes and helmets that masked their faces. They stood at ease despite the bulk of their red armor and what Harry could see beneath their helmets was tattooed with bizarre geometric patterns. They were made of thick strips and smaller circles that extended up their ears and down their necks to disappear behind the black fabric just visible between the junction points of their armor.

Between them was a boy no older than himself. He had not seen a mirror in nearly three days, but he felt as horrid as the elf-boy looked. For a moment their eyes met, red-rimmed blue standing out against grey-coal soaked skin that reminded Harry of a miner. His eyes fell to Harry's wrists, noting the handcuffs, and twisted his own inside the confines; they were drastically different than Harry's. Not simple bronze metal circlets cinched to each wrist, but square metal tubing with a release button on the top. They pressed his palms flat to each other; the skin a purple tinge suggesting they were done too tight for too long. The bags under his eyes and the gauntness of his face suggested he rarely slept or ate. However, if Harry had to hazard a guess, the bruising around his right eye wasn't from lack of rest.

Neverous gave the Baron a curt nod, eyes on Harry the same way his Aunt often took to looking at her prize winning roses. "Not many do. My Commander found him wandering the Ivory Jungle a mile from here. I, too, was surprised when he came with the child in tow… Vine," he ordered with a wave of his hand, "Bring the boy here."

The Commander nodded, gripping Harry's shoulder tightly to direct him towards another guard. "Don't do anything stupid."

The guard ushered Harry forward with a flat palm against his back. Nervously, he stumbled to find himself standing within arm's reach of the General. He was able to see the fourth man leaning against the back window. He wore less armor than the others, hair, distinctly orange, slicked back beneath a face plate and amber eyes rested lazily on the Baron as he spoke.

"He's young," The Baron observed, "You said you were performing tests?"

Vines expression didn't change, but the other man looked fairly intrigued. He studied Harry, seeing his flaws and sweated palms with a flick of his eyes before turning his attention back to the table.

"Yes," The General supplied, "Basic infusion of proteins and an experimental drug therapy." He waved his hand over a blue half-sphere, sending up a holographic representation of a chart Harry couldn't start to understand. "But first, Vine – Take these two to the holding cells on the fifth level."

Vine nodded, the red-head following suit as he took hold of Harry again and easily navigated him to the waiting elevator. With little coaxing, Harry settled himself in the corner behind Vine. The Commander waited on the red-armored men and their prisoner. He watched over Vine's shoulder as it took them both to wrestle the protesting teen into the lift. It took the shorter guard grasping the back of his neck and practically smashing his face into the back of the lift to get him to settle. He gestured for his men to wait and Vine commented as the doors closed with a hiss.

"Was that necessary?"

"The freak's got a knack for being an idiot," the man stated, accent differing from Vine's drastically.

Vine frowned in distaste.

"Weren't you a lieutenant the last time we spoke, Alec?" He questioned, letting go of the boy whose nostril's flared in anger while he glowered at the back wall.

Relaxing, Vine massaged the back of his neck as he nodded vaguely. "It was recent. How did you score Commander, Erol? I thought Torn had that honor before you. Thought you were interested in field work, not the politics of the position."

"He did," Erol responded disdainfully, "He defaulted and it fell to me."

Vine chuckled as they corralled them into the hallway, "Ha, Precursors, no one saw that coming?"

Harry lost the conversation as his headache pulsed horrifically. He shared a fleeting glance with the elf, but neither cared to look longer than a second. He took a keen interest in the wall and Harry found his shoelaces of more interest. When they approached the cell, Harry was relieved. Scared, but relieved… Nothing was expected of him when that door closed. He, almost eagerly, extended his hands towards Vine who removed the handcuffs with a metal key and ordered him in with a jerk of his chin. He went without complaint, only glad to be rid of the Commander by this point.

Vine looked expectantly to the elf. "You can walk in, or…" He left the threat drift, Erol's hand fell to his gun with a cruel grin.

With a growl, he looked away bitterly as he gave his wrists to Erol. The man hit the release, chuckling, and the boy marched in without another word. Once they were left alone in the dark, the boy remained in the center glowering over his shoulder as he rubbed chafed wrists. He sighed wearily, turning his attention on Harry.

"Who are you then?" He asked hoarsely.

Harry let the silence hold them both as he limped to a metal cot. He eased his battered body down, his legs practically crying in relief as he swallowed thickly, too afraid to touch his face and the mangled state of his nose. This wasn't his cell; his was without a bed and circular. This was a square cell with sheet metal walls and two thin mattresses pressed into alcoves. It smelled, at least, cleaner than his own…

"Harry," he told him eventually, "My name is Harry."

"Jak," he offered, seeking out the second cot to set himself on. "Do you know what this place is?" He ventured, eyes flashing to the darkening jungle just visible beyond the bars.

"No," he whispered despairingly, "I have no sodding idea."

In his cell, he had no window, no concept of time. This one, however, let the cold night air seep in, but the mattresses awarded a thin blanket to keep the worst of it at bay. He stiffly grabbed at it, pulling it over his aching legs and the both of them shivered in silence.

"So," Harry began awkwardly, failing for a way to continue. With a sigh, he gave up and buried his face in his palm.

"Eco experiments," Jak spoke, having understood the question Harry couldn't form. "I've… I've been in Haven for… a month? I think." He paused to consider the floor, "You?"

"I didn't know until just now, but even then I… I don't really understand." Harry admitted.

"… You're bleeding," Jak muttered, tapping the space between his own nose and upper lip.

"Thanks," He rubbed it away with the torn edge of his shirt.

"Worst part," Jak began with a mirthless chuckle, "I'm not even sure how I got here." He raised his hands in a bemused way, "There was this light and bam-" He punched his open palm, "I'm clubbed and dragged to prison."

Harry turned himself onto his side as Jak's face fell in exhaustion. "What?" Harry coaxed, the story sounded painfully familiar.

"A portal, well… A Rift Gate," He corrected himself, "I was separated from my friends when we came through and here I am." He flourished his hands.

"Funny," Harry faintly replied, flinching at the anger that flashed across Jak's face. He raised his hands up in surrender, "not like that. I mean I came here in… sort of a similar way. I'm not really from here either."

A thin smirk tugged at the corners of Jak's mouth. "A lot in common, then… Are there more humans like you? My, um, teacher always told me they died out… in my world at least."

"I… don't know." Harry answered honestly.

They fell into another silence as the horizon swallowed the sun. The jungle came to life in a burst of exotic sounds Harry had never heard before. A soft humming took over the gentle roar. It crept up the side of the wall before slipping through the bars. Its volume grew as the neon light bounced above Harry's nose before zipping to the center of their cell. Jak edged forward with caution, his hand extended to create a small platform. His face was illuminated by the muted green when he quickly brought up his hands to capture the light between his fingers.

"A firefly," He smiled faintly, "Where I come from, we used to paint our faces with these… It would last for days."

Harry watched as he crushed the light between his thumb and forefinger and smeared it over his open palm. Even with the creature gone, the bio-luminescent light flared brightly against his skin. Jak pressed his palms on the space between their cots and counted quietly to himself. Upon reaching ten, he slid his hand away to expose a perfectly painted hand print that filled their cell with a soft light.

"Wicked," Harry breathed, too exhausted for more.

"I missed that…" Jak whispered, deep with longing. He gave Harry a small nod of acknowledgment before turning away from him to sleep.

"Hey… Jak?"

"Yeah?" Came the weary reply.

"What's Dark Eco?"

It was an obscenely bright flash of green that started Harry awake. Breathless, he groped blindly for his glasses, glad he had the foresight to remove them the night before. Frustrated, guilty, and sore Harry slowly crept towards the barred window. The morning air, sharp and cool, sent shivers down his spine – but eased the fever he had worked into during the night. For several moments he basked in the cold air before reluctantly shuffling back to his cot. Stealing a glance towards the elf, he was relieved to find him snoring and undisturbed.

As the hours crawled by and Jak showed no signs of waking, Harry grew jealous of him. How he was able to sleep so soundly with everything going on around them was beyond him. Did he realize how incredibly screwed they were?

'He's been dealing with this longer,' Harry reminded himself. He could roll with the punches while Harry was left reeling. And to be fair, he looked ready to drop since he had arrived and spent the better part of the night explaining what 'Eco' was to a very bewildered Harry.

What he could gather from the lengthy and complicated dialogue was that eco was, simply, energy. It was naturally produced, kept the world spinning and existing. Without it, the world would eventually tear itself apart – or so Jak had muttered – the Precursor's tablets warned. Dark Eco, he eventually approached, was a negative energy. It was acid, destroying everything it touched in a fast acting poison to living beings.

His eyes fell on the roof with heavy eyes. His thoughts turned toward his own uncertain future. Would he make it through the next day? The next week? No one believed he would, Vine had said it himself. Jak had been through something like this in Haven for a month and he was still kicking. Exhausted and weary, but he was angry. Harry was simply scared. It would be, ultimately, easier just to give up and die.

'No,' Harry shook himself, telling himself the morbid thoughts were just his exhaustion making him tread on the darker edge of reason. He wrapped himself tighter in the blanket, staving off the unnatural chill that settled into his chest. It was times like these that Harry wished he was perpetually unconscious, just to save him from his more morose inner demons.

After a few, fruitless moments, Harry was happy to drift off. Exhaustion had won its battle over his fear of nightmares when he faintly registered noises from beyond their cell door. He listened intently as sound drew closer, panic burning in his breast as he recognized the metal clap of combat boots. He strained to hear a second set, fearing the worst, but there was only one coming quickly, but clumsily, down the hall. He prayed it was a passing soldier, perhaps a guard on patrol?

When the door whined and hissed open, Harry cursed his luck. Why, out of all the times his luck had been his saving grace, did it have to abandon him now?

The single guard stepped through and Harry's panic bled into pure terror. The door clanked loudly when it shut behind him, hissing out a final breathe of steam while it locked. Jak, woken by the door, tensed and stared down their 'guest.' He was cautious, but not afraid.

Harry waited on baited breath for the larger man to make his move. Was it time for another injection?

"You fucking brat," the guard growled, confusing Harry. The man's expression grew darker as the cell lit with the morning sun. It was one that Harry knew all too well. One his Uncle often wore when Harry was small and just eager to please guardians that hated him. That hint of malice that promised pain should he get within arm's reach. Harry felt himself shake, not in memory of his Uncle's blows but the realization that a trained solider was coming at him with the same intent.

'Do not strike the child angry,' his Aunt used to say, 'just send him to the cupboard.'

It was the one kindness that Petunia had ever shown him – but at this moment Harry half wished he had taken more Bludgers in Quidditch or she just let Vernon have at it. Maybe then he would be able to handle the beating he knew was coming.

"I didn't do anything!" Harry shouted in self-preservation, leaping from the bed with hands held high in surrender. He recognized the man's voice. It was the same one that had struck him repeatedly in the interrogation room with Vine – the reason his nose was broken and his tongue stung every time he spoke.

The man came across the cell in three strides, Harry slammed against the wall on the third. So close, Harry could smell the alcohol wafting off the man's breath. He choked and flailed, his shins knocking violently against the guard's plated armor.

'God help me,' He prayed, too afraid to watch as the man's fist reared back. The force behind it was almost godly as Harry's mind went temporarily blank. For a few seconds he thought he was back in the magnolia stuck in the Whomping Willow – Ron Having a fit over his wand and Snape just seconds from finding them. It was when Harry registered that he was now on the ground did he feel the first kicks launched into his side and face. He threw his arms up to protect his face, the steel toed boot slamming against his forearms and ribs with enough force to break bone. The brutal assault ended with a muffled bang – barely louder than someone closing a door.

'Did he leave?' Harry wondered, half delirious with pain, and couldn't understand why he was fumbling at his side or why it had gone completely numb. Unable to breathe, realization settled grimly in his gut. He opened his eyes and found himself staring down the barrel of a smoking gun.

"Fuck this experiment, fuck Neverous for thinking we're weak like the idiots in Haven." The man grumbled under his breath, slurring words as he took aim at Harry's forehead.

The second shot fired, it bit into his cheek and splattered against the wall behind him. Harry didn't quite understand the scene before him, but he knew enough to be thankful for it. Jak, at some point, had leapt off the cot and grabbed the man's arm and pushed upward. The solider paused, in disbelief, and Jak struck out with a solid hit to the jaw. He grunted in pain, but training kicked in, leaving Jak vulnerable as his momentum left his chest wide open.

The man brought his knee up and into Jak's ribs with a hideous crack.

"Nice try, blondie," He bit out, tossing Jak away easily – Jak had the presence of mind to keep out of the guard's reach as he fell onto his cot. The gun was now aimed at the floor and away from Harry while the man's attention was on Jak. With the last ounce of courage and strength Harry had, he flung himself at the guard. Clumsily, but hard, Harry fell into him. They both crumpled to the floor, Harry too weak to stand; the guard too drunk to keep his balance. He tossed Harry away just as easily as he had Jak, swearing the entire time.

Jak stood on the bed, watching like a cornered animal. He was crouched low, as if ready to attack him again to keep him off balance and distracted. He shrank back the moment he found a gun aimed at his chest. "Back off, you little prick, I don't care about you."

Ruthlessly he drove his heel into the bullet wound, sneering triumphantly as Harry screamed in agony.

Jak chose that moment to move, the creaking of the bed catching the guard's attention. He snapped up his other hand, a long rod with a blazing blue tip sparking at the end. Fear and recognition crashed over Jak's eyes before he could twist away from it. He didn't scream as he went down, his eyes glazed over as he swayed on spot for a moment before collapsing in a heap with a faint groan.

The man collected himself, breathing deeply as he absorbed the sight at his feet. Jak in one corner, half conscious, and Harry against the back wall bound to die of blood loss. When he lifted his pistol, almost lazily, Harry was glad.

It meant and end.

He was done.

Voldemort was right; Harry wasn't a brave man like James Potter. He was a terrified child trembling at yet another man's feet with the promise of death. He held his breath in anticipation, but found himself waiting. There was no muffled bang, no arrogant unoriginal remark to send him into the afterlife. The guard packed his weapon and left Harry there to die on the floor. Suddenly hopeless, Harry resigned himself to a slow, agonizing death.

"Ha… Hah…" Jak breathed from his left, voice hoarse as if had been screaming. "Y-You still…"

Harry could feel the warmth beneath him spreading; but he was still alive.

"Sta… awake," Jak slurred sharply, punching him hard in the arm. Harry's eyes snapped open, moaning in dazed discomfort. "Jus… stay awake… please," he pleaded desperately, "Not… another, Precursors, please."

The light that burst into the room was blinding and Harry thought he was about to meet his maker. He'd gone into shock and his throat was clogged.

"He's alive, Commander… Barely,"

'Just leave me here,' Harry begged, 'I don't want to play your game anymore.'

"So is this one," Vine appeared to his left, kneeling beside Jak. "Why was he shocked, Talis?" He demanded suspiciously, "You were assigned to patrol, no?"

"The boy," The guard didn't miss a beat, "started to attack the human, I had to subdue him, Sir."

"Liar!" Jak shouted hoarsely.

"To subdue the boy… you shot the human?" Vine asked dryly, "his records state he was violent towards guards, never a cellmate." He informed him, "You two take them to the Ward. If either of them dies, it will be more than your rank Neverous will take from you, Major Talis."

A pair of hands seized Harry under his arms, pulling him to numb legs. Harry saw the world in flashes, blue tinted glass doors of the exit sliding apart, Jak struggling faintly with a single guard, how much red was covering his legs. The last sensation Harry remembered was a burst of air and heat of the sun.

"I should have expected this," Vine hissed. The young guard was too proud, too arrogant to let a threat stand and not take revenge on the helpless party in the situation. He had nearly got Neverous's prize possession killed. He had expected him to rough the kid up a bit, maybe give him a black eye or something. He hadn't counted on finding him drunk and the boy shot.

Harry's death needed to be subtle; it needed to be a passing mistake in the therapy. Not bleeding to death with marks of an Invisirin Blaster on him. He shuddered to think what Neverous would have done to him for it. These were his men and he needed a shorter leash. Had Vine had not been told to get him for the treatment; Harry would have bled to death before anyone even knew.

Taking little notice of the alarmed looks, he strode purposefully towards the infirmary with a furious expression. He knew the sight of the Commander of the Guard being followed by two soldiers carrying one boy covered in blood with obvious gun wounds and the other in rags being dragged behind would circulate through South Ward faster than a kangra rat. They would assume it was a training accident, First Years that had failed a mission. He could deal with the more outlandish, and true, rumors once he made sure the kids made it through the damn night.

The scent of bacterial soap and antiseptic stung Harry's eyes and nose. For a brief, blissful moment, the young man believed he was coming to in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts after a particularly bad Quidditch game. He settled himself to believe he'd lost the House Cup to the Slytherins and was prepared to, gladly, deal with Malfoy's gloating for days.

Anything other than the truth of it…

He knew, deep down inside, he wasn't in Hogwarts. The beating of a heart monitor, the American-accented voices, and the long eared humanoids flitting around him told him so. Daring himself to be brave, Harry forced his dry eyes open. He quickly closed them, realizing that his glasses were gone.

He grunted softly as he tried to move, every part of him protesting the slightest twitch. His arms gave out, sending him back to the bed with a dull thud. Deciding it was best to feel the damage done; Harry took his good hand and roamed it across his chest and side. The last thing he remembered clearly, and vividly, was being shot. After that it was a blurred stop motion film. Jak's voice, a punch to the shoulder, Vine appearing, and the blue exit bay doors. Had Vine brought them to a hospital? Logically, that explained the needle in the wrist of his paralyzed arm, the glaringly white walls he glimpsed, and the bed.

When he came across the rough and wet gauze, it all made sense. He had been shot, operated on, and now lay somewhere in ICU.

"God," Harry groaned, "He actually shot me."

The fact he had survived was slightly bitterer to swallow.

"Harry?" Jak's voice broke from the left, the scraping of metal against metal making him wince. Harry forced his eyes open again, blinking away the glare, and turned to face the source. He saw the blurry figure laying in something that might have been the same shape as a bed.

"Wh… what did you mean, 'Not another?'" He remembered Jak saying it, no praying it, but he didn't know why. Without that rough hit to the shoulder, Harry probably would have never woken up.

"I… You heard that did you?" Jak muttered, a long drawn out pause breaking his sentence. "In a month, I've seen a lot of people die… For things that should have killed me… I was being selfish, trust me."

'Survivors guilt,' Harry surmised. "Thanks… I think," Harry muttered.

"D-Don't mention it." Jak stumbled awkwardly.

Falling into a heavy silence, Harry let his hand roam from his numb wrist to find it shackled to the guard rail of the bed. Was that the metal scraping sound Jak made when he moved?

"Your hand!" Jak blurted out.

Harry jolted on reflex, bringing his hand close to his face. "There's nothing…."

"The other one!" Jak nearly shouted, pointing wildly to his right.

"Merlin's balls…" He breathed.

The Commander's threat hung heavy in the air, the two nurses shrinking away from him in both fear and resentment. They may have been in the business of saving lives and their Hippocratic oaths; they, however, knew what came from disobeying the General. No doubt they had seen the results first hand. No one outside of the lab was aware of the experiments and it needed to be kept quiet. Vine made a mental note to keep an eye on the physicians that had operated on Harry, he couldn't afford loose lips.

The operation had been successful; he was just like any other boy his age physically. It was a relief, honestly. The difference, it seemed, were only on the molecular level. He had recovered well, almost too well for where the bullet had entered. It nicked his liver and bottom corner of his lung, shredding through several other organs that caused massive internal bleeding. The lead surgeon had told him, rather disbelieving, that the boy seemed to heal while they stitched.

There was much more to this boy, but Vine wasn't sure if that was reassuring or not.

He nearly dropped his communicator when a scream ripped through the silent, mid-morning lobby. The doctor behind the desk took off, swearing. "That's where we put them!" He shouted back over his shoulder, trails of his coat disappearing around the nearest corner.

Vine reached the door long before anyone else, he could hear the frantic metal against metal – one of them was trying to get out of his restraints. Vine's mind went to the kid from Haven, the other should still be under sedation. They gave him enough to knock a yakkow out for several hours. Even then, he wasn't a struggler… He slipped through the half-open door fully prepared to deal with a loose demented teenager ready to fight like an animal – what he found couldn't have been farther from what he expected.

The Havenite, Jak, if he remembered correctly, was across the room still bound to his bed. He was practically off it, arm stretched to straining point. "The I.V!" he shouted, pointing desperately to the bed. "Get it out!"

Harry was thrashing and flailing on the bed, his bound arm turning a sickly green while the skin looked as if it had come in contact with sulfuric acid. Bubbling legions and welts exploded across the pale skin, bursting into oozing sores. Lunging across the room, Vine stuck out for the Green Eco transfusion tube. The needle came out jaggedly, horizontally slashing the back of the mutated hand. The small victory was short lived as the boy's bound hand freed itself from a Precursor metal made handcuff and cuffed him across the cheek with break neck force.

The Commander recovered quickly, reaching across his chest to grab the straps meant for mental patients. He was struck several times in the chest, shoulders, and stomach with knees and hands. Each hit felt like a brick, only his endurance training and adrenaline kept him from flinching back when he felt his metal plates bow under the pressure.

A male nurse came from behind him, throwing himself over the boy's flailing legs. Vine stepped back, breathless, when the last strap was secured. He tasted copper on his tongue, already knowing his nose was broken.

"Shot for shot, eh, Potter?" Vine muttered. His ears were still ringing from the first blow, diagnosed most likely as a minor concussion with a burst ear drum. He looked down on the boy, bewildered how any force capable enough to wreck his armor had come from someone so scrawny.

'The mutations must have started,'

Doctor Sovak, the lead surgeon of Harry's operation, took one look at the deformed arm and spun on the woman to their right trembling in a corner. "What the Hell were you thinking!?"

She stepped away, afraid of his ferocity. "I-It was just… a Green Eco tran-"

Sovak growled, picking up a vase on the window and tossing it at the nearest wall. "Are you blind, woman? Can't you see he's not normal! We have no idea what Eco will do to him! I gave you strict instructions, that damn infusion was meant for the other one!" he gestured to Jak, still standing awkwardly off the bed.

"I…" She searched, "the charts…"

"Sir," a voice whispered below the rant of the surgeon. Vine turned, nose clenched in hand, to the nurse holding out a pack of ice. He took it with a thankful nod, knowing the minor pains in his chest, face, and stomach would become something far more menacing as the day went.

'The Precursors hate me,' He thought miserably, cracking his nose back into place. 'They have a right to.'

A week had nearly passed before Harry saw the guard again or any orders were given to retrieve them from the hospital. The first day Harry was unconscious for, but when he woke Jak was free from restrains and sitting on the window sill. Harry, groggy and uncomfortable, attempted to leave his bed to find himself too faint to even sit up. His side ached dully, but it was nothing compared to the residual burning in his hand. He was terrified to look, afraid to find a stump. The day was a blur, just the smell of burnt skin seared into his memory. He doubted he would even remember if they removed it or not, he barely remembered his own name half the time.

"It's still attached," Jak told him with a light chuckle, "The guys in the coats said it would heal just fine."

"I want to say I'm relieved…" He croaked, swallowing hard.

Jak have a nod of comprehension, sliding off the window sill to pad closer to Harry's bedside. He noticed, then, how different Jak looked. The bruises and the small burn mark that dominated his right cheek were gone or faded to nothing more than a red blotch on tanned skin. He was no longer coated in soot and filth, his clothes replaced with white paper-cloth scrubs. His hair, no longer grey, was blond while his facial hair was green. He gestured to the bed, silently asking to sit on the end, and Harry gave a small nod

"How's it feel?" Jak asked, wincing as he rubbed his own wrist.

Harry shrugged his good shoulder, not entirely sure how he should feel about anything – physical or mental. It was all a mess. A plethora of sensations and diluted emotions he didn't know how to cope with.

He smirked spitefully. "Okay… Considering. Shouldn't it hurt more?" He found himself asking, his hand falling to the gauze. "Being shot?"

"I haven't been shot much," Jak mused, "but it would explain why all you're bruises are gone."

And why his tongue and nose didn't hurt at all anymore. It had been broken the night before along with his tongue being split open by his own teeth.

"Like yours?" Harry gestured, letting his neck ease to the side watching the elf.

Jak shook his head, flicking a package of neon green liquid suspended on a steel hook near the side of his bed. "Nah that was Green Eco. I told them I didn't need an I.V, but…" He left it at that, rubbing his thighs roughly. "It's been a couple days… don't you think someone should have come?"

Harry noted Jak's nervousness and anxious behavior. He continually bit the inside of his cheek, drummed his foot on the floor, rubbing his thighs, and balling the material of his shirt as if he expected an attack from all angles. It was then Harry noticed his eyes never strayed from the door long.

"You alright? I'd think being in a hospital is better than –"

"Shows what you know of me then," Jak snapped angrily, jumping off the bed in a sudden fit of energy. He paced the room, wringing his hands as he went. "Nothing is ever calm for more than a few hours, not days." Jak flung his arms out in frustration, "I'm mean, getting clean and some food is nice. The Green Eco is great, Precursors it's fantastic… But it's making me nervous. You can't tell me you're not waiting for the other shoe to drop?" He turned to Harry, eyes narrowing expectantly.

Having been Hermione Granger's friend for nearly four years, Harry knew better than to give into Jak's paranoia. Whereas Hermione was a nervous, panicky student afraid to fail a Potion's final – Jak was a prisoner expecting far worse than a 'Meets Expectations.' Yes, harry was expecting something to go wrong, but he had been awake a grand total of two hours since the surgery.

He continued to watch Jak, rolling his lips between his teeth as the boy grunted and buried his face in hand as he fell backwards on to his own bed.

"Shut up,"

"I didn't say anything," Harry mused.

The rest of the week followed mostly the same. Harry barely moved from his bed other than when the nurse wanted to clean his stitches or when he was forced into the shower room past the teal door. The nurses were far from gentle as they scrubbed him down. He had protested the first time, pushing against the back wall – fully naked by this point – and demanded he could do it himself. One nurse had threatened, non-violently, that he would hold him to the wall if he had to. Harry only grunted in response, fully humiliated, and let them wash him with a set jaw.

When it was over, feeling far more violated than he should have, Harry shakily grabbed his clothes pulled them on and fled the bathroom. He, like a child, hid under the blanket till his cheeks stopped burning. He was glad that Jak didn't attempt to start a conversation with him; Harry doubted he would have responded anyways. Neither of them had spoken much since their first night's conversation. Harry was either asleep or being prodded at while Jak paced and tried to quell his anxiety attacks.

By the end of the week, Jak had stopped jumping when the nurses came in and Harry had finally been allowed to give himself a bath. With little else to do while they ate, and both tired of the silence, Harry and Jak began to talk. Harry was blunt with Jak, not sparing anything from where he was from and Jak was equally forthcoming.

Harry learned he was from a seaside fisherman's village on a tropical island. He learned of their odd technology, not magic, that could transport people across distances in an instant and how they had found what they thought to be one on a larger scale. Harry was in complete awe and sympathy as he listened to Jak's crash landing in this world and his very disturbing month in Haven City.

When Harry began his tale, stringing together magic and evil wizards, even he felt like he was reading off pages of a fairy-tale. A rather twisted, dark one, but a fiction nonetheless… It wasn't magic that completely floored Jak, but the fact that Harry wasn't a Precursian. He wasn't from a place that worshiped Precursors as their Gods and creators.

"How much longer do you think?" Jak questioned, sitting cross-legged on Harry's bed with an apple in his hand. He stretched, groaning, and rubbed weakly at his lower back. The soft beds, after so long on hard floors, had made both their backs stiff and sore.

"I kinda hope they don't…" Harry admitted with a weary smile.

Jak gave a short laugh, nodding vigorously. "This has probably been the best week I've had in a while." He caught Harry's incredulous look. "It's been a rough month."

"Yeah, I got that." Harry chuckled.

Even this, being chained to your bed for hours on end, guards outside your door, and a camera watching every twitch you made? Yes. This was a spa compared to Haven City; he pitied Jak for ending up there, but admired him for staying as mentally together as he had… Even if he did have his moments.

After all, misery loves company.

It was nearly eight hours later before the guards came to bring them back to the Science Center. After three hours of silence, their meals long since finished, Harry began to hum to himself to ease the tension. Jak stared at him ludicrously at first when he started singing verses from his favorite radio song. He ended up teaching Jak several lines of it before they broke down in silly laughter when Harry sang it back horrendously off tune. Harry, in the midst of defending his rendition of the Beatles, was silenced by the whine of a tension lock. His eyes fled to the door, wincing, as the red light became green.

His stomach flipped as all expression fell from Jak's face when Commander Vine stepped through. "You," Vine leveled Harry with a hard stare, "Are coming with me." He gestured lazily towards Jak, not sparing him a glance. "You are going back to the holding cell. Take him," He snapped his fingers at one of the men who remained in the hall.

Jak was already on the defensive, off the bed and bright eyes narrowed defiantly. The Commander sighed, the guard approaching with his gun half out of its holster in warning. Harry admired Jak's rebellious attitude, his lack of fear, and he thought him more a Gryffindor than Harry ever was.

"Look," the guard told Jak, "Co-operate and walk out of here with your head held high or dragged by your ears. Your choice, blondie."

For a moment Jak contemplated the choice. His shoulders sagged and brought his hands up in a show of submission. The guard gave a nod of approval and gestured Jak out of the room before him. Harry felt ill then, eyes wide as he stared at his covered knees. He knew what came next. There was no other reason Vine would be here escorting him. He was going to the chair.

"And you Potter?" Vine wondered, "Are you walking or am I dragging you kicking and screaming?" At that point, Harry considered how much he hated the man before him. How much he blamed him for everything.

He was determined to walk on his own; it was his plan when he pushed himself from the bed, but his knees shook before they buckled. He had expected the floor, but Vine's arm was across his chest, gloved fingers digging into the tender flesh of his side. He grunted in pain as Vine righted him on his feet. For a moment their eyes met and Harry was unnerved. He wasn't startled by the lack of compassion in the Commander's face, but by how similar his eyes were to Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was a man Harry respected, even for all his faults. He trusted Dumbledore and it had been the reason he trusted Vine. They spoke and moved the same way. Vine was nowhere near as eccentric as Dumbledore, but he was as close as you could get for a military man. Even when angry, Vine rarely shouted – just like Dumbledore – but the danger was still there.

'Vine is nothing like Dumbledore,' Harry told himself sternly with a scowl.

"Stay beside me," Vine ordered as he led Harry into the white tiled hallway. Once outside the hospital, Harry was forced to squint against the blaring sun. The tropical heat crawled over him almost instantly. It was humid and nearly suffocating…

"You get used to it," Vine simply said. Harry sincerely doubted it, but kept his silence as Vine led him through the complicated and twisting paths before them. With every step they took, Harry began to realize just how far from home he really was. Buildings of shaped steel and blue tinted glass rose at his sides in architectures that he didn't know were possible. The paths were full of people in military dress, others in suits, and some in medical scrubs. The roar of the mindless din was new to Harry; he hadn't heard any of this in his cell or the hospital room.

How secluded had they kept him and Jak?

A single man came from the crowd towards them, Vine, who had stopped them midway to the center; spoke loudly to the incoming soldier. "Take him to the Lab, they're waiting on him."

Harry's breath hitched in his throat as soon as the words registered. He was abruptly handed over to the man and turned towards the building. He didn't remember the walk to the injection room, only knowing that the table and the needles waited for him. The guard took him to the injection room, the metal spider like machine waiting for him in the center of it. They bullied him onto it, barely phased by his weak struggle, and strapped him tightly beneath the canisters loaded with brown liquid.

"Please," He begged quietly to the nearest guard. He paused, glancing for a moment to those beyond the Plexiglas, and rested a hand on his trembling shoulder. His orange eyes gave him pity, but that's all they could spare.

"Stay still, it will hurt less."

He bit down on his cheek, closing his eyes tightly as the hand left him. Fear gripped him with a new intensity. Harry knew his warning was sound, which he should listen to, but common sense had fled the moment he had spotted the machine. The stabbing pain of the needles breaking the skin on his triceps made him gasp and groan. Eight ten-gauge tines dug deeply into vital veins and as it hissed, they began to administer the serum.

Concrete and fire. Later in life, when someone dared to ask, that is what Harry would say it was. It was concrete and fire that tore through him and made him scream himself hoarse. He could feel every part of his body burst and burn. Every bone shift, every muscle rip, and every pore set with corrosive acid. Every second he prayed that it would end or he would die. Just as it came to a head, it stopped. The fire would die, the concrete would solidify in his veins, and the black would swallow him until nothing was left.

'I killed Cedric,'

"Harry?" Jak's voice broke through the pounding in his ears.

'I killed Cedric and this is how I pay for it.'

The treatment left his skin hypersensitive. When Jak, he hoped, laid a hand on his shoulder he cried out and flinched away in pain. Was it already done? Was he already back in the holding cell? Why did they bring him back to the one with Jak? Why not his own?

"I… I'll be…" Harry lied brokenly.

Jak had been in this situation far too many times to believe a word that Harry forced past his lips. He had been in nightmare long enough to know the lies people told themselves. He'd seen too many men curl up in pain writhing and sobbing helplessly as Eco crawled through their blood. He, himself, had been there more times than he could count. That darkness, the foreign thing inside you… Changing you in ways you couldn't even begin to understand. It was crippling, both physically and mentally.

He made a promise to himself then, watching Harry curl in on himself – trying to hide the pain behind his hand. It was a selfish choice, in a lot of ways, but he knew he could be strong enough for the both of them. Jak could handle it, he told himself sternly. He wouldn't allow Harry to become a statistic or a crossed out name – even if he wanted to. He didn't want to be alone and he didn't want to witness anyone else's death. No more faces, no more names.

Without warning, Jak grabbed at Harry's arms. He let out horrible, strangled yelp of pain, but Jak only pulled harder to get him off the floor. Carefully and as quick as he could, Jak put him on it. The teen bit his lower lip until it bled to stop himself from crying.

"Thanks… I owe you," He breathed.

"You don't owe me anything," Jak told him, quietly determined. He stood beside Harry, fists clenched at his side. "But you can make a deal with me."

Harry, eyes blood shot and swollen, fell on him confused and uncertain. They were still practically strangers, but they were strangers stuck in the same position of being unable to trust anyone else around them. They weren't people to the others, they were just serial numbers. Erol had made that abundantly clear to him, he wondered if Harry knew the same.

"Let's make a deal… We are not going to die here. We'll find a way to make them pay for everything they've done to us. Everything we've had to suffer for." The boy's eyes flared, "We'll get back home. No matter what it takes… or what happens." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, "We'll make it out… We have to."

Unknown to the both of them, Harry didn't know what it meant for a wizard to make a promise on his life. He had never been told what it meant, to bind his life to his word, and another as well. As he raised his hand to meet Jak's, neither noticed nor felt the small golden string that slithered across their hands for a split second or did they feel the faint, almost invisible scars it left behind as Harry nodded weakly.

"Deal."