Summary: When Kyle Kingston, a 17-year-old spoiled muggle kid gets cursed by a "weird emo chick" the Magistrate Council of Wizarding America sends their best agent to solve the case and avoid the uproar the kid's frightening resemblance to Voldemort might cause. And this agent is Harry Potter, Master of Rituals and Runes and the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

Harry Potter/Beastly

Through the Eyes of Broken Mirrors

There was a knock on his office door and Harry looked up from the massive tome he was studying, rubbing his tired eyes to chase away the blurriness caused by long hours spent hunched over an approximately 600 years old book. "Come in," he murmured, blinking his eyes open in time to see Theodore Nott walking through the door.

"We have a case," Theo said, his dark brown eyes mirroring the exhaustion Harry felt in every one of his bones.

Harry sighed and gestured his colleague and friend to sit down. "Coffee?"

"I had three in the last half an hour, so no, thank you." Rich mahogany hair fell into dulled light brown eyes as the other man shook his head, before he offered the folder in his hand to Harry. "You're not going to like this."

Harry repressed a disbelieving snort, when was the last time he liked any of their assignments? Still he opened the folder, readying himself to see another mutilated body of some moron who thought themselves above magic and laws and tried to repeat Voldemort's mistake. But instead of bloody and barely recognisable human remains he saw the face of a teenage boy with obviously magical sigils and scars all over his face. Harry looked into cobalt orbs that were staring back at him, arrogance and rage induced pain radiating from the printed gaze, before the cursed boy averted his eyes and turned his head, trying to hide into the confines of his black hood.

"Kyle Kingston," Theo offered quietly, prompting Harry to tear his gaze away from the once probably very attractive face and read the file attached to the picture. "Seventeen and disappeared four months ago."

"According to the sources he was cursed by some "weird emo chick"?" Harry frowned in confusion glancing up at the other wizard for some help.

"Her name is Kendra Hilferty or so the students said, but no one has seen her ever since the incident at the Spring Dance. The aurors suspect she is a squib."

"She can't really be a squib if she successfully managed to curse this kid," Harry pointed out, looking back at the photo. "Unless she is a–"

"Wiccan, yes." Theo nodded watching him for any reaction, but Harry only felt resignation and some relief; at least it wasn't another corpse.

"Let me guess," he said after a few moments of silence, "they want our department to try to break the curse."

Brown eyes shifted and Theo bit his lower lip. "Magistrate Gordeux wants you to break the curse."

The folder fell out of Harry's hands and landed on the book he had been examining before Theo came in with a noisy shuffle. He stared at his friend in bewilderment, looking for any sign that it was just a very bad joke, but there was no spark of hidden amusement on Nott's face; he was deadly serious.

"Why? I'm not a Curse Breaker," Harry stated the obvious.

"I don't know." But Theo wouldn't look in his eyes.

"Why?" he pressed, green eyes glowing with highly restrained power. Still Theo remained silent, staring down at his tightly entwined fingers in his lap. "I'm a Master of Rituals and Runes, why does Gordeux want me, when the building is full of capable Curse Breakers who would die to get out and do something simple for a change instead of risking their necks in ancient tombs?"

"Harry..."

"No, Theodore," Harry cut in, feeling his anger raising higher and higher like a fever that wrecked your body until it destroyed itself from inside out. "You are Gordeux's assistant, you perfectly know what's going on, and I want to know."

Theo's pale features contorted into a mask of impotent fury as almost yellow eyes snapped up to meet Harry's poison coloured ones, fighting and losing the battle of wills in the matter of seconds. "They are afraid," the slighter man gritted out through his clenched teeth. "Look at the kid and say you don't see the resemblance."

Harry glanced at the picture, trying to see what freaked his superiors out, but only saw a desperate and self-absorbed teenager whose life was ruined by his classmate because he acted like one of the biggest assholes in the world. "Kyle Kingston is a muggle," was everything he said.

"The Magistrates think there is a chance, when the transformation is done, that it would change him into something..." Theo trailed off, scowling and glaring at Harry's desk with such vulnerability that it wrenched the black haired wizard's heart.

He knew how much his friend had lost in the war, and understood his fears, after all he was the one who had to fight and in the end destroy Voldemort, literally dying for the cause. And maybe he could see the similarities between this boy and the monster that kept the whole Wizarding World in terror for nearly two decades, however, there was one big difference; beneath all the scars and sigils, Kyle Kingston still had a soul of a human, even if it was a twisted and spoiled one.

"Does Kingston have a magical core? Inactive or active?" he changed the topic to stop himself from rounding the desk and drawing Theo in his arms; it wasn't the time or place.

"The Research Department is still looking into it," came the stiff answer. "The lack of proper documentation when it comes to Muggle family trees is both astounding and infuriating according to them."

Harry looked at the wizard who appeared in his life and became his best friend when everyone else was too busy to chase the fame of being a war hero or their dreams to bother with the wreck that was Harry Potter, the Defeater of Voldemort. Theo offered a way out of the trap his power and glory got himself into, he was the one who had been there when Harry was haunted by his own death and the horrors he had to live through because of Voldemort, just like Theo was the one who had suggested what he should do with the enormous amount of magic his body contained.

"Do you want me to accept the assignment?" he inquired, watching as the other wizard's shoulder tensed then relaxed, before he raised his head to meet with Harry's gaze.

"Yes." It was simple, no evasive explanations and empty reasons, just one word; the truth.

Harry nodded, closing the folder that still lay on his desk with the hiding photo of Kyle Kingston; Harry's first assignment that concerned living people since the elimination of the last Death Eaters, Antonin Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange, who decided to hide and start over in America after the end of the war. "Alright, I'll do it."

The small, grateful, yet guilty flash in those amber coloured eyes and the almost invisible smile made the whole mess worth the dealing with an insufferable, spoiled and angry kid.

[Through the Eyes of Broken Mirrors]

Venturing into the Muggle side of New York City was something Harry didn't participate in very often. He never accepted his colleagues' offers to check out Muggle beers and clubs, not caring that they thought he was both a hermit and a stuck up prick. They didn't understand, didn't feel the constant presence of decay and death hanging over the metropolis, the stench of the disease Muggles brought to Earth, steadily destroying everything around them. They were witches and wizards and yet they couldn't see the slow danse macabre, couldn't hear the soft, hopeless cries of Magic.

The magical population of the New World were ignorant and weak, tarnishing centuries old traditions with a nonchalant shrug of their shoulders, because only a handful of them carried the old blood that flew so strongly in Harry's veins, singing and calling, but never getting any answer. It wasn't prejudice, not when he could practically taste the contamination in every newborn wizard and witch's thinning core.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, the pollution in the air was almost suffocating, and looked up at the modest house in front of him. It was nothing fancy or outstanding, not something you would expect from a self-conceited bastard like Rob Kingston, but then again the man was basically denying the existence of his son, locking him away far away from anything that could blemish his perfect reputation. Kingston was a disgusting, self-absorbed swine and it was far too easy to manipulate his mind to the point he did anything Harry wanted.

Experiencing the disgust and anger the man felt toward his son made Harry's blood boil and he wanted nothing more than to destroy the motherfucker's very essence for condemning his own flesh and blood for something that wasn't really they boy's fault to begin with. In the end he just got what he wanted and left, mentally preparing to spend the next who knows how many weeks with a Muggle kid who probably hated the whole world and wanted to destroy it too.

He politely knocked on the door, waiting for Kingston Junior to appear as patiently as he could. "What do you want?" came the hostile question from the other side of the door, causing Harry to roll his eyes and bite back a scathing retort.

"Your father hired me," he replied, tone controlled, expression impassive. "I'm your tutor."

"Tell my father he can go to hell," Kyle snapped.

Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Next time we meet I'll give him your heartfelt message. Now open the bloody door and let me in."

"Hell no!"

"Look, little boy, I don't have time for your bullshit. I know about your delicate condition and either you let me through that door or I'll blast it open. Your choice," Harry gritted out, and was kind of glad that he had grown into a tall, broad shouldered man that could carry out his threats instead of staying a scrawny seventeen-year-old kid forever.

Everything was silent for a minute, then the lock clicked and the door slowly opened revealing a neat and tastefully decorated white foyer. Harry walked in and dropped his suitcase onto the floor, turning towards the master of the house who was watching him with a scowl, even if his blue eyes were filled with heart-breaking vulnerability. Magic was engulfing his whole presence, swirling angrily and darkly around him, slowly seeping into his pores, trying to mould, change him into something new. It wasn't evil, the wizard noted, but it was dark and velvety, alien and all too familiar at the same time. Harry's curiosity spiked, urging him to examine the sigils and the very nature of this foreign magic more closely.

"Are you finished?" Kyle snapped, his hands clenched into fists and shaking by his side. "I'm surprised my father didn't send a blind guy, but then again maybe that would have been better."

"Look kid–"

"You look barely older than me," the boy cut in angrily. "So stop calling me kid. I have a name."

"Well I didn't want to be rude and call you a Douchebag, but if you insist," Harry countered easily. "And you can relax, you're hardly the most horrible sight I've ever seen. Your mouth and eyes are pretty."

Cobalt coloured eyes widened only to narrow dangerously a moment later. "Are you fucking with me?! Or what are you, a faggot with some freaky kinks?"

Harry ignored the outburst and simply looked at the young boy in front of him, taking in the defensive stance and stony expression on the marred face. "Don't get your lacy thong in a twist, infantile brats have no appeal to me."

"Fuck you!" Kyle snarled then promptly blushed as he realised he just proved Harry right. "Bastard."

The wizard smirked; unbelievably enough he was enjoying the banter with the spoiled little prince-turned-beast. Maybe it was the heady taste of strong, pulsating magic that danced around both of them trying to seduce him. "Now that you finished listing my finest qualities, would you be so kind to show me my room?"

"Follow me."

The guest room looked just like any other part of the house, pretty and empty, bearing no personality at all. It was certainly nothing like the cosy three-bedroom flat Harry shared with Theo, but for the time being it would have to do.

Kyle was watching him from the door, lips tightly pursed as if he was afraid he would blurt out something embarrassing the moment he opened his mouth. "You can ask, you know," Harry said as he ran his index finger alongside the crest painted onto his suitcase, effectively unlocking the wards.

"Why did you accept the job?" The question was simple, yet full of insecurity and distrust; the boy's lonely, terrified side peeking through the chiselled marble prince costume, Kyle Kingston was so used to wear.

Piercing green eyes looked up to meet with guarded blue ones, and Harry thought about what he should say. His task was to break the curse and ensure that the kid wasn't turned into a broken porcelain doll by the hands of fear and discrimination. No strings, no bonds; a simple task that would end with Harry obliviating everyone who ever knew about the curse or him. Unfortunately for the Magistrates and the MLE, Harry was neither a liar nor cruel, and even if the teen deserved the curse, the bitch who did this to him not only abused her powers she was granted by Mother Magic herself, but broke the law set by the International Confederation of Wizards too.

"Close the door and come in." When the boy hesitated he rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to molest you." Kyle scowled and closed the door behind him, leaning against the wood, ready to bolt the minute Harry twitched in his way.

Kyle crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to seem expectant instead of anxious.

"I'm here to break the curse," the wizard said matter-of-factly, causing the teenager to pale.

"You're a guy!" he exclaimed, outraged and fearful, the magic flaring up around him like blazing bonfire. "There is no way in hell that I'll fall in love with you!"

"I'm perfectly aware of the existence of my penis, but thank you for enlightening me." Harry rolled his eyes with a small sneer. Thinking about what the other just said and deciding to call Theo later about the terms of the curse. "And no one asked you to fall for me. I was sent by the Magistrate Council of Wizarding America, an organisation that deals with similar or more severe cases to yours."

"Magistrate of... what?! Are you out of your fucking mind?! Or you just enjoy mocking me?!" the kid yelled, taking a few aggressive steps towards Harry.

Harry wasn't fazed. "You were cursed by a witch, right?"

Kyle stopped in his tracks as if he was slapped. "No way..." he whispered. "There are more... things like her?"

"Of course there are others like her, although there are a lot more like me," Harry replied softly, trying to sooth the boy's frayed nerves.

"What are you?"

"A wizard." They stared at each other, not moving or even breathing, before Kyle tore his gaze away and shook his head vehemently.

"Yeah, sure." His laugh was bitter and cutting like freshly shattered glass. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" Harry didn't answer. "Well I hope you had your share of amusement, Gandalf, because I want you to get lost. Now!"

"Frankly I don't give a shit if you believe me or not," Harry spoke up, his tone leaving no place for argument. "But the thing is, I either stay here and work on breaking the bounds that hide your original form or the Magical Law Enforcement will get rid of your very memory, making your asshole father's life whole lot easier."

"I-I don't believe you," Kyle stuttered, all the while trying to act though and menacing. "My father would never allow anything to happen to me!"

"What father?" Harry knew it was too much, when the boy flinched, the scarred skin around his eyes tightening even more. Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, that was uncalled for."

Kyle didn't answer.

"Just let me try to help you, okay?" the wizard tried again. "You might be a condescending little bastard, but no one deserves a curse like this."

Harry waited for his companion to say something, but the silence just stretched and stretched until nothing more than ragged breath and crackling magic filled the room. Kyle was staring out of the window, but his eyes were unfocused and Harry just knew he was reliving the night the Wiccan woman cast the spell on him, leaving the Rune Master with his own thoughts and memories.

Harry had no idea how much time could have passed before the younger boy blinked and turned back to him, seemingly more collected. "She told me it was the punishment for my cruelty," Kyle began, his voice quiet and hesitant. "Told me, she was showing the world my ugliness and... I have to find someone who would love me for me before the year ends or I stay like this forever."

"I never understood people who were so obsessed with their appearance," Harry mused, sitting down on the bed. He raised his hand when Kyle opened his mouth to retort. "Do you realise that she could have killed you? Or mutilate your body? Or maybe even rape you? Or make you her slave, ripping away your will but never your consciousness?"

"Death sure would have been better than being a revolting freak!" the teenager growled and Harry reacted before he could have stopped himself.

"Really?" Harry pressed a silver blade that materialised in his hand out of thin air into Kyle's neck before the Muggle teen could have realised what was happening to him, cutting of his air supply without an effort. "Should I end your tragic misery then? Are you so desperate to be forgotten, that you would readily throw your life away, giving it up like a lowlife loser? Are you a loser, Kyle Kingston?"

Blue eyes were wide with sheer terror as the boy tried to move, to raise his hand to grab for Harry's wrist, but magical bindings were forcing him to remain still and pressed against the wall like a lifeless marionette figurine awaiting its master's orders. "It would be over in a few minutes, do you really want that?"

Maybe it was cruel, but after fighting for his and others' lives for years, Harry couldn't tolerate a vain, pathetic cry-baby's whines about being ugly. The boy was young and had his whole life ahead of him, and yet all he could think was his body and face that was not perfect anymore. It was ridiculous and infuriating, something Harry would not allow to continue.

He held the knife against Kyle's neck for a few more seconds, just till the kid's pupils started to dilate, then stepped back and the silver knife disappeared just as quickly as it appeared while Kyle was coughing and rasping on his hands and knees, tears flowing from his eyes. "I don't want to hear another word about wanting to die, am I understood?"

Kyle coughed a few more times, his breath hoarse and ragged, but eventually he nodded his head, just before he stood up and left the room without looking at Harry. And Harry knew that he was too hard on the boy who was barley four years his junior, even if it felt like forty, but Kyle needed to learn the consequences of his actions and that just because he didn't look like Prince Charming from a fairy tale anymore, his life was far from over.

Hopefully by the time Harry was able to break the spell, if he even could break it that is, the teen would learn his lesson and become a better person who knew how to love someone and himself too.