PSYCHODRIVE
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Battle Royale – both of them belong to their respective owners. I only own this story as it is.
Summary: AU-verse: Kiriyama Kazuo contracted a severe case of mine-itis, courtesy of one Harry James Potter. And Harry certainly didn't wish for another psycho stalker to follow him home… even if he was from another dimension.
Shout Out: Yeesh, how time files. Well, time and stories go on, and I blame one of you for letting out the plotdragon that stopped in tracks all my other projects, fiction or real life ones. You know who you are, and I hope this story would prove to be an interesting read – it certainly was a challenge to write it out!
Warnings: AU-verse (Again. Yay.), mucked up timelines and a little OOC Kiriyama. Pairing is Harry Potter/Kiriyama Kazuo – this is SLASH, so beware. I warned you. Some gruesome images here and contains hints of spoilers for part of Battle Royale timeline. Oh, and there are multiple POV's - when I write Kiriyama, his POV is written as Kiriyama - otherwise, for Harry's and omniscent POV's, Kiriyama is mentioned as Kazuo, except when Harry is pissed with his psycho addition. Because Harry is not close to the kids in Battle Royale, he uses surnames to address them, as it's Japanese custom for calling acquaitances.
Dictionary:Gakuran jacket - the jacket of the Japanese scholastic uniform worn by male participants of school. Classic gakuran has a high and rigid collar and big brass buttons; usually worn in combination with black pants.
Originally, Japanese scholastic uniforms appeared at the end of the nineteenth century, modelled on the contemporary European uniforms, particularly on uniforms of the military cadets of Prussia.
The correct way to wear the gakuran is with the collar very straight and all the buttons closed. Who instead wears it with open collar or with open buttons he comes identified like a "bad guy" in the scholastic context (and yes, this is Kiriyama)
Sano Proxima: A healing charm, very high level, usually as surgery slash energy healing for internal organs. Goot point is that after using it, the organs are returned back to it's healthy state, but downside is that for perforning it, there are needed at least three experienced Mediwizards, because it's a bitch on magic reserves as it saps energy like crazy. Usually the wands transfer amount of energy/magic to injuried organ, temporarily supporting it and lending additional hand to help the cells to multiply and grow up faster in a very short amount of time- It also can be done wandlessly, but this course almost guarantees the user falling in a deep coma or dying shortly afterwards.
Feelings are not supposed to be logical. Dangerous is the man who has rationalized his emotions."
David Borenstein
The room was dark and lit with some candles. It held an oppressive feeling – old, scratchy floor boards, an ancient oriental carpet whose pattern had already faded into indecipherable blobs of color, and intimidating dark shelves that were filled with old texts. Surprisingly, the texts were in a better state than the room was, with the exception of the small settee and coffee table – which were still looking out of time, if not out of use. The fire was merrily crackling in the hearth, its cackle an uncomfortable counterpoint of sound to the tense silence, which was only occasionally interspersed with the frantic mumbling of the young, bushy-haired woman who had been pacing up and down the free length of the floor, obviously waiting for someone.
She was not tall, her face was slender, and her bushy mane had long ago escaped its confinement in a ponytail. She was clothed in dark blue jeans and a maroon pullover, and her feet were clad in comfortable shoes. She moved swiftly, yet with a jerky undertone to her movements that indicated she was tired and only her formidable iron will was holding her up. That, and numerous cups of coffee, as indicated by one such example, which was painted in red with a golden lion stalking around the surface proudly, before roaring soundlessly ad disappearing on the other side of the cup again. The cup was already drained and only the lukewarm dregs remained of the aromatic liquid.
"And if I calculated wrong?" The young woman muttered to herself, worrying her lower lip absentmindedly. "Oh… there are such a number of things that could go wrong…. Ron was right, I am such a know-it-all –"
She sniffled, her eyes glassy and desperate as she finally gave up and sat heavily on the settee. Her slender shoulders shook with the force of suppressed sobs, and her muttering digressed into small whimpers of despair.
That, my ladies and gents, was one Hermione Jean Granger – the brightest witch of her generation, decorated war heroine and right now… the fool who had the misfortune of having walked the road of good intentions and come out for the worse.
The war had ended with the victory of the Light side, however, they had suffered hard losses too – almost half of the young generation that decided to follow the banner of the Order of the Phoenix had been killed, were permanently injured or had suffered Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The dark side had lost a third of its members permanently, and most of the young generation would bear the scars of the war – either physically or mentally – for years to come.
And in the middle of it all, there had been a Golden Trio. Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Savior, Ronald Bilius Weasley, the Strategist, and Hermione Jean Granger, the Brain of the operation. Three inseparable friends that had gone against all odds and somehow managed to get out alive and relatively unscathed.
The rebuilding of the Wizarding World was slow and with media having a heyday with the Boy – no, Man-Who-Won, there had been extra pressure on Harry, who had already resented being in the middle of the attention.
At first, it was all fine and dandy. Hermione was happy that all of them were alive, and she had gotten her parents back, Ron enjoyed his little bit of spotlight full-throttle, and Harry bore with it in hopes of the rumors and accolades winding down.
But then, it all crashed down. It all began one evening at the Weasleys, where both Hermione and Harry came to the dinner. The bushy-haired witch gulped as she recalled the happenings.
At first, the dinner was good - the chat was friendly, the food good as ever and definitely a change from the grub they had to eat while they were on the run – but then, she just had to ruin the fun, didn't she?
Harry had broken up with Ginny out of safety reasons - the Weasleys, no matter how good-natured they were, would not forgive him if he – either deliberately or not – put a baby of their family in the danger. Both of them parted on amicable terms, with a tentative promise to continue their relationship after war.
However, Ginny seemed determined that it was now a good time for her to become Mrs. Potter, and she had hinted at that particular tidbit of information quite heavily. Harry – well, Harry didn't want to accommodate her, much to hers and Mrs. Weasley's dissatisfaction. He explained that quite clearly, but both of the women still pushed and well…. Harry exploded.
He was tired, barely fit to be out of the hospital and he just wanted some peace for himself, damn it. Was that too much to wish for? And no, peace didn't include one Ginevra Molly Weasley in any way, shape or form. Just because they had once been a tentative couple didn't mean he should immediately begin to prepare for a wedding!
Mr. Weasley tried to play the peacemaker, but both Molly and Ginny were unrelenting on the issue, finally pressing Harry into storming out and declaring he would rather live in the Muggle world than deal with the Wizarding World's unreasonable expectations heaped on his shoulders. He was still only a teen, for fuck's sake!
The evening after Harry's untimely and furious departure was uncomfortable, and Hermione had to bear the brunt of Mrs. Weasley's tirade on what was– by her standards– the appropriate behavior and life style for the young man who had stormed out in a fit of righteous rage. That diatribe also included her and little Ronnikins and when they would tie the knot already - Hermione shuddered as she remembered that particular conversation.
Really, she loved Ronald, but being a baby maker and housewife at seventeen? Not a damned chance. Fortunately, Ron agreed with her views, but only because he was still high on being famous and he enjoyed all the perks the fame entailed.
The next day when she visited Grimmauld Place - Harry's property, which was still warded, with Harry being the Secret Keeper to keep the masses away– she had found Harry in the middle of furiously packing. She was never so grateful for Harry's apparent inability to pack by magical means. Long story short, she somehow managed to convince him to accept her Portkey to Japan – but only when it was already activated, Hermione found out that it had been one of the experimental Portkeys she had been tinkering with and –
Oh, shit
She had cursed her inquisitive nature quite often since then. The ironic thing in all the fiasco was that her hypothesis was apparently correct in a sense – she had managed to create a Timeline Portkey.
It took long hours of calculating, re-calculating, and calibrating the said calculations just the right to get the desired effect, but as always, with one Harry James Potter thrown in the mix, her plans were shot to hell. Add that to the fact that the Portkey she had given him was untested and she could be – if anyone found out - tried for a first degree unintentional murder via Portkey.
It took a week. A week when she had to reverse engineer the Portkey, revise the calculations, add in the factor of the homing beacon and God, if this succeeded, Hermione swore, she would find herself a nice desk job far, far away from any kind of experimenting, and she would stick strictly to the Muggle science. Besides, it was Harry's penchant to get into trouble, and not hers!
Sighing tremulously, her lips moved in a silent prayer. Her fingers entwined with each other, as she lowered her head into her hands.
Fifteen minutes….
Fifteen minutes and then, she would know, whether she succeeded or failed.
The longest time of her life….
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
The old wall clock ticked away, its dual tone, with its tick a little both higher than the tock, almost a mocking representation of what had been, what was here and what would and wouldn't be….
Hermione almost growled as she grabbed a fistful of her bushy mane. She glared at the clock, wishing for it to explode into smithereens, if only that she would be safe from that infernally monotone sound.
She was tired to the point of exhaustion, cranky and frankly, she was pissed. When one Harry James Potter returned, she would personally wring his pretty little neck for daring to make such a mess out of her!
Even if there was the infamous Potter luck thrown in somewhere, that didn't mean Harry just had to go anywhere and spread his own unique brand of chaos!
She had thrown a pair of logs on the hearth, making the flames greedily devour them, brightening a room a little. She looked at the clock.
Two in the morning,
Just. Wonderful.
Narrowing her eyes crankily, she resisted the urge to scream.
Ten minutes before, she had sent the reverse Timeline Portkey to Harry's location – hopefully the darned thing reached him - but with the time window closing down rapidly - the Time Portkey, unlike its regular counterpart, was good only for a set amount of time, because it incorporated the combination of Time Turner and Portkey, and with Locator Charms thrown in, the entire thing was one hell of a lot work to stabilize, lest the user explode into prafactors upon using it.
It had been Hermione's biggest pride and, if the fucking thing didn't work as it should, it would become her greatest failure.
And really, Hermione Granger didn't do failures.
Until now.
Three.
Two.
One….
Nothing.
Hermione exhaled a disappointed sigh.
"What the fuck did I expect? A miracle?" She slowly muttered to herself. Tiredly, she stood up –
CRASH!
"-fucking damn it! Kazuo, you son of a bitch!" Those nine words were the sweetest ones the bushy-haired witch had ever heard from her irate green-eyed best friend, who was, at the moment, buried under the mass of a…
Hermione blinked.
Oh.
Well, wasn't that a surprise.
One Harry James Potter was not a very happy camper at the moment. Between the unintended trip to literally nowhere, somehow managing to get included into the class that was later on revealed to be a nest for budding murderers, unintentional they may have been, somehow becoming the focus of attention of one of the favorite psychos and surviving the game with all his wits and nerves intact, upstaging a coup and then getting thrown back in his timeline – at least he thought it was his timeline, and having the psycho hijack his drive – no, he was grumpy, tired and ready to wring the neck of his favorite – not! – bookworm friend for the stunt she had pulled with her…. Supposedly harmless Portkey.
Besides, his shoulder hurt like a fucking bitch, after stopping a bullet that was intended for the fucking son of a bitch that somehow managed to follow him home.
God damn it.
Why was he such a magnet for psychos everywhere?
First Voldemort, then dear little Bella, then Fenrir, Voldie again, and no, Snape didn't count in that category, despite of his utter, black hatred of Harry's father, Voldemort again, then that fat pig, Kamon Yonemi.
And let's not forget his… unintended – yeah, right – little passenger… one Kiriyama Kazuo.
A true blue psycho, if he ever saw one… and what was worse, the brat was a genius of the highest order.
Shame he was a soulless robot without feelings besides his severe case of mine-itis, though.
Thus his passionate description of the aforementioned psycho as a son of a bitch.
Harry glared at the…youth… balefully. If glares could have killed, then the tall, handsome teen killer would have already been buried six feet under… at least fifty times and counting.
Because it was so not a good idea to stick a war veteran with one psycho kid without emotions – the bad thing was that Harry still had his emotions, and said psycho kid was utterly unafraid of the Boy-erm, Man-Who-Won and his capabilities of unleashing a pretty green light that killed anything alive on its way.
Swallowing down the contents of his stomach, he grabbed the youth for the lapels of his damned jacket and pulled the bastard so that they were nose to nose.
"You know what? I am in a right mood to kill you." He began pleasantly, swallowing to force the remains of the travel sickness down, and blatantly disregarding a bushy someone for the moment. "With, oh, I dunno, a little dose of Cruciatus or maybe Flagellatio or –"
"Harry!" He ignored the bushy something's horrified gasp, his green eyes staring sharply into dull, dark brown ones.
"I thought that we agreed to leave killing behind." The youth's voice was smooth as he stared emotionlessly into his captor's furious face. The cut above his right eye throbbed with pain and his stomach was vaguely uncomfortable from that shot Kawada-san had hit him with before Harry managed to tackle him down and keep him here for a time.
It was only because Harry had assured him he would go with him that he had left the three alive and he even helped to stage a coup in the last phase of the Program.
That and he wanted some more of Harry's kisses.
Harry's right eyebrow twitched at Kazuo's matter of fact tome.
"Unfortunately you're right." He groused out unhappily. "Now, get off of me – you're not getting any lighter!" He bit out, before lightly shoving Kazuo away.
"Harry?" The bushy-something voiced hesitantly, making the dull-eyed youth whirl around and point the Ingram MC-10 gun in her direction, making the girl flinch back, before Harry firmly grabbed the arm that held the gun.
"No. She is a friend."
Slender dark eyebrows narrowed in confusion for a moment, before the youth lowered the gun, prompting a relieved sigh from the witch.
"You owe me a kiss." He informed Harry calmly, leaving him to splutter, while he stood up, straightening his jacket.
"You are a jackass." Harry grumbled back, when he got his wits under control, before yelping as he was full on assaulted with a happy, crying bushy haired missile of death hugs.
"O – Oh, Harry! I am – sniff – So happy you're –sniff-back!" Said missile bawled into Harry's chest, before it was roughly torn away and unceremoniously chucked back from where it came, prompting twin yelps of surprise from the pair of hug-participants.
Dazedly, Hermione shook her head, before looking back at Harry, who was at the moment in the hug of a beautiful stranger.
Emotionless brown eyes looked at her, making her involuntarily shudder.
And then, the stranger spoke.
"Mine."
It was Hermione's turn to splutter, while Harry glared at the stranger half-heartedly, obviously used to such… expressions of possessiveness from him.
"Wh – What?" The bushy haired witch managed to get out, absentmindedly leaving Harry to his devices – i.e. in the stranger's embrace.
"Kiriyama, she is a colleague." Harry calmly interjected, before tapping the stranger's left hand, which was quite possessively wrapped around his waist. "And I really need her to take care of my wounds."
"Harry? Who is he?" Hermione asked tentatively, finally noticing the state her friend was in.
Harry was clothed in dark gray trousers with his running shoes and once-upon-a-time white shirt with a black gakuran jacket. His face was pale, sweaty, and withdrawn. It reminded her of those dark days, when they had to run and hide and do just about everything to take down the Dark – Voldemort. Only this time, his eyes were even wearier looking, a little deader than before, and she gulped.
Wherever she had foolishly managed to send him, it was obviously not a pleasant place… and that was saying it mildly.
His palms were cut by something sharp, but it didn't seem like he was in pain - but Hermione supposed, when you had felt the Cruciatus curse as often as Harry had, all other pain just didn't register.
In comparison with him, his… companion seemed to look as if he stepped out of a magazine or a photo shoot.
Pale, delicate looking, clothed in the same ensemble as Harry, but his was a little less dirty, with the jacket put around his shoulders, his left hand wrapped possessively around Harry's midriff, while his right still held the gun, ready to fire at a moment's notice.
Black shoulder length hair was slicked back, with the exception of a small lock that fell in the middle of his forehead. Those dead, empty brown eyes stared at her, into her soul and found her…. Unimportant. Thin, sensuous lips were held in a straight line, expressing neither like or dislike, thus creeping her out even more.
She shivered involuntarily, feeling like prey in front of a predator, a mouse to the tiger.
"This," Harry's voice rang out, cutting off her musings, "Is the supreme pain in my ass, one Kiriyama Kazuo." He grouched out, before glaring at the stranger – not stranger anymore, she supposed. "Kiriyama, she is Granger Hermione, my colleague and no, you are not allowed to kill her."
She stared. "Harry… Did you have to pick up another psycho?" She asked slowly, as she stood up, wincing a little – that Kiriyama fellow was stronger than he looked.
Harry eyed her flatly. "Ya think I intentionally collect them?" He deadpanned, before finally getting out of that human octopus' – oops, Kiriyama's embrace. "So sorry, but the latest addition is definitely your fault." He glared at her, making her flinch in guilt.
The bushy-haired witch bowed her head remorsefully. "I am sorry, Harry. It was a mistake - I gave you one of my experimental Portkeys –"
"I noticed," Harry interrupted her dryly as he slowly headed to the door. "Now I want a shower, bandages and some healing and pain-relief potions."
Hermione nodded in defeat. "Okay. I will bring them to your room." She whispered, brown eyes dark with guilt. "Do you, er, need help getting up the stairs?"
"Help would be – " Harry began, before he was interrupted.
"I will take care of him." Kiriyama spoke out, his tone finite, making Hermione jerk back and Harry glare at him.
"I don't need your assistance, Kiriyama." Harry practically hissed at his uninvited house guest. "Besides, you have to take care of yourself too – "
Kiriyama stepped closer. "I will take care of you." He repeated; his intonation flat as if he didn't care either way.
The resulting stare-off got Hermione nervous with its intensity. Infuriated green versus emotionless brown.
For a moment it seemed that Harry was likely to explode at… Kiriyama's … offer, but by some miracle, he managed to can it and whirl around, away from the irritating brat.
"After you tend to your injuries." He gruffed out, before stomping – more like hobbling off – to the bathroom.
Hermione gawped at the retreating back of her friend incredulously. Never, ever, did Harry concede to anyone so easily like he had done just a moment previously. She looked at Kiriyama with wonder in her eyes. The stranger still stared after Harry, no visible expression on his face, making her shudder. He was a live doll, with how perfect he was – with the exception of his clothes and some wounds, he was as if he had stepped from some photo shoot.
"How the hell did you manage to get him to give in?" The question flew out of her mouth faster than she could censor it, and she flushed as Kiriyama looked at her.
"He's mine." The answer had the bookworm twitching in annoyance. As curt as it was, it also revealed nothing of this confusing…. arrival's intentions toward Harry."
She sighed. Damn it. It was too late – or was it early? For this kind of shit. Her brain was on a crash down right now, as numerous cups of coffee sludge ran out of her system, leaving her empty and without energy.
"To hell with it. I can always interrogate you tomorrow… today… whatever." She grumped out, rubbing her face tiredly and wondering if she would manage the trip to the guest room.
"Listen. I am tired, annoyed and I would like nothing more than to throw you into some dark closet to make passionate love with couple of Boggarts, but it seems that Harry wishes you to stay with him… somewhat." She gifted him with a piercing look which would have unnerved any ordinary wizard, but this – man was apparently immune to her evil psycho bitch vibes. "So you will help Harry with his wounds – I presume you know how?"
At the youth's nod, she continued, her voice a little less sharp. "Okay. His room is a floor higher – follow the staircase and mind the third and fifteenth step, because they are tricky and you really don't want to have a sprained ankle - go straight and the third room from left is Harry's room. As for the guest rooms, they are on this floor – if I remember correctly, the Gryphon room is currently unoccupied – it's right across the staircase."
With that, she abruptly turned to the door and walked out not even deigning to tell Kiriyama goodnight.
She was a nice girl usually, but as nice as she was, right now, her priority was sweet, blessed divine sleep.
Fuck niceties.
Harry managed to stumble into the bathroom without any complications. His vision was fuzzy and he was slightly sick from Hermione's newest torturing device; whatever she called it, Harry would have sworn on his magic that damned thing was not a Portkey by any means. It was even worse, and that said much about it.
The room was dark, illuminated with a weak white light above the mirror – it was round and like a marble in consistency, only it was illuminated from within. It reminded him of Muggle light bulbs, but this one was cold to the touch, when he was curious enough to touch it –
Sighing wearily, he began to strip, hissing slightly as the fabric slid over the gunshot wound. He had acquired a heap of bruises in various shapes and forms in the course of his little adventure and he suspected he was still in shock somewhat - being picked up by a regular bus full of graduating school children and then being forced to kill the aforementioned kids in an attempt to save his life was not his cup of tea. He would have retched, but his stomach was blessedly empty, and only an uncomfortable churning reminded him of his reality.
God damn it. Was the world screwed completely or was it only him who had always gotten the short end of the stick? His hand twanged uncomfortably – he would have to get the shards out soon, and it would hurt like a bitch but it couldn't be helped. He took down the gakuran jacket and shirt first, carelessly chucking them on the floor, before toeing off the shoes and flicking them away in some corner. Then, the belt.
He undid it slowly, awkwardly, as if it was his first time to do so. The trousers and briefs slid off of his hips smoothly and he stepped out of them woodenly, his eyes sightlessly looking on the floor as he tried to … try what?
He already forgot.
The undershirt clung to him like a second skin, smelling of jungle and sweat and gunpowder, making him gag at the memories those particular scents evoked. He shivered at the cool hair touching his skin and –
Green eyes widened.
"Don't you have any concept of privacy?" He hissed at the intruder, but not bothering to turn.
"Should I?" A familiar monotone voice answered him, making him glare at the poor wall.
The girl had left him alone as she stomped away in a huff, leaving him to figure out how to get to Harry's room.
The house was dark and most of people would have termed it as creepy. Kiriyama Kazuo felt nothing. It was only an old house, nothing less and nothing more. Finding Harry's room was relatively easy, and he didn't pay any mind to the curious portraits that looked at, whispered and murmured to him. They were of no consequence.
Harry's room was a simple thing. Green walls with a motif of silver waves here and there, a four poster bed in darker green and creamy pillows, with almost austere wardrobe and a couple of high backed chairs with plush emerald green pillows embedded into the back and seat places. Nothing more and nothing less.
He spotted a door in front of the bed and headed to it.
And he had come just in time to see Harry disrobe of trousers and briefs.
The young man was moving sluggishly, no doubt because he was tired and still in shock, his mind whispered to him, as he quietly entered and soundlessly closed the door, his eyes still trained on the slender form of the green-eyed wizard.
His legs were long and slender, almost too thin - but then, Harry was still too thin for anyone's comfort, almost verging on being underfed, and the months of warfare before this latest fucked up excuse for an adventure happened didn't help any in the long run.
Kazuo saw bruises – some larger, some smaller – dappling the pale skin that was littered with scars and patches of various shapes and states of healing. A shiver jolted through him - something both satisfying and unpleasant and entirely unnamed that made this… place on his head throb with vicious force for a moment.
That wild hair was oddly limp, and the white undershirt came down to the wizard's hips, leaving the lower part of his buttocks naked for Kazuo to see.
And he saw the wizard tense, as if he had knew that he was watched – Kazuo knew that his companion had some kind of a sixth sense in those matters.
"Don't you have any conception of privacy?" The wizard hissed out, his voice tense and his shoulders slightly hunched forward, as if expecting an attack. That was confusing, because Kazuo didn't intend to attack him… at least not right now.
"Should I?" Kazuo muttered back, before approaching his Harry steadily, dark eyes looking over those tensed shoulders, immediately zeroing on the injured shoulder.
"Yes." Harry bit back out sulkily, as he headed to the shower in an attempt to escape his … whatever Kazuo was. "I would appreciate if you would get out."
However, Kazuo had different thoughts on the matter. "You already lost a good amount of blood." He pointed out calmly, as one of his hands snuck as quickly as a snake around the grumpy boy wizard's waist. "It would be safer if I am with you."
He felt Harry groan against him. "Listen, this is nothing. I've had worse. Now, let go of me, and get out."
Wordlessly, Kazuo led him under the shower head and started the shower, making Harry splutter at the water's coldness, until the temperature gradually began to rise.
"Kazuo…." Harry growled out, as he trembled in those strong hands. The cold water was a shock for his system and he almost lost consciousness. Despite of his stubborn insistence for Kazuo to leave him alone, he knew it was probably for the best that the brat attended to him. He had lost a good amount of blood between that shot and their last skirmish, and Hermione's little gadget didn't help matters get any better.
They stood under the shower, the water soaking them thoroughly – Harry was wet as a drowned mouse, and Kazuo just plain didn't care about his clothes. The scent of jungle, dirt and blood spread in the small room, and the red streaks were being rinsed off of the skin and clothes.
Harry turned around slowly, blinking as he looked up at the emotionless genius. Kazuo was soaked, his black hair glinting wetly in the weak light as watched Harry emotionlessly. His pale skin was porcelain, only marred by that cut above his right eye where Nanahara managed to hit him with a knife – it had to hurt like a bitch, but Kazuo didn't made a sound.
Slowly, he lifted up his right hand, placing it on Kazuo's cheek carefully, as if the young man was made from a fragile, priceless crystal.
"You didn't have to follow me. Yet – "He swallowed reflexively as he looked over at that beautiful, emotionless face. "Yet you did. Why?"
Kazuo's only reaction was a slow blink. "I was unaware that I needed a reason." His voice was smooth and deep as he looked into those eyes – green, soothing, and peaceful, deep green, a speck of color in his gray world, which didn't hurt and made everything a little bit better.
A dark eyebrow twitched as Harry squinted his eyes in annoyance, He had already put his glasses down in his bedroom before he entered the bathroom – besides, they were mostly useless nowadays, as his vision was corrected – more or less, so he wasn't as dependant on glasses as he had been when he was a kid. He was still a fair bit myopic, but at least he didn't need to get in people's faces just to see them properly.
The water was dripping down on them as they stared at each other – Harry with resigned annoyance and Kazuo with emotionless indifference. And Harry never felt as exposed as he did right now. Even if he still had on a sleeveless undershirt, it didn't offer any shield from the flat brown-eyed stare he was pinned under. It stuck to his skin uncomfortably and Harry had to clamp down on his urge to squirm uncomfortably, trying to subtly press his legs together, like some kind of a shy maiden – which he wasn't, thank you very much! – and mentally cursing the day the kid contracted that damned mine-itis of his and claimed Harry as his own.
"We have to fix your shoulder." Kazuo muttered out, dark hair glinting subtly as he lowered his head a little.
Harry harrumphed in answer. "You still didn't answer me," He pointed out, and neither of them made a move. They were in a perpetual stalemate, or so it seemed.
And then, Kazuo's arms dropped down, to Harry's hips, smooth palms caressing the wet fabric. Then, those pale, elegant fingers grabbed the blood splattered hem, left side first, and then right, and began to slowly tug it up, up and up –
-forcing Harry to relinquish the skin to skin contact of his hand with Kazuo's cheek and grumpily lift his arms up, like a small kid would, as Kazuo undressed him with firm, precise movements, leaving him naked and feeling strangely bereft in front of the still dressed genius.
He unconsciously pressed back to the tiled wall, shuddering as a slight sting of coldness permeated through his skin and biting back a curse as his shoulder jolted uncomfortably.
"You should get undressed, too." His voice was husky with sleepiness and really, if he had to suffer through the obnoxious idiot's bouts of mine-itis, then at least said idiot can shuck his damned clothes off too. Usually, Harry would have been too flustered to suggest this, but right now, he was not in a mood for any such emotions, and seven years – or was it six? – Of rooming and showering with a bunch of rowdy boys had somewhat desensitized him to nudity of the same sex… somewhat. He didn't see any appeal in gawking at male bodies, and he was still all too easily embarrassed by females' bits – and really, Harry blamed his temporary bout of insanity on the brat. Even if, rationally speaking wise, it was the best solution at the time…
The dark jacket hit the green and blue tiled floor with a wet 'plop'. Harry closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards, listening to the wet rustling and squelching of the clothing being tugged off and away from the slender body that was in such a close proximity to his.
Was it really only three days since that god forsaken game? Only three days since he had been pressed to kill again – total strangers whose only crime was that they were school children, chosen for The Program to educate their… nation.
He scrunched his nose in distaste.
What a bunch of bullshit that was. He would have sooner expected that from the Wizarding World, but ordinary people still proved their unerring ability to surprise him… and not in a good sense.
He shuddered, imaging the madness that would erupt if the Wizarding World did indeed have those kinds of games.
He felt Kazuo's breath on his face and neck, slightly cooler wisps of air in comparison to the tentative warmth that filled the space between them, aided by the water falling in numerous droplets from the shower head. He heard the shifting of the body and the wet fabric sliding away, sometimes louder, sometimes weaker 'smacks' until finally, there was nothing more to be taken off.
"Look at me." Kazuo's whiskey smooth, emotionless voice prompted the wizard to open his green eyes, squinting blearily at his unexpected guest, slits of green in the half-darkness looking critically over Kazuo's body.
The pale, perfect skin was glistening with water droplets sluicing over the smooth expanse of flesh down, down, down, mapping the curves and angles lovingly, like a lover would. Kiriyama, Harry noticed absentmindedly, had the perfect body – not overly muscle-bound yet not skinny either – he was a lithe, androgynous beauty and yet still undeniably male. Like a living, breathing… doll.
Surprisingly enough, he hadn't attained many injuries through this tournament of madness they were forced to participate in – only his right upper arm was still bound with a now bloodied up wrap, when he had performed a self-surgery on himself to have a faster trigger finger. Harry should have felt resentful of Kiriyama's perfection, yet now, he was only tired and… empty.
"May I touch you?" Kiriyama asked, prompting the dark head to loll back leisurely as those viridian eyes looked at him drowsily and there was green again – not red, not the hateful crimson color, but green, dark green and alive and soothing –
/Start flashback/
This person, Harry, Kiriyama found out his name was, was interesting. They had picked him up from the road, since he was in middle of wilderness and at first, Kiriyama ignored him. Harry spoke strangely, his words stilted and foreign sounding, indicating him not to be native to those parts yet he wasn't a hitch-hiking tourist either. He was seated with Kawada and the girls giggled at him as they chatted with him and it seemed their graduation trip was bound to be as normal as they come.
And then, The Class. The bizarre rules. Forty-two – no, forty-three minus one.
One victor. Forty two… disposables.
Kill or be killed.
Unfortunately for the stranger, most of the class zeroed on him.
Yet… He survived.
When he looked into those green eyes, they were hard and green and something in him shifted.
And his finger stalled.
"Come."
Green eyes narrowed at his invitation. "Thank you but… No."
And the man vanished, as if he was never there to begin with, and Kiriyama blinked.
It wasn't… supposed to be like this…. Was it?
The one person he had called out to, refused to come.
And in that instant, one Harry James Potter had unknowingly gotten himself a stalker, named Kiriyama Kazuo, much to the former's chagrin.
Harry had killed with almost disturbing ease, Kiriyama noted. He didn't want to, of course, but he still did – eight of them, all of them having better weapon and chances, it was almost as if he was trying to give them a chance and yet, in the end, he still prevailed.
He finally managed to catch him, with that whore advancing on him, smiling at him and cooing at him, her hips sashaying and something back in his head almost blinded him with agony –
-and then, it passed, yet still the pain throbbed dully in his skull, like a warning like mine, mine, mine first, you can't have him –
"He's mine." He spoke out, making both of their heads jerk in his way and then, she fired –
When all of it was finished, he half-expected he would have to hunt after him again, yet he was there, looking at her, those green eyes dark and fathomless, like an ocean in thunderstorm and again, Kiriyama felt that sharp something in his brain - mine! - and then strode to him.
"You didn't need to do this, you know." The stranger – Harry – spoke out, and his voice was calm and not trembling, as if they were talking about weather and not about the woman Kiriyama had just killed half a moment ago.
"I didn't." He agreed, making those green eyes look up at him and suddenly, he was in the centre of his attention and it was almost overwhelming for some reason –
He strode forward, ignoring Harry's instinctive tension at his approach, ignoring the fact he could be killed, he could be dead as a doornail in the next five seconds, because Harry was not some weak wallflower –
He strode forward, and viridian eyes narrowed as Kiriyama stopped in front of him, just at the perfect distance for being knifed, his guts slashed and spilling onto the ground –
"But you are mine."
And the proverbial bombshell was dropped.
"What the hell did you say?" Harry hissed out, incensed.
Somehow, he managed to get the green-eyed man to tag along – or better yet, he practically dragged him along, not giving him a choice. Of course, Harry could've killed him, should have killed him, but he didn't just like Kiriyama didn't kill him.
Green eyes watched as Kiriyama cauterized the wound on his shoulder, and then, after sterilizing the knife, made a cut into his right hand, fingers slick and red as he dug out the appropriate muscle and taped it to his skin with some bandages, so white, white, and white against the red spilling out of the wound.
"You are insane," the man hissed out, but did nothing to stop him. Kiriyama looked at him.
"Suppose I am." He agreed blandly. "But then you are too."
Harry twitched, those green, green eyes narrowing. However, before he managed to berate the idiot, Kiriyama asked a … question.
"Why do people kiss?" The question was simple in its brutality, making Harry splutter, those lovely green eyes widen from their previous hateful slits.
"W – Wha - ! Listen, we are in the middle of a slaughter, and all you can think of is why people kiss? Your head is screwed, man."
Empty eyes looked at Harry. "Yes. She… offered it to me. And I rescued you. So…"
"The Hell am I kissing you!" Harry snarled out, lovely green eyes flashing a dangerous shade – and who would have known, Kiriyama mused idly, that there were so many shades of green?
He pointed the gun at the man, making him freeze in the middle of his motion.
Yet, the man didn't beg or cry.
"Come here." Kiriyama commanded and Harry came closer, moving like a caged tiger, those school clothes still too big for his slender frame and he smelled of wind and earth and fire and sweat.
Green eyes behind those sophisticated glasses narrowed as he stopped in front of the still sitting Kiriyama.
The terrace should have been idyllic, if it weren't for a corpse of the girl in the background and one psycho who wanted his kiss.
"What now?" Harry snarked out, his fingers undoubtedly twitching for his trusty Colt he had packed in his belt. On his right hip.
Kiriyama lightly dug the muzzle of his own gun in Harry's stomach making the male glare at him harder.
"Now… You kiss me."
/End flashback/
"You still owe me a kiss." Kazuo mumbled out, his words partially muffled under the water, making Harry start out of his musings.
"Again?" Harry balked out – or at least tried to. Instead of it, the words tumbled out if his mouth in the shape of annoyed mewl.
"Listen, buster, I am about to keel over from blood loss, am dead tired and we still have to take care of your whatchamacallit surgery attempt. No kisses for you tonight."
A green-eyed glare made its way to the emotionless brown eyes.
Harry was now feeling pretty weak, and his head was strangely light and Kazuo's face was swimming in front of his eyes.
Huffing, he felt around for a bottle of soap. Finding it, his fingers clutched around the bottle's neck as he tried to open it, mumbling a curse at his sudden weakness.
Of course, just fucking now, the adrenaline decides to wear out completely.
Inwardly, Harry snarled.
"Let me." The same whiskey smooth voice murmured, and with a sigh of relief he let the bottle fall from his fingers.
A moment later, he scented the lavender and he could have wept with relief that all of it would finally be over –
Slender, long fingered hands touched his shoulders and he involuntarily tensed for a moment, before remembering - and wasn't that a comforting thought, being in a shower with a psychopathic murderer? –
'But you're a murderer too,' His mind sluggishly mocked him. 'Why else would you off nine innocent kids, huh?'
Those fingers and palms gently rubbed off the dirt and blood and Harry had to wince for a moment as some of the soap managed to get into the wound, and then, the hands moved away and down, to his torso and hips and he hissed as his sensitive appendages were rubbed, but thankfully, they didn't rebel in case of an inappropriate stiffness.
Thighs, knees, down and down and Harry wondered, when it was the last time someone was so focused solely on him, without obsessive need to kill him.
Never.
"Turn around." Harry did so almost bonelessly, his head bowing forward in an attempt to stay awake for a little bit more.
And those wonderful fingers were back, massaging his back, tracing the wounds and soothing the muscles with an expert touch, so he didn't mind much as those slender fingers slid between the cheeks of his bottom, making him involuntarily shudder at the sensation and he almost regretted when it was over.
Harry blinked as those hands settled on his shoulders again, just touching, while the water washed away the soap suds and with it the blood, sweat and dirt.
He really didn't want to, but…
"My turn then." He mumbled out, turning around,
"You are tired." Kazuo pointed out, but Harry was still too blissed out to be properly angry at him. So he only frowned before lightly slapping Kazuo in the middle of his chest, feeling the smooth, slick skin under his fingertips.
"Shaddup. You did me, so I will do it to you." He mumbled out, not even realizing the double entendre of his words. "Pour me the soap." He demanded imperiously, upturning the hand, and eyeing the other man expectantly.
A moment later, he felt the viscous light violet liquid drip in his hand. Pressing his back to the wall, he rubbed his hands together so as to spread the liquid. The light scent curled around them, making the already existing aroma stronger.
"C'mere." He made a gesture with a hand, making Kazuo step closer. Drowsily, he tipped his head up, as his hands touched those strong shoulders, skating lightly across the smooth skin found here and distantly marveling that something so fragile could be so… warm and smooth, without any scars. He carefully traced the collarbone, before turning back to the shoulders and then, he began to trace downward, growling as he touched the bandage from Kazuo's foolish surgery attempt.
"Ge' it off." He mumbled, poking at the bandage.
A moment later, the bloodied piece of fabric fell off with a wet 'shlack'. Harry grimaced at the red muscle poking out of the wound. "You're one bloody mad berk." He managed to mumble, before carefully pressing the muscle back into its appropriate place and gently squeezing the wound shut, all the while mumbling a minor stasis charm. He felt the body under his jerk a little, but he didn't care.
And then, he continued. When he finished with hands, he moved on to the stomach and hips, hissing a little when his eyesight darkened almost too much for him to continue.
He was unaware that he bent so low it could be interpreted as an… ehm… intense sexual act from an outsider.
Above him, there was a startled hiss as Harry's breath caressed Kazuo's very sensitive area.
"Hn… There too?" Harry muttered grumpily, before grabbing Kazuo's member and starting to rub it absentmindedly, not knowing he was currently wreaking havoc upon his hapless victim.
All too soon, he abandoned the interesting piece and moved down to the thighs and knees, all the way to the feet.
"Turn 'round." Harry mumbled, as he swayed when he get out from his bent position.
He washed the back and buttocks in almost clinical manner. In the end, he was practically swaying on his feet and Kazuo turned just in time to intercept his collapsing form.
"You overexerted yourself." Was that Harry hallucinating or was he really listening to Kazuo berating him?
"Was not." He mumbled childishly, as he closed his eyes.
"In the drawer – Third bottle from the right – potion." He managed to get out, before the darkness swallowed him.
Kiriyama stared at the man in his arms. Even he had known Harry had been overtaxing his limits, yet, he still allowed Harry to take care of his person.
'Just like he should have.' A stray thought wandered in his brain and nestled itself somewhere in the back of his brain. The body against his was cooler than his own, reminding him of the next step.
Carefully, he stepped out of the shower, barely noticing it had shut itself off. He carried his precious burden into the room, both still naked as jaybirds –Kiriyama as a flawless perfection, and Harry, too skinny and his body marred with scars and burns.
Gently, Kiriyama put Harry onto the bed, frowning slightly as he searched for the drawer.
There it was. It stood beside the luxurious bed silently, and Kiriyama wasted no time in opening it. And there, just as Harry had said, was the … Potion?
Whatever.
He knelt on the top of the covers and began to shake the sleeping green-eyed man awake.
"Harry. Wake up. You have to take the medicine."
After a few moments, he managed to wake him up.
Green eyes looked at him blearily.
"Whu-?" The man croaked out.
"You're sick. You have to take the… potion." Kiriyama almost stumbled over the foreign word, and by Harry's groan, he wasn't entirely successful in his endeavor.
"Well, shit. 'Nother one?" Harry grumped out. He sighed. "Alrigh'. Help me to drink it up."
Nodding Kiriyama tipped the small bottle up and took the potion in his mouth, before he bent down and released the foul tasting liquid in the spluttering victim's mouth.
"Wha-Argh!" Harry yelped out as he gagged, forcing the potion down as fast as he could, while battling the insistent tongue back into the mouth it came from.
"Kazu-nmh!" He managed, before those insistent lips covered his own once more. But hell, how the fuck could a total beginner kiss so… so fucking good!
The kiss lasted until there was not a trace of potion left in Harry's mouth, and Harry was quite flushed.
"You bastard," The green eyed man weakly snarled out. "I said no kisses!"
Blank eyes blinked. "That was no kiss – "
"You're right. It was a damned tonsil hockey!" Harry grumped back, but Kiriyama unrepentantly continued, as if Harry didn't even speak. "I just helped you to swallow the medicine."
"What, by choking me half to death?" Harry snapped, closing his eyes.
"It was the best method." Kiriyama commented mildly.
Harry seethed. "Ri-ight. Gimme the next bottle and get yourself the vial in the upper right corner." He commanded instead. He could fume later on, right now, his priority was healing his damned shoulder and the idiot's arm.
'Hermione Jean Granger has much to answer for.'
With that last thought on his mind, he gulped down another icky-tasting sludge that masqueraded as medicine before snuggling under the covers, quietly blessing the magic for the warming charms.
Blank brown eyes watched attentively the man snuggled under the covers. The room was cool, but he didn't let it bother him. After he was sure Harry was truly deeply asleep, he smoothly sneaked under the same covers, snuggling against the naked body, wet hair and all.
"You're mine, whether you want it or not." He murmured lowly into delicate ear as he nuzzled the wild wet hair. "And I will definitely get the kisses."
And with that promise, Kiriyama Kazuo, the genius psychopath extraordinaire peacefully settled into his first sleep in this strange new world that was about to become his new home.
It was warm. And comfy. And there was a naked skin against his, and he heard the sounds of a distant argument going over his head.
Harry snuggled deeper into that warmth, groaning a little, wishing whoever was yapping over his head would shut up already and let him sleep.
Sleep.
Damn, was it only him or was the bed comfier than ever?
"-arry! Ge-…. Out! – " The annoying voice continued screeching, and he scrunched his nose, quite unwilling to open his eyes.
Five more minutes.
That smooth, cool voice answering was quite nice, too. Harry wouldn't have minded listening to it – at least it didn't have any harpy undertones and it had a comfortable volume.
It was also a male voice.
Wait…. Hang on.
Dark eyebrows scrunching, Harry's muzzy brain began to work. Hmmm, it was so very warm…
This was not Ron…
Remus was away with Tonks…
… and the Weasleys, with exception of the Twins were forbidden entrance.
And his shoulder was sore for some reason –
Shit!
Harry's body stiffened as he finally managed to recall the happenings of last twenty four hours.
Double shit.
And that voice….
Yes, his latest psychopath was apparently in his bed, naked and quite unwilling to leave him alone.
Triple shit.
A warm, naked body pressed against his, and the scent of lavender and something uniquely Kazuo finally registered in his brain.
"I told you where your room is!" Ooh, Hermione sounded very frustrated. At least that meant she had tried to do something right, if nothing else, Harry mused to himself sardonically as he overcame the first shock.
However, his sweet, beautiful sleep was lost for good now, no thanks to the two idiots in the room.
"Hermione." He tried out, but the bushy-haired witch was still railing at Kazuo.
"Hermione." Nothing.
"-what gave you the right to just sleep with him, huh? Harry is NOT yours - !"
Now, Harry was pissed.
"HERMIONE GRANGER!" he barked up, making his pillow jerk and the foolish woman meep.
Finally, he managed to open his eyes, if only a fraction.
"H – Harry?" She questioned her voice timid. As far as his eyes could see, she held something in her hands and the aroma was thick and sweet, making his nose twitch.
Ahh…. A bribe.
"What the hell are you doing in my room?" He asked, his voice dangerously low as he tried to prop himself up, growling as he was still trapped in human octopus' embrace. "And you, Kazuo, let me go." He growled at the man, heedless of their position – okay, well, he just chose to ignore it. It was for the best, honest.
Reluctantly, the arms retreated, but as soon as Harry propped himself up, his head still woozy, but feeling infinitely better than the last day-night, whatever – they embraced him again.
"U-Um.. Harry, it's four in the afternoon." Hermione's voice was still somewhat squeaky, and a little bit tense.
Harry blinked. "So?" He asked, squinting at her blurry figure crankily. He blinked as the glasses were put on his nose, bringing the world into a sharp focus once more.
Hermione fidgeted at the doors, with a really, really big mug of chocolaty goodness. She was still tired, as the bags under her eyes were witnesses to, but she still marched on.
She was clothed in a floor-length tan skirt with an ochre-colored T- shirt and a dark green vest. "Well, isn't it way past the time you usually got up?" she asked, a small frown on her face. Harry eyed her grumpily.
"Yes, it would have been, if a certain someone didn't send me on a whoop-de-doo adventure without my consent first!" He shot back, making her flinch and her shoulders hunch a little. Hell, even her bushy hair was less… err, bushy than normal!
"I already said I was sorry!" She reiterated, exasperated. "Now if you wouldn't mind calling off your guard dog…" She waved the mug enticingly, making Harry's eyes follow it momentarily, before Harry got his wits together.
"… You did something stupid, didn't you?" Harry asked slowly, making her eyes widen guiltily.
"Uh, no, never! Whatever has given you that idea?" Hermione blustered out, but Harry was undeterred.
"You only bribe me with hot chocolate when you get into really, really big trouble, want my help on something I don't approve of, or you did something you definitely know it would make me mad." Harry counted the facts flatly, wincing as he was squeezed extra tight. "Kazuo, stop squeezing me, will you!" He addressed his…stalker and bed partner, his voice tinged with annoyance.
"You are mine." Kazuo's universal answer to all his actions pertaining Harry's person made an appearance, eliciting an indignant squawk from Hermione and a tired glare from Harry.
"It's entirely too early for me to argue with you about just what exactly is wrong with your declaration," Harry rebuffed him dryly.
"Harry is not your possession!" Hermione hissed at Kazuo like annoyed cat, prompting a flat stare at her person by the accused party.
"I never said he was." Kazuo murmured out, choosing to disregard a faint "Hallelujah." from his prey. "I only said he was mine."
Hermione became red with fury, spluttering with confusing.
"Why you – argh! Harry, keep your pet psycho on a leash, will you!" she finally addressed the amused green-eyed man.
"It's your entire fucking fault." Harry volleyed back, making her grumble as she stepped forward, huffing indignantly.
She thrust the mug at Harry, but before Harry even had the chance to take it, it was snatched by his lovely psychopathic pet – er, Kazuo.
"Hey - !" Hermione yelped out as Harry glared at the man.
"Kazuo. Gimme the mug." He ordered to the annoyance, but Kazuo still held the mug, looking it over with dark, fathomless eyes.
"She could have poisoned it."
Harry twitched. "Really? She would have gone through all the trouble to get me back only to poison me herself?" He asked dryly.
"She could." Was Kazuo's unrepentant answer, making Hermione seethe in helpless fury. That – that man dared to doubt her intentions toward Harry! Right – the bastard just earned the top spot in Hermione's black list. A terrifying fate that all who knew the bookworm avoided fervently, but this one was as calm as a cucumber.
She had to give him points for his courage under fire… or not. Psychopaths didn't deserve cookies, mental or otherwise.
"She didn't." Harry told him in no-nonsense voice. "Besides, we are not anywhere near the island and the Program doesn't have any connections to here.
"And how could you be so sure about… that?" Kazuo asked blandly, as if he didn't care, as he still hogged the mug outside the reach of one green-earned wizard.
"Accio." Harry sighed as the mug jerked out of Kazuo's hand into his. "Because I really doubt they have the means to cross dimensions." He told Kazuo frankly, watching those blank eyes widen.
"Well… that would be the answer." Kazuo murmured thoughtfully, but Harry wasn't fooled. Behind those eyes ran frighteningly intelligent mind that was only surpassed by Kazuo's psychopathic tendencies.
"Harry!" Hermione hissed out, like a spooked cat. "How could you!" She glared at her famous and most troublesome friend disapprovingly. Harry gulped down a swallow of the sweet, divine ambrosia. "Yeth?" He mumbled out, unwilling to part with the chocolate goodness. "You shouldn't have – "
"Told him?" Harry asked dryly. "Well, yes, you shouldn't have sent me to that 'educational trip' of yours, too, and I am not groaning and moaning half the amount you are." He slurped another sip.
"Besides, he won't be going back. Ever." Hermione gaped at Harry's firm voice.
"Why not?" She asked, feeling a little foolish for doing so. Hermione Granger was way past whining like that and really, she shouldn't have to ask, as it was Harry's duty to explain her just why was he seeking to literally adopt this little hunky piece of psycho – yes, Hermione did have eyes, and Harry's…companion… was very, very delicious looking… when he wasn't being an emotionless jerk, which was 99 percent of the time.
Harry busied himself with slurping the hot, creamy ambrosia down, stoically bearing her irritated stare. He chose to ignore the way Kiriyama was snuggling against him, although he made a mental memo to have some… words… with Kiriyama about his psycho habits later. That mine-itis of his was becoming a very disturbing thing.
Not that it hadn't been at the beginning at any rate.
He finished the mug regretfully, but it was time to sort the shit Hermione had unintentionally gotten him into.
"You will be pleased that your little pet project succeeded beyond your wildest imagination," he began pleasantly, ignoring her wince.
"I – I'm sorry, I didn't think – " She began, only to shut her mouth at Harry's piercing glare.
"Shall I tell you just where your little creation deposited me?" Harry's voice was still soft, and Kazuo nuzzled into the crook of his neck.
She tensed, hunching into herself like a cornered animal.
"Into the wilderness." Harry continued his story, inspecting his fingernails, not even deeming her worthy to be looked at. If he had looked at her…he wouldn't be able to lay into her.
"But that was good, wasn't it?" She asked, curious. "We did have survival training – "
Sharp green eyes looked at her, making her wince.
"You're wrong. Because of your little… experiment, I found myself smack dab in the middle of the Project." Harry snarled out, his body tensing at the memories.
"Imagine a whole class, going on a graduation trip, expecting to spend some days in pleasant company. Forty-two people with their futures bright in front of them. " His voice was soft, but oh so cold.
Hermione shivered.
"And then, imagine that they were transported to some small island, fitted with explosive collars and told to kill each other…. Until only one stood alive."
Hermione gasped, her eyes huge as she placed her hand on her mouth. "Oh, God…" Her horrified whisper didn't deter Harry from continuing.
"Imagine that they are given a …practical demonstration, you could say, seeing the lifeless body of their teacher, and then seeing one of their classmates being killed in front of them… and nobody doing anything to stop it. " Harry continued ruthlessly, fingers clenching around the mug tightly as he glared at her, yet not seeing her.
"Imagine that they are told they have to kill, or in 24 hours, the collars would be detonated and… all of them would be dead."
Harry smirked sardonically. "And funny thing is, the test. You get a piece of paper with only one question to answer."
"Harry, stop… Please…" Hermione begged, her face sickly pale.
But the green-eyed wizard was relentless. "Can you imagine which question they asked?" he whispered, his eyes still unfocused.
"No, Harry – stop it, I don't want to hear it – " The bushy-haired witch choked out, shaking her head wildly, as if trying to convince herself it was only a dream- A bad, bad dream, but a dream nonetheless.
"Oh, no, Hermione. You will hear it. You were always so inquisitive, so very curious…so very brave… won't you ask me which one it was?"
Green eyes finally focused onto her, making her recoil sharply at the void in them.
"Which one will you kill first?"
She swallowed convulsively, forcibly keeping the bile that threatened to escape her, down.
"Funny how one stranger they picked from the road makes a difference." Harry mused absentmindedly.
"Forty-two kids, Hermione. No older than you or I. Forty-two kids, with orders to kill or be killed – regardless of friendship, love or anything else.
"And what is worse," Harry practically hissed out, green eyes flashing, "This travesty is being aired as a show all of the country is required to watch!"
Hermione jerked back as if stabbed. "No…" Her horrified whisper was garbled with emotions.
"Oh yes." Harry nodded decisively. He paused, unclenching his hands from the mug a little – they were beginning to hurt him.
Hermione was crying now. "Nine kids." Harry muttered out, closing his eyes. "I… had to kill nine of them… to survive." His voice was toneless, haunting sound in the room.
"I – I'm sorry, Harry! I swear, I didn't know!" She blubbered, collapsing on the floor.
Harry sighed. "But you fucking did have to mess with Temporal magic, didn't you?" He growled out, angry with her stupid brilliance and ability to pick up stupidest quests to research.
"I-I-I I was just so curious and - and this was so fascinating – I - I didn't know, I'm sorry! So, so, sorry – " She choked out, brown eyes red and glassy with tears, looking every bit a chastened little girl.
Harry huffed.
"Temporal magic?" Kazuo finally asked, making Hermione tense and Harry sigh.
"Magic about time – how to go back in time, time paradoxes and so on," Harry waved the question off absentmindedly. "I was not originally from your dimension or even time. I am from this time and place – and we are in England now, it's the year 1998.
"So that's how you vanished." Kazuo muttered, blinking at the memory. Harry nodded, grimacing. "Yes. Wizards and witches are people with special energy we can use to make, destroy or change a variety of things, allowing us to ignore most of nature's laws, like gravity, chemistry and so on." The explanation was short and to the point, making Hermione blink at him dumbly.
"Since when were you so intelligent?" She asked him curiously, making him sigh with annoyance. "Just because I didn't get the highest grades around it doesn't mean I can't use my brain, Granger." Harry snapped back, making her bristle weakly at him.
"So explain it to me how he could follow you back, genius," She snapped back, her cinnamon eyes narrowed petulantly.
Harry sighed. "Well, it was like this…"
/Start flashback/
"Do it, motherfucker! DO IT!" Kawada roared, his eyes bright and cold and -
BANG!
After a moment, he still didn't feel the bite of the bullet.
Yonemi's ugly face was confused.
And still, the shots rang.
In that short moment, Kawada jumped.
The attack was planned perfectly. Nanahara and Nakagawa did their part a little bit clumsily, while both Harry and Kazuo were killing the soldiers with deadly precision, letting the pair go forward.
"Leave some of them alive!" Nanahara hollered after them, making Harry scoff at the rocker disdainfully.
"Che. Just who is he trying to kid?" He muttered to himself, quickly reloading his Colt.
BLAM!
The door flew open, but Kawada was still as cool as a cucumber, smoking his cigarette as if nothing was wrong with the world.
"Kawada! All right!" Kawada flinched a little at Shuya's jubilant voice. Noriko's one was no less jubilant with relief "We did it! We –" She called, but paused as she took a good look at the room.
There was a taken aback quiet when both of the teens had time to look around the room. One dead soldier, Yonemi was also dead –
"So… How many did you rack up topside?" Kawada asked them dryly.
Shuya cringed. "Uh… We left Harry and Kiriyama to deal with them."
Kawada stared at the sheepish duo. "That was as good as letting them die." He murmured, making the duo's eyes wide with horror.
"B – But!" Shuya sputtered, disbelievingly, before turning on his heels and running back out.
Kawada's prediction was both right and wrong.
There were still four soldiers alive, although trussed up like turkeys, trembling under Kiriyama's emotionless gaze.
"You didn't kill them?" Kawada was honestly surprised. If anything, he expected Kiriyama to finish the deed. However, for some reason…. The psycho restrained himself.
The dark eyebrow over the left green eye lifted. "And be subjected to the squawking of our lovebirds here? " Harry asked dryly. "Hell no." Kawada chuckled, while both of the mentioned lovebirds protested, their faces flushed with mortification.
"You!" One of the soldiers capped out. "You were the winner. Anything you wanted was yours for the asking! So why!"
Kawada ignored Harry's muttered "Here's to grunts," and Noriko's small giggle as he chuckled.
"Got what I wanted right here. Your boss figured it out… I declared a war on the Program."
Harry absentmindedly listened to Kawada's little brag-fest on how perfectly he executed his little plan.
And suddenly, it all went to hell.
The girl was yapping something about beating the Program, and then, one of the soldiers lunged for a gun, getting it and grinning an ugly victorious grin.
"Punk-ass fuckers! See if I let you live!" He screamed, that ugly expression still on his face and -
And he fired.
Harry moved without thinking- covering Kawada, as he got shot – again, through his shoulder, and absentmindedly, he wondered just what were the odds for being shot twice in the same place, and then, Kiriyama's trusty Ingram barked out his load, thankfully more precise than the dumbass soldier.
The girl screamed and Nanahara was too late – again.
The attacker fell down, a perfect red hole in the middle of his forehead.
"And that, kiddies," Harry addressed the two fools weakly, as he was caught by Kawada, "Is why the mad dogs need to be put down."
The remaining three soldiers tensed, finally comprehending their situation.
"You alright?" Kawada muttered lowly to Harry, a little unnerved at Kiriyama's stare at his person. If there was anyone Kawada would like to see dead, it was that Kiriyama fellow. The kid was just too good at killing others, and it had been pure dumb luck he decided to join forces with them - and this was a good thing…as long Harry was alive. If Harry had been killed, then…. Kawada didn't want to think about it.
"Ha-Harry-san…" The girl hiccupped, her large eyes wet with tears.
The green-eyes man blinked. "Will be alright, girl." He muttered, green eyes glinting at her, making her smile shakily. "I've been through worse."
"Right. What do we do with the others?" Kawada asked after a short pause.
The soldiers cringed, eyeing the armed teenagers fearfully.
"Kill them." Kiriyama's emotionless voice suggested the solution as easily as he was talking about mathematic quotation or weather.
"That is wrong, Kiriyama!" Nanahara rounded at Kiriyama, his eyes blazing with tears. "They – they're still humans!"
Harry contemplatively watched the wild-haired youth. Shoulder-length hair, a handsome face and a holier than thou attitude that made him sick.
Was he once like that?
When he was still young, still innocent, and still foolishly stupid enough to believe that world was farting out rainbows and cookies?
He grimaced.
Definitely.
However, when he looked at the girl that was trembling behind the boy's back, obviously shaken and exhausted enough, he wondered if there wasn't already enough bloodshed… Lord knew it was enough.
More than enough.
Kiriyama was emotionless as usual and stoically bearing the yapping of that Nakahara wannabe rock fellow.
"Che." Kawada huffed, amused. "They will be at it until the cows come home. Let's go change the bandages. "
Harry rolled his eyes, grunting in assent, letting Kawada haul him into the cabin.
Kawada eyed the wound critically. "You're damn lucky bastard," He rumbled out. "The bullet shot through the same place mine had, so we just need to cauterize the wound and then bind it together again."
"Yay." Harry deadpanned, making the stern and rough man chuckle, before he sobered up. "And could you explain what you meant when you said you had been through worse?"
He heated the knife on the flame until the blade was hot enough, and then pressed it on the wound, with his patient making barely a sound at the sharp pain.
"A vigilante group." Harry grunted out. "Been fighting terrorists my entire life." His eyebrow twitched as Kawada repeated the process on the other side. "Leader got my parents killed when I was one, and then it just kinda snowballed down. Got the fuckers, earned a vacation and ended up in the Program."
Kawada whistled. "You have really shitty luck, man." He murmured when he put gauze on the shoulder and began to wrap the wound.
"Kinda. When were you intending to tell 'em you were shot too?"
Kawada paused. "I don't know what you are speaking about." He said coolly, resuming his work.
"Bullshit. " Harry growled back. "You were shot into the stomach, dumbass, and you still insist on taking care of my wounds first."
Kawada sighed. "No foolin' you, huh?" he nodded to himself. "Because there's nothing that can be done. Doctor's kid knows when it's lost cause. My innards are shredded, and I have five, ten minutes max."
Harry twitched. "As I said – you are a dumbass. Biggest ever, too. Lie down and shut up." He ordered to the man who blinked at him as if he had lost his mind.
"Listen, I already told you I don't have much time – only enough to explain the ropes to the kiddies. So let's call them and – "
Harry firmly grasped his arm. "Sit. Down." His voice was cold and no nonsense, the voice of the Commander.
Kawada stared. And then, he slowly flopped down on the desk. "Well, shit. You're one scary kid."
Impassioned green eyes watched him, until he complied and, grunting with pain, lay down on the surface.
Deftly, Harry cut the clothes, exposing the gruesome looking wound. "Fuck… You weren't kidding." He mumbled, frowning. "This will be a tough one, but I think I will manage… my reserves should still be good enough."
Kawada frowned, confused. Reserves? What was the kid babbling about now? "You some kind of super-surgeon now?" He joked weakly, trying not to wince at the pain.
"If that helps," Harry deadpanned shortly. "Hang on, this will hurt like a motherfucking bitch."
Pressing his hand on the wound, he closed his eyes and concentrated.
Kawada had a time for a small gurgle of assent, before the pain hit like a train.
"We're finis – What the hell are you doing!" Nanahara hollered as he saw what Harry was doing. He tried to barge in to tear Harry away from Kawada, but he was held back by Kiriyama.
"Let him go, you son of a bitch!" He tried to tear himself out of Kiriyama's hold, but the psycho was as strong as ever. "Noriko, do something! The bastard is trying to kill Kawada!"
But the girl stared at the scene, transfixed. "No…. Shuya, you got it wrong… Harry is healing him!" she breathed out, her eyes wide with wonder.
The rocker blinked dumbly. "Healing?" he parroted, feeling like a lost child.
"Yes." The girl replied. "But-how – "
Kiriyama only watched, and even when he let Nanahara go, the hot-headed musician didn't register it.
The pressure in the room increased, making them sweat and then, it was over.
Harry almost collapsed on his patient, but was held up by Kiriyama.
"Holy shi – You weren't kidding!" Kawada wheezed out, still somewhat conscious trough the whole affair, his eyes wide at the now smooth expanse of his stomach.
"Sorry for the pain." Harry managed to wheeze out, his lungs and muscles burning. Kiriyama gently tugged him up, which Harry gratefully allowed to be done.
"Whoa, dude! What kind of voodoo was that?" Nanahara jumped into the conversation, earning Kiriyama's flat stare, but that didn't deter him. "And why didn't you use it on yourself before?"
Harry blinked sluggishly. "Can't." he rasped out. "Works only for others. An' steals energy like crazy." He did tell him the truth, only he omitted that this particular healing charm was insanely dangerous to perform even with a wand, and he had gone and done it wandlessly, which made it instant suicide. "Lemme sleep." He managed to mumble out, before he crashed into unconsciousness.
Kawada stared at the unconscious black-haired stranger in Kiriyama's arms. "He's a fucking miracle." He muttered, awed. Aside from feeling a small, residual pain where the gaping wound had been, he felt right as rain – and it was all because of this bat-shit crazy energy surgeon. If his father were here to see this…He shook his head, still in a half disbelief, half daze.
"Let's go, kiddies. We have much to talk about." He declared, nodding at Nanahara and Noriko.
"B-but what about Harry-san?" Noriko asked timidly, her eyes still wide.
Kawada snorted. "Kiriyama will take good care of him. Anyone who wants to kill those two has a death wish," he replied dryly as he cautiously slid off of the desk, giving them a meaningful look. "C'mere. We have much to do and little time."
When Harry woke up, it was already evening, and the sun was setting.
"You're awake!" The girl's voice squeaked happily, making him wish to hide under the sheets for a little bit more time.
"Mh." He grunted.
"I-if you wish… there's a dinner…" She offered timidly.
Harry stared at her for a moment, and then smiled. "Well… why not?"
All of them were gathered in one of private rooms – Nanahara scoffed at them, but even he had to admit it was pretty comfy, all things considered.
Harry had taken off the bandages, intending to get new ones on sometime later, and wore the school uniform – he would have worn anything else, but he didn't want to bother changing the clothes. Transfiguration was always somewhat of a weak side of his, and he was still tired from the massive usage of his magic.
"So... What did you do with the soldiers?" Harry asked casually.
"Shipped them off," Kawada grunted, as he munched on his rice ball. "The lovebird brats wouldn't allow them to be offed."
"Hey!" Nanahara cried out, offended. "Just because we were forced to kill, it doesn't mean we have to kill everyone that opposes us!"
"You just let a potential safety risk become a definite one." Kiriyama deadpanned, delicately nibbling on his piece of sushi.
Nanahara growled angrily. "So? They are humans, just like us!"
Harry snorted. "Kiriyama is right, brat." He murmured, stoically bearing Nanahara's angry glare at his person."Dunno if letting them go will make any difference, but what's done is done." He sipped his tea slowly, wincing at the sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder.
"How would you know?" The brat was insistent, like a puppy with a bone.
Green eyes zeroed on Nanahara, pinning him under their gaze. "I fought in a civil war way before you even thought of tits," Harry deadpanned, making Nanahara flush with shocked embarrassment. "To survive, I had to kill when I was eleven – " The girl gasped and even Kawada inhaled a shocked breath.. "I was fighting in life and death odds ever since. Our leader was a kind man – foolish but kind, thinking that giving someone a second or third or the next chance was a right thing to do. It didn't help him much when one of his reformed 'pet projects' killed him." Harry huffed out, fingers twitching for a wand – or in this case, Colt.
"His organization heeded his beliefs about not killing the opponents – which were certified murderers that tortured, killed, et cetera, and the result?" He asked dryly. Nanahara stared at him with horrified eyes.
"You're kidding." He croaked out. Harry snorted. "I wish." He replied sourly. "We almost lost the fucking war just because some old goat preached at them to forgive and forget instead of putting them down like the mad dogs they were."
He drank down another sip of tea. "Huh. So that's why you didn't hesitate," Kawada muttered out, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Harry looked at him with a tired smile. "Hardest kills of my fucked up life." He muttered out, his eyes hollow.
The dinner ended in a somber mood.
Sighing, Harry closed his eyes. Once again he was in his cabin – Kawada was manning the ship, the lovebirds were kissing somewhere and he really didn't care about Kiriyama.
The night was peaceful and they made good mileage, and if all went well, at dawn, they would already be in contact with some of Kawada's… acquaintances that would smuggle them through the system. It had been so peaceful, Harry mused to himself, as he stood at the window, he could almost imagine that he was on a luxury cruise and not fleeing again from some power-and blood-mad system that allowed a whole class of kids to kill each other just to keep the masses in check.
Suddenly, he felt sick – like something was hooked on him and climbing toward him, using his belly button as some kind of a straw to climb up. The feeling increased, until Harry was half tempted to just hurl his guts and e done with it – and then, it stopped.
A small pop later, there, in front of him, hovered a palm sized hexagonal crystal, glittering silver in the half-darkness.
Green eyes widening, Harry instantly knew what it was… Well, one of those things did transport him to this mad world.
"Holy shit." He breathed out.
A small otter appeared in front of him, and then, he heard Hermione's voice.
"Harry – crackle-zzt – This is-zrrrt-key to get you back-zzt. It will activate in five minu-chhhrrr-old it and see-chhr -soon." Harry glared at the small otter that vanished in a shower of white sparks.
Well, at least the message was clear. He had five minutes before activation –
Scrambling around to search for something to write with, he cursed. Finally, finally he found a pen and a piece of paper and began writing furiously.
"Kawada, Nanahara, Nakagawa, Kiriyama.
I went back to where I came from. Don't worry for me and get the hell out of this shit hole of a country.
Kawada – Be careful with wound and no smoking for a month. Yes, I mean it.
Nanahara – Listen to Kawada and take care of your girl.
Nakagawa –Take care of your idiot boyfriend and keep an eye on Kawada for me, will ya?
Kiriyama. Don't kill them. Even if Nanahara is an ass. Keep them safe. Yes, even Kawada.
Wish you luck,
Harry."
He put the letter on the bed, inwardly wincing at his cowardice. However, it was best as he could do in given circumstances. The goodbyes would be too long and he really didn't want to have Kiriyama on his tail.
Grabbing the Portkey, he turned around and stiffened.
"You are going away." It was not so much of an accusation as a simple statement.
"Yes." Harry managed to get out, his brain blazing through plans how to get rid of the pest named Kiriyama Kazuo – the sooner, the better.
"I have to return. I don't belong here. Give them the letter – " He pointed at the piece of paper on the bed cover – "And take care. Keep yourself out of trouble, will ya?"
"Hn." The soulless brown eyes stared at Harry, making him fidget uncomfortably.
A tense moment of silence stretched between the two of them.
"You don't intend to come back." Kazuo muttered, tilting his head slightly, making him even more of a predator than he already was.
"We already established that fact." Harry snapped out, impatient. He looked at the crystal in his hand as it began to vibrate gently, the tremors strengthening by the moment.
And then, he begun to feel the familiar sickness in his stomach and then, a body impacted with his, making him splutter –
"God – "He managed to say, and then, they were whisked away in a flash of intense silver light.
And in the morning, all that would be left from the duo was the scorched letter.
/End flashback/
"No wonder." Hermione muttered thoughtfully. "It could only locate someone if there was a significantly strong outburst of magic and with you using Sano Proxima, it was more than enough for the anchor to locate and home on your signal."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Whoop-fucking-de-damned-doo." He muttered dryly, and then yelping as she pinched his ear. "Ow! What was that for?" He rubbed his injured ear gently, glaring at her.
"For being a dumbass." The bushy-haired witch barked back, brown eyes shining with anger. "You had no wand and you go and perform a level eight healing Charm, which, by the way, is only performed in a group of three or four Mediwizards! Are you fucking suicidal!"
"Is that really so dangerous?" Kiriyama interjected, making the witch's glare switch to him. "Yes." She growled out. "In your terms, it could be equivalent to having a highly skilled surgeons simultaneously operating on the patient and giving him energy to restore the damaged organs to a perfect state. The amount of the energy used would be half of a kiloton – roughly speaking. A normal witch or wizard can produce at most one ninth of this amount – if they are extensively trained for it, that is. The dumbass here is not trained, but he has stupidly high levels of energy – in fact, I am surprised you managed to pull that off, what with your trip and whatnot." She addressed Harry, making him blink innocently.
"He could've –should have died, because using such an amount of energy in one sitting should have got him into a deep coma, if not into outright death." Harry cringed at her reproachful tone.
"I couldn't allow him to just die!" He protested, backing away from the irate witch into psycho's side.
Hermione stared at him, before rolling her eyes. "Why the hell do I even bother?" She muttered to herself. "Fine. Do as you want. "
"Thank you, mum." Harry snarked back, before becoming serious again. "So what was the bribe for?"
Hermione flushed. "I thought you'd forget about that." She mumbled.
Harry scoffed. "Hell no. So… Out with it."
"Um… I promised Molly and Ginny I would get you to the next Weasley meeting." She ground out, her cheeks flushing with mortification.
Harry stared at her, betrayed. "You what?" He choked out, green eyes wide. "You know damn well why I hightailed outta here, and now, you're telling me you volunteered me like some kind of a sacrificial lamb?" He asked incredulously, making her cringe.
"Um.. About that… They kinda don't know about your adventure." She mumbled out, fidgeting.
Slowly, Harry blinked. "Are you telling me that nobody knows about your epic idiocy?" He asked slowly, his brain trying to wrap themselves around the facts.
"Uh, no," Hermione admitted sheepishly. "I just… told them you were brooding –"
"You mean 'sulking '– "Harry interrupted her dryly, wiggling his fingers to accent the air quotes –
"– somewhere and I had to promise to get you out, otherwise they would storm whatever place you were in." Hermione finished, cringing at the weak excuse.
"You do know that Grimmauld Place is nigh unplottable –"
"Um – about that – I kinda implied you were somewhere else, and I couldn't say outright you were traipsing in a different dimension!" Hermione replied, previously hesitant murmur morphing into a rebellious growl.
"And what would you have done if I couldn't come back?" Harry asked, keeping his emotions under wraps.
She shrugged. "Joined you, maybe?"
Harry face palmed at her blasé attitude.
"For a genius, you sure are an A-grade idiot."
Meanwhile, Kiriyama was quietly plotting how to get rid of the 'Molly' and 'Ginny' persons without incriminating evidence being left behind.
All in all, it was the beginning of an ordinary day for an extraordinary psycho.
/To Be Continued/