This new world was a little strange, Harry decided, watching the locals turn and book it away from him at truly impressive speeds, their faces drawn in terror. He didn't think it was all of a big deal, really? Just his soulmark. Sadly, the translation spell only works orally, not in written word, so his quest to find his soulmate has been quite dreadful. Surely they couldn't have been that bad a person? What'd they do, murder some unsuspecting innocents? He eyed the mark on his collarbone wearily. It looked a bit like gibberish to him. He'd thought it'd been Japanese at first only to find that while it had the same style, the characters were all different and unknown.
He'd truly lost all hope of finding his soulmate in his home world. All of his friends had been settling down, having kids, and Harry had been touring the world in hopes of finding some leads on this lost, confusing language that his soulmate's name had been written in.
The solution, ironically, had come at his lowest in Taiwan. He'd been pretty upset, and had gotten absolutely cooked on the wizards pipe and drowned at least four shots of lumphur lava whiskey when he'd been approached for a drinking contest by a hag named Fon Heehui, who turned out to be Taiwan Institute's divination teacher. While she didn't have bottle-specs or the tendency to fall into a haunting, possessed oracle-like state, she held her fair share of quirks; the shockingly long, sharp-looking nails, the hundreds of charmed butterfly ornaments sticking to her classical Chinese robes, the fact that she had not opened her eyes once––only subjecting him to the stare of the painted-on eyes on her eyelids. And the way she would always giggle under her breath like he couldn't hear her. Looking back, it was kind of ominous, really.
Nevertheless, they'd drowned shot after shot, and if he wasn't absolutely buggered out of his mind before, then he definitely was after that. Even now Harry struggles to string together what actually happened that night. Flashes of chickens, shrine-charms and the tickling charm (of all things) comes to mind, all blurring together incoherently. Next thing he'd known, Harry was waking up in the Grand Line, choking up saltwater as several seagulls squawked in his face and picked at the sand.
"Bugger," he'd said. At least his wand had been in his pocket, and thanks to his traveler lifestyle all his important belongings were always shrunken on his form somewhere. That would've really been a real mess.
It was a bit of a blessing in disguise though, once he realized the written form was identical to his soulmark's lettering. He really does wonder, what had gotten that divination hag to send him here? Could he have sobbed out his misfortune while he was doped up and sloshed off his face? It seemed likely. Though, she was also a divination teacher. Perhaps she had seen him coming and tried out some kind of shoddy ritual with surprising results? He hoped he could remember that night someday. Seemed like a blast.
The sound of pounding feet reached his ears. Unconcerned, he turned and watched the group of marines speeding towards him, swords in clenched hands and dreadful looks on their faces. Socks, he thought sadly. After a long week of searching, he'd really thought today would be his lucky day, but all these civilians had no answers either (well, other than the running and screaming) despite being on a different island.
The marines were getting a bit close, now. Harry yawned and apparated further into town, and smiled at the chorus of angry yelling echoing a few blocks away. He didn't really understand their problem, really. They seemed to assume his soulmate's name was that of a pirate (which, sure), but why would they target Harry? Surely they don't hunt down every pirate's soulmate? It's a bit barbaric, that kind of discrimination. Even the soulmates of criminals in his home world are treated fairly unless in certain circumstances.
Though, when they chased him they always shouted things like, 'Fire fist!' and 'Whitebeard supporter!' which, in all honesty, were pretty big clues, very helpful, except for the fact that he couldn't read their language, which is unfortunately the best source of information in his circumstance. Any questions to sadistic marines are usually ignored or shot down with vengeance. Recently the civilians, when having got a good look at his face, tend to again run screaming even before he's even shown the soulmark, sometimes accompanied by hiccupping and sniveling sobs; leading him to believe that he must've gotten some kind of wanted poster or warning plastered in the newspapers. Nothing a glamour couldn't fix, sure, but it was quite a bit fun watching their reactions with both his infamy and his magic, and maybe playing up like this will draw his soulmate to him through the public gossip and media.
Sometimes, though, he'd cast a little notice-me-not on himself and just act like a tourist for a few hours, searching through town stores and markets and gawking at all the strange substitutes they seemed to have in this world. The kind of things they had wouldn't look too out of place in a wizard's souvenir shop really, with all the compass-globe devices and the interesting gadgets they seemed to use on the regular. They almost reminded him of Dumbledore's office, with all of those strange devices scattered on his desk and tucked in his bookshelves like vintage bookends, mysterious and eternal.
He could start to hear distant marines again―their pounding feet, the enquiries to the townsfolk on his whereabouts, the general flinch the people seemed to give them―and so he quickly made himself invisible, watching them scurry about very alarmed and confused. "Harry―!" someone's voice said, and he jumped, looking around. Nobody had seen him, he thought, confused. "Harry!" It sounded very...muffled.
Oh, he thought, pulling the two-way mirror from his mokeskin bag. "Hermione," he greeted warmly, smiling. She grinned back at him, her curls pulled into a twist of a braid, a flash of books behind her telling Harry that she was in her little home library. "How are you?"
"Good! I'm good, Harry." she said with great enthusiasm. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had a healthy glow to her, eyes brighter, smile softer than usual. She looked good. Happy. "It's been a busy week here, the baby started to kick, can you believe it? Oh, Ron was beside himself―"
"Was not!" an embarrassed voice called out. Ron walked into frame from the living room, his hair ruffled and a grin quirking his lips.
"You very well were," said Hermione. "Worse than your mum. Quite a sight, the two of you. Anyway, Harry, how's it going with you? Have you uncovered anything?"
His chest felt warm, his lips pulling into a smile. "Not much, no. Just some clues, but they're a little bit useless since I can't even read the language," he said. "I might be getting closer, I reckon. Heard some talk that some pirates just left before I arrived―had the marines in a bit of a tizzy―so when I dock at the next island I might be able to catch up with them and ask them some questions. Might have to pop away after that though, before someone recognizes me and tattles."
"Are those nutter marines after you again?" Ron asked eagerly, peering over her shoulder. "Maybe you should transform the ground under their feet to a pit of dragon dung, Harry. They'd bloody well deserve it."
He laughed. "Imagine that in the papers―Evil Pirate dunks Marines in a pit of dung! Will the terrorism ever end? …George might get a right kick out of that one."
"Might even make a limited edition dung bomb," Ron agreed.
"Make sure to send one over on the delivery pad then, I'll share them with the locals. It'd be a hit. Could bring in some otherworldly customers." Harry joked.
They laughed, and Harry joined in. His chest felt a little tight. He wished, for a moment, that they were there with him in person. But Hermione was pregnant, of course, and they had their own lives and jobs, and their times for adventures had seemed to come to an end. Harry was a world away now, unreachable other than from the mirror, or from George's delivery pad.
"I―we really miss you, Harry." Hermione said. Her expression had sobered along with his, her eyes shiny. Over her shoulder, Ron looked at him sadly, his mouth scrunched and twitching a little like he was holding something back.
"I miss you guys too," Harry said, hoping his voice didn't sound too wobbly. "How… how is everyone? Are they good?"
"They are," said Ron. "Neville and Luna and everyone are, anyway. George seems to have gotten into a bit of a funk, he's been locked away focused on making a new product and he's refusing to tell us what it is. Not really too surprising there. Mum, though―she's absolutely lost it, I think. Stormed her way into our house with all kinds of baby gifts!"
"I think it was nice of her!" Hermione protested. "We could've used many of those things―"
"Like what?" Ron asked. "Like Ginny's Harry Potter doll? Fred and Georges matching suckers? I might vomit."
Harry spluttered. "Doll? What doll?" he said, part horror, part fascination.
"Never mind that," Hermione said quickly. "She's grown out of that phase, anyway. She's quite happy with Viktor on his Quidditch tour."
Ron snorted to himself. "Viktor Krum…" he muttered.
Still overprotective of Ginny, Harry thought with a bit of humor. He wondered how their other brothers had felt about it, and if it was just Ron who felt a little vindictive.
"Good for them, then," Harry said, and checked the time. "Might have to go now, though. Don't want to miss my cue to sneak on this boat. Especially with my luck."
"Can't have that," Hermione said, smiling softly. "When you find that elusive soulmate of yours, make sure to give them the mirror at some point, right? Ron and I might have to tear them a new one for being so far away."
"Maybe after I've had them wrapped around my pinky, yeah?" Harry grinned. "Can't let them be chased away by you two."
"Only the best for you, Harry." Ron simpered in a mischievous tone. He laughed, and Hermione giggled and slapped Ron's shoulder. "See you later. Don't forget to update us! Don't get seasick! And don't get sloshed with another hag again!"
"I won't," he promised, and watched as they faded away until he was staring at his own reflection, green eyes a little teary and bright against his tan skin. He looked up over the mirror, to the sight of the dock in the distance, the ocean on the horizon. It was time to move.