It's with his clothes soaked and hair dripping wet that Harry slumps and leans back against the brick wall of the alley. The person in front of him is equally drenched, but he looks far from miserable.
It's an unusual shade of grey, his eyes, not too pale and not a speck of blue, while the rest of his face is decidedly Japanese. The rainwater falling off the tips of his hair and down his cheek to his chin is something fascinating, and Harry's sure he could wax poetic about it if he is a prepubescent schoolgirl. Alas, he is not, even though the weakness in his knees and the heat on his face might indicate otherwise.
If anything, there's a determined glint in those grey eyes, of which Harry finds mildly disquieting.
"I don't know what you're thinking, …but I have better things to do than play 20 questions with a random stranger who's been trying to beat me up."
It's a bold faced lie, because the teen is honestly interesting and Harry would like to know what's the deal with him, but he's getting increasingly lethargic. There is something maddeningly familiar about the teen, like a soft worn blanket that you can't help but want to nuzzle and roll yourself around in. It's most likely some soul magic shenanigan - and Harry has NO intention of getting involved in that. At least not without Death's counsel. Merlin forbid he pulls some poor unsuspecting people into the mess that is his existence.
"You are wearing Nami High's uniform. If you're a student, I am obligated to discipline you for loitering outside during school hours."
So he's not a delinquent, but a disciplinary committee member of some sort? And isn't he wearing a different uniform? From a different school? What.
"I told you, I'm not a student."
The teen observes Harry, unnervingly close still. "Whether you are telling the truth or not - that's for later. Now you're coming with me."
Oh? "Why should I?"
Grey eyes' grin is positively feral at his reply.
"Is that an invitation?"
Invitation to what?!
Harry didn't have to ask - his answer comes in the form of a fist, which he lightly redirects to hit the wall next to his arm. "What the fuck."
Mustering the last dregs of his concentration, Harry sweeps his legs with prejudice and slams the damned violence-prone teen into the concrete, pushing him down and carefully pinning both his wrists behind his back. The teen relaxes under his hold, but Harry doesn't relent. The brat would probably try and punch him again if given a chance.
"This is getting old," he complains. His magic is still stirring. Diverting his focus to combat is just... unwise. He'd slip and leak, and then best case scenario, nothing happens. Empirical evidence says Harry does not have enough luck for best case scenario...
So Harry carefully, carefully ties the teen's wrists with his hair ribbon. He has to, must, get out of here before his magic starts doing a disaster manoeuvre in tandem with his Potter luck.
Harry runs.
His shoes leave wet sloshy noises and Harry tamps down the urge to cast impervious. He's wet to his socks - it's a little bit gross, okay, very gross and a little nostalgic. He hasn't stood under pouring rain for years. The water running down his neck to his back feels good on his heated skin, at least. Then, out of nowhere, for no reason at all, his instinct screams for him to cut to another alley and Harry does. He flattens himself against the wall, heart pounding.
Two seconds... three...
"Kyo-san."
"Kusakabe. ...an ambulance.. the herbivores."
It's a little difficult to hear their voices under the insistent drumming of the rain against rooftops, but Harry could still discern the gist of their conversation. The violent teen - Kyo or something - sounded calm, and Harry holds out hope that he's forgotten about their little tussle. Harry hasn't expected his hair band to last anyway - it's only mildly enchanted, meant to hold his ponytail, not people's wrist.
"...a green-eyed student from Nami High."
Ah yes, cross that one out from the Potter Adventures Essential bingo: become a fugitive twenty minutes in.
…
::::::::::::
It's raining, but it's somehow shaping up to be a good day. Kyo-san has been in a grumpy mood all morning (his favourite napping spot is wet), but he's currently smiling or what constitutes as a smile for him at least, and it makes him wonder if one of the thugs he's beaten was good.
"...and keep an eye out for a green-eyed student from Nami High."
"Pardon?"
He hasn't expected that.
"A foreigner. Black hair, green eyes. If you find him, don't engage. Alert me immediately."
"...I understand. I will inform the others."
The fact that there is someone who can keep up with Kyo-san is normally reason enough for alarm - but Kyo-san himself is relaxed, so this person must be, while dangerous, means no harm.
"Does this person have a name?"
And just like that, Kyo-san's scowl comes back full force. Tetsuya almost regrets asking.
"We'll find out."
…
::::::::::::
Sneaking around should have been easy, but in the span of five minutes the town's suddenly crawling with pompadours. No matter - Harry quickly figures out that the best way he can go about this is to shed the damned artefact that got him in this mess in the first place. He enters a casual clothing store, thankful that he has some yen on him (though he's not sure it'll hold up if someone looks into its minted year or something, it did come from another Japan after all), and picks out a comfortable grey shirt, jeans, a pair of sneakers and the most important items: a black hoodie and a plain cloth mask. The clerk giggles a lot, but she's helpful - she gives Harry a plastic bag to put his soggy clothes in, and even offers a towel for him to dry himself with, which Harry declines.
What he sees in the changing room though, gives him pause.
He looks juvenile.
While he's considerably healthier and well-rested, not to mention filled out, something that pretty much never happens the first time he's in a 15-year old body, the similarity is still so jarring it throws him back to his Hogwarts days. Seeing his deadened expression on such a face is altogether fucked up. Not that younger him wasn't fucked up, but this is just next level bizarre. He'd have to ask Death to fix it later. Right now, his first priority is to find a safe place to do some discreet warding rites.
He quickly puts on the newly purchased clothes and with a half-bow to the clerk, makes his way outside. The weather has cleared.
It's barely four steps from the store and Harry could already see two people in that familiar middle school uniform. And pompadours. He puts his hands in his pockets and adopts a slouch- keeping his eyes down and half-lidded just in case their fucking luminosity gets through the shade his hood casts over them.
"Nami-kou has always been the exception, but to think their banchou could take him on..."
"I know right! Who knows, …Do you think we can just bring that guy to the HQ? He's probably pretty beaten up right now."
"Idiot! Kusakabe-san says we can't, so we can't. If that was a direct order from that person, …"
Harry sighs, thinking quietly how he's never going to understand young people. He wishes this banchou character the best - it's easy to guess who the other person the two students are talking about.
…
::::::::::::
A/N: I forgot this fic existed hahahahahahhaha... ha..
I was dragged kicking and screaming into the void that is SW prequel fandom and never came back.