21 - Peaceful


"I'm sorry." Monroe said, still looking at the closed door through which Nick had just left.

Harry blinked; "For what?"

"We keep dragging you into danger. I know you don't want this life. You keep denying you're a Grimm, even after all this time you still deny it. Man, you own a bakery of all things. I don't know what brought you to Portland, and you know I won't ask about your past – not if you don't want to talk about it, 'cause, man, I can understand that."

Monroe turned his head, meeting his eyes and Harry was startled by the reddish-ness in those pupils. The wolf was peeking out, angry, guilty, grieved. "We keep treating you like a Grimm even if you don't want to be one. Even staying in Portland is probably dangerous for you. I haven't forgotten what you said, you know, about meeting the Prince."

Then Monroe averted his eyes, and Harry could see his friend's hand clenching, something fierce and forceful in his stance. But when he opened his mouth again it was not to say something determined or angry like Harry had expected – no, his voice was barely a whisper. "Whatever sort of peaceful life you're looking for… I don't think you'll find it here. You'll never be free of the Wesen world here."

It sounded like a confession – like something he hadn't wanted to say out loud.

Harry took a breath, opened his mouth – but he wasn't sure what to say, so he closed it again. Silence fell between them, not the comfortable silence they often shared, but something filled with a tense expectation, as if they were waiting for something.

And as Harry studied his friend's silent form, he realized that Monroe was waiting for something, for something to break – to end. That little speech was more than just guilt, it was almost like a benediction – or a goodbye. It was something Harry might have said, once upon a time, to give his friends a way out; to leave the war, leave the fear and death and the danger that always followed him.

And on the heels of that realization, another thought hit him – that it had been a long time since he had felt like that. Life in Portland was different. He wasn't Harry Potter here – was hardly even a wizard. He was just Harry – Harry with a bakery, with friends who came over for dinner and dragged him into all sorts of Wesen related issues.

It was… nice. Peaceful.

And suddenly he laughed. And his friend looked at him cautiously, because, perhaps, this was a strange time to burst out into laughter. So he took a breath, stifling his mirth at this hilarious irony.

"Monroe." Harry started, something warm and fond in his smile that took the Blutbad by surprise. "I don't mind. You know I don't mind. This, all of this isn't… as bad as you think."

And it was difficult to find the right words. Because how can you explain this to someone who hasn't lived the life he had lived? How could someone understand that after everything – after being the orphan, the freak, the saviour, the scapegoat, the warrior, the hunted, the revered that this – this was peace. This was freedom.

Finally, Harry sighed and decided on a simple truth. Because that was the way things often were for him here – between him, Rosalee, Nick, Monroe and even the police captain.

Simple truths were his way of life now and it was working for him so far. "You are my friend. If I can help, then I will. Because I want to – because I couldn't not help. Because I don't want to see you, any of you, get hurt. It would hurt me far, far more if you didn't let me help you. If you asked me to stand by idly and watch as my friends got hurt... That is not a peaceful life. And running away isn't freedom, it's just…" Harry trailed off and shook his head unable to find the words to explain what he meant. Instead he said, "I'm not going anywhere, Monroe."

Monroe stared at him for a long moment – something in his gaze made Harry just as uncomfortable as his friend's earlier guilt and sadness. Because there was something akin to awe – only more gentle, something grateful and relieved like Harry was worth something and it made the wizard squirm beneath that gaze. Because a look like that was not something he was very familiar with.

It was different than the hollow adoration from those who called him saviour. And it was completely opposite to the way his relatives used to look at him, their eyes screaming 'freak' and 'unnatural' and 'burden'. It felt like one of Hermione's too-tight hugs on the platform, in which she tried to convey all the affection he would need to last the summer.

It made him avert his eyes, because he didn't know how to deal with it – never knew how to deal with something like that after being told all of his life that he was either nothing or a weapon.

And of course the wolf could tell – because Monroe always knew when Harry grew skittish or uncomfortable with their camaraderie – so the man didn't say anything, just nodded.

And Harry offered to make tea and get some pastries.

"Sure, man, that sounds great." Monroe answered with an edged smile that only barely held back the words the wolf wanted to say.

Harry quickly retreated, not just because he wanted to get away before Monroe would thank him, or even hug him. No, there was another reason why Harry needed a moment alone.

Because something had broken after all – not the thing Monroe feared for with his offer for Harry to back out - not their friendship.

But something just as precious.

"I'm not going anywhere" Harry heard his own words echo in his mind, and something broke with them.

Because he had meant them.


Word Count: 1000