34 - Weapon


"There are agents in my city who seek to move against me," the Prince informed him almost formally. It was sudden, as the man had been quiet since he'd entered the bakery. He'd ignored the 'closed' sign on the door and took a seat with a presumptuousness that was so smooth it gave off the sense of regality instead of arrogance.

And just as with Professor Snape and his billowing ropes, Harry found himself wondering if the man had practiced this until he'd gotten it just right.

The baker relegated the thought to the back of his mind and looked up from where he'd been fiddling with his teabag.

"You do realize that this doesn't have anything to do with me, right?" Harry replied, "I'm not a Wesen. I'm not a Grimm. So why come to me?"

That was a question that had been coming to mind often lately, because he had no idea why the other man sought him out sometimes. The last few times the captain had visited had been without a clear purpose - at least as far as Harry could discern. He didn't mind the man's presence, but their conversations were always short on words, in a way that made it seem that every word spoken was carefully chosen.

But if there was a deeper layer underneath their conversations, Harry had never managed to discover those meanings.

"No, you are neither," the captain agreed so very easily, as if it was not a contested issue in this world but a proven fact. "You're different. And that's what makes you so very interesting. Something new. Something none of us has heard of before. A wildcard. A trump."

"A weapon?" Harry asked, his voice colder and more dangerous than he'd ever uttered in this world, because he needed to make it abundantly clear that he'd never be that again, a weapon in uncaring hands.

Sean Renard eyed him, dark eyes discerning, and shook his head. "I'm not looking for a weapon. Just an ally. Someone who wants this city, and those in it, to be protected. Especially our Grimm."

His voice was mostly matter-of-fact but there was a hint of soothing to it that reminded Harry that this man was also experienced policeman– he was perceptive, and accustomed to adapting to various situations. It was more than just diplomacy, the captain knew how to diffuse a tense situation. A skill that he and Nick shared, though this man went about it in a different way. And a skill that Harry could admit he occasionally envied.

While the captain's words sounded entirely reasonable, did he really just call Nick… "Our Grimm?"

"Nick Burkhardt is one of my detectives and under my protection. I am not unaware of the fact that he involves you in his cases regarding Wesen. Surely you won't try to claim that he is not under your protection as well."

"My protection," Harry repeated, genuinely amused by this. Because while Nick appreciated his help, the detective was clearly under the impression that it was the other way around. The Grimm had taken Harry under his wing, was teaching him and was generally the protective one.

It was all the more amusing because the detective's view of it was possibly truer than the opposite. Perhaps the wizard didn't need his protection, but it was given all the same. Freely, and very apparent, but never actually imposed. Nick pushed sometimes, because the man cared – but he never forced the issue, never pushed Harry away 'for his own good'.

And he'd be damned if he didn't return the sentiment with all that he was.

"Yes," the Master of Death claimed, his voice containing a hint of power and allowing no leeway whatsoever, "Nick Burkhardt is under my protection."

The Prince nodded, like that firm declaration was to be expected, and slid a folder towards him. "Then help me clear the Verrat from my city – before they can do him harm."

And while Harry could agree with the sentiment, he still wondered about the man coming to him. Because Nick was the one who had proven himself capable, but aside from that one fight with a Mauves Dentes, Harry hadn't shown himself a fighter. "You don't think he can handle them himself?"

"He might," Renard granted, "But I cannot warn him without making it clear how I know this. And I don't want to risk him going into this situation unaware. I suspect these Wesen are sent by my brother, to do what I can only guess at."

The wizard blinked up at the man, trying to imagine his brother. Harry didn't have any siblings, if one didn't count Dudley and – well, he didn't. The Weasleys were the closest he had to family.

From the look on the captain's face, this wasn't the kind of family you claimed.

"Your brother?" he repeated with a quiet, careful voice.

The man's face hardened even further, but he showed no other outward sign of emotion. "He is…," the Prince seemed to be looking for the right description, before he settled on "…cruel. Whatever his plans for me, or the Grimm, they cannot be good. For anyone."

And while Harry didn't fully understand, couldn't know the unspoken history that lay between this man and his cruel brother, he could hazard a few guesses too.

So he nodded in agreement, too easily perhaps, but then didn't he always leap before he looked? "I'll do what I can – no promises, but I will try."

Sean Renard smiled at that, the first true smile he'd ever seen on the man and it suited him surprisingly well.

For some reason, it took him off guard. Harry looked away, cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea with as much dignity as he could muster.

When he looked up again, that smile was gone, but something made the man seem amused nonetheless. Or maybe Harry was just imagining things.

"That's all I would ask," the captain said.


(Word Count: 1000)