35 - Marauding
It wasn't difficult to find the Wesen who had come to Portland on behalf of a reportedly cruel Royal. The file the Prince had given him, provided Harry with the fake names that they had used to enter the country, but also contained the mugshot and birth name of the only one with an arrest record.
So, with a point me spell, that name led the wizard straight to the hotel room these three men and one woman shared.
For the first time in a long time, Harry donned his invisibility cloak and, knowing from the files that these were Hundjäger, he cast spells that would hide his sound and smell.
He'd been through a wizarding war and had been hunted – in his mind there was no such thing as being overly prepared.
The wizard waited outside the room, pressed closely against the wall to prevent any run-ins with people unable to see him. When two of the Wesen returned to the hotel and opened the door, he slipped in closely on the heels of one. Out of necessity, he came rather close to one of them, and he cautiously backed away, breathing shallowly, as quietly as he could. Magic would prevent anyone from hearing him, but some responses were ingrained.
The Hundjäger woged and the others in the room followed suit – they were scenting the air, hounds looking for prey, but his magic held and they found nothing.
It took time, but eventually the four shook it off as nothing. Letting out a breath, Harry settled into his out of the way nook and there he watched and listened.
A long time ago, this patient lurking - which he now considered a close-up stakeout - would have gone against both his principles and his instinctive response to a situation.
But his tendency to recklessly dive into the thick of things had been shaved off bit by bit during the course of his life. Nowadays, he still didn't hesitate to do what he needed to, but at least he considered it beforehand – and when Harry did dive in recklessly, at least he was aware of the risks.
And, fine, most of the time he decided to do it anyway. But that was progress, wasn't it? Having the self-awareness of just how far he was willing to go to keep the people he cared about safe.
Right now, he didn't have to go all that far – he didn't cross any of his personal boundaries. And those lines had changed as well over the years. They had shifted from the morals of the Gryffindor Golden Boy, that was never truly, fully, who he had been, to fit who he was now.
Harry Potter, soldier, saviour, Master of Death.
Even though none of those descriptors fit him completely, all three of them were true in their own way – even if they only described a part of him. Because he was a soldier – he'd fought in a war and seen and done things that he could never erase and so had to carry with him instead for the rest of his life.
And while saviour was a title he loathed, because it signified the expectations that had been placed on young, shoulders and the role he had been shoved into the moment he was eleven years old and set foot into that world, it was still a decent way to sum up that which pulsed at the core of his being. Harry did have that saving-people-thing that Hermione had once ascribed to him. It was a part of who he was: the protector who couldn't stand by and let the bullies of the world do harm to whoever they wanted.
It was the last title that Harry tended to shy away from the most. But just because he didn't want to accept it, that didn't mean it wasn't true. The cloak that sheltered him at this very moment from the paranoid eyes of those with bad intentions had followed him even into this world. He would never lose it, just like he would never lose the stone he had dropped in the forest and the Elder wand he liked to pretend was still very much gone.
Harry was all of those things, but most importantly, he was a wizard in a world that knew only beings who didn't come close to what he was. So, safe from prying eyes and magically shielded, the wizard watched and waited.
He stayed in that room for hours, listening as these agents, known as Verrat, discussed their plans. He learned that all of them were mission-oriented, efficient and, from what he heard them say - from their plans and the casual callousness of them, he knew that they didn't care who they hurt on the way to achieving their goals.
All of this told him that Sean Renard hadn't been lying about them, or about his brother – because Harry knew that it was cruel men who sought out their like to do their bidding.
That was really all he needed to know.
Without a sound, but with a wistful smile, he gathered what he needed – carefully, very carefully because while the Hundjäger couldn't see, hear or smell him, when he ducked in close, one of them once more seemed to sense him. Like Monroe, like Blutbaden, they seemed to have an instinct for it.
He slowly moved back, knowing that the woman's piercing eyes couldn't find him. People, even Wesen, tend to believe their eyes, ears and nose more than that instinctive sixth sense that was stronger in some people than in others.
Back in his corner, he waited for his chance to leave – with a plan already taking shape in his mind.
Harry was not the type of person who sought and killed a target. But he was also not willing to stand by and let these agents hurt anyone.
Something that had never changed about Harry in all these eventful years was his desire to help and protect the people he cared about.
What also hadn't changed was a bit of carelessness in his approach to rules, regulations and law – not out of a desire to do harm, not out of selfishness or a disregard of their validity, but because, somehow, there were always things that he considered more important.
And in this case, well… he smirked a little, the sight of it hidden completely from view by the very same cloak Prongs used to wear while setting up pranks at Hogwarts. Right now he could solemnly swear that he was up to no good.
(Word Count: 1100)
