Warning for period-typical racism and homophobia
It took time, too much time, before Harry was ready to stop being completely alone, before he'd gathered the necessary courage to leave his comfortable nook of discarded cushions and warming charms and traverse the handful of blocks it took to reach the New York Public Library.
Up the many stairs and past the hulking columns that stood guard before the heavy wooden doors lay the muggle entrance. But if a witch or wizard were to present their wand to the leftmost of the two marble carved lions, the far right entrance would grant them access to a wing completely hidden from the mundane world. A wing in which resided enough books and knowledge regarding all aspects of the wizarding world to sate a rabid learner of even Hermione's caliber. There would surely be plenty a text on time and the wizards foolish enough to attempt meddling with it, there might even be some sort of solution to the mess Harry had wound up in.
He hesitated though, he put the trip off for weeks not because he was afraid to fail or because he was wary of making any sort of contact with the wizards of this time. He hesitated because he was selfish.
He wanted to go home, he wanted to see his friends and right his wrongs, but at the same time he needed a break. Correcting the ritual's error didn't mean just going home and seeing his family again, it meant returning to a time where the Hallows were not yet united, which also so happened to be a time when not all of the Horcruxes had been retrieved and destroyed, a time when Voldemort was still alive. And after making it out of that last encounter with the dark lord by just the skin on his teeth, he wasn't all that eager to repeat it once more. Not so soon. So he hesitated, he allowed himself to be selfish for one week that turned to two that lengthened to three, ignoring the guilt that plagued him every goddamn second until he finally thought he might be strong enough to give saving his world one more go.
Behind the protections that the hulking lion with his condescendingly knowing stone eyes guarded was a place unlike even Hogwarts' trove of books. The floorspace allowed only enough room for a dozen or two rows of shelves, but each shelf rose and twisted far above his head, branching off like enormous trees adorned not with green leaves of a spring Harry was anticipating with a fervent desperation, but with fat and long and thin and squat books of all hues and contents.
Among each aisle were women, tall and skeletal with feet like eagles and arms like wings, harpies who fluttered among the branches to collect the books outside of the patrons' reach. They were as severe as Madame Pince, but effective and quick in retrieving every book he was in need of, of which there were more than a few.
The section devoted to books on the different forms of time travel and the many ways of accomplishing it was enormous, there was an entire branch on which sat row upon row of the books. There were too many to count and too many to read through in one sitting, so the first ten on the directory were selected in a vain attempt at narrowing his options down and he moved to sit at one of the comfortable desk and chair sets resting in the shadow of the closest bookcase.
The first book to be cracked open was an index of every creature and artifact that possessed the ability, no matter how minor, to alter time. It wasn't very thick as there weren't very many such creatures, but it was useful and so was set to the side to be studied more dedicatedly sometime later.
The next described the potential consequences of unregulated time travel in great detail, and while Harry figured that perhaps it could have been of some use to him, Hermione, and Ron when first embarking on this mad endeavor to prevent the collapse of the wizarding world, it was now pretty useless. Thus it began the pile of texts to be returned to the shelf.
The process of sorting each book into a pile to be kept and a pile to be discarded saw only a little less than a quarter of an hour pass and left Harry with a half dozen books to be kept and read. Once those he didn't think would be of much use to him were returned to the shelf, the topmost book of his remaining pile was selected to begin his research. It was a journal containing accounts of all wizards known to have manipulated the time stream and what had become of them. It wasn't overly large, about half the thickness of one of his old schoolbooks, and was precluded by a rather long foreword detailing the theory of time travel and all of its possibilities. Had it been for any other subject being studied for any other reason, Harry might have skipped the prelude, but the last thing he wanted was to miss some potentially vital piece of information because of his own laziness so he grit his teeth and choked down each drily written word with a resolve that would have made Hermione proud.
As it turned out, that was a mistake.
The concept of time travel introduced in the prelude, no matter how simply explained, was absolutely mind-boggling. The ritual had cast him into the past, but had it also stopped his present from carrying on? Had the time he left stopped simply because he wasn't there to witness it, or, even as he sat in this library, was the wizarding world still battling pestilence and famine and terrified muggles? It made sense to believe the latter was the case, he hadn't stopped time itself only traveled through it, and until he made it to the date and year he had originally been aiming for and altered the events that had led to this entire ordeal, were his friends and the world he had left behind still experiencing all levels of misery? Was the wizarding world still dying? Ginny still suffering from scrofungulus? Were the Weasleys even now dealing with harassment concerning his whereabouts from the Ministry? Were his friends and family preparing for a war against a foe that outnumbered them astronomically?
The aged pages of the journal connected in the center with a muted thump, the book collided with the table with an identical sound and slid across its smooth surface before coming to a teetering halt just at its edge. Harry's lips were screwed into a grim frown as he attempted, with very limited success, to stop himself from falling back into the morbid mood he'd been struggling with since arriving in this time.
Half an hour, he'd lasted only half an hour actively focusing on his time troubles before his implacable angst had taken over. Not bad for a first attempt, but now he needed air, a break would do him good, he could stop for lunch. There was a stand set up just across the street that sold fresh fruits and chilled drinks, both of which sounded mighty appealing at the moment.
Harry was allowed food from his place of employment, but only the wares that could no longer be kept on the shelf, the breads that were sprouting mold and the apples with worms burrowed into their cores. Most days he was able to ignore the repulsiveness of the food, especially when money was short and his stomach was willing to take anything so long as it didn't have to remain hollow another moment longer. But actual fresh fruit did him good every now and then, it left him fuller and more energized than whatever he could pick out from the grocers. Besides, tomorrow was payday, he could afford to splurge just a little.
The thought coaxed a snort from him, not one of amusement, but rather one laced with a bitter sort of irony. Since when was buying an apple not infested with worms considered a luxury? He'd never been particularly spoiled, not when growing up under the Dursleys' harsh thumb, but Hogwarts and its casual luxuries had allowed him to grow used to simple comforts such as a soft bed and warm food. It was only when he was forced to do without it that he realized just how much he had taken for granted.
Every apple at the stand was just on the wrong side of overripe, but he still selected two from the pile with great relish and, only somewhat reluctantly, handed over several cents to the woman standing guard over the stockpile of fruits and vegetables. The first bite to be taken was soft, lacking that sharp, crisp crunch Harry only ever dreamed of nowadays, but it was also, thankfully, lacking a mushy, fermented center and wriggling intruders lurking beneath mottled brown flesh, and so he counted this purchase as one well worth the money spent.
Of course, that still didn't stop him from wishing for something just a bit more savory. The deli next door sold cold cut meat and real cheeses with bread baked fresh every morning, what Harry wouldn't give for a proper sandwich right now was frankly laughable, but the few cents he had to his name wouldn't be able to afford him even a slice of bread from the place, let alone one piled with all of the fixings. He'd have to simply settle for lingering in the doorway and enjoying the scent of the place.
But another seemed to have had the same idea as him, a girl no older than four or five had her small face pressed against the glass of the shop and was watching avidly as the younger man working behind the counter piled an assortment of meats and cheese on a sliced loaf of bread for a customer. The man had glanced over at the girl a time or two, he looked the slightest bit dismayed by the streaks she was leaving on the glass, but made no move to shoo her away. But it seemed not everyone was so tolerant of her harmless presence, an older man accompanied by a middle aged woman who looked similar enough to him to be his daughter exited the deli with a scowl on his face. He held the bag his food had been tucked away in to his chest, as if worried the little girl who stood no more than three feet high might try and snatch it from his person.
He let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a cross between a hiss and a snarl in the girl's direction, a noise that was reminiscent of one who was trying to frighten off a wild animal. "Get on away from here now!" the man moved several steps towards the girl, as if trying to herd her away without actually touching her. "Get away from there 'less you plan on cleaning up the mess you're making. Folk like you don't belong on this side of the city, bringing down the reputation of places like this."
The girl jerked away from the window, startled from her childlike awe by the vehement disdain the stranger was radiating.
"Where's your mammy, girl? She should be better at keeping you out of the way."
A quick glance around showed a woman similar in appearance to the child in question standing with a toddler on her hip several meters away at the fruit stand Harry had only just left. The girl was looking toward her mother as well, clearly wishing to return to her side, but the bitter old man was blocking her path and steadily moving closer. He was seemingly emboldened by the girl's fearful silence and the pointed way those around them looked away as they passed.
With her immediate route blocked, the girl attempted to back away, but the buckle on her shoe was loose and, when she attempted a shuffling step back, it came completely undone, unbalancing her and sending her sprawling to the ground. Frightened by the hostility still bearing down from her and likely in a fair bit of pain, all she could do was begin to wail.
As if trained to pick out the sound of her child's cry from within a crowd, the woman at the fruit stand whipped around, almost immediately she zeroed in on the scene she'd previously been unaware of and a mixture of fear and fury washed across her face. However, before she could begin to push her way past those moving along the sidewalk, Harry was already moving in to aid the girl.
Of its own volition his face began twisting in a scowl much more impressive than the one the other man was bearing as he stepped between him and the fallen girl. "Leave her, she's just a kid."
"The dirty little monkey is getting underfoot."
Harry knew he likely didn't look particularly menacing, he was never overly tall and his new lifestyle had him leaner than ever, but he'd defeated a dark lord dammit and become Death's equal, that had to be worth something, he could frighten off one racist old coot. "What a brave little man you must think yourself to be, harassing a child due to your own small mindedness." Being on the receiving end of countless disdainful sneers, first from Snape then from Death, left him surprisingly good at doling out a few of his own. His own might not be quite on par with either man's but it was still surprisingly close. "Leave her."
Harry didn't flinch when the man spat at his feet, nor when he purposely slammed into his shoulder as he passed. The weak old thing barely even moved him an inch anyhow. Once he was gone, Harry knelt before the little girl and quickly replaced his own look of disdain with a smile.
"That was quite the fall you took, are you all right?"
Fat tears were still rolling from the girl's eyes as she shook her head and held up her little hands, her palms were scraped from where they had broken the worst of her fall and little bits of dirt and grit had embedded themselves into the flesh.
"Oh goodness, look at that. That's quite some damage you took." Harry gently ran the backs of his knuckles over her hands to brush away the worst of the mess. "But you're hardly even crying anymore, you must be a brave one."
The reverse psychology worked like a charm, the girl blinked several times to banish the last of her tears, then scrubbed them from her cheeks with the hand Harry wasn't working on.
His smile only grew wider. "Yes, I was right. You are brave. And look at this," he carefully maneuvered her wrists so that her hands, palms facing forward, were at eye level, "you're all better too."
"I lost my shoe."
"Oh no, it's right here." Harry reached behind himself to retrieve the shiny black shoe, then gestured to her bare foot. "May I?"
Once receiving a nod, he placed the girl's foot in his lap and proceeded to tuck her foot back into the shoe before buckling it securely. "There you are, Cinderella."
The little girl cocked her head in confusion. "I'm not Cinderella, I'm Annalise. I don't look nothing like her."
"Maybe not. But who needs blonde hair and blue eyes when you have such lovely braids."
Annalise's round cheeks flushed as she gripped the ends of her two cornrowed braids, tied off with a set of pale blue ribbons.
"When someone says something nice to you, you say thank you, Lissi."
Harry glanced over his shoulder and found the young girl's mother standing only a foot or so behind him. Her brow was furrowed but she didn't look particularly upset.
Annalise patted one of Harry hands with her own and did as her mother instructed and thanked him.
"It was my pleasure."
Harry gently helped her to her feet then stepped aside so that she could move to her mother's side and take hold of her hand.
"Thank you." This time, the show of gratitude had come from the young mother.
Harry dipped his head in acknowledgment but said, "There's no need to thank me for showing some human decency, no matter how uncommon it seems to be in these times." Harry retrieved his bag of apples from the stoop in which he'd dropped them off, then waved at the two women. "Have a good day, miss. It was lovely to meet you, Annalise."
There was a break in the automobiles that were rumbling past on the street, so Harry took his chance to quickly jog across and up to the steps of the library where he might finally have his meager lunch in the shadow of one of the lounging stone lions.
The cruel bite of early January winter was curiously absent for just these few hours, the heavy warmth of too many bodies crammed into one city and the curdling smoke coming from street cars and automobiles had chased it away just long enough for Harry to enjoy his lunch without fear of losing a few toes to the cold. The air couldn't really be considered fresh, not in this city, but it at least wasn't foul, there was a certain charm to the amalgamation of gasoline, the unique tang of human, and the aroma of whatever hot food the vendors on the corners were selling today. It couldn't be considered home, not when the closest thing to home carried the sharp scent of the Scottish highlands and of pure, untainted earth, but it was soothing in its own right. He'd fallen asleep to it and the ambient noise of the place one too many a night not to have grown at least somewhat comfortable with it.
The first of two apples was steadily whittled to its core and Harry allowed himself, for a brief moment to relax, unworried about his position in this place and this moment, untethered from the pressing concerns of money and security and his overall lack of productivity.
It didn't last long, of course, such moments never did, a mind untethered had the nasty habit of drifting unpermitted to those thoughts that wished to be tucked away and forgotten. Harry could fight it, he knew it would be excellent practice at the Occlumency he was neglecting, but he didn't want to. Maybe indulging in these awful thoughts for a few minutes might finally make them go away, or at least stop pressing at his psyche so insistently. One question in particular refused to cease dogging him; what had happened to Hermione? He'd left her in the manor with the wizarding world tearing down their door and demanding his head, had his assumption that the wizarding world was only after him proven to be correct? Had they bought the lie he'd insisted she tell and left her in peace? Or had the entire ploy failed miserably leaving her to pay the price?
The thought that she might be suffering because of his ignorance weighted his chest, it was an ugly thing to consider made even worse by how little he could do to fix it until he found a way back to his time. If he found a way back to his time. Because as of right now, he had a fistful of nothing and was still only inching in the direction of even a little something. It could be weeks or months before anything of value was found and the thought of being stuck in this time until then, eating moldy apples and sleeping in alleys (no matter how comfortably he'd fixed it up) was constricting.
Sickle shaped fingernails pressed and depressed the skin on the side of his wrist, not hard enough to break skin but just enough to provide a grounding pain. It was the only technique Harry had found that actually worked at keeping him from blowing up another round of toilets or forcing visions of the dead onto himself. Hermione had tried to get him to stop, claiming it was dangerously close to self-harm, but he wasn't willing to give up the one thing that kept him in his head at least until he found another method that proved to be effective. And if he'd yet to find such a method…well, he had a lot on his mind at the moment.
Somewhere beside him, the crunch of wrapping paper drew him from his mind and back to the painfully wrong present. A man, elderly but not yet stooping with his age, had managed to approach without him hearing, he'd stopped far enough so that he wasn't crowding but it was clear he was waiting on something. When Harry's attention turned to him, he smiled and covered the last bit of distance between them to place an oblong object wrapped in unmarked wax paper on the ground at Harry's side.
Harry first looked down at it, then up at the man, confused and maybe a bit wary. But the stranger only continued to smile.
"For you."
Something like a confused frown played at Harry's lips, he reached out cautiously to touch just a single finger to the object, he was half expecting a familiar pull behind his navel but there was nothing but the yielding of something squishy beneath his finger. The man only nodded encouragingly.
It was a sandwich, the fixings weren't anything elaborate, but they were cold from the ice and the bread still smelled of the oven. It was all Harry had been dreaming of, but he knew Moody would rise from the grave, traverse the timeline, and curse him six ways to Sunday if he accepted, let alone ate, food offered to him by a stranger.
"It's only meat and cheese." The man spoke with a faintly European accent Harry was just shy of placing. "A nice compliment to the rotten apples you'd been overcharged for."
The wrapper crinkled again when Harry replaced the sandwich on it. "Why…?"
A shrug was his immediate response, followed by a simple but not at all clarifying, "I saw you looking."
The older gentleman tipped his hat, then turned and sauntered off. Harry watched him until he rounded a corner then looked back down at the unwrapped sandwich sitting in his lap. It would be incredibly irresponsible of him to try his luck, the wizarding world was dependent on him (even if they weren't yet aware of it) to make it back to the present and fix what needed fixing. He shouldn't risk being taken out by a sandwich of all things. But he was supposedly immune from such things as poisoning and death, the worst it was likely to do was give him a bad case of the runs.
Mind made up, he took a tentative bite from one end and tried his best not to groan too obscenely over just how good the simple sandwich was. It only took one more bite for him to come to two conclusions a) the sandwich wasn't poisoned and b) even if it was, he wasn't sure he'd be able to bring himself to stop eating it as it was divine.
The money he made at the grocers was enough to afford him solid meals each day, but when shopping for goods he had to look for canned foods, non-perishables as his lean-to in the alley didn't come with an icebox and keeping perishables such as meats and dairy at just the right temperature with spellwork was tricky business, the sort he wasn't the slightest bit proficient in. So it was mostly canned fruits and spam for him. He might have enough left over at the end of the week to allow a small treat, but never enough for something as fresh and good as a sandwich.
The stranger's kindness baffled him though, in the time he'd been here he'd grown used to being completely ignored or, when his outer appearance reflected just how rough his nights could get, thrown disdainful looks, no one had once gone out of their way to show him even the smallest bit of compassion. Harry wished the man had stuck around long enough for him to get over his suspicion and grant him a proper thanks.
The last of the sandwich was swallowed mournfully, leaving Harry gazing contemplatively at the wrapper with the question of whether or not it would be socially acceptable to suck the crumbs from the paper in an effort to regain just a bit of that flavor.
But living on the streets hadn't completely done away with the manners Petunia had instilled in him, so he tossed the paper into the closest bin and decided to begin heading in the direction of the grocers. He'd end up being a little early, but he doubted he'd be turned away.
Natania Aronoff, the female half of the couple who ran the shop was working behind the counter as she often did while her husband, Obadiah, worked on artistically arranging cans of spam on the shelf. As predicted, neither were the slightest bit opposed to getting started earlier.
"Mr. Aronoff over there tried moving a few of those boxes all alone," Natania tittered as Harry began moving crates of fresh vegetables to the front. "Near pulled something in his back."
Obadiah grumbled good naturedly in response to his wife's teasing. "Didn't want the fruit getting bad sitting in the back 'till he showed up, did I?"
"And yet all you managed to do was nearly send a whole crate of melons to the floor."
Harry hummed softly in amusement, only half listening to the couple as they bickered. The Aronoffs were kind to him, oftentimes doting upon him as if he were one of the sons he'd heard so much about. They were much like Mrs. And Mr. Weasley in that respect, and while occasionally that could be a comfort, most times it was an unwelcome reminder of what he was missing. He was sorely lacking in company these days, Death had visited him but once since their conversation in Potter Manor and though Natania and Obadiah treated him so kindly, he was still only their employee and saw them only a few hours a day. The rest of his days were spent mostly in silence as he explored the streets alone, kept warm in his makeshift home, and, now, researched within the quiet of the library. His human interaction outside of work was limited to thanking the men and women who accepted his payments for food and wishing them a good day.
It wasn't quite as awful as it sounded, Harry was used to solitude considering he'd spent the first half of his life living in a cupboard, but he'd also grown used to the chaos of the Burrow and the complete lack of privacy in the boy's dorms. It would be nice to have that, or even something like that, back.
There were plenty of pubs and dance halls in the area around where he slept, Harry's own alley was often visited by a drunken young adult or two looking to relieve the contents of their stomach, but the thought of wasting his already limited funds on watered down liquor didn't seem like the wisest of decisions and he'd learned all the way in fourth year at the Yule Ball that dancing was not his strong suit. He was looking to make friends, not send some poor girl to the hospital due to his own hazardous dance skills.
And while it would be nice to have friends again, it was probably best Harry didn't go around forming attachments as it would only make it harder for him to leave when his small problem was finally solved.
But then he took his lunch out on the steps of the library the next day.
He wouldn't lie and say a part of him wasn't hoping the stranger might return, he wanted to thank him, that one small act had made the rest of his day infinitely better. He'd even bought two apples, perfectly ripened without a hint of brown anywhere on their smooth surface, with the last of his money. He would have liked to go for something a little more, but it was all he could afford at the moment.
Harry was on the steps for no more than half an hour before the man arrived, this time he carried two sandwiches and, instead of heading off after Harry had accepted one of the two, sat down on the step just below him with a happy little sigh. Harry hastened to collect the two apples from the paper bag he'd had the shop owner put them in and held them out to the man who looked them both over for only a hint of a moment before plucking the one from Harry's left hand.
"They're both for you," he insisted, continuing to hold out the second of apples.
But the man shook his head decisively. "We will share."
Neither spoke after that as there really wasn't much else to say. Harry enjoyed this sandwich just as much as he had the first and hummed happily when his apple crunched just the way he liked it. The man seemed just as pleased, his unusual smile didn't leave his face throughout the entire meal and, when he was done, he departed with a friendly pat to Harry's knee and a simple farewell of. "I will see you tomorrow."
And he was true to his word. The very next day, around the same time as the previous afternoon, he was back on the steps of the library, this time before even Harry, with two sandwiches, one of which he happily traded for an apple and a bottle of still cold cola. As lunch was eaten, the man read from a newspaper folded neatly in his lap while Harry observed the multitude of people that passed his resting spot, both as one whole crowd and the individuals moving within it. There were men, some old, some young, some dressed to the nines in suits and shiny shoes and others sporting work stained trousers and cracked fingernails. There were women, closely followed like mother ducks leading their ducklings as they moved from shop to shop collecting groceries for the week, then there were women, in a variety of different uniforms alone and brisk as they stopped for a quick lunch before break ended and it was back to work. And though the hour was still fairly early, there were even a few children out, most in their later years of adolescence, teens cutting class for cokes and a movie, or whatever it was teens in the forties did when playing hooky. It were those in that final group Harry found himself watching the most, there weren't many out, and though they were doing their best to remain inconspicuous, they were very easily spotted. They carried an aura of cheer and vibrancy that seemed to be lacking in those a bit older.
A subconscious smile crept across his face as an acne spotted teen with knobby knees poking out from beneath his shorts and a slightly larger teen with a crooked smile and hair that shone copper in the sun playfully pushed at each other as they took up far more space on the sidewalk than two boys their size really needed. The easy camaraderie between them reminded him of his time with Ron or even Dean, Seamus, and Neville before the war almost immediately followed by the coming of the end of days snuffed out that light.
"I wonder if they know what it is to suffer."
The words, more than either had said the entire day, tensed the muscles in Harry's shoulders. They were so morbid and yet spoken so casually, and considering they'd come unprompted, caused his danger radar to perk interestedly.
Harry's lunch companion was no longer reading his paper, but was now watching the two young men Harry had been. When he noticed his scrutiny, he smiled calmly and continued to speak. "Looking around, it's almost hard to believe there is war. Take away the propaganda posters and the recruitment stations on every block and all seems normal."
"Does this make you angry?"
Harry's tone was cautious, but the man only laughed, though the sound wasn't entirely happy. "No. It only makes me sad."
"Why sad? Why not happy? Relieved these people are still untouched by war?"
"I am. Happy. Relieved. I am all of those things. When I wondered if they had felt suffering, it was not out of spite or any malicious desire to see them unhappy. I hope they never feel it. But while I am happy, relieved, I am also jealous. My people suffered, my family suffered, I wonder why they couldn't have been afforded this same freedom to not fear for their lives and safety come each rise of the day."
"They were victims of the war?"
"We all were. Augsburg, have you heard of it?"
Harry hadn't.
"Some of the first to suffer at the Fuehrer's hands. But they are often overlooked, even villainized for the one thing we had in common with him. There was none of what we see here for them, our stores were not plentiful, we did not thrive. When the Fuehrer invaded we were a broken people."
"Many of them will never know the full magnitude of suffering," Harry said, "but they will not remain untainted by this war, they've already experienced a sliver of its cruelty and they will experience much more. But they will not bow, they will not break, and though they might come out a bit tainted, they won't be ruined."
This time it was the older man's turn to look upon Harry speculatively, he only shrugged and returned the calm smile he'd been shown when the roles were reversed.
"I know war."
"You know suffering."
The calm on Harry's lips turned bitter, such truth was rarely spoken. "I do."
There was no question that Harry knew very little about the finer details of the war, he knew it was one in which much of the world had been involved in, hence its later dubbing of the second of world wars, and that Germany, headed by Adolf Hitler, was one of the main antagonists of the conflict. But the rest, how Germany came to be such a formidable power, the intricacies of why they felt the need to wage war upon the world, were lost upon him.
As it had only begun a few years ago, and only affected American soil a few months ago, there were no books on the war. There were news stories and magazine articles aplenty, but those to be found in the library were very heavily biased in favor of America and the Allied powers. It was only thanks to his knowledge of what would come to pass, minimal as it may be, that helped him piece together what had already occurred and, more importantly, why.
"This is not the text of your world of magic."
Harry startled when, from nowhere, Death appeared to pluck the magazine, dated from nearly ten years ago, from his grasp. He glared for both the infraction of nearly stopping his heart with his sudden arrival, and for being interrupted just as he was beginning to become absorbed in the frankly boring article of economic crises in far off countries.
"I'm broadening my horizons," he snapped as he reached across the table to snatch his magazine back.
"Does that mean you've given up your pitiful attempts at unlocking the secrets of time travel and decided to focus on more worthwhile ventures?"
"Not in the slightest. Why are you here?"
"I'm worried for you, quark." Death managed to maintain his façade of caring concern for a grand total of three seconds before cracking in the face of Harry's incredulity. "No, I was merely curious to see if you'd yet cracked under the strain of being displaced in time."
"You didn't have to interrupt my reading to do that," Harry noted drily. "All it would have taken was a quick peek to see I had most certainly not cracked under any sort of strain."
"I'm much better at gauging such things through face to face conversation."
"For whatever reason, I don't believe that for even a moment."
"Cynic."
"Until the end."
The magazine was tossed to the side, ignored now that Harry had something much more interesting to focus on.
"If you're not going to tell me what you've really come for, you can at least answer a question for me."
Death didn't verbally respond, but he also didn't disappear as he often did when he grew bored of a conversation, so Harry took it as permission to ask his question.
"Those skills you told me I would manifest as time passed, those to do with death, I haven't seen anything of them. And the ones I've already inherited from you have been strangely absent. It's unnerving. Especially because you said they make themselves known when I'm experiencing heightened amounts of emotion and that's about all I've been feeling these past few weeks."
"You've been frightened? Angry? Under much stress?"
"All of the above, all of the time."
"Poor little quark."
Harry could only roll his eyes at the utter lack of sincerity behind his companion's words, he only waited patiently for Death to continue.
"Until you gain some semblance of control over the gifts you've been granted, they will continue to rise in your defense when you're feeling unusual amounts of emotions. And because, as you said, you've been feeling heightened emotions on a regular, they've reserved themselves for when you're feeling truly catastrophic."
"So I'd have to go nuclear in order to see a repeat of what happened in the bathroom?" Harry surmised. "All thanks to my messed up emotional health?"
"Precisely."
"Well, that's comforting I suppose. But after I gain control of myself and my emotions, how would I be able to consciously call forth those skills?"
Death shrugged. "How do you wield your magic?"
"With a wand?"
The look Harry received in response was witheringly condescending. "You've performed feats without it, yes?"
"Once or twice, yeah. But that was when I really needed it to work."
"Then you'll really need this to work as well."
"Brilliant advice. Truly."
Death smiled immodestly. "A being as old as I am would be full of such advice. Do with it what you will, I'll be taking my leave now. But before I do, I'd like to relay that discovering you haven't yet succumbed to madness was a true disappointment."
Harry's eyes were bound to fall out with how much he was rolling them. "I'll try and have that rectified by the next time you decide to pay a random visit."
"Please."
There was no indicator of his departure, just as there had been none for his arrival. One moment Harry was seated across from a darkly handsome man in a neatly pressed suit, and the next he wasn't, however, the muggle or two browsing the shelves around the table Harry was seated at seemed totally unaware of the magic that had occurred only a few meters away. Just to be safe though, Harry quickly gathered the magazine and newspapers he'd collected from the archives and, after returning them to their proper places, hastily departed the library.
The evening was drawing late, just behind the clouds was a patchwork of bruised amethyst and coral pinks with haphazard streaks of burnt orange across the horizon. It would be another half an hour or so until total darkness fell and even then it would be too early to settle down in his home where the only entertainment he might find was trying to pick out a star or two around all of the light pollution. On nights like these, ones when he found himself with far too much time before the end of his day, he took to wandering, simply walking and observing until he grew too tired to carry on, but it was cold out and the gathering of clouds above looked as if they were prepared to soak him to the bone quicker than he could draw his wand for an impervious charm, it wouldn't do to remain out here for long.
It had already been decided that cheap alcohol was not a wise purchase considering his budget and dancing just wasn't for him, but perhaps he could find a hall, pull up a seat and watch others enjoy themselves. At the very least it was sure to be warm considering how packed those halls so often were.
It would be a bit of walk to make it to the west-most side of the city, but it was there Harry knew he would be able to find a few of the less reputable halls and the like, places where it would be much easier to lose time even without drink and dance.
Harry wasn't dressed for dancing; his shirt was untucked, his shoes unshined, and his hair, in all of its gravity defying glory, stuck out sorely from all of the neatly gelled coifs men of this era liked to sport, but he was allowed within one particularly thriving hall with little fuss and, after collecting a glass of water that could easily be mistaken for clear liquor, moved to a seat along the wall where he could watch with little concern of being watched in return.
The floor was writhing with the number of men and women twisting and leaping and swaying across it, the band with all of its roaring instruments made it hard to keep track of his thoughts while the lead singer, a beautiful women with a voice that crooned and commanded her audience to move stood above them all like a glittered goddess.
A smile touched Harry's lips as he tracked the movement of the dancers; he hated this time and he'd made no secret of that fact, it was poor and racist, the streets stunk of sewage and the air was weighty with war, but if he could continue to find sanctuaries such as this, places of levity and good spirit, he might survive his misery long enough to make it home.
That bolstering thought and his single glass of water kept him company throughout the whole of the night. He didn't move from his spot, even upon receiving an invitation or two to dance, but not once did he feel the niggling sense of boredom that often began to plague him after an hour or two of inactivity.
The hall closed well after midnight and it wasn't until the band began shutting down and the dancers hobbled, exhausted and satisfied, from the floor that he peeled himself from his seat in the corner and stepped back out onto the street.
That temperature had plunged from cold to below freezing, as it usually did once night had fallen, and the deluge of rain that had started up just as he'd ducked into the hall was now a slushy mix of mist and snow. There were still people about, though noticeably less than during the peak hours of the day, most on their way home from whatever dance hall or bar they'd been passing time in. Most were well past drunk, but none seemed particularly interested in giving him any trouble, and even if they were, a few inebriated muggles didn't pose much of a threat to him. That still wasn't any cause to let his guard down, inebriated muggles might not prove to be very dangerous, but fully sober muggles with the intention of preying on those too full of liquor to properly defend themselves just might be if they got the drop on him. He remained relaxed yet vigilant, fully prepared to defend himself if need be but not unnecessarily tensed. And he would have made it home with no problems if he hadn't tried for a shorter route he'd seen on his way in, if he'd stuck to the way he came he wouldn't nearly have been barreled over by a man who looked well past terror and was sporting a bleeding gash over his left brow and barely managing to keep his undone pants from falling around his knees and tripping him up.
The man didn't pause, not even long enough to apologize for nearly flattening Harry into the snow, and the noise of flesh impacting flesh and wounded yet furious yelling was a pretty good indicator of why. Around the corner, in the narrow space between two shops, three men had a woman surrounded and were doing there level best to grind her into the pavement through a series of brutally aimed blows. And though she wasn't going down easy, kicking at her attackers every chance she got and valiantly struggling to rise, the combined fists and feet of three heavyset men, all of whom seemed clearly inebriated, was simply too much to hold up against.
The thought of leaving, keeping his nose out of a strangers business and allowing a woman to be beat to death never even crossed his mind. The moment the scene fully registered in his mind, Harry was casting his gaze about for anything he could use as an improvised weapon. Almost immediately, he settled on the rounded lid of a metal trash can, it wasn't ideal, but it would certainly do in a pinch.
The lid, stiff from the cold as it was, made the most satisfyingly crisp whistle as it swung in Harry's hands to collide into the closest man's back. He pitched forward, hitting the ground heavy only inches away from the injured woman, in that moment of confusion, Harry leapt forward and directly on top of his ankle, crushing the bone beneath his feet and effectively taking him out of the skirmish.
As their friend howled on the ground, the remaining two men turned on Harry confused but ready for a fight. The trash bin lid swung up just in time to protect his face from an already bloodied fist, but the strength behind the blow was enough to cause Harry's arms to buckle and knock the lid directly into his face. It was a stunning, and slightly embarrassing if he were being honest with himself, injury to be had, but he couldn't let it, or the stars dancing before his eyes, impair him, there were still two men somewhere in front of him.
He found one when a fist made impact with his stomach, nearly buckling his knees from under him, fortunately there was a conveniently placed head of hair for him to latch onto to help keep him standing. And while he had it, he might as well use his handhold to yank his attackers head back, it threw his equilibrium off just long enough for Harry to introduce his clenched fist to the man's exposed throat. Though the blow was lacking the same strength his attackers had behind their own, it was still more than enough to temporarily close his airways and leave him in a gasping pile of uselessness.
Harry spun, trash lid raised to defend against the third and final assailant, but he was already occupied fighting the woman Harry had been rushing to protect. The both of them were lying on their backs with the woman half underneath the man, her stocking clad legs were locked around his waist, keeping him in place, while her muscular arms were clenched around his head in a devastating chokehold. The man struggled and flailed but his previous victim didn't budge an inch and, within only a handful more seconds, he was unconscious. She held on for a moment longer to make sure he wasn't faking, before allowing him to slump onto the pavement.
Three men down in less than two minutes and the worst Harry had to show for it was a throbbing face and potentially bruised ribs. The woman, on the other hand, looked much worse for wear. Her stocking had runs all up and down her legs, her dress was already staining with blood and dirt and whatever else it had accrued while she was rolling around on the ground, and she'd lost her shoe, one half of her face was a mess of bruises, the deep red of her lipstick had smeared across her face and mingled with the blood dripping from several wounds, and her hair was slightly askew. When she pushed herself off of the snow damp ground, Harry immediately noted she was careful not to put any weight on her left leg and her hand fell to her ribs on the same side. There was no doubting she was several times worse off than Harry, and yet she made it a point to remain standing at her full height, which was, incidentally, several inches taller than Harry, even missing one heeled shoe.
One sweeping look from head to toe and Harry quickly realized what had likely caused this attack. Though the makeup that hadn't been smeared by fists and blood was artfully done and her figure did look fairly feminine, it was obvious once she was no longer crouched in shadows that the she Harry had been defending, was actually a he.
"Hello."
Shaped eyebrows rose slowly as the drag queen studied Harry just as intently as he was him. "Nice moves, Flash." A deprecating smile finished the look of wary interest. "To what do I owe the pleasure of being your very own damsel in distress?"
Despite being far worse injured than Harry, his hilariously dubbed 'damsel in distress' looked prepared for another fight. It was evident he suspected Harry of being another one of the homophobic pigs that ran all about this place in this time, one who'd thought they were swooping in to save a lovely lady in danger, not a fellow male in drag. Now he was preparing for the fallout, but Harry only cocked his head and gave a tiny shrug.
"Three on one hardly seemed a fair fight. And I wouldn't exactly label you a damsel in distress seeing how you took out that last one." Two sets of eyes glanced over to where purpling bruises could just be seen forming around the only unconscious assailant's throat. "But I'm afraid sir knight in shining armor is a bit of a mouthful, not to mention entirely inappropriate considering I forgot my armor at home, so you can just call me Harry."
He received a slow blink of bemused surprise as the man across from him studied him intently for any sign of mockery then, when he found none, quickly began to reassess the situation. "Ives."
"Pleasure to meet you Ives."
Even as he granted Ives a warm smile, Harry stepped to the side and turned on his heel, the lid still held loosely in his hands swung up and around to meet the jaw of Harry's first victim, the one who had been knocked from the fight due to a broken ankle, just as he attempted to wobble onto his one good leg to, presumably, resume the fight. This time, when he hit the ground, he didn't get back up.
Harry whirled on the only remaining man, his hands were still clutched to his throat as he struggled to draw a proper breath, it would be another minute or so before he full recovered, but Harry wasn't willing to completely count him out as a threat just yet.
"We should go," he decided. "They won't stay down for long. Is there anywhere we can go? Find you some help?"
Harry looked over his shoulder when, several second passed and there was no response, Ives was frowning at him, not in anger or disappointment, but something fairly similar to confusion. Unfortunately, they had far too little time for such introspection.
"Ives," he said sharply. "Did you not hear me? They won't be down for much longer. You're hurt and I only did so well because I caught them off guard, if they decide they want to continue the fight, we might not last a second round. We need to go before it comes to that."
"I have a place." Ives spoke slowly, reluctantly, but at least he was speaking. "It's a few blocks away."
"Are you good on your own or do you need help walking?"
As if it was costing him much to admit, and it probably was, Ives said, "I'll need some help."
With the taller man's arm draped over his shoulder and Harry's around his waist, the two of them hobbled from the alley with as much quickness as Ives' injuries would allow. It was a long way to Ives's safe place, made even longer by their inability to go any faster than a pained shuffle and their constant need to check over their shoulders to ensure they weren't being followed. But make it they did.
"It's that one," Ives was panting for breath and his entire body shook in pain, cold, or both, but a look of intense relief had smoothed some of the tension from his features as he nodded in the direction of the apartment building across the street from them.
It was a task making it up the stairs, but it was accomplished thanks to the dogged determination one was often overcome with when the finish line was in sight. The moment the door to the apartment on the farthest end of the hall swung open, Ives slumped from Harry's grasp and onto the only couch in the main room. He huffed a moan of mingled pain and relief as he yanked the head of blonde hair from his head, allowing his own wig tousled, strawberry curls to flop in a riotous mess around his face.
"Thanks for the help up, Flash. I won't keep you any longer though, I just…I just need to sleep this one off." A wheeze of pain choked him up midsentence, lending the rest of his words a distinct stutter.
"They got you in the ribs." Harry said, ignoring Ives' attempt at seeing him gone. "How bad is it?"
"I can breathe fine, ain't any pressure, so I don't got to worry about them being broken. Bruised maybe, fractured at worst, but I know how to handle them just fine if they are."
"Wrapping fractured ribs alone isn't so easy."
Ives frowned at him, eyes squinted in a confusion and wariness that spoke of distrust. "You offering to help?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't have anywhere else to be."
"Why?"
"Why what?" Harry inquired, purposely obtuse.
"I can understand why you stepped in at the alley, thought I was a lady who needed help, but after, you helped get me here and now you're offering to help patch me up. You want something?"
"No, I don't want anything. I helped you and I'm offering to continue helping you, because, believe it or not, not all humans are terrible creatures. There's no ulterior motive, I'm not trying to trick you, if you want I'll go, but it'd seem an awful waste of my time to have helped you out of the alley and all the way here only to have you die from a punctured lung because you wouldn't let me wrap your ribs for you."
Hesitant interest and maybe even some bit of amusement tried to rob the suspicion from Ives' features. A sound like a snort huffed from between his lips as, gingerly, he pushed himself upright on the couch. "The bandages are in the cabinet above the sink." Long fingers skimmed the buttons adorning the front of a ruined dress. "I'll have to take off my dress, will that make you uncomfortable?"
"Don't worry about me."
There weren't just bandages above the sink, Harry counted dozens of ointments and creams to help with bruising and scarring, bottles of antiseptic, gauze and bandages of all fabrics and sizes, even packets of surgical needles and thread. There was no need for a collection so extensive unless someone was truly accident prone or they'd come to expect altercations such as the one Harry had stepped in on earlier.
"Being a fairy in this city isn't without its dangers."
Harry looked over his shoulder and didn't even blink at the sight of Ives stripped down to a loose pair of cotton briefs. He'd seen more than enough half and fully naked males his age to no longer be even remotely fazed by nudity. It was the awful discoloration of his torso left by heavy boots and fists that caused him to frown.
"How far would they have gone, if I hadn't shown up?"
The sound he received in response was like a laugh, only angry, bitter, terrified. "Fellas like that? They would've kept kicking me 'till I was dead."
Harry turned back around, he faced the cabinet so that Ives wouldn't see the hatred he could feel for those men churning like a rancid potion inside his gut. This man could have died tonight, he hadn't done anything, he was a threat to no one, but he was different, and people didn't like different.
"Does this happen often?"
There was a moment where Ives didn't answer, where he tried to read the unreadable tone of Harry's voice. Then, "Not often, and never like this. I've been caught before, beat up real bad, but I never found myself in a spot where I couldn't fight my way out or squirm free just long enough to make a run for it. They caught me by surprise, by the time I realized I needed to fight I was already on the ground."
"Fuck them. Cowards." Harry snatched a long cloth bandage from the cabinet and marched over to Ives' side. He'd never wrapped bandages for a fractured rib, but he'd had more than enough experience tending to injuries inflicted upon him by Dudley to have a basic idea of how it went. He was firm with the bandage, making sure it was wrapped tight around the bruised torso, while making sure he wasn't cruelly so.
"Are you like me?"
Harry grunted in wordless confusion as he concentrated on winding the bandage beneath Ives' armpits. But his patient only repeated himself, a little slower and a bit louder, but still lacking any further elaboration.
"I'm like you in a lot of ways, and I'm completely unlike you in others. Why do you ask?"
"This doesn't bother you. Touching me, being near me, even when knowing what I am. Seeing what they did to me makes you angry."
Harry shrugged, unsure of what the right answer would be to a question like that, but willing to give it a try anyway. "You dress the way you do, you step out with the people that you do because it's just a part of who you are. And being you makes you happy, right?"
"Yes."
Harry tucked a pin into the loose end of the bandage, fastening it to the rest, then looked up at Ives. "Then who am I to judge what makes you happy? So long as no one is being hurt or taken advantage of, you have just as much right to purse your happiness as I and any other person in this world does. No one has the right to tell you who to love."
The bandages around his chest creaked in protest at the sudden and deep inhalation that came as response to Harry's vehement words. He looked stunned and maybe he was, but someone needed to let this man know that he wasn't wrong for loving the way he did, that he didn't deserve to fear being beaten and broken and killed for embracing who he was, and he was standing right here so it may as well be him.
"It's a relief knowing that people like you actually exist. Good people." Ives tangled their fingers together then let the palm of his other rest on top, bracketing Harry's inside of his own two, then he squeezed in gratitude. "You never answered my question though."
Humor lent Harry's face a youthfulness it hadn't seen since before the war. "I know."
There was coffee somewhere after that and small talk that carefully avoided that night's events and anything to do with them. Harry stuck around for far longer than he'd intended to, long enough to see the snow start back up. Ives tried to protest him going home, it was late and cold and those men could still be out there, and while the offer to set up camp on the man's couch was tempting, he kind of missed the comfortable familiarity of his own patchwork home.
"I like you," he told Ives, tightening his thin jacket around himself as he prepared to brave the cold night. "I'll be seeing you again."
The streets were almost completely deserted, at just past three in the morning even the crowds from the dance halls and bars had gone home. It was nearly silent, undoubtedly peaceful, Harry hummed softly to himself as he crunched through the snow, mostly unaffected by the cold thanks to a warming charm.
All things considered, his night had been pretty productive; he'd enjoyed himself at the dance hall, helped keep a man from being murdered in an alley, and formed a tentative friendship with that very same man. And sure he'd made a pact with himself to not go around befriending people in this time, but maybe if he made it a point not to get too close, the separation wouldn't be that hard on him when it was time to go. Besides, who knew how long it would be until he found a way home, he couldn't spend his whole time here depending on his elderly employers and Death to make conversation with. He'd surely be granting the ancient entity his wish to see him go mad if that were the case.
Sleep came easy that night; Harry was untouched by the cold within his shelter, his charms had and would hold up against the bitter cold for weeks longer, and his body, sore from the undue amount of work he'd put it to what with the walking and the fighting and the more walking that came after, sunk into his collection of fabrics and old sheets without any protest. The short period between the moment he lay his head down and the rise of dawn was offendingly brief and forcing himself to rise was probably the most difficult thing he had to do, but taking a peek at his dwindling supply of food and calculating how much smaller his already miniscule paycheck would be if he dared miss even a single day of work was all the motivation he needed to drag himself vertical.
But, if there were one good thing to be said about his early start to the day, it would be that it saw his work ended just as early. Early enough for him to secure a spot on the stairs before his lunch companion had even left the deli.
"You look as if you've had a long day and it's not even noon."
Harry only just refrained from frowning as he accepted his sandwich from the man and tore into the delicate paper. "My day's been all right, it was the night that was long."
The tomato on the sandwich, a new addition to his usual plain fare, was fresh enough to be mistaken as ripe from the vine. The pale juice trickled down his wrist at the first bite and, when once he would have wiped it carelessly across the leg of his trousers, now he prevented any waste by quickly slurping it up.
"I miss the days when I was so young. Staying out until the sun rose to drink and dance and charm beautiful woman."
Harry laughed. Drinking and dancing and charming beautiful women wasn't exactly how his night had gone, but it was close enough not to merit a correction.
"I think I'll keep away from that sort of fun from now on. I don't think I'm fit for late night adventures anymore."
"Please." The man's scoff was full of amused derision. "You are young still. Nothing about you is unfit."
"You would be surprised. Sometimes I feel much older than I am."
"You cannot claim any such feeling until your knees begin to creak whenever you try to stand and your bones protest everything from ascending a staircase to the irritable weather."
"All right, well you do have me beat there."
Harry's concession was met by a rueful laugh that saw the wrinkles framing his companions eyes deepen. "It is a shallow victory. But if you do not enjoy dancing and debauchery, what do you do for fun?"
Harry shrugged. "Not much really. I spend a lot of time here," the hand not gripping his sandwich gestured in the direction of the library behind him, "catching up on all of the reading I was too lazy to do in school"
"Not a particularly motivated student?"
"Not even close." Exasperated nostalgia curled his lips as he recalled all of the hours he and Ron had wasted while at Hogwarts. "I was much more interested in causing my professors and headmaster grief than in doing any sort of learning."
"I think that must be the norm for most children. Though, I myself was a bit of an anomaly, I knew how privileged I was to be attending so I took it much more seriously than my peers."
Funnily enough, it should have been much the same in Harry's case. He should have seen Hogwarts as the grand opportunity that it was, he had been upgraded from the drab existence of Stonewall High to an honest to goodness magic school. He was certain any other person in his predicament would have thrown themselves into their studies with a bit more passion that he had, Hermione was a prime example of such a person, but once the novelty of magic and the like had worn off, he'd joined Ron, who had grown up comfortable in the knowledge that magic existed, in shirking all of his duties as a student. Looking back on it now, he wished he would have shown even the slightest bit more initiative, maybe joined Hermione in doing some serious studying outside of those nights before exams where he frantically tried to absorb several weeks' worth of knowledge in a few insufficient hours.
"I think I'd like to start those days over," he said quietly. "When things were so easy."
"That must be everyone's dream. To get one more chance at doing it right."
But Harry actually had the chance to do that. To reach into his past and correct all that he had done wrong, if only he could figure out the proper way to do so.
The other man was watching Harry, cataloguing each emotion he knew he was shit at hiding, and when he offered a change of subject, it was snatched up gratefully. "What do you read when you are in there?"
He shrugged. "Whatever I want. Yesterday it was the last war and all that led to this one."
A gray eyebrow raised in interest. "What did you learn?"
"That Hitler, like most men like him, didn't rise from nothing. He didn't just show up from nowhere and charm a well rounded, stable country into going to war with the rest of the world." Harry was down to the last few bites of his sandwich which he contemplated heavily as he spoke, he was full to bursting but he couldn't bring himself to waste it. "Germany was on the wrong side of the last war and they paid heavily for it, they are still paying heavily for it. All because of that treaty."
"The Treaty of Versailles," the man offered.
"Yes, that one. The Treaty of Versailles which was, from what I can tell, drawn up with very little input on Germany's part, stripped them to a fraction of their size, did away with much of their military, and imposed upon them a very heavy obligation to pay reparations for all damage caused by the war. They were defeated, humiliated, and in a financial crisis. Hitler must have seemed like a godsend to the German people in those early days, as charming and confident as he was with honeyed words and false promises of building a better world in which they would no longer be poor and weak and looked down upon for past mistakes, but one in which they would be the superior race. Stronger men have fallen for less."
"You do not think Germany is in the wrong then?"
Harry frowned. "I think a distinction has to be made between the government and the people. The government most certainly is in the wrong, Hitler is probably among one of the most evil men I've ever heard of." And that included Voldemort. "But I think the German people are victims just as much as those Hitler and his crew have turned their guns toward. Perhaps even more so because much of the world doesn't see it that way, they're comfortable lumping the whole lot of them together."
"You're familiar with war, but I can't understand how." Harry's companion wasn't looking directly at him, his gaze was fixed just past him, but Harry still felt pinned by the focus he had on him. "You can't be old enough to have seen the effects of the Great War and there wasn't much conflict in the world between the wars."
"I'm not as familiar with them as you might be, I've never seen a war large enough to span continents." Harry hesitated, taking a moment to choose his words wisely. His companion was exceptionally smart and he knew the man would spot any falsehoods in his words. "But wars can come in different forms, different sizes. And though what I went through was much different than this war now, it was still fully capable of seeing my parents taken from me before I ever had the chance to know them."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I survived." Harry shrugged. "Not being allowed to know them hurt, but it also made things easier. You can't miss what you can't remember, right? And by the time I was old enough to understand what I was missing out on, I'd already begun to build my own patchwork family. They were small, mismatched, but I loved them just as fiercely as I would anyone borne to my blood."
"Where are they now?"
That last bite was ash in his mouth. No matter how much he loved himself a cold cut sandwich and how loathe he was to waste any food nowadays, food just wasn't palatable when he was reminiscing on the touchy subject of his family.
"Gone." Was what he finally settled on. "I lost them after the conflict and the death. When I thought it was finally time for peace."
"And now it is just you?"
Harry's head dips in a shallow nod. "Now it is just me."
Bound to an amortal being and living just around the corner from perhaps one of the largest magical gathering points in the country and it was still just him. It was just him slumming it in a New York alley, making less than a living in a store that reminded him too much of home, and wasting the rest of his daylight in library searching for a solution he wasn't sure even existed. It was just him with the occasional interruption from a kind man with a sandwich or a bloodied cross dresser in an alley, and while each encounter added some modicum of light to his day, neither were enough.
"I have to go."
The abruptly spoken words caused the older man, who had until then been finding some unprecedented interest in what was left of his own lunch, to look to him in surprise. "So soon?"
"Yes." Harry rose and quickly brushed the crumbs of his sandwich from his lap. "I'm sorry, but I need a walk. To clear my head."
He didn't look happy, but Harry's companion nodded. "Of course. I will see you tomorrow?"
"Yes, I will see you tomorrow."
Harry cast a glance up the staircase, only a moment was spared contemplating heading into the library before it was decided against. Another day spent crouched over old books wearing away his teeth at the end of a quill would see the last of his energy evaporated in a matter of minutes. So he pretended not to be staggering under the weight of exhaustion that was growing to be just as mental as it was physical, as he trotted down to the street. Even after he merged himself with the growing lunch crowd he could feel the press of a wire rimmed gaze following him up until the moment he turned the corner.
He walked where the flow of the crowd was heaviest, the thought of visiting his few haunts was dissatisfying so he allowed the natives to lead him around the city for the time being. There was a lot to be found in the area surrounding the library; museums that spanned whole blocks, theaters proudly proclaiming each show to be put on once dusk fell, hotels that stood taller than many of the surrounding buildings and teemed with the well to do and their entourage. The park was where he finally decided to detach from the pack though, a decision made mostly due to the fuss his aching feet were making. The benches that could be seen from the street reeled him in before he truly even noticed he was moving in the direction.
There weren't any signs to be immediately spotted to inform him of where he was, but the sheer enormity of the place was enough to clue him in on the fact that he had wandered all the way to Central Park. It was well populated considering it was the middle of the weekday, but not so much so that Harry had any trouble finding himself a place to sit. The solid wooden bench didn't so much as creak when he threw himself onto it, heaving with a bone deep tiredness, the day had been long and it was barely even half over.
Most of his weariness though didn't even come from the long night he'd had, sure his muscles ached a little from overuse and his eyes were a bit itchy from too little sleep, but majority came from the conversation that had been unsettling enough to put him off his sandwich.
There had been no ill intent behind any of the words Harry and his companion had exchanged, that much even he could acknowledge. It was only meant to be an easy way to pass the time between their first and last bites of lunch, but Harry couldn't help but resent the other man for steering what had begun as an easy enough conversation into much darker territories with only a few curious questions. Now Harry was left, once again, picking at the festering wound of his displacement. It seemed the longer he was in this time and the longer he went without finding anything among the books of the library, the easier it was to send him sinking into homesick misery, of which it seemed to be harder to pull himself out of each time.
It had been four weeks and four days. And each of those days, minutes, and seconds had been elongated tenfold by his aching desire to be not here and the amount of effort he was putting to maintain the façade of normalcy he needed to keep up until he was no longer a wizard living surrounded by muggles. It was the latter especially that made each day a struggle, because even though over half of his life had been spent not knowing it, he was a wizard. Even in the days when the word magic was just another word never to be spoken in the Durlsey's household, he had never actively tried to repress what he was and could do, on the contrary, he had secretly embraced his strangeness. Now, so far from home and with a foreign power trying to make itself at home within his body, so much of his energy was being spent trying to quell his urge to cast and curse and simply revel in the innate power within him. Warming charms and weak anti-muggle wards weren't enough to assuage the itch he felt in the crease of his palm, where his wand fit best, and in times like this, when he was drowning in misery, he was struck by the urge to be surrounded by magic. More than that, he was struck by the urge to do magic.
And usually it wasn't so bad that he couldn't ignore it, but something this time was different, the conversation had struck a chord within him, and now the urge was immutable. So he acted on it.
No one noticed the too thin, improperly dressed for this weather figure step into the first patch of trees. He wandered for a while, exhaustion forgotten in the face of this new purpose, he was in a public park and it was no easy task finding a place well removed from any park goers. But he found it in time and secured it with the same spells that protected his home in the alley.
The first spell to leave his wand was weak, a cutting curse too mild to even split the bark of the tree he'd been aiming for, the next was better and called for a shield charm to protect him from the shards of splintered wood that clouded the air for a moment.
He'd fought in a war, but the number of destructive spells in his arsenal were surprisingly few; blasting charms, cutting curses, incendiary spells. But once those had run their course the basics of what he'd learned before dropping out of Hogwarts to hunt soul fragments did just fine, because he wasn't looking for destruction and chaos, he wanted only this. The freeing sensation of not holding back, not hiding who he was both born and grown to be.
In the woods of Central Park, trees uprooted and flipped root over branch, shrunk to barely the size of a finger before expanding once more and changing from hues of earthy brown and vibrant green to eclectic blues and eye-watering yellows. There was no order to what was being done, Harry had no plan, he simply cast and reveled in the sensation. And if a wondrous grin stretched cheeks damp with salt, well, he wasn't one to be ashamed of the emotion, because he had missed this and he missed home.
For all that wizards claimed to be superior to those without magic, the ordeals of the past years had proved that, of their two peoples, they were the weaker. A plague, though severe and widespread and unlike one seen for thousands of years, had done well to cripple much of the European magical population before spreading to the States and several countries within Asia. Magical borders in Australia, Africa, and South America had been closed indefinitely, and while that didn't prevent those fleeing the disease stricken countries from stepping onto their soil, it barred them from entering any portion of the magical communities, the hospitals included, preventing the risk of exposure and infection.
And even as they battled the disease that killed indiscriminately and responded to none of their treatments, the magical communities of Europe were facing the very real threat of discovery by the muggle world. A solution for wards that continued to fall and protections that failed to protect had not been found, the best that could be done was the placement of weak, short term wards around smaller enclaves and family homes, wards that provided less protection but that could be recast every day. While teams of ward constructors remained on standby in larger magical hubs such as St. Mungos, Diagon Alley, and the Ministry in case of sudden failure. It was imperfect and impermanent, but the best that could be done when resources were stretched so thin and so much energy being thrown toward finding some peace with their muggle counterparts.
The world outside of their own was advancing, there were technologies now that could capture damning images and transmit them to another server halfway across the world in less time than it would take for an obliviator to come knocking. Muggles knew of them now, and what was more, they had proof, so even those who hadn't seen with their own eyes what their wards were no longer hiding were much easier to convince than ever before. And worse yet, they were making connections. Inferior as wizards may claim them to be, muggles weren't unintelligent, they were linking past encounters and disasters with wizards that hadn't been covered up quite as well as they could be to the attack in the country, to the dragon loosed in the mountains. The number of those who suspected their existence were still among the minority, but without direct intervention from both the muggle and magical government those numbers would continue to grow until they became a very real threat to the Statute of Secrecy. But amends had yet to be made with the muggle government, a rift had been forced between the two factions and it seemed as if there was nothing to be done to fix it.
This was a time of crisis. Europe's population of magical folks and creatures was larger than any others', they had direct links to each continent and every government, if they were discovered, if they fell, the rest of their world would not be far behind.
Fortunately, there was one with a solution.
He did not belong. That much was evident the moment he entered the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He entered through the phone booth with a girl who stood bedraggled and barely upright, the both of them ignored the security wizard and his request to see their wands and continued to the center of the atrium, where the fountain of magical brethren had once resided. On the edges of the crowd several law enforcement wizards had noticed their presence and had begun to approach, but the man only smiled and the girl only cowered. And when they were close, too close, he drew an object, short and cylindrical save for the grip in which he held it and pointed it to the girl. As if commanded by unspoken words, her eyes closed, her head tilted back, and she wailed.
There was a wave of energy so powerful all who were unprepared, which meant all but the man and his conduit were thrown from their feet. The polished floor began to warp and crack and those too close arched their bodies in unimaginable pain as their bones vibrated with enough force to crumble.
For a moment that could be mistaken for a lifetime it went on, and then there was a word of whispered praise and the girl fell silent and the world went still once again. The man stood smug as he surveyed his destruction, the motion of his head turning side to side sent jagged shards of light reflecting from the lens settled against only one eye.
All attention was on him and so he spoke. "I am Wolfgang von Strucker, and I bring your salvation."
A/N: So sorry for the long wait, I hadn't even realized it had been so long since my last update. But in my absence I've been working plenty on this story so hopefully the next update won't take near as long.
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