The magical branch of the New York Public Library prevented visits from muggles, whether accidental or intentional, and the protections were much too old and much too powerful for a fully trained curse breaker to take a crack at, let alone poor, undertrained Harry. So the onerous task of muddling through the mazelike organization system, tracking down every text they might need, and copying all pertinent information (by hand he might add, due to extensive anti-theft charms) fell to the beleaguered boy-who-lived. But he bore the work with good cheer, it was painstaking and tedious, but, at the end of the day, procuring the books and information for the real scientists like Erskine and Stark was where he was most helpful. That and lending his magic for study.
He'd been a bit wary about casting more than the most basic charms in the presence of his muggle companions, but he quickly found that the laws regarding casting magic in front of muggles were either much more lax so far in the past or he hadn't understood them very well to begin with. Harry had so far worked up the courage to perform fifth year offensive spells for Stark and Erskine and still had not received an owl or any other form of warning from the MACUSA. Of course they could simply be using every spell used in front of the muggles to build an indefensible case against him, but that was an issue he would deal with when- if- it ever came to pass.
In the meantime, Harry would continue to plagiarize texts meant only for those of his kind and perform tricks not allowed for muggle eyes; he would carry on breaking the law and do so happily as long as the SSR continued to make progress in their work. And progress they were indeed making, even if it was slow, so slow he was sometimes convinced they truly didn't know what they were doing and hadn't yet told him because they liked his magic tricks. But all it took was a moment listening to Erskine and Starks confusing but knowledgeable science babble, or spot the excited gleam in Carter and Phillip's eyes after every experiment that failed just the slightest bit less for him to be sure that progress of some sort was being made, even if he didn't fully understand it.
Until one day, after nearly a month spent copying every theoretical potions book and every herbologist's text in the library's extensive repertoire, Erskine found his answer.
"Pale anise may be just what I'm missing."
Harry looked over the older man's shoulder, down onto the sheet of copied parchment Erskine had marked and notated extensively. He recognized the sheet only because he'd had to rewrite it three quarters of the way through after spilling an entire pot of ink over it.
"Anise?" Stark peered at the two over a pair of protective goggles, he'd been tinkering with some machine or the other in preparation of the eventual perfection of the serum. "Isn't that some kind of flower?"
"Yes. Anise is." Erskine nodded. "As is pale anise, although the latter is a magical sibling to the first."
"What properties does it have?" Harry wondered aloud.
"It's good for temperance, balancing out the extreme. It's used in a variety of potions, but its most notable inclusion is in the Draught of Peace."
Stark scoffed, quickly losing interest. "That sounds like about a thousand and one of these plants you've found."
Erskine only smiled patiently. "The thing that prevents it from joining those plants as the thousand and second failure is that it's used in a wide variety of potions because of its compatible properties. It can be mixed with near every chemical ingredient and not alter the fundamental chemistry of the potion."
"So it could potentially be added to the serum and lend its balancing properties without screwing up the enhancing benefits of the serum?" Harry guessed.
"Exactly." Erskine beamed. "We'll make a scientist out of you yet."
"Should I put in an order with the apothecary for some of the anise?"
"Yes," Erskine nodded. "And perhaps a few more orders of the gilliflower? It nearly worked the last time we tried it, I'm curious to see how it would react with the addition of the anise."
A few weeks earlier, Harry had, in a stroke of luck, found himself in contact with the owner of an apothecary who also so happened to be a muggleborn. Around that time Erskine had concluded that it was in potions and specifically the magical ingredients that went into them that the answer to his problem lie. So Harry had begun the process of attempting to find an apothecarist who would take muggle money just as readily as wizarding. His contact was more than happy to take his money despite not being in the right currency, he was familiar enough with dollars and coins thanks to his muggle upbringing and it was an easy enough matter to convert the dollars to galleons if one was a legally registered wizard of the United States. And what was best, the man never asked questions regarding why Harry could never pay with wizarding currency or why he ordered all manners of strange ingredients in such large quantities.
The shipment of anise took the better part of two weeks to show up, Harry's apothecarist had to procure it all the way from the Mediterranean. Its arrival was met with much eager anticipation, something about Erskine's infallible optimism kept the ranks of smaller league SSR scientists just as hopeful, but he'd seemed especially positive that this latest breakthrough would work and it had rubbed off on just about everyone.
Harry sat with him for the thirty-nine consecutive hours it took to mix, extract, compress, mash, and brew each ingredient, too full of nervous anticipation to even consider doing anything else. He envied the man his steady hands and quiet patience. In times like these he was most aware of how much easier life would be with both.
"I've been trying to perfect this serum for many years," was Erskine's response when Harry voiced his frustrations aloud. "Somewhere in that time I learned the patience I needed to see this through to its proper end."
"What makes you so sure this is it?" Harry queried.
Erskine shrugged. "Something about this feels different. I've repeated this process more times than I could count, this is the first I've felt so absolutely certain that I have found my answer."
Harry hummed thoughtfully in the back of his throat as he curled a little tighter into his seat, he'd made himself comfortable a few meters away from the scientist; far enough to not be in the way, but still close enough to carry on a conversation. "What will you do when it's done? After you've tested it and confirmed what you already know?"
"Then comes the real tests. The harder ones."
"Human trials?"
Erskine dipped his head in agreement, too engrossed in his work to look away. "We've never made it this far for good reason," he said. "If, somehow, this fails the results would be catastrophic. It would not end well for our subject."
Harry was silent for a long moment, considering. "They would die?"
"Perhaps. Or worse they would live, disfigured, crippled, an awful shell of the person they once were." For just a second, Erskine looked away from the serum he was steadily producing to pin Harry with a stern stare. "I know what you're thinking and the answer is no, you will not be my first human subject."
"Why?"
"I see and I understand that for whatever reason you do not fear death, but there are things far worse and I will not subject you to them. The men who will undergo the coming trials are fully informed on what they are agreeing to. They know the risks and they are willing to go forth anyway."
"So am I."
"I know you are." Erskine smiled, just a bit twisted and not at all happy. "But you don't have to. Save yourself for the family you've worked so hard to return to."
And there was nothing Harry could say in argument, so he sat back and observed as the man before him doggedly worked until he was left with a row of vials all carrying a liquid of unnaturally blue color.
"What do you think?" This time, Erskine's smile was bright, full of years upon years of hard work finally paid off. "Will this finally give us that super soldier we've been hoping for?"
There were samples the serum could be tested on, isolated samples of human DNA, flesh and tissue. And then there were animals, a set of three primates who were peacefully put to rest after the testing had been completed. Every test came back with one conclusive result, the serum worked and the side effects that had plagued it were no more.
"I didn't believe it." Howard beamed as he swooped forward to clasp Erskine's hands in celebration. "When you brought this kid on with his stick and his spells I wasn't sure he'd be able to deliver. But, by god, he's done it."
Harry shrugged. "All I did was copy a few books for you, everyone else did the real work."
"You lent your time, energy, and magic," Peggy spoke up before Erskine could refute his attempt at modesty. "Don't be so eager to sell yourself short."
"We'll have to celebrate!" Howard continued as he bounced around the room, overcome with awe and furious excitement. "Dinner and dancing and drinks."
"The work is not yet done, my friend," Erskine laughed. "The serum is complete, yes, but now it's time to begin our search for our candidate, one who is both willing and worthy of being our first soldier."
"The colonel has already begun compiling a dossier of candidates he believes to be best qualified for the job," Peggy said. "None have reached the front lines yet so it'd be a simple matter to pull them aside for evaluation."
Erskine hummed noncommittally. "Harry and I will look them over, see who our colonel deems as worthy."
"We will?" This was coming as quite the surprise to Harry, his contract for the SSR extended only until the successful completion of the serum, from what he'd seen today they'd done that.
"Of course." Erskine spoke as if it were obvious. "We cannot be fully certain of the serum's success until our super soldier stands before us. I won't have you leaving a moment before that. Besides, you've proven to be a rather good judge of character, I'll need your help when it comes to choosing a proper candidate."
"If you won't allow the dancing you'll at least allow me to take you to dinner and drinks," Howard interjected. "We can look over your candidates then."
"A bit of drink might make the process easier," Erskine conceded. "So long as you can assure our privacy, it wouldn't do for someone to overhear."
"I have just the place." Howard held his arm out to an amused Peggy. "I'll bring the car around?"
"And we'll pay Mr. Phillips a quick visit for those files."
Phillips wasn't in when Harry and Erskine made their way to his end of the facility, but his assistant, a bright woman with a wide smile, had all they needed already prepared for them.
The file was surprisingly thick, a quick glance numbered the candidate profiles within at nearly one hundred. And after scanning the first few evaluation sheets they quickly found majority of these candidates had something in common.
"They're all already very fit," Peggy observed after they'd arrived at the quietly expensive restaurant Howard had chosen for them and received their first round of drinks. "Impressive scores, very good physically, and obedient."
"Yes." Harry smiled at the way that single syllable word so eloquently expressed Erskine's apathy for the candidates. "Good, American soldiers, all of them, but these papers tell me nothing I want to know." Erskine plucked up the file of one of the many soldiers and surveyed it with a displeased frown. "He is strong but is he kind? He can follow orders but does he have the ability to think for himself?"
"We'd have to meet them," Harry agreed. "Face to face. It won't work otherwise."
"Exactly," Erskine nodded. "To know if he deserves this opportunity I must look each man in his eye, speak directly to him, then I will know."
"Meeting each of these men would take time we don't exactly have, Doctor," Peggy said, though she hadn't yet outright turned down Erskine's request. "But perhaps we could arrange a second round of training and evaluation under the SSR's supervision? You would be given the chance to see for yourself each of these candidates in person and how they measure up as both men and soldiers. A week would be more than enough time, yes?"
Erskine hummed and tapped his chin in thought. "I would like to submit a few candidates of my own."
One of Peggy's brows arched in surprise. "You already have men in mind?"
"No, but how difficult could it be to find a few? Men have been signing up to join this fight since the first bomb dropped on their harbor."
"It shouldn't be any trouble at all to allow you evaluation privileges in some of our more local recruitment stations," Peggy conceded with a fond shake of her head. "Any more requests?"
"Harry comes with me."
She waved her hand as if any other alternative weren't even one to be considered. "Of course."
Erskine leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face. "Then that will be all. Now," he clapped his hands once before reaching for the drink that had, until that moment, gone untouched, "we drink and we dine, we have much to celebrate!"
The first man they meet had promise, reasonably fit with a kind smile and a desire only to see the world safe for the wife he has not yet built up the courage to ask to marry him. He was intelligent, having grown up in a family well off enough to allow him to continue school to the end rather than drop out to take on a factory job. But he was a bit timid at times, not as quick to speak his mind as they would have liked.
"He would make a good soldier, but not much of a leader," Erskine noted after he had gone.
"That's not a deal breaker though, is it?" Harry asked. "We wouldn't want this team of enhanced men running around full of alpha males. We want men who can lead and those who can take orders."
"Yes. Excellent point. Shall I put him on the list?"
Harry nodded.
It took at least a dozen more men and several days of the week long time limit they'd been allotted before they found another that sparked their interest. Young and a bit naïve, but whose heart was in the right place.
"I'm not sure he's suited for the fight," was Harry's observation. "He's innocent. Put him down anyway."
There were a few more; a man whose father had been lost in the previous great war and another with no family and nothing to lose but the country he loved. But none left either Harry or Erskine feeling overwhelmingly impressed, they were pleased with their selections, yes, but not yet thrilled.
Then came the asthmatic.
They were scheduled to head out to the camp to meet the rest of the candidates the next afternoon, but Erskine insisted on one more evening spent in the recruitment tents. This one was set up just outside an expo hosted by Howard and received a constant influx of men hopped up on beer and the allure of their sweet dates' smiles. Every man they met with was recruited into the US' military but passed up for the SSR's own team.
"I suppose we'll have to be satisfied with what we have," Harry said after another disappointing session. "The men we chose are fine contenders for the serum."
"One more," Erskine insisted looking down at a noticeably thick file. "This one I recognize from our last station, he was turned away. And from the looks of it, many times more before that."
Harry peaked at the file and saw it full of different attempts at enlistment requests, each from a different city but all bearing the same name. Steve Rogers. "I can see why they would turn him away," he said, taking in the numerous medical conditions ailing the man, "but the repeated attempts at joining says much about him."
"Shall we see what he has to say for himself?"
Harry nodded and followed the doctor into the blocked off examination room where a man of frail stature looked as if he'd been in the process of shoving his shoes on to flee. Erskine followed the general script they used when speaking with potential candidates, while Harry perched on the edge of the examination table, content to observe. It was evident from the first statement that left Erskine's mouth, a challenge poorly disguised behind a smile, that this encounter was different. The doctor watched this small man and listened to each response with a rapport he hadn't shown any of the others.
So when he turned his gaze to Harry, the same question he'd asked one way or another each session in his eyes, all the younger male could do was nod. Erskine had found his candidate.
A messy stamp was pressed onto a sheet of paper, as Steve Rogers watched on, stunned that someone had finally looked past his weak form to see the potential that lurked within.
"You do not feel the same way I do?" Erskine asked after he and Harry strode from the center, their task finally completed.
"The ailments are a non-issue, the serum should be able to correct every one, but…" Harry hesitated, trying to find the best way to word his thoughts, "…he seems the sort who feels as if they have something to prove."
"He does." Erskine agreed. "But he is the first I believe can actually prove it."
"You've not led me astray yet." Harry said fondly even if he was still unsure. "I look forward to seeing him in action."
"As do I. Tomorrow, Harry?"
"Tomorrow, Doctor."
There were fifty candidates to arrive at the Lehigh training camp, of which only eight had been personally selected by Erskine. Rogers stood out stark amongst them all. But not always in a way that reflected poorly on him. He was just as abysmal as they'd all predicted he would be when it came to just about anything physical, but it was his attitude, his demeanor that stood out from the rest.
"He's small, he's weak, and he's got a mouth on him." Was Phillips' opinion.
"He's interesting." Was what Peggy had to say. "Physically underwhelming, yes, but he's brave, dogged, and his moral code is…strong."
Which was at least better than Erskine's unhelpful, "He has potential."
Harry was still reserving his final judgment until the end of the training period, but not even he could deny Rogers' differences were refreshing in the seemingly never-ending sea of meat headed, overly muscled army jocks.
"In the end, it doesn't really matter what the rest of us think," Peggy said when Harry brought it up over their meager army ration lunch in her at least somewhat private tent. "Erskine adores him, he's the only one he will consider to receive the serum."
"He'll have to settle for at least a few more if he wants his army."
"But Rogers must be his first."
"He's such a strange man," Harry laughed. "Sometimes I believe he's just contrary for the fun of it."
An answering smile stretched Peggy's red painted lips. "Oh certainly. But compared to the others, Rogers does have something that could make him remarkable, even if the serum doesn't work-"
Harry rapped sharply on the wood of the table between them. "It will."
Peggy rolled her eyes, but otherwise carried on as if he hadn't interrupted. "-Erskine won't let him go so easily. Just as he didn't for you."
"Yes, well hopefully Rogers has better sense than to take up with that mad scientist." Harry paused as he prodded at his lukewarm meal. "But it will work. The serum. It will."
"Yes," Peggy said, not an ounce of uncertainty in her voice, "it will. And then what?"
"It will win you all the war and see me home."
"You still have yet to tell us where home is."
Harry frowned, more from a sad pensiveness than anger at the prying question. "It's hard to explain."
"Are you from another world?"
That startled a laugh from him. "Nothing so exciting, no. But I do come from far, so far it's impossible for anyone, even my kind, to bridge that gap without an extraordinary amount of power." Harry forced himself to refrain from saying any more, Peggy was smart, any more than that and she would begin to piece together the truth.
"I hope it works, I'm confident that it will, even while I don't look forward to that moment." Peggy reached out and took gentle hold of Harry's hand. "I've become fond of you. I'll miss you."
"Agent Carter," Harry ducked his head to hide the red he could feel heating his cheeks, "one might mistake such sweet words for a declaration of love."
"No," Peggy laughed, "you remind me of all the things I miss of my sweet brother Michael. He was as progressive for his time as you are now, and you both have such kind hearts."
Harry stopped trying to hide the red that had by then fully engulfed his face. He looked up at Peggy who in turn reminded him of all the things he missed in Ron and Hermione; intelligent and brave, fierce but kind. "When the time comes, I will miss you."
"Of course you will," she said, something brighter took hold of her face as she attempted to forcefully expel the suddenly heavy atmosphere. "You've more than proved you're just as incapable of keeping yourself out of trouble as Stark, without me to fish you from your messes I fear what will become of you."
"A painless death, if I'm lucky."
"You're odd and a cynic."
"We're at war, most of the men here are, and even more of the women."
"Yes, well you have a stranger affinity to the macabre than most."
Harry barely suppressed a smile, perhaps that was his close connection with Death shining through?
"Odd,"Peggy repeated after one glance at the strange expression he failed to hide.
"I never said I wasn't," Harry agreed easily. "Do you have anything booked for this evening?"
"I'm meant to meet with Seargent Duffy and the Colonel at a quarter till to discuss the candidates progress. Care to join?"
"Ah, no thanks," Harry said with a grimace. "I don't have the patience or the attention span to sit through any sort of meeting. I'd much rather watch you bark at the recruits until they cry."
"I'm rather good at it, aren't I?"
"Uncannily." Harry rose from his seat and crossed the table to press a kiss to Peggy's cheek. "I'll leave you to prepare for your meeting, Erskine wanted me to come round his to hash out details of the procedure when I was free."
"Lunch was fun. Find me when you're free and we'll find some recruits to bark at."
"Yes, ma'am," Harry said with a smile and a salute before ducking from the tent.
He'd forgotten the logic behind his resolve to keep away from the people of this time. But now he remembered that he'd wanted to keep away from avoiding attachments in this time to both leave as little of an impression as possible and to make his eventual leaving as painless as he could. Of course he'd failed spectacularly on both parts, he'd befriended some seemingly pretty important players in the second world war and aided in the creation of a serum meant to grant men abilities far past that which was normal. And he knew when it was inevitably time to go it'd be difficult saying goodbye to Erskine and Peggy and even Stark, more than difficult.
And yet no regret nagged at him despite this realization. He'd potentially altered the timeline with his helping hand and certainly made leaving harder than it needed to be, but he was convinced that if he hadn't met Erskine and Peggy and Howard and Phillips, he'd still be wasting his days away in the library, not a single step closer to finding his way home.
Any issues his meddling might have caused could be smoothed over when he was back in his proper time, and while he would miss his new companions fiercely it would be nowhere near the hollow ache of being without those he'd endured so much with.
So there were no regrets for going completely back on his word, in order to accomplish his primary goal of getting home, he'd needed to go back on his word.
The conclusion made it easier to enjoy the trek to Erskine's quarters, there was only so nice a muggy New Jersey day could be, but at least it wasn't clouded by one of the awful funks he'd found himself consistently falling into when he'd first been displaced. Perhaps it was his heightened mood that allowed him to not only notice the faint sounds of an uneven brawl occurring somewhere behind one of the nearby building but also find enough care within himself to track down the cause of the disruption and try his hand at putting an end to it.
It was Rogers and two other recruits behind the barracks, rolling around in the mud in what could be considered less of a brawl and more of a savage beating of the smaller of the three. In the time it took Harry to reach them, the man had been knocked flat on his back with a right hook that had even him seeing stars in sympathy followed by a kick to his mid-section that probably left him with more than a few bruised ribs. And yet still he managed to clamor to his feet and raise his fists in an almost admirable refusal to concede.
"What is this?" Harry barked, voice as sharp as a whip crack, before the men could get another hit in.
Immediately the two men, one of whom Harry recognized as Gilmore Hodge, leapt away, guilt painted across their faces until they realized it was Harry rather than one of their more intimidating CO's. They were both still smart enough not to ignore him completely, while he may only be an unranked agent of the SSR, he was very familiar with each and every one of the higher ups in the camp and could easily make things difficult for them.
"Just a bit of training, sir," Hodge said.
"I wasn't aware training involved potentially landing one of your fellow recruits in the infirmary."
"Just giving him a few pointers on his fighting stance."
"Yes, the way he was laid in the mud not even half a minute ago is testament to your teaching abilities," Harry drawled. "Leave and hope I don't see you sent home for this."
Both Hodge and his companion did little to hide their anger at being ordered around by one they didn't believe had earned that privilege, but still wisely did as instructed and stalked off to be generally unpleasant somewhere else.
"Thanks," Rogers panted, weak breath whistling through potentially damaged lungs. "I had 'em though."
Harry frowned as he took in the poor state the man was in. "What in the world possessed you to try and fight those two?"
"They were disrespecting Agent Carter. Saying crude things about her…"
"It likely wasn't anything she hasn't heard a thousand times before," Harry pointed out. "It's something she's had to grow used to being one of the only women in her line of work."
"That doesn't mean I have to sit back and listen to."
"But you're small." Harry hastened to correct himself the moment the words left his lips and Rogers puffed up in indignant rage, preparing for a second round even while he attempted to stem the blood gushing from his nose. "I don't mean it as an insult, only a fact. Nearly every man here outweighs you by a significant degree but you always seem to be picking one fight or another with them. It's almost as if you actively go looking for them."
"I don't actively go looking," Rogers said petulantly, "but…"
"But when you see an injustice you can't turn away from it." Harry couldn't exactly fault him for that, half of the trouble he landed himself in was for that very same reason.
Rogers seemed to sense the lack of mockery in Harry's regard for him, his tightly wound shoulders loosened just a notch and he finally stopped glaring at him. "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing," he said. "I may lose a couple teeth, black my eye, or break my nose, but I refuse to do nothing."
Harry's head unconsciously tilted a bit to the left as he found himself looking at Rogers in a new light. "Hm." Was the response he finally settled on before turning and carrying on to his original destination.
"He's an odd one, Rogers." Was how he greeted Erskine.
A slow smile spread across the older man's face. "Does that mean you approve?"
"Something tells me you already have your heart set on him, so I may as well make it easy on the both of us."
The day to choose the first candidate for the procedure arrived, the incredulity and even anger among the ranks of soldiers when it was announced to be Rogers had been expected, but anyone who had carried on even half a conversation with Erskine would have known that there had never been anyone but him. Even if Rogers himself hadn't seen it coming.
He met with the doctor that night, over a bottle of schnapps he wasn't allowed to drink and finally learned just how highly Erskine regarded him and why. As he listened to the man tell him the tale of his first attempt at the serum and how horribly it failed, only one thought lingered in his mind.
"In all of the time since, I've been the only one you thought deserving of the serum?"
Erskine paused to take a careful sip of his drink, then shook his head. "No, there was Harry."
Steve could do nothing to hide how taken aback those words left him. "Harry? Then why…did you take back the offer?"
"He refused it."
"I don't understand why…."
"It has been almost a year since I met Harry. When I did he was much sadder, he was unhealthy and alone but he viewed the world and those within it with such kindness. He had very little but he was willing to give even that up when he thought it fair." Erskine smiled, small and nostalgic. "It had been so long since I'd seen such untainted generosity. Unfortunately all I could see was how great of a soldier I could make of him when he had no desire to fight, he had endured enough already in his short time. When I offered he turned me down, but I couldn't bring myself to cut ties with him, so he remained by my side and from then to now I have learned and gained much from him."
"Is he…"
"He is like the son I lost. I feel great pride when I look at him and know the world will be much emptier once he's moved on."
"Moved on where?"
"He is here only for a short while. Only until he has the chance to return to those who understand him as not even I can. It will be a sad day when it happens, but still I feel grateful for even this short time of knowing him."
"He sounds like the kind of man I'd like to be," Steve said, just the slightest bit intimidated.
"Oh no," Erskine laughed. "He is kind and generous and gentle, but he is just as much stubborn and hot headed and ruled by his emotions. I could not deal with a second one of him. Be you and be-"
"-good. Yes, I will."
Erskine smiled and patted his leg. "Then you are already just as great a man as he is."
It had come as a surprise to many when Erskine insisted on having Harry on the floor with him during the procedure, as far as most knew the young man was only the doctor's ward, there for moral support and nothing more. But Peggy, Howard, and Phillips knew better; the part magic had to play in the administering of the serum was minimal and would likely have no side effects, negative or otherwise, but Erskine wanted him at his side just in case something were to go wrong. Harry had protested that his training was minimal, he wasn't sure there was much he could do if anything at all. Erskine was of the belief, however, that an untrained wizard was better than no wizard, and if he couldn't save Rogers from any potential magical backlash he could at least prevent the complete ousting of his race in some way or the other.
So there he stood, among some of the most brilliant minds this decade had seen, tasked with the simple but no less onerous job of administering penicillin to one of Rogers' skinny arms.
"Try to avoid puncturing any of his arteries and all will be well," Erskine had teased only to backtrack the statement when he saw how terrified he'd rendered his charge. "It's a joke. That's not even possible, he will be fine."
"Maybe someone a little more qualified should do this."
"There's not much too it, kid," Howard said, half his attention focused on doing one last check over the pod's control console and half his attention on Harry and Erskine's muted conversation. "Just poke and push. Not too fast though or you'll give him an embolism and stop his heart."
"He won't," Erskine said just as Harry gave a quiet mewl of terror. "You won't."
Howard snorted, finally taking pity. "It's a minor fear on a laundry list of things that could go wrong. Don't worry about it."
"I'll still worry about."
Erskine clasped Harry on the shoulder before pressing the admittedly intimidating needle into the palm of his hand. "No time now." He gestured to where Rogers was settled into the vita ray capsule, looking impossibly tiny and all too easy to kill with just a single syringe and an unsteady hand. "It is time to begin."
They split ways, Erskine to a clunky mic to address those gathered in the viewing amphitheater looking down on the lab and Harry to the small platform bearing Rogers and the pod.
"You look cold," he observed, a small smile tilting his lips to belay his teasing.
Rogers snorted and wriggled a bit in a vain attempt to find a more comfortable position. "Stark mentioned this thing will turn into an oven once the procedure's begun, so I'm appreciating all of the cold while I still can."
"You'll survive," Harry assured.
"How are you so sure?"
"You don't want to disappoint Abraham, that's incentive enough."
Rogers looked lost for a response, but Harry had already turned his attention to giving the smaller man's arm a cursory wipe with a bit of alcohol before injecting the syringe and its dose of penicillin into the meatiest part of his arm.
Rogers looked even more terrified of the process than him, but it passed quickly and with no accidental deaths by embolism.
But then it was time for the real thing.
The needles connected to the vials of serum unsheathed from their metal casings with a series of terrifying hisses, Rogers jolted when they burrowed into the muscles of his arms and flooded his system with the electric blue liquid.
Harry remained close by even as the others scurried several steps back when the capsule moved to stand vertically and enclose Rogers in what would either be his cocoon or his tomb. He wasn't sure what he was looking for exactly, but he hoped that if the magical additions to the serum were to go wrong he'd be able to sense it somehow.
He could sense Erskine close by his side, one hand resting bracingly on his shoulder as he barked orders and surveyed the progress, but his focus remained narrowed in on Rogers and the capsule. He couldn't afford for anything to go wrong, this was his only chance at making it home. Even when the light emitted by the rays became near blinding and Rogers' screams reached a pitch that had everyone assembled scrambling to ensure he didn't die within the metal sarcophagus he remained still and intent.
But the man within proved his strength of will once more, insisting on carrying on despite the agony he must be enduring. And when he emerged he was wholly transformed, it had worked and Harry could almost cry because this was it. This was his way back.
He turned to seek out Erskine, they had been separated in the rush of bodies that had clustered around the platform in a desperate bid to see and touch the man who had been changed and the one who made it possible. He could just barely make out the golden blonde of Rogers' head, suddenly taller than everyone in the room, and began to push his way toward him. If Erskine were anywhere it would be by his side. His thinner stature and diminutive height made reaching him remarkably difficult, but a liberal use of pointed elbows saw him through. Before long he had Erskine in his sights, he was at Rogers' side looking at the man with unconcealed awe.
Unseen to him and all but Harry, was a reaper at his shoulder.
Harry took one step, desperate to reach the man before the reaper could inflict irreparable damage, but then there was a burst of fire and molten glass that threw him from his feet and across the room. His head met the unforgiving edge of one of Stark's machines with enough force to temporarily black his vision. But he shook himself and the stars dancing across his eyes and struggled to his feet just as there was a crack, then another, and another, muffled both by his suddenly damaged hearing and screams from all over. Gunshots.
Harry found his footing at the very same moment Erskine lost his, three perfectly aligned splotches of red blossomed across his chest.
"No," he gasped, lurching forward to intercept the reaper as she knelt to collect a soul he wasn't willing to see parted. "Leave him."
There was no malice in the reapers gaze as she looked down on him, only surprise and worry. "I must."
"Leave." The single word tore from Harry's chest in a snarl that surprised even him. The reaper surveyed him for one moment longer, then she was gone.
She would be back or another like her, of that Harry was certain. He wasn't sure how long they would heed his words and leave the soul, he had to heal the man, bring him back from the verge of death before they did.
The jacket torn from his own shoulders was folded into a tight pad as he pressed it into Erskine's chest, but the blood didn't slow. Within seconds it had soaked through and bubbled between his fingers.
Somewhere behind him he could hear Phillips barking orders, he could see both Peggy and Rogers dashing from the room, after the would be assassin, but he had eyes for no one but the man weakly attempting to grasp his wrist.
"Can you heal him?" Harry allowed only a quick glance up to meet Howard's gaze, the man was singed at the edges but otherwise unharmed. "With your magic."
"I don't know any healing spells, I never learned, but sometimes I don't need it, sometimes my magic just listens." He tossed aside the soaked jacket, it was doing no good anyway, and laid his bare hands over the wounds. "Make them move, I need space and quiet."
Phillips and Howard leapt to herding the terrified and wounded scientists and politicians away from the capsule and away from Harry and Erskine, none of them were trained in any life saving techniques so they were only in the way.
Harry and his magic had a strange sort of bond, he'd relied on it for much of his life, even when he hadn't know what it was he was relying on, to protect him first from his cold relatives then from the cruelties of the wizarding world. It had always been there when he needed it most, not once had it failed him, but since the Hallows it had changed into a power he no longer recognized, no longer trusted. And for this he shied away from it, neglected it, an issue that became even worse after his displacement in time, and now that loss was becoming apparent in how much slower it was to come to his aid, its response was sluggish and unsure of his intent.
"Please," he begged silently, digging deep within himself for some ounce of power to help him heal the man who had grown to be so important to him. "Please."
But there was nothing, his fear and neglect had weakened the bond with his magic and he was paying the price.
"Quark."
Harry gasped out a sob as something colder than terror settled in his gut. He looked into Death's eyes and saw the desperation in his own mirrored in those twin pools of ink.
"Leave."
Even as he spoke he knew the words would not have the same power as they had had before, Death was not a reaper and he was not his master.
"He has done all that he can in this world." Death's words were hushed, kinder and gentler than Harry had ever heard from the entity. "It's time now for him to go on, see his family once more."
"I can save him," Harry pleaded.
"You would damn him." A hand, cool as bone settled on the back of his neck. "Quark, he cannot be healed, he cannot be saved. You are only prolonging his suffering."
"He's all I have."
"There will be more. He is not your only way."
"This isn't about the serum." Harry snapped. "This isn't about finding my way home. He's important to me. You can't take him."
"Harry."
The young man in question jolted at hearing the weak rasp from the dying man's throat. He turned his attention away from Death to focus wholly on Erskine.
"You fight Death for me." Trembling lips stretched across blood stained teeth in a weak but no less genuine smile, Erskine's eyes flickered up and with another jolt Harry realized that he could see his companion. "You are good. So good."
"I would do worse to see you remain alive." Harry wrapped his hand around Erskine's, his grip tight enough to hide the way they were both shaking.
"I ask though that you don't. Don't destroy yourself to save me, I will find peace."
"I can't lose anyone else," Harry whispered, his voice broken even to his own ears.
"I won't be lost. There is nowhere you will go that I won't be." Erskine's free hand reached up to cup Harry's cheek. "I'm not afraid, I am ready. I will see you, Harry."
"Yes," Harry choked. "Tomorrow."
"No, never so soon. But one day again."
Erskine breathed only once more after his soul parted, long enough for him to bestow his charge one last upturn of his lips, an attempt at comforting even in his final moments.
"He will find his way with ease." Death cradled the soul gently, reverently. "He has earned his peace."
Harry nodded, head bowed low over the still body. "He did."
Death departed without another word as footsteps approached from behind, Howard come to see for himself why Harry had fallen still. "Is he…?"
Harry nodded sharply. "I couldn't save him."
"You tried, kid. No one blames you for not being able to do what we couldn't either."
"I should have been able to." Harry swiped angrily at his eyes. "I should have…"
He stood and without another word left the room.
Something was curdling in his gut; not anger or despair, not even grief. Betrayal. And shame. His magic had betrayed him, abandoned him at his most dire hour. But perhaps it was his fault. Perhaps he might have been able to save Erskine if he weren't so much of a coward. Afraid of something that was within him, a part of him.
The desk in the closest unoccupied office found itself suddenly and violently upended. Soon to follow were the half a dozen chairs neatly arranged around it, then the small cart meant for holding refreshments. All were displaced and destroyed without a single use of magic. Why should he use it to express his grief when it, in part, was the reason for it to begin with?
But soon he ran out of inanimate objects to take his anger out on, and only one skin splitting, bone rattling blow to the wall dissuaded him from trying to find a release for his emotion through that method. So he slumped to the ground, not even close to exhausted but suddenly without an outlet and no desire to find another.
He wasn't there for long before he was intruded on, Peggy arrived, ash was smeared across her face, her hair was more disheveled than he'd ever seen, and there was something tight and angry in her expression.
She didn't speak, just carefully picked her way through the aftermath of his raging emotions and stopped to kneel directly before him. She took the bloodied, mangled hand he had cradled to his chest in hers and surveyed it with a frown of disapproval.
"Did you catch him?" Harry spoke before she could, not at all in the mood for a lecture.
"No. Cyanide capsule."
Unconsciously, Harry clenched his injured fist, a sharp pain radiated all the way to his elbow and Peggy glared sharply at him.
She stood and left the room without another word, but returned in a matter of minutes with a handful of gauze and a brown glass bottle.
"I don't think it's broken," Peggy said inspecting his bloodied knuckles, "but you'd do well not to put too much more stress on it or you'll wind up hurting yourself worse."
Harry hissed when she smeared the contents of the bottle, iodine, across his knuckles, sopping up the worst of the blood.
"The senator will want to speak with you," Peggy said as she began wrapping his hands almost painfully tight in a strip of cloth bandages.
"For what?" Harry scowled.
"You were Erskine's protégé and you worked closely with us all on this project. They'll want to know if you have any knowledge of how to recreate it."
"I'm sure his notes can tell you more than what I can."
"They won't. Erskine was suspicious, and for good reason it seems, his notes would give some insight into the creation of the serum but only he knew the exact formulas and contents."
"I certainly hope they don't think I know," Harry scoffed. "I wasn't his protégé, only his ward, his companion. I helped him find a few plants but I know very little about the serum as a whole."
"Tell them that then. It'll take some persuading but they'll believe you eventually."
Harry shook his head. "I don't know if I can go back out there."
"You can." Peggy took his hand and smiled, heartbreakingly sad but still full of reassurance. "Because I will be right there with you."
He hesitated for only a sliver of a second, then reluctantly took the hand Peggy held out to him. He was no longer surprised by the strength she possessed and how easily she was able to haul him to his feet, but he stumbled nonetheless when she did.
Phillips, Rogers, and the collection of government officials who'd been present for the serum infusion were waiting for them in the same room Harry had first been introduced to the core members of the SSR. The mood in the room this time around was noticeably different.
"Sit down, son," a man who introduced himself as Senator Brandt said with a falsely, fatherly frown. "I imagine you're worn out after this trying day."
"Yes," Harry said stiffly. "As a matter of fact I am. I'm ready to return home where I might rest, so I'll save us all the time you're about to waste in pointless questioning by saying that I don't know how the serum was created. The doctor didn't divulge his life's work to me."
"You spent the most time with him outside of all others in the SSR," a member of Brandt's entourage protested. "In all that time he told you nothing?"
"I'm not a scientist or a doctor, he knew I would have no understanding of what he told me." Harry gave them all the most scathing of condescending glares he had in his repertoire. "I was his ward, there in hopes of gaining some expertise in the medical field, he would never share information as sensitive as the makeup of the serum to me."
"Yes well, I'm sure you understand why we have to be sure."
They held him for hours, asking him the same handful of questions dressed up differently each time in hopes of tripping him up. But they didn't because he wasn't lying. Harry had helped Erskine find the balance his serum sorely needed through magical means, but he knew nothing of the serum's actual composition. Erskine had already perfected that years before he'd met Harry, his time in New York was spent only fine tuning it.
When he was finally free to leave night had long since come and Harry had fallen into a numbness that left deep lines of worry carving grooves into Peggy's forehead.
"I've called a car to take you home," she told him. "I have a bit more work left to do here but I can stop by and lend you some company when I'm through."
"Don't trouble yourself," Harry said. "I'll be awful company, I don't have much energy to do anything but sleep."
"It's not for my sake I'll be stopping by."
Harry mustered enough energy to roll his eyes in fond annoyance at her insistent mother henning. "Give me until tomorrow at the least."
"I'll bring breakfast." Peggy bent to press a kiss to his cheek. "Don't lie in the dark feeling sorry, try for some real sleep."
Harry knocked off a mock salute then stepped into the car she'd arranged to take him to the small room he'd rented out in a nearby tenement building. Erskine had offered him a place to stay in his own home, but Harry had turned him down for a bit of independence and now he was glad for it. It would have been impossible to return to a home he and the doctor had shared so soon after his death, he would have rather returned to the alleyway he'd happily left once receiving his first bit of money from the SSR.
Of course his own empty flat wasn't much better. The quiet and the dark were the perfect conditions for doing exactly what Peggy had told him not to do.
The fact that Erskine was dead wasn't one that had left his mind throughout all of the days events; from destroying the small office, to mutilating his fist, to spending hours convincing know it all politicians of his ignorance, that awful, niggling thought had festered in his mind. It was only now that he was alone was he reminded of a fact just as awful. Erskine was dead, his serum lost, and with it Harry's only way home.
They had Rogers, the answer to the serum was locked within his DNA, but even if somehow they were able to unravel its secrets with their primitive technology the likelihood of him receiving it now, without Erskine there to vouch for him were slim to none. He'd made a contract with the SSR, but the only person of authority aware of it was Phillips and he didn't know the man well enough to be certain he'd carry through on his end.
Losing the serum was almost as bad as losing Erskine, because without it he was right back to where he'd started. Only worse because he'd already established that this time period held no resources to help him find his way back forward, Erskine and his serum had been a desperate bid for a solution. The fact that he had lost it when success was literally a hairsbreadth away was crippling.
Peggy stopped by the next morning for breakfast and Harry put on a lovely act of healthily coping with his devastation for the entire hour she hung around. But the moment she was gone the palpable aura of misery, desolation, and utter hopelessness settled back over him as suffocating as a shroud.
He existed in that pathetic vat of sorrow in the days following, but then came time to lay Erskine to rest.
He'd been afforded nothing but the best; a casket polished until it gleamed, a headstone that shone ivory in the weak sunlight, a suit more extravagant than any he'd worn while still alive. Only Harry, Howard, and Peggy were there to see it all.
Erskine had been a kind man, he'd been well liked, but he was eccentric and reclusive and the sole surviving member of his family. All those who had worked with him felt a sorrow for his passing, but more in the sense that they were sad to see such a brilliant mind and all of his potential taken too soon, only a few knew him well enough to mourn the man beyond the mind. And so it fell to them to see him put to rest.
There was a bar afterwards. Too lively for the somber mood they carried with them but enough alcohol would remedy that inconvenience.
"They're carrying on as if he didn't mean something," Howard said, anger finally breaking past his melancholy after his third drink. "As if he wasn't an integral part of what this organization is. They already have me off building new weapons, they don't even care anymore about searching out answers in Rogers' blood."
"It's pointless, they know it just as well as we do." Despite being ahead of Howard by a full drink Peggy remained just as composed as always. "What Erskine did cannot be replicated."
"So we move on to bigger and better things then? Treat the work he devoted his life to, gave his life for, as if it means nothing."
"Yes," Peggy snapped, losing her composure for the single moment it would take to match Howard's anger and subsequently bring it down, "we do because we are still fighting, men are still dying. The serum was our best chance but it wasn't our only one. If we intend to not only survive but win we must look past our grief and anger. Erskine would want that at the least."
"It doesn't sit right with me."
"Or me," she scoffed. "But it's not about how I feel anymore."
Howard sighed, anger gone as quickly as it had come. "Then to England I go." He retrieved his glass from the bar top and took a healthy sip. "The SSR has a stockpile of HYDRA weapons they want me to try my hand at reverse engineering."
Peggy nodded. "I've been stationed in facility there as well, they'd like me closer to the front." She turned to a noticeably silent Harry with an expectant gleam in her eye. "I expect you to join us."
That finally sparked a reaction from the younger male. "I'm not actually a part of the SSR, Peg. I was there to help Erskine, now that he's gone I've no use for your cause."
Howard snorted derisively. "You sell yourself short, kid. We've got plenty use for you. Your magic and our science could do incredible things for our cause, they already have."
"I couldn't. I didn't join the war effort when Erskine asked because I don't have the resources to split my attention between it and finding my way home. And I need to get home."
"We could make the same arrangement you had Erskine. Your aid for ours." Howard pressed forward, almost as if her we offended by the doubtful expression Harry felt settle across his face. "We don't have a serum but we have other sciences and technologies that might do you some good."
"It's something to try," Peggy coaxed. "And if it doesn't work out you'd go with no trouble from us."
"Neither of you have the authority to make that promise."
"But we have the influence to convince those who do," Howard countered. "The SSR needs my brain and my money, hashing out a deal to have you work with me would be too easy."
"I feel like every deal I make with the SSR takes me a step further from a way home. I have so little control over the outcome."
"Think on it," Peggy said before Harry could give them an outright no. "We're not set to leave for a few more days anyway."
He was reluctant to, but Harry gave them at least a promise to think it over. He wasn't sure more time would change his reticence, he'd tried one mad, muggle scientist already and that had so clearly ended in disaster. But he had enough affection and respect for Peggy to promise her at least that.
Drinks were wrapped up soon after, even after plying themselves with alcohol they still couldn't shake the wrongness of being surrounded by such fun and vigor. Howard offered to drive the both of them to their homes but Peggy declined, citing she was right around the corner, an easy walk. Harry volunteered to escort her safely, after which he would make the trek back to his. It was a bit of a walk but the evening was nice and the fresh air might do him some good.
However, when he reached the block on which his tenement stood he carried on his steady pace until he'd passed the building and crossed over to the next block. It wasn't much of a surprise, he wasn't eager to repeat the three days of grief laden solitude and there was only one person left whose company he'd seek out.
Dark had fell not long after and all manner of reckless youth and no gooders crawled from their holes for another night of debauchery, but Ives could be found at none of his spots. It was prime time but he wasn't propped seductively on the lamppost just outside the dinner, or reclined on the stoop across from the pub, or waiting just out of sight but unmistakably there in the space between two dance halls. Harry knew them all and he went to great lengths to check each, but Ives was in none of them.
He allowed himself a moment to worry, the last time he'd seen the man he'd mentioned how much harder times were getting, he wouldn't have passed up a night as full of promise as this unless he had good reason to.
Already prepared for the worst, Harry set off to the last place Ives might be save for the hospital or, Merlin forbid, the morgue. He found relief though not yet answers when he arrived in the hall outside of his flat and heard some signs of life behind the closed and bolted door. But when he knocked sharp and clear to ensure he could be heard over the noise, a man unfamiliar to him answered the door.
They both took a moment to survey each other, the apartment's resident with a barely there frown of distrust and Harry with a look of wide-eyed confusion. He'd seen Ives only just the week before last, there was no way he'd been booted from his flat and replaced by this vaguely threatening gentleman in such a short period. Was there?
"Yes?" The monosyllable grunt in a voice deep as thunder did nothing to dissuade Harry's notion of the man's less than welcoming nature.
"I…I came to see Ives."
"Who are you?"
"I'm a friend."
The faint hostility coming off of the man became much more pronounced without him even twitching a cheekbone. "Don't know how you found him here, but it'd be best if you-"
"Hold on, Ray, don't scare this one off."
Harry nearly melted with relief when Ives appeared at the stranger's elbow, appearing at first glance entirely in one piece.
"He really is a friend." Ives shooed the man, Ray, back into the flat, before reaching forward to tug Harry in as well. "I wasn't expecting him tonight, but he's always welcome."
Harry faltered when, upon entering, he discovered Ives had guests. Along with the man Ray, there were already three other men gathered in the flat, all complete strangers to him.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company." He would have stumbled his way back into the hall and all the way home after that awkward apology if it weren't for the steel grip Ives had on his elbow.
"I said you were always welcome," the older man said with a quirk of his lips. "The words just left my mouth, didn't they?"
Harry offered a weak smile. "I don't want to take up any of your time. I didn't see you at any of your usual spots, is all. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."
"You were looking for me while I was on the job for a reason." Ives took a moment to survey Harry's face and obviously didn't like what he saw. "You all right, Flash?"
The weight of four unfamiliar gazes on Harry's back caused a noticeable hesitation in his response. Ives, of course, realized the cause of his discomfiture in the blink of an eye.
"You want something to drink?"
"I just left the bar."
"Water then."
A hand on the small of his back directed him to the kitchen, it was tiny and there were no walls separating it from the living room, but the few feet of distance between it and the couch allowed for at least the illusion of privacy.
Once Harry had a glass of tepid water in hand, Ives resumed his concerned questioning. "What happened."
"My mentor…" Harry toyed with the rim of the glass without actually drinking from it, "he died."
"Oh." A gentle hand settled on Harry's arm, offering sympathy in the best way Ives knew how. "What happened?"
"Accident on the job." A stupid accident," he scoffed, "we should have been looking out for it."
"You all right?"
"Not really."
"You sure you don't want that drink?" Ives wheedled. "Me and the boys were just about to head out."
The reminder of the guests waiting for Ives caused another frown of apology to break across Harry's face. "You have plans. No, I don't think I'd be the best company right now."
"Hold on leaving so quick," Ives protested before Harry could beat a hasty retreat. "None of us are the best company right now. You'll fit right in."
Now it was Harry's turn for concern. "Has something happened?"
He was casually waved off with a promise to "talk about it later" but Harry was having none of that.
"Ives."
The single stressor he put on the name made it clear he wouldn't be backing down without an answer. Ives sighed as if he hadn't just been wheedling answers out of Harry a handful of seconds ago. "I got my papers today," he admitted. "The second out of us this month."
Something like dread began bubbling in Harry's chest. "You got drafted?"
"It was only a matter of time."
"Do they know about…"
"Nah," Ives shook his head. "They don't and they won't. I'm good at playing normal for the straight-laced. I'm not trying to get that blue ticket."
It took Harry a moment to understand what he was referring to, but when he did, "But if you do you won't have to fight."
Ives snorted, incredulous at the mere idea. "And I won't have a home, a job, nothing to come back to here. Everyone would know what I am and I wouldn't survive a month. At least on the front I have a fighting chance."
And wasn't that a kick in the jaw? Ives had more of a chance surviving at war than he did as an out and proud queer on US soil.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" Ives queried, brow raising in confusion.
Harry shrugged. "That we're stuck in a time like this. Are you afraid?"
"Maybe a little. But I'm ready to help end this sorry fight. And maybe I'm a little excited by the thought of making a difference."
Harry could no longer sympathize with that line of thinking. He'd gone into his fight with Voldemort with that exact mindset and came out all the worse for it. "You're a better man than I am," he said. "If I were in your place, I don't think I'd be able to fight, not for these people who see you constantly hiding for fear of being condemned and ridiculed and killed because of something that's none of their business. You could die in this fight, they wouldn't deserve such a sacrifice."
"Maybe not," Ives agreed. "But if I survive, if we win, maybe I can come home to a place where the people are a little more willing to tolerate sort like me after all we put on the line for them."
"Maybe. Maybe I'm just a cynic."
"Nothing a bit of drink can't cure. None of us are in the mood for a party, but after the days we've all had, maybe it's exactly what we need."
Harry looked down at himself, still dressed in gloomy clothing he'd worn to the funeral. "I'm not dressed properly for a night out."
"That won't be a problem for long. Come meet my boys first."
Harry was dragged back to the area that could very loosely be dubbed the living room and officially introduced to the small group of men left patiently waiting. He'd met tall, imposing Ray already, but now that it had been established Harry was neither a spook or a John his demeanor had softened remarkably. He was still intimidatingly large, but the lack of folded arms and mean scowl went a long way.
There was also Stanley, built like a beanpole with a shock of ash blonde hair atop his head. Everything about the man from his pale hair and paler eyes, to skin thin enough to map out veins beneath gave him an air of one easily knocked over. Everything but the faintly devilish smile and gleam of something noticeably impish in his gaze.
Russell reminded Harry of Seamus, full of energy and dark humor, but with an innate kindness one could just sense when being around him.
And then there was Elton, roughish and confident with a gaze and a leer that made something faintly embarrassed squirm in Harry's stomach.
"Harry's been a good friend these past few months," Ives said once Harry got to know the names of all of his present companions. "He's good and discreet, I trust him about as much as I do you guys."
"That's saying something," Russell observed.
"He earned it." And the way Ives spoke those three words effectively shut down any other misgivings the four men might have had. "I was thinking he could join us for drinks. Rough day, same as ours. But first we've got to get him looking sharp."
"I might have brought a thing or two that could fit him with the right padding," Stanley gestured to a bag set just behind the door.
It took Harry a moment to catch on to what the man meant by padding, within seconds he'd turned bright red all the way to his roots. "I've never worn a dress before," he admitted with a feeble cough of embarrassment. "I'm afraid I wouldn't look very good in one."
Ives traded a glance with Elton, one part exasperated and one part knowing. "He actually believes that," he said. "He's not saying it to try and fish some compliments outta you. Don't worry though, Flash, I'll set you up in something you're comfortable in."
The process of making a selection from the collection of pressed slacks and starched shirts Ives presented him with was honestly more difficult than Harry though it had any right to be, he hadn't the slightest clue on what would be best to wear out for a night dancing. He'd seen it often enough in the halls he'd visited, but he didn't know the first place to try and start replicating it.
Eventually Ives, sensing his dilemma, stepped in to help with a fond exasperation. "I'm afraid I don't have the full suit," he said as he pressed a pair of dark slacks into Harry's arms followed by a crisp white shirt and a set of suspenders. "But this works almost as well."
Ives was about the same build as Harry, having been living off of rations for so long, although he was just tall enough where the height difference between the two of them was evident in the way the shirt's cuffs dangled nearly to Harry's fingertips and the pants dragged at the heels. A few pins put that to rights then Ives accomplished what Harry thought to be the impossible by wrangling his hair into a parted sweep that could almost be mistaken for neat.
"Don't he just look heaven sent?"
Harry laughed at the proclamation, sure his clothing were a bit neater and his hair remarkably tamed, but honestly he looked no different than most days. Ives, on the other hand, was already stepping into a pair of pleated navy slacks and a pressed white shirt that left Harry with the smallest spark of envy over how effortlessly handsome he made the set look, especially considering, just two weeks before, he'd been marvelous in a loose dress and burgundy lips.
"The hall we're headed to doesn't mind when two fellas get a little closer than might be proper," Ives explained when Harry asked why he'd opted for pants and a clean face that night, "but with two of us shipping out so soon, we want to play it safe. Just in case."
Rodwell Hall was the spot Ives had been referring to, it was private and ultra-exclusive, no doubt for good reason, but once they were through the doors Harry found the space to be just as lively, if not more so, than any other halls he'd been to.
Harry allowed Ives to buy him just one drink, he'd already had too many with Howard and Peggy, but the moment he was done nursing that glass he was dragged out onto the floor.
"I don't dance!" he tried to protest.
"Good thing I do," Ives grinned. "And I'm the best teacher there is.
Harry warily eyed a couple several meters away who were whipping and swinging at a pace furious enough to make his stomach turn. "You'll be no good of a dancer or a teacher when I break your ankles attempting that."
"You're a while away from a proper Lindy," Ives laughed. "No, I've got something easy for you. Just put your arm like this." He tucked Harry's left arm over his outstretched right and had him settle his hand on the outside of his bicep. "Now just mirror my steps."
The steps Harry was meant to be mirroring looked easy enough, he only had to rock back on his foot and do a few side shuffles. But the actual execution was…lacking.
"It's only your first shot," Ives said as he tried to suppress his amusement at Harry's awful failure. "Look, just rock step, left, right, left."
"The hell is a rock step," Harry muttered, mostly to himself as he attempted to copy the move in synch with Ives.
"Stop thinking."
"I established long ago that that's not possible."
"Stop thinking so hard. It looks like it hurts."
Harry glared at Ives, only to squeak in disconcertion when he was forced into a quick spin under his arm.
"That almost looked like a dance step. And my ankles aren't broke yet so you're already doing better than you thought you would."
"Better is relative."
"Mm, maybe so. How about another drink to help loosen you up?"
Harry almost groaned in relief, he was probably getting close to having had too many, but he was willing to risk getting drunk if it meant getting off the dance floor.
"Giving in already?" Russell teased when they slid into the two open seats at the bar.
"We'll need to get Harry good and drunk before he's any kind of dancer."
Ray tilted his glass in toast. "Lucky we got all night."
Ives laughed even as Harry felt something like trepidation settle in his guy, the lip of his glass met Ray's with a resounding clink. "All night."
"I got nipples on my tittes, big as the end of my thumb; I got somethin' between my legs'll make a dead man come."
Harry's laughter was touched with just a hint of mania as he watched Elton and Stanley twist down the street, singing their filthy song loud and boisterous as they performed the dance moves he couldn't do sober while far past drunk.
"Baby won't you shave 'em dry. Want you to grind me baby. Grind me until I cry."
"Can't even count how many times we've near been nailed by a coupla bulls 'cause these two mooks are sloppy drunks," Ives muttered conspiratorially from where he was propped up on Harry's shoulders.
"You're not as sober as you might think, either," Harry confided.
"Yeah, well least I'm not sloppy about it."
"At least there's that."
Ray's toast had seemed almost like a challenge to Ives' crew. Immediately after they'd begun plying themselves and Harry with all the alcohol they could get their hands on. Harry had had to tap out when the room around him began spinning, but the others were too occupied in pickling their livers to notice.
Ives and Harry wound up the least messed up out of everyone, though that still wasn't saying much, while Elton and Stanley were, unquestionably, the worst off. Ray and Russell were at a happy medium, though even that was on the wrong side of too drunk, they'd spent the entire walk back to Ives' building whispering conspiratorially to each other and giggling like school girls.
"I've only got two blankets to spare," Ives said when they finally made it up to his flat after no doubt pissing off every resident of the building. "So they'll have to share. My beds big enough if you want to bunk with me." He leered playfully when Harry raised his brow at the proposition. "I won't try nothing funny. On my honor."
"You better not," Harry mumbled as he kicked off the shoes and slacks he'd borrowed. "I'm too tired to have to kick your arse."
Ives laughed, quiet enough not to rouse the already flagging four. "Go on and get settled in, I'll take care of these guys."
The bed was big enough to fit two men of their size, although it would be a squeeze. He hesitated only briefly before burrowing under the covers. Sharing beds with anyone had never been a part of his pastime, even when he'd been stuck in Privet Drive that one bit of space had been his, but Ives was a good enough friend to keep things from getting awkward and he really did trust him not to try anything. Drunk or not.
"Do you kick?"
Harry shuffled over to make room for Ives. "You'll have to tell me."
"Joy. At least your feet aren't cold."
Several minutes were taken to adjust and readjust until they'd each found the most comfortable positon in the slightly cramped space. They wound up facing each other, knees only barely touching and arms curled under their respective pillows.
"Don't mean to spoil the night by bringing it up," Ives whispered into the few centimeters of space between them. "But I really am sorry about your mentor. I saw all the good he did for you, even if I never met him I know he was a good kind of man."
"Thank you." The leaden weight of grief Harry had become all too familiar with since Erskine's passing settled back into its preferred spot right on the center of his chest. But then Ives reached out to grip his arm bracingly, and for a moment the pressure of it eased. "I lost a lot when he died."
"Do you need somewhere to stay now that he's not around? I don't have much but it could be enough until we got you sorted out."
Harry felt something warm within him at the unselfish offer. "I do have somewhere, thank you though. Peggy and the SSR actually offered me a job even though mine was meant to have ended by now."
"What do they want you to be doing? Fighting?"
"No. I've managed to dodge that so far. It's something to do with weapons I think, defense. They want me to go to London."
Ives was silent for a moment, then, "Do you want to?"
"I didn't think I did when they offered. But taking time to consider it now…maybe. I don't have to fight, but I can still help the ones who are, ones like you. And the SSR offered to help me in return. I'm not sure if they actually can but if they're willing to at least try…"
Ives surveyed Harry's troubled expression for a moment, his own was creased with worry. But then he smiled, soft and sad. "Sounds like you've just about made up your mind."
"Yeah." The realization wasn't as comforting as Harry might have believed it would be. "Maybe I have."
A/N: Finally after some amount of build up we're getting to the good stuff!
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