Hemp Flowers Meant Fate
Chapter 6
This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form! If you see an error, please don't hesitate to tell me!
Warnings: Rushed writing. General.
A/N: I finally finished this after a few months of slowly writing it! I want to thank everyone who reviewed last chapter! I've been reading them and taking everything into account when planning for this story! ^^ It will be longer than I had originally thought it would be, but that's a good thing, right?
I also want to mention that a pal of mine, Shikigami1991, has opened up a Discord server on Harry Potter crossovers! :'D It's been really cool to see and talk to other authors about their crossovers, and it also has a really helpful writing reference section that I adore! So, if you're interested in talking about Harry Potter crossovers, and maybe even help with ideas and such, please leave a review, or PM Shiki or I for an invite code! ^^
(They also have a HPxKHR crossover story, Just Happenstance, that is really off to a great start!)
Enjoy!
Harry had been sorely tempted to begin with, "It started from before I was born."
But that would have been inappropriate, as much as it would have been hilarious to see their reactions. Harry also didn't want to delve into his past, and the prophecy, the war and Voldemort; that was too personal, too intricate, and honestly too much effort. The past was the past, mocking and stagnant, and as far as Harry was concerned, not his place to tell.
Not that he wanted to tell in the first place.
Instead, Harry told them the basics. The wizarding world, the government structures, and culture surrounding the magical community. While Harry couldn't speak for all places in the world, he could speak quite well on the British magical community and some vague current affairs happening. A few bumpy missteps and disbelief here and there, but apparently having someone like Viper backing you up gave you a lot of credentials.
"Interesting," Verde murmured in a small pause, looking almost feverish. There was an unhealthy gleam in his eyes as he stared curiously at Harry, who stared blandly back. "Do regular scientific laws apply to your world? Is there a scientific explanation for your magic?"
"I don't think that's what we're supposed to be focusing on!" Skull shot the scientist a look.
Verde sniffed, "What else is there?"
At this, Skull sputtered. "I don't know; something other than the scientific logic of it all, maybe?"
After a few moments of dull staring, Verde dismissed him, sniffing. "Boring," he muttered.
Shamal turned towards Harry, expression still pinched and resigned. "Alfie isn't going to like this," he murmured to him carefully. "And I doubt your friends will, either." At the mention of Hermione and Ron, Harry withheld a wince, averting his gaze.
"Too bad," Harry replied, just as quietly.
Too bad, indeed. Harry had chosen to give them information over keeping it, and that's that. The more he dug this hole, the more confident he became, because honestly? The wizarding world can suck it, because Harry had dealt with their shit for so long. Thinking about the wizarding world and all had a small amount of irritation built up, minimal compared to the still ever-present wonder that the wizarding world brought to him. It seemed that every wonder the wizarding world brought him came with varying consequences that chipped away at him; it would be his luck, wouldn't it?
Nothing good ever came to Harry Potter without something bad happening in exchange.
"Please ignore Verde," Viper piped up, having moved closer during their talk. "He has his quirks," at this, Viper sent a slight glance towards the scientist.
"Don't we all," Fon smiled gently, and Viper seemingly shot him a hostile glare. Said baby seemed used to this, turning his attention towards Harry; his ever-present smile was nice to see, almost pleasant. It almost put Harry at ease, almost—only if Harry wasn't too wary of people who smiled constantly, that is.
"Hm," Reborn's had his sharp, almost scary, focus centered on Harry since he began. If Harry was any lesser than he was, he would be slightly intimidated. As it was, Harry was Harry, and he only shot the small hitman a wan smile. "I suppose so. Thank you informing us of this," Reborn seemed almost unsure of how to word that, going slowly.
"Ah, it's no problem," Harry waved him off, shrugging carelessly. "Honesty is the best policy, after all."
"There are things that are meant to be kept secret," Viper said, mysteriously. They still seemed vaguely off-put at disregarding the law of the wizarding world, which could possibly mean a kiss of death from Dementors—Harry took the time to smile disarmingly at them, suddenly reminded that yeah, spilling the beans about the wizarding world was often a harrowing and dangerous thing.
At the very least, they could be obliviated.
And Harry wouldn't like that, not one bit. He had enough of people messing with his mind, more-so after Snape's and Voldemort's stint of running around in his head, tearing down his defenses and whatnot. Bloody ridiculous, that's what it was.
"How could I have kept it a secret if it could help?" Harry's word was a bit self-depreciating, and a whole lot tired. Resigned. Because Harry was incapable of not helping someone out, even if it was just the littlest of bits.
Viper eyed him, before seemingly exhaling silently. "Of course," they muttered. "Still, that begs the question," Viper eyed the rest of the Arcobaleno with a pursed frown. "What do you all feel about this?"
Ah, the golden question. Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on the palms of his hands, staring at them as well with a wan smile. "Yes, I am eager to know as well. I know it's a lot to take in, but I assure you that it's real, and I'll be willing to answer any questions concerning it," he offered with a firm nod.
"Magic is real," Lal was the first to respond, tone almost flat.
"Yes," Harry replied, faux-cheerful. "Yes, it is."
"Magic is real," Lal reiterated, a bit more forceful.
"Um, yes," Harry blinked, bemused. A feeling of wariness slowly wove through him, and he shifted a bit, to shake off the weight of it. "Is there a problem-?"
"Yes, there's a fucking problem!" Lal hissed, startling him, making him sit straight. Lal was glaring holes right into him, furious. Just when Harry was about to ask about what, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew, Lal continued. "And the problem is: this is bullshit."
"Lal," Colonello spoke up, reaching forward to place a calming hand on her shoulder. He barely got past a centimeter before Lal dropped-kicked him away from her, causing him to slam onto the floor.
"Lal," Reborn warned, tightly.
"This is all bullshit, and you all are stupid enough to believe it," Lal declared, anger clear in her voice. Her burning gaze never left Harry, and Harry couldn't help but feel a bit—something, a bit affronted, yes, but also a bit regretful. "If you believe fairytale shit like this exists, then you're all out of your goddamned minds."
Tirade done, she dismissed herself from the group.
Harry could only watch her walk away with a slight frown, feeling unsurprised and unhappy at the same time. Colonello had threw himself after her, after muttering a short, "Wait a sec, kora! I'll—get her—Lal!"
And just like that, both of the Rains were gone. What were their Flame properties, again? Something about calming, or something like that; Harry couldn't help but feel that was a bit off, though, considering their rather—dramatic exit.
"What an unnecessary scene," Verde finally commented, bored. He seemed to dismiss the tense silence between all of them, especially the one between all the other babified Arcobaleno. Harry only hummed, unsure of what to say.
While he probably should have expected an outcome like this, Harry wasn't really planning on telling them in the first place. If this was something he expected and planned out with a good outcome, he'd be a bit more disappointed. As it was, Harry decided that this was how it goes, and tried to settle with that.
"Is that all you can say to this?" Skull muttered, taking off his helmet. He looked winded, and exhausted, with his wild violet hair sticking up in some places and matted with sweat in others. His makeup was slightly smeared, and he kept glancing at the exit, the direction the two Rains left in.
Verde shot him an irritated look.
"I apologize for their behavior," Fon seemed sincere, smile dropping a tad. "Lal has always been a no-nonsense type."
Reborn was eerily quiet, a large shadow halving his face from the broad brim of his hat.
"It's okay," Harry tasted the words carefully, still a bit unsure. "It can't be helped. What I am telling you is pretty far-fetched, even by underworld standards, right?" Harry glanced at Shamal, partly hoping for him to save him from this awkward territory and partly for assurance.
Shamal sighed, sipping at his drink. He seemed to bask in it, tiredly staring at him with a short quirk of his mouth. "It's not your fault, almost everything nowadays requires a certain suspension of disbelief. You presented the facts as honestly as you could, and if she can't accept it, that's her problem."
"To be honest," Skull piped up, taking long swigs of his drink. Harry wanted to ask why he didn't take off his helmet earlier if he was that thirsty. "I would have thought Verde would be the one to be the most stubborn out of us all in not believing you."
"Everything is much more interesting to believe and pursue until proven incorrect," Verde snipped, sending a dismissing glance at the Cloud.
"That's surprisingly optimistic for you," Skull muttered.
"That's besides the matter," Reborn finally spoke, seemingly out of his silence. He was sipping his espresso calmly. "I must agree with Fon, and I'm sorry you had to witness that. But it can't be helped, I suppose. I assure you, though, that the rest of us are more than willing to help."
His voice left little to no room for argument.
Harry nodded absently, reaching up to tug at the pacifier and to rub at his chest. While he still felt a bit of discomfort stirring underneath his skin at Lal and Colonello's sudden departure, and how it was still his fault no matter how one looks at it, he tried to focus a bit more on task. "I'm happy for that," he hedged slowly. "All that aside, though, my original stance still stands. If you have any questions, or concerns, please don't hesitate in asking."
"I have a lot of them," Verde told him promptly, pushing his glasses up.
"Any general concern that also applies to the current issue at hand," Viper instantly snapped back.
Verde shot them a look, smirking slightly. "I have a lot of those as well," he replied.
"I have some inquiries," Reborn seemingly ignored them. "Is there any information on Flames in the magical world? If so, that might be a potential lead in helping us solve our problem," he brushed his own hand against his yellow pacifier, emphasizing the problem. Harry briefly wondered how they must have felt, how they still must feel, about their current forms as babies.
It must have been hard.
Harry tried to imagine it or apply any of his past experiences to help empathize more with them. He supposed it was one of those cases where they were lead into it, because he highly doubted they would have accepted it easily due to Lal's bitterness about everything and their tense awkwardness concerning the situation. He could relate to that much, Harry mused. After all, once upon a time, Harry had been led into a prophecy and fulfilling it.
Was it like this?
Harry remembered the first flowers to emerge from his flower curse. Hemp flowers, he had learned. Fate. Was there really something like fate stringing everything together? It seemed almost like an absurd idea, turbulent and cruel, in how it crossed Harry's mind. No, he decided after a few seconds of toying with it.
No matter if fate was a real concept or not, it shouldn't affect how Harry made choices.
It was, after all, choices that showed who you truly are far more than your abilities. While Dumbledore was playing fate's hand in his life, Dumbledore was the one who chose to do so. There was a million and one ways to have defeated Voldemort, and even more ways things could have fallen differently—
Harry took a sharp drink from his cup, urging to heat to counteract the cold ache that sprung in his core. As much as he loved Dumbledore, he still somewhat hated him at the same time. Even now, he was still using his teachings now, as he tried to focus back on task and mulling over an answer.
"Yes," Harry offered shortly. He cleared his throat. "Though, not as descriptive and well-known as they are in your—group," he hesitated, unsure of what to say concerning their crowd. Underworld? Criminals? Mafia world? Harry would feel cheesy saying any of them.
"That isn't to say that it's a lost cause, however," Shamal was quick to inject. "The magical world has an impossibly vast array of resources, which is why learning more about the pacifier is essential. If we can figure out how the pacifier works, we might be able to figure out a plausible solution."
"There are limitations, of course," Viper bit out. "But—yes, the magical world is not all that useless in some cases." Their voice was bland, and a tad bit too forceful in their enunciation, causing Harry to glance at them, curious. It was only too obvious to Harry that they knew him, or at least knew of him, and it was also obvious that they had a background in the magical world as well.
He wondered if their background ended sorely, to appear bitter about the wizarding world.
"Speaking of," Skull was pushing his straw around in his cup, playing with the lingering ice cubes. "You knew about this? About them?" He pointed the straw in Harry's direction, and Harry raised an eyebrow, keeping a polite smile on his face. "And you didn't tell us?"
Viper sent him a cool glance. "Are you willing to pay for such information?"
Skull blanched. "Well, no," he muttered.
"Exactly." Viper seemingly dismissed him. Money seemed to be a big deal for them, Harry noted. "And it's besides the point. I, in my free time, have been studying the pacifier and its workings for a while, and am willing to share my notes about it with you." They addressed Harry, though seemed vaguely off-put about it.
"Do I need to pay for it?" Harry joked weakly, fidgeting with his sleeves. The edge of his wand was pressed comfortingly against his forearm. Viper gave him a slight twitch of their lips, as they observed him with the same quiet intensity they seemed to have for him.
"No need," they replied, vague.
"Hm," Reborn hummed. "Awfully generous of you, Viper." Viper didn't react, focused on their pet. Harry noticed that almost all of them had pets, though only a couple of them were present. Shamal had told him about them, and he briefly wondered if they were linked to their flames like how some magical pets were linked to their owner's magic.
"It is generous," Fon agreed pleasantly.
"Your point?" Viper inquired, balefully.
"It doesn't matter," Verde huffed. "I am also willing to offer my assistance in this investigation. The only thing I ask in exchange is a chance to study your world as well," he insisted, that feverish gleam in their eyes.
Skull stared disbelieving in Verde's direction. "Unbelievable," he muttered.
"Oh, sure," Harry agreed slowly. "I have a library in my house, as well as bookstores—if you want, I can assist you in that regard." Though Harry wondered if he could get away with just pre-ordering stuff from bookstores and various other places because being in public was daunting if you were Harry Potter.
"Marvelous," Verde seemed pleased. "I'll be delighted to help, then."
"It seems that it's settled, then," Reborn finished off his espresso cleanly. "Viper and Verde will stay here in England to assist you for however long they can stay," he declared, unperturbed at Viper's sharp glance towards them. "I'll be available for anything you might need my help in, though I plan on heading back to Italy soon."
"I'm afraid I can't stay as well," Fon smiled. "Though I doubt I could have been much help in the first place."
Skull had opened his mouth, but snapped it shut, glancing away awkwardly.
Harry smiled, hoping to convey his sincerity in it as much as he could.
However, he apparently took a breath in wrong and his lungs itched, his reflex kicking in and he barely had time to bend over sharply. He shuddered through a coughing attack, forehead pressed against the table and covering his mouth with a hastily grabbed napkin. His mind scattered as the ringing in his ears increased, and he barely noticed Shamal pressed in his side, and his hand awkwardly patting his back.
Something earthy tinged in his mouth, and Harry knew another string of flowers emerged. He could feel its stem still in his throat, and he coughed a few more times, mind trying to comprehend what to do now. He briefly debated with himself, if seeing what his flowers could tell him or mock him was worth it enough to take a quick run to the bathroom or not.
Ah—fuck it.
Harry swallowed, grimacing.
After a few moments, Harry took the time to gain his bearings back. The ringing decreased, and his mind became a bit less scrambled, though his body still trembled, and his throat and chest ached. Something tangy and metallic lingered in his mouth, and he let out a low sigh. Exhausted, he slowly sat up and blinked at the rest, Shamal still close to him.
Shamal's expression was pinched, awkwardly pulling back.
"Fucking hell, that sounded rough!" Skull exclaimed, eyes wide. "Are you alright?"
The absurdity of the question made Harry chuckle, self-depreciating and sardonic. "Depends," he muttered. "But mostly, yes. Just a bit of a chest infection, nothing a bit of medicine can't cure," Harry shrugged, wanting to diminish the attention off of his other curse.
"…Of course," Shamal agreed with a sigh. "Nothing to be concerned of," he drawled, checking his watch and frowning. "Speaking of, I think it's a good time to head back, don't you? It's been wonderful seeing you again, Reborn," Shamal nodded towards Reborn, who took his eyes off of Harry to smirk at him.
"Sure, sure," Harry drank the last drop of his drink, hoping to wash away the taste of blood and green. Afterwards, he dug around his pocket for a spare pen and hurried grabbed another, thankfully clean, napkin and penned his address on it. "Here's my home address, anyone can visit when they want."
Viper accepted the napkin, expression carefully blank. "Any time in specific?"
"Anytime is good for me, though I might be a bit groggy in the mornings," Harry shrugged. "I also do like my quiet time in the evenings before bed," mostly because he can't even barely fall asleep an hour or so before actually going to sleep. It was mostly overthinking things and deeply brooding, which—yes.
It does feel rather pathetic to think about.
"Other than that, I'm free," Harry finished.
"Expect to see me tomorrow, then," Verde declared. He didn't clarify a time, which made Harry twitch at, but he nodded anyways. As everyone got ready to leave, and as Harry paid for everyone by leaving a few hundred pound notes on the table -he still felt a bit gracious to their waitress-, he was tempted to say something.
Maybe something cryptid, like, 'good luck'. Or maybe a bit more generic like 'goodbye'.
In the end, he decided for something a bit more genuine.
"Thank you for coming to meet me. And if anyone of you happens to see Lal or Colonello—tell them I apologize."
It seemed like a good note to end on.
-0-0-0-
Today's flowers were oak-leaved geranium.
In order to spruce up the offices of each Auror, the flowers have been put and changed quite regularly. He found it a bit ironic, and he stared thoughtfully at the pot of flowers near his office window, mind trying to pin down a definite meaning to this type of flowers.
True friendship.
Sighing, he returned back to his desk, and tried to focus back on what was consuming most of his lunch break.
"Should I invite my cousin Cadmus?" Ron asked, tapping the pen against his temple as he stared contemplatively at the unfilled wedding invitation in front of him. The pen was a gift from Hermione and Harry, gifted to the whole Weasley family. A wonderful invention, if Ron could say so himself.
His father absolutely thought so, too.
Hermione glanced up from where she was lost in thought, wrapped up in the guise of multitasking with paperwork and helping with the wedding invitations. "Who?" Her quick mind processed his words, and she frowned, a crease forming between her brows. "Isn't he the one who's been accused of inappropriate behavior in public?"
"No, no; that's my other cousin, Cyneheard." Ron shook his head. "This one is an alright bloke."
Hermione's eyes shifted and lost focus again, "Okay, if you say so."
Ron stared at her and glanced down at their wedding planner and wedding invitations. As of late, with all the happenings with Harry and the Malfoy prick, Ron was throwing himself headfirst, shamelessly, into the wedding planning. It wasn't that much of a change, to be honest, considering that Ron was always a bit more passionate about the wedding ceremony and was a bit more familiar with them than his fiancé. Hermione, like Harry, was almost nonchalant with the wedding process and the culture surrounding it—
He still remembers in his nightmares of Hermione simply suggesting a quick visit to Gringotts to just get the deed over with.
One does not simply get married like that!
Ever since their understanding of Ron's horror at that suggestion, and Hermione's pragmatic need with no flourish—Hermione and he had things going smoothly, because as much as Hermione didn't crave flourish and find fulfillment from going through the steps, she understood there were steps, and she wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she wasn't the best at going through them.
She was amazing like that.
"Is something wrong?" Ron gave in with a sigh, leaning over to tap his finger against her hand to gain her attention. Hermione startled just a tiny bit, eyes suddenly sharp and landing on him with a pursed expression. "Sorry," Ron shrugged, and Hermione huffed.
"Nothing's wrong," Hermione replied back seamlessly, and her gaze wavered. "Actually," she started, and Ron internally groaned and laughed at the same time, leaning back in his chair and watching expectantly. "It's about Harry."
Ron wanted to roll his eyes. "Yes, yes, I know that much. You've been off since this morning. Are you worried for him meeting whoever he's meeting? It's just a meeting, ya' know? And kind of needed too now that I think about it." How else will they gain more input on the secondary curse Harry was dealing with than others who are dealing with it as well?
At the very least, form a support group. Merlin knows Harry needed some form of it, despite both Hermione and Ron being there for him. Because as much as Ron liked to think he's now one of the closest friends Harry has, there were some instances where they fell a bit short, a moment of understanding that Ron just didn't understand what Harry was feeling or going through completely.
Oh god, did Ron hate those moments.
Hermione shook her head, leaning back in her own chair. It was one of the other ones that was stationed in front of his desk, and Ron was confronted with the giddy feeling of actually having an office like this. "No, not that. It's about us keeping this whole Malfoy thing from him," she explained.
Ron hurriedly shushed her, a bad feeling creeping up his spine. "Shush! Speak of the devil, and they shall appear!"
"Oh, please," Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's just some silly superstition."
The bad feeling intensified, and Ron had enough time to send her a disbelieving glance before his door was forcefully swung open.
"Where is he?"
"Even during my lunch break?" Ron groaned, letting his head flop forward and slam into the desk. Hermione had stiffened when the Malfoy entered, mouth pressed into a thin line of distaste. "Can't you piss off for even a second, Malfoy?"
"I demand to speak with Potter," Draco Malfoy insisted tightly, glaring coldly at the redhead. "You two have been practically barricading him from me, and it's getting tiring." Ron clicked his tongue, dragging himself up and slumping back into his chair, staring tiredly at the other man.
There were a few moments of silence as Ron mulled over it. At last, he shrugged carelessly, and shot a mean smile at Draco. "He's not available."
Draco looked a moment away from having an aneurysm.
"What we mean is," Hermione interjected, sighing at Ron's pleased expression. "Harry is going through a bit of a spot right now, and he can't be bothered with something that can be resolved without him. And yes, this implies that you tell us, and we could possibly help you," Hermione bulldozed over Draco's noise of protest, eyes narrowing slightly.
Draco was stubborn. "It has to be Potter," he enunciated slowly.
"Oh, piss off!" Ron threw his hands up in frustration, before banging his head down onto his desk. He grunted from impact, and complained under his breath, "I swear to Merlin, braining myself is better than trying to compromise with you, you prat."
"Excuse me?" Draco didn't look any better, expression twitching. "I have stated, quite clearly mind you, of what I wanted since the very beginning. If you two weren't being so damn difficult, this matter could have been resolved a long time ago!" He gestured sharply to emphasize his point, and Ron looked ready to chuck a thick manila envelope at Draco. "Now, if you two continue to be such a hindrance, I fear I might have to resort to drastic measures such—"
"Oho? Such as what? Having your father hear about this?" Ron shot back, mocking.
It was as if the room depressurized, the air pressure and temperature spiking before dropping drastically. A flash of guilt crossed Ron's expression, but he was nothing if not proud and he kept his stare evenly on the blank-faced Draco. Draco's hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles whiting. Hermione's eyes darted back and forth, swallowing the reprimand down her throat and trying to logic their way out of this conflict.
Conflict, though, became a lot more difficult when it became interpersonal.
"Want to repeat that for me, Weasley?" Draco finally uttered, teeth clenched. His expression was still blank, though there was an underlying tension threatening to crack it.
For a moment, Ron looked like he was contemplating repeating what he said. But—he slumped in his seat, ignoring the sharp edge of anger and pride still stabbing into his chest, and conceded with a sigh. While back in Hogwarts, Ron wouldn't care so much as a rat's ass about offending a prick like Malfoy, there was the fact that they weren't in Hogwarts now. They were both adults with their own lives, their own goals.
Ron wasn't the Ron he was back then, a moody and argumentative prick with insecurity issues. And Malfoy wasn't the same Malfoy as he was back then, either; Ron had to remember that they both went through a lot, and while it was quite unsavory and awkward meeting him nowadays—
The past should stay in the past.
"My apologies, Draco," Ron finally muttered, ignoring the hot stab in his core. He met Draco's eyes sincerely, and Draco paused, expression stony. "What I said is out of line, and I am truly sorry for it. But," he tacked on, and Draco's expression soured. There was always a but. "The fact of the matter is that Harry has a lot on his plate right now. If you truly in desperate need of help, I'm willing to help."
"We're willing to help," Hermione offered, paperwork and wedding invitations forgotten.
Draco pulled back, expression now unreadable. He paced to the window, arms behind his back; from their point of view, they could see his short nails digging into his arm tightly. At last, the tension in his shoulders dropped just a tiny bit. "As much as I appreciate your offer," Draco said stiffly, turning towards them with a transparent and strained smile. Smiling never seemed right on Draco's face, never seemed to fit, and when it did happen to appear, it was a just a pale imitation.
It was unnerving and sad to look at, honestly.
His words made Ron slump even more, a tired exasperation layering over him. Was there really no compromising in this situation? Was he really that desperate for Harry's help? Harry's pale and tired face flashed through Ron's mind, and he clenched his own fists, frowning; no, Harry didn't need to help, shouldn't help. Harry deserved to focus on himself for a bit, focus on recovering.
Ron wasn't going to back down from this, and nothing will change his mind—
"Fine," Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts. Ron sputtered, whipping his head to stare incredulous at her. Draco twitched, eyes flickering to her. "We'll tell him about your situation. We'll let him decide." Ron huffed, gesturing wildly.
"What? Hermione," Ron tried to protest, causing Hermione to turn her stern stare on him. "I thought we both agreed that Harry doesn't need to know! He's too eh," Ron said.
"We're not his keepers, Ron, as much as we act like it," Hermione rebutted, bluntly. "He's old enough to make decisions for himself." Ron would disagree, as should Hermione considering Harry could make decisions on his own, but he hardly ever made a good decision for himself. Example, this whole double curse scenario!
"Really? Does he?" Ron asked, partly rhetorical and wholly dubious.
"He's mature enough to handle it," Hermione shot back, face set. The gleam in her eyes already made something wilt in Ron, and he fidgeted, making a face at his fiancé. "Are you really fine with going on like this, not trusting him to take care of himself? Not to make decisions for himself? Because the fact of the matter is—he is indulging us at this point," she finished with a heavy sigh, and Ron twitched, wanting to brush his hand against hers while also wanting to huff and fold his arms defensively.
But he knew what Hermione was talking about.
Harry was almost a master of ignoring his emotions, almost to the point of being oblivious to them. He was also very stubborn and kept things to himself, liked to burden himself with his own thoughts, his own grievances, everything. He hated being pitied, he hated being coddled, and he hated it when people treaded on ice around him and kept information from him, despite becoming more lenient now that the war was behind them. And it took a long time for Ron and Hermione to break him down, to even get a glimpse of what he might be feeling and thinking.
Even then, Ron had a sinking and worrying feeling that Harry was still out of reach.
Ron had considered writing a helpful guide, probably titled, 'How to deal with Harry Potter and his martyr struggles.' Then again, considering Harry's almost paranoid nature—maybe just a private journal will do.
Still, Ron was very proud of his place in Harry's life. And yeah, he figured both Hermione and him should be used to Harry's near-death experiences, considering how often they occur. And that Harry always ended up okay by some sort of fate's luck, or something like that. One would think that they should be used to it by now.
(It was bloody exhausting and sent an almost hysterical worry shooting through Ron, with a hefty dose of fear, every time it happened.)
Harry was probably restless and slowly suffocating with how Hermione and Ron treaded around him, with being confined to his house. Healer Alfie's almost constant vigilance, along with Dr. Shamal's constant supervision—there was a tension building up in Harry's tired posture, his turbulent and vehement expression.
As much as Ron wanted to keep holding onto this small amount of control, wanted the assurance that he's doing his part in protecting Harry—he knew that it was unfair to his best friend. And that Harry was only letting Hermione and Ron act as gatekeepers to the Wizarding World, and its problems, because he's guilty, and indulgent.
And that it couldn't last forever.
The best thing in this situation, Ron's mind told him, was de-escalation.
"Fine," Ron finally grit out, and Hermione sent him a flash of a breathless smile, and Ron's stomach squirmed. He settled for brushing his fingers against hers as she gathered up her stuff, having decided that their shared lunch break was over and that she needed to go. Draco watched sullenly. "See you after work, love," Ron waved at Hermione as she made her way outside.
"See you soon," Hermione's curt response was with dulled and soft edges, and Ron smiled.
This left Draco and Ron alone together, with Draco stiffly sitting himself in one of the plush office chairs in front of his desk. Ron stared at him, before setting aside his half-eaten lunch and pulling out a blank sheet of parchment. "I'm glad we reached an understanding," Draco offered at last, amidst the awkward silence.
"So glad," Ron replied a bit bluntly. An understanding, yes; between them and Draco? Not in a long run. "I don't know what is so important that Harry's involvement is an absolute necessity, but I swear on Dumbledore's grave that if you're only involving him in hopes of him being incapable of saying no—"
Ron leaned forward, and Draco's expression became guarded, their shared stare intense and heavy.
"I will make your life a living hell," Ron finished quietly, and Draco surveyed him, before conceding with a toss of his head, averting his gaze. He gave a minute nod, and Ron felt a brief surge of satisfaction. "Now we reached an understanding. Let me clock back into my shift, and then we can talk."
As he left, Ron swore he heard Draco mutter a short, "Finally."
It shouldn't have been as amusing as it was, and Ron only shook his head. His thoughts strayed to Harry, and how he was holding up meeting the rest of the Arco-whatevers. He still didn't trust Shamal, as amusing as the man was, but—he trusted Harry.
Ron trusted Harry to take care of himself, and to make decisions for himself.
Because Ron didn't really mind Harry making decisions for himself, he realized; he just hated it when Harry thought he had to go through with it alone.
-0-0-0-
"Seriously? A chest infection?" Shamal asked later, after they made it back to Grimmauld Place.
Harry countered easily, "Am I wrong?"
Shamal didn't bother to reply, rubbing his face tiredly. "So?" He finally spoke, as Harry slouched in his seat and was watching empty air. Harry blinked and glanced at him curiously. "What do you think of them?"
"Interesting?" Harry mused, not really finding any words to describe them other than that. "Viper seems to know what's up, though, which is really curious. And surprising. Honestly, if they didn't say anything, I probably wouldn't have explained about the wizarding world as blatantly as I did."
Again, Harry's mind briefly brushed upon the capricious word, fate.
"Nonetheless, it is a bit relieving to have help from the others, even if a couple of them are out of commission," Shamal grimaced lightly, at the slight mention of Lal and Colonello. It wasn't unsurprising, Harry reminded himself. "But I have to ask about your earlier incident, your coughing attack. Was it just that, or did something…?"
"Come up? Yes. I swallowed, though," Harry shrugged, making a slight face at the memory.
"Was that wise?" Shamal seemed perturbed, frowning at him. "If your magic wants to tell you something, do you really think it's wise to?"
"It's—not, well," Harry was going to say it wasn't sentient, but at this point, it might as well be. Predicting the future and divination wasn't something Harry was all that knowledgeable about, and while he doubted it could really be that— he figured his flowers seemed to be like little fortune cookie predictions, an almost intuitive feeling so slight that it could be implied for almost everything in Harry's life.
Kind of like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
"Then it's going to be pissed when I start taking Alfie's medicine," Harry finished promptly with a careless shrug. "Besides, we got what we wanted," somewhat, at least. "Do you have any idea what the pacifier works, by the way? Or were you just going to start from scratch using both Viper and Verde's research on it?"
"Of course, I do," Shamal seemed slightly offended at the notion of anything anywise.
Harry sent him a slight smile. "Forgive me for suggesting otherwise. It's kind of hard not to think of that, though, when all you've been telling me was 'not to worry about it', or pushing it off," he shrugged, causing Shamal to blanch.
"I figured that that pacifier might work by draining your Flame, kind of like devouring it. And the reason that the Sky pacifier shortens your lifespan because it's working with the other pacifiers by regulating them somewhat, though I'm not sure how that really works out. Still, as long as your body can produce your Flame, it will be like a parasitic cycle that goes on and on until you die."
"Wonderful," Harry muttered.
"But," Shamal continued, leaning back in his own seat contemplatively. "If it is a cycle, then that leaves us with two options. Either breaking it completely, or," he frowned, tapping his fingers against the table in front of him. "At least continuing it in a way that detaches itself from all of you. An isolated cycle? I think."
Devouring another to fulfill its own needs. Harry was vividly reminded of his second year, of Voldemort's horcruxes. Of course, to make a horcrux was to do something so horrible in order to tear a piece of a soul away and into a designated object—Harry felt a sudden apprehension at the thought of somehow tearing this curse away from him, of the other Arcobaleno, due to its possible repercussions. And the lengths they might have to go just to get rid of the curse in the first place.
"But we can't know for sure until we figure out exactly how the pacifier works," Shamal assured him quickly, after glancing at him. Harry carefully smoothed over his expression, blinking at the doctor. "Until then, it's all just a hypothesis, and that is why I never really spoke about it much. A baseless hypothesis is hardly anything to go by, after all."
"The hard part is over now, I think. So, it should be smooth sailing here on out." Harry desperately tried to believe his words, despite the cynical and cryptic voice murmuring in his head, a sliver of doubt lingering as a bitter taste on his tongue.
Shamal only sent him an empty smile, as if privy to his thoughts and feelings. "Knock on wood," he enthused, faux-cheer.
Without missing a beat, Harry rapt his knuckles sharply on the table in front of him.
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Take control of your future by swallowing!
;v
-mms