One call: part 2

The small, black haired twelve year old let himself fall out of the worn life raft, his body making contact with the sand and pebbles with a dull thud. He ignored this though, instead letting his body relax half in the ocean and half out of it, the waves gently brushing up and over his body refreshingly. Now that he was finally out of the raft he was only just starting to realise the effects of being cooped up on the raft for so many days. Lying down on the uneven ground, Harry could feel his muscles loosen, no longer tensed up in an effort to stay reasonably still whilst he'd been trapped on the raft. There was a dull, constant ache all over his body but the longer he stayed on the ground, the smaller it became, his bones slowly clicking into place leaving him feeling better than he had in three days.

Luckily for both Harry and Oliver the meagre rations they'd salvaged from the yacht had only ran out the previous day, preventing either of them from being overly thirsty or hungry. However, as he relaxed on the beach, Harry knew that wouldn't be the case for much longer.

He glanced over at the other man now. Since the yacht had gone down, Harry had barely spoken to the billionaires son. Oliver had tried to start up conversations but after the incident with his dad he too had grown silent, leaving them to spend the rest of their journey with just the wind and ocean as any sign of noise. Neither them had really noticed it though, both of them lost in what they had seen. Harry had noticed the older man looking at the body of his dad, unable to keep his eyes off of the body for more than a few seconds, and he'd watched as Oliver picked up the discarded weapon and stuff into his belt strap for safe keeping. But he hadn't dared ask him about it.

The man in question pulled the life raft further up the rocky ground, struggling as he pulled the dead weight of his father with it. He supposed it was to prevent their only means of escape from being swept away with the current but he wasn't sure. And as Oliver sat under a tree and closed his eyes, Harry decided it was better not to ask. It was the first time Harry had seen Oliver relax in several days and he didn't want to be the one to prevent him from doing that. So instead, Harry awkwardly stayed where he was, sitting up and looking out at the ocean as the wind cooled them both down.

He felt isolated, alone. The ocean spread out ahead of him, only ending when it met the horizon with nothing splitting it in between. There were no ships or other islands, no small mass of rocks breaking the water's surface. There was nothing apart from the occasional bird diving into the dark grey waves and resurfacing seconds later with a fish caught between its beak. Something opened up within him at the same time he realised that they were truly lost; the fear working its way up to his chest as his heart started to quickly beat faster.

Even when he'd faced Voldemort only several weeks ago at the end of his first year, Harry hadn't felt this scared. At least then he knew someone would come and find him. He'd trusted Hermione. She had known where he was and could send one of the schools professors to help him. But this time he was alone. He and Oliver had nobody out there who could help them. They'd drifted off course. The only people who knew the yacht had crashed were him and Oliver, and the people who had already been lost to the ocean. No one would be able to find them.

He was stuck on a deserted island with a man he'd barely said ten words to and nobody knew where they were. He didn't even know where they were.

"Hey," the man behind him eventually spoke up, breaking the silence. "You said your name was Harry, right?"

Harry turned to face the man and nodded. Oliver was still resting his back against the tree but he no longer had his eyes closed. "Yeah… erm, your name's Oliver?"

"Yeah, Oliver Queen," he said with a slight shake in his voice. The two fell into silence again but Oliver broke it for a second time, trying to break the ice and take responsibility as the only adult. "Look… I'm sorry. I've not said a word to you really since my dad…"

Oliver trailed off, unable to say what they both knew had happened. Harry shrugged though in understanding. "It's fine."

"Yeah, well… I should have said something to you, I'm the adult here…" This time he stopped mid-sentence as what he said sank in. Only a couple of days ago Oliver was the fourth youngest on the yacht, now from what they knew, he was the oldest survivor. It was unlikely, but Harry really hoped they were wrong about that. He hoped beyond everything that other people had survived, he wanted to believe that there were other people who'd made it off of the yacht, who'd made it civilisation. They would then be able to gather some form of rescue mission. He wanted that to so badly be true and for the time being he let that thought stay in his mind, not realising how quickly that small amount of hope would diminish. "How are you feeling?" Oliver then spoke up having finally found the correct words he wanted to say.

The twelve year old didn't need to be told what the underlying meaning to the question was. He knew exactly why Oliver was asking how he felt, and it wasn't because they'd washed up on some island. In the grand scheme of things that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, he was beyond relieved to have the chance to stretch his legs and feel solid land again. What Oliver was really asking him about was the situation with his dad. "I'm fine," he said distractedly as the memory of Mr Queen's final moment alive came back to the forefront of his mind. "I think," he added as an afterthought. He wasn't fine. He was shaken up, he was frightened, worried, lost.

"We'll get out of this," Oliver stated, pushing more confidence than he felt into his own voice for Harry's benefit. Mr Queen's final word entered his head. Survive.

"I'm sorry about your dad," he muttered, barely loud enough for Oliver to hear. He wasn't sure what to say really, he just knew he had to say something to Oliver. He needed to address what had happened. Mr Queen had seemed like a good man. He'd actually involved Harry in the events on the yacht. He had treated him as if Harry was actually a part of the Dursley family, not a waste of space or drain on their money, and Harry respected him for that.

Oliver eventually shrugged his shoulders, closing his eyes again to fight back the tears that stung at his eyes, the conversation dying down between the two survivors after that as Harry was left to stare at the sand in silence.

Unsure of how much time had passed since the conversation had stopped; Harry stood up and headed towards the forest behind Oliver, trying to be as quiet as possible. However, when he passed Oliver, the man looked and asked, "Where are you going?"

Harry looked around before he awkwardly answered the man, mumbling 'I need to pee' before he hurried into the forest away from the beach.

He wandered along for about five minutes, moving slower than normal with his ears attuned to any small sound. He didn't expect to come across any other people but he had a niggling feeling that there were other things on this island apart from him and Oliver. Bears and wolfs entered his head first and he wanted more than anything to be wrong.

He was relieved at the speed he'd been moving at when he heard the snap of a twig to his left, and quickly, without any hesitation Harry ran up a slight hill to hide behind the closest tree to him, only just pulling his body behind it as two men came into his view, both of them dressed in black military gear. He couldn't see who they were, their faces were hidden with black ski masks, but Harry's attention was only focused on this for a few short seconds before being distracted by the guns held loosely and confidently in both men's hands.

His heart stopped and his breathing hitched in fear and within seconds Harry had his back pressed tightly into the tree as he concentrated on his breathing. He had no idea who these people were and he didn't want to find out yet either.

The two men, however, had different thoughts, one of them calling to the other to stop. His voice was rough as he shouted, "hang on a second Jase." If Harry didn't know any better he'd say someone had landed a solid punch to the man's throat.

"It's Jason, Col. How many times am I gonna have to tell you?" This man, Jason, had a smoother voice although there was hint of frustration in it, most likely directed at the abbreviation of the name, and if Harry wasn't in such a dangerous situation he would have heard the man's irritated sigh as his friend, Col, grinned at him. "And hurry up will ya', we're meant to be back by now."

Col scoffed, unperturbed. "If I remember correctly, Jase, you were the one who wanted to take a detour through the forest." He paused momentarily on the use of the nickname hoping to earn some form of reaction from the other man but none came. Instead Jason walked further on ahead, apparently ignoring Col's desire to stop.

"I prefer to keep my head on my shoulders, Col. And if that means taking a ten minute detour through a forest to avoid a land mine ridden field, I'll take it."

Col scoffed. "If you say so. Look, just hold this a second." Harry looked around the tree and watched as Jason took Col's gun from his outstretched hand, somewhat begrudgingly. "Thank-you," Col stated, sarcastically.

"Just hurry up, will you. Fyers said he's got a new shipment of weapons coming in tonight, some guy called Keith Lamont gave him them at a bargain. Anyway, he said it'll be first come first served. If I have to carry on using this one…" Jason stopped speaking, shaking his head.

"I know, you've told me countless times before. It jams more than you ****."

"Talking of which, shut up and…" he made a shooing gesture with his hands, directing Col to a group of bushes a few metres off from them. Harry imagined Jason was grinning as he spoke, especially with the glare Col was giving him.

Col shrugged, and turned around, walking away from his friend. The sudden movement was enough to make Harry shoot back behind the tree, realising he'd been making himself too obvious. His own sudden movement was enough to draw Jason's attention though, and he immediately bought his gun up, aiming it at the tree. "Who's there?" The man shouted, bringing Col on alert too, the man taking back his gun and copying Jason's actions within seconds.

Harry pushed his body into the tree, his hand instinctively going to his back pocket where he kept his wand when he wasn't at Hogwarts to find it not there. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered this was because of the yacht and storm but most of him was concentrating on the footsteps slowly growing closer to him, his heart hammering in his chest. Yeah, he'd faced Voldemort only weeks ago but this was completely different. Technically he wasn't outnumbered then, Voldemort and Professor Quirrell were a part of the same body, but now there were two men coming towards him, both with loaded guns and clearly enough military experience to survive on an island. He had also had his wand with him. Harry bit his lip, unsure of what he could do. He was tempted to run but stopped himself. Where would he go? Who would he go to? He doubted Oliver would be any help. That was if he could even make it to Oliver. He doubted he could out run one bullet, let alone two.

"I said who's there?" Jason called again.

-o-0-o-

Harry woke up, his breathing heavy and his skin sticky with sweat as the memory came flooding back to him. Keith Lamont had sold Fyers the weapons on the island? Harry huffed out a relieved laugh, running a hand over his face as he did so. He knew he recognised that name for a reason, that he had a reason for getting a bad feeling about the man. Although surprised that Keith Lamont wasn't taking residence in the list of names hidden safely in his bedside draw, he wasn't surprised that the man wasn't as good as he appeared to be. No one could be that good.

Keith Lamont had kept that secret well hidden, something that went straight over Harry's head. How could you keep something so big hidden from the rest of the world? Especially when he appeared on the news as much Oliver did. In the public's eyes Lamont was the perfect man, he looked out for others, raised money for people who were caught up in terrible situations that they had no control over. Reporters had had a field day when he was caught for speeding, that small event being on basically every web-page had had read about him the day before. They were always ready for the man to screw up so how had he kept something like this hidden?

Unless there was another Keith Lamont out there, but Harry really doubted that. He'd find out for certain before he did anything though.

Climbing out of bed, Harry quickly changed into clean clothes and headed downstairs to start what he knew would be a long day. As he left his room he noticed Oliver was still fast asleep in his room, the door pulled too and the light off. For a moment Harry was just a little jealous of the man, knowing that he wouldn't get back to sleep himself this morning.

Lost in thought and more than a little tired, (he had just spent several hours of the night searching a police station for blood samples, he was allowed to be a little sleepy), Harry made his way down the stairs, turning the corner to the kitchen at the same time as somebody else. The person, a woman, jumped in shock as she collided with the seventeen year old vigilante, spilling the mug of coffee down the front of her school clothes.

"Harry Potter!" she yelled in a sudden outburst of anger that quickly receded from her face within seconds, her momentary shock disappearing too.

Harry took a step back, grinning as he said, "I'm sorry."

Thea shook her head, her voice resigned in defeat. "No, it's fine. I wasn't paying attention either…" She stopped mid-sentence after seeing the amusement written clearly across Harry's face. Glaring at him, she pushed the mug into his hands, grinning herself as she walked upstairs to change into clean clothes. "You can make me another."

"Hang on," he shouted, "I can't make you another." His protests fell on deaf ears and accepting defeat, he went into the kitchen and started to make Thea a drink. It was only fair after all. He then turned to the stairs, looking at the beverage covering the floor at the bottom, a clear health hazard for anyone making their way into the living room or Kitchen. Grabbing some towels, Harry quickly wiped up the mess until the floor was dry, finishing just as Thea left her bedroom, ten minutes after leaving Harry to re-make her drink. "Sorry," he said again, this time seriously as he walked with Thea into the kitchen.

"It's fine," Thea replied, brushing his apology aside. "Trust me when I say I have enough clothes to last me a life time. And besides, I'll get you back for it." He couldn't help but laugh at that, the idea sounding hilarious to his ears even with Thea standing right there in front of him, giving him a glare that could give Professor McGonagall a run for her money. That only made him laugh more. "You don't think I could?" Thea asked, a challenge in her voice that had Harry swallowing his laughter immediately.

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Well, you just don't seem like the pranking sort," he explained, turning around as he busied himself with making a bowl of cereal.

"I'm great at it," Thea stated. "Nobody suspects the innocent seventeen year old girl. Oliver definitely didn't."

Harry walked over to the tap, pouring himself a glass of water. "Because you're so innocent, I can imagine you being the one to get Oliver into trouble when you were younger," he said on his way back with a glass of water and his cereal in hand, taking a seat at the kitchen island.

Thea looked at him, her hand coming to her heart in mock hurt as she asked, "I'm not innocent?"

The sarcasm in her comment was ignored by Harry who shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Says you."

"Thea, I spent five years on a deserted island. There's very little you can do there, unless throwing coconuts at Oliver when he's not expecting it makes me evil. I'm as innocent as you can get." This time Thea laughed, whether it was at the thought of Oliver being hit with coconuts or the thought of Harry being good, the vigilante wasn't sure.

And before Thea could explain this, the two were interrupted by another voice coming into the equation, amusement in his voice. "Who's innocent?" Oliver asked the two seventeen year olds, both of which turned around to face him. Harry grinned in answer to the older man's question. "Harry?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "I think you have him mistaken for someone else."

"I told you," Thea chimed in.

Harry, looking affronted, defended himself. "I don't know who Oliver's been hanging around with for the past five years, but I'm as innocent as the gods themselves."

After several seconds of silence, where Harry actually thought Oliver might leave the conversation at that, the older man leant casually against the door frame, his face devoid of any expression and said, "And sometimes you go by the name Hades."

"Who's still a god and"- Harry was stopped from finishing his sentence by Thea picking up her bag, louder than she necessarily needed to be, and putting her mug in the sink. Admittedly, Harry was relived she did so because he had no idea where he was going to go with his sentence. Oliver would have one their battle if it wasn't for her.

She smiled at Harry, almost as if she knew she had just saved him, before turning to Oliver. "As much as I'd love hearing the two of you arguing about who's the better person, I'm going to be late to school, so bye Harry, Goodbye Ollie," she said, giving Oliver a small hug as she passed him in the doorway.

Oliver smiled. "Bye Speedy," he replied to his sister's receding back. The girl threw her hand up in the air, telling Oliver to be quiet, apparently having had that conversation before. Harry ignored the two and instead turned to the sink, picking up his glass of water and swirling the clear liquid around in the glass before going to tip the drink away. Oliver stopped him though. "Didn't you just pour that?"

"Yeah I did," Harry said, keeping his voice casual as an idea formed in his head. "Why?"

"Because you just poured it," he said in way of an explanation. "That's a waste"-

"I know but I decided I want coffee. Do you want it?"

Oliver shrugged, happy that his younger not-by-blood brother had understood where he'd been going with the conversation. "If you're offering." Harry shook his head in disbelief and handed over the glass, turning around to hide the barely held back laughter slowly working its way onto his lips. "Thanks," he heard Oliver say, taking a sip and then spluttering as the water went into his mouth.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, feigning innocence after composing his body language.

"What the hell did you do to this?" Oliver exclaimed, pouring the drink away.

"I didn't do anything," Harry replied, honestly. He couldn't keep it up for very long though and before he knew it he was grinning like a clown on Christmas, "Thea on the other hand may or may not have filled the glass with salt."

Oliver's eyes widened fractionally. "When did she do that?"

"When you entered the room but you were too busy insulting me to notice." An air of triumph filled the room and Oliver scowled.

When Oliver spoke next he sounded almost weary of getting an answer. "Why did she do it?"

Harry shrugged, handing the man a fresh glass of water. The least he could do was let Oliver rinse the salt out of his mouth. Oliver eyed the glass suspiciously but Harry pushed it closer to him. "It's salt free, I swear, and I spilt coffee on her."

The promise was enough for Oliver and the man took the glass, his face relaxing as he rinsed his mouth. "Yeah? Well good luck. Now you have two Queens' out for you."

"I'm terrified," Harry stated sarcastically. "Shaking in my boots."

"You should be," Oliver stated, looking down at his glass with a lingering suspicion. Harry shook his head at Oliver's sudden lack of trust in him, finding the man's weary sips of water amusing, and walked out of the room.

After making himself some toast Oliver joined Harry in the living room, taking a seat next to the seventeen year old on the couch and then glaring at him with mock anger when Harry grabbed the TV remote before he did. "We are not listening to the news," Harry stated, justifying his actions quickly and changing the channel to something he hadn't seen in a long time. Sport. He'd never been that into sport before the yacht incident and the match on the TV screen didn't compare to the wizarding sport Quidditch, not by a long shot, but after five years of being marooned on a desert island where the only technology around for miles was always in the hands of the enemy, Harry really didn't care about what he was watching. Except for the news. Yeah, he didn't fancy seeing himself on the TV for the millionth time, as the vigilante or as the survivor of a sinking yacht.

"I just wanted to see what was going on in the world," Oliver moaned, a little disgruntled by his lack of control over the TV.

"Nothing of any importance," Harry informed him.

Oliver's eyes narrowed and he turned to Harry. "You seem very certain of that."

Harry shrugged, his eyes switching between his food and the TV. "What's important won't be on the news. Trust me." Putting his cereal down, Harry turned to face Oliver, all joking out of the door. "Remember how I said I recognised Keith Lamont's name?" he asked, growing silent as he waited for Oliver to signal he could carry on. At the nod from Oliver, Harry looked over his shoulder to see if there was anyone in eavesdropping proximity. Seeing as there wasn't he carried on speaking, lowering his voice anyway, just in case.

"His name wasn't in the book; I spent the entire evening looking through it and found nothing. But then I remembered when we first landed on the island and I left to take care of some business. I came across some of Fyers men. I overheard them talking about a new shipment of weapons coming in, delivered to the island by a man named Keith Lamont."

Oliver sat in thought for several seconds, contemplating over something unclear to Harry. After coming to a decision, a frown plastered itself to his forehead. He clearly didn't want to say anything but he did so anyway, knowing he would anger his younger friend. "Now what?" he asked, confusing Harry more than he intended to.

"Now what, what?" Harry asked uncertainly. Surely Oliver understood what he was getting at. Keith Lamont wasn't the person he pretended to be. He was selling weapons, weapons that nearly killed them on several occasions on the island, and he wasn't bothered? No, he wasn't fazed in the slightest.

Oliver looked at him like the answer was obvious. "We go after the guys in the book, Harry, no one else." Harry's mouth dropped open slightly in shock and he quickly shut it as his brow creased in annoyance.

"We can make an exception every now and then Oliver" he stated, his tone harsh.

"Harry we go after the"-

"Names in the book," Harry interrupted, finishing the man's sentence with ease. "I know. Maybe we"- Harry stopped, interrupted by the sound of the doorbell going off in the doorway. Harry shook his head in disbelief, shooting up from the couch with speed that could rival an athlete and headed to the front door with Oliver only a couple of paces behind him. Whilst Harry walked all of the way to the front door, Oliver stopped in the Kitchen doorway, watching Harry from a distance as the seventeen year old opened the door.

He heard Oliver stop behind him but didn't turn around, knowing his friend wouldn't mind him opening the door for him. When he answered the door he was greeted with the familiar, but not pleasurable, site of Detective Lance and his partner, Detective Hilton.

"I see you've made yourself comfortable, Mr Potter," Detective Lance said to Harry, forcing the younger man to bite back his returning comment. He didn't stop the eye role though, using the facial expressions all teenagers had to his advantage and directing it at the Detective who hated his guts. Detective Lance narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to say something before his partner stepped in front of him, putting space between the civilian and Detective.

"Detectives Hilton and Lance," Detective Hilton said to Harry with intentions of steering the conversation away from dangerous territory. "May we come in?"

Harry looked briefly at Oliver who bowed his head as 'yes', not wanting to over step his welcome by inviting people into their home without permission. "Of course," Harry said, opening the door further and moving to the side to let both men into the Queen house. The detectives walked through the doorway, past Harry and stopped in the hallway, waiting patiently for Harry to close the door to get on with the reasons as to why they were there, although Harry and Oliver already knew why. As he closed the door Harry took a brief second to calm his racing frustration. The day was slowly growing worse.

"You seem surprised that we're here," Detective Hilton spoke up, mistaking Harry's pent up anger for shock. His voice grew louder as he spoke, allowing Oliver to hear him was well. "My partner did inform you that we'd be coming over, didn't he?"

"He did, we just weren't expecting you to arrive so early," Harry honestly replied, mentally calming himself down.

Detective Lance raised his eyebrows at that. "As much as the Queen's life to think they're everyone's main priority, they're not. We have other places to be."

Forcing a smile onto his face, Harry answered the Detective in the best way he could. "I never said they were, Detective." He didn't show any emotions but Harry was secretly glad at the dark glare on Detective Lance's face. Harry had the exceptional ability to make a name of authority sound like an insult, angering whoever he directed it at. He wasn't entirely sure when he'd learnt such a gift but he knew it had come from his many years on Lian Yu

Oliver eventually decided to join the conversation, stepping forwards from the doorway to join the group and ready to defend his friend, whether they had an argument seconds before or not. "Why don't we get on with why you're here," he said, giving the man a weak smile as a greeting. "As much as I love talking to you Detective, you're not out main priority either."

Lance forced out a smile, his anger at Oliver's appearance only showing in his eyes. "Of course, I'd hate to keep you both from your busy lives," he stated, sarcasm laced into ever word. However, before Harry or Oliver could come back with another witty, and most likely anger inducing, comment Detective Lance carried on with his sentence, seeming to gain some form of pleasure from their lack of a comeback. Seriously, Harry thought, when had his live started to revolve around annoying Detectives with his sarcastic and sometimes dry sense of humour? "Mr Potter, could you show my partner the suit you wore to the party two nights ago."

"Yeah, it's in my room, do you come with me or should I bring it down?" he asked, uncertain on what would happen next.

"I'll come with you if you don't mind." Detective Hilton made a gesture towards the stairs and Harry, seeing it, nodded and walked in that direction whilst Detective Hilton followed behind him. He chose to ignore Oliver as he passed the older man and instead looked towards Detective Hilton, feeling the awkwardness hanging in the air as he walked up the stairs. "I see your foot is better," the man stated, a step behind Harry.

Harry bowed his head slightly. "Yeah it is. I'm assuming Detective Lance told you about our late night collision in the glades."

"He did, I just wanted to hear your side of the story"-

"To check if it's the same as before or if any details have changed," Harry finished for him, opening his bedroom door. "Like I told your partner, a girl at the party stood on my foot."

"And do you know this girls name?"

Harry raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I think she said her name was Chelsea Hughes," he explained as he opened his cupboard door and searched through the pile of washing that was slowly building up on the floor. "But you don't need to speak to her; I'm telling you the truth." As he said this he pulled out his shirt and suit jacket, turning to the detective and handing it over to the man that was looking down at the dirty laundry, both disgusted and amused. Smiling sheepishly, Harry shut the cupboard doors.

"I'm sure you are but it's procedure. We're looking into everyone at the party. Talking of which I'm going to need a copy of the guest list." Detective Hilton examined the shirt, the blue stain still visible on the white fabric.

"You'll have to talk to Oliver to get that, or Tommy," he added as the two of them walked out of his bedroom, knowing that at least one of them would have put a list together considering that together both of them seemed to know the majority of the people there. This begged him to ask the question of who knew the screaming group of girls at the bar. Oliver definitely didn't seem to know them and he couldn't imagine Tommy being friendly with them either. Tutting, Harry looked back to the detective. "But there's a good chance that a lot of people that attended the party weren't on the list."

"I have a similar feeling," Detective Hilton admitted, bringing a grin to both of their lips.

"So… these vigilante guys, what do you have on them?" Harry asked, trying his best to sound innocently curious. "Do you know why they attacked Hunt's building?" Detective Hilton stopped mid stride, turning to face Harry and watching him suspiciously. "I'm just curious; you seem to suspect me and Oliver already, I just want to know why."

After looking at Harry for several more seconds in contemplation, Detective Hilton turned away, heading back down the stairs. "I can't say much," he said honestly. "The only reason there was any cause for suspicion was because of your leg but you have a story that explains it and from what I can tell, it adds up so far." Harry nodded, wanting to tell the man that it would continue to add up. He resisted it though, and continued nodding. "As for why they attacked Adam Hunt, they stole forty million dollars from him. It was on the news."

"I'm not a huge fan of the news."

"No one your age is a fan of the news," Detective Hilton stated, humour in his voice as the two slowly relaxed around the other.

"That's true," Harry replied. "But surely you must know something. They must have passed a camera or left a finger print." As he said this, Harry turned to look at the Detective, searching his face for the truth.

"I can't tell you that," the man stated. Harry, however, noticed the faint tightening of the Detectives jaw and the way his eyes darkened ever so slightly in annoyance. The police had nothing on them so far, or at least nothing substantial that they could use to find the vigilantes identities. Fighting back the triumph that wanted to show on his face, Harry made it to the bottom of the stairs and walked over to Detective Lance and Oliver, both of which were walking out of the kitchen, with varying amounts of anger in their eyes.

It turned out that Detective Hilton didn't need to talk to Oliver or Tommy about the guest list. At some point whilst they'd been up stairs, Oliver had found a copy and handed it over to the Detective, probably more than happy to give the man the three sheets of paper. At this moment in time Harry didn't envy the two detectives jobs. It would take them forever to go through and talk to each of the people on that list to find out whether any of them had seen the two vigilantes. And it would all be in vein. Nobody would have seen anything. He and Oliver had made sure of that.

"I have the guest list," Detective Lance said, holding up the sheets of paper and forcing his eyes away from Oliver.

Harry could feel the tension between the two of them, it hanging in the air making Harry and apparently Detective Hilton uncomfortable too for he was quick to change the conversation. "Then we should probably be going," he stated, looking at detective Lance for confirmation. When the man nodded at him in agreement Hilton continued, looking between the two younger men. "If you can think of anything more, please contact us."

"We will, Detective," Oliver replied, following the two men to the door whilst Harry trailed behind them. Whilst the older man was distracted by the two Detectives and the door, Harry took the chance to grab his jacket from the coat hooks and slipped it on, brushing his hand against his back pocket. Knowing that he had his phone on him, he looked over his shoulder for Diggle, knowing that the man would be somewhere in the house, and seeing that he wasn't anywhere near them; Harry took the opportunity he had to leave the house. He didn't feel up to continuing his argument with Oliver, already knowing it would end in one way. A way he wasn't going to like. If Oliver wasn't prepared to help him then he'd deal with Lamont himself.

-o-0-o-

Harry slipped his bow over one shoulder, freeing his hands so he could push up the window and slip into the apartment with minimal difficulty. The apartment that the Martin family had previously lived in was deceivingly big. From the outside, anyone passing by would believe the apartment rooms were in poor condition and small, barely fitting more than a couple of people in, yet after stepping into the room, Harry realised that he and everyone else were very wrong.

Perhaps it was just the Martin family who owned such a clean and big room, after all Jeffrey Martin did work as the right hand man to a billionaire. He could see at least four other doors leading off of the main room which already acted as both a kitchen and living room. It was actually a really nice place, if you ignored the occasional broken piece of furniture or the blood staining the carpet. Jumping down to the floor and landing lightly on his feet, Harry immediately made his way over to blood stains, frowning. At a closer inspection Harry could even see that the carpet would have been expensive too, again clashing with the rundown exterior of the building. He understood the fact the family were well off, and probably appeared to be well off when walking down the street, but the building they lived in gave everyone the impression that they didn't own anything fancy or overly expensive. Why someone would take the risk of robbing them when there were many other people living in Starling city who were clearly living in luxury was beyond Harry.

Standing up, Harry looked around the room, his eyes landing on the set of draws pushed up against the far wall and the thin layer of dust that covered a small part of it. It looked as if a TV screen had been there for many years previously

His frown deepened as he walked closer to it, noticing the tablet lying on the table close by. There couldn't have been more than a metre between the tablet and where the TV used to sit. Again, Harry found himself questioning the legitimacy of this robbery. Even if someone had walked in on the robbers it wouldn't take them any extra time to pick up a tablet they would have to pass by anyway to leave the apartment, especially when it was something that could be re-sold for a lot of money.

The red vigilante found himself shaking his head in disbelief. This was starting to look less like a robbery, he realised, noticing how more and more things weren't adding up. Surely the police weren't certain this was a robbery gone wrong? At first glance it seemed like that but the closer Harry looked at things the idea of a robbery seemed more unlikely.

Harry turned around, heading towards one of the doors when he heard a dull thud come from one of the other rooms. He turned towards the direction of the noise; his ears alert for any other sound, knowing that there was someone else in one of the other rooms.

I'm sorry for the insanely long wait for this chapter but thank you to everyone who read, followed, favourited and reviewed the last chapter: fan-de-carlisle-cullen, BurningDay, white collar black wolf, Old Gregggg, Rin-s666, Damix96, mfmxxx, Lumcer, and dgfnfgn. I have no idea when the next chapter will be up but hopefully it won't be too long.