Fae magic was complicated. When it was 'turned on', iron and salt hurt him, but he was better with words.
What word had Mummy Door used? Chars'mat-ic. Or something. Plus, his eyes glowed. A bit. Not a lot. But he knew what people wanted and were afraid of! Well, afraid of. Wanted was a LOT harder.

But the contracts were the hardest. He had to learn to never agree to anything. EVER. After all, Fae couldn't lie, but as a result, everything was a magical 'contract'. So, when he asked the Flower-girl "Will you help me?", if she had answered "yes" then she would have to help him with everything.

That was complicated.

Flower-girl said "We'll see." It was harder for her, though - she couldn't turn off her Fae completely, like he could.

Then again, she could throw fireballs. And he couldn't. Unfair.

Flower-girl threw a knife at him.

"HEY!"

"Stop dreaming!"

Harry didn't bother with words. Her French accent was terrible, and he heard high and gentlemanly accents (courtesy of Richard and Remus) and weird cockney Downtown-London (courtesy of living in London Below).

No, Harry didn't bother with words. Flower-girl was immune to Charisma, anyway.

Harry tackled her. She was three years older than him.

He had seen a pocket of the 1920s, when gangs had ranged due to the Great Depression. That was when the famous Glasgow Smile became widespread. So Harry had seen a lot of hand-to-hand fighting (not that he was good at it - he just had the excitement). And Flower-girl didn't like hurting Harry. He still wasn't winning. Unfair.

"FLEUR! HARRY! What are you two doing? Get here RIGHT NOW."
Mummy Door was very scary. Harry pushed his long hair away and blinked green eyes at her. Fleur hugged herself, looking down slightly, letting silver hair swing around her. Pout, pout, pout.

"That doesn't work on me." It worked on her. Mummy was already smiling.

"Harry, you're going with Richard to the Marquise - he's looking at your scar, because it still hasn't settled. Don't know what he'll ask for... And Fleur? You and Remus are going to find information about Greyback. He's been getting too close... sniffing around the Roman Encampment, I was there only last week! I, meanwhile, will be looking for my sister. Now... SCAT!"

Fleur and Harry scatted. Er. Scooted? Scet? He was four - he shouldn't worry about such things, anyway. All he understood was that he had to go with Richard, and everything else made no sense. But that's OK. It didn't matter.

"So... what's wrong with his scar?" Richard's eyes were cold as he took in a sleeping Harry on the cot. Well. It was a table with a crude mattress on top.

"It appears to be a soul shard." The Marquis' voice was oily.

"I see. And for this diagnosis, I suppose I don't owe you anymore? After all, you owe the fae, so by asking you to look over Harry's scar, we are making sure you fulfill your duties. And, if you get rid of this so-called soul shard, destroy it, whatever, then I'll owe you."

"I think not. After all, you chose to bring this to my attention and disrupt my day - "

"I'm babysitting a girl named Fleur. And her grandmother is a Veela. A French Fae. If you don't tell me everything you know about this so-called soul shard, I will tell her that you were unwilling to help her people."

As it turned out, the Marquis knew a lot about soul shards. He had made his own, at one point, and it was with the soul shard's help he was brought back to life. Normally, shards were stored inside inanimate objects... for good reason. At this point, the shard and Harry's soul were fighting against each other, and to stay in the body, the shard was slowly siphoning off Harry's magic. There were two things he could do - a) pull out the shard right now and destroy it. It would be painless because Harry was unconscious. Or, b) change the relationship. Harry would be siphoning off the shard's power, so that Harry got a power boosts and a lot of extra information.

No, not the shard's memories - that was mind, not soul. But things like math or languages or some sort of talent - music or something. Harry would have an easier time learning that, it would be more natural to him. And he would be a natural at those things. However, Harry would have to siphon off power from the shard for at least four years before the shard ran out of energy to fight back, at which point it would be pushed out. Every moment the shard stayed was dangerous, and when the shard was pushed out... well, Harry would experience a few hours of pain.

But he would know a lot of random bits and pieces of things. It was Harry's choice, when he woke up.

Harry, being three, didn't really understand the question they were asking him. He liked his scar, and wanted to keep it for a few more years at least!

"Wait. So you'll help me?" he asked the Marquis innocently.

"Yes, Harry, I will." And the Marquis felt the contract being signed. Goddamn it. He would have to help the brat without any owing involved... crap. And by Harry's smirk, he clearly knew it.

Or not - Harry seamed triumphant about getting ice cream, not help.

On another note, Harry really really liked his scar. So Harry chose the latter option, prompting him being put to sleep and back onto the table.

It was a long operation. Richard left after the first few seconds. He really couldn't stomach too much blood, Hunter or not.

In front of the Tower of London, Remus was smiling at Old Bailey. With Fleur perched on his hip, smiling and blinking her big blue eyes, Bailey was singing like his birds. Which was to say, badly, with a lot of croaking, and with few pleasant notes. Also, easily heard, even through all the din of the Floating Market.

"Greyback, eh? He was gathering the other weres... ugly fellow, he'd always yellow eyes. Not even close to eh full moon, but he had 'em eyes! Asking 'bout a kid. Someone with green eyes, from Betwe'en. Said he'd be around three now... Greyback's been looking in Between for the last three years, but listen, if he's gone to Below now, then he'll find the kid. Lady Door's not exactly quiet about it. And - "

"Ah."

There was silence. Slowly, Remus turned around, his eyes cold. Bailey stuttered and closed shop, and Fleur slid out of Remus' arms to hide. Oh, market truce was great and all.
Fenrir happened to be a murderer, who was casually swinging a knife.

He was baring his teeth, yellow and bloody, and his hand was wrapped around some random boy. The boy was scared, eyes wide and breathing rapidly.

"Lead me to this little boy of yours. Or I will kill the boy, Market Truce or not. And bring your little girl with you - don't want her running off and telling people. If I don't see your little Harry within two hours, all three of you die. Starting with the boy, ending with you, and you'll have to watch both deaths."

Fleur appeared, taking Remus' hand, and Remus numbly began to lead them to a small 1890's Opium Den, run by the Marquis. It was a dirty business - get them hooked, so they always have to come back.

Just the sort of thing the Marquis would do.

Maybe if Fenrir somehow got drugged...? Remus was slowly beginning to panic. He had no idea what to do, and he couldn't let Harry get hurt, and oh my god, that was Fenrir Greyback, the bastard that bit him -

Trying not to hyperventilate, Remus kept walking.

There was someone Hunting his Pack.

There was a rival Alpha. Close. Smell...

It was damp and dirty, like a worn forest floor, with a full moon and whistling. Richard picked up his spear.

Remus, pale and blinking away tears, and holding a crying Fleur, opened the door and stepped inside, revealing the rival Alpha holding a knife to a boy's throat.

Hunt!