This story will foreshadow what is going to happen with the characters in Pantogogue, certainly, but I thought it was worth it… hope you forgive me. In the meantime, try and enjoy the trio's holiday.
Brynn x Out in the Open
x
Egypt agrees with me. I've spent two weeks within the confines of Bill's house and terrace, with only Charlie and Bill for company, and it was the best time of my life. The sexual tension between Charlie and myself has diminished to nothing, between Bill and myself rose to the point when we've had sex almost anywhere (including the bathroom, kitchen, hall and one early-aborted attempt outside on the terrace), before we've calmed down slightly and were able to have an entire conversation without an orgasm.
I suppose my breaking in into the world of sex could have been gentler, but, judging by past experience (I'm usually thrown into unknown to either swim or drown), it was to be expected. There is very little bashfulness and no regrets, even after several instances when Charlie couldn't keep himself from admonishing us. We simply fell in lust, and I took sex as pills against depression.
I must say, it worked wonderfully. It shouldn't have, on a normal person at least, but when have I ever been normal? If I had been a textbook example, Hermione could have dealt with me long ago. Although, as I'm not normal at all, I'm glad it's Bill rather than Hermione. Ron would kill me… and it would effectively destroy many, many friendships.
Today is the fifteenth of November 1996, and I'm going out. Alone.
x
I have come to terms with the fact that my life is subjected to Murphy's laws. Every time I allow either my curiosity or my righteousness to lead me into unknown or uncertain conditions, they quickly become known and unpleasant. I am not one of those lucky fictional characters that only need to step out the door and take their life into their own hands, and they meet a helpful stranger who shows them the ropes and assists them in saving the world.
I suppose Hagrid had attempted to show me some ropes, and maybe that marked me for a life of meeting a slew of very unhelpful strangers every time I stick my nose out.
I'm not sure who these are – worshippers of Seth or Apophis, most likely, but the one that grabbed me and jabbed a wand into the back of my neck is neither Egyptian, nor a stranger. He wears three layers of white cloth to disguise himself as a local and to prevent his Dark Mark from showing through his sleeve.
"What a chance meeting," he purrs into my ear while I search my memory for a face to go with the once un-pureblood-ly pimply face. Either way, I am inclined to disagree with him – a person as cynical as I am doesn't tend to believe in coincidences – but in the end I decide to keep my mouth shut.
Another thing I have come to terms with – I muse as I let myself be prodded and pulled away from public places, towards the local Death Eater hideout (I walk with a rather surprising lack of fear that comes either from remnants of depression or from some sort of mental disorder) – is that I can't seem to learn to stay safe. There is only one way to preserve me then: to become more dangerous than my danger. Am I so far at this point in time?
As I think about it, the entire world slides into perspective around me. I feel lighter, brighter, as though I had a taste of Charlie's calm. My body moves as if it was built of confidence, eternal and indestructible. It's a mere illusion, but, in this instance, a highly useful one.
Five minutes later, I'm steered through a door and, against all reasonable expectations, it's not an entrance to a temple. The room looks like an office of some kind. The first thing that crosses my mind is 'embassy'. I consider pretending to trip over the threshold, but the Death Eater behind me is a former Quidditch player, with better than average reflexes, and I wouldn't gain any advantage either way.
I walk obediently, ignoring the three men sitting in the room in case that they could see in my eyes that I don't fear them. They laugh at me, three hyenas, loud and self-assured – but waiting for someone else to do the hard job so that they can join in on the celebratory feast.
I'm directed through another door, round the corner (where the wand looses contact with my skin for a few seconds) and up a narrow dank staircase stinking of urine.
As opposed to the foolish bravado I used to exercise in the past, I don't speak at all, and I don't get angry; he takes my silence for dejection. I catch a glimpse of a training field through a grimy window and correct my first impression. The building is not an embassy – it's barracks. I temporarily ended in the hands of Egyptian foreign legion or whatever…
Obviously, they are not overly smart though, since they didn't search me for a wand yet. Not that it would help them, since I don't actually have a wand with me (which spells that I'm not overly smart myself). It's still somewhere among the mess in the backpack Charlie carried from Scotland… anyway, it's not here.
Atop the staircase we have to take another turn, and this time I'm prepared for it. As soon as the tip of the wand cedes touching my skin, I spin around and smash the heel of my palm into Mr Quidditch-player's solar plexus. He's winded enough to not pose any danger for a moment – I use that to divest him of the wand, and shatter his windpipe. Bye, bye.
I wait until he's dead, and then turn my back on him and continue the way he was leading me. I come to a newer door with – most likely – a name written on it, but it's in Naskh, so I have no idea what it says. I knock.
"Amou!" yells a rough male voice from inside. I have no idea what it means, but, since he's apparently alone, I enter.
It is an office. Light comes in through a window on the left side. The wall opposite is covered with a huge flag with red, white and black stripe. A very ugly middle-aged man sits in front of it, behind a desk, holding a cava pen. Through the single layer of light white cloth, a black tattoo of a snake across his chest is clearly visible. A worshipper of Apophis, then…
…but I have been blessed by Khepri, and by extension by Ra. It doesn't get much better than that.
He rapidly stands up and lets go of the pen. I take a second to judge how dangerous an opponent he is, but he's not a wizard – he's a military officer. There is a grey uniform shirt hanging over the back of his chair, he wears grey uniform pants, and to my right a black uniform jacket hangs on a rack.
"Nim-"
I silence him, using the stolen wand and Accio a scabbard that dangles on a belt from the same rack. Inside is a sleek saif; it's a bit lighter than Gryffindor's sword, but fits into my hand well. The man opposite me recovers a gun from somewhere, but I get it away from him faster than he can unlock the safety.
I destroy the wand, and get on with what I do best – what I was trained for.
x
I skulk back to the house under the cover of the night, wearing the jacket I took from the Apophis-worshipper. I have decided I want to keep it as a war booty, mostly because it's the single most stylish piece of clothing I have ever owned (including the dress robes I wore to the Yule Ball).
The streets are vacant; local population seems to be trained to not leave their houses after sundown. Whoever I might meet here is likely to be some kind of criminal, but, on the other hand, I am a kind of criminal myself, am I not? Therefore I'm not much worried, just careful.
Nevertheless, I manage to get back to where I set out from a few hours prior without injury to my person, and with no worse-for-wear attackers in the streets of the town. The windows are dark; the house looks empty.
With trepidation, I climb the warded ladder up to the terrace. Once there, I take off my sandals, the belt with scabbard with the saif in it (which I nicked too, deeming it wise to carry a weapon with myself), and wrap it all in the jacket. The door hums under my fingers, but opens when I prod it. The obligatory creak is missing as I move into the obscurity, making small steps and touching the wall with the tips of my fingers to avoid stepping on Bill's work.
I shuffle to the door to my room (actually, it's Bill's room, but it's been temporarily released to me). I still can't hear anything, so I walk in.
In the dim light of a single candle I find Bill sitting on the bed, leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed, face taut as if in pain, hands gripping the silk cover I have once worn as a skirt.
"Bill? What's happened?" I ask quietly.
He blinks, unsure whether he truly heard a voice or just imagined it. When he spots me, the reaction is instantaneous. He springs from the bed toward me (my utmost trust is the only reason why I allow it without attempting to defend) and gathers me into his arms. He cradles me against his chest, breathing ruggedly, on the verge of crying.
"Oh gods, Harry…"
I stroke his hair as he buries his face in my nape.
"Bill?" I repeat.
"You were gone so long…" He kisses the patch of skin over my collarbone, closest to his lips. "I thought you were…" another kiss, "…not coming back. I though you were…"
He thought I was dead, and it reduced him to this. I'm practically hanging in his embrace, in too awkward a position to keep my own balance, while he mouths disjointed pieces of sentences and kisses every inch of me he can get to. It's actually far more bewildering and disconcerting than arousing.
"Bill…" I speak again. He lifts me and carries me onto the bed where he dislodges me into his lap, making me even more uncomfortable than I already was. Only then, completely certain that I am alright, he releases me from his grip.
"I'm sorry…" he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I was just scared."
That doesn't bode well. He shouldn't be afraid for me. It will merely bring him more pain when we'll have gone back, and I will continue my war. He has to come to terms with it. I'm not his to worry about – I wasn't in the first place, but already forced into continuing my life I will be the one to make it, myself. Separate from him. I should have known he would become attached.
"What's happened?" I ask anew, because this is far more pressing right now than the discussion about our relationship (which is temporarily relegated to near future).
"Diana found us."
"Who is Diana?"
"Charlie's owl…" he explains. "She turned up around six. Charlie's gone with her to take care of the letter, but when you weren't coming I thought she was somehow traced…"
I tune out Bill's rambling and concentrate my thoughts. That actually explains a lot – for instance the chance meeting with a Slytherin a few years senior to me. There were actually only four wizards in the barracks, but I'd bet more are scattered throughout the town. It's not safe here anymore. The house might be under Fidelius, but that won't protect Bill when he steps outside.
Whichever well-intentioned idiot sent us an owl?!
One who wanted us to return, I suppose. Well, he shall have his wish. There isn't much choice for us now. I would have very much liked to remain for another week, but it's not possible. Two, most three days from today we ought to be gone.
"…where were you?"
Bill has collected himself enough that I'm sure he'll neither hit the roof nor burst in tears when I tell him.
"Diana was traced. I met a few old pals, and sent them where they belong," I announce calmly. I don't see his face, but can guess that it goes through several colours and expressions before he replies.
"Fuck."
I laugh.
"It's alright, War. They would have had to wake up earlier in the morning to get a shot through. But we'll have to go back to Hogwarts soon."
I would very much like to get off now, either in celebration of my so-called victory, or just to take my mind off the reality of our return journey, but Bill seems to need a different kind of comfort. Charlie's the best for this, but, unfortunately, he's not here, so it falls to me. Therefore we're still fully clothed when Bill falls asleep.
x
"Harry," someone whispers in my ear. I wake up (somewhat surprised that I'm not naked) and see Charlie leaning over me. He puts a finger to his lips and gestures to the door. I disentangle myself from Bill without waking him and follow Charlie out into the hall. He shuts the door behind us.
"Did you get back alright yesterday?"
I nod, trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes. Yeah, yesterday was a horrible day.
"Bill was in a right state," I mumble. Charlie sighs. I reckon we both think the same – Bill's too attached. He has to accept that I'll be gone in a few days, and most likely not coming back to him. He should get married and we'll never speak of this trip again.
"I saw you sword," Charlie remarks. "It was bloody."
Oh damn, I forgot to clean it. I think I'll keep it at least until I get back to Hogwarts and get my hand's on Gryffindor's sword… although, now that I think about it, why should I prefer a too-heavy relic, when I have a perfectly good weapon here? I might have killed its previous owner and it won't fit into a hat, but it feels better to me and slices with more ease.
Charlie lifts his eyebrows, and I realise he's waiting for an answer to an un-stated question.
"I got abducted and chopped my way out," I say with an insane grin. It's not real, but Charlie's interrogation is not nice, especially so early in the morning, and I want to spread my unhappiness. "Already told Bill we'll have to move. And good morning to you too, Peace," I drawl in an imitation of Draco, turn my back on Charlie and walk to the bathroom.
x
Half an hour later, I'm having breakfast with both of them. They keep giving me a wide range of discontent expressions, from anger to reproof to fear, while I do my best to ignore them. It's none of their business. I shouldn't even be here. It's just them sticking their noses where they don't belong. If they don't like the way I am, they should have just fucking left me to die.
I let the fork rattle on the plate and abandon the neigh-full plate on the table.
They stare at me as I depart; Bill calls something, but I've already decided to ignore them. I walk out onto the terrace and soak up the sunlight. The horizon lost its uniqueness after days I've spent here, so I stand with my eyes closed and try to clear my mind. It, shockingly, seems easy. My emotions have returned after five months of absence, but I've retained the ability to Occlude.
Once I stop being irritable, I find that all three of us could have handled that better. They were too worried, I was being too flippant. Charlie's first question was about how I'm feeling, and I got snarky with him because of that. A lot like Snape, I've become, with all my bitterness, cynicism, and contempt for those who care. Humanity is just so stupid.
A single tear of frustration slides down my cheek, and I feel arms locking around me from behind. I'm glad it's not Charlie – I'm not in the mood to be presented with his perfection right now. Bill has flaws, and I appreciate them more than he'll ever know.
"Don't be mad, Harry," he says quietly, subdued. I comply. "It was beautiful, and I loved every minute of it while it lasted." The ice within me melts. "I'll be here for you as long as I can. Whenever you need something… I'll be here for you. I'll be right here…"
I spin around in his arms and meet him halfway for a kiss. It's the first time I put in something more than just desire or hope for comfort. It's full of hurt and giving up and tenderness, because we both care. It matters more than it should; although I don't feel as strongly as they must have, I suppose this irrational need and despair is the reason why they refused to let me die. I don't think I can fight it either… trouble is, I must.
x
While we pack, I ask the question that's been nagging me since Halloween.
"Why War and Peace?" In hindsight, it wasn't such a good idea, but the silence was leaving too much space for bad thoughts. It's strange to talk while we don't even see each other, but it's better than not talk at all.
"Pet names. We got them from Fred and George when they were about five. I don't believe they remember it – we don't use them around the rest of the family." But they do around me. I suppose I shouldn't have let my hopes get too high. "You're the first apart from us to know." Then again, maybe I should have.
"You need one, too," Bill says suddenly. Well, there are less sensible things we could fill the silence with…there must be, right?
"Violence," I state. That fits me perfectly. It's what I told Snape in July, and I still feel like that. After the day before yesterday I don't doubt that the new me is just the same.
"No-o," he whines, hiding the indignation that I would suggest something so horrible, behind mocking. As if 'War' wasn't equally tasteless. "Too long." I grin maniacally. It's still an empty, feeling-less expression, but at least I try.
"I thought Eclipse, but it doesn't fit," Charlie intervenes with something that he hopes won't lead to an argument or, in the worse case, a fight. "And Effervescence is ginormous."
"Vex," I suggest, sounding serious but keeping a heavy load of irony silent for private amusement. All my things are packed and I walk into the hall.
"That's just a synonym to your name," Charlie waves it off, giving me a covert glare for my not sneaky enough cynicism. "How could your parents saddle you with that…" I resent that. I might not exactly like my name, but that's not a reason to insult my parents. Charlie's more likely to get cursed than Bill now. I grit my teeth and stand next to the door, ready to go.
"Stria…" Bill suggests wearily. Yeah, Latin's supposed to sound cool and magical. Except that…
"It sounds like Draco's wit from a year ago." I don't bother keeping myself from scowling. I feel like hurting someone. Permanently.
"This debate is pointless," Charlie announces (smart lad, isn't he?), looking around to see whether we forgot something. Each of us carries a personal storm cloud over his head, and were we to come close enough to each other, there would be lightning. It's the highest time to shut up. "You'll stumble upon a name, and it will stick."
I nod. I don't think that they realise that I had too many nicknames in the past. So far, only one stuck, and I definitely wouldn't want to have them calling me Freak.
"So, how are we coming back to UK?" I ask stepping out on the terrace, for the last time taking in the view.
"I've got a permanent two-way Portkey," Bill replies. He carries a suitcase and a shrunk trunk. I take the suitcase from his hand and he searches in his pocket for the object. It's a (Ministry-approved) huge brass key, which Bill keeps on a chain fastened to his clothes on the opposite end. "It's tuned to the Burrow, though, so be on your guard."
I silently nod and take out my wand. Our eyes meet for a moment; he lets go of the key (which dangles on the chain and bumps into his calf) and cups my face in both hands. I know this is the last time. Once we take that Portkey this cedes being real. It'll become a mere dream, something to think of when the reality goes to Hell. My heart beats too fast and my hands shake, but it's the fucking last kiss and we make the most of it.
Charlie patiently waits for us to separate. Once we do, Bill lifts the key and Charlie and I touch it (there's just enough room for our fingers).
And Bill says: "Home."