Shoot me. I would applaud you really- for making you all wait so bloody long. I dislike this chapter, but I hope y'all feel differently. Or not. I never have much confidence here…at all.
WHICH MEANS I PRACTICALLY FAINTED WHEN I CHECKED MY ACCOUNT! YOU ARE ALL BRILLIANT! I LOVE YOU!
thanks to all who reviewed, favorited or followed- you are all awesome, even if you didn't stop to talk. I understand- and I hope you know it means just as much to me 3
Onward...
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Harry thought he heard wrong. The words had come out of the Earls mouth, like drops of poison, quiet and melodic and burning with familiarity. He could remember the boys thin, commanding voice murmuring over his torture, the prodding questions and the vicious suspicion, having bits of Harry-Just-Harry being peeled back- as if the desolate persona he had molded to protect himself from his timeless agony was nothing more than the crumbling shell of an egg. And Harry could remember spilling out of the cracks.
"I-I'm human…I have to be…h-human…"
"'M not, not l-l-lIKe…! I-I'm not like you. I'm…special…'m a w-wi-wiz-..."
"He's all I have left."
"K-kill me..!"
He had died so many time in the last few hours alone- no number of beautiful, silken finery and softly lit rooms could chase away those cold fingers drawing up his spine, so at odds with the heat of the hallows (they had found their way back to him from where they and probably inevitably fallen to the floor of the cell). Fuck it if it didn't hurt- in the way that just living hurt, far back in his mind behind the tiredness, and the facade of normality…
Harry did not hate easily, or quickly- he loved all to easily. But he did hate the earls voice- and the Earls words, and that odd feeling that talking to and being talked at by another human person- despite said person being four feet tall and arrogant- sparked. It made him feel more human than he had in all the long, scary years before. Humans felt hate. They cared if someone stuck a knife in their gut. They cared if someone stole their breakfast, or wife, or money. And Harry hated the Earl- because he, and his poisonous words, bloody irked him. To no end.
"You will be my gamekeeper." -The boy murmured pompously, slitted eye obscured by a veil of illuminated eyelashes, " My groundsman, if you will. Horses, game, the dogs- they'll all be your responsibility."
"Ah! Welcome to me hut, 'Arry! Min' the mess dere, I haven' had company 'ere in quite the season? Where you bin' at boy? No' trouble I 'ope?"
"Me? Keeper o' Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts- I am!"
"Names Rubeus, Rubeus Hagrid- an' you Harry, are a wizard!"
…Him? Harry? Whoever he was now- Finnys brother, the Earls (soon to be? Sudden?) Dog, the "Master of Death"- a gamekeeper?
Fate always did love her irony.
"Harry?" he was interrupted by a politely irritated voice, and Harry turned his blank gaze to the Earls pale, screeched face- "Have you heard a word I've said or are you just dim?"
"…Harry? Are you purposefully ignoring me, or did one of the Death Eaters lodge their wand up your ass along with their Confundus?…" Merlin, he sounded almost like Draco had… Harry groped around for his voice- shoving the nauseating nostalgia away so he could say-
"Earl?"
His voice came out calmer, less bitter that he thought it would. His face felt inordinately stiff- like the boys semi-silken frock. The Earl shot him an inquisitive look. "…I…Did I hear you right?" he dredged up the exact words, " Umm, the groundskeeper? Of Phnatomhive Manor? Your Manor?" His arm rose and made a vague, grandiose gesture to the sparkling room, eyebrow jumping on his face- " This Manor?"
A pause, where Harry quickly ran back over that word. Then, hysterically- " Groundkeeper?!" Like Hagrid had been…!
The Earl was definitely looking at him as if a bit of brain had slithered out of his mouth- or he was just particularly idiotic. He was poised slightly within a mote of light, to Harry's left bedside, upturned face tilting his piercing gaze so his eye slid down his nose as Harry, the single cerulean orb just a sliver of incredulous teal. The squinty, patronizing quirk of the eye though, was infinitely better than being stared at like he was some rotten hunk of meat to dissect and tamper with.
"Yes, Harry." The Earl enunciated slowly, features melting into brilliant, indulgent smile which practically glittered, "Groundskeeper. It means you…wiiiiiill…beeeee-"
"I know what it means!"
"Good." the boy huffed, shrugging off Harry's pouty glare and standing up, "Then we are in accordance to each others schedule."
His small hands roughly brushed off several poofs of dust from the boys navy blue frock, in a picky manner eerily similar to Malfoys clumsily elegant son- Scorpius. The two had the same straight, silky hair, and the droopy eyes, the severity of their prematurely solomn expressons -haunted by the ghosts of bloody fathers and mothers- were tempered by round, baby cheeks…Molly Weasley in all her formidable motherly glory would have, once upon a time, itched to pinch them until they swelled.
Uurgh.
Now Harry couldn't rip his eyes away from his face, which made a truly, alarmingly familiar array of expressions. He could imagine the Earls pouty, disgruntled face easily enough- cerulean eyes wide and teary, his cheeks swollen and red from being pinched roughly….wrinkling his nose when Molly would attempt to clean his face with her thumb, like Ron would…drowning in a sea of hand-stitched slate jumper…
((Bad thoughts bad thoughts! You. Hate. Phantomhive. There is no fondness. No nostalgia. No familiarity. Just hate..!))
The boy caught his gaze, making a weird face even as Harry struggled to dim the old sting of nostalgia, and AGAIN brushed off Harry's wide eyes and straying thoughts with the tail end of a conversation- which required just that extra touch of dramatics too make it seem like he didn't actually care.
"So, " he drawled, honest to goodness drawled, like that fucking Ferret had so long ago, "Has whatever freaky power you posses allowed you to…recover?"
His eyes flickered to his knobby hands, which shook with a fine tremor.
Nope.
Harry's body felt like shit, still tingling with the coldness from waking, he hated the word 'freaky' and though the finery was fascinating and wonderful, the delicate cloths felt like acid against his sensitive skin. His clothes did nothing to hide the Hallows- which he no longer registered conciously- and he had weird memories in his head from the torture, from the Earls face, from his dazed wakening…
But he nodded anyways, grinning savagely. It could have been - and on some of occasions HAD been - much worse.
"I've…recovered quite nicely thank you." He wiggled his fingers in front of the Earls nose- letting bitterness seep into his voice as the joints cracked painfully and rapidly, "Brand new model, just about!"
Phantomhive smiled chillingly, looking again as if Harry's face was something more akin to a turd than…well. To the Earl it probably was about as savory as a turd. Or shit. Or trash. Or scum. Or-
"And you?" asked Harry, turning his gaze to the lavish room, specifically the shiny golden candelabra which sparkled innocently at him from a low table opposite his bed, beside the door- "You seem to have handled the 'experimenting' rather well."
"Yes, well…I learned a satisfactory amount then." Immediately Harry stiffened under the Earls pining gaze. The Earls Eyes were sharp, narrowed superiorly down at him, boring into his mournful dreading relentlessly. The boy liked what he saw, and smirked mysteriously at Harry's downturned face. Harry didn't need to question what the Earl knew, his posture screamed whatwhatwhattellmetellmenow- and a slight hint of desperately curious magic glistened over his skin like sweat- unnoticeable.
The Earl answered, "You can't die." Harry flinched violently, and the boy took it as confirmation, nodding slowly, gaze carefully reading the hunkered over wizards every twitch and grimace.
"If, and when you do die- you come right back."
Another flinch, at the mention of that place. Harry's gaze darkened.
"You bleed- like a human." All too well. "You can be drugged. Your limbs don't grow back- they reattach, and your regeneration isn't fast. You still feel pain."
Their eyes met, Harry's a sea of remembered torture and twisted souls, the Earls dark and flinty- unforgiving where they picked at Harry's being and carefully, coldly dissected him. Phantomhive didn't need a yes to know that he had caused agony in the wizard, and curiosity sparked, dull and flickering, in his eyes for the puzzle that was Harry-Just-Harry. Like a dog with a bone, Harry thought with a stirring of unease.
"I have one more question for you, Harry." Phantomhive said softly, his gaze on Harry's upturned face hard and searching, " ...Are you human?"
Harry looked down. No. "Yes…maybe."
The Earl snorted, tossing his head, and Harry let his gaze dissolve once more into the fabric over his lap, calloused fingers twining in silk unconsciously, agitated, drowsy magic sparking at his fingertips.
"…I'm leaving now." the Earl said at last, rising swiftly to his feet- Harry had forgotten how short he was- " Do you have anything el- anything at all to tell me? Species? Nationality? Last name?"
Mutely, Harry met the Earls eyes, face blank. The boy sighed, already moving.
"You begin tomorrow, " The Earl said flippantly, over his shoulder, as he he picked up his cane and stalked swiftly to the large ornate door across the foot of Harry's bed. His subtly swayng form paused by the handle, and teasing grey eyes fastened on burning green the earlier intensity replaced by mischeviousness. The Earl grinned- teeth bared smirkingly, and did a jaunty -but still elegant- waggle of his head.
"Want me to send in Finny?"
Why why why did everything that came out that boys mouth have to effect Harry so much?- he always said something, something that tilted the axis of the world, that shook Harry's composure, ripped unwanted, unneeded words from his lips- it was more effective than a cruciatus! How was Harry supposed to answer that question when he had just been thinking about the silly Malfoy-ish cane and the itch of his wand on his hip-bone, and that pearly chandelier, about Potter being changed to something -Gray maybe?- and…
...Finny!
"Twig…" Harry whispered, and the Earl smirked- 'I'll take that as a yes.'-, slipping from the room with a soft click of the door, and a puff of cool fresh air. The boys ridiculous, short cape-thing that swaddled his shoulders billowed after him - Snape- and suddenly Harry was alone with only
the bed, weighting down his numbed legs.
Was he wearing clothes? (Clothes are important) Fumbling hands rising to a collar. Yes. Not his own, pale, and starched, like a uniform, plain.
The moment of truth- he had been waiting for this- Finny had been waiting for this-
The Hallows, where-? The invisibility cloak- an imperceptibly thin rope knotted around his weigh like a sash…The Elder Wand, tucked against his side, solid and pulsing heatedly…The ring, on his finger, had appeared after he woke up, and melted into his knuckles like a second skin… He didn't even care to think if the Earl had noticed the Hallows, if the boy knew or- There were small, warm hands raising buzzing lines against his chilled flanks, fingers wriggling through holes in his clothes, worming into pockets and investigating their emptiness. A quiet voice, close to his ear grumbled irritatedly in time with his hitched breaths as his fresh, over-sensitive skin was prodded roughly - or if that part of him, too, was going to be picked apart and laid bare.
" I know you're every secret Harrrrry, you're every dream…your wishes…your naughty doubts…that guilt, and responsibility you have piled overrr yourrrr shoulderssss….Becaussse, Harrry, I can read yourrr mind… I exist….In your mind!"
His thoughts were too loud. Louder than the Hallows. Louder than the fading clip-clop of Phantomhive, walking away. Louder than Voldemort's sibilant voice had actually been all those world ago…There was silence in the room, apart from the gentle swaying of window curtains, and his own, harsh breathing. Harry- squashing his incessant thoughts- sat, and waited...
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The violins rattling voice, which had previously been swaying and dancing to the whims of Mozart and a rosin-clad bow, broke off into a horrifying cacophony of squealing strings and dying cat-noises. A second later and the Stradivarius crashed into a porcelain vase.
"Sebastian…" growled the low voice of one supremely-irritated pre-teen, " Is there some reason why- despite my order for you to send Finny in that freaks room right away- that our insufferable groundskeeper has taken to pacing so bloody incessantly, RIGHT OVER MY CEILING?!"
The solomn faced butler idly picked a violin string from his satin shoulder- face a morose mask s he answered, " I'm afraid, Master, that Finny believed despite my assurances otherwise, that the Harry in question was more defiantly not his Harry, and felt he would…garden, a bit, before meeting him."
Silence. The crack of a bow as the soft pitter-patter of footsteps sounded above. Shards of maple dropped from between twitching pale fingers.
"…He was quite adamant."
A single, cerulean eye, flashed.
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Harry sighed as he paced, stubbornly pushing past the queasiness that rose in his every time his body shifted and his hip popped, or something in his calves tore, or the joints in his toes cracked loudly. He was going to see Finny. To see Twig- Twig, who he had been stupid and weak enough to love, to let in, to bond with-…
Harry quickly squashed the memories. He wouldn't go there. Not yet. Though it was unfortunately true…Harry despised caring so much for Finny. The gnawing feeling of worry in the pit of his gut, the flush of pleasure in his cheeks when he remembered that bright, goofy smile, the itch in his fingertips to brush that familiar curve of cheek…not so familiar now that Harry hadn't seen the boy in years. He didn't know how many- just that that time was one blurry expanse of terror, and pain, and drugs, and brief snatches of clarity where there was a Finny.
(( Because a 'Finny' was something so vivid and bright, even before his shockingly blonde hair grew in, and all Harry could define a 'Finny' as was the splotches of color- teary eyes, grinning cheeks, rust bloodstained but soft hands.))
Finny- who he thought about, like he thought about Ron, and Hermione, and Neville. How he thought about the clusters of people he had met…and loved, back when Harry had still been Harry, Harry Potter, a confused, selfless little boy who hated small dark places and jumped when any-one too pale appeared in his peripheral vision- still haunted by dreams of screaming, green light, laughter, and the cold bodies of his friends and family.
That Harry was dead. He had had died, over and over and over, and eventually Harry Just-Harry had woken up in the cold, merciless world, without even that innocence to hold together the fragments and broken bits…
…Or maybe not that merciless, Harry mused, spinning abruptly on his heel, for that world had eventually thrown Finny at him.
And a whole load of other problems… said a sulky voice in his head. One of those problems was just below him- Harry and heard him throw what could have been a vase or coffee mug at the span of wood separating Harry's feet from the space above the Earls head. Earlier that that- the dying squeal of a violin, and the brutal desecration of it's corpse. The reedy, despondent whine had been too comical- the memory brought a faint, bemused smirk to Harry's lips.
Finny. Reminded something in Harry. The sound of his new name brought his magic bubbling to his skin like an eager puppy, happy and flushed with affection- even though Harry's face took the reminder as a reprimand and flinched. Oh jesus, he tore at his hair, he just couldn't stop worrying and worrying and worrying…
"What do I do…" he groaned. This was not how he wanted Finny to meet him… not how he wanted to essentially come back to life in front of his brother. He eyed the bed- he had wanted, hoped, that he would be brought to Finny, not the other way around, that Harry could have thrown himself on the ground and prostrated himself before Finny condemned him, as he surely would. Harry and seen loved ones die - that was practically his job occupation- and he knew how much hatred and resentment that sowed, so why would he be exempt? He couldn't, quite remember, but he had died in front of Finny, brutally and harshly and he had stayed down for so, so long.
Harry himself had almost believed he had died. Magical suicide, muggle drugs, and a lightning storm- the result, that cool edge to his magic had remained for weeks before dissipating. To Finny, Harry's body would have been still.
Cold.
Dead.
Lifeless.
Absolutely, unforgivable.
Maybe dramatics would help. Tears; poised on that silken bed, looking wan and sickly- Harry begging for forgiveness as he should…He sighed- what was he thinking, coming up with such a stupid and idiotic idea. Manipulative, that was what Harry was becoming. A manipulative old fool.
Twinkling blue eyes, a kind and gentle smirk, the smell and feel of lemon drops floating on the aura that was his ancient and archaic magic- like the warmth of a second skin. "Hallows, Harry. Not Horcruxes." Tears of relief and of fondness.
Footsteps, still distant, approached the door. Harry froze, heart hammering, he wasn't ready yet! He threw a couple panicked looks around the room for something, anything - a prop, a hiding place,a peace offering- anything at all to help him. The bed! urged an inner voice, You're injured, just sit on the bed!
Well, that was reasonable, definitely more reasonable that hunkering down under the invisibility cloak, or shrinking himself to fit in that ornate vase under the windowsill, as Harry had been briefly contemplating, a thousand other schemes clambering in his brain and vying fro his attention as the clopping footsteps grew louder, and louder, and louder meant
CLOSER.
The door opened, freezing Harry mid-scramble to the bedside.
Wide cornflower eyes blinked down at him.
F-F-F-F-FINNY…!
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He hadn't been expecting anything at all really- just the room he had never cleaned, but had seen sometime or another, and a bloke called Harry. Not his Harry, but a Harry. Knowing Sebastian it could have even been a cat- dripping wet and miserable, with scruffy ears and big, wide eyes all shiny and begging, because Sebastian was a sucker for cats. Knowing Master Ciel, it could be anything, maybe even a new playmate, a new friend- some-one cute that Master Ciel could boss around and care for like he did Finny, and Mey Rin, and Tanaka-san, and Oscar, and everyone really.
He had even been sort of expecting the Indian prince and his kind and smiley butler. Or Elizabeth. Or Mey Rin, surrounded by the shattered remnants of a plate. Or Madam Red. Or the squinty chinese guy with the long sleeves and the thin lips that curved into guileless and predatory smirks. Or…
Anything really. Anything but this.
Finny opened the door just as a lithe, grey-colored figure lunged for the bed in the center of the room- long limbs seemingly all over the place as he skidded to a stop halfway on the duvet, halfway off. Finny's first reflex was move forward to help - he was quite strong, and the little man looked sort of frail- but then 'Harry' s whole body seemed to seize, midair almost, and with an eery swiftness his head swiveled to find Finny, vibrant green eyes seeking his own out.
So green.
It was like the whole world had plunged into a bottomless, fathomless sea. Pressure, darkness, panic and, in front of him - young, pale, like all those years ago, not 'Harry' but HARRY.
Finny's Harry.
-A thin face, round and not too long, with large, acidic green eyes that stared from the shadows of his scruffy mop of hair. Black tresses, like ink, and untamed. Ears that sort-of stick out, light, and light, creamy freckles. White teeth, lips pale and chapped, flecked with blood where the skin tore under nervous worrying. A think neck and gaunt cheeks- gaunt everything else, really. No food on his bones and ohlordthathair.
The world was cold- shocking, quiet, too loud just sort of too much for him- and everything, every memory, every thought, every daydream, every wall, every chandelier, every candelabra, every vase, every rug, every pillow, blinked out. Because who needed a world when Harry was there ( when he wasn't, for a while there had been a great, terrifying nothing)? Harry. Not dead. Alive- and Finny knew it was Harry. He knew it. He could tell (in the way only little brothers could).
He was standing in front of Harry- speaking ( when did that happen?) words, apologies, pleads, fervent thanks tumbling from his numb lips as his hands - be careful, gentle, gentle, you cannot break this, not this- fluttered gently over one curve of cheek. The skin was warm. And wet. Harry was crying (don't cry, you mustn't cry) and Finny was sure he was too.
Then Harry spoke.
"Twig- oh merlin, h-h-h-hi…" His voice was crackly, in the way that Harry's voice when when he thought he was all alone, the way he hated because he thought it made him weak, and Harry couldn't possibly be weak- because he was the older brother, the protecter. And his voice, that awkward curse, that name, it meant that-
"…Harry!" sobbed Finny, " Harry!"
How? Why? When?…Oh lord were you alivedidIleaveyoubehindwherewereyouOhgods, You're Alive!Alive!
"Hush, shhhh." murmured Harry as the two sank onto the bed, and Finny realized he had said his thoughts aloud. They sat there in a timeless moment, saying each others name. Holding each other- Harry's dry, slightly warm hands brushed up and down his sides with reverence, long fingers tangling sometimes in fluffy golden locks, sometimes in Finny's trembling fingers. Finny could feel Harry's smile against his neck, just as Harry surely felt his - and how was it that Finny could say that now? Could think that? That he could feel Harry? That Harry could feel him?
"How, Harry..?" he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut so all he could know was Harry's hands in his, Harry's heart opposite his own, Harry's hair in his nose, his smell, his puffing breath his soft hums and murmurs. He didn't need to see to know that the body he was hugging - desperately, quaking as if he would let go and wake up- was scared, also.
Thank you God. Thank you. Thank you…Ciel.
"Mmm." hummed Harry, and Harry could have said anything in that moment, and so long as Ciel said okay, Finny would have listened , "I…I came back." he said truthfully, and Finny grinned wildly, because if any-one could have done it, it would be Harry.
"I missed you." said the older man, hoarsely, " I was worried, about you and I-I…I missed you." he finished lamely, as if it wasn't enough ( it was).
Finny understood (even if it wasn't a real answer, it was the right one ).
"I missed you too." he whispered, leaning reluctantly from the embrace, to scrub the tears from his eyes. When he looked up, his eyes met Harry's smiling, shadowed own, and he almost melted. He smiled wider, if that was possible- smiling didn't hurt, even though it shouldn't have been possible to smile so wide, and said;
"I missed you too."
Harry nodded, pain on his face, which Finny wanted to wipe away- though even pain was better than that horrible, consuming stillness of dea-…
"It wasn't the same without you."
The words just sort of came out. He couldn't really think farther than "Harry. Alive. Harry. Alive." but they still came out, numb, teary, happy.
"It was terrible. S-so much worse." his voice hurt. Harry's eyes were tender; he knew that hurt- Finny knew he knew that hurt, he had told Finny once, when he was Twig.
"I'm sorry." there was a lot unsaid in those two words, and he knew, he knew, that Harry was saying more, apologizing for some sin Finny couldn't see ( he couldn't see anything but Harry. Alive)- and that was okay. Because Harry was smiling down at him, with love and sadness in those emerald eyes, tear tracks scarring his cheeks with red- and his hands, dry, cool, cradling Finny's face gently.
"I'm sorry." and if Finny heard the desolate echo, he didn't say anything, because all he saw was the love.
fin…tbc…
I'M SO SORRY. This was such a short chapter, and the next chapter will be probably a bit more short, but with more Harry pov, and Sebastian pov - which I actually CAN'T do, but I WILL. I WILL LEARN, THROUGH TRIAL AND ERROR IF I MUST, so please be harsh, and helpful, if you don't mind.
FUCKING ANGST! I APOLOGIZE- THERE IS JUST SO FUCKING MUCH! …and I have no. Idea. Why….Why?!
Thank you all you brilliant- awesoe-incredible-gorgeous-lovely-fanatstic-beautifull-AWE-INSPIRING PEOPLE! I really don't deserve any of you. Really.
Still though….please review~!
Oh! If anyone wants to Beta/Edit, I know I have horrible grammar and spelling issues so…please, please contact me!