~Chapter two.~

~The Best Jokes Start With A Bang~

"Come on Gin, tell me! Just one. Everyone has them."

Harriet Potter goaded from her place on the couch in Grimmauld place, sprawled out on the short sofa, bare knees, ankles and feet dangling off the edge, head of deep fiery curls comfortable nestled on Ginny Weasley's lap as she smiled up at the equally grinning woman, eyes wide in an act of puppy-like innocence as one of her hands idly played with the long necklaces that just brushed Ginny's belly button. It was one of her rare weekends off, and instead of spending it suffocating in the memories that Hogwarts halls slammed her with, Harry had decided to abscond to her getaway and lock the world away for some beautiful hours of respite. Well, that had been the original plan, until Ginny had taken it to invite herself along and with that light grin of hers, tears misting her eyes when she spoke about needing some time away from the Burrow... away from the memories of her deceased brother Fred, while already standing on Grimmauld's door step, Harry Could hardly say no. She wasn't that socially inept.

"Not all of us are as layered and complex as you Harry. You give onions a run for their money. Honestly, you already know all my secrets."

Harry scoffed, but her smile grew toothier, the smooth quarts crystal at the end of Ginny's necklace began to roll faster between her thumb and forefinger subconsciously as she fiddled with it. The only outwards tick that showed she didn't find Ginny's answer amusing, despite her outward appearances, but as an irritant. Not quite bleach in the eye, nore as something as inconsequential a pins and needles, but an annoying niggle stuck between the two, with a heavy dose of exasperation.

Out of any one Harry knew, surely it would be Ginny to hide something buried inside her, ashamed if it ever saw the light of day? After all, Ginny had Tom riddles Horcrux speaking in her mind for almost a year, whispering the same potent sludge Harry had listened to since she was one and was made a Horcrux herself.

It wasn't that Harry wanted Ginny to be a deatheater incognito. On the contrary, Harry liked Ginny just the way she was. Ginny was good, soul deep and sky high of the nearest purest white, on contrasting ends to Harry's own murky waters. So much so, it was sometimes hard to look at her, hard to touch her, hard to be around her without wanting... needing to stomp her own dirty boot in that crisp snow and taint it forever.

Harry half mindedly wandered if Ginny's magical aura felt the same if she ever bothered to send her own out of her prison of a body and brush against hers. Then again, it wasn't like she would be doing that any time soon. No, you let your magical core out to feel another's, or even a muggles core, or soul as they called it, it made attachments to what fitted it best, what it liked the feel of, smell of, taste of, sound of, what clicked into it like a puzzle piece and really, Harry didn't know if she could take it if her own core revolted and spasm'd in disgusts against Ginny's. But let's be real, if anyone's core was going to shrink back and recoil in sickness, it would be Ginny's against hers. It didn't help the matter that, if especially fitting and bindingly good, it was classed as marriage in her world. Accidental linking or not. No wonder it was nicknamed a soul kiss.

Harry would bet Ginny's looked like mauve perfumed smoke, heavy, sultry and just barely there, a phantom that teased you into reaching for it only to realize you can't grasp it. It would feel warm, like a cindering log in a large fireplace, it would smell of spices, the type that clung to your nostrils and made you breath in deep, cinnamon, clove, with a small burst of mint. It would feel like velvet, soft and silken stroked the right way, but rough and course if rubbed the wrong way. So very, fundamentally, irrevocably not like her own.

Of course, she had only one person tell her what hers felt like, as no one could feel, see, touch or taste your aura, including yourself, unless it was the person reaching out for yours. And at the time Luna had been in a hospital bed, sickly pale with purple flourishes under her wide distant eyes. It had been an accident of course, a reaction of flaring her own aura out when Luna had bewilderingly thought it to be a great idea to push her own out to meet Harry's during a divination lesson. It's how Luna had ended up in the hospital bed after all. Madam Pomfrey had said they had reacted so violently... well Harry's had, that it had nearly stripped Luna's into sparkly sequinned ribbon. Still, Luna's dazed, glazed eyed description still left Harry with a haunting feeling.

Apparently it had started out nice enough, shiny and polished, reflective like a mirror, showing only was was shown to it, camouflage in retrospect to what happened next, but with the texture of snake scales. beckoning Luna to touch it with her own. Only, when the pale blonde did, it, that shiny mirror-esque shell, the pretty façade had exploded into sharp shards of glass, tearing and ripping their way through Luna's. It had smelled sharp, poignant, like bleach with hints of elderflower, a smell Harry knew all too well. Basilisk venom.

Though she understood the feel, look and smell of it, it was broken glass, triangular shards that cut fast and deep and showed no mercy, because Voldemort had smashed her own soul to bits to shove a chunk of his own in there, it smelled of Basilisk venom because in a way, that was where and how she was reborn from phoenix tears and cold onyx stone, and she supposed being bitten and injected with it didn't help matters, but what she didn't get was the taste and sound of it, not at all if Luna is to believed, or Molly Weasley when Harry had questioned her about parts of your magical core that doesn't fit you, or make sense. Molly had simply gave her a romantic drivel about how it hinted to your other, your one, your true fucking love and Luna still couldn't look Harry in the eye.

According to Luna, Harry was still debating whether she could trust Luna's description, it tasted strongly of bubblegum candy-floss with a hint of pop rocks and sounded, at the time Luna had to hum the tune as she had never heard of it before, but Harry had and it left her even more confused than the bloody taste did, and that was saying something.

...Pop goes the weasel...

So what? Her magical core, her soul, the very essence of all she was, is and will be, tasted like cheap fairground sweets and sounded like an messed up jack in the box that played too slow? The four things, fundamental words, she could be whittled down to was poison, broken, cheap and deranged? How delightfully disheartening.

"Harry? Harry, you in there somewhere? Almost lost you in that big noggin of yours then."

Harry snapped to at the sound of Ginny's chuckles then, smattering that smile that everyone loved so much on her face, despite it being as real as a Nargle was. She had been doing that a lot lately, zoning out, getting lost in her own tumultuous hurricane of thoughts. But still, she just needed to know. If Ginny was hiding something, a speck of dirt in her vibrantly white world, then maybe, just maybe, she had found someone who could understand. After all, the one thing that linked them was they had both been touched by Tom riddle and he always, always left fingerprints behind.

Tightening her grip on Ginny's necklace, fingers twisted in the small chain, Harry tugged her down, reached up and played with a lock of hair that had fallen free from over Ginny's shoulder, smiling her best, eyes dancing, dimples showing... faking the front. But what was new?

"One dirty little secret. One little thing you've never told anyone else before... come on Gin, don't you trust me?"

At Ginny's lovely, homely, lit grin, Harry's stomach sank further down, even if her heart did pick up pace in anticipation of the answer she could possibly receive. She had reached a new low, even for her. Using Ginny's obvious feelings against her, and for what? So she wouldn't feel so cold and alone any more? But that was the thing, the point of all this, it balanced on this one answer, her and Ginny's future resting on the point of a needle. If there was something, anything, no matter how little, they could be together. Harry was sure she would come to love her... given time. If not, well, this is where the road ends. Harry may have been tumbling down this dark rabbit hole since Tom riddles demise, but she still had enough decency to put her foot down against her own warring emotions and say no, she would not taint Ginny. Ginny... supernova, starlight Ginny deserved better, so much better, a lot better than what dark, lonely things Harry could offer her, as measly as they be.

"Well, there was this one time..."

"Go on."

"I snuck into my parents room, while they were sleeping. I knew I shouldn't be doing what I was doing, but I just... I really wanted to."

"What did you do Gin?"

"I stole..."

"What did you steal?"

During their conversation, they had leaned closer and closer, lips almost brushing, breath mingling,becoming one, light giving way to darkness, like night did to day every turn of the earth. Ginny's eyes were glazed over, lost and away, for if she had have looked, if she had have just focused those pretty blown pupils she would have seen how clear, vibrant, alive and totally in control Harry's eyes were. However, Harry's heart was about to rip a hole in her chest with how fast it was jack hammering in her rib cage. She had been right, Ginny was shaded, she did have something, a small ominous grey cloud above her. They could be together, Harry could finally open up and not have the other person run for their lives. This was it, acceptance, understanding was seconds away...

"My mother's make-up. I got it all over the place, the walls, the clocks, there's still lipstick potion stains on the front room rug, no cleaning spells have been able to remove them. I got into so much trouble, mum went-"

Crack. The crystal in Harry's crumbled and broke under her fingers, blood and crystal fragments mixing together. Ginny startled at the loud noise, snapping back to reality like an elastic band, while Harry pulled away from Ginny like she had been burnt, physically, mentally, emotionally. Of course Ginny had no dark corners in her soul, no nooks or crannies to hide things, hers wasn't a labyrinth of foul things like Harry's and yet, once again, Harry had dared to hope and got hit in the solar plexus for her efforts. Harry slid of the sofa in one fluid motion, coming to a stand, she walked a few feet away, keeping her back to the confused girl behind her.

It was better this way anyhow, people like her belonged in the dark, not showered under starlight or moonbeams. Harry brought herself some time to find the right words by shoving her thumb in her mouth, the finger that was cut, and sucked to stem the bleeding, liking how the little splinters of crystal that had been lodged in her thumb came free and cut her tongue too, the sting keeping her grounded to the earth. Harry could hear the soft footsteps of Ginny following, but turned and pulled away further before the other woman could touch her.

"Harry, you honestly can't be pissed about it! I was six! All six-year-old's get into mischief like that."

No, I never did. Aunt Petunia would have hit me over the head with an iron if I even thought about going near her things for something other than cleaning or tidying. Harry didn't voice this however, as it was pointless, just another wedge driven home to lengthen the gap between her and Ginny, blaring out how different the two were, both standing on different sides to a vast rift that was life experiences. Her thumb left her mouth with a wet pop as Harry squared her shoulders back and swivelled to face Ginny head on, it seemed it was time to face the music.

"Look Ginevra, maybe you should head home. You're not the only one who misses Fred. You mother needs you... your family needs you. Just go."

Harry could practically see the spark of indignation light up Ginny's brown eyes, the flush raising to her cheeks prettily, the puff of chest as she spluttered her own comeback... And Harry almost sighed in happiness that it was aimed straight at her. A fight was surely coming, big or small, verbal or physical, it didn't matter, it was something to keep the blood pumping. These spats were the only thing keeping her going this days.

"Ginevra now is it? Don't Harry. No one else may see what you're doing, but I do. I see right through it. I know why you called Hermione that word, yes I do know, she told me. I know why you haven't visited or at least owled Ron in five months. I know why you haven't come over to the burrow in just as long. You can't fool me. I know you... or at least know some of you. You can't push everyone away Harry. You can't push me away with the same stupid tactics you use on other people. I won't fool for it."

Harry stood stonily still, strange lump clogging her throat as if she had swallowed a too big of a mouthful and it had lodged there, unable to clear her airway. Surprisingly, even in the numb state Harry was feeling, her voice confusedly cracked and hitched when she spoke. Why did it hurt to breath?

"I've changed Ginny."

Ah, that would be why. Honesty, the full blown truth never did come to Harry easily, especially in an instance of admitting something that felt so very much like a weakness. She really should have let that blasted hat place her in Slytherin, at least then she wouldn't have to put up with all these feelings, truth and openness as she did surrounded by Gryffindors. But for Ginny, her bright eyed lovely Ginny, she could and would put herself through this, it was the very minimal thing she could offer her, but thankfully, one of the things that she wanted to... Gift Ginny with that wouldn't land her in an Azkaban cell.

However, Ginny's face crumpled, folding in on itself like an origami structure that was too heavy to be made out of tissue paper. One step, two step, three step and Ginny was in front of her, tears in her eyes but too stubborn to fall down her freckled cheeks. Stubborn like the girl crying them as she reached out with one hand, palm settling against the side of Harry's face, fingers ghosting across her jawline and into her hair, palm clammy but cold against Harry's heated flesh.

"We've all changed Harry. We can get through this. I can help you through this. Together. Just... Please, don't do this. Not now after all we've been through."

And that horrid lump in Harry's throat turned to granite and strangled her, causing her own eyes to mist over, even with the sad smile that graced her lips as she finally looked Ginny in the eye, mirroring the girls movements so she too cradled Ginny's face.

"We both know It hasn't been for the better..."

Harry's voice was gruff and harsh, sounding more at home on a forty year old smoker than a seventeen, nearly eighteen year old girl. Instead of a rebuttal, a useless denial or more pleading, for once Ginny surprised her as her eyes clamped shut tightly and her head nodded. Then, with a soft tug on the back of her neck, Ginny pulled Harry's head towards hers, forehead Against forehead, simply resting there as Ginny spoke two words that sealed everything in cast iron.

"I know."

Harry didn't know how long they stayed like that, heads leaning upon one another, standing in the middle of a desolate and dusty Grimmauld place simply breathing each other in, but it was Ginny who broke the silence with a whisper on an exhalation of breath.

"I love you."

That was the dagger to Harry's heart, the twist, the salt, the pain and infection. Because she simply couldn't say it back, couldn't, for once, lie in that bared, naked moment and by Ginny's broken chuckle, Ginny knew. Then Ginny was gone, the warmth, the mauve, the spice, the smoke, and Harry was alone, hand still hovering in the air before she opened her eyes and let her hand flop uselessly to the side as she dissociatively watched Ginny stroll to the parlour room door, yanking it open, one step out the door before she peaked over her shoulder to Harry, tear tracks on her cheeks seemingly glowing iridescent in the early morning light.

"One thing Harry. Just one. Promise me you'll go out for a little bit, locking yourself away isn't doing anyone any good. I couldn't bear it if... just promise me."

Harry's answer was almost unintelligible in its low and utterly broken octave and pitch, but by the sharp shake of Ginny's head, the steeling of her spine and subsequent quick departure with a resolute bang, she had heard loud and clear.

"I promise."

Harry only let herself react once she heard the Crack of Ginny's apparition from the other side of the door. With a burst of magic, a fling of her arms and a shout that sounded more like a war cry than a sob, the room, one of Sirius's favourites, turned chaotic before settling into tranquil destruction. The tables flipped, the paintings tore and fell of the wall, the sofa smashed into the corner of the loud room, the heavy velvet blue curtains set themselves on fire, one eggshell wall even cracked, but most importantly, Harry fell to the floor on her knees, breathing shakily.

Cold, alone, numb. This was what she deserved. Where she belonged. Only fools hoped and dreamed of impossible things, and Harriet Potter was no fool. She wasn't upset because she had strong feelings for Ginny, though that was a part of it, she was so angry and volatile because she had to do this. Because, sometime soon, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back much longer and when that day did come, when Harry well and truly fell down the precipice she had been walking her whole life, it was going to happen in blazing hell-fire and spells being shot, and really, she didn't know if she was going to come out of it breathing, but she sure as hell knew she would be taking fuckers down with her and she wouldn't, couldn't allow one of those to be Ginny.

To be completely honest, she wasn't that angry or upset that it had happened, that Ginny had left her to rot and smoulder in the shadows. No. She was beyond pissed about how it had all gone down. No fire, no acidic remarks, no shouting, no yelling, slaps, punches, bruises. No fight whatsoever. She wanted a fight, she wanted Ginny to rain down upon her for the simple need to retaliate with her own licking flames. She needed it, she wanted it, she prayed for it. It was an outlet, a tap she could turn on to release some of that pent up anger and darkness and Ginny... Ginny had taken that away from her, snatched it with her calm attitude before Harry could even call it her own. Harry's eyes clenched shut, a shake taking over her form that rattled her to the bones. What did that say about her, that she was more upset over a loss of a could have been fight than the actual girl that had resolutely walked out of her life? It said a lot, too much to bare yet nothing at all.

In short, Harry was tired of fighting herself, her wants, her wishes and needs, especially when everyone else got to indulge in them, and she knew one day she was going to be too tired, too sick, too wanting to put up much of a fight, which was waning more and more each day, and bite into madness's decadent temptation like Eve did with the apple. It wasn't a matter of if, no, it was a matter of when and Harry could faintly hear the ominous tick of the clock striking down upon her like a blow.

She, however, could never guess just how soon that final tock would come, where her restraint broke like a dam and let forth every slight, every fat fisted punch, every curse, every derivative remark, every push, shove, tug and yank that she had ever endured that she had housed inside her for so long, to come spilling out like a tidal wave in search of retribution and revenge. The day Harriet Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, defeater of the greatest dark wizard, snapped. And it all trickled out of that one, single promise.

With a self deprecating huff of annoyance, Harry roughly pushed herself up, stormed over to the large fireplace, doubting the still burning curtains with a flick of her hand, slid in, grabbed a hand full of floo powder and with a snarl and throw, Harry was engulfed in green flames that were only a shade more vibrant than her own.

"The Hogs head Inn!"

"Harry, Lass, I'm going to have to cut you off if you keep drinking that fire whiskey like it's bloody spring water. That's your third bottle and merlin knows I ain't made of the stuff."

Harry's teeth ground together as she stared straight ahead, staring intently at a broken shelf that was still miraculously holding up its contents. Huh, seems like she wasn't the only cracked thing in the pub after all. The man beside her, just over the bar she was perched on, cleaning an old wooden flagon with an even older cloth huffed at her when all she did to answer him was pick her bottle back up, down a good few gulps and as always, fell back heavily on a sarcastic diverting remark.

"Of course you are Aberforth, you own a fucking pub."

Aberforth barked out a laugh, the sound so deep and loud Harry was sure the walls of his dingy old pub would shake along with it. Then, all fell back to silence as Harry carried on her drinking and Aberforth carried on his cleaning, or, what he classed as cleaning that is. It was only after Harry drew close to the bottom of her third bottle that she broke the silence with a question that even surprised her, thankful that the Hogs head inn was desolate, housing only the two of them. Apparently, a late Wednesday afternoon wasn't prime drinking time. What a surprise.

"Abe... Is Dumbledore... Was Dumbledore always so..."

Aberforth looked up from wiping down the bar with the same holey cloth he had used on everything else, hand stalling in movement as he blinked over at her. Harry in turn had still not removed her eyes from that damn shelf, not sure whether she was refusing to stop looking or if she simply couldn't.

"What? Self righteous, egotistical, whimsical prick who-"

"Light. Was he always so... Good?"

Aberforth straightened up and from Harry's peripheral vision, she could see the deadly sombre and serious nature his face had taken on, making him look even older than he always did. He dropped the cloth to the bar with a dusty, wet, plop and when he spoke his tone was even, though whispered, drifting to Harry through the drafts than ran through the old wooden beams of the rickety pub, chilling her even more than she already was. Though the wind had no hand in that, she was always so cold lately.

"My brother was a lot of things lass. And I mean a lot. Whole good, I'm afraid was never one of them. No one really knew who he was before the whole Grindelwald fiasco, but I remember perfectly clear. They used to be friends you know? Yeah, real good friends. More than that I think. No, I know they were. Back then my brother was as far from good as spit was from wine. Who did you think it was that helped Grindelwald come up with his plans, his contingencies, his thirst for power? Yeah, they shared that last one really well my brother and him. Then our sister died and well... You know the rest. The thing about dark magic Harry is once you've touched it, it's touched you back and that's a stain you can never get out, a stain you won't want to get out. My brother was good in the end I suppose you could say, despite all his wrongs and manipulations. But I could see it, every damn day I visited him, every time I looked into his eyes... That inner fight was always there, always battling, two halves trying to fight for control. The good and the bad."

Harry breathed in shakily through her nose, the atmosphere feeling like it was closing in on her, squishing her, destroying her, tearing at chunks of her skin until she was nothing but an exposed nerve in the middle of a snow storm.

"But... But he did the right thing... Right? He mended his ways, I mean... That's what matters doesn't it?"

Aberforth's laugh, while still loud and blusterous, lacked all warmth and humour. His words bit even further into her, taking more and more and more, taking the ground from beneath her feet, making her feel like she was about to fall into a chasm, right into the middle of the earth to be engulfed by molten lava. Funny thing was Harry wondered if she would be warm then or still this icy shell.

"Aye, he mended his ways Harry, but he died for it didn't he? And, as bad as this sounds, I'm happy he died when he did. Merlin knows how long he would have carried on, what was it you called it, doing the right thing? Look at it this way, if it was the right thing he was bloody doing this whole time, then why are so many families, so many lives in tatters, destroyed, because of what he had said and done? No, my brother was one of the poor fuckers who had that call to the dark inside him and sooner or later, he would have fallen back on that. They always do."

Harry's temper snapped, zinged and lashed out, slamming the bottle onto the bar, nearly shattering it in the process, Harry's eyes finally tore themselves away from that shelf and locked onto Aberforth, her top lip curling slightly over bared teeth as she snarled at the larger man beside her.

"But he did fight it! He fought it and won! Who's to say he wouldn't have carried on winning?"

There it was, that fire inside her, the anger, the rage, the pent up energy coming out to play, warming her up from the inside out. It was the only way she could gather any warmth any more, and that... That was frightening, because Harry knew, just knew, if she really let go of the reigns on her anger, that bubble inside her, her lion, it would leap free and hunt, bite, claw, rip and shred it's own bloody path. But she couldn't let it, she wouldn't let it.

However, instead of Aberforth loosing his own temper, something Harry secretly wished so it could fuel her own, he smiled and Harry froze into place. It wasn't a friendly smile, nor sarcastic or derogatory, it was the worst of them all. It was a pity smile, the same fucking emotion glistening in his eyes, looking at her, aimed at her. She didn't need his bloody pity, she needed resolution, hope, a chance that whatever she was feeling, whatever she was becoming, became, she could fight it back, push it down, lock it up. That she wouldn't fall, she wouldn't fail, she wouldn't become Tom Riddle.

That dark insidious voice inside, the dark things that whispered and pleaded to her with, her mangled and distorted conscience told her it was too late, she was already so much like him, all she was missing, or had that he didn't, was a nose. What's one more thing on her long list of sins? If there was no hope, she may as well let go of that ledge she clung to so tightly and fall into the abyss. Did she even really hope there was a chance, or was she looking for a reason to say she never had another choice but to let go? Just another excuse to shove her blame on, an absolution of guilt? No... No! If Albus Dumbledore fought it, she could too. She wasn't Tom Riddle. She had to believe that. Aberforth's words extinguished that fire building up inside her, leaving her alone in a starless night.

"Because lass, the few who do feel that pull always fall. Salazar, Grindelwald, Tom Riddle, Bellatrix, My brother. It's not a matter of if, it's always a matter of when. And really, if you call what my brother did to you, to the students, to the wizarding world good, I would hate to see what you class as bad. Don't see my brother through rose coloured glasses Harry, call him what he is. He was a manipulator, a person who saw people as chess pieces. Even when he thought he was doing the right thing, that darkness crept through in his words and actions. But then again... You know all about the inner struggle to keep the darkness out don't you Harry? This conversation isn't really about my brother... Is it?"

Harry jolted and pulled her hands away from being braced on the bar. With less elegance than normal, she slid of the bar stall, stumbling slightly next to her seat, unsure whether it was because of her frantically beating heart or the copious amounts of alcohol she had just downed. It didn't matter, not when she stuttered a little and determinedly turned her back to walk out of the pub, away from Aberforth, away from this conversation, away from the truth of it all. She was an excellent runner anyhow.

"I... I don't know what your talking about."

Her hand landed on the door, ready to push it open and storm out when Aberforth beat her to the punch, his voice ringing in her ears, not because of the loudness of it, but for what they meant pieced together.

"As I said lass, I grew up with my brother, I saw the very same fiery fight dancing in his eyes everyday as I see in yours now Harry. You can't fool an old foolish man. There's a reason I've survived two wars."

The shelf, the one that was cracked right down the middle, the one she couldn't look away from broke, sending bottles of drink tumbling and smashing to the floor behind the bar, weather because Harry's magic flared out, or the timing was just coincidental, Harry didn't know, but she did know her voice rose above it all, the crack and splintering of glass, the sharp yelp of Aberforth, the screeching of snapped wood.

"I am not Albus!"

Spinning around, Harry was met with a sight she didn't think she would have been. Aberforth was pressed to the wall, the bottles, while broken during their fall, were now all hovering in the air, broken sharp ends pointing directly at Aberforth, pinning him to the wall. Choking on her spit, Harry's temper simmered back down and just like magic, pun intended, the bottles fell back to the floor. She had done that... She had nearly hurt Aberforth, goat loving, hearty Aberforth. That was her, not Dumbledore, not Tom riddle, not Umbridge. Her. Harry could practically feel one of her hands that were holding on for dear life to that imaginary cliff slip, leaving her dangling there one handedly.

"Just a word of warning Harry, you can't fight it, you can't keep it locked up forever. When you fall, you're going to crash. Take my advice, get away from those you love when you do. My sister died because my brother didn't. Shame really if you make the same mistake."

"I... I... I need air."

Harry left the pub as if Voldemort himself had sprang out of the wood works. Apparatting home, thankfully not splinching herself, Harry never made it to the bedroom, instead she fell onto the broken sofa of the room she had destroyed earlier that day, and with her swirling turmoil, her recoiling mind, her slipping control, she did the worst thing she could have possibly done in that moment, something that would seal her fate, her fall, her descent, her splintering sanity and control.

She fell asleep.

Her first splash of awareness came quite abruptly and harshly. A stout and strong kick to the ribs, a hand fisting into her hair, dragging her, being thrown to concrete ground and a blinking confusing jolt into the waking world. Groggily, she pushed herself up onto her knees and hands, glancing around her with squinted eyes. Bricks, towering metal silo's filled with some form of liquid and men in suits standing around her, their faces coming in and out of focus, her awakening and the previous alcohol she had consumed not helping her focus any more than she already was. Was she dreaming again?

The hand was back in her hair, at the base of her neck, yanking her head back, forcing her to kneel at someone's feet, face looking up at the man in front of her. Then, she felt something cool, hard and cylindrical press to her temple, and with a quick flicker of her eyes, as far as they could go to the side, she saw what was being pressed to her forehead. A gun. She had a fucking gun to her head!

"What are you doing here? Who do you work for? I would start speaking doll before my associate here blows your brains out."

Harry frowned and blinked back to the man towering over her. He was the only one in a white suit, three piece, plum coloured silk handkerchief folded neatly into his pocket, early middle age at a push. He really didn't fit into the gloomy and factory like surroundings they were in. In her confusion, the world still slightly spinning around her, Harry parroted the man back his own question.

"Who do I work for?"

She was insane. She had to be. These dreams... Wait. Ginny had said it could be sleep apparition, whatever that meant. Was this real then? Was it a dream? Dammit, she felt like she was on a landslide, reality falling away from underneath her feet. However, the ringing pain in her jaw as one of the men, the one holding the gun to her head, backhanded her, making her head snap to the side in a flurry of pain, told her this was most likely real. Which meant she was surrounded by muggles, wizards would never lower themselves to the use of guns, in some unknown place, maybe even a different country, being... What? Interrogated?

Harry really couldn't help the half crazed laugh that bubbled out of her throat at the thought, her shoulders shaking under the pressure. Interrogation, what a joke. She had Voldemort terrorizing her in her own mind for years, this... This was a fucking walk in the park, cute ducks included. Her head was tugged back into place and the gun resumed its home too, though this only made her laugh harder. She couldn't seem to stop now that she had started, even when she felt the trickle of blood run down her chin from the hit she had just taken, that pleasant ache of an oncoming bruise blooming on her bottom jaw.

"I'm telling you boss, she's one of the jokers. This just proves it. Who the fuck laughs with a gun to their head?"

A flash of something fluttered across her eyelids as she blinked, red lips, silver teeth, green hair, but it was gone before she could grasp the slippery image with her fingers and hold it. It only made her laugh harder, her sides starting to hurt under the spasm now. Did any of this matter? Real or not, someone was pointing a gun to her head, her ego and pride didn't like that very much. No, they didn't like it at all.

"You're right, she's most likely one of Jokers. Put her out of her misery so we can go back to uncle Falcone."

Slip, snap. The man on her left pulled the hammer back of the gun and then, only then, did Harry stop laughing. Real or not, she couldn't take the chance of getting shot in the head. Unfortunately, even witches and wizards couldn't bounce back from that one. But that meant she would have to put up a fight... A fight. It was what she wanted, what she needed, what she craved. Yet somewhere inside, that shrivelled little part of her that still tried to be good, told her if she started, she wouldn't be able to stop. She wouldn't stop in time, she would take it too far, she would use spells she knows she didn't need to use, but she wanted to use. Really, really, wanted to. She would kill. That, even she knew, was the final step, the letting go of the edge, the thing that would make sure she could never turn back, never be who she was before.

"Please."

It was odd and disorientating how one second she had been laughing, so joyful and humorous, now she was pleading, begging on hushed breath, tremors taking up shop in her bones.

"Ay, look at that, the dolls begging. Go on sugar, plead for your life."

They were wrong. So wrong. She wasn't begging for her life. She was begging for theirs. She was so close to falling, so close, this would be that tiny shove she needed. If she used her wand, if she lost her temper, this was it, she wouldn't be able to stop, she wouldn't want to stop. Even now, her teeth where trying to bite off the tongue that was trying to spare herself from this. Spare them from this. Her voice broke as she spoke.

"Please. Please don't do this."

Looking up to the serrated metal ceiling, Harry tried to picture the sky, blue and cloudless. She tried to picture her mother and father. She tried to picture Sirius. She tried to keep a hold of everything and anything that would keep her back, the things she had loved most in her short life. When the men around her laughed, seven around her in total, the clouds came, the storm crackled and their faces morphed into a laughing Tom Riddle, mixed somewhere between his school years and that of how she knew him. A hybrid, a monster, a boy, a shadow that haunted her, taunted her, made her miss him. A mongrel of her own minds creation of him, her thoughts, feelings and attachments she had made and his reality. A mistake like her.

Harriet Potter needed no sympathy, no, the people around her needed sympathy for being in her vicinity. Harry's heart froze, her chest clamped tight as did her fists, her muscles preparing, waiting, hoping to strike. This was it. Whatever this men did next, whatever they said, or did or chose, would either be the hand reaching down to help her climb back up into the light, or the foot that stomped on her bone taunt, tired knuckles.

It was show time.

The muzzle of the gun being pressed into the side of her head with extra pressure, the sound of the trigger about to be pulled and the men's laughter killed whatever left over restraint she had. Her fingers flexed, her wand appeared and then she was in movement, apparatteing behind the man who had just been about to kill her, appearing just as the gun fired with an ear splitting bang. None of it logged in, none of it registered, not when Harry started firing spells, spells which wouldn't kill them outright, but would hurt more than any thing they had ever felt, known or imagined before. All she could hear were their screams, their pleading, their begging, the sound of her heart thumping, the thrum of her blood and... Yes, she was sure she could distantly hear her own laughter bouncing back at her from the metal containers and walls.

It was just like her connection to Voldemort, flashes before closed lids, the barest hint of taste and smell. Like it was her, but wasn't, she was there, but wasn't. A phantom bound in flesh, possessed, uncontrolled, temporal... Free. One moment she was firing the spells, the next she was standing outside the building, a petroleum factory, she had been right, watching as the building burst into flames, crumble, burn and flutter away into the early nights air. Her wand lowered, the spicy copper taste of incendio still on her open lips. Her shoulder hurt like hell, sending lightening bolts of pain down her spine.

Distractedly, she glanced down at it, seeing the blood splatter, the torn shirt and leather jacket, the warmth of still flowing blood blanketing her right side, down her shirt. Red. The colour of Gryffindor, of fire, of blood, of Voldemort's eyes. Shot. She had been shot. Dazedly, Harry lifted her fingers up to touch it, her ring finger digging into the hole, making pain flare to unadulterated life. She liked it. Then the sirens came, acting like a synthetic bass to the symphony of havoc she had sang that had never smiled so big, four little words twirling around her mind, broken in tune, like water going down the drain.

Pop goes the weasel.

A young man, no older than twenty-five at a push, breathed in deeply, hiding his shaking hands in the pockets of his dirty hoody as he nodded to the bouncer and slipped into the golden lit club. Slipping into the large crowded dance floor, the man bought himself some time to try and word what he had to tell his boss. The right words meant he got to live, in what condition that was, well... That was still debatable with the way his boss was. One word wrong and he would be getting a one way ticket down to a toasty holiday down south. He rather didn't fancy that option.

He had been sent out a week ago to collect Intel, an easy enough job, one that was meant to earn him brownie points so he could start climbing up in reputation and efficiency, which of course led to more pay. The rules and guidelines had been simple enough, go out as soon as dark fell and watch a factory on the outskirts of Gotham, when the coast was clear, or as clear as could be, scout out the layout. The factory was one his boss believed to be one of Falcone's major bases, where he hid most of his cash and artillery. Cash and artillery his boss had been planning to swipe off the fat mob boss for the last month. A month worth of planning gone down the drain. Oh, he was in deep, deep shit when he told his boss what went down.

And of course he would get the blame, what were the chances his boss would believe what he had seen that night? Damn, he was still convinced he had been drugged and this whole night had just been one giant acid trip. How else would you explain a red-haired chick popping out of nowhere, killing seven of Falcone's best men, including his own nephew; Falcone would want revenge for that one, then somehow setting the whole building up in flames with nothing but a piece of wood and sometimes a flick of her hand? He had only just managed to get out in time before the thing exploded and the cops came. But then again, she did drive off in a police car after flipping the other cars with that stick thingy, with that bat freak after her, maybe if he was lucky, the news would cover it and at least lend some credibility to his high as fuck claims.

A hand landing on his shoulder made him jump and before he could turn around to see who it was, pointless really, he knew who it fucking was, he was being pushed over to the corner of the nightclub, the V.I.P section, then with an even more forceful push, he was forced to take a seat on one of the expensive white leather couches, an ornate glass table in front of him. Even over the bass of the music, he could hear the man's foot steps, the hand still on his shoulder as he walked around him, sliding into the seat next to him like a snake. Being greeted with that smile he knew too well, the man swallowed deeply.

"Johnny, johnny, johnny. Tell me you have a present, you know how much I just love gifts."

Johnny's heart stuttered in his chest, beating off rhythm, even missing a few as he stared at the man sitting so close to him, maniacal grin printed on his face, eyes glowing. He began stuttering before his mind could even form a sentence.

"I couldn't do it. I mean... I did but... This chick... Fire..."

The hand, still on his shoulder, slipped and slid until the Jokers fingers danced across the back of his neck, his hot palm resting there, his fingers wrapping gently around his neck, so long they touched his Adam's apple.

"Oh? Tell me Johnny boy, why is that?"

"I tried but... But... But"

The hand tensed, nearly strangling him, then he was being thrown forward, head smashing into the table, breaking the skin on his forehead. Whimpering out in pain, the world flashing around him, his vision was cut off when the joker stood, hand still pressing him into the table by his neck, bent in half and leant into his face, close, too close for comfort with that damn smile. Johnny broke, rambling out everything he could, his tongue twisting into knots in his haste.

"I couldn't because the base was blown to smithereens! It's gone!"

The joker laughed, using his other hand to flick Johnny on the nose like he was some puppy that had been caught pissing in the house. By now, Johnny's gut was in his feet and his heart was in his throat, his eyes clamping shut when he saw the Jokers head turn to the side in fake innocence and curiosity. That was never a good sign.

"How did that happen Johnny boy, hmmm? Now, now, don't go all princess on me. Tell daddy all about it."

"A woman! It was a woman! she just came out of nowhere boss. Really, nowhere, she just appeared! She killed Falcone's men after they threatened her. I don't know how, she just did. There were bright colours, screams, then the place was on fire and I ran! Please boss, you have to believe me! Check the news! She sped off in a cop car with Batman and at least half a dozen cop cars hot on her tail! Those asshole news reporters will be all over it. Please, I had to get out of there!"

Johnny's eyes screwed even further shut, nearly so tight he popped a blood vessel, his body seemingly curling in on itself as much as the table he was pressed against by the Joker would allow. The Joker's face inches from his own as his laughter rang out. Just as he thought this was it, just as his bowels were about to release, when he was sure the Joker was going to kill him, brutally by the looks of it, something else entirely happened. The Joker questioned him further, as if he actually believed any of what Johnny had told him, his normal sarcastic, erratic and humour filled tone completely missing. Johnny wasn't afraid to admit he wanted it back, especially when faced with this alternative.

"What did the lady look like Johnny?"

Johnny swallowed deeply, his tongue feeling like cotton, blinking his eyes open, he's words slurred due one of his cheeks being pushed so tightly against the glass, seconds away from shattering it.

"Short... Red hair... But not ginger, like... Deep red. Pale..."

The hand at his neck left, but Johnny didn't dare to move, he hardly dared to breath as the Joker brought his purple leather gloved hand around to his face, almost lovingly running his pointer finger up and over his right eyebrow, up his forehead, repeating the motion a few times. His stomach flipped flopped.

"Perhaps... Does this little spitfire have a scar? Just. Right. Here?"

Johnny nodded vigorously, still not moving a muscle to stand. You never did anything, even shit, without the Joker telling you could first. The consequences were disastrous.

"Yeah, odd thing. Shaped like a lightning bolt it was."

Then the crushing presence of simply being too close to the Joker was gone, finally allowing Johnny to breath freely. Although his booming laughter as he stood up and span in a circle, arms out wide as if open for attack, waiting for it, didn't ease Johnny any more than he got from being out of the Jokers face. One job, he had one job, how could he have messed it up so badly?

"Hey, Doll-face!"

Then, like coming out of the mist of flashing, pulsating lights and bodies, Harley Quinn appeared, smiling as insanely as her counter part was. It took no time for the woman to bound over to the Joker, get swept up in the Joker's arms, the two spinning around like some morbidly painted musical box couple.

"Yes Puddin'?"

Johnny took his chance while he could and slid off from the table, not quite brave enough to stand, not when he had no idea if he was in the clear or not, so he simply slumped to the floor, trapped between coach and table, wearily watching the couple who now looked to be doing some form of waltz, spinning in circles, hands on shoulders, waist and hands, Joker talking to a growingly excited Harley Quinn. He could practically feel the enthusiasm, joy and insanity seep out of them, infect the air and leach into his own blood. Johnny did what he did best, watch and listen.

"Tell the Goonies to stop digging Love bug. Looks like Dorothy has come back to Oz all on her own, and causing such pretty havoc at that. My favourite kind. Go get the best, Panda, eyeball and Chuckles will do. Just send them out prompto, we can't have the evil monkeys or the wicked bat of the west getting Dorothy before we can, now can we?"

Then the Joker was laughing that broken, jarring, escalating laugh, this time accompanied by Harley Quinn's own obnoxious giggles, and for a split second, just one, Johnny felt sorry for this poor woman who had these two gunning for her... And Falcone... And the Gotham police department... And Batman. Jesus, the girl better know how to run, and run fast. Funny, how the best option for her, it seemed, or the least detrimental would be to get arrested by the police.

"And you! You will go too! Hahahaaa."

Johnny snapped to and looked up, seeing the two had stopped dancing, now leaning against one another, Jokers cheek resting against the top of Harley Quinn's head, wrapped around one another, staring at him... The Joker pointing to him. Cursed. He had to be fucking cursed for this shit to keep happening to him.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go find Dorothy before my bullet finds your grey matter. Bring her back in one piece, not a curl out of place. You should know by now I don't like people scratching or marking my things, especially when they're only borrowed... Go!"

He took it back. He really hoped this woman couldn't run. His life depended on her capture. Johnny lurched up and stumbled for the door, not sparing a single glance backwards. Now he just had to find this woman that could, possibly, maybe, likely preform what looked like magic, contend with Batman, Falcone and the GPD and after all that, if his heart was still beating and his cheeks were still flushed, bring her back in one piece.

He was royally fucked.

A.N: There goes chapter two! did you like it? Or in the words of poor Johnny boy, have I royally fucked up? As for when exactly this is set, its after all Harry Potter books/films but is pre-Suicide squad, or before Harley gets captured. I am hoping to work my way through the film, that is if people like my mad ramblings enough to egg me on.

On that note, I really, really, really can't express how amazing the response to this unplanned, out of the blue story has been for me. Honestly, you guys have been the very best and lovely. I can't say a thank you big enough (Not over the computer anyway) but THANK YOU. You are the reason I'm even carrying this on and wondering where and how this is going to happen.

quick question, do you like the longer chapters? Or should I try and cut it down a bit?

However, quick warning before I carry on, if you do not like bisexuality, this is a Harley Quin/Harry/Joker fic after all, copious amounts of violence, profanity or any other M-rated material in your fanfiction, turn back while you still can! This will be the only warning I give out. Plus, I have no Beta what-so-ever, never have and unlikely ever will. So, any mistakes are all mine and will be corrected when I have the time.

Enough ranting on my part, once again THANK YOU and I hope you have a brilliant day. If you have a spare moment or two, please feed my muse and drop a review down in her food bowl, she's a greedy little thing and refuses to work on an empty stomach. I know, It's hard to get good hired help these days...

until next time, stay beautiful and marvellously mad!- AlwaysEatTheRude21