Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling

Part 2/Chapter 18

It was almost winter, and the water was cold. Bellamy was exhausted after his long swim, but worried he'd be searched for. Again he used his magic, to conjure clothes, to conjure shoes, and to hack his hair off short. He hadn't always done what Julie told him when she was alive, and now she was dead. Long hair, pony tail or not, was a good descriptor. The city to the south was Lisbon. He started walking north-east, heading inland. He holed up in the daytime, and walked again at night.

The previous winter, he would have starved to death if Father Tarzia hadn't come to his aid. It didn't enter his calculations. He didn't want to go to England, and he didn't want to be committed. For two nights, he hid himself away during the days, and walked all the nights, even though the clumsy shoes he'd conjured gave him blisters. He tried again, twice, but he didn't seem to be very good at shoes. He knew not to go too long without food, otherwise he couldn't walk. So on the third morning, he bought bread, and conjured a backpack to put it in. But the clear mindedness so newly returned, seemed to be deserting him again. He would not work any more magic. Crazy men were not allowed to work magic.

He was still in Portugal when he presented himself at a labour exchange and asked for work. When asked for his name, he looked confused for a moment, and then said William Carpenter. The farmer gave him a small, and bitterly cold room, and set him to work splitting firewood for the oncoming winter. He was given meals, but they were inadequate for the heavy labour he was performing. And when it was time to be paid the second week, the farmer told him his work was unsatisfactory, and he should go. Bellamy picked up his backpack and left.

For two weeks' work, he had one week's small pay. It was enough to keep him going a while, but he wandered in a daze. He desperately missed the big body of Mario cradling him at night, as well as the warmth of his friends. The lack of sufficient food was not helping. He no longer wore his glasses, left forgotten in his backpack.

Mario found him in Spain, having tracked down reports of a wandering tramp. He was heartbroken when he saw how thin he'd become, and then Bellamy looked at him and refused to recognise him. "I'm Mario, Henry," he said. "I'm Mario, who loves you."

Bellamy looked away from him, and said that Mario was many years ago, and would have died by now. Mario walked with him. After a while, Bellamy sat under a tree and took some bread from his backpack, politely offering some to the big man beside him whom he refused to know.

"I'll have a slice if you let me share my food in the next town," said Mario.

Bellamy said nothing, only ate his slice of bread as Mario ate his, rose, and continued walking.

But he still responded to a firm voice, and consented to eat when supplied with food, and even to go with Mario when he rented a room for the night. He still wouldn't call him Mario, and after a while, Mario asked him to choose a name for him, then. Bellamy ignored him. That was silly.

The room had a double bed and a single bed. Mario pointed to the double bed, and told him that he had to sleep there. Bellamy obeyed, and when Mario got in as well, snuggled into his warm body, gave a tired sigh, and slept. Mario held him tight, feeling how thin he'd become, and wondered how he should proceed. Guido had said that he should come back as soon as he was ready, but when Mario asked about Bellamy, he'd said, 'Of course, him as well.' And Mario knew he thought Bellamy would be dead.

With Bellamy's unused pay, as well as his own, the pair were no longer short of money, and for a while, they just walked. Bellamy, unquestioning, accepted that Mario would buy food when required, and find a room for the night. Mario let Bellamy lead, as he was going in the direction he wanted.

Word was sent, and Captain Guido was surprised and very relieved to hear that Mario had found Bellamy. According to the note, he hoped to meet the ship in Barcelona, where it was to be in four weeks. Guido had been feeling guilty, blaming himself for the boy's impulsive action. He should not have shared his interest in his crewman with a half dozen tactless passengers. It was that night that he'd gone missing. He chose not to advise those men who'd been looking for him. Guido had taken a thorough dislike to Theodore Laurie, and wondered whether they'd been responsible for the hurts in Bellamy's past.

There had been a note for Angelo as well, and the news quickly spread. Bellamy had been found. There was some celebration that evening. It was not only his cabin-mates who looked on him with some affection, even if a nuisance at times. Esta shed a few tears. He was a mystery, and she'd twice seen him in acute distress. She had a propriatorial interest almost as much as Mario.

Uberto was less happy, and wondered if he should change ships. He was afraid that one day Bellamy might attack him, or even just open his mouth too far. So far, he'd been able to fudge figures and conceal missing drugs, but it wouldn't take much to start an investigation.

By the fourth day after Mario found Bellamy, Mario's feet were blistered, he was stiff and sore, and he'd lost weight as he walked with his boy. Bellamy simply kept walking, all day, every day, and, Mario suspected, would have just slept wherever he was when the sun went down if Mario hadn't been there to bully him into proper shelter. He hadn't tried to influence him in any other way, afraid that he'd simply clear out again.

Early on the fifth day, they came to a sizeable town, and Bellamy changed his pattern. Mario was led into a labour exchange, and Bellamy said that he was looking for work.

"What about your friend, do you want work together?"

Bellamy asked Mario, not quite looking at him. Mario said that he did. But when Bellamy was asked for his name, he said Jaidyn O'Dea. And when he was asked for the name of his friend, he turned to Mario. Mario gave his name, his scant Spanish sufficient to answer this simple question. Mario was stunned when Bellamy handed over his passport, to see it checked, and yet the woman kept calling him Mr. O'Dea. "Come back tomorrow morning, and we'll see what we've got for you."

Bellamy thanked her gravely, and they went outside into the watery sunshine. He sat down on some steps, and stared into the distance. Mario sat down beside him, glancing at his incalculable friend, wondering again about his past. After a while, he pressed some of Bellamy's unopened payslips on him, but he didn't want to accept them. Mario pointed, "Look, there's your name, Henry Bellamy!"

Bellamy denied that it was his name. Mario told him to put on his glasses, and when he didn't answer, looked himself through his backpack, containing just one towel, a change of underwear, and a disposable shaver, conjured out of habit so people wouldn't ask how he shaved. His glasses were there, luckily in a solid case, protecting them from injury.

When ordered, Bellamy looked again at his payslips, and then at his passport. "Look, your name's Henry Bellamy."

Bellamy looked vaguely away, and Mario gave it up for the time being. And when Bellamy carefully put his glasses back in the case and put them away, he said nothing.

That evening they were in a warm motel room. It had a couch, and Mario sat with Bellamy nestled to his side, as he'd done so often before. Mario's shirt was unbuttoned, and Bellamy put his hand up onto his bare chest. After a while, he asked quietly, "Are you Mario?"

Mario hugged his boy, come back to him. "Yes, I'm Mario."

For three weeks afterward, the pair did some heavy work in a local factory. Mario hated it, but Bellamy followed orders and worked well. And these paypackets, he accepted happily, putting the money carefully in his wallet. They called him Peter Finn, because that was what he said his name was when asked the first day they reported for duty. The foreman just looked at his note, and shrugged. There must have been a mistake, and he wasn't particular. Men came and went, it was an unpleasant place to work, and there were always vacancies.

They were not far from Barcelona, but Mario knew he wouldn't get Bellamy back yet. He hadn't even raised the subject. He had a schedule of ship's movements, and hoped to get him there next time, in another six weeks, if not at another port.

When Mario started coughing from the fumes at work, Bellamy was very concerned, and said that they'd have to find a healer. Mario explained that he just had to stop working there, and the coughing would go away. But Bellamy wasn't convinced that he should stop working there as well, until Mario counted his money for him, having surreptitiously added a large amount from his store. Bellamy finally looked at his fat wallet, smiled, and agreed that they'd have a holiday to allow Mario to get well.

It was now mid winter, but they were in a pleasant climate, and stopped at a small holiday unit on the coast. Bellamy swam every day, to Mario's consternation, but thought it better than if he walked every day, and might more easily become lost. But Bellamy came back to him, feeling within himself that it was like the glow of a warm fire that drew him. With regular food again, and the body contact that was nourishment for the spirit, he was again beginning to lose some of the confusion that so often took over.

One day, he managed to lure Mario into a heated swimming pool, and cavorted around the big bear of a man, laughing and splashing. He was acting as if he was perfectly normal that day, but looked away when Mario spoke of returning to the ship. And later, Mario saw him, just standing and looking into the distance, as if he saw something there.

Mario was afraid. Over the next few days, there were more times when Bellamy looked as if there was something he had to remember, his eyes staring into the distance, and his expression, not vacant, or innocent, but merely abstracted.

Mario held him tighter than ever those nights. He wanted to keep his boy, but each day, his boy was becoming more distant, a different person. Mario hadn't tried to make love with him, but was masturbating every night in the bathroom before coming to bed, and often during the night, too, when the contact with his naked body became too much for him.

One night, his caressing became more intimate. If only he could put the seal of the flesh on his boy, then he might truly return the love that Mario had for him, and they could be together always. Last time he'd had him, he'd just turned the sleeping, drugged boy on his front, and taken him, slowly and pleasurably, gathering arms and legs between his own, and covering him with his big body, in a conscious act of possession. He didn't think his Henry had even woken, too much under the influence of the drug. This time, he asked.

There was a long silence. Bellamy said yes. Mario couldn't believe it, and hugged him in his ecstasy. But he was making love with him, not just having sex, and he caressed and fondled the naked man, as they lay close in bed. Mario was nearly sobbing, telling his Henry how much he loved him. Bellamy was almost panicking, wanting to escape. Why had he agreed?

He was told to wait, as Mario picked up something from a pocket in his own backpack. Mario knew his boy wasn't excited himself, but if only he'd let him. He wanted to turn Bellamy onto his front, so that he couldn't pull away if it hurt, but changed his mind. He should not be constrained, and if he pulled away, he'd leave him alone and not insist. So Bellamy was told to turn on his side, and draw up his legs, as Mario gently smeared some gel into his bottom. Bellamy gritted his teeth in pain as Mario entered. There hadn't been that lengthy buildup, and neither finger nor dildo had coaxed muscles to relax in preparation. But he didn't pull away.

It was only a short time since Mario had masturbated, and he was not in acute need. He took his time, and it stopped hurting. And maybe it was because of the lack of coercion, but this time, for the first time, Bellamy found a measure of excitement and pleasure himself. And when Mario finished, and hugged him very hard, he saw the half erection, and was overjoyed. His boy would learn to like it.

An hour later, as Mario lay deeply asleep, Bellamy slipped from his side. He dressed, packed his backpack, and silently disapparated from inside the room.

When Mario woke, as he had before, he knew instantly that Bellamy had gone. His backpack was gone, and he only shook his head when he noticed that the chain was still across the door. He'd sometimes thought before that Bellamy was something like one of those magical beings read about in fables, a supernatural creature, temporarily in need of a warm haven. It was great good luck to touch one of them. But tears trickled. Bellamy had fled from him three times. This time he would not go looking.

A week later, Mario rejoined the ship, alone. Guido, Inglis and Esta wanted to know as much as possible about how he'd found him, and whether he was all right. Mario told them as much as he could.

His cabin-mates, too, wanted to know all about him. And Mario told them, in a tone of wonder, "He let me make love to him. I asked him, and he said yes. It was like a thank you, or maybe a good-bye."

Angelo handed him a little book, with a picture of a mare and foal on the cover. "You'd best keep this. I'll report it missing."

Mario caressed the book, and went to bed early, leaving his cabin-mates to talk. Taddeo grinned. "He's a lot thinner. Keeping up with Bellamy must have been hard work!"

End of part Two.