Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Jim Butcher for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use.
Author Notes: This is a Harry Potter crossover with the Dresden Files the book series. All my knowledge of the Dresden Files comes from the books. I've never seen the TV series. For the timeline that will be stated later. Thanks to the folks at DLP for help with editing.
Awaken Sleeper.
Chapter Five: Return of the Wizard
by: Water Mage
Harry awoke in pain. It started at his head and traveled down his body in a flood of sudden sensations. Harry groaned and dared not to move for fear of making it worse. He was in his bed. That was a good thing. The sunlight filtering through the curtains and the chirping birds served to make his head ache a bit worse. The foggy events of last night cleared in his mind and he remembered. He had apparated back here with Aiden. After sending the younger boy off to bed, and after popping enough painkillers to sedate even Hagrid, he had promptly passed out from his injuries.
He lifted his shirt and looked down at his abdomen. His sides were dark blue almost purple. Definitely broke two ribs. His nose hadn't been broken but it was sore and hurt to breathe through it, a combination of the injury and the broken ribs. Damn. He was lucky one of the ribs hadn't pierced his lungs. His knuckles were very red, and he was damn proud of the sight. He never went down without a fight and last night he hadn't either. With a groan Harry dropped his head on the pillow. It felt good to just lie down. He could stay here all day.
He turned his head and his eyes landed on the stick balanced on the corners of the nightstand. The lavender hair wrapped around it shined in the sunlight. His heart thudded in his throat as he remembered the other events of last night. The faeries. The muggers. His use of magic. A victorious grin broke out over his face. He was back. Really back. He was wand a wielding, spell slinging wizard, and he could finally back it up. He stared at the makeshift wand, his grin fading away as he began to think realistically. He couldn't practically use it long term in its present condition. There goes the idea of healing himself. Without the core cased within the wand to power it, it wouldn't be reliable, and would ultimately become unstable. The potential explosion that would take place would probably liquefy him. He was reaching with the liquefying. But it would be close. Too close.
Harry carefully got out of bed wincing with every movement. He clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth. Focus. He just had to push the pain to the back of his mind. He had been hurt worse than this. Way worse. This was nothing. Nothing. The pain didn't matter. He stood up and swallowed back the pained sound in his throat. He just had to keep telling himself that, and maybe eventually he would believe it.
He caught sight of a note stuck to the back of the bedroom door. Harry shakily walked over and grabbed it, reading the small slanted script quickly. It was from his mother. She had a doctor's appointment, and then afterward she had errands to run. She took Aiden with her and they would return in the evening. He chuckled at the little heart she drew next to Mum at the bottom. Harry sat the note down. He was glad that he was a late sleeper otherwise she would have seen him in this state, and then he would have had to explain. He didn't even know where to start off his lie on that one.
James was at work, so that meant Harry was alone. Perfect. There were things he needed to do.
He glanced at the mirror that hung on the closet. His hair looked rumpled, he had a large bruise on the right side of face, and dried blood was caked on his left cheek. He looked like he got stomped on by a couple of Grawp's play friends. Lovely. Harry made his way to the bathroom, and after popping some more painkillers he got into the shower. The warm water that touched his skin soothed his aches and pains. He cleaned off the blood on his face, and washed the dirt that clung to his hair.
He spent awhile in the shower enjoying the comfort of the warm spray. Once he was finished he donned a pair of jeans and a dark blue shirt. His damp hair stuck to his forehead and he still looked terrible with his beat up appearance, but at least he didn't look like he lost the fight too badly anymore. Harry picked up the crude wand and turned on the spot apparating away. His body felt like it was being squeezed through a tube of darkness that lasted for two heartbeats. When his eyes opened he was standing next to a dumpster in the shadowed part of a tall building.
Harry looked around. Downtown DC looked a bit different in the light of day, but he was definitely in the right area. He spotted the familiar bars and shops from last night in the distance. He stepped out from his spot behind the dumpster and joined the flow of people walking the sidewalks. No one spared him a glance. Not that he expected any. The Boy Who Lived didn't exist here. He kept his wand in hand and debated putting it in his pocket, but with its instability he didn't want to take the chance.
Bingo. He finally spotted the shop. He had passed it last night and was glad that he had been paying attention to his surroundings to remember it. Harry glanced at the sign above the shop proclaiming it Woodcrafters. The slogan under it made him chuckle, Helping You with All Your Wood Working Needs. He was not thinking any inappropriate thoughts because of it. None at all. Well, maybe a few—dozen.
It was no Ollivander's, but it would have to do. He could stabilize the magic if it was actually a proper wand. But there was no way he could craft this stick into such an item. Who better at such a task other than creepy old men with odd silver eyes? If he still home he would have spouted off a few names. But he was desperate and it showed in his brief hesitation before he grasped the door's handle. Ollivander would shudder if he ever thought of a muggle making a wand. But these were desperate times. He entered the shop and was assaulted by bright fluorescent lighting and the vague smell of sawdust. Tools hung on the walls, and there were a dozen aisles of shelves filled with devices he had no clue as to their purpose.
Harry was spotted by an elderly man wearing a green smock. The older man put on a friendly smile and sauntered over. Customer service at its best. The man had graying black hair and serious brown eyes behind a thick pair of glasses.
"Good afternoon, young man," said the man, beaming. "Can I help you find anything?"
"Yes," Harry read the name tag on the smock. "Joseph. I need something worked on. Can you guys do that?"
Joseph shrugged. "It depends on what you need. What are you trying to get done?"
He whipped the wand out and held it up probably a little too close to Joseph's face, because the older man backed up a step. Hmm…maybe he was just a little overeager at brandishing a wand again.
"Sorry," muttered Harry sheepishly.
"I guess you need something done on this stick?" asked Joseph, waving aside his apology. "Are you trying to make a baton or something?"
"I need for the hair wrapped around it to be inside the stick. Don't completely hollow it out though," Harry explained quickly, watching as the man's eyebrows rose higher with every word. "It needs to be balanced. I would like for it to be sturdy too. If you could maybe add a handle around the bottom that would be brilliant."
Joseph took the offered wand and stared at Harry. "That's quite an order. What's this for anyway? Is this some type of school project or something?"
Harry ran with the question. Better than the truth. "Yeah. It's for my uh…Art class." A sudden thought struck him as he remembered a tidbit about faeries from primary school reading. Faeries and iron did not mix. At all. It was their greatest weakness. "When you do work on it could you not use any iron tools…"
Joseph let out a long whistle, as he trailed his eyes over the stick. "Some art project, young man. We can do it. Shouldn't be too tricky. Matter of fact I can put it on the list, and it should be done by five at the latest."
Harry's eyebrows were the ones rising this time. "Oh! Really? I wasn't sure, and even then I was thinking it would take longer."
"It's a weekday and we're not so busy," said Joseph shrugging. "I can have your total when it's ready later. What's your name?"
"Harry Potter. And thanks. I'll be back at five."
He walked out of the shop surprised, relieved, and excited. If there was one thing muggles had down and that was efficiency. The pain in his ribs was only a dull ache in his mind, second to the thought that in just a few hours he would have a real wand. The painkillers helped with it too he was sure. The first thing he would do when he got his wand was perform some much needed healing spells.
The sooner the better.
He really hoped that they kept to their word and didn't craft the wand with iron. Who is to say what kind of effect iron involved in crafting the wand would cause? It could contaminate the wood or even make the core weaker. He didn't know. It was only speculation, but playing on the side of caution never hurt. He had learned that much from Hermione at least.
Harry glanced at the clock on the wall near the bathroom door as he downed a couple of more painkillers. He had about three hours till five. The house had the eerie quiet that came when it was empty. Harry reached under his bed. Where was it? His hands closed over a familiar object lodged in the bottom boards under the box spring. He pulled out a thick book with a black hardcover.
When he had first come here Harry had planned much in his head. It eventually became too much. The more he built the more he would forget. Finally he had swiped a blank book from his Dad's study and made it his own. It was filled with plans, speculations, and spells. Dark spells, light spells, harmless spells, and spells too dangerous to even say out loud for fear of an Azkaban sentence. Fear that didn't translate to this new world without Azkaban. It wasn't a Pensieve and was damning if it ended up in the wrong hands, but he needed it. This may be his home now, but he would always remember where he came from. He needed to remember. His memories may become less sharp over time, but the written word wouldn't suffer the same fate.
Harry flipped through the pages till he got to a blank portion. He jotted down all he knew about wand cores, and the good qualities of wood when used for magic. He wondered if they could tell what type of wood his new wand was made of. He knew magical qualities but how to differentiate between types was lost to him. From what he knew of faeries they were a temperamental species. There weren't many wand cores made with faerie hair, since those wands tended to more volatile. His curses would most likely be enhanced, and maybe some of his charms as well depending on their nature, but his holly and phoenix wand had been perfect for spells defending against the dark arts.
A knock sounded at his bedroom door. "Harry?"
Harry's eyes widened at the sound of father's voice behind the closed door. "Uh… Yeah, Dad?"
"Can I come in? I need to talk to you."
Harry cursed under his breath and turned into a tornado of movement. He slung the book back in its hiding place and made sure everything was in its place before he unlocked the door. James eased open the door and did a quick cursory glance around the room.
"What's up?" asked Harry, stepping back from the door.
James opened his mouth to reply, but stopped in surprise once he got a good look at Harry. "Bloody hell, Harry! What happened to you?" He grabbed Harry's chin and tilted his face up, cursing under his breath at the bruising and scrapes. "Who did this?"
"I was at the park," said Harry, mentally piecing together a plausible lie. "I got mugged. I guess you could say, I didn't go down without a fight." It was the truth, just without the more esoteric happenings of the night. "I'm not hurt too badly. Plus I heal quick."
He refrained from mentioning the broken ribs. They would be healed later so there was no cause to bring them up and worry the man further.
James eyes turned dark with barely restrained fury. Harry had never seen his father mad before. The cold anger in his eyes threw him off for a moment. "Why didn't you say anything, Harrison? Whoever hurt you needs to pay! We need to call the police and report this."
Harry snorted at the idea. "Dad it happened last night. What are they going to do? Travel in time and catch the guys. It was too dark out and I could barely make out their faces anyway."
"I don't understand how you're so calm about this, and why did you even hide this from us?" James demanded, staring at him hard with a touch of puzzlement.
Because he already got his vengeance last night. Not like he could admit it however. "I put up a good fight. I'm lucky they didn't kill me. Maybe I see the bigger picture."
James frowned for a long moment and then finally released a sigh. "How good of a fight?"
"I landed a few good hits," replied Harry. "A few have bruises to match mine."
James squeezed Harry's shoulders, trying and failing to hide the proud smile. "That's my boy."
He couldn't help it. He beamed at the praise. "Thanks, Dad."
"Your mum is going to have a fit when she sees you," stated James, smile visibly wilting at the edges.
He nodded, cursing inside. Looks like he couldn't heal his face now or he would raise suspicion. His mother was going to have a coronary when she saw him. She was a force to be reckoned with, and he came to the conclusion that Mrs. Weasley had nothing on Lily Potter.
"I know. Is there something you wanted though?"
James' eyes brightened as he remembered, and then they visibly dimmed, as he shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'll talk to you about it later. Go on up to your room and get some rest."
Harry frowned at the abrupt mood change in his father. "Are you sure?"
"I'm positive. Don't worry about it, Harrison. I'll wake you whenever dinner's ready," said James. He rolled his eyes at Harry's doubtful look. "Yes, I'm ordering takeout. No need to invade your mum's domain."
"Thanks for sparing me your cooking attempts," said Harry solemnly. "You're a good man."
The older man chuckled. "You mustn't be too hurt if you're making jokes, wise guy."
Harry shooed his father from the room and closed the door behind him. Yawning, he had to admit that he was tired. His body was trying to heal itself and the painkillers were inducing drowsiness, and taxing most of his energy. He hadn't even noticed till his father mentioned it. His midsection ached with a constant dull throb, but it didn't prevent him from setting his alarm to wake him at five. He would have a wand by the end of the day, pain or no pain.
All he dreamed of was blackness. Endless comforting dark embraced him and lulled him into rest. He didn't know how long he was under until the blackness of sleep was disrupted. Voices jarred him from his blissful slumber.
"—James. I said no! I don't agree. It's too much!"
"I say it is. Its tradition and you know that as—"
"You will not pull rank on me, James Potter!"
The voices drifted in and out as he struggled against the grip of sleep. He pushed back the fog of tiredness and blearily opened his eyes. He caught sight of his parents standing at his bedside.
"Hey, you're awake," said Lily smiling. She sat at the bed's edge and ran a hand through Harry's hair. "How are you feeling, Harrison?"
Harry bit back and a yawn and tiredly rubbed at his eyes. "I feel fine. Just a bit sleepy. Were you and Dad fighting?"
"You must have been still dreaming, honey," replied Lily, confused. "Your dad's in his study."
"What?"
Harry sat up in bed. She was right. They were alone in the room. There was no sign of James anywhere. This was odd. He could have sworn that he had heard his father's voice and seen him. Why would he even imagine his parents arguing? Lily gazed at him worriedly.
"Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
Harry mustered up a smile, still feeling a little unsure. "I'm fine, I swear. Guess I was still dreaming a bit."
Lily pursed her lips together as she tilted his head up to the light. "At least the cuts don't look infected," she muttered. She smacked his arm and commanded, "Now why didn't you say anything about your mugging!"
Harry met her steely green eyes with an identical glare. "I already told Dad why, Mum. No need to chat about it again."
"Harrison Potter, you don't take that tone with me!" she ordered drawing herself up, frowning severely.
Harry exhaled noisily. "Sorry mum, but come on. It's old news now. Let it go. I'm fine, your fine, the world is still spinning. Let's call it a case closed. Great work, detective."
Lily ran a frustrated hand through her long hair and stood quickly. "Stop being silly, Harrison! This is serious. When stuff like this happens you need to come to us. We're you're parents! We signed up for this job you know."
Her voice wasn't demeaning or belittling, but it still grated on his nerves. Harry wasn't a fan of being coddled like a child. He could take it in small doses, but his mother was laying it on thick. Mother or not, she was getting on his nerves with the fussing.
"I'm twenty, Mum," snapped Harry, tired and fed up. "I'm not some fifteen year old kid anymore. I'm your son but I'm also a man now, and you can't coddle me anymore. If I don't want to tell you something, I'm sorry but that's my choice. If you have a problem with that, then that's on you."
Her jaw clenched tightly and she looked at him for a long time. Only her eyes reflected the hurt she felt. Harry was torn. On one hand he was sorry for hurting her feelings, but on the other it was something that had to be said. He wasn't going to apologize. It was said in anger, but it was nothing but the truth. His parents still treated him like he was a kid. Harry had gone his entire life without them, and while he was glad to have parental support in his life now, he didn't need them on his case about his life and what he did with it.
Lily sighed softly, and walked to the door. "I'll put your dinner in the microwave if you want to come down later and eat."
She left without looking back. Harry let out all the breath he didn't realize he was holding. All his left over anger and irritation was released with the sigh. Sweet Avalon. At least he knew now where he got his over active temper from. It sure wasn't from dear old dad.
"That could have gone worse," Harry mused.
He glanced at the clock and groaned. It was now nine o'clock. He had missed his five o'clock deadline to pick up his wand by four hours. The store was sure enough closed by now. What happened to the fucking alarm anyway? He picked up the clock and swore. He had definitely set it for a time, but he forgot to turn the actual alarm feature on. Damn. Was this a good time to bang his head against the wall? Maybe. He still wasn't that savvy at all the little quirks of muggle technology, obviously.
He threw the clock on the floor and his ribs howled at the sudden movement. He groaned and clutched his side. He needed his wand. Now. There was no way he could go on like this. He needed a healing spell, like yesterday. Harry stood up carefully minding his side. He was going to get his wand. Never mind the shop being closed.
Harry donned a dark jacket and a black cap. It was after all the usual color preference for this activity. "Nothing like a good old fashion breaking and entering," he said to himself.
He locked his door so his parents wouldn't find him gone and worry needlessly. After tonight's confrontation it seemed they tended to do that best. He rolled his eyes. Enough with that. He cleared his thoughts, turned on the spot and apparated.
He found himself inside the familiar entranceway of Woodcrafters. It was dark and the only light came from glowing neon signs that poured in through the huge store windows with their drawn security gates. Harry looked around and spotted only one camera. It was angled at the door about a yard from where he stood. Lucky break. He was surprised they even had that one camera. Honestly, who would rob a wood store? Anyone except himself of course. Let's see. His wand would most likely be in a workshop, probably located in the rear of the shop.
He stuck to the shadows, strongly reminded of his Stealth and Tracking aptitude tests he was put through in training. He wouldn't say no a catchy spy show theme right about now. Harry came upon a swinging door located to the side of a sales register counter. Let's see what was behind door number one. He eased it open and smiled at the sight. Wicked. The workshop floor was covered in a wood chippings and sawdust. Work stations were arrayed around the room with machines that looked like they had seen tons of usage. He had come to the right place. Now if he was someone who worked here where would he put a finished product? Harry took note of the carefully marked cabinets and shelves aligned against the walls. The room's muted lighting made it much easier for him to search.
It didn't even take him long to find it. The wand lied on top of a beautifully crafted toy row boat that sat amongst other nick knacks and finished toys. The wand was about eleven inches long and dark brown with an ever darker handle. It was perfect and easily the most awe inspiring sight he had seen in months. It wasn't just a wand. He was looking at a piece of home. Harry admired the wand for a long while before slowly reaching his hand toward it. His hand wrapped around the handle.
"Just give it a wave," he said softly, licking his dry lips, flashing back to that day at Ollivander's nine years ago.
Here goes nothing, he thought. Heart beating heavily in his chest, he held his breath. He flicked his wrist and cut the wand through the air. Immediately motes of pale blue and warm gold light burst from the wand. Emotions so high and overwhelming exploded inside his chest, as he watched the tiny globes of light drift through the air only to land on the ground dissipating as they touched. There was a different sense to the wand, but he would take anything at this point.
Harry smiled so hard that his cheeks hurt. "And now for my next trick folks," he announced holding his arms out dramatically. He touched the wand to his midsection and muttered, "Episkey."
His ribs went very hot at once and then just as suddenly went very cold, as if his insides had been dipped in ice cold water. He let out a gasping breath as his ribs repaired themselves with a speed that made his knees buckle.
He prodded his sides. "Not too bad at all."
He was good as new. He could do with a healing spell to his face, but his parents had ruined that little option. That wasn't going to bring him down. He was feeling too good right now. It was like a missing piece of himself had returned to him. He was beyond happy. He was damn near giddy. This called for a celebration. Hell, he needed a drink.
He threw down a few bills on the counter for the wand and apparated from the workshop. His body was squeezed through a tight tube of uncharitable space and before the odd sensation could become uncomfortable, it was over and he reappeared in a new location. Harry opened his eyes. He stood at the end of a moderately crowded street.
"Jesus Christ!" gasped a man in worn and ragged clothes, his breath smelling strongly of alcohol. He dropped his bottle of wine and it shattered against the ground, even as he gaped at the sight of Harry. "How-how did you do that?"
Harry winked at the homeless man. "Teleporter. God bless those Japanese. What will they think of next?"
"Are you the devil?" whispered the drunk, wide eyed and full of fear.
Harry rolled his eyes and muttered sourly, "I'll never get tired of hearing that one."
He strolled off ignoring the drunkard calling after him. It was thirty minutes past ten and the streets were lined with open bars. Men stood outside checking for ID and Harry could have kicked himself. The American legal drinking age was twenty one, not eighteen like he was used to. Bloody Colonials. And right when he was looking forward to tossing back a good shot of whiskey.
Harry met the eye of a doorman and the guy gave him a suspicious glare. He didn't see himself charming his way into any of these bars. This officially put a damper on his night cap. Harry looked across the street at a fighting couple who were in the throws of a heated argument. He chuckled as the woman slapped the man across the face. Ouch. What a wicked backhand on that one.
"Good luck, buddy," Harry called out, as the girl stormed off.
His gaze slid away from the couple to a flickering neon sign that caught his eye. He cocked his head at the sight of an alley right next to the sign, a little a ways from the more busy parts of the street. He recognized that alley. Harry matched up the buildings with the ones from last night. It was the same one that Aiden had pointed out to him last night. The same alley which held something that garnered enough of his attention to alert Harry, but hindered him from further checking out.
Guess the time to check it out comes now. Aiden had been pretty adamant about something being inside, and frankly Harry was curious. He held his wand steady and cautiously entered the alley.
"Lumos," he said softly.
His wand lit up like a strobe light at his command. Even the incantation of the simple spell sent a thrill of triumph through him. It felt damn good to be able to do wand magic again. It had been far too long. Light appeared ahead and Harry ended the light spell with a whispered word. The light shined upon a large space in front of a side door of a bricked building. Harry raised an eyebrow at the sign above the door that read Griffin's. If he was at Hogwarts or even in the wizarding world, he would have thought the place was owned by a Gryffindor alumni going by the sign. His curiosity was way beyond piqued. He was in full blown sleuthing mode now.
"Oh, I have got to see this," he said entering the door.
He was immediately hit by the heavy smell of smoke and the rising and falling volume of room chatter. He walked through a short hallway and into a roomy bar. A barely audible jazz tune filled the room originating from an old player piano. Everything was slightly tilted, from the pillars around the room, to the tables that people sat at. Even the bar top seemed not completely level. Harry closed his eyes and took a breath. Magic. It rolled off the assembled people and defused itself before it could build up into heavy levels. He could feel it in the background humming against the back of his neck, like a soft breeze that refused to die down. It was kind of tingly. Deep magic. These weren't muggles. These people were just as magical as he. And he could actually feel it. Their clear and fading power crawled along his skin.
Harry absently took a seat at the bar too stunned to even stand. He was floored. It was just like him to stumble upon a bar full of magical people. But it hadn't been by chance had it?
"I haven't seen you here before? You a practitioner, apprentice, or wizard?"
Harry stared blankly at the woman behind the bar. She was tall. Easily topping six feet and built like an Amazon. Her hair was dark purple and styled in a pixie cut, sky blue eyes watched Harry with open curiosity and amusement. She was in her mid to late thirties and looked like she would have no problem bench pressing him if she felt up to it.
Finally his mind caught up to the question. "Wizard."
"Ah—Must be fresh out of apprenticeship. I haven't been to a meeting in ages. Seems like they get younger and younger in the White Council."
Harry blinked, but plastered on a smile. He was more than confused. Try two streets past lost. "I guess they do."
The woman lit up hearing his accent. "The name's Sam. You from across the pond? I'm from Ireland."
"Really? You don't even have an accent."
Sam slung a towel over her shoulder and smirked playfully. "You know why the sun never set on the British Empire, lad," she said, her voice morphing into a sweet Irish brogue. "It's cause God didn't trust the Brits in the dark."
Harry groaned, dropping his face in his hand. "You're a bloody Irishwoman alright. I should have known by all the alcohol, but the bad joke was the final nail in the coffin."
"Dry wit and grand observational skills... You're definitely English," she quipped right back.
Harry wiggled his eyebrows. "So what's a bloke got to do for a crown and coke?"
She held out her hand. "Show me some ID. We're not in the Mother-Country. I would personally like to keep my liquor license. It's great for business."
Harry shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "It was worth a try. My name is Harry by the way."
"So what are you doing here all the way from home?" she asked, wiping down the counter.
"Family," he replied. It was mostly true. He just left out the more exotic pieces of the story.
Sam nodded. "Same here. My uncle passed when I was barely out of my teens. I came over here to take the place over. Been here ever since. It would have broken his heart if the place closed down. It was real special to him."
"You get a lot of wizards in here?" he asked, putting just enough curiosity in his voice to seem like casual interest.
He didn't want to seem like he was fishing for information. People who were too nosy tended to get the cold shoulder. It was fact. Harry was not looking forward to being labeled persona non grata so soon after finding this goldmine. He had finally found a source of information. What were the words she kept throwing out? What was the White Council?
"A few," she replied starring out across the bar. "A lot more practitioners though…" she trailed off, spotting something that made her frown. "Stars and sky. What is with him tonight?"
Harry followed her gaze across the bar and frowned himself. There was an older man, close to thirty, harassing a young woman who was sitting alone at a table near the back. The woman was clearly not interested in his persistent advances and it showed. Her body language practically screamed back the fuck back. It would have been funny if the guy would have eventually taken the hint, but he clearly wasn't taking no for an answer.
"Damn, Peter," murmured Sam. "I better go and get him."
Harry stood up and held up a hand for her to stop. He smiled crookedly. "I got it."
Sam's dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Look Harry, I like you but that guy would crush you if you go over there all white knight."
Harry's lips twitched at the line. "I've been told I have a saving people thing. It's what I do."
He straightened his back and strode across the room in long quick steps. Harry came upon the quarrelling pair and they stopped as he stared at them with his squared shoulders and stoic expression.
"I think the lady wants to be left alone," said Harry coldly.
The man, Peter if he remembered right, looked him up and down. "You might want to go home, kid. This doesn't concern you."
Harry's eye twitched at the kid remark. "Because of the kid comment it just became my problem. Go ahead and take a hint and leave."
The guy stepped forward and his arm lashed out without warning. Harry dodged the punch thankful that the alcohol had made the guy uncoordinated. His attacker had over a hundred pounds on him. Harry was quick but the guy had way more strength. He over reached and Harry took advantage of the opening. He put as much force as he could into delivering a punch into the guys gut. Peter wheezed desperately as all the air left his lungs. He recovered faster than Harry expected, and looked at him with pure rage. Harry readied his wand. The man lunged but arms quickly reached out and grabbed him in an unyielding hold.
"Easy there, Peter," said Sam, holding him in a strong grip.
Her tall, athletic form towered over his barely six foot body. He had slabs of muscle on him, but Sam was no lightweight herself and she obviously worked out, and used her own muscles to her advantage. She hauled his flailing form away as if he was a misbehaving child.
"I'm not through talking with him, Sam!" he yelled.
"Yeah you are, Peter, here's your bag. Now go home," she ordered, shoving him out the door.
The bar customers broke into applause as she walked back in looking beyond irritated. She grinned at the cheers and did a bow before she disappeared through a door behind the bar. Harry shook his head smiling. That was one hardcore woman.
Harry took a seat at the table. The girl was a young woman maybe a year or two older than him. Her hair was very light brown, a color that was caught between gold and brown, almost dark blond but too dark to pass. Her eyes were gray like the color of storm clouds. And right now those stormy gray eyes were predicting a hurricane. Oh boy. The older woman looked at him, and if looks could kill she would have melted him on the spot.
"Uh…Hello," greeted Harry, offering up his best charming smile.
The woman didn't smile. She glared even harder if that was possible. "I didn't need your help. I could have handled him."
"I'm sure you could have," replied Harry placating her. "I just wanted to help."
"If this is you trying to pick me up," began the woman, rolling her eyes. "You're wasting your time."
Oh. She was a first class bitch. Well if she wanted to play the rude game. "You're not my type. I prefer blondes."
"And I like my men older."
Harry snorted. "Oh please. You're probably barely twenty two. You don't have that much of a leg up on me. And just for the record. I'm not flirting. I'm just making conversation. I know you don't get much of that."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Was making conversation. I'm out of here."
She slung her purse over her shoulder and stormed out, long legs giving her strides that much more length. Wow. Were all the women in this country so tall? He eyed the book she left on the table and picked it up. It was a book of poetry with a French title. If he ran he could probably catch up to her. It would serve as a good peace offering. He sprinted out of the bar turning heads as he passed. Harry stepped into the quiet alley and looked left and right for any sign of her. Sweet Avalon. That was girl was fast. She was nowhere in sight. Harry stepped off the porch.
"I knew you would come out sooner or later."
Harry spun to his right immediately crouching into a defensive position. Peter stepped into the light above the bar's door, and Harry sighed at his eager and still angry face.
"Look I don't have a problem with you," declared Harry, holding up his hands. "I don't want to fight either. I just got in one yesterday and you don't want my parents thinking I'm some type of gangbanger do you?"
Peter took off his satchel and threw it on the ground, not taking his eyes off Harry. "All I know is I owe you one, punk."
"Punk?" Harry laughed, slowly drawing his wand. "Are you serious?"
The man saw red and rushed Harry with a primal cry full of rage. He was pretty quick for somebody full of alcohol. Harry dove to the ground and managed to roll away. He jumped to his feet and whipped out his wand in one stroke. He was in no mood for fisticuffs as Uncle Vernon always termed it.
He jerked his wand in a precise flick and yelled, "Stupefy!"
The torrent of red light blasted from his wand. Peter dodged the stunner as if he had been doing it all his life. Harry upped his estimation of Peter. This guy knew a thing about dueling. The man stared at Harry with renewed anger.
"You dare use magic against me, boy!" He brought his arm up in a blur of movement and growled in harsh German, "Aufwinde!"
Wind rose in a sudden rush that filled the alley with a terrible howl. A cyclone made up of magically summoned wind erupted into being and raced toward him. He caught the beginnings of the windstorm, letting the wind rustle against his clothes before he smirked at Peter, and turned on the spot apparating behind the flabbergasted man. The brunt of the windstorm continued on tearing through the spot he just dispapparated from.
Bastard wanted to play with wind did he? Harry grabbed his wand with both hands and shouted, "Sphaera Vento!"
His wand erupted like a shotgun and the recoil was equally similar, as a globe of compacted wind struck the older man in the chest just as he spun around at hearing the start of the spell. The wind sphere smashed him into the alley's wall and he fell heavily to the ground.
Peter was more resilient than he looked. That would have deterred most men from trying anything else. Unexpectedly the bleeding man dove for his satchel and retrieved a wooden object from it, aiming it directly at Harry.
"Bedienstetblitz!"
The air grew thick and Harry jumped out the way as lightning appeared from up above, slamming into the ground where he once stood. The smell of burnt ozone was heavy and filled the air. Harry felt a sudden pain on his shoulder. His shirt was torn exposing mildly burned skin. He must have got hit by a stray current of lightning.
Harry ran a hand over his bleeding wound and glared at Peter. "Lightning? Those are dark spells where I come from."
"Shut up and fight like a wizard, boy!" snapped Peter. "Bedienstetblitz!"
"Protego!" shouted Harry at the same time. A translucent blue shield sprung up, and the arcs of lightning washed against the surface like water splashing against a rock. Harry snapped his arm and cried, "Humusfractum!"
There was a loud crack that echoed in the air and the ground exploded right beneath Peter. He screamed as his body was flung backward in the force of the destruction. He landed on his back heavily over four yards away. Moaning he shakily got to his feet, clutching his side and looking worse for wear with his bleeding gashes adorning his face and arms.
Harry held his wand lazily at his side. "Alright Peter how about we just call it a draw. We both know I won, but you can tell all your friends you kicked my ass if it makes you feel better."
Peter cursed in a long string of German and raised that thick wooden object in his hand at Harry. He rolled his eyes and brought up his wand. Poor guy. He put a decent fight. Let's see him dodge this next spell.
Out of the blue Harry heard an unmistakable voice, and the alley lit up with white light. He shielded his eyes and when he opened them Peter lay on the alley floor unconscious with distinctly singed clothing. Harry stared the towering woman standing above Peter's knocked out form. It was the brown haired woman from earlier.
She tugged at a glimmering, smoking slave ring made of ivory on her finger. It was in the shape of a ring of oak leaves and attached to a silver chain that led to a similarly styled bracelet. She picked up the forgotten book of poetry on the ground from where it had fallen earlier.
"Don't get too excited," she warned, watching as Harry got to his feet. "I just came back for my book and you looked like you could use a hand."
Harry shook his head irritated. "You are rarely nice I take it. And if you had been paying attention I had it. I didn't need your help."
She smiled a tiny smile, and said in a familiar placating tone. "I'm sure you could have."
Touché. He liked her style. Harry stuck out his hand. "Well my name's Harry."
She didn't offer her hand. Her tiny smile grew till it was full grown as she shook her head, amused by some secret joke only she knew.
"You better get out of here. He won't be happy when he wakes up."
She turned around and walked back in the direction she came in. Harry looked at the guy. He almost felt bad for leaving him on the alley floor, but the psycho deserved it. He wouldn't be too unfortunate. At least his head landed on his satchel, and it made for a decent makeshift pillow. Harry eyed the bag and looked closer to inspect the gray cloth spilling from its inside contents. Was that a cloak? The footsteps grew distant and Harry pulled away from his inspecting.
"Hey!" he called out to the woman's retreating form. "What's your name anyway?"
She turned around enough just so he caught the hint of a tiny smile playing on her face. "Elaine."
And as if it was some secret code word she vanished as if she was never there.
Finally, the crossover has begun. All the Dresden Files settings and characters will be explained and woven into the story in a way that people who haven't read the series will understand what's going on. Thanks everyone who reviewed last chapter.