I've had some people asking, so I'm thinking I might clarify here:
I don't intend for Harry to be 'paired' with anyone. It always seems like such a final sentence for someone who, frankly, probably lacks the maturity to handle a proper long-term relationship anyway. But he is a teen, and human, so there may be some minor things hinted at here or there. There are also a few social changes that will be seen further in the story, such as an almost complete abolishment of discrimination of homosexual people in large part because the Earth is an over-populated cesspit and people who don't spawn more people are considered to be doing everyone a favour.
I understand that some readers are really against slash, whilst others can handle it existing even if they'd prefer not to read themselves-as-Harry about it. This is fair enough. Although I may flirt with the idea of Harry experimenting or, as none of this is written yet, others wanting to do things with Harry, there will never ever be any sort of graphic description or wedding vows or wuvy-dovey stuff. He'll be much to busy and I'm much too disinterested. But there will likely be bits of something. Consider yourself fairly warned.
Biggest chapter so far! I hope some of it surprises you! There's more to come. :)
Earth
The next morning, on Mike's advice, Harry sent Madeline an email (to her private tag, which was the only one Mike had, and which he tried to convince him the modern lingo was therefore to 'tag her privates', but Harry wasn't born yesterday) asking if the GLF would be interested in and/or able to grow magical plants from the samples he had. He could have rung her directly, but Mike had advised him that tagging gave him a little distance and thus power in any negotiation or agreement - especially considering the woman's bull-like personality.
If he had any opinion about Harry choosing the GLF's R&D department over the RDA's, he didn't even hint at it. Sometimes, he was really kind of... cool. Harry wished his Order guard of months (years) past had been even half as good.
In the meantime, whilst waiting for a response (Mike was all for taking a week off and not checking till then) Harry dug back into the book content scanned into his computer. He hadn't realised it at the time, too consumed with the knowledge that every crumbling page was all that was left of thousands of years of history and knowledge, but the books hadn't been the type he'd known at school - one per topic, per author - but compilations of all manner of arcane lore. Someone had boiled it down to the absolute minimum of factual information - none of the normal wizardly waffle. He'd like to think that Hermione had a hand in trimming out the fat, but if she had then he would have expected her to store them in a more long-lasting format than books. Merlin, even the ancient Egyptians had managed to inscribe their lore on stone. Then again, what did he know about such magic, really? At least books had been easier to record into the computer for safekeeping. And, he had to admit, the software which had automatically gone through and indexed everything was amazing. No more paging through thick tomes, scanning for key words. All he had to do was tell the computer what he wanted and it found the information for him. That was just clever and certainly would have made his school assignments so much easier.
Right now he had it scanning for plants that might be useful to re-introduce into the world, looking for things that improved stuff like air quality - driven not only by the masks everyone had to wear outside, but by the memory of Buddy's ruined voice. According to the internet, Buddy and his kind died before they hit thirty. All because the air wasn't safe to breathe. With the world so parched of magic, that meant that powerful things - warded safe zones, monolithic carved purifiers - would be impossible. According to what his people's recent history, it had already been too late by the time they realised what was happening. But maybe… maybe with everything magical having died out, there'd be something like 'dregs' left over… or stored up. Something that could support something simple. Just one type of thing, instead of hundreds. Something specific, that could help the world recover, little by little. Something that would…
Well. Validate his own life. And maybe that was self-centred, but he'd never claimed to be the golden boy others had assumed he was.
His desk chimed and a half-dozen options flashed up. He eliminated two of them simply because he vaguely remembered that they were grown in Greenhouse #7, which had had a deep stone pool of highly-concentrated magic set into the floor and was rumoured to be worth instant expulsion if you were caught inside without permission. Anything grown there was unlikely to have survived outside it even back then, let alone now.
But that still left four possibilities. One thrived in the ocean - it consumed dissolved salts and released 'purified' water as waste. It was basically a natural desalination solution (thank you, modern primary education), with no technology needed. It hadn't been used for that by wizards of course. To them, it had just been a basic potions ingredient that drew impurities out of a solution. It sounded perfect for the clean water crisis of this new Earth, except Harry had no idea if it could handle the sheer pollution in today's oceans, or even if it could grow at all. The book said little about requirements, save that the plants could starve each other if they grew too close. They just weren't important enough to have much recorded about them.
Two different plants offered air filtration, one on a large scale (again, used for a completely different purpose by wizards, who used the carbon pods it grew instead of wood logs the same way Muggles used coal for a slow and steady burn) but which probably had a relatively large ambient magic requirement, and one on a tiny scale which was really more decorative than anything (and would really only serve to improve air quality in small spaces) but which had the greatest chance of surviving.
The fourth and final option was considered a weed by Wizards and Muggles alike and wouldn't have been included were it not for the minor, few potions uses it provided. (The books said only five out of thousands of species were magical. Harry hadn't even known there was more than the one 'dandelion' type his Aunt Petunia had used to loathe in her garden.) It could improve soil quality but there was no indication of how much magic it consumed and it wasn't a quick-fix by any means. The question was, was it worth the magic it would take, to do what it did?
After a little more pondering and procrastinating he sucked it up and resumed his edu-program. Luckily, it permitted him to jump to a topic as he was interested and now he asked it to teach him about the current environment and everything that was being done to repair it. If and when he spoke to anyone about cultivating magical plants, he wanted to have at least an average person's grasp of the subject.
Earth
Sleep was elusive for the last wizard on Earth.
It was coming up on three in the morning and yet Harry was lying flat on his back completely unable to drift off. The hub was playing some sort of 'sleep-inducing music' that Harry had a nasty suspicion he'd accidentally bought, but it didn't seem to be working.
All sorts of thoughts were running through his mind. What had Madeline originally wanted from him that had been so vital that she'd kept harassing Michael for a meeting? Had she been looking to capitalise on his public image? Was she still? Had he been foolish to email her before the RDA, just because Mr Maine had made him so angry? And what if he went along with the stupid idea to go on somebody's talk show in order to raise awareness. What sort of things would the hosts would want him to talk about? What did he want to say? What sort of magic could he offer as proof of what he said? What should he ask of their viewers…?
He turned over on his side with a groan, staring out his window at the darkened indoor garden. At the fake trees. He felt like he was in a box, inside another box, inside a world full of air he couldn't breathe. He growled a curse and ordered the hub to increase the air flow in his room, closing his eyes to the lie and trying to lose himself in the pretence of being back in Gryffindor Tower.
…He should get the plant and animal samples to some sort of lab anyway, shouldn't he? The spells containing them were stronger and tighter than on his trunk as the box had been built when the wizards knew magic was fading, but even it wouldn't last forever. Muggles could... could freeze them, he supposed. Lock them in acrylic? Aunt Petunia had a pair of hazelnuts ("You're nuts!") encased in acrylic that she'd absolutely hated, but couldn't get rid of because Pier's mum had given them to her. The hazelnuts had looked good enough to eat, something Harry had often considered when his meals had been especially thin. Although, this was the future - they probably had even better ways to keep something organic preserved in a permanent way.
But... if he gave them to Muggles, who knew if he'd ever see them again. If they wouldn't be wasted or destroyed or lost... he'd be entrusting the last hope of thousands of plant and animal species to people who'd proved they couldn't even take care of their own world.
And what about the leaves he'd already released? He knew that they simply weren't useful for Muggle science. Muggles needed roots or seeds or something, in order to propagate a plant. Harry knew from his Herbology classes that all a witch or wizard needed was any piece of the plant, and magic. Even a single petal was good enough. Animals, ok, were a bit harder. Harry was vaguely aware that the creation of living beings from samples delved into 'necromantic alchemy' for animals and 'forbidden' for humans.
His mind turned to the Devil's Snare leaves still lying scattered on the floor of his bedroom. He couldn't help but feel guilty about killing it. It'd survived the end of the magical world, only to shrivel up and die because the last idiot wizard hadn't read the instruction book first.
He turned over again, his back to the window, and stared at the patch of carpet where he knew the leaves had fallen.
"Accio." He said softly, one hand extended towards them.
Nothing happened.
Using magic before had been like painting red lines on a red canvas - barely noticeable. Using magic now, in this desperately parched reality, was like painting red lines on a stark white canvas. It was impossible not to see. Impossible not to sense it draining away in a way it simply hadn't back when the world had been saturated with it.
"Accio." He tried again, pulling at his personal power but still careful not to go too deep. He felt his magic surge out of him him, felt it struggling to complete his intent without being leeched into the world around it. He felt only a fraction of the energy he'd expended actually touch a single leaf.
The leaf shifted closer to him but made it no further than an inch off the ground before the fragile thread of power broke.
The problem was that the spell was bleeding out before it could finish. Harry lay on his side for a long time, staring silently into the dark.
When he'd touched Boxy's hair, the magic had passed from his fingertips to her body, with no need to travel the space in-between. It also 'caught' inside her, like water poured into a glass with tiny cracks. The power leaked out of her eventually, but much much more slowly than it would with no container.
To test his hypothesis, Harry lit his fingers up with a silent lumos, then waited patiently until the light went out. A glance at the discreet clock in the corner of his window showed the spell lasted for an impressive twenty minutes. He didn't feel too poorly, either. Magic cast within himself seemed to strain his resources less.
Next, he stroked his fingers along the blanket with another non-verbal lumos. Four lines of light - dimmer than his fingers had been - followed the trail, but went out after only a few seconds. Also, Harry felt a wave of light-headed hunger. Ignoring it for the moment, he did it again - this time drawing a single line in the simplest rune of longevity - a circle. This time, the light lasted almost three minutes, though his ears were ringing by the end of it. It was reflex to dip into his - the world's - core and replenish himself, a reflex he fought against as he rolled out of bed and headed for the kitchen.
The last thing he wanted to do was cause a bunch of crops to fail or an animal to die, because he was exploring his limits.
On his way out, a leaf stuck to the underside of his foot. In the kitchen, waiting for the food dispenser to gift him with nutritious-but-unpalatable slop, he peeled it off and held it up to the dim light.
The devil's snare leaf was inky black and narrow. He remembered the tentacle-like vines grabbing him during his first year more than the lessons on it, but he was vaguely aware that the leaves were what the plant used to eat whatever it caught. Leaves were clustered in the centre of the plant and excreted a chemical along their edges that painlessly broke down human (or animal) skin, releasing blood which the flat of the leaves would then soak up like thirsty sponges.
It was a comparatively painless way to die, so long as you didn't struggle to the point where the plant broke your limbs first.
This leaf was obviously not performing as it should. Neither his foot nor his hand were bleeding and the leaf itself already felt drier and more fragile than it had when he'd first accidentally released them. This time, though, it was the dry-and-fragile result of any plant matter cut off from the stem and left to die.
The dispenser beeped once and opened to allow him to retrieve his bowl, which he ate sitting at the kitchen table.
Maybe he could try re-growing the devil's snare in his storage room? All he needed was soil and darkness, right? And weren't there potions that could revive a dead plant? Neville had been horribly offended to receive a set for Christmas once…
He stroked the leaf with his left hand as he shovelled food into his mouth with his right. No, that wouldn't be possible. The plant needed magic to survive. It had to. It was all... moving and stuff. Without muscles, how else could it snatch its prey and crush them like an anaconda? And assuming Harry could even get it to grow, he'd also have to feed it blood - the poor thing wouldn't be able to feed itself. Not that there even was anything in his apartment to eat, except Harry and any unwary visitors.
But, maybe. …What if it didn't need much blood?
Absently, Harry turned his gaze from his unappetising food to the leaf - and froze.
The thin leaf was plump and shiny... and slick.
So was Harry's hand, because it was bloody bleeding.
"Shit!" Harry hissed, dropping his spoon and leaping to his feet. His hand opened automatically, but the leaf stuck to it, even when he flicked the appendage rapidly. Eventually he thought to snatch up his spoon and carefully use it to lever the leaf away from his skin, breathing a sigh of relief when it came easily - no tiny little suckers or barbs. Dropping it to the table, very nearly into the remains of his meal, Harry held his bleeding hand close to his chest and booked it into the bathroom, scrabbling through the medicine shelves to find the spray-on bandages David had pointed out that one time.
Once found, he quickly rinsed his hand under the cold tap- the bloody thing was bleeding excessively, considering the papercut-like scratches - then liberally sprayed it until all the little lines stopped leaking.
"Harry?"
Harry jumped and turned, just as Michael - standing in the doorway - ordered the lights on.
The walls quickly began glowing, up to full illumination within seconds. Harry stood awkwardly, caught cradling a wounded hand alone in the bathroom with blood blotching his nightshirt and spattering the floor.
"It was an accident." He blurted. Michael didn't seem to hear him, all dark-eyed inspection and firm, warm hands that took his own and checked the rest of him over.
"...That's a lot of blood for such a small injury." Michael said at last, leading Harry to understand his intensity. From his bodyguard's perspective, all that blood couldn't have come from such inconsequential scratches, ergo Harry had some other - more serious - wound.
"I was handling a devil's snare." Harry explained. "Just a leaf. They're like... leeches, I guess. They can bleed you without you feeling a thing."
Michael's face kept its frown, although he stepped back - apparently satisfied that Harry wasn't about to keel over. He hesitated, so quickly you'd hardly know it, then asked.
"Why were you touching it, then?"
Harry grinned, slow and bright.
"Because it was harmless. It was dead. Until I made it alive."
Earth
The excitement of his discovery had Harry vibrating with energy - until his loss of both magic and blood caught up to him and he ended up passed out on the couch. When he woke well after dawn, there was a blanket over him and the mess he'd left in the kitchen had been cleaned up.
Michael was sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, dismantling several weapons and cleaning them thoroughly as a very blonde lady on the telly enthused about how someone-or-other had broken over a hundred bones in the latest match of that-jet-pack game, whatever it was called. Something about her shiny teeth was more than a little bloodthirsty.
"Morning." He ground out, before remembering the night before. He shot up, looking around for the leaf.
"It's in the bowl, on the table." Michael jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Don't touch it again."
"I won't." Harry replied absently, sliding over the back of the couch to go look. In the daylight it was visibly red and shiny. It also had two teeny-tiny tentacles newly sprouting from the base of the leaf. No longer than a millimetre in length and much less in width, they wriggled against his skin as he cautiously poked them.
"I thought I said don't touch!" The exasperation of his bodyguard was clear, and Harry sheepishly drew his hand back. He couldn't stop grinning though. He felt like… like he'd brought something magical back into the world. Something special and wondrous and- and almost cute.
Okay, it would probably be better for it not to be a carnivorous Devil's Snare, but you couldn't have everything.
"It moves." Mike observed, coming over to stand beside him. His face was carefully blank.
"When it's grown up, it grabs its prey and sucks out all their blood. It can squeeze hard enough to kill you - or paralyse you." Harry explained cheerfully. Michael didn't look any happier about having it on the kitchen table.
"It likes the dark, though, so I was thinking of keeping it in the storage room."
"Where it can eat the unwary?"
"Might help protect against thieves - it's what it was cultivated for, after all."
Michael gave him a look. Harry rolled his eyes.
"It's not like anyone goes in there anyway and you were the one talking about people trying to kill us, and-"
"Harry." Mike interrupted. "I will not sleep a wink, for the rest of my short life, knowing there's a man-eating plant in the apartment that thrives in the dark. And is magic. Please, just… I dunno, at least foist it off on Mads."
Harry sighed. It had been an impulse, to keep the deadly plant, but… yeah, anyone with sense could see that it wasn't a good idea. He himself had figured it couldn't happen - before bringing it to life, anyway. But scientists could probably keep it fed better, and study it. See how well it survived with and without food. Maybe even work out how much magic it consumed… maybe.
But in the end, it was unproductive and would probably be destroyed.
His shoulders slumped.
It's just a stupid Devil's Snare. He told himself, watching the tiny tentacles grope blindly about for food like a newborn animal.
"C'mon." Mike said abruptly, clapping him hard on the shoulder. "Have a shower. Get dressed. We've got an appointment to get to."
Harry blinked at him.
"We do?"
"We do. You're not gonna wanna miss it either. C'mon, on the double!" His guard went back to his weapons and Harry went dazedly into his room.
"Where are we going?" He shouted, tugging off his sleep clothes and pulling on something fresh. He'd just wash up in the sink before he brushed his teeth. He paused when Mike called back:
"Remember what I said about virtual reality tech?"
Earth
The building Mike took him to was massive and vaguely egg-shaped. It could only be accessed via pod, from a separate link station which required payment unlike the RDA link pods or the main public transit lines. Once inside - which required another swipe of their watch/gauntlets, for id and security deposit - they had the pleasure of sitting in a dimly-lit, empty room for twenty minutes.
"I get it." He said, eyes on the ceiling. "'Virtual Reality'. It's virtually reality, except for all the stuff you can't do."
Mike snorted, the first crack in his 'on duty' persona Harry had yet seen. He was still standing, despite the wait.
"It's in high demand, Boss. Especially this place. I ain't been here personally, but I saw it on tv once. Trust me - it'll be worth it."
Eventually, after maybe another fifteen minutes, the exit to the room opened and Mike gestured for him to step through first. Frowning at the odd behaviour from his perpetually-ready bodyguard, Harry stepped through to see…
Darkness. Light. Stars?
He was in a room, he wasn't sure how big, because every wall - including the one behind him, as the door slid closed again - the ceiling and floor were all peppered with tiny lights, in clusters and scattered like patterns in the night sky. It was eerie, in a cool sort of way. Despite himself, Harry made sure Mike was still just behind him. His bodyguard's presence - and lack of alarm - helped him feel secure enough to just enjoy the odd room. Was this the virtual reality?
Suddenly, the wall directly in front of them shifted. Outlines of hundreds of tiny somethings broke up the stars, making the lights shift and flicker as colour slowly leeched into the shapes, defining them.
"Welcome," A soft, low, smooth woman's voice sounded from all around. Harry glanced about for the speaker but found nothing. By the time he turned his attention back to the wall, the stars were completely gone and the wall itself was positively packed with hundreds of exotic, glittering, gaudy, butterflies.
Cabbage yellow wings fanned alongside iridescent blue and green. Common emperors battled for space with lemon and lime wonders, exotic all-black wingspans as big as his hand breaking up the masses of colour here and there and everywhere were patterns like he'd never seen before.
"To Paradise." The woman's voice finished, as the butterflies surged off the wall en mass. Harry stared, mouth open and eyes wide in delight as the beautiful creatures flocked around him, past him, vanishing into the distance. He spun around, trying to see how they'd managed it - they had no magic - and he thought he saw Mike batting something flat and gauzy away from his face before the man nodded his head forward - bringing Harry's attention to a single woman standing smiling in what looked like an old - like Roman era old - white toga, visibly soft and embroidered with gold along the hem. Her hair was a matching shade of gold, somehow still managing to look natural and curled into shiny ringlets as thick as his wrist that bounced gently whenever she moved.
"Wow." Harry said, not loudly or anything, just admiring. Then the woman's eyes crinkled and he realised that she, unlike the butterflies, was real.
He could feel his face flush and was quietly thankful it was still reasonably dark. In fact, the woman seemed to glow in the dark room, which was probably why he'd assumed she was just another illusion - or holograph or whatever they were called.
Still holding eye contact with him, the woman gave the barest elegant bow. It was enough to send her hair sliding silkily over one shoulder, tresses brushing the slightest glimpse of the edge of one breast. Harry felt abruptly hot under the collar. She certainly wasn't wearing anything indecent, but! Taking a steadying breath, he resolved to keep his eyes above her neckline from now on… and curse both Dave and Mike if this turned out to be some sort of future-style brothel.
"I am Clio." The woman said, just as soft and smooth as the other voice, but noticeably different. Younger, and higher. Maybe the other had been a recording?
"Please, follow me."
With another smile - halfway between friendly and inviting - the woman turned and walked slowly away. Harry shot a quick glance to Michael - who nodded, although his own eyes were a little wide, thank Merlin - and trailed after her. Around them the walls changed - now they were walking along a corridor of polished, inlaid marble lined by whisper-soft, blue-green waterfalls lit from within. Above them the stars continued twinkling, About their feet, the slightest trace of fog made the edges of the floor and walls - waterfalls? - difficult to discern. After only a few moments' walk, part of the waterfall seemed to open up, revealing a hidden space which quickly lit up with yet more stars in the ceiling and walls. Clio turned and smiled over her shoulder at him, before stepping through and to the side - clearly waiting for him to join her. Once he and Michael did so, she ran a hand through the air and water fell once more to cover the 'doorway'.
Harry wanted to examine it. It was obviously not water, he wasn't the slightest bit damp and rushing water like that would be louder… but it looked so much like it! Before he could give it a closer look, a tiny hand - with fingertips so smooth it was like being touched by a warm ghost - brushed the skin of his lower arm, discreetly drawing his attention back to the woman.
She smiled again, like just looking at him was enough to make her happy, and drew him over to what looked like a long, curved marble altar. Except, at a touch from her, it split open like a seed pod to reveal a high-tech interior. Both sides seemed moulded to fit a human body - space for arms and legs and head and shoulders - and there was a fixed metal webbing along the top which looked like it fitted over the head and chest. It was also clearly sized for someone like Harry, rather than Michael or Clio.
It looked like a high tech coffin. A Muggle version of what he'd been sealed away in, hundreds of years ago.
Before he could even think, Harry was stepping back and away, senses sharp and looking for the exit. What was this?!
Clio blinked, looking surprised, a little worried and just a smidgen unnerved.
Michael's hand came to rest against Harry's back, carefully not restricting him, just a reminder of his presence.
"Easy, Boss." The big man said as quietly as he could - like it was unseemly to be seen speaking to his charge in public. He turned a bit, putting his body between the coffin, Clio and Harry. "It's just an interface - virtual reality, remember? This is it. It's just like a comfy bed; you lie down, it closes and the nice lady here will load whatever you want. An adventure, sight-seeing tour - even a look back in time, if you want to see back home like it used to be. You can even…" Mike trailed off and cleared his throat, dropping his hand but staying between the coffin and Harry. Dark eyes just watched him, steady and reassuring. Eyebrows lifting the slightest amount, head tilted to a precisely significant angle, Mike silently asked if he wanted to leave. Because, Harry remembered, if he wanted to - Mike would make it happen. He put Harry first, no matter what.
It made sense that virtual reality was more than optical tricks and fancily-dressed ladies. And really, why would the RDA bother trying to trick him into some sort of hibernation chamber-cum-coffin? It was just a box.
That he'd probably be locked into.
What was so scary about being locked in a box…? Again.
Yeah, okay, plenty.
"Can I open it?" He asked, barely above a whisper. Mike glanced over his shoulder - actually checking - then turned back and nodded.
"Yup. There's a latch on the inside, by your left hand. Pull it and the whole thing pops open. I've been in one before - a cheaper model - but the inside is the same design.
Harry breathed out hard, scrounging up his courage. He was a Gryffindor for Pete's sake.
"Okay." He agreed shakily, stepping forward as Mike moved aside. The woman hesitated for a fraction of a second, eyes flickering from Harry to Michael and back to Harry before she smiled again - professional persona recovered.
"First time?" She asked, a gentle edge of teasing that managed to be more friendly than mocking. "I'll be gentle."
Harry just gave her an awkward smile and paused as steps seemed to rise out of the floor, helping him get up to the lip of the coff- of the device. Sitting on the edge, legs hanging down, he froze as Clio's small hand touched him briefly on the leg - before the woman went gracefully to her knees to remove his shoes. Looking down in shock, Harry got an eyeful of her, uh, assets, and snapped his head back up with the strongest blush so far. Standing behind her, Mike smirked at him.
Harry scowled, distracted from even attempting to stammer out something about how he could do it himself. He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away as those same hands then moved on to peeling off his socks - nails barely brushing his skin in a way that was almost ticklish but not quite, her hair sliding against him in a manner that was frankly, Harry thought to himself, indecent. For Merlin's sake, he was sixteen! That wasn't… well, in the Wizarding world it wasn't…
Oh bloody hell, it was legal here. He was legal. Which meant she was probably doing it on purpose and-No not thinking about it!
He bit harder, tasting blood. It was better than blood getting to where it was currently aiming for. The second she rose to her feet - graceful as she'd gone down (NObad brain!) - Harry swung his legs up and into the - surprisingly soft and squishy - grooves designed for them. Right now he'd take being shut in the bloody coffin-device, thank you very much. Then at least he could be mortified in private, and plot revenge against everyone involved in this nightmare.
He lay back at a slight nudge, shuffling awkwardly to fit himself in the - again, surprisingly comfortable - blue-green gel that lined the machine. He could feel a slight hum at his back but, looking around, he couldn't see anything more technical than the wires and round flat things spread over the flimsy looking cage for his head and body. The girl closed it over him, smiling again as her fingers - apparently unintentionally - brushed over his shirt-covered chest and along his temple. Although it clicked into place, nothing actually touched him which helped him feel okay with it all.
Then she closed the lid. Thank Merlin it wasn't pitch black inside or he might have panicked. Already he could feel his magic prickling under his skin. If he lost control, it wouldn't be just his weak reserves that would react. He had to keep it down. He reminded himself, as tiny lights amongst the wires glittered and the gel glowed a soothing blue-green, that this was all perfectly normal. It was just like going to the movies (not that he'd even been), except even better. And, you got to lie down and relax, like being at a spa (not that he'd ever been there either) and maybe now was the time to be thinking about Clio and her flirty blue eyes, long lashes and Holy shit what was that?!
A huge clunking noise sounded as the machine shuddered and every muscle in Harry's body tensed. His magic sung under his skin, fully connected to the planet and ready to lash out in his defence. Distantly, Harry tried to sooth it, settle it, but another clunk followed by a low whine - which quickly built up power and pitch - spiked his anxiety enough that it was like trying to hold back a tornado. Then, just as he felt it slip from his grasp, something tugged at his mind.
The way a certain potion once had, force fed to him over a century ago, as it took his awareness - his life - away from him.
He lost it.
The coffin erupted away from him, a wave of energy slapping the golden-haired girl away and into Michael, who took both their weights as he crashed into - no, through - the wall. The tug at his mind vanished instantly, thank Merlin, and with it and the coffin gone, sanity swiftly returned.
The room was dark and the air was full of shouting. Round disks of light flickered into life high above them, oddly bright and revealing not a single room but a long row of space, of coffins, separated by strips of grey gauze that hung floor to ceiling. Several other coffins were open or opening and women in robes like Clio - some, he could barely tell through the layers of material - in different styles and colours - were rushing from one to another, soothing and guiding angry or frightened people (customers?) away from their individual pods and towards the exit.
He'd shut it all down, Harry realised. When he'd lashed out, his magic had met technology and technology had faltered. The power had failed - everywhere in the building, it seemed. The mystique of the water and stars and Muggle illusions - all shattered in a single frightened moment. He sat up, fragments of the all-but-destroyed sensory cage falling away from him. The lid of the virtual reality machine lay in pieces on the floor behind him - twisted and broken beyond repair but thankfully not flung far enough to injure anyone.
Still, as he looked around to see Clio's terrified expression, her hair in disarray as Michael heaved her off of him and rolled painfully to his feet, Harry couldn't help but feel as ashamed as if it had.
What had he done? Had a little freak out moment and just… just lost it. He could have killed someone. Clio - so beautiful and so nice, even if it was just her job to be - was afraid of him.
"I'm sorry." He choked, horrified and shamed and just wanting to be anywhere but here, to be back home in England with other wizards, to just not have to face what he'd so stupidly done.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, as his magic - still connected, shit, still connected, who or what was paying for his weakness, his lack of control? - gathered itself and tried to fulfil his wishes.
The last thing Harry saw as he disapparated was Michael's snapping, dark, furious eyes.
Earth
His uncontrolled apparition, suffocatingly tight and wild for the lack of ambient magic to cushion it, dropped him hard in a stinking alley, somewhere other than where he'd been before. Looking up, he could see no sign of the carpet of lights near his apartment building - which meant he was pretty bloody far away. The natural light was even more miserable this far down. Everything looked grey, even his shirt which had been a bright blue back at the apartment. Pollution? As if thinking the word summoned the reality, he felt his throat begin to tickle and he coughed against the sensation. Hoping it was all in his head, he glanced down at his watch. He should call Michael. Or David. But Michael was probably - rightfully - pissed off at him, so maybe David would be best. He lifted it within touching-distance, but frowned. The face was… blank. Grey-black, where normally it looked like a slowly moving earth with numbers around the outside. Had it switched off…?
He poked at it a few different ways before realising his magic had probably fried it, so little and so close to his skin as it had been. And also, the magic was still churning away, the brief connection to the world's core having super-charged him to an extent. He could - and did - close it off again, but he couldn't return what his body had absorbed. That just wasn't the way it worked, which was why it was so bloody dangerous for him to lose control like that.
Well, great. Lost in a strange city, without even a mask against the pollution, probably in deep trouble for blowing up an expensive entertainment business and he'd probably just caused an entire town's collection of pets to die. Or worse, their livestock. Who even knew. Hopefully the damage was spread out and just be attributed to bad luck - the last thing he needed was to spark a witch hunt.
Clio's terrified expression flashed across his mind and he shoved it away. Not now.
No, now he needed to find a phone or something. His watch might not work but… maybe he could reverse-call from a land line? That was still a thing, wasn't it? Or he could find a police officer. Somehow.
Sighing, coughing again at the phantom feeling of his lungs being slowly destroyed with every breath, he picked a direction to go in and started walking.
The buildings were half stone, half metal-plating. Long streaks of brown and black stained their sides, all the windows were boarded up and everything looked abandoned - except for the graffiti. Trash lined the streets, like the wind had decided this was the place to collect everything that had ever escaped a bin. He could hear the rush of cars in the far distance and every so often a train - one of the overhead rattling things held up more by habit than anything else - slammed past nearby, but he never heard one stop. He kept walking, hoping not to run into any druggies or serial killers or people actively planning for his, specific, death.
Movement at the corner of his eye snapped his head up and he tensed in readiness.
He blinked. Was that?
It was.
"Boxy?" He asked, glancing around for her brother as the tiny girl turned at the sound of her name and lit up on seeing who had called it.
"P'ncess Harry!" She cheered, running over in her little pink wellies. Harry smiled at her, a bit distracted as he continued to look for whoever she was with. She couldn't be alone out here, could she? The place looked like a set piece for a movie about urban crime.
"Just Harry." He corrected gently. "Boxy, where's your brother?"
Boxy frowned, petulant or maybe just annoyed.
"He's wif' Mia." She answered glumly. "They're playin', 'n so I can't be in the room."
"Oh." Harry replied blankly. Then, "Oh." He blushed and averted his eyes from Boxy's curious gaze.
"Well, I'm sure you're not supposed to be out and about by yourself." He diverted firmly. Boxy's eyes widened.
"Yes I am." She countered innocently and absolutely insincerely.
Harry raised an eyebrow at her. She stared back then, after a long pause, used her hands to push up one of her own eyebrows.
"How do you do that?" She asked suddenly. Harry, despite having almost no experience with younger kids, got the distinct impression she was actively trying to change the subject.
"I'll tell you, if you show me the way to your home." He offered. Boxy frowned obstinately.
"Or maybe some magic.." Harry coaxed.
Sold! With a delighted squeal, the little girl grabbed his hand and tugged him after her as fast as her little legs could go.
Earth
The place she took him too was a pair of old, red-brick buildings facing a concrete-lined, trench-like river that stank of refuse and other things. A monorail bisected them, arching overhead with supports installed on the roofs of each building. The buildings were also linked at the back, making a rough U shape, and in the space between them was what looked like an earnest attempt at a community garden. Raised beds had been built, with timber, bricks and metal sheets, of varying heights and containing plants in varying states of ill-health. Several home-made coverings were protecting spring seedlings. For the people who lived here, the garden was clearly better than nothing and equally clearly something they worked at, based on the weed-free beds and dirty tools locked on a rack screwed into the wall.
Boxy tugged him to a low-set box which was marked with strips of blue cloth tied to rusty metal spikes - her family's area, he guessed. Carefully, with childish focus, she stuck her finger through the soil at several points to see if it needed watering, then stood back and sighed.
"Buddy says it won't work." She shared quietly, staring down at a tiny leaf that had only barely peeked above ground but was already limp and nowhere near a healthy colour. "Mom used to trade for, for, fert-lizer, 'n that used to help. But. We can't a'ford it now."
Harry knelt at her side, flinching slightly as a train barrelled past overhead, rattling the line loudly. Taking a breath, he reached out and focused on pulling only from within.
And stroked the tiny leaf.
It surged upwards, filling with rich colour, more shoots following it like a joyous charge. Boxy's hands slammed over her mouth, eyes wide, as within seconds the plant grew to the size of her head, produced flowers and then began to wither. Harry drew back, feeling his magic settle a little.
"Oh my God."
He turned slightly to find Buddy standing behind them, staring opened-mouthed at the plant. Several feet behind him, once again, was his friend. Slowly, the other boy knelt beside them, reaching a shaking hand to grasp the plant firmly by its stout stem and pulled. In a shower of dirt the roots came free, along with 4 large potatoes. At least two more could be seen still in the ground, having snapped off.
"Oh my God." Buddy repeated, softer now. "H-how?" He turned wide, vulnerable eyes to Harry. "It's not... it shouldn't be possible. The-the soil is crap. It..."
Harry shrugged self-consciously. "Magic." He explained quietly, flashing back to their last meeting when that answer hadn't been believed.
"So it'll wear off?" Harry's eyes snapped up, startled, to Buddy's friend - the girl who hadn't spoken before and now he knew why. Her voice.. it was wrecked. Every vowel sounded cracked and dry, worse than the old smokers who'd lived on Privet Drive. She flinched back under his stare, colouring but raising her chin defensively. "The food." She clarified stubbornly. "It'll stop - it won't be edible?"
"Oh." Harry said reflexively, understanding why she was asking. Boxy's changing hair colour had worn off, after all. He looked back at Buddy and Boxy, the former of who was trying to hide his desperate hope.
They needed this, needed the food the way even Harry had never really needed, despite the Dursley's harsh treatment.
"It won't wear off." He reassured them. "It's a-different kind of magic. The colour charm imposes a temporary change on the natural order. This... this just fed the plant everything it needed, in one quick burst, allowing it to progress the way it was already trying to. I fed it, I didn't change it. It's fine to eat, I promise."
Boxy gasped. "We can eat it?!" She turned to her brother, tugging at his sleeve and staring at the lumpy potatoes. "What does it taste like? Is it good?"
Buddy shook his head and gently stroked her hair. "No, we can't eat it, Boxy." He replied, with the air of someone repeating themselves. "They're worth money - if we sell them, we can buy more food than these would supply us - you see?"
"Oh." Boxy looked disappointed, despite her obvious attempt to brave-face it for her brother. "Okay."
Harry bit his lip. They couldn't afford to eat their own food? He looked out over the square of makeshift growing area. The soil would be completely wrong for most of the plants, assuming they even got the nutrients or sunlight they needed. He could help, he knew he could. And, in typical Harry Potter fashion, he didn't think before he jumped in to do so.
He gathered his magic, focused it in the new way he was learning, and flooded the small garden.
As all manner of unseasonal plants burst from the earth and surged towards fruitfulness, he slumped to the ground and passed out cold.
Earth
When he woke, the air was filled with voices. Children and adults alike laughed and chatted. Someone was playing some sort of stringed instrument, with more enthusiasm than skill. The sky was still gloomy, but a rainbow glow in the distance suggested it was close to night. Small lights installed in lines along the walls had been switched on, some of which had been painted over in bright colours to de-sterilise the end result.
He was lying on the ground against one wall, someone's jacket bundled up under his head. His guts ached with hunger, mouth watering in reaction - and not the good kind. He wavered for a moment between throwing up and passing back out, before resolutely breathing the nausea down and struggling up to search for food.
There was a cry and abruptly half a dozen sets of hands were trying to help him up.
He blinked up at the people crowding around him, blearily wondering who the hell they were and where Michael was - before remembering that, oh yeah, he'd blown half a building up, disapparated out and then managed to incapacitate himself.
Good job, Potter.
"Alright, alright." Someone laughed. "Back off of him, now. Two helpers only, max."
With grins and friendly pats, most of his helpers dispersed. The speaker remained, squatting at his right side with one large hand at his back, ready to stop him falling down again. Harry glanced to his left and followed the set of legs there up to Buddy, who gave him a shy smile.
"You doin' alright, sir?" The man asked, gaining Harry's attention. Harry turned back to him, then glanced around.
Someone had some sort of space-heater plugged into an outlet and was cheerfully using the top of it to cook something in a large pot. Smaller children gathered by the cook's feet, begging for scraps. Older children were moving carefully through the garden, marvelling at the range of plants and colours - apparently amazed by what real, healthy vegetation looked like. One boy boggled as an adult demonstrated how an ear of corn was peeled open to reveal rows of tiny yellow kernels. Two girls were plucking strawberries with a reverence normally given to holy relics. Others were harvesting peas and lettuce by the bag-full. In the non-garden area of the communal space, folding chairs and tables were being set out by worn-looking adults who nevertheless smiled more than they frowned and seemed to be talking about what they intended to do with their share of the harvest. Out-of-season and home-grown, it could be worth quite a bit.
"I'm, uh.." Fine, he was going to say, when his stomach gave another threatening lurch. "A.. little hungry?" He blushed as he said it, feeling rude to say as much to people to whom food was apparently a social event sort of big deal. The man just grinned and lifted his hand to gently jostle his shoulder.
"I bet you are. Buddy said you dropped like a rock after you.. well. Least we can do is feed you!" Before Harry could reply, the large hand slid under his arm and firmly pulled him to his feet, Buddy hurrying to help on his other side. Both walked him over to a table, where a woman who was skinny like Aunt Petunia but with a much nicer face, pulled out a chair for him. Buddy hurried away and returned with a tray full of cannisters, each covered in cartoon characters. They had large holes in the top, like the shakers for fish food. Buddy began distributing them amongst the tables and his voice-damaged friend came over with a bowl of stew, which she placed before Harry before leaving again.
Or, not-stew, Harry realised as he looked down. It was similar to the protein slop that the RDA provided for free, but was peppered with chunks of what Harry presumed to be vegetables from their new haul. Potato - or possibly turnip? - and pumpkin seemed predominate.
"I wanted to add some peppers, but my husband - Tom - claims that's an acquired taste." The man next to him joked, tugging forward some of the canisters as Harry blinked at him. Husband?
Well, he thought after a moment, it was the future. Just because the man looked like the kind of blue-collar worker that got Aunt Petunia hot and bothered, and not like the 'prancing fairy' that Uncle Vernon had hated so much, didn't mean he couldn't like blokes, he guessed.
"And at least this way, people can add their own flavours." The man turned the canisters so that the labels were visible. Harry just nodded his reply. He felt weak, in every way. It took effort to curl his hand, to stay seated mostly upright. His vision wasn't focusing properly and if he didn't get some nourishment to restore his energy soon, it was very likely he'd pass out again. He reached out for the canister marked 'chicken' (and which, for some reason, had a dancing moose on it), shook out some flavour, stirred it in and then shovelled it down.
One of the benefits of being energy-starved was that the food tasted immensely better than usual - and the pumpkin provided bursts of genuine 'real' flavour and texture. In less than two minutes he'd scraped the bowl clean and his vision thankfully steadied. He could feel the residual magic inside him consuming the food more than his body was. He'd be empty and hungry for more within a few minutes.
Either reading his mind or just of a generous mindset, Buddy's friend swung by again to replace his empty bowl with a full one. Harry called his thanks after her and stuck into the fresh bowl without care for adding flavour. The man at his side watched it all with sharp eyes.
"It really takes it out of you, huh?" He asked quietly, for their ears only. Harry swallowed and nodded, glancing at the man out of the corner of his eye.
"It all comes down to energy." He reiterated what he only barely understood, what he had only just begun learning about from the information left to him by his long-dead captors. "When I draw it from only myself, I have a very limited supply. My body shutting down - passing out - is like a fail safe to prevent me from dying."
The man's eyebrows shot up and something about his expression gentled.
"Thank you." The man said simply. "I thought maybe you'd dropped by for some kinda PR stuff, which didn't mean I wasn't thankful anyway, but..."
"No." Harry muttered. So the man had recognised him then. Or Buddy had told him who he was. "Just - acted without thinking again." He offered a smile as he said it, not wanting to sound like he regretted helping them. But seriously - he'd just put himself in danger over a small batch of fruit n vege. If Hermione were here, she'd smack him upside the head.
"You're a good kid." The man decided, thrusting out a hand. "I'm Jerry. It's good to meet you."
"Harry." Harry returned, dropping his spoon to shake. "You too."
Earth
If you want to be spoilered for a minor side-plot, set several chapters in the future, you can head on over to the junk drawer for a preview of a scene involving Mia and Buddy.
Thanks for all the fantastic support! I reply to everyone who asks questions, even if my answer is 'SPOILERS'. :)