Welcome back all!
Before we get back into all the fun I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all again, three chapters in and we're already at 117 Follows and 77 Favorites at the time of writing this chapter, which is already better than anything I had written in the past. I appreciate it a ton and it helps make me feel like I might be doing a half way decent job lol.
Anyways, that's all I have for you right now, Let's get back into!
EDIT: Hey! So I started writing this chapter a few days after my previous one but I got bogged down with work, I'm a 3D generalist and I do a lot of work for indie game devs and other companies who need 3D models made for whatever their purpose is and I've been swamped with work the last couple months which has made it hard to sit down and write a bit. So sorry for the wait guys!
My schedule is clearing up quite a bit though so I should be able to put out a few more chapters this month.
-DISCLAIMER- I do not own Harry Potter, Cyberpunk 2077, RED, Edgerunners etc. etc. If I did, maybe someone would get a happy fucking ending for once, it's like cyberpunk of thrones out here x.x
The first thing to register is pain, it's sharp and nearly blinding but nothing like being held under the cruciatus, nothing quite compares to that pain for Harry. That being said, being shot in the shoulder still fucking hurts, like a whole hell of a lot and while that might be enough to deter more normal people from reacting in immediate retaliation, Harry is certainly not normal. Year after year of constant danger, his upbringing with his muggle relatives and most recently fighting in a war has all but ensured that he will never be someone who balks at the first bite of pain.
What this unfortunately means, at least for his hooded and masked assailant, is that even thought the close proximity to the shot had pushed his left shoulder back, pushing Harry into a turn, it does not prevent Harry from retaliating, for as much as his left shoulder hurts, Harry is right handed. A quick slash of his wand carves a long bone deep gash that nearly splits the Voodoo Boy from hip to shoulder, his scream of shock quickly becomes gurgled chokes of pain as he drops his pistol before his body follows it to the ground in a broken heap.
Harry himself falls to the ground from losing his footing, but he doesn't remain idle, with a flicking motion and the image of a barrier in his mind a large chunk of the road is transfigured into a thick slab roughly four foot in height and width. He quickly orients himself into a seated position with his back against the newly formed wall. He knows he cannot stay here very long, but it'd work for a moment while he figures out a plan. 'Okay Potter, first off try to figure out how many enemies there are.' He knows he is the one thinking the words, but in this moment they sound very much like Alastor Moody. 'You know the incantation, put some power behind it!' Not-Moody orders and like a loyal soldier Harry complies. "Homenum Revelio" he casts, putting as much power as he safely can without burning too much. The feedback from the spell is loud in his mind, there are a lot of people hiding in buildings mixed in with anyone outside and it takes him a few moments to sort through who might be a threat versus who is hiding.
He narrows it down to sixteen possible attackers, thankfully none on his side of the little barricade. 'Alright, you know where they are, now plug your pain hole and get ready for a fight, MOVE!' Harry thinks, the internal voice sounding more like his own once more, with a small series of flicks and waves the sleeve on his left arm is torn free from his shirt before transfiguring into a lang bandage which slides up his arm like a serpent and binds itself across the bullet hole in his shoulder and across his chest tightly. 'One less thing to worry about, now what?' he ponders.
Taking the fight to sixteen attackers with guns would not be easy by and stretch but Harry has the advantage of knowing their positions and his own magic, 'I don't know if shield spells will hold up against these kinds of bullets, something to test out later maybe.' Harry decides that sticking to transfigured shields might be for the best right now. A half formed idea to initiate is stopped by a mocking call from beyond his barricade. "You got one of us white boy!" an accented voice calls as a man in his mid thirties steps out with some kind of rifle aimed at the barricade. "I don't know how you did that little trick with the road but we all saw you take that hit, give up now and you'll get to live!"
"What happens if I don't!?" Harry calls out, already knowing the answer but trying to stall for a small bit of time for him to get in position, now crouching and facing the direction of the voice Harry remains low enough to not be seen.
"Then we'll take you from that wall of yours, cut off your fucking arms and take you anyways!" The man shouts, followed by the loud jeers and taunts of his cohorts.
"Or!" Harry says, drawing up some power for whatever comes next. "You could just fuck off and leave me alone!" he yells, doubtful they'd listen, but never let it be said that Harry wouldn't give someone a chance to chose life instead of violence, Albus Dumbledore's teaching shining through a bit. The response to his offer is a hail of bullets slamming into the barricade which thankfully tanked the damage fairly well but wouldn't last forever. But still Harry waits, listening hard when the bullets stop. The moment he hears the telltale sounds of reloading weapons Harry springs up from his cover.
With a determined glare, Harry raised his wand, his grip firm and resolute. A burst of fiery determination ignited within him as he channeled his magic, embracing its lethal potential. The rifle wielding Voodoo Boy lunged forward, his finger tightening on the trigger of his firearm, ready to unleash another hailstorm of bullets, but Harry was faster. With a swift motion, he cast a powerful Incendio, conjuring a torrent of searing flames that engulfed the gang member. His screams of agony echoed through the street as the fire consumed him, reducing him to ash, leaving behind smoldering cyberware and the smell of cooked flesh.
The other Voodoo Boys faltered momentarily, taken aback by the ferocity of Harry's magic. Sensing an opportunity, he launched himself into action, his wand cutting through the air with precise and deadly intent. A series of spellcasting ensued, each incantation met with devastating results. The first is a cutting curse, Sectumsempra, slicing through the air like an invisible blade. The curse tore through two Voodoo Boys who had been standing too close together, leaving trails of blood in its wake. Another gang member met their demise when a spike of concrete jutted from between his legs, impaling him and lifting his screaming body into the air for all to see.
'There's one things the Death Eaters got right Potter. Fear, if they are afraid, more often than not they will become sloppy.' Not-Moody's advice rings in his ears, loud even amongst the sounds of the carnage he is conducting upon his enemies. With their numbers dropping like flies, the Voodoo boys finally manage to snap out of their shared stupor and begin unloading their weapons upon Harry, eager to avenge their fallen, but just as the voice in his head promised, their aim is sloppy and most miss their mark by a mile.
Harry uses their lack of accuracy to summon another barricade, but instead of hiding behind the heavy slab of street, he brings his wand down with a fury, with a quick combination of a bombarda and a depulso, the slab of concrete becomes a hail of stone shrapnel that plows it's way in a wide arc upon the exposed ganggoons. Stone and rebar shredding several of them away like buckshot to incredibly deadly effect. Using the cloud of debris created by his action, Harry ducks down behind a broken down vehicle to catch his breathe.
'My boy, is it truly necessary to cause so much death to the poor muggles?' The voice of Not-Dumbledore joining his thoughts at the worst time. 'They are scared and confused, I'm sure you could have talked them down before it needed to result to such violence.' he says in that irritatingly familiar "Grandfatherly" way that always seems to make even grown adults feel like chastised children.
"They shot me! I'm pretty sure they made their intentions clear enough!" Harry yells aloud at Not-Dumbledore, the idea that he is now arguing with the voices in his head not causing as much worry as it probably should, even given the situation. "Now is not the time for your standard second chances professor!"
No voice responds, but Harry can still feel that distinct feeling of having disappointed a parental figure and while normally that would have given him pause and caused shame, right now is really not the time for such feelings. "Focus Potter, pretend to hear the dead later..." Harry mutters to himself, bringing his focus back to the real world. With another quick cast revealing spell Harry now counts seven attackers, the rest having either fallen to his magic or run once things turned really fucking weird to their worldview, as far as they know there is no tech out there that can cause the things Harry is doing.
Sensing three of his targets huddled particularly close together, Harry begins drawing the power for an overcharged attack. As his spell is primed he stands from his cover, his wand already snapping to the direction of those hiding behind what Harry can now see is a couple of the same type of vending machines Nadege got his food from the previous day. "Bombarda Maxima!" Harry yells, the spell tearing down the street, leaving some cracks in it's wake as it goes, before impacting the machines.
They didn't even have time to scream as metal, food and body parts flung out in all directions, the machines reduced to scrap and shrapnel that destroyed a good chunk of wall in the radius around it. With three more down and four to go, Harry is getting tired. Repeated apparitions, overcharging spells and the stresses of live combat starting to weigh him down. Yet the battle raged on, the air heavy with the scent of gunpowder and magic. The Voodoo Boys fought back with a tenacity born of desperation, but Harry's command over the arcane arts was unmatched in this new world. His lethal spells struck with precision, decimating his enemies with ruthless efficiency.
As the final member of the Voodoo Boys fell to the ground, lifeless, the neighborhood fell into an eerie silence. Harry stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, sweat mingling with the residue of magic on his brow. The victory was bittersweet, he really did want to just make his way to Heywood unchallenged, yet this city seems hellbent to make his life incredibly difficult at every turn.
Regret weighed heavy upon him as he surveyed the aftermath. The formidable force of the Voodoo Boys had been vanquished, but at a cost to his own conscience, he knows deep down that his actions were required, but he was still just a teenager, barely an adult and it would never become as easy to kill as the Death Eaters and Voldemort made it seem. A flicker of doubt clouded his eyes, he hasn't felt much like himself since arriving, he has acted in ways he normally wouldn't and with the clarity that comes post battle he can see something in him is different. What if it did become easy? People in this place seem to cling to violence and aren't afraid to inflict it upon others with lethal intent. Would he have to become just like them in order to survive this place?
"It feels like I already am..." he mutters to himself before shaking his head. He can worry about his actions later, he is still in enemy territory and it's incredibly doubtful that was all the Voodoo Boys had at their disposal. "But first." Harry puts enough power into his next casting for a wide area sweep accio, his need for money powering the spell's intent and within moments several credit chips and rolls of eurodollars flew from corpse pockets, landing at his feet. He pockets them all before taking off in a run in the direction of his main objective.
As he leaves the area, the watchful eyes of Placide sends a recording of the entire encounter to Maman Brigitte, the results peaking her interest more and more, sure the loss of some men was unfortunate but those numbers would be replaced within weeks, if not days, no the real worry is this boy and whatever cyberware he must have 'under the hood'. "Perhaps he is some kind of corpo experiment at a new Adam Smasher?" She ponders aloud, the only possible way she can think tech doing what that boy did to exist. With a smirk she orders her Netrunners to make doubly sure that nobody else but them knows about this little development, she'll be damned if anyone else gets their hands on this type of gold mine before she's ready to make a move more directly.
Leaving behind the decimated street where the battle had taken place, Harry weaved through the neon-lit streets, his gaze fixed on the distant lights of Heywood's skyline. The cacophony of bustling crowds and blaring advertisements filled the air, drowning out the echoes of his recent struggle. Harry's clothes, tattered and stained, drew curious glances from the denizens of Night City. He was an oddity in this world of cybernetic enhancements and extravagant fashion. But not enough for any of them to stop him for details, if someone looked like they had just been in a fight odds are they were, with his head down he pressed onward, searching for a temporary safe haven and a chance to hopefully find some work and earn his keep.
After walking for what felt like an eternity, Harry's weary eyes fell upon a weathered sign advertising a small hostel in Heywood. Its flickering holographic letters spelled out "Night's Haven - A Home for the Weary." A flicker of hope ignited within him as he made his way towards the entrance, hoping for respite within its walls. As Harry stepped inside, he was greeted by a worn-out receptionist sitting behind a counter cluttered with old-fashioned keycards and a holo-terminal. The woman's cybernetic eye whirred softly as she assessed him, taking in his disheveled appearance and hand clutched to his shoulder wound, blood having leaked through the bandages a while ago..
"You look like you've had a rough day, kid." the receptionist remarked with a hint of sympathy in her voice. "Don't worry, We don't ask too many questions, just don't bring whatever trouble you're in to our doorstep and we won't throw you out."
Harry exhaled a sigh of relief, he uses one of the pocketed credit chips to pay for a room and receives a keycard in return. With the directions to his room in hand, he made his way up creaking stairs to the worn-out corridor. Unlocking the door, Harry steps into a modest but clean room. The soft hum of the air conditioning providing a soothing contrast to the chaos of the streets below. He collapses into the chair placed at the bedside table, finally allowing himself a moment to rest and recuperate.
He remains in that same position for almost an hour before the pain in his shoulder becomes too much to ignore, with a grunt he raises himself to his feet and heads to the bathroom, removing his shirt and tossing it onto the bed as he goes. Flicking on the light, Harry takes a look at himself properly for the first time since he woke up in that pile of garbage, his last room not having a mirror to use. "I look like I just tried to hug the Whomping Willow." he chuckles a bit, his body it littered with small cuts and scrapes from bits of concrete and who knows what else but thankfully no more bullet holes. The bandages having been bled through in the front showing that the bullet hadn't punched clean through him even with how close he was to his shooter at the time.
With a flick of his wand the bandages disappear, revealing a still bleeding hole. "Not too bad I think, at least he didn't use anything bigger than that pistol." Harry grumbles, readying his wand at the hole, he breathes out before taking a deep breathe and casting a silent accio. Harry chokes back a yell as the bullet tears its way out of the wound and drops with a small clatter into the bathroom sink. He sags against the wall, panting some, that hurt almost just as much as getting shot in the first place. He waves his wand over the wound a few times, using the basic healing knowledge he has to clean and close the hole. Opting for a real shower instead of the usual scourgify, Harry disrobes and steps into the stall.
After an extra long shower and quick cleaning of his clothes, Harry sits at the end table again after having emptied his pockets. of their contents. In a small pile sits roughly two-thousand six hundred in eurodollars, another seven thousand two hundred and some change within the credit chips, the resurrection stone and his gifted agent phone. The money would last him a little while so long as he lived light and didn't spend more than he needed each day. "Need to make it last until I can earn some more."
A quick check over of what he's wearing draws another realization to the forefront, "I'm going to need some new clothes soon too, these won't last forever." he reaches for his agent and goes to switch it on, the battery life reader depicting it at about fifty percent charge. "I'll need to pick up a charging dock for this as well, maybe some food too, ugh I can already see my funds withering away." he mumbles quietly in thought. "Nothing for it, it can all wait until later, I'm exhausted." With a once over of the doors and windows of the room making sure everything is locked tight Harry collapses onto the bed, asleep almost immediately after.
It's dark outside when Harry next wakes up, grabbing his belongings and pocketing the money he ventures out into Heywood, determined to find work and establish some stability he navigates the district's maze-like streets, his senses alert to the possibility of any lurking dangers. Passing by bustling markets, futuristic factories, and high-tech clinics, He walks until the shiny and clean becomes more dirty and discarded as he leaves the relatively safe area of Wellsprings and ventures into The Glen.
Harry can almost immediately notice the difference in the areas, while Wellsprings was pretty clean and seemed a lot closer to how a corporate town might be, everything sleek and designer to a point, The Glen felt a lot more like what one might consider a ghetto area, though not as bad as Pacifica at least. He can see that while there is plenty of diversity in the area, it is much like Nadege said it'd be as far as Latinos being the main demographic to the area, the surroundings reflecting the culture just as heavily. 'It's kind of nice to be able to see something that isn't stuck in medieval times or dredged in blood superiority.' he thinks as he passes by a few storefronts and street vendors peddling their wares.
His musings come to an abrupt end as he finds himself looking at a "Help Wanted" sign outside of what looks like some kind of bar. 'Well, it couldn't hurt to try right?' he thinks a little optimistically, but in a world where people are killing each other left and right over the smallest things while they bury themselves in garbage, who would complain about a kid working in a bar? With that mindset secured, he opens the door and passes through the entry way, he pauses for a moment to take in the sight before him.
The inside of the bar was an interesting mix of modern day Night City and traditional Latino flair, the bar has the expected neon lighting depicting several brands of drink as well as a sign above the counter that reads as '18+ only', there are a couple tables with chairs spread around the room along with several booth seating options and a couple of pool tables. There are a set of stairs that lead up to the second floor where there is likely more seating available. Thankfully for Harry, the place seems pretty dead right now with only the bartender and a couple patrons hanging around and drinking in one of the booths. As Harry approaches the bar he is immediately noticed by the bartender. "A little young to be in here aint'cha kid?" The man asks with a raised brow, his hands, one organic and one chromed out, wiping some glassware.
"I saw the help wanted sign outside, are you still hiring?" Harry asks, hoping to move passed the comment on his age, "What kind of position are you hiring for?"
The man looks Harry up and down now that he has a better view of him with the bar lighting, 'Ratty incredibly retro styled clothes, barely healed over bullet wound in his shoulder, obvious not-from-around-here accent...' The bartender thinks, not liking the picture he's drawing in his head about the kid's situation. "We need someone who can clean tables, floors and glassware, deliver orders to tables and someone who can do some maintenance work in the event we need to slap something back into working order would be a bonus." he says, passing a now clean glass over to a stack and grabs another dirty one. "Wouldn't want to lose my license by hiring someone obviously under aged to serve drinks, what are you like fifteen, sixteen?" he ends with another question of Harry's age.
"I'll be eighteen soon, but aside from that I can clean, cook and fix things easy enough." Harry replies with a small sigh, his years of malnourishment bringing up the long term effects once again by making him look younger than he actually is. "I've never had to serve to tables but I learn fast."
The bartender keeps on cleaning several more pieces of glassware as he mulls over his options. 'Well, it's not like we've had much in the way of applicants lately and we have had that sign up for weeks.' he thinks to himself. With a mental nod to himself he sets his last clean glass down on the counter right side up and pours some nicola from a bar side soda gun into it before sliding it to the boy. "Alright..." he starts, looking at the kid meaningfully for a moment.
Harry catches on quick and says "Harry, Harry Potter."
"Alright Harry, I'm Pepe, here's the deal." he begins, motioning for Harry to take a drink, which he does after only a brief moment of hesitation. "I'm the main Bartender for this fine establishment, the owner is out for today and I was given leave to hire if I liked what I saw of anyone interested, with me so far?" The now named 'Pepe" says not really waiting for an answer. "Now I'm going to give you a chance, you look like you could use the help and so could we, so, starting tomorrow night you'll come in, you'll spend a shift cleaning tables, serving drinks and whatever else we can find for you to do and so long as the owner doesn't have anything negative to say then you've got the job and the owner will discuss payment with you."
Harry can't quite suppress the relieved smile that breaks out across his face. "That's perfect, what time do you need me to come in?" he asks, getting excited at the prospect of something a little closer to normal happening to him. 'The word normal has never and will never apply to you freak!' the entirely unwelcome voice of Vernon Dursley yells from the void in Harry's mind, causing him to freeze up for a moment, something that didn't go unnoticed by Pepe who chose not to call him out on it unless it becomes a problem.
"The evening rush usually starts around eight in the evening, I'd like you to be here at least an hour early so we can go over your responsibilities and we can both make sure nothing needs a quick repair before things get busy." Pepe says as he beings wiping down the bar counter. "You'll be working until the early morning so I'd get some rest before then, also while we don't have a real dress-code for this fine establishment, our main rule for clothes is that they are clean, I know this is Night City but please try your best not to come in with fresh blood on you, alright?" He says gesturing to the still raw looking wound still visible in Harry's shoulder.
"We'll go over the rest of the rules and such when you come in tomorrow, for now head on home, get some good sleep because you're going to need it." Pepe says with a smirk. "Oh, and before you go, give me your contact info, need to be able to call you in case we need you sooner."
Harry nods before finishing his drink and giving him the number connected to his agent. With a quick word of thanks and a happy grin he leaves the bar and heads back into the streets of Night City.
Considering he hasn't been awake overly long since his last rest, Harry decides to explore the main streets of the area around the bar some, being sure to make mental notes of anything that piques his interest. As he makes his way around a corner he comes across a small bundle of vendors and their stalls, showcasing everything from food to secondhand clothing and some weapons. Deciding he might as well see if he can find anything less torn up than what he was currently wearing, Harry heads over to peruse of the clothing stalls first.
After a good hour of trying to find something that isn't eye blindingly neon or overly garishly patterned he manages to pick out a couple shirts with some weird decals on them, one of which being of some old rock band called Samurai, even if the logo is mostly faded away. He also managed to find two pairs of pants, one being a similar pair of jeans to his current ones although with a few randomly colored patches here and there, the other being a pair of slate grey cargo pants with many pockets. He wraps up his addition to his slowly growing wardrobe with a pair of black hightop sneakers, similar to a pair of chuck taylor's.
After getting a bag for his new-to-him clothes and paying the vendor, 'Why in the hell are clothes so expensive?' Harry thinks with a small grimace, the cost of clothing cutting kinda hard into his funds. With a shake of his head, Harry stops at a food stall and asks for the vendor's favorite since he has no idea what anything is. After collecting his food in a to-go container Harry decides to head back to the hotel for the rest of the night.
Thankfully, his trip back was completely uneventful, just as before when he went out exploring most of the people around walking the streets left him alone without hardly a glance, an incredibly nice change of pace from the denizens of Pacifica and their ever watchful eyes. Harry nods a quick greeting to the receptionist as the front desk as he makes his way across the lobby and up the stairs to his room. With a quick use of revelio before entering his room to check for any intruders and coming up with nothing, Harry sets his clothing bags at the foot of his bed on the floor and proceeds to the small table to take a seat and eat his slightly cold dinner., some kind of street tacos with weird meat, at least it didn't taste very awful.
Once he was done eating Harry cleans up the mess and sets down to read up on some local news for a bit before heading to bed once again, a grin on his face at the thought of doing something as mundane as getting a job and being paid for work for once has him eager to get started. Since he has zero idea on how he would even get home from this place, not sure if he somehow traveled through time as well as space or something for all he knows and if he's stuck here, well then he might as well carve out a little something for himself while he tries to figure out his next real goal going forward.
Little does he know, there are several entities with knowledge of his existence already making their own plans for the wayward wizard, none of them to his benefit.
And there we go!
Sorry again for how long this took and for how kinda lackluster it may have been, having to pick up a half done chapter after not being able to work on it for a couple months kinda interrupted my groove for lack of a better term lol.
So as a quick recap, harry is out of Pacifica, Huzzah! And now he's got a potential job in the form of bus-boy and temporary handyman for everyone's favorite bar. I'm looking forward to the next few chapters as Harry gets introduced to some people that will be around for both extended and temporary parts of this story, either way they will have an impact on our boy-who-lived-and-then-didn't.
I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter and I'll see you guys on the next one!
