Buried
Harry carefully went through his clothes and found a pair of black trousers and a black sweater. He held them up for El and she nodded in approval.
"Dark," she said.
"Exactly," Harry agreed. Harry didn't have an invisibility cloak anymore and he would need to not be noticed. Steve said they were breaking the laws - Siri said Harry was breaking the law with magic - and they should wear black.
Harry had time to change and to give El the book he found in the library during his lunch hour. There had been a girl in the library at lunch who had been helpful when Harry said he needed a book for his younger sister. There weren't many books in the high school library, not like Hogwarts had.
The girl found a book about poems that she said El might like. Harry checked and there weren't too many big words, he didn't think El could read very well. He gave her the book with a notebook and pen and showed her how to write the words down she didn't know.
"Homework?" El asked.
"Yes." It was like Harry's homework except El would know how to do it because Harry took the time to make sure she understood. Harry didn't understand most of his classes or the homework they assigned.
Some of it wasn't terrible, English and World History were pretty standard. Creative Writing was Harry's favorite class, it was the one that made the most sense. Pre-Algebra and Health were confusing, and thankfully Home Economics and PE didn't assign homework.
Not that it mattered, Harry hadn't done any homework since Jonathan offered to help him on his first day and then his brother went missing. Harry could read without his head aching and he would still fail every class he had.
It shouldn't matter, but Harry used to be good at school. Harry had top grades and a best friend who helped him learn anything he didn't know.
Harry had more important things to do than think about how it would be to have all failing grades. Siri would be home at six, then Steve would be there to pick Harry up.
That was important, making sure someone's friend wasn't left behind to rot alone.
They killed him, They killed him and nobody cared because he wasn't Will.
"Subject Zero Seven is a 12 year old male wizard, classified as half-blood, known survivor of the killing curse. Zero Seven is a child of prophecy credited with the defeat of wizard, Lord Voldemort. Subject Zero Seven prophecy regarding the subject and Lord Voldemort cited as: either must die at the hands of the other."
"Trial Zero One of Project Echo: killing curse."
Steve cared about the child who had been killed and used as a distraction. Steve said it wasn't right to leave him behind and Harry agreed - it wasn't right, to be left behind.
Siri walked in the door late, only by five minutes though. Harry was already dressed and ready so he reminded El that he didn't know when he would be home, but it might be very late.
"And you're going to hang out with Steve?" Siri asked, looking at Harry in the mirror by the door as she let her hair out of the sparkly thing holding it in place.
"Yes," Harry said. He was. Harry had practiced and rehearsed in his head all day - he watched how the other students interacted and had it planned out. Harry would smile, ask how Steve's practice went, ask him if he liked his classes, and then… then Harry wasn't sure.
The students, especially the boys, spent a lot of time punching each other, usually on the shoulder, and calling each other names. Harry tried to see how Steve and Billy interacted with their classmates, but quickly realized that Billy didn't interact with them and Steve… well… Steve didn't that day either. Students interacted with Steve, they tripped him and hit him with their shoulders and called him an entire list of names that Harry thought were probably insults, and Steve said nothing to any of them.
Instead, Harry watched Siri and her friends. Siri knew how to make people like her, how to make sure they didn't hate every second spent near her. Siri was kind, polite, funny, and did a lot of smiling.
Harry hoped it wouldn't take them long to bury the dead boy, he didn't have a lot of notes.
"Are you sure?" Siri turned around and stared at Harry with a furled brow. "You're not just leaving because Billy's here, right?"
"I am sure," Harry said. He told Siri that he had plans with Steve, he might not have told her exactly what those plans were. Harry… Harry wasn't trying to leave her out, he just didn't want her to go with them. If he told her what they were doing, Siri would go with them.
Everyone loved Siri. Siri was bright and funny and knew how to talk to people and she was beautiful and everyone liked her, always. Harry - Harry was too quiet and weird and embarrassing and if Siri went with him then - then Steve would talk to Siri.
Harry rehearsed normal conversations in his head, nothing weird or embarrassing at all. He practiced all day. Harry could spend time with someone and talk to them.
Sirianna stared harder at Harry, she probably knew he was hiding something, and so Harry walked outside to see if Steve was there yet. He said six, it was after six. Siri was home, Harry was ready.
Steve was not there, Billy was.
"All you're missing is a ski-mask," Billy called to him from where he leaned on the side of his car.
Why would Harry need a ski mask? Skiing was done on snowy mountain slopes and it wasn't snowing? It was cold, but not cold enough for snow yet.
Harry didn't say that, he had practiced not saying things that were strange.
"Hello." Harry walked toward Billy with a smile, making himself as friendly as Siri was.
"Jesus!" Billy's entire face twitched and Harry didn't know why at first. "Are you trying to fucking smile?!"
He… was. How did he do it wrong? Other people smiled and nobody said ‘Jesus' to them.
"Is it not working?" Harry asked, trying to hold the smile in place while he spoke. It was hard, and it hurt his cheeks.
"No." Billy took a deep breath and then he smiled at Harry and Harry tried it - tried to take a deep breath and copy Billy's smile. Billy had a nice smile and Harry wanted to smile like that too.
"Like this?" It still hurt to talk and smile, but it wasn't as bad as before. Billy said he got it and Harry started practicing again, practicing smiling then not smiling, smiling then not smiling.
"You've got a date!"
Harry stopped smiling and looked around, thinking Billy must have been talking to someone else. Billy was looking at Harry though and Harry - Harry didn't have a date? Siri had a date, with Billy. She told Harry so the night before and that morning, and in two of their classes.
Siri had a date with Billy because she wanted to hold his hand and kiss him and call him her boyfriend. Harry had plans and notes and a dead child who needed to be buried.
"Er… no." Harry's stomach did an uncomfortable twist, almost like it was flipping inside out, and his body got hot. Harry didn't want to hold anyone's hand except Siri's sometimes and he didn't want to kiss anyone and he wasn't sure he even understood why Siri wanted to have a boyfriend.
"No, I don't," Harry told Billy. "It's not - that."
Harry tried to picture what it would be like to hold hands with someone, with Steve. It would be uncomfortable, his skin would itch Harry's skin and it would be rough and he wouldn't know which direction Harry wanted to walk so he would pull on his arm.
"Oh, it totally is." Billy laughed and all of Harry's rehearsals in his head seemed to disappear because… were dates always romantic? Little kids had play dates, older students at Hogwarts had dates with girlfriends and boyfriends, Harry had study dates with Theo.
Was Billy right? Did that change anything? Did it mean Harry was supposed to do something else? Or was Harry going to embarrass himself, embarrass Steve?
Billy started asking questions and it made Harry dizzy - where was he going? Was he going with a girl or boy?
It wasn't a date. Harry told Steve he wanted to bury the child They killed, Steve wanted the same thing. Harry said "I think you're right, we should bury the body" and Steve didn't say "It's a date".
Unless that was another thing everyone else understood that Harry didn't. Stupid Harry and his failing grades, stupid Harry who never understood what everyone else was talking about.
And Billy was still talking. Maybe that was why Siri liked him, he talked so much.
"Don't let him take you to the quarry unless you're trying to get smashed in more ways than one," Billy said, pointing at Harry as if Harry should know what he meant.
How many ways were there to get smashed?
"Smashed?" Harry asked, sure that Billy didn't mean a synonym for squashed.
"You know..." Billy paused to light a cigarette, one that he waved away from Harry. "Get your rocks off? Get laid?"
Harry was meant to know what that meant? It - it was like Billy was speaking a language that Harry had never learned. Everyone had learned how to interact with each other while Harry had been busy dying and surviving.
"Just stay away from the fucking quarry," Billy told him, which made sense at least. "No backseats, nobody's house, stay sober."
That was a simple enough list. Harry could do that, even if he wasn't entirely sure why he needed to. Harry had been in the backseat of Steve's car before, he had been at his house. Nothing bad ever happened.
"Hey," Billy pointed at Harry, Harry leaned away from him, "if they try any shit at all, if they're not the most fucking respectful person, get your ass out of there. Got it? If you can get to a phone, call here and I'll give you a ride back or whatever."
That… that made sense, sort of. Siri said things like that, to tell her if anyone was rude to him.
"Er… got it?" Harry liked Billy well enough, were they friends? Because friends said things like that, said to tell them if they needed help. Yeah, maybe they were. Billy was loud, everything about him was loud, but… but Harry didn't mind too much. Billy didn't say Harry was embarrassing and weird, Harry wouldn't tell him that he was noisy and smelled like cigarettes.
Siri would like that, Harry and Billy being friends.
"And go change your shirt," Billy told him. "You got one of those sweaters in green? Like a dark green? You can't wear black on black, it clashes. It's fine if it's got black print, but it can't be solid black."
How did Harry mess that up?! How could he possibly have misunderstood when Steve said they should wear black?
Harry grit his teeth together in frustration at himself on his way inside to change and then tried to smile despite being so frustrated. Every time that Harry thought he was fitting in more, talking more, trying harder, he was wrong.
El and Siri were both inside the bedroom when Harry dragged himself in there and started peeling off his black sweater. He did have a green one, exactly like Billy described, hanging up in the closet.
Siri was giggling while Harry changed, which didn't do much for his confidence in being alone with Steve.
"You didn't tell me it was a date," Siri said, grinning from ear to ear without anyone thinking her face was wrong.
"I didn't know it was," Harry mumbled, annoyed and embarrassed. Stupid Harry, didn't know anything. Everything Harry learned in the last three years was useless, nothing that he could talk about or use to make anyone like him.
"Har? Are you upset?" Siri pressed her palm to her chest and Harry imagined he felt an echo of a flare in his own chest. Siri held a hand out to Harry after he fixed the sweater on himself and Harry took it too quickly, too gratefully.
"I made a list," Harry told Siri in a pained whisper. "I watched everyone else and practiced what to do - how to fit in."
"Oh, Bubby." Siri pulled Harry in and she was wrapped around him, hugging him as fiercely as she spoke. "You don't need to be like everyone else. You're brilliant, Harry, you're smart and funny, remember Professor McGonagall used to call you Mister Sassy? And Professor Dumbledore said you were - were… what was the word? Oh! Spirited!"
That didn't count, those were adults and Harry - Harry wasn't that person anymore. They didn't know Harry anymore, they probably buried him and never looked back.
"Just be yourself," Siri said, the worst advice yet. "Maybe - maybe try and not hide so much, okay? Oh! I know! Pretend Steve is Theo! Remember Theo? Pretend Steve is Theo and you'll be fine!!"
That… Harry could probably do that. Harry and Theo had study dates and library dates and mystery dates. They had sleepovers in their dorm and Theo liked Harry. Theo didn't think he was weird or needed to try harder.
Steve even kind of looked like Theo, with his fluffy brunette hair and big brown eyes.
"And that's a perfect smile," Siri said warmly, pulling back so she could see Harry's face. He didn't know he was smiling, it just happened. Siri smiled too and Harry could do it. Harry could be alone with Steve for a few hours, Harry could have a… burying a body date.
If Steve ever showed up. He was late, fifteen minutes late.
Harry wandered back outside and looked down the road, hoping Steve didn't change his mind. He didn't have time to worry too much about it before he saw Steve's car turning on Harry's road.
It would be okay. As long as they buried the boy, showed him that someone did care about him, it would be okay.
Steve parked across from the house and Harry started walking toward him, carefully still practicing the best way to smile. It was harder to do it without Siri standing there, telling him if he was doing it right or not.
"Hey!" Billy yelled at Harry when he was halfway to Steve's car. Harry paused, glanced toward him. "You tell him next time he can park in the driveway, like a God damned man."
And there was the rock on Harry's chest again, the heavy weight of how many things people said that he didn't understand. How did a parking spot decide if someone was a man or not? Hop told Harry that he was a man and Harry couldn't even drive.
"I mean what I said," Billy added. "If he pulls any shit at all, you get me."
"Right," Harry said. That helped some, Billy being Harry's friend. Harry turned so Steve didn't see him and smiled at Billy. The rock lightened when Billy gave him a thumbs up.
Harry had made it through years of pain and misery and death. Harry could spend a few hours alone with Steve without being embarrassing.
"Subject Zero-Seven, Project Echo. Subject has been given extensive testing post-Trial Zero One, Subject has no health deformities nor brain abnormalities. Subject is at an elevated level of magical strength, cause unknown."
"Please," Harry was begging that time, he knew what was going to happen. "Please," Harry looked around at the mass of witches and wizards who surrounded him and needed just one person to help him. Harry should be sweating, his heart should be racing. Whatever they gave him in the potion vial made him too calm, too calm when he knew they were going to kill him.
Harry didn't want to die, he didn't want to. Harry wanted to live, he wanted his sister and he wanted to go to Hogwarts and he wanted to burrow down in his bed and fly again.
"Please, please, don't do this."
"Trial Zero Three of Project Echo: his own hands."
One of the wizards pointed a wand at Harry - "Imperio."
Harry's mind went blank, blissfully blank. All of his worries, his fears, they were gone. It was only Harry, floating along in a dark sea of peace. A voice interrupted his peace, but it was soft, gentle.
"You can have this peace for an eternity," it said. "Stand up. Stand up on your chair."
Harry didn't know how standing on his chair would bring him peace, but he started to stand.
"Why though?" he whispered to the voice. "Why should I stand up?"
"Don't you want to feel this way forever?"
That was a good point. Harry stood up and the sea of white coats surrounding him weren't threatening or scary anymore, they were just there.
"Take that rope, tighten it around your neck."
"That - I don't want to do that."
"You'd rather be in pain? You'd rather hurt? If you don't, you'll be in pain and so will your sister."
Harry took the rope, he wiggled it around his head. It was Harry's hands that pulled on it to make sure it was tight and Harry kicked off the chair before the voice told him to.
"Hello." Harry smiled at Steve, pretended that he was Theo. Steve was older than Harry ever got to see Theo become, but there were enough similarities that it wasn't hard to imagine Steve could be who Theo became. "Billy said to tell you to park in the driveway like a man."
Steve made a sound, one that wasn't necessarily a laugh, but sounded more like he was choking actually. Harry was a bit concerned, but he seemed to breathe fine after they were past Harry's house and Billy.
"Yeah, I was avoiding a fight, actually," Steve said. And that made sense, Billy and Steve seemed to fight a lot. They wouldn't anymore though, Siri told Billy to leave Steve alone and Harry didn't think that Steve started fights.
Steve glanced over at Harry and he seemed to stare at Harry's sweater for a second, long enough that Harry pulled uncertainly on it.
"Er… Billy said I clashed?" Harry said, he would tell Theo that- tell him that someone said his clothes didn't match. "I don't know."
Steve looked fine in his black sweater and black trousers. It made his face seem lighter and his eyes were more brown. Harry didn't think Steve clashed at all.
"I think fashion takes a backseat to the felonies we're about to commit," Steve pointed out, which - which Harry should have thought of. Felonies were crimes, the worst ones. Steve said they'd be committing at least two when they stole the child's body and buried it.
"Right." Harry felt hot again, uncomfortable. He should have told Billy that, told him that he had to wear black because Steve said they were committing crimes and didn't want to be caught.
Harry was sure he wouldn't be caught, even without the cloak he'd never missed as much as he did then, but he didn't want Steve to get caught either. Steve cared about the child, he shouldn't be punished for that.
Steve looked over at him and Harry quit smiling, he looked out the windshield and tried to think of what he could say. Should he ask Steve about his classes? Would he ask Theo about his classes? Harry would know about Theo's classes, they would be in them together.
Should Harry just be quiet?
"I like your sweater," Steve said quickly. He cleared his throat before going on, "I mean, it's probably stupid for us to wear black anyway. I've got no freaking idea how we're going to do this."
Harry looked down at his sweater, one of the few that Siri picked for him that he actually liked. It was dark green, a Slytherin green, and had little crisscrosses of black thread across the fabric. Steve was talking about breaking into a morgue, finding the morgue, and how they would move a body, and Harry tried to not hide, not crawl away, but to pretend that Steve was who Theo became and he was his best friend and Harry could talk to him.
Normal. Like everyone else.
"The weather is nice," Harry said. "Do you like it?"
It wasn't too cold, there wouldn't be any snow for a while. The sun was still shining in the afternoons, but the wind kept it from being hot.
"I… yeah, I guess so." Steve leaned back in his seat and Harry saw that his grip on the steering wheel loosened and blood flowed more easily to his fingers. That was a sign of relaxation, which was good.
"Fall's my favorite season," Steve said, his eyes on the road and his words seeming to come a little easier. "Basketball and homecoming happen in the fall, plus it's not too cold so like I can still sit outside a lot, you know?"
"You shouldn't sit outside too much," Harry told him. "There's a secondary peak of tornadoes in Indiana that happens in fall, especially early November."
Tornadoes, like magic, could kill an infinite number of people in an incredibly short timespan. They couldn't be stopped, they could only run their course while people hid and tried to keep themselves safe.
"I thought they happened in the spring?" Steve said. "That's when we had - oh, shit, it was crazy - it was like an outbreak of super tornadoes, right? I think I was like seven, maybe eight?"
"Yes! In April 1974!" Harry said, thrilled that Steve wanted to talk about it. Harry wanted to ask people what it was like, Siri said it would be rude. "I was five! Did you know 335 people died?"
"Yeah, it was all over the news and my teacher kept talking about it. I remember my mom was totally freaking out about it, told my dad we should move."
"Alaska," Harry said knowingly. "It's very cold, but it has the fewest number of tornadoes recorded in the United States."
"Alaska would be miserable." Steve laughed, even though it wasn't a joke. Alaska wouldn't be miserable, but it would be difficult to live in.
"I like the cold," Harry said, thinking about cozy fires and hot chocolate and all the things that weren't as good when the weather wasn't cold outside. "And the snow."
"You like the snow?" Steve was still grinning, which meant Harry was doing great. "Really?"
"Yeah, my friend and I made a cave in the snow one time," Harry said, thinking about the best Christmas of his life. Siri had been busy with the Weasley family, they tried to get Harry and Theo to play with them but Harry didn't want snow thrown at his face. Instead, Harry and Theo spent two days piling snow up and then digging out a cave large enough for them to both squeeze into.
Professor Flitwick helped them out some, but Harry and Theo did the majority of the work.
"I used to make snow angels, with my friend Tommy," Steve said. "They always sucked."
"Snow angels? How do you do that?" Harry asked. He had never heard of them before, were there snow devils too?
"You kind of… lay on the snow and…" Steve waved his arm up and down, very nearly knocking Harry's glasses off his face. "It's hard to explain, I'll show you when it snows."
"Okay." Harry wouldn't have to wait long, only a few weeks really.
Steve didn't say anything so Harry didn't either. Steve did mumble about the morgue being in the hospital and Harry nodded easily, that made sense to keep bodies in the place they were most likely to die.
Harry was pinned to a table, the wizards around him had cloth masks covering half of their faces. Harry didn't bother squirming, he didn't plead.
"Subject Zero Seven beginning Trial Zero Five of Project Echo. Subject is a healthy male patient, aged thirteen. Patient has survived four prior trials in addition to an alleged killing curse faced at 13 months old. Prophecy regarding the patient alludes to patient's inability to die at the hands of any except for wizard known as Lord Voldemort. Trial five of Project Echo will commence: flatline."
It was the most painful way to not-die yet, unbearable hot pain until there was nothing.
Then Harry opened his eyes and felt the pain all over again.
Steve parked his car behind a large building with a sign, Hawkins Hospital. He left the car running while he leaned forward and stared at the back entrances.
"Okay, so… so what should we do?" Steve asked. "Just - go find the morgue and then - what? Smuggle the body out?"
That was almost exactly Harry's plan, but… Harry could make it easier. If Steve wanted him to…
"I - er… I can make it so nobody notices us," Harry said, pulling his shoulders up when Steve turned to him. It made Harry's skin burn, every time Steve looked at him - just him. It also made it hard to explain. "It's - it's magic. But I won't use it on you if you say no, I wouldn't. If you say no, I won't use it."
Harry wouldn't, if he said not to. It would make everything easier, Harry could tear through the hospital and nobody would know he was even there if he didn't want them to know. Harry could make them silent, unnoticed. Harry could make them less noticed than a ghost living in the walls or a boy locked in a cell.
But he wouldn't use magic on Steve if he didn't want him to.
"Will it… hurt?" Steve asked.
Not if Harry didn't make it hurt - and he wouldn't.
Harry shook his head and Steve - Steve didn't hesitate. He believed him. Harry said it wouldn't hurt and Steve blew out a loud breath before he said it was okay.
It was easy, magic was so easy. It shouldn't have been and Harry ignored the itch of wrong that it made him feel - it was being used for something good.
"Wait, that's it?" Steve laughed quickly and looked down at his arms for something. "I'm just kind of tingly?"
"Nobody should notice us," Harry said, working hard to not laugh at Steve as he pinched himself over and over. "Or hear us, if we're not loud."
"Perfect!" Steve seemed more confident in the plan and Harry wondered what he would have done if Harry couldn't use magic. "Let's go… steal a body!"
Was it really stealing if They stole it first? How was it a bad thing to take the boy from Them and show him that someone cared? That someone cared even if he wasn't Will Byers?
It didn't feel like a crime to Harry, but most things didn't anymore.
The back door of the hospital was locked and Steve stepped aside when Harry quietly offered to open it.
"Handy," Steve said approvingly once they were inside. It was a back hallway, probably used to move trash out of the hospital. "So I guess you can do like anything?" he whispered.
Anything? No. Harry couldn't live forever or save his sister from being in pain or make food appear from thin air when he needed it. Unlocking doors? Making himself and Steve go unnoticed in a hospital? Those were too simple.
"I don't know what all I can do," Harry said, looking around and deciding to go toward a stairwell. A morgue would need to be cold, dungeons were cold, Harry's best guess would be that they needed to go to a lower floor.
"I wish I had magic powers," Steve whispered. They were very close together while they walked and Harry could feel Steve's arm brushing his every few steps. Harry took half a step toward the right, then went back to the left.
"No, you don't," Harry said. Or maybe he did, maybe Steve would love Hogwarts and he would love getting a wand and being like everyone else. Maybe if Harry could have been like everyone else then he would love it too. Maybe Harry would feel lucky to have so much magic flowing inside of him, leaping when he used it for any small task.
"I - sorry, stupid thing to say," Steve said. His arm seemed to brush Harry's more purposefully and Harry could feel it scalding to his bones, burning every nerve in the path.
Harry thought he might get sick - might be sick - because when they found a staircase and started down them, Harry made himself brush his left arm on Steve's right. It burned again, searing him. Harry stepped away and felt his heart racing, pumping too quickly in a rush of adrenaline.
"It wasn't stupid," Harry whispered. There were signs on the stair walls and Harry could read them before he was even on the landing, that was nice. Harry's guess seemed to be good, there were arrows for the morgue on the next landing that opened into a new dimly lit corridor.
Steve wasn't stupid - he was kind, friendly. People used to seem like they liked Steve, like they loved him the same way people loved Siri.
"Why does everyone seem angry at you?" Harry asked, telling himself that it was Theo, just Theo. If it was Theo, Harry could ask him personal questions.
"Because everyone's a fucking asshole," Steve mumbled. His face was red when Harry looked over at him and Harry stared for an extra second, noticing that his eyes were bright, but not wet. They were brown, like Theo's, except there were some little gold flecks in them, gold like the snitch.
"Someone started a rumor, about me," Steve said, glancing over and catching Harry staring at him. Harry looked away quickly, he shouldn't have been staring.
"What was it?" Harry wondered.
"Uh… just something stupid, it doesn't matter," Steve said in a quick rush. "But everyone believes it and now they're being assholes."
Harry nodded understandably. They did that when Harry and Siri started school at Hawkins too.
"They aren't very kind." Harry turned and bumped into Steve, then twitched away when it was Harry's chest that Steve's arm bumped into. Was Harry wrong? Was there something different about Steve? Harry didn't burn every time he touched Siri or El.
Harry shouldn't have bumped into him again, on purpose, but it was a test to see if it would happen again. It did.
There was something wrong with Steve, wrong with Harry.
Steve hummed and it sounded like he agreed.
"Your sister seems to have made it her personal problem though," Steve said.
"Siri does that," Harry told him. The doors they passed were getting further and further apart, it was getting colder too. They both jumped backward against the wall when someone in blue clothes started running down the corridor with a man screaming on a bed.
Harry wondered what was wrong with him, if he could be fixed. Would he scream forever?
"Harry!" Steve whispered Harry's name after they were passed unnoticed. Harry had been staring after the bed while Steve wandered further down the corridor. "Here it is!"
Harry shook off his curiosity about the man screaming and caught up to Steve. He shook his head again when Steve started to open the door and checked if it was safe first - a door being opened would be noticed no matter what.
It didn't feel like anyone was inside, there was a tingle of magic though that made Harry think the boy who died was there.
"You can wait out here," Harry told Steve. Steve had been sick and upset when Benny died, Harry sort of thought there might be more than one body inside a room that was made to collect bodies. Steve wouldn't want to see them, it wouldn't bother Harry though.
"What? No, that's crazy. How are you going to get the body out on your own?" Steve asked. Harry blinked at him, wondering if he really needed to— "Oh." Steve blinked then - brown and gold, brown and gold. "Magic."
"Magic," Harry echoed. "Maybe - maybe you can be the lookout?"
That's what Harry told Theo, the day they went to try and save Nicholas Flamel's stone from being stolen. Siri wouldn't stay behind, she made Harry share a potion made for one. Theo was the lookout, that's what Harry had told him.
Theo hadn't been happy about it and Steve looked just as unhappy.
"I'm not a baby, I can help," Steve said. "If you want to be the lookout, be my guest."
Harry couldn't exactly argue when Steve stepped forward and opened the door himself, rushing in like Harry once rushed through a doorway filled with flames.
Steve was brave, Harry thought. He didn't like bodies, he'd looked sick and had cried when Benny died - so he was really stepping in a room filled with things he didn't like. Harry wouldn't have done it.
The morgue was colder than the rest of the hospital had been and if it didn't smell horrible, Harry would have liked it. It was silent, nothing but a row of silver drawers on one wall, a table in the middle of the room, and a computer and a load of instruments Harry didn't want to look at on the other wall.
It was peaceful, but it smelled really bad.
"Oh. Fuck." Steve pulled his sweater up to cover his nose and Harry saw a flash of skin - a flash of Steve's skin. It was still there, peeking out from beneath his sweater. He was going to get cold.
Harry didn't cover his nose, it smelled bad - not as bad as when hair and skin burned or when flesh began to rot into something twisted and unrecognizable. Harry looked around the room, wondered where… oh.
The drawers.
"What's on that computer?" Harry asked Steve, stepping in the other direction. Steve looked at the computer and Harry waited until he was distracted by it, by something Harry didn't care about, before Harry opened the first drawer.
Nothing.
"Am I supposed to be like looking for clues? Hacking something?" Steve asked, his voice becoming distant when Harry focused on the feeling of magic in the room. The next drawer wasn't empty - it wasn't the boy.
It was a woman, an old woman whose skin was so loose around her face that it looked like it could fall off. Her eyes were gaunt, her cheeks sunken in. There were white wisps of hair that laid over her shoulders, brittle and thin hair.
She was dead and she would never breathe again, never feel the sunshine again. Dead.
Harry closed that drawer quickly and moved to the next one.
"Er… I dunno," Harry said, sure he had the right drawer next. He glanced over his shoulder, made sure Steve wasn't looking before he pulled it open.
That was it - him. Harry looked down and saw that the bloating in the face had been lessened, the skin wasn't as stretched out and shining as it had been. It - he - looked more like Will, less green and full of water.
It wasn't Will though, Harry didn't know who it was. It was some boy who never got to grow up, never got to have birthdays or to laugh with his friends. He didn't get to fly or read new books or make snow caves. He died, probably alone and in unimaginable pain, and nobody knew it, nobody cared.
"Harry? Oh, oh shit." Steve grabbed Harry's elbow and Harry jolted so hard he rattled the drawer he was still holding. It shook the body and one of his arms fell out, dangling toward the ground but not even long enough to reach it.
"That's Will… that's Jonathan's brother… oh, God. Fuck. Fuck. That's actually him, Harry."
Steve sounded… panicked, maybe? Definitely not calm. He was also wrong, which Harry thought he might be able to prove.
Harry held his hand over Not-Will's face and wiggled his fingers, searching for the thick feeling of magic that radiated from his skin. It was there, thick and sticky. Harry pulled the invisible threads away, one at a time, and watched as Will's features began to shimmer and change to show a new person.
The right person.
He was younger than Will, smaller. The boy had freckled skin, dark blonde hair that was thicker and wavier than Will's had been. Harry couldn't see his eyes, but they were small with dark purple bags beneath them. That was who died alone, that was who had been thrown in a gutter and called the wrong name.
"He's - he's just a kid," Steve said, his voice pinging through the empty place in Harry's chest. "God, was he even ten yet?"
Maybe. Maybe not.
"He was eleven," Harry decided. He carefully lifted the bruise covered arm that had fallen out and placed it on the boy's chest, crossing it so gently so he could be asleep if his chest were moving. "His name was… Charles. Everyone called him Charlie."
Harry had a tshirt underneath his sweater, so he pulled his sweater off - it was soft and warm, a good color, not too itchy. Harry used magic when he shook it out until it was large enough to wrap the boy up in. Steve went on the other side of the boy and helped Harry wrap him up while Harry imagined what Charles's life could have been like.
"He liked cinnamon tarts and pumpkin juice, he dunked his tarts in juice sometimes…" Harry looked at the little boy's face, wished that he had a better ending before so gently covering it with the sweater. "He probably didn't like to read, he had friends and they were always getting him to play games together."
Steve cleared his throat and Harry focused on the boy instead of Steve as he made him lighter, easier to carry. Harry lifted him in his arms and even if he was feather-light, Harry could feel a heavy weight on his own chest, making it difficult to breathe.
"Like - like baseball." Steve tripped on his way to the door, then threw it open for Harry, adding a rush of fresh air that helped clear away some of the horrible smell. Harry didn't think he could take a single step, didn't know if he could ever move - breathe - until Steve kept talking to him.
"Charlie probably - I bet he was the best pitcher they had," Steve said. "His dad bought him a bat, the nicest freaking bat, and Charlie barely used it because he was such a good pitcher."
Harry didn't know what any of that meant, but he knew he could move his feet, one at a time, and walk toward Steve.
"Yeah, so he probably really liked Tom Seaver, he wanted to be like him when he grew up. His dad liked that, his mom thought he should read more, try and find a job in medicine or something that made more money."
Steve talked quietly about Charlie's family, his parents and the holidays they took to baseball stadiums and how Charlie collected baseball cards and autographs. That meant that Charlie practiced his autograph every day, planned to be famous when he was older.
Except Charlie didn't get older, didn't become famous. Charlie was taken and killed, tortured until there were purple and green bruises covering his body and there were thick scars down his arms.
Charlie didn't give his autograph because he was a famous baseball player, he gave his life because a group of wizards decided he could answer questions for him.
Harry didn't like the feeling in the room, the thick sense of anticipation and excitement. Something changed, something changed after the testing and after Harry started feeling Siri's pain and her fear in his chest.
The wizards were eager to get started and that didn't mean anything good for Harry. And he didn't get to see Siri that morning, he might never see her again. Harry would feel the icy cold fear she had in his chest and feel her struggling to breathe just right while he waited for what had everyone else staring expectantly at him for.
"Subject Zero Seven…" The man with the coldest eyes stepped toward Harry and Harry stared balefully at him, refusing to let him see pain or fear or regret on his face.
They got nothing from Harry. Nothing that was willingly given.
"Project Echo has been met with six failed trials even after extensive testing," the man said, a quill and parchment recorded his every word. For prosperity. Because Harry's life was going to be used in history books that nobody would ever read.
"A trial based on echo, Project Mirror, revealed an abnormality in Patient Zero-Seven that was not shared by Patient Zero-Seven-B." The man stood directly in front of Harry and he reached out with one finger, traced the scar on Harry's forehead. "Patient Zero-Seven was discovered to be a living horcrux. As such, it is theorized that he is unable to die while his body protects the soul of another."
Someone made a sound, a sick sound. Harry didn't understand, didn't care.
"Project Echo faces its seventh trial: horcrux removal. If subject zero-seven survives, the link to immortality will theoretically be broken."
Harry was moved from his seated position to lay flat on his back. He blinked up at the bright lights, the ones that buzzed in his ears, and hoped it was quick.
Whatever it was, Harry hoped it was quick. Asking for it to be painless would be pointless, it was going to hurt. It always hurt. Harry had to swallow his screams, bottle them up where they couldn't escape.
"Begin."
There was a flash of silver, sharp silver, above Harry's head that was plunged downward all at once, directly into the center of Harry's forehead.
Harry thought he knew pain, he thought that after a lifetime spent in the deepest parts of MACUSA that he knew pain. And Harry knew nothing because it wasn't unimaginable, it wasn't something that could be described. It was being ripped apart by his cells, shredded to pieces, burned alive, flayed with a belt.
He didn't scream - Harry didn't scream once.
The last thing he heard were the screams that were choking his sister.
Harry didn't remember the ride away from the hospital, he remembered sitting in the backseat with Charlie cradled in his arms because someone should hold him. Someone should hold a little boy when he died, someone should care that his life was over.
Someone should care.
Harry blinked and Steve opened the door, held his arms out for Charlie. Harry shook his head and struggled to get out on his own, probably would have fallen if Steve didn't grab him to keep him on his feet.
It didn't burn, Harry didn't think about it.
"Hold on." Steve kept one hand on Harry's shoulder while he fumbled with the boot of his car, bent down to grab a shovel from it. Harry didn't understand why he had the shovel, but he was grateful when Steve started leading Harry through a thick set of woods.
They must have driven for quite a while, it was dark outside and Harry had a hard time walking. The boy's head bumped Harry's glasses and they were crooked, making his vision awful until Harry actually walked into a tree. It cut his face and Harry struggled to make sure that Charlie was still covered by the blanket while Steve turned to see what made him stop.
"Oh, here." He carefully fixed Harry's glasses, didn't push them hard on his eyes, until Harry could see that Steve's eyes were wet, the gold glitters weren't there anymore. Maybe they never were, maybe Harry imagined them.
Harry didn't say thank you, Steve must have known he wouldn't. Steve turned around and started walking again, a little more slowly, while Harry was careful to make sure that not a single branch or bush stuck out and cut the child who had suffered enough.
It took forever - no time at all - before the trees thinned and Harry could hear nearby water. Steve stopped in a clear space and looked around in a circle, looked at Harry. He didn't need to ask, Harry knew the answer.
It was quiet, not too covered with trees. Harry didn't hear any animals, didn't feel any magic. It was where they were going to let the boy rest, let the boy feel peace after his torment.
Steve started digging with his shovel, a rhythmic thud, shift, thud, shift. Harry watched him dig, wondered why Steve cared. Did Steve ever have a best friend? One who would have searched for him - he had to have - and then been told that it was too late, he was gone? Did Steve go to a funeral for his friend? See a body that wasn't right be buried in the ground?
Or was Steve someone who simply cared? Someone who heard about children dying and didn't want them to be left behind, to be forgotten until they were decaying and their body turned to liquid?
Thud, shift. Thud, shift.
Steve was panting, the only sound added to his digging, when the sun was fully gone. It was pitch black in the clearing, Harry couldn't see anything.
Harry couldn't see Steve, couldn't see how much he had finished. It wasn't hard to make lights, six little balls of softly glowing light, to send scattered around them until Harry could see that Steve had a hole dug nearly to his knees.
Steve was doing great, but he was panting and his face dripped with sweat and Harry could do it faster. Harry wanted to get home, see his sister, lay beside her and listen to her breathing.
"Watch out," Harry said. Tried to say. His voice broke and Harry had to swallow and then clear his throat to repeat himself so Steve heard him. Steve looked up and carefully moved out of the hole.
There was too much magic in Harry, too much willing to strike out, to help him, to hurt. It tore out and cleared a large hole, much deeper than Harry pictured but just the right size for the little boy in Harry's arms.
"That's - yeah," Steve was wheezing and leaning hard on his shovel. "Yeah, that makes sense."
Did it? Did anything make sense?
Harry shuffled forward and there was bile rising in his throat while his arms tightened on the boy. Harry didn't want to - didn't know if he could… the hole was deep, dark. What if he was scared of the dark? What if he was scared to be alone? What if —
"Harry, wait!" Steve's voice was still wrong, thick and strained, but he touched Harry's wrist when Harry kneeled beside the hole. "Can you - can you make one of those lights go with him?" Steve's face was shining with sweat and washed over in the golden lights hanging above them. He wasn't making fun of Harry's thoughts he couldn't have known, he meant it.
Steve must have shared Harry's thoughts, just in that one second. They had the same thought.
Harry nodded and he made himself unlock his arms, to float the boy out above the hole. He was so small, so young and wrapped up in a sweater colored like a house he never got to experience. With a twitch of his finger, one of the balls of light moved to his chest and Harry guided it so it was in the boy's hands, held like a security blanket.
"I'm sorry," Harry told him. "I'm sorry you're alone, I'm sorry I don't know your name."
Harry started to guide the boy downward into the hole, into the place where nothing could hurt him again. Steve reached out slowly and Harry saw him from the corner of his eye, didn't stop him.
Steve grabbed Harry's hand and they sat in silence while the boy who never got to truly live was lowered in the ground.
There wasn't any burning in Harry's hand, it was all in his eyes. The grave blurred and Harry felt like he wasn't breathing right, every breath was pained and ragged. Harry's throat was thick and a sound ripped out of it, pained and painful, when the boy was all the way in the grave and his light couldn't be seen.
All the pressure in Harry's chest pushed and it pushed until Harry moved the dirt and it cracked - the pressure burst through and Harry keened as he bent over, shook while everything was wrong and everything hurt.
What did he hear last? When was the last time someone hugged him or said they loved him? Why? Why?! What did he do wrong? Anything at all?
Or did he just exist?
Harry's shoulders shook while all the pressure built up inside of him escaped through his eyes, pouring itself into the dirt beside the grave for a boy whose name he would never know.
There was one weight that kept Harry from crawling away, one tight pressure on his hand that squeezed and seemed to tell him he wasn't alone, he wasn't beneath the ground. He wasn't at peace, he was in pain.
Quite possibly, it was the worst pain he had ever felt because it would always be there, a dark shadow of why that he couldn't answer, couldn't tell the boy.
They made it back to the car, Harry didn't know how. He didn't blink, couldn't blink while everything was still blurred and his shirt was wet and there was blood somewhere on his face, mixing until it touched his lips and tasted like salt and blood. Steve must have done most of the work getting to the car because Harry's legs were weak and he was still breathing harshly, every inhale felt like a struggle.
"Here." Steve was blurry, hard to understand, and he opened Harry's door and sort of pushed him toward the seat. The lights inside the car weren't glowing, they were bright. Harry leaned his head back on his seat and closed his eyes, squeezed them shut so they would stop streaming.
Would Siri feel it? The crack in Harry's chest that he didn't mean to let happen? He couldn't let her, didn't want her to. If Harry couldn't bear it, Siri never could.
Harry tried to seal the crack up, push it all back down. He focused on breathing while the car started moving - in and out. In and out. The problem, the only problem, was that it was quiet. All Harry could picture was the boy with the blonde hair, the freckles on his face, the bruises that marred his body.
Harry left him in a hole with nothing more than a glowing light.
"Can you say something?" Harry asked aloud, needing the noise to take away everything else crawling in his brain. "Please?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah, um… I - shit."
Harry should have been more specific. The string of swears that Steve let out weren't exactly what he meant, though even his very mild amusement about them eased some of the pain in his chest.
"I think I'm gay, right? Which is crazy, except now I'm thinking, who cares? Who cares if - if I think a guy - guys - can be pretty? That kid died, no - he was killed. That kid was killed and I'm worried about some jerks calling me a faggot when he never even got to have his first kiss? Two guys that didn't know him were the ones to bury him and I'm like freaking out about being gay? It's so stupid."
It… it was stupid, actually. It was stupid enough that Harry felt his breathing leveling out, felt the crack sealing up until he could wipe his face on his arm so he could see again.
Steve was pale, sweating again, while he drove with his muddy fingers tightly wrapped around the steering wheel. Steve's face was muddy too, his entire body was. When Harry looked at himself, he saw that he was just as bad.
Maybe it wasn't stupid, not to Steve. Harry thought it was though, but he shouldn't say that.
Though Harry wasn't sure he understood the problem in the first place.
"Are - are guys not meant to be pretty?" Harry asked, causing Steve to jump as if he forgot Harry was sitting just beside him. It didn't make sense though, someone not being pretty because they weren't a girl.
"You're pretty," Harry pointed out. "Your - your hair, it's pretty."
And his eyes. When Steve looked at Harry and Harry saw the gold again, the little glimmers of gold in the mixture of deep brown, that was pretty.
Steve blinked at him, blinked again, then turned back to watch the road.
"You think I'm pretty?" Steve asked, his voice shaking on the last word. Was there something wrong with that? Was Harry not meant to think that? Steve said he thought that guys were pretty, why couldn't Harry?
"Yeah." Harry watched the windshield too, watched as they drove down a dark road in a place that Harry didn't recognize. "I thought… I figured you knew."
It seemed obvious.
Harry still crossed his arms over his chest, rubbed his hands on them to warm himself up as much as he was trying to wipe away the dirt that scratched at him, the dirt that swallowed the boy up.
"You, uh… you left your sweater, with him," Steve said after the silence had just settled between them. "Do you want mine? You're probably freezing, I don't know why the heat isn't kicking on, I'm sorry."
Harry was cold, but it wasn't too cold. It was the cold from the body, the cold from the grave. It was clinging to him, freezing the scratches from the dirt.
"I'm fine," he said.
"Yeah, okay." Steve started moving around and the car swerved some, rightened itself back up when Steve was pushing a bundle of fabric toward Harry - his sweater. "In case you're lying about being fine," he said.
Harry didn't protest, he had been lying. He stared at the sweater and his brain was moving slowly, but he eventually started pulling it over his head. The sleeves were long, it wasn't Harry's size, but it smelled good. It smelled like the blanket from Steve's bed and that was good, that helped chase away the cold.
The quiet between them wasn't tense anymore, it was comfortable, comfortable enough that Harry leaned his head on the window and closed his eyes. Soon, he'd be home. Soon, the boy would be a memory. Soon, Harry would see him in his sleep.
Soon, Siri would be there to say everything was okay - not fine, okay.
"Hey, Harry?" Steve called to him quietly after a while, Harry didn't know how long.
"Hm?" Harry didn't want to be rude or weird, everything just started to feel cozy like a fire in the winter and Harry's body was melting in the feeling.
"You're - you know. I - uh - I think you're pretty too."
Harry didn't know he was smiling, it just happened.
Harry's house had a few lights on when Steve pulled in the driveway. Billy's car was still there, Hop's wasn't.
"Hold on, I'll make sure you get inside okay." That was all Steve said before he left his seat, crossed in front of the car, and then opened Harry's door.
Harry knew how to walk, but maybe Steve was being nice.
The curtain for the sitting room window shifted when Harry passed it and he hoped it was Siri, he hoped she would be inside and maybe would let Harry tell her about his day. Harry didn't tell her before, but he regretted it. He wished she had been there, though Steve had been almost as good.
"Are you hungry?" Harry asked Steve while he walked slowly up the stairs. His legs were still shaking, he took small steps. "Siri probably cooked, if not there's waffles in the freezer that can cook really fast. El likes them."
"Eggos? El likes Eggos?" Steve asked.
Harry shrugged, he didn't know what eggos were, but El loved the frozen waffles after they were cooked and covered in syrup. If Steve liked them, he could have some. Hop said he would leave money for groceries, even though Harry could get more on his own if Steve ate them all.
"Maybe," Harry said. "Or Siri cooked." Harry was hoping she did, even though she had a date, he didn't like the waffles as much.
Harry opened the door up, sniffing as he did. Yes, Siri did cook, Harry could smell something sort of spicy that was definitely not waffles.
Then someone yelled at him.
"Why the fuck are you covered in dirt?!"
Harry didn't know why he froze, didn't know why Billy - it was Billy being loud, of course - stormed toward him. Harry only had a second to not even blink before Billy passed him, Siri lunged for him, and then there was a thud.
Thud, shift. But the shift didn't happen.
"Harry?" Siri was there, her eyes wide, and Harry felt it then - a flutter of panic that wasn't his.
"The fuck did you do?!"
Harry shook his head at Siri, felt his words clog in his throat. She was staring at him like he was the ghost he had pretended to be before, someone she didn't recognize. So Harry looked away from her, saw that Billy had Steve against the side of the house by the front of his shirt.
"Oi!" The words got unclogged and Harry didn't mean to yell, didn't mean to shove Billy. Not that it made a difference - he was heavy. "Put him down!" Harry yelled. Steve didn't do anything wrong, he didn't do anything wrong. Everything they did that night was right. Even if it hurt, it had been the right thing to do.
"He didn't do anything!" Harry yelled, yelled like Harry didn't do. Harry was hot though, hot beneath Steve's sweater from his heart that was going to stop beating soon if it didn't slow down. Steve wasn't tracking dirt in the house because he was rude, he didn't even want to be dirty probably. "We were burying a body!"
Harry would make Billy let Steve go if he didn't drop him then and there. Harry had more to say - about how Steve had cared about the boy, cared about his death when nobody else did. Except Siri grabbed Harry's hand and blocked his view of Billy or Steve with her very, very, pale face.
Her pale face and her… bruised neck…
Who hurt her?! Harry never felt her pain, had no idea. Why didn't Billy do something?! Why didn't he keep her safe?! Harry trusted him!
"Harry…" Siri looked shocked, almost so shocked that Harry wanted to laugh. She shouldn't be shocked, she was bruised. "Bubby… what the fuck did you just say?"
There were a set of lights that washed over all of them - over Harry and the dirt covering his body and Steve's sweater. Over Steve's face and the cut on his cheek from a stray branch, the leaf in his hair. Over Billy who went suddenly still, as momentarily frozen as Harry had been before.
"We were burying a body," Harry repeated, slowly so Siri understood him.
Siri somehow became more pale, more wide-eyed. There was a snort, a quiet one, that Harry thought came from Steve. Nobody seemed to know what to say, what to do.
El did. El walked out to join them on the porch while a car - Hop's car, Harry recognized it - parked behind Steve and Billy's cars in the driveway. El looked at Harry, looked at Siri, looked at the boys.
"The fuck?" she asked.
"Great, now she's cursing," Siri sighed. She tilted her head up and Harry looked past her, let his eyes catch on Steve for a moment, before looking past him toward Hop's car.
"You said it first," Harry murmured, watching while Hop's car door opened too slowly. Something wasn't right, Harry thought it even before Hop unfolded himself from his seat and started walking around the front of his car. He was moving too slowly, he wasn't saying anything.
Harry shoved Billy out of his way when Hop stumbled and his hand slid down the hood, falling on the ground when he fell.
Someone screamed, it wasn't Harry.