Silence

“I’m leaving”

The words were still ringing in his ears hours later. The words he had never gotten to say the first time, and the words he shouldn’t have said this time.

“What are you planning on doing after Hogwarts, Mr. Potter?”

“I’m leaving”

“Oh?” Snape only raised a brow at Harry’s declaration, indifferent.

And that’s the way Harry liked it: indifference. He didn’t want to see the emotions on their face as he turned away, or feel the gut-retching feeling of leaving someone who wanted him there.

… was not open for questioning…

…no comment…

Or , he amended himself, maybe they never wanted me there at all . He had no way of knowing, but still, indifference suited him best. Indifference was when his absence wasn’t noticed; it didn’t tear people down or cause a party, it was simply the moot of him being invisible, hardly noticed. 

Not open for questioning could be taken either way, if he was looking at it for both sides. They were too busy mourning what could have been to come in or they were so besides themselves with joy to bother with interviews. Or, it even crossed Harry’s mind that not being open for questioning meant just that. Still, who would bother with Harry Potter’s disappearance when it was the Boy-Who-Lived who saved them? They wanted nothing from Harry, and the Boy-Who-Lived had died in the forest.

A forest which was a stark contrast to the canyon he was at now. If he wanted, he could jump, run across the sunken terrain to the other side, but Harry didn’t bother. It was quiet there, silent. The only sounds he ever heard was the light whistling of the wind and the ping ponging of thoughts scattering around his head in pandemonium.

There was nothing to bother him there; the snakes, while friendly, kept to themselves, and other than that the only thing for miles was shrubs, cacti, stones, and the barren land that got interrupted by the deep, ragged gorge of a canyon.

Harry dismissed the thoughts of Jazz back at the camp just as he had been dismissing the thoughts of England since he had left. No need to dwell on what couldn’t be.

He had thought he had a chance, with Jazz. Not as lovers, never again, but as companions, friends. Maybe the thought was ludicrous.  After all, he thought he had a chance before and then  he had left anyway.

He left. He had left Jazz like he had left his love. He was a coward , that much was obvious. 

Then, at least, Harry had told Jazz he was leaving. His love didn’t even get a heads up, any notice, before Harry was gone from everyone’s life. Did he know he was going to be turned into a hybrid vampire? No. But, he still left with no intentions of coming back, no second thoughts.

Well, there were always second thoughts. Thoughts of what could have been…? and do they even miss me, do they even know I’m gone? He didn’t regret leaving England, not necessary. In fact, Harry was pretty sure he never wanted to go back to Europe at all. Still, he might have regretted leaving his love- the only thing that ever belonged to him. 

Harry was at the top of the canyon now, looking down into the abyss. He had no reservations about hanging his legs over the edge. He was indestructible now- not like that stopped him before . Sure, a part of him hoped he would fall, but that would only leave him in the bottom of a gorge instead of hanging over it.

He let his thoughts dart around his never quiet mind as he watched the blazing sun sink lower on the horizon. It reminded him of the times Jazz had led him out into the town, the two of them sitting on cracked roof tiles, watching the clouds cascade with pinks and yellows. It reminded him of the nights he would sit atop the brazen top railing of the astronomy tower as the Great Lake engulfed the flame of orange and red. The splash of colors trailing through the sky in that moment reminded him of dark, slashing ribbons of blood.

Not the blood Jazz had insisted he consume to stay healthy, but the dark marbling blood trailing down his wrists, pooling on the floor below. And, like the sunset, Harry found it ethereal. 

He thought it fascinatingly beautiful. The way a silver blade- such a simple thing, really- could slice through his skin, softer than a knife slicing through butter, and instantly leave color. A color so dark it appeared as black, before snaking down his fingers with a gentle warmth, dripping from the tips like prism-inflicted dew sliding from a leaf. He could watch the steady flow of blood softly fall to the floor for hours as numbness spread through his wrist; unfortunately, just like the rapidly deteriorating sunset, it would only last for a few moments.

It was ironic that Harry had enjoyed blood before he had turned into a blood sucker. Now however, he had a yearning for it that had nothing to do with ‘newborn thirst’. Harry rolled his eyes. Blood meant life, and he didn’t have that- he didn’t have blood, he wasn’t real- but when did he have that to begin with? He had no blood to watch in awe- only sunsets. The rush of thin, clear venom wouldn’t be the same, so Harry wouldn’t bother trying. Still…

His grip fastened around the smooth handle of the dagger in his pocket. The blade was jagged, constructed from thousands of Diamond shards Harry had gathered. He had figured if anything could cut through a vampire, often compared to diamonds or marble, that a diamond would be able to. After all, diamonds could only be cut through by other diamonds.

Harry clutched the dagger like a lifeline. It was short, but sharp. And yet, while having no semblance to the knives Harry was used to holding, the dagger felt right in his hand. He knew, like the thin vial hanging from his neck, and the simple ring around his finger, that he would hold on to and cherish it for the rest of his existence.

Without stopping to think, Harry rose the glittering diamond and slashed his wrist, surprised to feel the sting of the skin breaking. Still, the pain was welcome, different to that of (hybrid) vampire bites. He slashed again, and while the thin, clear substance of venom wasn’t a surprise, the glistening, prism-like sparkling of the venom from the setting sun was. 

Harry found himself fascinated, the wonder from his first time cutting becoming prominent again as he discovered the pure beauty of the venom. While it was nothing like the thick, red blood, Harry found he didn’t mind. Before he had mourned the loss of the one thing that grounded him, but now he welcomed a new beginning.

Harry kept up like that for weeks. He would watch the sun set, let the millions of self-deprecating thoughts race around his mind, sit still long enough for the sun to rise, and spend the time the sun was high rummaging around the canyon, resenting the way his skin crystallized in the sun. All the while exploring his fascination with his dagger and gleaming venom.

“ You need to stop” , they had told Harry; but then, he wouldn’t, couldn’t stop. Nobody had understood that he needed that small amount of beauty in his life, in a world full of darkness. Here though, Harry could stop if he wanted to. He had the beauty of the sun, rising and falling each day. Still, there was something about the dancing rainbows of colors reflecting off his venom that was so different , so peaceful , while still having a sense of familiarity. And why would he change that when it was already perfect?

Some days weren’t as ‘perfect’. Harry would yell. He would scream as his voice carried through the void of the canyon, ricocheting off the walls. Then, when he had screamed his heart out, Harry would cry. He would sob and sob at his pathetic-ness, about how much of a coward he was, for all his guilt and trauma and hatred, the entire time wishing he had died. Wishing that it had just worked the first time with Voldemort (or Riddle, as Harry preferred calling him (Dumbledore called him Tom and Harry was NOT Dumbledore)), or the two times following that one, in the forest, after the war. And yet, Harry was still alive, and he hated it.

On one occasion, Harry had grown so tired of the repetition, of the same, lonely, stupid life that he was living, that he drove the dagger through his chest. Sure, there was a giant tear in the shirt he had left with (not like there weren’t a dozen other rips and snags), but he didn’t care. He didn’t care as he fell back against the ground, dagger still sticking out of his chest and venom absorbing into his shirt. He didn’t have a care in the world, because he couldn’t die!

He started ‘sleeping’ then. In the nights when thoughts weren’t raging in his head, the days when the sun didn’t make him feel like he might just burst into flames at any second. He would lay up with his eyes closed pretending to sleep in the canyon, high up in trees, anywhere where he couldn’t be accessed.

Not like anybody came by anyway. In all the days he’d been there, not a single human or vampire had shown up. Not even Jazz, though Harry didn’t know why he thought he would. Because it was just him, only him, in the silence.

He reminded himself of that when he tore the vial from his neck and threw it into the canyon, the promise ring he had never taken off following after it. Then, after screaming into the obliteran he jumped. Jumped into the canyon in search of two of his most important belongings. And while he searched, he thought about if, when he found it, he would just use the potion. After all, a part of him knew he was at his lowest low. He had probably ‘relapsed’ (as he had heard Snape explaining to his love), and it wasn’t like his life was getting any better. Still, when he finally found his potion and ring, he refrained.

He refrained. Just as he had refrained from eating, remembering, thinking as a whole. Sure, there were a million thoughts dashing through Harry’s head like some sort of race, but he didn’t pay mind to any of them. He was simply being , if anyone paid him any mind to ask. But, as it became clear, Harry wasn’t very good at being anything at all.

It took nearly an entire moon cycle for Harry to get out of his sad little pity party and actually do something with his life existence. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He was still being bombarded by his thoughts, nothing was going to change that, and with very little to do around the canyon, he would let those thoughts get to him. He was still carrying on in his destructive behavior, if he were to acknowledge the fact that he was being self destructive, but he was ready to go out and do something, rather than sitting around in the middle of nowhere with nothing but his thoughts to bother him.

The thought came out of nowhere, appearing in the back of his mind until it got louder and louder, repeating in Harry’s jumbled mind as the one thing he had to do. It didn’t take much consideration before Harry was off again, leaving the canyon he had begun to recognise as his new- rather depressing- home.

And once again he was moving without stopping to look around or notice his surroundings, simply going. This time, however, he had a mission, ideas scattered around his mind rather than deafening silence, rather than numb pain and emotionless walking, rather than the repeated thoughts of self doubt over and over again.

Because he knew what he was going to do now, and he could pretend it was as productive as he wanted, pretend that he was meant to do it all along- his entire reason for leaving (the second time, the first he had no excuses) in the first place.

He was going to find out everything he could about the vampire he knew as ‘Jazz’, even if it took him months, even if he searched the entirety of what he learned was the state of Texas, only using the limited knowledge he had learned in the last four months.

Maybe then he could go back to Jazz, though Harry wasn’t convinced he would. He supposed it didn’t matter anyway- the whole point of being an orphan and abandoned was that he could do anything he wanted, and he intended to do just that.

He decided to start with the town of Houston, hoping to find evidence of his sire’s birth in the first place. He had never heard of Houston before he met Jazz, but he was pretty sure it was relatively near- he remembered Jazz mentioning that a place called Texas was nearby, and that he had never really been much far from home, even as a vampire.

Harry did laugh at the term ‘vampire’, such a loose definition for blood drinkers. They were muggle hybrid vampires- day walkers. He didn’t even know what he would be considered anymore- other than a pathetic lost cause not worth the effort, not that anyone gave any effort in the first place- he was a wizard, turned into a day walker by a muggle who was a hybrid-vampire. Wixen just didn’t become day walkers, it wasn’t a thing .

It didn’t matter though, Harry was a nobody who could pose as a human, which was all that mattered for his plan. The only other thing he needed for his plan was to get ahold of his magic, which was proving difficult.

He had been able to shrink his belongings before he had unexplainably and stupidly  left, but other than that he hadn’t been able to use his magic at all. He had tried, in small variants, but then he had never had any time alone. Now though, he had all the time one could ask for ( too much , if anybody bothered to ask him, though why would they ask a worthless orphan his opinion? ).

He tried to practice as he walked, attempting to levitate the scattered pebbles over the barren land or summon forgotten twigs, but it never worked. He tried to blame Jazz for turning him, but it was his fault for walking right into a day walker’s hands, for not apperating away or simply not leaving his love in the first place. His limited magic was his fault, and his fault only- just like everything else.

The sun set and rose everyday, but he just kept walking, not paying it any mind- suns were for people who had a chance, people who would go down with it everyday and rise with it everyday, Harry never planned to rise with it, but he always did anyway. The walking was repetitive, bringing forth the memories of after the war when he started walking and didn’t stop, but that was fine, he was fine.

Harry’s thoughts haunted him like the ghosts of everyone he had let die in front of him, but that didn’t stop the one thought repeating in his mind, that he had to find out more about Jazz, that he couldn’t have someone knowing about him in any way if he didn’t know exactly who they were, not anymore. 

—

The first town he came across he had to stop before he could go into, the wretched way his skin turned in the sun stopped him, else the muggles would notice something. And didn’t he loathe the way his fake skin got even faker, prickling and getting tighter and itchier that he couldn’t stop himself from clawing at his skin, if only to make it looser.

He had to get control of his magic, if only to put a temporary shield over his skin that would block the sun. He just had to channel his magic right. After all, if he could still see his promise ring despite the magic covering it, then he reckoned he still had the magic to produce a simple charm to protect his ugly skin from the rays of the sun.

Harry threw his heart into it, something he hadn’t done with anything in months . It was mentally taxing, so much so that he discovered that unlike most day walkers, he could sleep. A curse, it seemed, as he was plagued by the nightmares he was so used to, yet that didn’t make them any better. He promised himself he wouldn’t let himself fall asleep again, especially in an unprotected location he didn’t know- he would never be unconscious somewhere he didn’t feel one hundred percent safe.

Eventually a cloudy day came by, and Harry took it as a chance to go into the town, a bad idea it seemed.

“Could you tell me where Houston is?”

“Go back home kid”

Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance, he didn’t have a home to go to, and if he was a kid he wouldn’t be there in the first place.

“Excuse me, ma’am, I’m looking for a town called Houston?”

“Houston? How are you planning on getting to Houston from here? Unless you have a horse at your disposal, you don’t have a chance, boy”

Harry had flinched rather badly at being called ‘boy’, but he ignored the memories it brought up and kept going through the town, mentally cursing himself for looking so young and dismissible.

“I don’t mean to bother you, but do you know the way to Houston?”

“Where are your parents, son? You can’t go to Houston alone”

Harry didn’t mention that they were dead, that he had already gone to a whole new continent alone, he just kept walking through the town, hoping that the sun wouldn’t come out and that someone would give him directions. Finally, he found something better than verbal directions: a map.

The map didn’t tell him where he was, but he ignored that small hitch. He had a map of the entirety of the ‘state of Texas’, which was sure to help him on his pointless stalker-ish task. Still, he continued, pretending that his life had a purpose.

 ———

His wrists didn’t sting anymore when he slashed them vigorously, but he did it anyway, to pass the time, if nothing else. There was no one there to tell him to stop, only his mind to tell him to continue his task, though sometimes he didn’t see the point in it anymore anyway.

Why did it matter if Jazz knew that he existed? Hundreds of people already knew who he was back in Europe. So maybe he had been bitten by a day walker, it’s not like anyone would care about him, or find him even if they did care. He gave them everything he had, but they wanted the world, and even Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Live, the Man-Who-Conquered didn’t have the world.

Still, his curiosity overruled his bitterness at the world, so after adding a few more scars to his canvas of self hate and contemplating how he even ended up there, Harry begrudgingly went into the town to learn where he was, hoping to see the name somewhere rather than having to ask another person who wasn’t as gentlemanly as Jazz had been.

He had to go north, then east. He thought a compass would be helpful, but the only money he had was from the wixen world, though he knew it was possible to convert wixen money to muggle money. If you had magic; which he didn’t, despite his many attempts to produce the magic that used to effortlessly flow from his fingertips. There may have been a magical market in Texas, but he didn’t know of one.

Still, throughout the day of trying to figure out what the heck he was doing with his life existence, practicing his nonexistent magic, and fruitlessly searching for a magnet to make a compass of his own, the idea grew on him. Why couldn’t he just go to a magic market? Sure, he didn’t know where one was, and didn’t fancy the idea of people knowing who or where he was, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

He entertained the idea for a while, wondering if he would even be recognizable in America yet. He didn’t have to say his name, and he could probably mask his accent well enough to go unnoticeable. There was the drawback of his physical appearance, but he doubted any of them would have actually seen his picture all the way over in America.

He found himself running without cause, leaving the town he had spent days waking to in an instant. He didn’t focus on where he was going- his magic would tell him, even if it wasn’t cooperating properly. After all, squibs could still listen to their magic even if they couldn’t use it, they could still go to magic places, like Harry intended on doing.

And when he arrived in a town that quickly led to a city, Harry knew his magic was helping him, even if he couldn’t fully access it. He zoned in on a small restaurant, all his senses drawn to it. He darted around the shadows of the town and walked in, already feeling the buzz of magic in the area.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he drawled politely when he got to the counter, channeling his inner Jazz. He smelled- an enhanced day walker trait that he hated- a wand in her apron, so he continued in his southern drawl. “I’m lookin’ for somethin’… magical” . He smiled charmingly, despite hating bringing attention to himself and pretending to be social. Harry rarely talked when he didn’t have to, but he classified this as something rather important.

The restaurant owner, a middle aged woman with smile lines and a messy bun, smiled back at him, her smile much more real than the mask Harry hid behind. “Of course honey, right this way. Don’t mind the floor, it’s a bit of a mess right now. I was supposed to get someone in here last week but they ain’t coming no longer, can you believe it? Think they could make this place a little nicer sayin’ all them people comin’ in ‘n out all day. Ah, here we are,” she stopped at a rather plain door, which opened up to a storeroom. Harry was a bit by how strong her accent was, so much more prominent than Jazz’s or those in the town he had been in had been.

“Now come along here, honey. Come on now, I ain’t expecting to do any activities with you, if ya get what ‘m sayin’. This is just the entrance they gave me to deal with, no biggie. I’m Margret, by the way. But everyone around here calls me Mags, so feel free ta call me that if you’re wanting. What’re you goin’ by anyway? I’m not recognizin’ ya, kid, so clearly you’re bein’ new ‘n town”.

Harry hesitated only for a moment, but collected himself quickly enough that ‘Mags’- a daft name in his opinion, but it wasn’t like his was any better. ‘Harrington, honestly’. -didn’t notice. “Henry”, he drawled easily.

“Well, Henry, you got yourself a treat comin’ here. Best market in Texas, you can count on it”, she told him, putting her hand to the plain wall, causing it to open up. “Well there ya go, honey. I’ll be expectin’ you in the way back out, we’ll be open as long as the street is. Be safe out there”

Harry nodded, then remembered he was supposed to be charming like Jazz. “Of course, thank you, ma’am.”

He braced himself for an overload of senses and walked through the entryway.

He instantly felt a wave of magic go through him as he walked into the magical market, making sure to stay in the shade- the wixen walking around would recognize a day walker, which was the last thing he wanted. Still, the crowds weren’t bad, something he could appreciate.

With such high concentrations of magic, Harry tried once again to channel any hint of power, and was pleasantly surprised when he repaired his shoes simply by thinking about it. N ow, to shield my skin from the sun, he thought wearily. It was a bit more difficult than a simple reparo, but after a moment he felt a tingling sensation, and when he flicked his pinky out from the shade it didn’t crystallize or itch more than it usually did. He only needed the market to do magic, but he decided that while he was there he might as well look around a bit.

The market was much more interesting than he thought Diagon Alley was; much less… European, which he shouldn’t have found as amusing as he did, saying he was in America. Still, there was a sense of peace there that Harry hadn’t felt in other places before, and he rather enjoyed the atmosphere.

Looking around with concealed awe- because really, why should he care so much about a Magical market when he was literally the Master of Death -Harry decided that there was no harm in going to the bank there himself, rather than attempting to convert his money and messing something up.

So he walked down the wooden street, his eyes quickly surveying different stands filled with products as he scanned the area for a bank. He spotted one near the end of the street, built up by different types of wood and nail, like the majority of the market.

When he walked in through the doorway, he was mildly intrigued to see that there weren’t any goblins working the booths, but that the majority of them were humans. He did smell a vampire and what he thought was a Veela, but decided for a booth closest to the entrance instead. 

“What can I help you with?” The worker asked him. Probably forced to ask tha t, Harry thought, no one would ask me willingly. He gave his best charming smile. 

“I would like to convert some money”, he responded. He had nearly the entire contents of his vault in his expandable bag that he had shrunk- not trusting Gringotts to keep it safe- but there wasn’t a chance he was going to convert all of it, not at that moment anyway.

“Of course. Are you looking for no maj currency?” He was asked politely, Harry nodded.

“Yes, that would be appreciated”, he responded, handing over a handful of galleons and a few sickles. The worker looked down at his money in surprise.

“Galleons? Did you get these in the United Kingdom? There was a war there recently, you know. MACUSA was debating whether they should step in or not once we all heard about it, but apparently it ended soon after that. Were you there when the war was going on? Here”

They handed Harry a wad of cash and reassured him that they had done the conversions correctly. Harry pretended that he wasn’t squirming to get out of there after the reminder of the war he was forced into- memories rising quicker than he could push them away- and thanked the worker, leaving silently with his shaking hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

At least I wasn’t recognized , he scoffed to himself as he made a leave for the market. It was interesting, but he needed to get out of there- quickly.

—

Having a compass wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be, but Harry had fun messing with it, pointing it east towards Europe and south where he speculated Jazz was at. But that didn’t matter, those places were checked off his list- he was on a new journey.

Except, in his sudden spree of the moment to get to the Magical Market, Harry ended up going in the opposite direction of Houston, Texas. Still, no matter, his time was indefinite. People should have learned not to expect him anywhere by that point.

Luckily, the map had the town he had ended up in on it, so his only job was to go north until he met the next town to check his progress again. It was a tedious process, but when was anything not? It was the repetition that he could handle, like the steady slash of a knife, he knew there would always be another. Another town, another scar, another forgotten memory…

Everyone seemed to know of Houston. Harry heard the pedestrians talking about the town in the streets as he watched overhead, saw billboards and posters on display for anyone passing by to see. In a way, it was the London of Texas; everyone knew of it, even if they’d never been.

He figured that the town wasn’t much of a town at all, but rather a city. A great big city that would take him ages to search even with his day walker abilities, but shouldn’t have been as difficult to find as it was. He was slightly surprised that Jazz had traveled so far, but Harry supposed that he had traveled farther.

It only took a week until he eventually came to a stop on the outskirts of what was indeed Houston, Texas, but to Harry it felt like ages. A month, he figured. A month since had left Jazz, half a year since he had left his only love, one of the only people who understood him. That didn’t matter though, he wasn’t there anymore. He was he now.

Houston was big, the people were loud and strange, but Harry could see how Jazz fit in there. He had mentioned having a horse, if Harry remembered correctly, and he could picture Jazz riding through town with his cowboy hat and boots. He also remembered Jazz mentioning that he practically grew up in a horse stable, so Harry thought it would be best to go to the side of town that farms were more common in. Which also meant talking to more people, which Harry did not enjoy.

He did, however, discover that by making his voice sound more like a southern drawl, he was more likely to get the Texans on the streets to talk to him for more than a few seconds- something he would normally hate, but appreciated in the case he was in.

Having to wait until cloudy days appeared was bothersome, but he managed. If there was anything Harry knew, it was patience. 

“Excuse me, ma’am”, he started with an easy smile. “Could you tell me which side of town has the most stables?”

The woman he had approached nodded, her auburn curls bouncing under the fancy sun hat she wore. “On the other side of town, dear. If you go straight that way”, she gestured vaguely in one direction, which Harry took note of, “you should see the first few a few miles out. Are you meeting someone there, dear?”

Her question was kind, genuine, but it made Harry’s hair stand on end. Maybe he just wasn’t a fan of people, maybe he hated being called dear because it was what Vernon would always call Petunia when they had guests over and he would have to pretend he didn’t exist.

Still, he nodded in a hesitant shy way he thought would be acceptable given her tone. Her smile grew.

“That sounds wonderful dear, I wish you good luck with your special lady”

Harry nodded in a way to show how grateful he was, though he was over selling how great their conversation had been. He ignored the mention of his ‘special lady’ and began his journey towards the stables instead, hoping to find something that could help him.

The part of Houston that had stables was stretched out with rolling yellow hills of land, but he didn’t mind. Instead, Harry found the first official looking building, hoping to find birth records. He wasn’t sure how old Jazz was, but he was old enough to be young when the civil war was starting up- another thing Harry would have to figure out.

In the meantime, waiting to have a good estimate of his sire’s birth year, Harry explored, certain that he was in the area that Jazz was raised in. The accents of the cowboys there seemed much more similar to those of the other places he had been, and based on the limited knowledge he had learned from Jazz’s story as Harry had turned into a vampire, he was in the right place.

He had the idea to spend the night on one of the roofs of a stable or a barn, just lay back on it and watch the sun overhead, clear his thoughts that were itching for him to add another mark to his arm; it was becoming a tally counter by that point.

The house he chose reminded him some of Jazz, though that hadn’t been his intention. Harry supposed it was just the fact that he was around where Jazz had been raised that made him feel that way, though he wasn’t all that sure.

And that night, as he was lying on an unfamiliar roof in an unfamiliar town, Harry rediscovered stars.

They twinkled in the night, staring down at him beautifully and mockingly like they knew he could never join them, would never get to look down on the world that was so cruel and feel any sort of achievement, to join in their mockery for those less fortunate. Every star he saw was a life that got taken away by the night, a life that would never be recovered or made up for.

He counted the stars, over and over again until the supreme power of the sun overshadowed them, made their sacrifice of life insignificant . The sun was disrupting their peace, their mockery of Harry all alone and alive when they were all together and happy. Still, he couldn’t stop the sun from rolling up over the hills, vanishing any remaining twinkling in the sky.

He heard people stirring within the house below him, and he couldn’t help but take a peek. When he saw the people inside, he froze.

Potter luck had struck again.

Inside the kitchen Harry looked into, there stood an older couple- someplace around their seventies, he would guess. They looked old and harrowed, their eyes sad and distant. Given the current life expectancy, the man and woman before him didn’t have much life left- it was surprising that they had made it that far.

That wasn’t what caused Harry to freeze though.

The woman was tall and lean, her waves of tasseled white hair coming down in thick curls and her waning muscles wiry but defined. The man had a familiar eye shape, the tilt to his jaw recognizable as he stood across from what Harry assumed was his wife.

Directly behind them, Harry could make out a simple table with shelves. Pictures of the man and woman, rolling hills and a picture with an old cracked frame he bypassed, his attention being drawn to one picture in particular.

It was of Jazz.

As Harry stared at the picture, he couldn’t doubt who it was printed off on the black and white paper and slid behind glass. He was younger, his features less defined than Harry had seen them, but it was undeniably him. He pulled his gaze off the picture, his eyes quickly filtering around the shelf, taking note of all the pictures of Jazz as a human.

He came to a stop after scanning the shelf as he came to a crumbling realization. The most recent picture the couple had of Jazz was old and fading, the last they had seen of their son before he disappeared, before they never saw him again.

He wondered if anyone had gotten a picture of him before he left.

“Maybe he’ll come back today,” Harry heard the man murmur through the glass he was staring through. “Maybe we’ll have some of our family back again.”

“Some, but not all,” the woman responded, her voice sad and broken as she sent a glance at the picture with the broken glass covering it. Harry looked closer. Jazz’s brother?

“No, not all,” the man sighed. "But we can still hope. One day, one day soon I’m sure… Our Jasper will come home and our waiting will be done, it will all be worth it in the end, darlin’.”

For the third time that morning, Harry froze, more surprised than shocked this time.

Jasper?

Jazz…

Oh.

Harry felt rather foolish then, discovering that the man who bit him was in fact Jasper, a real name, and not ‘Jazz’. Embarrassment flooded him at the realization, but he couldn’t dwell on it for long as he listened intently to the conversation in front of him.“If he’s out there…”

“We have to believe that he is. Otherwise, what else is left for us?”

“You know it as much as I do, darling”, the man, Jaz- Jasper’s Pa, sighed. Watching the two, Harry could pinpoint where Jasper got his traits from. He got his tendency to call Harry ‘darling’ from his father, his pragmatic attitude seemed to come from his mother. Ja- Jasper had made it seem like his mother was the optimist, his father realistic, but maybe they had changed in the last however many years.

Harry watched the couple throughout the day, gathering that they were barely holding onto life so that they could see their son one last time. Harry would have found it sweet in a way, if it wasn’t so depressing. Still, he took note of every detail about them- the Whitlocks, he learned, when he had looked more closely at a framed newspaper article.

Thirteen year old Jasper Whitlock takes home second place at his first ever horse show. Watch out Texas! A New legend is coming in! 

Harry had read the article until it got covered by the frame, interested to learn about the man he had only known for a short while. He understood then why the house had reminded him of Jasper the night before.

He hadn’t gotten the chance to have checked the birth files, but he supposed he had found something even better.

Harry watched the Whitlock’s for weeks as they had similar hopeless discussions each morning, learning more and more about Jazz than he ever thought he would have. He was fortunate that the Whitlock’s were still alive, even if their lives seemed dull and depressing.

"Maybe he met a nice girl who’s taking care of him”, Jasper’s Pa, Austin as Harry had learned, suggested one morning as he sipped his over sugared coffee.

“He never was interested in any of those girls”

“A fella then?”

“No, I don’t think so. He only ever paid any mind to those horses. Dallas was the one getting close with all of them. Girls, boys…”

“Yanks?”

Jasper’s mum sighed, sending a sad look at her husband. “You had your strategy, I had mine”

“And in the end both our boys went off to fight in a war neither of them knew a darn thing about.”

Harry nodded along, that made sense. Arguably, he didn’t know much about the civil war that plagued the lives of the Whitlocks, but he knew enough to conclude that the ideals of the side Jazz joined did not fit the man he had known briefly at all. The Whitlocks seemed to be in agreement with him.

“Our sons just wanted to get away”, The old woman frowned, her eyes flashing towards the same wooden case she had sporadically been eying since Harry first arrived. He had yet to go inside the house, something he felt was much too personal, but his first task when he finally decided to go in was to see the contents of the case.

When he did finally sneak into the Whitlock house, he almost didn’t. He felt like a stalker, like one of those people who he would hate so much in his life before. He supposed he would be pretty angry if someone went to stalk the Dursleys to find out more about him, even if they wouldn’t have found out much. He was a hypocrite, but that was fine.

The Whitlocks weren’t home, off at some service or something of the like, so Harry took his time as he entered the house. The door was unlocked; Harry doubted that the old couple had many visitors or people that would want to break in, even though their house was rather intriguing.

The house had a distinct smell, which reminded Harry of when someone at Hogwarts would mention something smelling like their grandmother's house (an experience he had never had before), but it was nice. It kind of reminded him of Jaz- Jasper in a way, like leather and hay and something rich, but Harry thought that Jasper brought those scents with him, rather than the house having his scent.

He tried to be as unnoticeable as possible, careful not to touch anything and to walk with light feet. The house seemed well lived in, though Harry doubted much had changed in the last few decades, everything seemed to be in a perpetual preserved state.

He walked at slower than a human pace, but froze when he got to the table and shelves- something of a memory gallery. His eyes scanned the pictures, taking them each in slowly this time, watching the Whitlock’s lives go by in pictures- going from few to many to none in the span of two decades. He stopped when he reached the box Jazz’s mum continued to glance at.

The box was old and worn, but sturdy. There was a light covering of dust spread over it, but Harry doubted that either Whitlock noticed, as they seemed to keep anything retaining their sons- which Harry was certain the box did- in the best, cleanest state possible. More likely, their old eyes couldn’t see as well as his day walker ones- something that he still marveled at.

He didn’t tear off the lid even while his curiosity burned, but ever so carefully removed the top and placed it next to the wooden box, making sure not to break or disturb anything.

The box was piled with documents and newspapers, letters and notices- Harry wouldn’t be having to go to the official government building after all - this box held all the answers he needed.

The first thing he saw was a birth certificate, for a man of the name Dallas Whitlock- Jazz’s older brother he reckoned. He didn’t spend long on that however, as he soon found another birth certificate, spelling out Jasper’s full name and listing his parents above that. February 25, 1863, it read. Harry did some quick math, realizing he had missed Jasper's birthday- he was fifty one. Harry had assumed he was older, though given his parent’s age his own age made sense.

Harry flipped through the papers, the next being a newspaper with the caption: Jasper Whitlock becomes youngest Major in the Texas Calvary. Harry read the entire article, careful of the fragile paper in his hands. The paper had one splotchy picture of Jasper in his soldier uniform, though it was hard to make out. He carefully added it to the pile of papers that was growing beside him.

He next picked up an unsuspecting letter, which contained a basic script telling Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock that their son, Jasper Whitlock, had been missing in action for a week. It was dated with the year 1863.

The next thing in the box was a death certificate. It wasn’t for Jasper, but for his older brother, Dallas. He ignored the way his hands trembled as he took it and briefly read it over. The man had lived a short life, dying soon after his brother had gone missing. Harry continued on.

He shamelessly ( there was a little shame, but Harry pretended it wasn’t there as he’d been doing the last ten years of his life) read a letter addressed to Jaz- Jasper’s (Harry had to keep reminding himself that the man’s name was indeed Jasper, and not ‘Jazz’) parents, stating that if they missed another payment on their house they would be up for eviction. Then another letter, declaring Jasper officially dead after being MIA for so long.

The next two letters he read his hands shook as he did so. Jasper’s things got sent back to the Whitlocks. The Whitlocks then got a thank you letter for sending Jasper's things to a memorial/Civil War museum, giving them a large sum of money. They didn’t lose their house; they lost their sons instead.

The only thing left of their sons were old memories and fading pictures in broken frames. They had sold their memories for a chance to have a home for a soldier that would never return. They let their only tangible memories die with small hopes that their son had survived.

Harry didn’t grieve for the young sons they had lost, he grieved for the remorseful parents who saw their sons grow up to leave them.

Harry didn’t go back in the house after that, didn’t go check out Jazz’s old room to find out more about who he was as a teenager, didn’t go into the room marked ‘Dallas’ to see if he and his brother were close. He was shaken, though he didn’t want to admit it.

—

He sat on the roof most nights watching as the sun descended on the horizon. There was a window leading to the roof, and while Harry never peaked in, he did wonder. Had Jazz sat on the roof at night, staring at the stars? Had he ever stood on the roof and debated what it would be like to jump, if the hay would break his landing? Did Jazz ever stay up in the stable as late night turned to early morning and cut his wrists as deep as his regrets?

Harry kind of doubted it, but there was no way of knowing. Even with his conflicted emotions about returning (after seeing the box the Whitlocks kept, Harry was persuaded to return- not wanting to leave Jazz to wonder what had happened to him like Jazz’s parents did him, though he wouldn’t admit it to himself), he knew he would never ask. That was Jazz’s business, even if it was Harry with the yearning curiosities.

The stars twinkled above him as thousands of lives looked down on him. He added four more to the list: one for a boy who went down as a man, one for a boy who would never be free, and one each for two mourning parents, only hanging on to see a star that had already gone.

Harry liked that aspect of the south, being able to see the millions of stars that were scattered across the dark void of an abyss, the missed opportunities and the forgotten heroes together as one. Harry wondered which unsuspecting innocent was granted with being the sun, but he supposed he would never know.

Harry, of course, would never get to be a star, but he didn’t dwell on it. Every slash on his wrist was like his own personal sky, each scar a star for each time he died inside. He didn’t pull out his knife though, not on the peaceful roof that Jazz grew up in- the Whitlocks already had enough bloodshed in their lives, that much was clear.

Still, when the sun rose each day, he couldn’t help but stay, even if just for one more day. He mentally cataloged everything he knew about the couple, the house, the shared memories that would never leave the small wooden capacity they were made in.

Nothing was more terrible than watching Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock though. Mr. Whitlock, with so much false hope that he deep down knew was a waste of time. Mrs. Whitlock with her never ending sadness and regret to rival her husband’s as they repeated conversations, day after day. Harry wondered if their son Dallas was watching them in those moments. He wondered what Dallas would say if he knew Harry was watching his parents with him.

He probably wouldn’t be too happy with Harry, but Harry had grown accustomed to that. He only hoped Dallas would see how much his parents seemed to care for him, because by the looks of it his father didn’t think Dallas knew. Harry just wanted a broken family to be slightly less broken.

Though everyone was a little broken, right? Everything would be still and fine, then come crashing down and the peaceful quiet would be replaced by silence. Harry knew the feeling, he bet the Whitlocks did too.

                                 ——————

The months flew by like leaves on a tree- ever changing. After days of watching the Whitlocks live their perpetually repeating life, Harry had to admit to himself that he had to move on, a new thing was calling to him.

It was melancholic to leave, in a way. After days watching the Whitlocks, he had grown accustomed to them, and he knew he would never see them again once he left. They were wistful, Harry was stuck in his own head, and there was clearly nothing left for him there.

So, with one last sorrowful look at the small dulling house on a yellowing hill, he left once again, turning his back on wrinkled photos and lost memories, the twinkling scars and the ghost of a lost son. Maybe he would return to the other, maybe the small family would be reunited again in the skies.

Harry didn’t have the answers, so he continued, trying not to turn around to take one last mental snapshot. He had no way of knowing what would happen to the pragmatic woman or the quietly desperate man, but he would remember them until the end.

He kept walking, never stopping and rarely breathing. When he did, he breathed in the scents of desire and fear, nerves and agitation. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like to him as he walked past the herds of people, all going about their lives in different manners. He stayed away; detached.

He had decided he would visit the museum Civil War memorial that Jasper’s parents had sent his things to in false hopes of seeing their son again. If anything, he could find some old belongings of his- put them in a box and use runes to shrink it. Then maybe he would have to return, if only to properly give it to Jasper.

Except, if he was Jazz, he would hate being presented with a box that only reminded him of his past, so maybe he wouldn’t give it to Jazz. He debated giving it back to the Whitlocks, but decided against it- while it would clearly be appreciated, he didn’t want to hand them false hope, didn’t want to confuse or hurt them anymore than they already were. He decided he could burn that bridge when he got to it.

The only problem with his search was that he didn’t know where his exact destination was, despite having seen the exact address on the letters. Still, he didn’t let up- there was nothing else for him to be doing other than mindlessly searching the streets of Texas, after all.

When the sun shone brightly he walked through the shade, cognizant of avoiding the sun. It was then when he was walking the streets that he got stopped.

“Psst”

He heard the sound coming from an alleyway and almost continued his steady pace down the street, but something stoked him: a scent.

The scent was distinctly day walker, and it made him curious- if not a little nervous. But he knew how to fight rather well- thanks to Jazz- so he turned into the alleyway, alert.

“Well what do we have here? A newborn?” The day walker whistled. 

Harry stayed silent, not liking the day walker's tone of voice as they approached him. Even in the dim lighting he could make out some facial features, though they had little meaning to him.

“I saw you walking and I was curious- are you aware of the repercussions if you were to step into the sun instead of those helpful shadows? If you were to reveal what you are to the humans?”

When Harry didn’t say anything, the day walker continued. “I thought not. But see? That’s what I’m here for. Not knowing the rules”, the day walkers tsked, shaking their head, “luckily, I have just what you need”.

Harry eyed his confronter warily, not sure what they were suggesting. “Here, partner, no need to stress! I happen to have the entire history of Volterra and all laws, right here with me! Take it, enjoy learning about the vampires before you.”

Harry spared a glance at the book he was handed, A History of Volterra, then focused his eyes back on the day walker in front of him, unimpressed.

“Go on, take it! You’ll be happy once you do!”

Harry eyed him skeptically for a moment. “What for?” He asked in a southern drawl- he could admit that it would be good to know more about the day walker government, but he wasn’t going to go lengths to get a book.

“Nothing!” The day walker gushed in what Harry was sure was mock enthusiasm. “Completely free! I’ve got nothing up my sleeves, my friend. Nothing that I’m hiding behind! I just want my fellow vampires to be educated, and a newborn like you is a great place to start!”

“I’m not a newborn”, Harry said defiantly as he took the book- he sensed no magic surrounding the book, nor any real ill will from the day walker.

“Pffffft”, they blew out. “You? Totally! You smell like a newborn, partner! Say, you take the book, and make sure to leave me enough for a good meal tonight. Do we have ourselves a deal, partner?"

Harry wasn’t going to shake on it, but he nodded nonetheless. “If the deal is that you give me the book and I leave you some game, then we have a deal.”

“Excellent! Say partner, you’ll be thanking me later”. With those parting words, the day walker left, leaving Harry slightly baffled. If anything, he was about to gain some very useful information. He just hoped that the day walker wouldn’t go around mentioning him to others of their kind, but Harry saw no reason why they would.

Besides, if they did Harry would find them- and he would win.

The book was interesting, if a little dry. It went from ‘do whatever you want just don’t expose us’ to 'newborn armies and immortal children are dangerous and must be dealt with’ rather quickly. Harry was rather pleased to learn about immortal children, something that Jasper had quickly steered him away from when they had first met.

The newborn army section was rather strict, but it made sense. If anything, it explained why Jazz was so wary and Maria’s care. He wondered if they had read the official book or had heard from word of mouth, but he supposed it didn’t matter. As long as they didn’t do anything risky or forbidden (double and triple armies came to mind- failed attempts at controlling more land) Harry thought that they would  probably be fine.

He only read the book when it was too sunny to walk, when there wasn’t enough shade covering the streets and when he was too indifferent to bother running atop the buildings. Still, it took his mind off things, kept him entertained enough. 

Out of everything listed in the book, he most wanted to meet the current leader of the Volturi, Aro. He sounded delightful and easily entertained, if not a little power hungry. Harry wondered how he would react to meeting Harry Potter , the thought entertaining him for a while as he made up different scenarios. Still, he would have to wait until the Volturi saw a reason to come to the Americas- there was no way Harry was going back to Europe any time soon.

Europe was where there were memories best left in the past, topics Harry would rather avoid, and blood spilled that would never be replaced. He didn’t care where it was in Europe; Harry was done.

He did find himself wondering how much the Volturi knew about the wixen world, if at all. He was under the impression that they did- after all, Harry had heard about day walkers in his human life, so the day walkers had probably heard of wixen. If they did though, it was not included in the book.

Harry was curious if the Volturi wanted to keep wixen a secret, more on the down low compared to their very strong aversion to ‘werewolves’ which had many pages over the topic. Harry thought that the day walkers- or, at least the ones higher up in the government-  might be afraid of wixen, which might have explained why they weren’t mentioned in the book. Anything that could summon and control fire with magic would probably make them uneasy- not Harry, he loved the thought of fire and it’s elegant flames of color.

Either way, with Harry being bitten, the wixen world and day walker one had definitely clashed. If anything, Harry was intrigued with the fall out- luckily, he would be there when it did.

—————

Harry practiced more magic as he moved through the different parts of Texas, trying to see how much magic was in the air in various places. Most places were flat, the magic barely noticeable. Those days Harry could hardly feel his own magic at all, despite his many attempts. Other places the magic was stronger- Harry tended to stay in those locations longer, trying to channel his magic.

He didn’t know if he was getting better or worse, but he kept trying anyways, ignoring his mental exhaustion most days. He still hadn’t been able to make his skin not get affected by the sun since the day he had visited the magical market, but he kept trying anyway in between his stretches of walking through the streets of Texas.

He had checked the map only a few times since leaving the Whitlock home in Houston- mostly when he had gotten to a new place far enough away from the last town that he considered taking a look. He thought that once he got close enough to the town on the address he would wing it, like he had done with finding the Whitlock’s house. Though, Harry wasn’t in much of a rush- he had eternity after all.

Eternity was an unreliable word, but Harry used it anyway- his life was nothing but unreliable, unstable. Before he had known that he didn’t have all the time in the world to get done what he wanted. Now, he knew he had all the time, but he wished he didn’t.

When he eventually found the civil war memorial museum, Harry wasn’t expecting it. It was an unsuspecting building in a small town, but it somehow fit into the town seamlessly. Harry wished the same could be said for him, but unfortunately that was not the case.

The museum opened at five in the morning, and didn’t close until late at night- Harry doubted they had enough security to stay closed for long. They did charge a small fee, which Harry almost didn’t want to pay until he learned that the majority of the funds went towards the families impacted by the war. Then his thoughts had flashed towards the sorrowful couple back in Houston, living with false hopes and lost memories, and his thoughts of breaking in dissipated slightly. Though, if he saw anything of Jazz’s not in a prominent display he would still be breaking in.

He entered the memorial/ museum (Harry still wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but that part didn’t matter much to him- as long as he got to find out more about the day walker that had bit him) the moment it opened, both to avoid the impending rising sun and to spend more time viewing the displays. Harry would rather not be reminded of war, but he figured that a muggle war against its own country would be very different than a wizarding war with a dark lord and a prophecy.

He was both right and wrong, but he stayed for the entire exhibit, reading through every sign and strolling through the place at a human pace. At times his hands shook so hard he had to stop reading and look away, his head pounding as battles replayed over and over again in his head, the scents filling the air like he was there in that moment . Still, he kept reading, ignoring his memories that he would rather forget and focusing on a different war, a different life he didn’t have to live.

 He had never been to a museum before, but he was surprised by how empty it was there. A few times he was stopped, asked where his parents were at and the like, but he ignored those interruptions and was left mostly in peace otherwise. The past was interesting, but Harry didn’t really think he was the type to go to a museum unprompted, not unless he had a reason, however bad it was, to go.

Jasper was mentioned a few times throughout the exhibit, mentions of him being the youngest major in the Texas Calvary, his name on a list of the missing, photographed with the rest of the soldiers on their way off to war. It wasn’t much, but it was something- maybe a name that would have a throwaway mention in a text book for schools in the future. He briefly wondered if Jazz knew that there was a museum with his name in it.

Then, Harry froze.

The wizarding world didn’t have museums, did it!? Harry would hate it if they did, if there was a museum that mentioned his part in the wizarding war- having his name stuck in the mouths of children and adults alike as well as printed in the books was already much more than he would have wanted. He supposed he was better off not knowing some things.

Once he had read through the entire museum’s exhibits, Harry didn’t have a problem sneaking into the back room- a storage place, it seemed- and taking a peak around. Mrs. and Mr. Whitlock had given away the only tangible thing linking them back to their son and memories of him- there must have been the box of his belongings somewhere , however deep the storage unit went.

He searched the piles and piles of boxes without stopping- reading each label and looking in every box before moving onto the next. Again, he went at a human pace, knowing he had no other way to spend his endless time. Eventually, he came across the one box he was looking for, surprised at even finding it. Atop the old cardboard box was a peeling label: Jasper Whitlock, Barack 17, 1863. Harry hesitated before he opened it, softly brushing off the dust the box had gathered from years of storage.

After a few moments of consideration, Harry decided not to open the cardboard box with his sire’s name printed out in sloppy handwriting. He instead grabbed the box and peeked out the storage room he had banished himself to. He ran out of the museum faster than light, not looking back nor feeling bad about his theft of the box. After all, the Whitlock’s had given everything for this box to be seen, and it wasn’t like the contents were doing anything being out and on display- not when they were locked in a dark dark room that smelled of must and card board.

No one stopped him as he ran- though with the place so empty he doubted anyone even noticed his departure- one benefit of being a newborn that he enjoyed, even if he despised nearly all the other parts of it.

Harry had nowhere to go to, no place to unpack the box- though he wasn’t sure he wanted to see the contents (that would feel too much like stalking, much too personal, even after Harry had already seen so much else)- that was clenched into his hands like a lifeline; for the Whitlocks, it might have been. Instead he ran into the fading hues of the sun, not exactly sure where he was headed, though that was nothing new.

He ran without caution, without paying attention to where he was going or where he had been. His surroundings blurred, so blissfully unaware of the sounds and scents that had overwhelmed him for the past year. He didn’t stop until the candescent sun was rising again, sprawling light across the horizon and coating him in light, his skin tightening at the sensation once again.

In that moment he stopped, his mind switching from blank to alert in a millisecond. The hands still clutching the box preciously loosened, trying to to tear at his too tight skin which was trying to suffocate him slowly. There was no shade for him to stop in, not even that of a small tree or shrub. His skin irritated him, becoming agitating and itchy, but he had dealt with worse before, so he kept running.

Harry liked pain of his own infliction, something no one had ever understood about him, much to his annoyance. If he slashed into his own wrist it was fine, that was on his conditions. But if someone came by and tried to pull a knife on him, he was furious. The same could be said for the rays of sun clashing off his crystalline skin, and his eating habits he tried to forget about.

He hadn’t eaten in the year since he had been gone, but he couldn’t have been more indifferent. The thought of eating- blood or otherwise- didn’t interest him. In fact, Harry rarely thought about it, only remembering when someone mentioned something about food- usually reminding him to eat, much to his displeasure. Even then he didn’t care for the thought, never being hungry enough that it could interest him. At times the thought made him sick, having to choke down the food he was given as to not be as noticed.

He hadn’t necessarily tried to hide it from Jazz, Harry had made it clear, without a doubt, that he had an aversion to eating, but he had downplayed it a rather lot, trying to hide his deeper feelings on the concept, knowing that Jazz was an empath.

Some things were just better left unnoticed, he decided. After all, he had been going unnoticed for years at the Dudley’s and after, why did any of that have to change?

Harry slowed down as he started recognizing his surroundings from before. He stopped in the magic market (wearing the invisibility cloak he had brought with him from London) to shrink the box containing Major Jasper Whitlock’s old belongings. He made sure to apply the correct magic so that he could un-shrink and re-shrink the box with minimal effort when his magic wasn’t as cooperative, like he had done with his own belongings. After that quick trip he took off again, running with no purpose.

He passed old buildings that became familiar to him and different scapes spread out in front of him that he couldn’t doubt seeing before. When he crossed the canyon he tripped, landing straight on his face. But he rolled up effortlessly and with grace, the itch to slash at his skin stronger than it had been in a while. Just this once…?  

Harry spent one last day there, his legs dangling precariously over the canyon as he slowly edged closer to the chasm, willing himself to fall. It wouldn’t make a difference either way though- he was too dead to die again, but too empty to really be alive- a limbo worse than the pristine kings cross he had once visited, he decided.

He didn't waste a plethora of mindless time there like he had done before, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying the simple beauty in the way his venom glistened enticingly as it flowed down to his shaking fingertips and into the abyss below. He missed the thick, red of his blood that captivated him so, but the reflecting venom was a decent substitute, he supposed.

He watched the incandescent flare of the closest star, the light of the day fading into a dark sky, the gloaming filled with stars that Harry studied until morning. He had wondered, late into the night, if he would be able to leave the canyon as he had all those months ago. But he did- not looking back once again, leaving the Whitlock’s home once again coming to the forefront of his mind. He had already left three places that had captured his interest- what was one more?

 His thoughts bounced back to one notion he had been speculating nearly his entire life: would he ever return to those places he left behind him? Would he be remembered if he did?

Harry didn’t have the answers, so he kept on moving, his back turned on both the sunny field of flowers and the dark alleyway covered in grime.

                            —————————

When he first heard the rumor, it was quiet, whispers that he only heard because of his enhanced hearing. He had been closer to the newborn armies than he had been in months now, something he was arguably wary about. Still, after hearing the whispered rumor, he stayed, skirting around the outskirts of battle and army territory, just enough so that he could eavesdrop without being noticed.

As the rumor became louder, less whispers and more excited conversations, Harry paid more attention to the armies and their body language, gauging how true they thought the statement to be.

“Quique plans to take down the Major .”

“The two strongest armies are going against each other.”

“The battle is in two days- think we could get a chance at watching it happen?”

“I heard that Enrique is going to kill Maria’s Major.”

And that was the rumor that Harry was hearing all throughout the south: a skilled day walker named Enrique was going against Maria in battle in two days time, and Jazz would be no more. 

Harry heard the rumor, saw the newborn’s faces as they talked about it, but he didn’t believe it. Even if ‘Enrique’ did have a battle against Maria and did plan to off Jazz in the process, there was no way they would pull it off. Jazz was too strong, too powerful - he wouldn’t be destroyed. Plus, Harry wouldn’t let him.

On the day of the battle, Harry carefully approached the rumored meeting spot, staying quiet so as to not be noticed. He nearly froze when he saw Jazz, who he hadn’t seen in a year, yet looked exactly the same- if not a little more stressed and exasperated than Harry remembered. However, he shook off his hesitance,and stored his assessment of Jazz away for later- he had to be vigilant, they had a battle to win first. 

Maria asked some muscular girl “how many”, though Harry doubted she was asking about the amount of newborns. The girl looked stressed as she slowly- second guessing herself the whole time, something Harry knew should never be done- listed different gifts day walkers from ‘Enrique’s’ army had. He watched as the two armies faced each other before the battle, the quick back and forth between Maria and Enrique before the battle started, and noticed how Maria seemed the smallest bit protective over Jazz, which he somewhat appreciated even if he still didn’t like her.

As the battle started he stayed in the shadows, watching as newborns were slaughtered mercilessly. His eyes stayed on Jazz, not at all doubting his sire’s abilities. He watched as a larger day walker deliberately came at Jazz- much stronger and larger than him.

Harry didn’t doubt Jazz’s abilities, but he didn’t hesitate to throw himself into the fight, either.

Harry may have a tendency to leave without looking back, but that wouldn’t stop him from returning when it really mattered, no matter how painful or tedious it may be.