Interlude (Harry Potter)

Metal swords clanged. Wooden swords thwacked. A night’s rest and a morning training with Ron was just the thing to settle him down. Almost as good as no one trying to get him back to the strategy room. Even if Ron stayed glued to Harry’s elbow. Harry knew he was being managed, but at least they were being wise about it.

Both men stood side by side against a fence once they were done. The perfect view to watch others train. A mix of northern soldiers Harry recognized, soldiers Ron said were brought back from Hogwarts, and a rag tag group of what were probably farmers. Likely families who’d worked for the Weasleys for generations. Long enough ago that they had tales of ancestors taking up arms in the Weasleys’ defense. So long that they wouldn’t dream of leaving.

The natural place for Harry would be with these new men, and the occasional woman. Harry knew how to train and his hands itched to pick up a practice sword and walk the strangers through their drills. Ron had held him back, though. He’d nudged Harry to the side when the new folk arrived and held Harry steady until someone else stepped up to take the lead. It was Dennis who lined everyone up, beginners partnered with experienced soldiers, and set the lot to drills. It wasn’t how Harry’d have done it, but it worked. Every soldier became a trainer in their own right. Dennis’s feedback was for the pros. He didn’t tell them how to do better, he told them how to better teach.

He learned that from Cedric, Harry thought. Or maybe Lupin. From one of those leaders who did more for the people around them than for themselves.

Harry swallowed down whatever was caught in his throat and sought out something else to watch.

Which is how he found himself staring at Charlie. Again. It was easy to stare at Charlie’s tall body and watch those sculpted arms swing a wooden sword down with more skill than Harry had given him credit for. It was foolish to feel disappointed that Charlie wore a shirt this time. Especially since it was a single layer of cotton cut deep at the neck to reveal plenty of the freckles coating his chiseled chest. His stance could be better, but Charlie managed to move lightly as he striked and parried against one of the women in the courtyard. The woman didn’t hold back. She attacked with strength and grace that was one part having digested the day’s lesson and nine parts over enthusiasm. As if will alone would give her additional skill. It didn’t really, but it did force Charlie to strain. Harry liked to think that if she made him work hard enough Charlie would sweat through another shirt and then Harry’d get to watch him strip.

“Stop ogling my sister!” Ron’s harsh tone yanked Harry back to reality. It took Harry a moment to process just what he said. He took another look at the woman - flaming red hair and her own splash of freckles. It probably didn’t help Harry any that his reaction was to snigger. “Oy! No one leers at my sister. Don’t think I won’t deck you for it.”

Harry allowed himself to guffaw. Ron bristled further and Harry did his best to reign himself in. With an amused shake of the head he said in as reassuring a tone as he could muster, “I’m not ogling your sister.”

Ron looked at Harry like he used to look at Marcus’ team in training. All distrustful and suspicious. “You better not. She’s young and impressionable.”

Harry tried to bite back his smirk. “She can’t be more than two years younger than you.”

“So what! She’s my little sister and you’ll behave honorably towards her or god help me we’ll need to find ourselves an even newer king to put on the throne.”

Harry glanced back at Ron’s sparring siblings. Charlie had height and strength on his side, but he was trying to go easy while the woman had no such scruples. It should have been fine, but Charlie’s stance was wrong one too many times and the woman pushed her luck just right. Charlie lost his footing for a moment. It was hardly anything, but the woman finally landed a blower with her wooden sword whacking Charlie’s arm. You’d think she won against an entire garrison, the way she whooped and ran a circle around her brother while cheering.

“She’s feisty, ain’t she?” Harry asked.

This time Ron did whack him. A solid first to Harry’s shoulder so hard it might bruise. “Do not fuck around with my sister,” he repeated.

Harry laughed again as he rubbed his shoulder. He wondered what would happen if he asked for Ron’s thoughts on fucking around with the brother.

Only, the woman caught sight of them watching just then and called out to ask Ron if he’d seen her beat Charlie in a fight. The moment was lost to more sibling bickering. Followed by sibling wandering. Ron pulled Harry with them even though he didn’t have a reason to. Harry thought again to how he suspected he was being managed, but a glance back at the training showed Dennis had it well in hand. Pride in Dennis wasn’t enough to stop Harry from frowning for himself. It was hard not to be needed. To instead be shepherded around like a child who couldn’t be left alone.

They wandered deep into the castle until they reached a large hall. There was a massive fireplace already lit and roaring for the day. Clearly this was a room for living in, with furniture aplenty that was just moved around depending on the current need. At present, half had rows of tables where anyone could eat, and the other was filled with more comfortable seating. That side held hearty women. All stitching things with thread or yarn. Surrounded by baskets of old clothes that needed mending or new projects they’d soon start. A short plain clothed woman sat in the middle, doling out assignments and generally orchestrating the whole affair with pragmatic efficiency that would make any of Harry’s commanders jealous.

Until she saw who walked in. Then she was on her feet and shouting cheerful greetings to Harry’s companions. They all called back greetings with a wearied affection. For all it sounded like groaning, it also sounded like love. Harry didn’t understand it.

When Harry was a child he’d be shoved in a cupboard whenever guests came over, but sometimes he could hear them. He’d learned enough to know to say thank you for the welcome. Knew enough that you were supposed to compliment the residence. But Harry had mostly learned that when there was family Harry was not meant to be part of it. And that is what came back to him. He did his best to stay perfectly silent and perfectly still as the elder Weasley hugged each child in turn. Which had the opposite effect than what he wanted.

Instead of ignoring Harry, the woman caught herself up short when she saw him among her offspring. Instead of being angry Harry was there, she was embarrassed she hadn’t done more to make him welcome. The woman, “call me Molly, dear,” demanded fresh water and a meal for Harry. “That Harry,” people whispered. What followed might have been called a feast. All the women who’d been working abandoned their tasks in favor of what gradually migrated towards a welcome feast. In Harry’s honor.

Harry dared not move at all. He didn’t make as much as a peep. So Molly wrapped her short, stout arms around him in the sort of warm and loving hug that Ron and his siblings were probably raised with. The sort of hug that could make a bloke feel safe enough to pick fights with his family for the fun of it. The sort of hug that leaves no room for icy chill in one’s chest.

Somehow Harry was seated at a table between a tall balding man who’s red hair had gone closer to gray and Lupin. Both had come out of nowhere. Just like extra tables, now lined up where the seated area had once been, and a score or more of other people from throughout the household. Harry would have marveled, if he wasn’t busy shrinking in on himself under this new man’s doting attention. The man seemed to know stories about Harry - which is when Harry realized all of these people seemed to know stories about Harry. It’s not that the stories were wrong, just that this man focused on all the wrong details. When talking about the giants, he asked about the mechanical uses for the ore they mined. Or, when praising Harry for “taking such good care of Ron” in training, he knew all the formal titles for lessons that Harry, quite frankly, hadn’t. When he asked questions about Harry’s sword craft the conversation got lost in translation - like the man had studied war academically from a book. That Harry couldn’t even read.

Lupin interceded in the conversation so gracefully Harry hadn’t realized it had happened until the man - Arthur, Lupin called him - stopped talking to Harry entirely. Harry sagged back into his chair in relief. Without a word, Lupin reached up to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. He let his hand rest there after long enough that the feel of its heat lingered. Warm enough to leave no room for icy chill.

This place was loud and rambunctious and unerringly warm. Harry didn’t understand it.

The next morning Harry was restless. Par for the course after nightmares kept him awake. Whoever was managing Harry - and someone was most certainly managing Harry - sent two identical men to collect him before the sun had even risen.

“Hiya Harry,” one said.

“Ready to get to work?” said the other.

Dennis, playing the role of Harry’s ever present shadow, arrived with them. He surreptitiously reminded Harry he had met them when he first arrived. Fred and George. Although Dennis couldn’t say which was which.

The twins took Harry to the outer wall. The crumbling one that Harry could probably climb over if he set his mind to it. There was a ladder to a patrol path on top, and it mostly held up as the four men trekked across it. A battlement, maybe four feet tall, would provide cover if they ever needed to duck and hide. They didn’t. The castle was at the top of a hill and with just your eyes you could see ages in all directions. They never had to walk long before they reached someone stationed as a lookout. More farmers than soldiers. All knew Fred and George and greeted them merrily. All offered the twins whatever version of a looking glass they somehow had on hand. They gave Harry the chance to look through them all and he saw further than he thought a man could, to the furthest edges of fields the Weasleys tended when they weren’t preparing for war. There was not a person in sight.

Instead of treating it like a military task, the twins treated it like a jaunt. The kept up running commentary, mostly of embarrassing stories about their younger brother who they never quite mentioned by name. Although they did frequently shoot Harry exaggerated winks after pointing to some location in the distance where their brother had made an ass of himself.

Harry returned to the castle bemused and perfectly comfortable in his skin.

Not comfortable enough to face Weasley cheer in their great hall. Instead he hid in the room he’d been granted. When Dennis decided to stay Harry demanded to know why. Unsaid between them was that Harry hadn’t been given a moment to himself since he’d ridden through the gate.

The look Dennis gave was just short of an eye roll and at the exact length of saying, “Why do you fucking think?” There was a beat of silence. Harry could have made Dennis say it. He didn’t want to so he looked away first. Heavy silence lingered. Dennis was a better man than Harry and broke the silence. His excuse was flimsy, but it gave them both an out from the awkwardness of what they didn’t want to talk about. Harry was thankful enough for it that, even though he was hardly qualified, he agreed to teach Dennis how to read.

It wasn’t Harry who was restless the third morning. It was everyone else.

Soldiers and farmers were still drilling in the courtyard. The outer wall still had lookouts with their fancy contraptions, who continuously gave the all clear. The sun was shining as if to insist it was a beautiful day.

But people were stressed. Dennis led training again, but his words were sharper than two days before. Ron was shadowing Harry, but he kept getting distracted every time someone walked through the yard. Lupin was near the front gate, just in Harry’s sight although he wasn’t looking back at Harry. He was staring out into the distance like he expected something to happen. Harry told Ron he’d be right back and went to ask what was going on.

Lupin had this way of smiling at Harry and speaking to him so earnestly that it could be distracting. To the point where when Harry went over to demand to know what was happening he almost let himself be steered back around without any answers. He caught himself and tried again, which was when he saw the tightness in Lupin’s smile. Harry wondered if Lupin was the one managing him and grew tense with suspicion. The two men fell into the same trap of silence Dennis and Harry had the night before.

The violent haired woman was there. She touched Lupin’s arm with a familiarity that caught Harry by surprise. The gesture spoke silent volumes, like they knew each other well enough not to need words. Whatever it said was enough to convince Lupin to let go of his concerns and open up. Harry only half listened. The other half of his focus was on this woman whose name he didn’t even know. The way she smiled at Lupin, warm and encouraging.

Probably he should have listened. Like he should have been listening back in that strategy room in the castle when people needed him to show he could lead. Listening and caring would show Harry was reliable. Like he was Lupin’s actual friend and he wouldn’t let everyone down. Instead of listening he kept running away and people had marked him as skittish. They were afraid to spook him. Too unreliable.

And apparently Lupin had other people. Reliable people. Supportive people. Harry should be happy for Lupin. What with his soft, secret smiles with this beautiful violet haired woman, who came in with rebel soldiers and clearly believed in the mission that was Lupin’s life’s work.

Harry nodded each time Lupin paused talking. As if he understood, when actually he didn’t. Nothing in this place made sense. When it was over, Harry walked away wondering if he was actually needed here at all.

The next morning the twins were back to take Harry on another round of the lower wall. Dennis was there like a shadow, because someone was still managing Harry and clearly he wasn’t allowed to be alone. Nobody needed him so he was sent on busywork tasks instead. It irked him to know they were probably right. He had nothing to offer the people in the castle. He could sit for strategy. He couldn’t teach others to lead. He couldn’t offer his friends support when they needed it. He couldn’t give anyone that feeling. That warm filling. The one that comforted and chased away the ice.

Harry was itchy again. He hadn’t slept well and the restlessness was under his skin.

He wasn’t stupid so he didn’t make a big deal about anything. That wouldn’t get Dennis off his case. He knew it would be suspicious to approach Dennis at all. Instead he left behind his water jug and let Dennis volunteer to run after it. Harry eyed the twins while Dennis was away. In all of Ron’s stories they caused mayhem. So Harry asked them to get Dennis off his back. They grinned at him. Did it without question. Dennis was sent chasing down Ron with what couldn’t possibly be anything actually urgent. And Harry and the twins were out on the wall.

Harry didn’t ask if he could leave, he just asked if they’d come with him. The one wanted to, but the other said they couldn’t. The first did look at Harry funny and say, “But like aren’t you…” as if there was an end to that sentence that meant Harry probably shouldn’t go.

The words sat like a rock in Harry’s gut. Someone was managing him. Having his friends track him because they didn’t trust he wouldn’t do something foolish. Again. Maybe it was Lupin. Lupin knew he was a flight risk. He’d already run off once before and barely made it back alive. But Lupin also let him go south, where he fucked up begging the king for food. Maybe that had lost Harry their trust. And if that did it, maybe they shouldn’t trust him.

But Harry hated this feeling that he wasn’t any use to anyone. Except as a story that Harry wasn’t sure he recognized. Except for a name that all these people seemed to know and care about. A name from a father Harry had never met.

“I’ll come back,” Harry promised. “I just want to be useful and find out why the messengers haven’t come.” That’s why everyone was upset. It had been too quiet, and they had expected news. No news and no sign of the enemy when it had been long enough that you wouldn’t have to have ridden like hell to get here.

The twins were horrible chaperons because they seemed to think it was a good idea that someone go and lacked the good sense to stop Harry from volunteering. Someone in the castle would probably wring their necks when they found out, or not, based on the twins’ track record of getting out of scrapes.

In the end it was easy to hop over the wall. Harry hung down as far as he could then pushed off and rolled upon landing. Then he was off, down a hillside and towards a patch of trees that was less than a woods but might keep him out of sight until the twins could talk the lookouts into looking the other way.

This Harry knew. He could lope across land for hours. It was easier in the cool morning air, without a full set of weapons and with no pack upon his back. He hadn’t studied the maps, but he knew how to find his place. He remembered the twin’s explanation of the landscape from their previous patrol. He remembered how to move with stealth as a soldier in enemy territory. This flat expanse was different than the mountains, with their forests and jagged hills. But it rolled in small hills that eventually distorted the line of sight. The road that led through farms did bend until the edge was out of view. Harry knew how to stay low and bend himself to the ground so as not to be seen when peeking over a hill or around a corner. Maybe no one was there, but if they were, Harry would find them first.

He’d been half jogging, half walking for near on two hours when he found himself striding up a hill. It wasn’t a rolling one, but rather the lead up to a steep fall, almost a cliff, that obstructed the view of a valley beyond. The land had occasional trees, but cover could mostly be found in large boulders. The higher Harry climbed the more suspicious he became of each disruption of his view. This would be just the spot to lay watch. Someone else may have felt filly moving up the hill as slowly as Harry did. In this, Harry felt at peace. His restlessness was left behind in the castle. He could pause there, bent down behind the boulder, listening to the wind and taking the time to calculate the soft noises carried past him. Were these nature, or was something there?

He listened to a rustling on the wind, and he waited.

He listened to what he may only be imagining as distant voices, and he waited.

He listened until a thumping could be heard off in the same distance he came from, and he waited with a frown.

He listened to a sudden schwoof, so recognizable for Harry, and he moved.

He wielded a long knife as he stayed low and ran over soft ground that muted his steps. A bowman was visibly standing next to the boulder he must have previously hid behind. He was watching the distance instead of Harry, and had no time to regret that mistake. Harry had cut his throat before he could make a sound. Harry lowered the body softly to the ground after it died.

Only then did Harry look at what the bowman had seen. A man on horseback, close enough to recognize. Lean and tall, with close cut hair not long enough to tell it was the same flaming red of all his family. Whatever the arrow had hit wasn’t flesh. The man had yanked it out and thrown it to his side.

Harry sighed, casting one longing glance behind him. The top of the cliff was still a dozen yards away, but if he went now Charlie would follow loudly and give up the game.

Charlie was waiting for Harry at the bottom of the hill when Harry got there. “Who was that up there?” he asked, which was better than scolding Harry for running off in the first place.

Harry shrugged. “Can you keep quiet and find out?” he challenged.

Charlie glanced up the hill. His eyes narrowed as he considered. He’d been caught off guard by the bowman, clearly, and didn’t have Harry’s skill to know where danger might lie. But he wasn’t stupid. “If there’s one lookout there might be more nearby.” He thought hard about it, then looked down at Harry even harder. His eyes took in all of Harry, from his sweat soaked travel clothes to the blood drying on his hand. He pinched his lips, but reached out a hand anyway. “C’mon, I know a different way.” Harry reached out his clean hand and let Charlie pull him up. The saddle was larger than Charlie needed for himself and had a cushion on the back for Harry to sit on. Charlie had planned for two. Harry tried to keep distance between himself and Charlie anyway, but when Charlie dug heels into his horse it charged forward and Harry grabbed the man in front of him before he could lose his balance. Charlie said nothing as Harry clung tight.

In another time, Harry might focus on the feel of clinging to a man’s hips. Not right now. He leaned forward until he pressed his chest to Charlie’s back but couldn’t even appreciate the feel of it. “You’re too loud,” he hissed in Charlie’s ear. “They’re going to hear you.”

Harry felt Charlie’s muscles shift as he shrugged. “They’re going to find a dead body,” he said it as if it were the same. “Don’t worry, we’ll loop around where they can’t see us and watch from a different angle.”

Harry scoffed, unsure if the wind carried it away before Charlie could hear it. He leaned closer to Charlie’s ear, to make sure his words wouldn’t be missed. “They have bowmen. They can shoot to a different angle.”

Charlie’s deep rumble of a laugh was felt more than it was heard. It made Harry aware of just how close they were together. The perilous situation should have been enough, but Harry still had to will himself not to tighten his grip on the other man. Charlie glanced back. As he turned his head Harry’s nose brushed along his cheek. Both men paused at the contact. Too awkward a spot to pause, with their noses and lips so close to each other. Charlie lips tightened again into the tense frown he favored when talking to Harry. “Trust me,” he still said.

And what could Harry do? He sighed then dropped his forehead to Charlie’s shoulder. Each inhale was the smell of sweat and horses. Charlie took Harry’s silence for agreement and sped the horse on. It was a testament to the strength of Charlie’s horses that two men on the beast’s back did not seem to slow him down.

Twenty minutes later they were atop a different hill, far off enough that they wouldn’t have been able to see clearly if Charlie hadn’t pulled out one of those looking glasses so plentiful among his people. Through it the sight was clear. A sharp camp of ordered tents. Soldiers in black uniforms Harry didn’t quite recognize. On their chests was a design Harry couldn’t quite see, even magnified. Maybe something like a skull. Harry tried to get a better view, but instead of seeing the mark fully he saw something worse. The glint of sunlight on glass, used by one of their soldiers to look straight back at him.

“Go. We’re spotted.”

Without question, Charlie did. Charlie drove the horse as hard as he dared. Hard enough to remind Harry of all the aches and pains not quite faded. Harry leaned forward to rest on the other man. On a particular rough bump he slipped his hand forward to wrap around Charlie for better support. Charlie’s abdomen felt warm and strong beneath his fingers. Perhaps Harry should have pulled away. He told himself it was better not to. Better to hold on tight to stay safe. He told himself he could ignore how good it felt to hold onto another man. That he wouldn’t betray Charlie’s trust by objectifying him.

He let go as they passed through the gates. Charlie hadn’t said anything this whole time, but he looked back when Harry let go. His muddy eyes bright with questions.

They did drag Harry back to the room with the big table and sat him in a comfortable chair right at the head of it. It was not comfortable enough now. But it was the optimum angle to be stared at and scolded. Nevermind that Charlie talked the whole way there, going on about Death Eaters and the Centurion. Explaining how the king’s 100 best warriors were down to 99, because Harry somehow snuck up on and killed one. Lupin gave Harry the darkest look Harry’d ever seen on him at the news. The sort of anger that comes from fear and disappointment. Not angry at Harry having killed someone, but rather that Harry had risked his life in doing it.

Despite the room being full of Harry’s trusted friends, it was the bushy haired Hermione who sat to Harry’s right with a stern, prim smile. She kicked off the conversation. “I've always admired your courage Harry, but sometimes you can be really thick.”

Someone coughed. It might have been Ron. Hermione shot him a dismissive glare before returning her attention to the matter at hand. Her gaze was sharp enough to cut through Harry’s own hard facade and he found himself flinching. He tried to cover it, “Are you really in a place to scold me right now?”

Hermoine’s smile grew without growing kinder. “Obviously.” No one contradicted the statement. Not even Lupin, who had his face half buried in his hands while the violet haired woman rested her hand on his leg under the table. Another intimate offer of support. Harry turned his eyes back to Hermoine, who at least he didn’t feel like he ought to know or understand. Hermione’s piercing gaze held steady.

“We are all doing our best to empathize with the fact that you, out of all of us, had the least choice in being here.” Nothing about the words sounded like she was trying to empathize with Harry just then. “After all, we made the conscious decision to put our lives on the line for this rebellion. And we did it before we even knew you were still alive, so we would be here or somewhere close even if you hadn’t been rediscovered. Which isn’t to say our cause wouldn’t be infinitely harder should you actually succeed at getting yourself killed.”

“I wasn’t getting myself killed,” Harry tried to cut in but Hermione literally waved off his words like they didn’t matter.

“Thank god we all agree you’re not suicidal,” she said as if it was something they all had actually discussed. A quick look around the room at the people who wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes confirmed that had, in fact, happened. “It’s just that you are prone to risking your life unnecessarily.”

“I was fine,” Harry insisted. He tried to meet the eyes of someone who would take his side. Dennis was there but wouldn’t look at him. He was staring at his feet like he was ashamed he ever let Harry trick him from following. Ron braved Harry’s gaze, but shook his head when he saw Harry seeking support. Lupin had lifted his head from his hands and was trying to give Harry that smile. The supportive one that might help Harry be brave and face the reckoning he had probably deserved for a long while. Harry growled in frustration. “I was fine!” he nearly yelled. “No one even saw me until he showed up making a scene.” Bringing Charlie into this was a mistake because Charlie was hard headed and before Harry finished gesturing at him he could see Charlie riling himself up for a fight.

Hermoine’s voice cut him off. “Again, your bravery is commendable. And we’re not saying you aren’t exceptionally talented. Just that you shouldn’t go off blindly to take on the hundred deadliest warriors in King Voldermort’s army. We need you to be king, Harry. Not a martyr.”

The table filled with groans because Hermoine said the thing everyone avoided talking about. No one had brought it up since Hogwarts. Although they knew it. They all knew it. Harry knew they knew it and that they told people it. Harry heard the whispers, “That Harry.” He’d chosen the name Harry Evans and they’d taken it from him and replaced it with Potter.

It was Harry’s turn to drop his head into his hands. “I don’t want to be king.” There. He said it.

And it was a relief. Not to have said his truth. But because it meant the lot of them could start fighting each other over what he said. And Harry could bury his head further in his hands and wonder if there was a way out of this. If there had ever been a way out. If being here, surrounded by all these people who wanted too much from him in exchange for warm hugs and smiles of encouragement was better than being either alone shoved under a cupboard or beaten nearly to death, with no higher expectations at all.

Harry suddenly needed to get the fuck out of there. He didn’t ask permission before standing. No one stopped him, but Hermoine assigned Charlie the task of following him out. Apparently all this time it had been Hermione in charge.

They ended up in the stables because Charlie also wanted to get the fuck out of that room, but he wasn’t the sort to be ordered to follow after anyone. That, and he actually did have work. He wouldn't let Harry help any. Just sat him on a bundle of hay that managed to be out of the way while almost always in Charlie’s line of sight. Either only pretending not to take orders, or independently reaching the conclusion that Harry needed supervision.

Harry thunked back against the barn wall. He used to be so good at following orders. Now… he wouldn’t trust himself either.

At least he could let himself rest. The stables were empty except for Charlie, Harry, and the horses, and Charlie wasn’t paying Harry any mind. Harry could let himself go. Release what tension he could and try to find his center. Breathing, counting, smelling, tasting, anything it took to shake off everything that clung to him. All the emotions he didn’t know how to process. He did what he could to be there just in that one moment until his mind quieted and the swift beat of his heart settled.

It was enough. It would have to be enough.

When he was calm enough to pull back to himself, nothing had changed other than the sun hanging lower in the sky and letting less light in through the windows. Charlie was lighting lanterns. When he finished he picked up a brush and let himself into a stall. Harry watched Charlie’s gentle strokes over a young horse. They were even and methodical. Calming like counting breaths.

“You’re watching me again.” Charlie’s voice wasn’t stern, but that was the best Harry could say for it.

Harry’s throat was dry. He’d hardly drank anything today despite his physical excursion. He told himself that was the reason. “I can stop.” He sounded raspy.

Charlie shrugged, not even sparing Harry a glance as he kept up his task. He did ask, though, “Are you really a Potter?”

Harry lifted his head a bit just so he could thunk it back down. “Are you a Weasley because your dad gave you red hair, or because you were raised here by people who cared for you?”

This time Charlie nodded, as if Harry was finally speaking sense. “Who raised you, then?”

Right. There was no way in hell Harry was giving the Dursleys that much credit. How do you even describe the Dursleys? His jaw clenched as his mind cycled through memories he’d done his best to bury years ago. His best had never been good enough, though, to keep them too far from the surface.

Harry settled on, “When my uncle discovered I was gay he tried to beat me to death. Wasn’t the first time, but it was the last.”

“Bloody hell.” A concise reaction. Charlie finally put the brush down and turned his attention away from the horse. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

Harry blinked. He looked away from Charlie and blinked again at the roof. He’d never told anyone that before. He didn’t know what the right reaction would be. He was surprised it was nice, very nice, to have heard that.

Harry’s voice was somehow raspier. “No one deserves Uncle Vernon.”

Charlie grunted acknowledgement. “Whatever happened to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Food is short in the north. With any luck they all starved.”

Harry wasn’t looking so he missed Charlie’s grimace, but he could hear it in his voice. “Clearly he deserved a lot, but no one deserves that.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut to block out the judgment. He regretted that he’d lulled himself into feeling safe enough to share anything. Which is probably what caused him to lash out. “What he deserved was to be so desperate that his son Dudley had to sign up to the army for food, before being shipped off to Durmstrang where he’d fucking die. Not that Vernon would ever know. Because they don’t tell your family when you fucking die. They just leave your body to rot while your family starves to death knowing better than to hope you’ll ever come home.”

Harry had been shouting. And when he finished it was too quiet. Even the horses held themselves still as they watched to see if Harry would lash out again. It made it easy to hear Charlie approach. He had the loudest fucking stomps. Harry wouldn’t want Charlie at his side on a covert mission. But it wasn’t so bad to have him at Harry’s side now. Which he did, because Charlie flopped down on the same roll of hay, right next to Harry.

“That’s a shit way to die.” All sincerity and no judgment. Harry opened his eyes to those damn brown shiny circles of mud. Charlie had a way of looking too earnest.

“The worst,” Harry agreed.

“You know a few blokes who went out that way?” Charlie somehow managed to make the question light.

Harry laughed at the absurdity. “A couple.”

Charlie hummed. “Shit way to die.” He said again.

Harry looked back at the roof above him. “Yeah.” Was all he said. His eyes felt tight and heavy. He blinked the feeling away.

“You okay there?” Charlie was looking at Harry now. Soft and open when before he’d been rough.

Harry could hardly glance at the other man before he had to look away. No one looked at him like that. Not ever. It wasn’t the way you looked at other people. It was just another thing about this place that didn’t make any sense.

“You ask too many questions,” Harry answered.

Charlie chuckled. It made his eyes crinkle around the edges. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he snarked back. An easy way to change the mood. Words he didn’t mean at all. In fact, he let the conversation die.

Instead of words, Charlie got up and pulled Harry up after. Harry wobbled, but Charlie steadied him. It had Harry glancing at Charlie again. Staring a bit too hard at the man who hadn’t yet taken his steading grip off Harry’s elbow. It was Charlie who had to blink himself out of it. Charlie, who cleared his throat and took a step away. The moment passed, and both agreed to let Charlie pretend it never happened.

The next morning it was Lupin at Harry’s door. He arrived so early the sun wasn’t yet up and Harry didn’t take it for a good sign.

“Please, stay inside,” Lupin opened. A rough start to the conversation. Of course, Harry wanted to know why. “Please, please stay inside,” wasn’t a compelling reason. Lupin rubbed the stress at his temples while thinking hard of what to say. An image that captured their dynamic. Lupin always wanted the best for Harry, but he no longer trusted Harry to be part of deciding what that was. Harry felt horrible, because he knew Lupin was probably right and also that the lack of trust now went both ways. “If you go, promise you’ll stay with me. Promise me you won’t leave again.” Lupin looked distressed that Harry might not do it. Harry hoped he knew Lupin well enough to know how rarely he looked worried. In his own way, Lupin was there for Harry always. Just now that meant begging. So Harry said alright.

On the outer wall Harry had a clear view of the problem. Lupin even passed him the looking glass so he could zoom in and see the soldiers in their black skull armor. They were far, too far to volley at each other with arrows. But as Harry watched, distant soldiers were assembling something large, wooden, and mechanical. Swifter still, the twins were a few meters away, assembling something of their own.

Hermione was there with Ron, holding a note unwrapped from a silver and black arrow. A message via archer. It had landed just outside the outer gates before the archer ran back to the Centurion. Or, at least the ninety nine soldiers who remained. The message invited the castle’s strongest warrior to meet their commander in single combat to settle everything once and for all.

Trap. Everyone agreed it was a trap. Lupin didn’t bother saying it. Instead he clung to Harry’s arm and reminded Harry what he had promised. But Lupin could see pools of doubt in Harry’s eyes and he clung tighter. “If you went, and you lost, we wouldn’t give them the castle,” Lupin reminded. “If you won, they still wouldn’t go away.” When he said it like that, Harry saw the trap everyone else knew from the beginning. Harry could only see it when Lupin stripped all hope of an easy way of saving his friends out from in front of Harry’s eyes. If only Lupin had been there, at the king’s castle, to remind Harry that Voldermort and his advisors had no heart to win over. It had only ever been a trap.

“Besides, Bellatrix uses poison. She doesn’t have to win the fight to kill you,” said the violet haired woman Harry still didn’t know the name of. It was far too late to ask. So he asked about poison instead. And learned that the Death Eaters’ poison was very, very bad.

So what would they do? Harry’s heart was pounding. He’d never been in the position to defend a castle before. He’d only ever been responsible for tearing their defenses down. He was very good at it. And while it would take him awhile, he knew he could break through the Weasley stronghold with enough time. Just with a squadron of boys barely trained as soldiers. To say nothing of these… Centurions… or Death Eaters… or whatever the king called them. If these were really the deadliest soldiers in the land, and if the king geared them up with whatever that contraption they were building with was…

“Hold!” called one of the twins. He was holding something like a looking glass, but there were odd measurements at the end of it. The other shifted someone on their device. It was long and wooden, and if Harry tilted his head just a little it looked almost recognizable. “Left, one notch” the twin continued. The device clicked. “Steady. Steady. Now.” The other twin clicked a level and with a sudden thwack something shot out the end of the device. It moved so fast Harry lost track of it in the air. Then it landed, further than any arrow Harry had ever seen shot. Harry lifted his own looking glass back to his eye so he could see how the arrow had struck a Centurion in the chest. Lupin was grabbing the glass from Harry’s hand before Harry saw the body drop. But the twin watching let out a whoop before shouting “Reload!” and both Weasleys worked in tandem to set a new bolt in place.

“Blimey that’s far,” Ron said at the same time Hermione asked, “Is it accurate?”

Even without the looking glass, Harry could see the soldiers falling back. The only thing that slowed them was the large wooden contraption. The front twin was calling out instructions again, presumably accounting for conditions the first shot had revealed. The second adjusted various notches. Until, with everyone holding their breaths, there came the shout. “Now!” The second bolt sprung free.

Harry couldn’t see what it hit. Something on the wooden contraption. But not wood. Whatever it was sparked. The spark was big enough to jump. It jumped somewhere Harry couldn’t explain. Then there was fire. Harry couldn't say what caused it to burst but the wood was burning. Some of the soldiers who’d backed away to keep their distance came back forward to put out the blaze. Exclamations sounded around Harry on the wall.

But the twins didn’t celebrate. Reload. Hold. Two notches up. Hold. Back down one. To the left. Again to the left. Now. Fire.

Thwack!

Harry didn’t need a clear view. Lupin hissed next to him when the bolt landed and breathed out a deadly serious, “My god.”

Hermione had grabbed Ron’s glass and was peering through. “It’s that accurate?” She had a good view of the soldiers abandoning their contraption - now fully ablaze, to back off further into the distance.

This time the twins didn’t reload. The one who’d been manning the machine crawled up to the battlement to stare at the aftermath. They shared matching grins.

It wasn’t that accurate. The soldiers had just been close together so when they missed it still hit. But the Death Eaters didn’t know that. They were down to ninety-seven, and minus one contraption. A catapult, one twin called it. Designed to shoot balls of flame that would explode upon contact.

One twin explained it very grimly. Apparently because before the twins had been called home, they’d been in the capital, too. Studying mechanics under a master engineer who’d distorted their ideas to build this death machine. That was when they stopped sharing their ideas with the capital, and the king started threatening their lives.

Without missing a beat, Hermione asked if they could make a catapult again.

“She’s a little bit scary sometimes, do you know that?” Ron asked as he walked Harry back to his room. “Brilliant. But scary,” Harry looked at Ron sideways and Ron blushed.

The next morning it was Charlie at Harry’s door. He didn’t look happy about it. “I need help in the stables,” he deadpanned.

“No you fucking don’t,” Harry retorted.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Well I don’t want to go to their war room meeting, and my mum will murder me if I let you go get yourself killed. So come with me to the stables.”

Well. Harry could live with that.

“Why do they watch you so closely?” Charlie asked later as he shoveled horse dung around. He could make shoveling horse dung look good, but Harry wasn’t in the mood to stare.

Harry was back on the bundle of hay, fidgeting. Sitting still this early in the day was hard. And talking to Charlie seemed okay. Better than staying still and waiting. So Harry admitted, “They don’t trust me.”

Charlie scoffed. “What does that even mean?”

Harry kicked the floor. That was enough talking. “You ask too many questions.”

This scoff was louder. Charlie put down his shovel and stomped around a bit. He grabbed a bag full of grain and hauled it over to Harry so he could drop it on his lap. Harry almost dropped it in surprise. “I think you can help, ya? Go fill up all their feeders.”

Dumbly, Harry stood. The bag wasn’t too heavy, just awkward. He heaved it up and lugged it over to the far side of the room to start his chore. He was messier than Charlie would have been, but that was forgivable. It was honest work and Harry settled into the movements. Charlie was waiting for him when Harry finished in order to shove grooming supplies into Harry’s hands. Harry was curtly sent off to tend to Hedwig. Charlie decided Harry still owed her. It was soothing, too. Hedwig was a bit skittish, but she calmed in time. Before long she was butting her head against Harry to beg for apples. Charlie caught Harry bringing one over when he’d finished the grooming, but Charlie didn’t stop Harry from spoiling the horse.

Charlie called time for a break. He’d grabbed another apple and split it between the two of them. Harry didn’t often have apples. The tartness was a surprise but the sweet undertones made it worthwhile.

“Let’s try this again, ya?” Charlie said when the apple was gone. “Why don’t they trust you?” It never sat well with Harry when people tried to manipulate him, but he liked how Charlie didn't bother to hide his intent. The forthrightness was even refreshing. Still, Harry squeezed his face up and looked down to his boots. “I know it has something to do with you going out on your own yesterday. But I’m going to need you to fill in the blanks.”

Harry rubbed the hair at the back of his neck. Why was this so hard to say? No way out but through, he supposed. “They think I’m going to run away again.”

Charlie’s brows shot up. “Run away? What, are you a deserter?”

“No!” Harry’s forcefulness surprised even himself. He bristled at the implication. “Not like that. Just. I did leave, before. I mean, after I learned about everything. Lupin took me to Hogwarts to tell me the truth, then I decided I didn’t want us to go to war so we went back to the north, and when Lupin was put in charge and got things in order there I didn’t really seem to have a purpose… so I left.”

When Charlie got emotional he was all eyebrows. Bushy things, now scrunched up tight as he thought. “And they’re upset about it?” he asked, incredulous. He made incredulous look good with his broody eyes and sharp features.

Harry gnawed at his lip. “I think it was more the things that came with it.” Harry watched Charlie raise those brows in a silent command for information. It was easier to sit still now. Easier to appreciate Charlie being expressive. “I almost died. In fact someone else… well. I think Lupin actually cares about me. More than just maybe me one day being king. I think he cared about me before he recognized me, ya know? He’s always worried I’m going to run off and die.”

“That’s not so bad,” Charlie reasoned.

Harry was forced to nod agreement. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he mumbled. “But there is the whole ‘Harry Potter’ thing. Like, they were going to send someone out scouting and even if I was as good as or better than the other guy no one would want me to go.”

Charlie nodded, but it didn’t look like agreement. “They were upset when you left without telling them. But also, didn’t you go like all the way to Voldermort’s Castle by yourself?”

Harry didn’t nod this time. He scowled. “That was different. People are starving. When you go to these damn schools, and even at Hogwarts, they give you these, like, math things. And all the math is about adding up how many people will die. And I told Lupin I wouldn’t have that. I didn’t want anyone to starve to death. I made them come up with a different plan, and the capital is where everyone settled. I know it was stupid, and I didn’t stay on message, and looking back it’s a miracle Voldermort didn’t immediately kill me, but everyone agreed it was our best chance in getting enough food for everyone.”

Something had shifted in Charlie’s face. His eyebrows had un-bushed. The tilt of his lips was more serious than before. “How would going to the capitol get you any food? Were you expecting Voldermort to give it?”

“No, of course not,” Harry said because he wasn’t stupid. “But Lupin and everyone wrote a script. And it was pretty good. The plan was I’d just get myself in front of everyone, like the whole court with all the lords and ladies from all over the place, and I’d say my piece about how the north shouldn’t starve and please would you please be so kind as to give us some food, and then when I left some of the folks listening would be willing to talk to us afterwards and we could maybe work something out.”

Charlie’s head had tilted to the side skeptically. “You challenged the king to his face, and hoped people would work something out to support you? As is, support the north in an uprising against the king?”

Harry was shaking his head. “No, no, I didn’t say anything about an uprising. I didn’t really stay on script. At all. But I didn’t say anything about an uprising. Just that the soldiers were starving and the king should fulfill his commitment to them and show them they should still serve him or something.” Trying to explain it now, here, in front of Charlie, who hadn’t been in the room when everyone was brainstorming the plan and was entirely not bought into it, was not going well. If anything, it was talking Harry into agreeing with Charlie’s interpretation. “Oh my god I was threatening to go to war.” Harry realized. “Why didn’t anyone tell me we were threatening war?”

Charlie put a hand on Harry’s arm when he needed steadying. He was kind enough to look contrite for bringing the conversation up at all. “Mate, I think they didn’t tell you because they knew you really didn’t want to go back to war.”

Something flashed in Harry’s eyes. Fear, maybe. He could feel it in his chest but he couldn’t slow down to name it. “They should have told me,” Harry insisted.

Kindly, Charlie squeezed Harry’s arm again. “Yeah, probably. I get it now why you say they don’t trust you.” He paused, conflicted, then barrelled ahead as was his way. “I think it’s not that they don’t trust you overall, but that your judgment is a little skewered.” He kept going even as Harry flinched under his hand. “You were seriously considering a duel to the death against Voldermort’s top fighter. Not just a good fighter, but literally the person who killed hundreds of people to prove she was the best and scores of challengers to keep the spot. Just in the hopes you might win and the siege would go away. When, newsflash, it was never going to go away.”

Harry pulled his arm free so he could take a step back. He didn’t like what Charlie was saying and didn’t want to be close. “You don’t get it,” he seethed but didn’t have the words to make Charlie get it. And he’d need good words. Clear ones. Since Charlie was so good at twisting anything he said to mean what he didn’t mean.

“I want to get it,” Charlie said. A glance at him, with his bright eyes and sincerity, made Harry believe it.

But maybe Charlie was just fooling him.

Harry grabbed at his hair and pulled it as he stalked across the floor. The horses whinnied at him as he passed. Harry wanted to go back to tending to them. It was simple. The sort of simple life he’d never been allowed. The sort of simple life Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and Dudley probably still had, wherever they were. Likely long ago escaping the perils of the north. But Harry didn’t get that. And the folks with him didn’t get it, either. He didn’t get to live a life that would make sense to these people in the midlands. His life was as foreign to them as everything about this place was to Harry. Still the words came tumbling out. Because Harry really did want to be understood.

“They shove me away and baby sit me because I have no purpose but to be this thing, this Harry Potter. A fake person who they have a use for. And if I can’t be that person they don’t know what to do with me. They’re afraid to let me do the things I’m good at because they know, just like you said, you can be really good but when the other person is better, or maybe just luckier, you’re the one who dies. Maybe that Centurion was better than me, but I got lucky because you were stupid and distracted him, and then he died. They’re afraid next time I’m going to die. But I’m really fucking good at not dying. And if they don’t send me it will just be someone else, and they won’t be as good as me, or maybe they just won’t be lucky, and I don’t want that. Next time I don’t want someone dying instead of me. If it has to be anyone, I’d rather it be me.”

It was true. It was absolutely true. Harry would rather be the one who died. And right now it felt like he might. Harry’s chest was heaving. He could hardly stand to breathe. Slowly, as slowly as you’d approach a skittish horse, Charlie walked up to him. Harry was still heaving in air. He was hot. Hot like he felt too much to be cold but also too much to handle.

Charlie made soothing noises. He shifted until he caught Harry’s eye and then held it with the force of his gaze. Charlie hushed and hummed and took deep breaths to encourage Harry to copy him. Harry tried. He tried to breathe with Charlie. He tried to count his breaths. He tried to hear or see or feel anything in the moment that wasn’t the hailstorm of emotions whipping through him. It was a struggle, but he could see Charlie and so Harry focused on him. On his soft eyes and smooth noises. On the feel of his rough fingers when they reached out again and brushed once more over Harry’s arm. On the smell of horse and sweat when Charlie stepped in close. And the drag of Charlie’s fingers as they ran up his neck and underneath Harry’s own hand to stop Harry from pulling at his hair. Charlie left his hand there, at the base of Harry’s head, his thumb brushing Harry’s jawline.

“There you are,” Charlie said as he stared into Harry’s eyes. Harry gulped. It did feel like he’d come back from somewhere. The feel of Charlie against his skin centered him to the spot. Charlie shifted his hand, just enough to cup the bottom of Harry’s cheek and hold him. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Harry gulped again. His eye flitted from one of Charlie’s mud brown eyes to the other, his gaze uncertain where to stick. “I’m fine,” Harry choked out, blatantly untrue.

A smile tugged at Charlie’s lips even as he nodded. “Course you are,” he agreed.

“Really,” Harry insisted.

Charlie’s smile softened. “You can be fine and still take help from time to time.” A shiver jumped across Harry’s skin. Charlie lifted his other hand to Harry’s neck to rub it soothingly. “I promise. You can let people help you and it will be alright.”

Harry lifted a hand to cover Charlie’s “Is this you helping?” He pushed.

Charlie’s warm chuckle made Harry feel weak kneed. “This might be for me,” he admitted.

Harry bit his lower lip. “I thought you only… I mean, I thought it had to mean something.”

Charlie’s thumbs stroked Harry so softly. With a confidence Harry couldn’t imagine, Charlie said, “I like you Harry. If you want, I’d very much like to kiss you.”

Harry wanted. Bad. Even if he only mustered a tiny nod. That was enough. Enough for Charlie to lean in slowly and brush his lips to Harry’s. Feather-light and not nearly enough. Harry whimpered as Charlie pulled away to rest their foreheads against one another. Harry’s skin fizzed under Charlie’s hands and the weight of Charlie’s forehead’s gentle brush.

“Can we…” Harry didn’t know how to ask it.

Charlie’s smile inched back over his face. “Just kissing, ya?”

Just kissing was enough. Or not enough, because it was more than lips. It was their entire bodies, warm against each other. Chasing away the icy cold. Keeping Harry grounded in the moment. Exploring each other’s taste and smell and sparking a tingle of desire. Harry craved, but not as much as he was comfortable. Right here, just kissing a man. A man who would have him exactly as he was.