Immigrant Song
“Someone bought the place next door,” Ian Gallagher said during breakfast. He was sitting at his family’s shitty little dining room table, the one carved with dicks thanks to Carl and permanent marker drawings of flowers courtesy of Debbie.
“Mister Robbins old place?” Fiona, Ian’s oldest sibling, said in surprise. She was trying to to make breakfast, a pain in the ass when the milk was gone, there was no butter, and Ian found a cockroach in their bread that morning.
“Nah, Robbins lived across the street,” Lip said. He sat at the table with Ian and Debbie and flipped through pages of some geeky tech magazine. Lip was only a year older than Ian, but he was already looking forward to his senior year the next year.
Supposedly they had a robotics class, something that gave Phillip ‘4.2 GPA on a Bad Day’ Gallagher a big old boner.
“Oh, that’s right,” Fiona said. “It was Mary-Anne next door, right? I’m surprised that house sold.”
“They fumigated it after they got the bodies out,” Debbie said as she painted her nails. Apparently she was going with pink for her first day of seventh grade, a real bold choice.
Carl, who was supposed to be starting sixth grade but got held back for a second go-around in fifth, jumped the last two stairs to enter the kitchen and looked excited.
“Dead bodies?” he asked. “Where?”
Ian didn’t have the cash to place any bets, but if he did he’d put a hell of a lot of money on Carl being the first of the Gallagher kids to commit a murder.
Little psychopath.
“No where, stupid,” Debbie said. “We’re talking about the house next door.”
“Oooh, the one where that whore went crazy and shot a bunch of customers?”
“Hey, no,” Fiona said. She pointed at Debbie, “Don’t call your brother stupid.” Fiona swung the finger to point at Carl. “And don’t call people whores, Carl.”
“The correct term is prostitute,” Lip told their little brother.
Carl grinned widely and sat down between Ian and Lip.
“Cool.”
Fiona finished trying to make them all breakfast - a banana and cup of suspicious smelling juice - and pulled their stash of cash out of the cabinet.
“Can you guys fend for yourself for lunch?” she asked apologetically. She held up a twenty from their squirrel fund they all contributed to over the summer. “I’ll grab some groceries for dinner before my shift at the club tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it, Fi,” Lip told her quickly. “I’ve got some cash I can give them for lunches.”
While Fiona thanked Lip and worked out a sitter for Liam, their youngest brother, that night, Ian said nothing. Lip didn’t have any money, they had to rob their weed guy the day before just to score a couple of joints. But Lip saw Fiona’s big, sad eyes and did what he could to relieve her guilt and stress.
It wasn’t fair.
Fiona was barely twenty-one, she shouldn’t be in charge of her five younger siblings getting breakfast and lunch. It shouldn’t have been Lip’s job to make her feel better either. It wasn’t like they were all born to aliens and left orphaned on Earth, they had a mom and dad.
Except Frank, their dad, was a worthless piece of drunken shit. And Monica, their mom, left over four years ago when Fiona was only sixteen and had to drop out of school to raise them all. The last time any of the Gallagher kids saw their mom had been a year ago when she visited long enough to drop off a black baby boy that she swore was Franks.
Fat chance, but Fiona took Liam anyway and they all loved that baby just the same.
Some days Ian hated Monica more than he did Frank. Frank was a drunk, a bum, and only showed up when the cops hauled his ass to their house or when Frank thought they might have money, but at least he showed up. It was more than anyone could say for Monica.
Ian was quiet when the four Gallaghers still in school set off for the schools on the south side of their Chicago neighborhood. After Lip told Carl and Debbie how to scam a free hot lunch from the cafeteria, he grabbed Ian in a headlock. Ian grinned and easily pushed his brother off him.
Ian was a cadet in ROTC and practiced actual hand-to-hand combat once a week. If they were actually fighting, it might be even odds, but escaping Lip’s headlock was old news.
“What’s up your ass?” Lip asked.
“Nothing,” Ian lied. Lip just stared at him until Ian finally sighed. When Debbie and Carl took off to their school separate from the high school, Ian spoke his mind.
“It’s just bullshit that Fiona has to worry about us eating when she skipped dinner last night so Carl could have seconds,” Ian said. “I bet Frank and Monica had dinner and breakfast.”
“Eh, I don’t know about breakfast,” Lip said wryly. “Frank’ll drink his daily calories and who knows if Monica is even still alive.”
“Point,” Ian agreed with a shrug. They were nearly to their high school when they paused to finish off the cigarette they’d been sharing. Ian was lost in his own thoughts about the mixed emotions that came up when he thought about Monica dying and missed the bullshit Lip was watching.
“Life could be worse,” Lip said, elbowing Ian. “We could be that poor bastard.”
Ian looked where Lip had been staring out at and saw three of the Milkovich boys were kicking the shit out of someone under the overpass. Ian wouldn’t get involved, he usually went out of his way to avoid the Milkovich family, until he heard what they were saying.
“Fucking queer,” one of them laughed as he kicked out.
“Faggot,” another said.
Ian didn’t even think about it, he just started jogging over there.
“Fuck,” Lip tossed his cigarette down and followed Ian.
“Hey!” Ian grabbed one of them, Jamie, maybe, and tossed him on his ass. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Iggie went to grab Ian and was stopped by Lip’s quick fist.
“Don’t you boys have some sweet little grandma to rob?” Lip asked them. “Go on, fuck off.”
Jamie spit on Ian’s shoe after he stood up.
“Fine, protect the queer,” Jamie sneered. He grabbed Iggie by the shoulder and jerked his head for the other one. “Let’s go, boys.”
Ian blocked the body on the ground until the Milkovich’s were gone. As soon as they turned a corner, Ian bent down and offered a hand.
“You okay?”
“Great.” The guy groaned and rolled over before accepting Ian’s hand and pulling himself to his feet.
Shit.
He was cute.
Even with a split lip, black eye, and blood from a busted nose leaking down his chin, Ian could tell he was cute. He was probably around Ian or Lip’s age with big green eyes, shaggy black hair, and a body in decent shape beneath the long-sleeved Led Zeppelin shirt and ripped jeans he wore.
“Uh… Ian,” Ian said, hastily dropping his hand. “This is my brother, Lip.”
The guy nodded at them before stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.
“Harry,” he said.
There was an accent to Harry’s voice, one that Lip identified before Ian could.
“You’re from England?” Lip asked curiously. When Harry nodded, Lip laughed. “Why the fuck would you move here?”
“My uncle,” Harry said as a short explanation. He bent over to pick up a pair of broken glasses and a backpack and Ian looked up at the sky instead of at his ass.
“What’d you do to the Milkovich boys?” Lip asked Harry. “Try and suck their dicks?”
Harry stuffed his broken glasses in his bag before slinging it over his shoulder and glaring at Lip.
“No, I didn’t try and suck their dicks,” he said sarcastically. “I asked if they had a lighter I could borrow and they just started beating the hell out of me.”
“Ignore them,” Ian told Harry. He grabbed his own lighter from his pocket and offered it to him. “They probably confused British for queer.”
“Cheers,” Harry muttered. He squinted over at the school when the bell rang and sighed. “I think I’ll skip. I can’t read a bloody thing without my glasses anyway.”
It was on the tip of Ian’s tongue to offer to skip with him, but he had ROTC and he couldn’t go if he missed school.
“See you around,” Lip said carelessly. “C’mon, Ian.”
Ian waved at Harry before letting his brother toss an arm around his shoulders and guide him toward the school entrance.
“Any reason why we just interrupted a gay bashing and pissed off the Milkovich cousins?” Lip murmured as they walked up to the school.
Ian shrugged and avoided looking at his brother.
“He’s probably not even gay,” Ian said as an excuse.
“Uh huh.” Lip stared at Ian for a long moment. “You know, there’s a lot of people who say they aren’t gay when they really are.”
Ian pushed his brother off him and rolled his eyes, playing it all off as a joke.
“Yeah, like Jamie Milkovich,” Ian said. “I heard he got sucked off by Charlie Meadow at the Alibi.”
“Yeah, sure.” Lip stared at Ian again in a way that made Ian nervous - Lip didn’t know shit, right? - before he shrugged. “I gotta go, see you tonight.”
Ian nodded and sent one more glance at the door before forcing himself to go to class.
*****
Harry Potter walked around his new neighborhood for a while before he found a secluded and shabby park where he could waste time.
After looking around and seeing that he was alone, Harry took out the joint he swiped from Sirius and lit it.
One hit and Harry’s face ached a little less.
Two hits and Harry stopped thinking about how he was already a freak at his new school.
Three hits and Harry felt good enough to pull out his unopened letters from his bag. They were both addressed the muggle way and had been sent to a PO Box that Hermione opened for Harry clear from London. All Harry had to do that morning was stop by the post office, get a little key, and open his box to find two letters waiting for him.
The first was from Hermione, obviously.
Harry,
Goodness I’m glad we can write like this. I don’t trust the owls anymore, do you?
No, Harry didn’t. Harry didn’t trust anyone or anything anymore.
I’m sending your letters to my parents and then having them send the letters to you, so just respond to my home address on the envelope and they’ll send them to me at Hogwarts. Don’t worry, they’ve promised not to read anything we write.
I miss you already. Ron does as well. I haven’t told him we’re in contact, not until I’m sure he won’t tell his parents, but I know he misses you.
We’ve been made prefects for Gryffindor! It’s very exciting, but a big responsibility.
More importantly though, we have a bit of news: I overheard in the last Order meeting that Dumbledore said his spy told him that Voldemort is weak, very weak. Apparently something went drastically wrong at his resurrection and Dumbledore thinks he can be contained like Grindelwald.
I’ll write again soon, please write back as quickly as you can. I hate that you’re so far away with only Sirius. I worry about you.
All my love,
Hermione
PS: Fred said to tell you he loves you and that he’s been made quidditch captain. I didn’t tell him we have a way to communicate, but you know how he is.
Harry smiled down at the letter from Hermione. He was happy that she was made prefect, it was something Harry knew she wanted. He was surprised that Fred was made quidditch captain over Angelina, but maybe he shouldn’t have been.
It hurt to read that Fred loved him though. They were over, over as soon as Harry grabbed the Triwizard Trophy. Fred should move on, forget about Harry like Dumbledore wanted everyone else to do.
It took another hit before Harry felt like opening the second letter from the only person that Harry bothered giving the post office mailbox address to before being whisked to a new country.
Harry,
Are you going to normal high school now? If so, kick the shit out of someone on your first day so nobody bothers you.
Too late for that advice, Harry thought.
I signed up for the international pen-pal program this year. It’s a good plan cuz then I can ask Mum to let me go visit my ‘pen pal’ during break and I can just come see you instead. I sent your bird to that chick you mentioned. I dunno how Hedwig knew where to go, but she’s probably just really smart.
You should buy a cell phone so we can text instead of writing letters cuz my hand is cramping.
Let me know if you need money, I can wire it to you.
-Big D
It had been a spur of the moment thing when Harry gave Dudley his mailing address. Harry had Moody breathing down his neck while Harry was told to pack up his belongings and Dudley had shown up to help with sad and swollen eyes.
“You’re leaving for good now, aren’t you?” Dudley whispered while he and Harry pretended Harry had more than two shirts hanging in his closet.
“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “I bet you’ll be happy to have your room back, eh?”
Dudley shrugged and looked down at the floor.
“I’d rather have you here.”
So Harry slipped him a scrap piece of paper with the PO Box scribbled on it just before leaving Privet Drive for the last time. Harry wasn’t allowed to bring Hedwig with him and he’d begged Dudley to send her to Hermione once he was told that.
Harry wasn’t allowed to bring most of his belongings such as his broom, his cloak, any of his textbooks, and anything that even hinted at ‘wizard’.
Harry had the Marauders Map, he’d smuggled it in the lining of a jacket Dudley gave him, but it wasn’t much use without a wand.
Aside from the map, all Harry had was a new identity - Harrison Black, creative really - a godfather that wouldn’t look at him, and a ‘fresh start’ for a ‘new life’.
Sirius had been thrilled at first to be exiled from England. Getting to move to the States meant that Sirius wasn’t a wanted man and was free to actually roam around. His joy dimmed to damn near nothing when he was told he had to take Harry with him though.
“You’re joking,” Sirius said flatly, staring at Dumbledore in shock. Harry shrunk down in his seat and acted as if it didn’t hurt to have Sirius sound as if he hated him.
“I’m afraid not,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Harry will be a target for Voldemort if he returns to his relatives and will be a target for everyone else if he attempts to stay.”
Harry had sat in his chair and tried to not rub his arm while Sirius and Dumbledore worked out their plan.
Sirius only agreed when he realized his freedom depended on it, not because Harry’s life did.
It didn’t matter how many times Harry tried to talk to Sirius, ever since he was rescued by Snape after the tournament, Sirius wouldn’t even look at him.
The only people to believe Harry’s story had been Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, and Dumbledore. But what good was their belief when Harry was expelled, had his wand snapped, labeled a criminal, and then exiled anyway?
Harry pulled a notebook from his backpack and uncapped a pen to write back to Dudley first. He didn’t write anything deep, just an appreciation for the letter and a promise to try and obtain a cell phone to use. He added that he’d like to see him, but not to get himself in trouble trying to plan anything.
Flipping to a fresh page, Harry finished off his joint before he could swallow past the lump in his throat to write to Hermione.
Hermione,
I’m not surprised at all that you were made prefect, you deserve it. I bet Ron isn’t thrilled about the new responsibilities though.
I miss you terribly. I miss all of you.
Everything is fine here. Sirius bought a really nice house.
It needed a lot of work and smelled terrible with bloodstained floors. They left the windows open the first week they lived there to get rid of the smell, but Harry strongly suspected it had been dead bodies that gave off the odor.
I think getting out of London is doing him some good, we’ve been getting along.
They got in a fist fight the night before when Sirius got drunk and mistook Harry for James.
I started high school today and made a few friends.
Harry was skipping his first day and had gotten his arse kicked until two brothers stopped to help.
I’m happy Fred was made captain. Try and get him to move on, I’m never coming back and he can’t come here. A long distance relationship wouldn’t really work out in our case.
Can you send some envelopes and stamps when you write back? Sirius gave me some cash to buy them, but I don’t want to keep asking him.
Harry would have to try and swipe a few dollars from Sirius to mail his letters when he inevitably blacked out next.
Miss you,
Harry
PS: I reckon a lot of things went wrong that night.
Harry rubbed his left forearm after finishing the letter and sighed.
There were a lot of things that went wrong on the night of the final task-
Cedric Diggory was killed.
Harry was nearly killed.
Voldemort rose from the dead.
Harry got to spend a week in a dungeon before Snape of all people managed to help him break out.
And what did Harry have to show for it all?
Nightmares, a month of his fingers trembling from the after affects of being crucio’d daily, and an ugly tattoo that Harry didn’t ask for.
So… yeah. A lot of things went wrong.