Ramble On
Lip stepped outside and let out a breath of relief at the cool night air against his bare chest.
The house was too hot, especially in the upstairs bedroom that Lip shared with Ian and Carl. It was cooler outside, but summer was still hanging on.
Lip had just sat down on the porch steps and lit a cigarette when he heard some shouts from their new mystery next-door neighbors. There was another shout, a slam of a door, then the sound of a door being knocked off its hinges if Lip had to guess.
It wasn’t his damn business though. Lip didn’t survive sixteen years in their ghetto ass slum without learning that minding his own business was kind of key to survival.
Along with some other rules, like don’t fuck Angie unless you want crabs and never borrow so much as a pair of socks from the Milkovich family.
If college didn’t work out, like Lip figured it wouldn’t, maybe he’d get rich writing a self-help book:
‘How to Survive in the Ghetto: Scams and Steals’
Not that anyone who needed it would have the money to buy it.
Lip burned through half his cigarette when the fight inside the house next door ended. He looked up curiously when the front door slammed and someone walked out on the porch.
“Oh, hey.” Lip stood up and nodded at the familiar guy. It was the new kid, Harry, that got his ass kicked that morning.
Harry looked over at Lip and Lip subtly pieced together the brand new bruise on his jaw with the fight he’d been listening to. Harry walked slowly down to the fence that separated the two houses.
“Can I get one of those?” Harry asked quietly with a nod toward Lip’s cigarette.
“Sure.” Lip pulled the pack from his pocket and shook one out for Harry. When Harry reached for it, Lip pretended not to notice his quivering lip or wet eyes.
“Thanks.” Harry pulled Ian’s lighter from his pocket, the one Ian gave him that morning, and lit the cigarette before leaning against the fence and sighing heavily.
“Bad day?” Lip guessed. Minding his own business didn’t really apply to a guy Ian’s age who seemed to have shit luck. Not that Lip was going to jump up and offer him any assistance, but he could make conversation.
Harry blew out a steady stream of smoke and nodded.
“Something like that,” he said. He kept his eyes on the front door of his house so Lip guessed he was waiting to see if he’d be followed or not.
“It sounded like a good fight,” Lip said, bringing up the elephant in the yard. “How’s the other guy look?”
Harry glanced over at Lip suspiciously.
“We weren’t fighting, not really,” Harry said, lying through his damn teeth. “My uncle had a bit too much to drink and forgot who I am. He’s fine.”
“Uh huh,” Lip said. “Yeah, that happens all the time. Last weekend I got drunk and forgot the chick I was with wasn’t my girlfriend.”
Harry grinned just a little and shrugged. “So you get it.”
Lip waited until Harry looked at him again to answer.
“I do get it, actually,” he said. Lip understood going ten rounds with a person who was supposed to be looking out for him and then getting the ‘Sorry, I was drunk’ bullshit apology. Lip understood the cover stories for social workers and nosey teachers.
Yeah, Lip understood perfectly.
Harry looked uncomfortable when he turned back to face his door and work on his cigarette so Lip figured he’d give him a rundown on the neighborhood.
“You meet your other neighbors yet?” Lip asked, pointing to the house on the opposite side of Harry’s.
“I’ve heard them,” Harry said.
Lip laughed at that. Kevin and Veronica were good people, Veronica was Fiona’s best friend, but they fucked a lot. And loudly. If Lip could hear it from his house, he imagined that Harry could hear it loud and clear.
“It’s Kevin and Veronica,” Lip told him. “Kev works at the bar down the road, the Alibi, and Veronica’s a CNA at the nursing home. In a pinch though, she’s a good place to go if you need patched up.”
“Gotcha,” Harry said. He glanced over at Lip’s house. “And you and your brother live here?”
“And my two sisters and my two other brothers and occasionally Frank, our dad, when he’s sick of sleeping on sidewalks.”
“Must be nice, having so many brothers and sisters,” Harry said.
“You an only child?” Lip guessed based on Harry’s wistful tone. He flicked his cigarette butt when Harry nodded.
“Yeah, it’s just me and Sirius,” he said. Harry took a long drag off his cigarette before carefully putting it out and pocketing the half he had left.
Lip turned to head back inside and hit the hay, but then a crash from inside Harry’s house had him pausing.
“How drunk is he?” Lip asked.
“Drunk enough that he thinks I’m his dead brother,” Harry said flatly.
Lip bounced on the balls of his bare feet for a moment while he clocked the anxiety radiating off Harry.
“Drunk enough that you could crash on our couch and he wouldn’t notice?” Lip asked.
Kids got abused, that was just a fact of life in their neighborhood. Lip received his fair share of beatings from Frank and the only person he knew that didn’t go home to chaos was Karen, but her mom was a wackjob. Lip didn’t get involved when kids were getting beaten because it wasn’t his damn business and he couldn’t risk dragging DCS in his life.
But Harry lived next door and letting him crash on the couch wasn’t going to hurt anything.
“Yeah?” Harry looked relieved at Lip’s offer. “Nobody will mind?”
“Nah, come on,” Lip said. “We’ve got enough kids that nobody’s going to notice a spare.”
Harry flashed Lip a smile, the first one that Lip saw from him, and then jumped the fence dividing their yards in an easy movement.
“Thanks,” Harry said as he followed Lip inside.
“Don’t mention it,” Lip told him. Their house wasn’t anything fancy, but it was Frank-free which meant Harry could crash on the couch and not be bothered.
“Blankets are under the stairs, bathroom’s off the kitchen,” Lip said, gesturing to both places as he did. “Fiona won’t be home for a few hours, but she’ll probably be quiet. If you need anything, figure it out.”
“Alright, thanks, mate.” Harry sat down on their well-loved couch and started untying his sneakers.
Lip considered offering him a pair of shorts to sleep in since he had on a pair of jeans and then brushed it off.
Harry could sleep in his boxers for all Lip cared.
*****
Harry laid down on the sofa in Lip’s house and looked around the dark living room for a few minutes.
The house reminded Harry of the Burrow, but with less magic and more cigarette smell lingering in the air. It was cozy though. Harry could see a row of photographs on the mantle, all of kids through various ages. The love seat and recliner both looked as comfortable as the sofa and were covered in blankets, pillows, and backpacks.
It was much more comfortable than Sirius’ house. While the layout seemed similar - a living room off the front door with stairs that led to bedrooms on a second floor and a kitchen in the back of the house - it felt entirely different.
For one, there weren’t any bookcases in the sitting room. Sirius had an entire bookshelf that had maybe one shelf of books on it and the rest were albums. They had new furniture in their living room, but they were stiff, uncomfortable, and Sirius had thrown up on their couch.
And the chair might be broken. Harry had knocked it over when he and Sirius had been fighting.
Harry wasn’t sure what he expected when he’d finally gotten his wish to live with his godfather, but having Sirius confuse him for James Potter and Regulus Black in equal measures hadn’t been it.
It was better when Sirius thought Harry was James. That was when he would cry and beg for forgiveness for letting James die. But then Sirius would remember the mark on Harry’s arm and he’d think Harry was his dead brother.
And Harry didn’t have any experience with having brothers, but he’d seen the Weasley boys interact often enough to know that the relationship Sirius had with Regulus hadn’t been healthy.
It was an unexpected relief to be offered to stay at Lip’s house for the night. Harry was so bloody sick of Sirius already and they’d only lived together for two weeks.
Harry figured that if he just spent as little time at home as he could manage, it would be fine. Sirius could have the place to himself and Harry could try and sneak in after he passed out and could leave before he woke up.
It was a half-arsed plan, but better than nothing.
Harry must have been exhausted from the day because he managed to pass out rather quickly. Even his nightmares took pity on him and Harry dreamt of Cedric dying instead of the dungeon.
Or, he had been, until someone smacked his leg and jerked Harry from sleep.
“Wha…?” It took Harry a moment of blinking at the woman staring at him before he remembered that he had stayed at Lip’s house. It was daylight, the living room was lit up by the sun filtering in through the windows and Harry could see holes in the walls and patches of the floor that looked like they’d been caught on fire.
But more interesting was the woman staring at Harry from the foot of the couch. She was older, probably in her early twenties, and had long brown hair that was pulled up in a ponytail. Harry assumed it was Lip’s sister, Fiona, and he wasn’t sure what to say as she stared at him.
“One of my kids do that?” she eventually asked, waving a hand at Harry’s face.
“Uh… no,” Harry said. He sat up and accepted his recently repaired glasses that were in her hand. “Lip said I could stay here, sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” she asked with a brown eyebrow curved up. “If Lip said you can stay, you can stay. I just thought I’d offer you first dibs on the downstairs shower before I wake up the animals.”
“Oh. Er… That’s okay,” Harry said, regretting his refusal. “I should go home, get clothes.”
Fiona narrowed her eyes at him. “What size do you wear?”
Harry blinked in utter confusion. “No idea.”
Fiona snorted and then backed up so Harry could stand up.
“You’re about Lip’s size, maybe,” she said. “Go take a shower and I’ll see if I can find something of his from last year to fit you.”
If it meant Harry could stay a little longer, he wasn’t going to pass up the offer twice.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m Harry, I live next door.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said, mimicking her brother’s words from the night before. “I’m Fiona and the bathroom is in there,” she pointed through the living room to the kitchen. Harry glanced at where the downstairs bathroom was in his house and saw a door in the exact same spot.
Fiona told Harry she’d find him something to wear, so Harry went to take a quick shower.
It was odd, in a nice way, to have found neighbors that were so… neighborly. It reminded Harry of the Weasleys, but then thinking about the Weasley family - about Fred - made Harry want to cry so he determinedly did not think about them.
Harry also very determinedly did not look at his left arm as he showered. It didn’t matter that the mark had been there for over two months at that point, it was still a sickening reminder of everything.
Which was probably the point of forcing it on him, Harry assumed. That and the pure degradation of marking Harry with the same symbol that floated above his parents’ home on the night they were killed.
Fiona knocked on the door while Harry was washing his face and grimacing at the cuts that were stinging.
“Clothes are on the floor,” Fiona called. Harry heard the door open, something tossed in the bathroom, and then the door closed again before he could say thanks.
Harry quickly finished in the shower and then kept the towel around his waist while he brushed his teeth with his finger and some toothpaste. It wasn’t as thorough as a toothbrush would do, but it was better than nothing.
Harry hesitated when he saw the clothes Fiona tossed in. The jeans were fine and fit him, as did the briefs, but the shirt had short sleeves. The mark on Harry’s arm could pass for a muggle tattoo, Harry just preferred to keep it covered from his own sight.
The shirt Harry had on the day before had long sleeves, but it also smelled terrible. Harry took a deep breath and then pulled the plain white tshirt on and made a mental reminder to grab a jacket when he got his backpack.
As soon as Harry opened the bathroom door with his arms full of dirty clothes and the towel he used, someone pushed past him and slammed the door behind them.
Harry looked around the kitchen and saw a younger girl sitting at the table by herself. She was probably twelve, maybe, and had red hair in a long braid and enough freckles on her face to make Harry’s chest twinge.
“Ignore Carl,” the girl said. She was painting her nails with a bright purple color and didn’t seem surprised to see Harry emerge from her bathroom in the slightest. “He has no manners.”
The girl looked up at Harry and grinned a childish and sweet smile.
“I’m Debbie,” she said.
“Harry,” Harry told her. He saw that someone had moved his trainers from the living room to the kitchen by the bathroom door. Harry put his dirty clothes by the backdoor and the towel in an empty basket by a washing machine before sitting down at the table with Debbie to pull his shoes on.
“Lip said you live next door?” Debbie asked.
“I do,” Harry confirmed.
“Do you have any sisters?”
“No.”
“Brothers?”
“No.”
Debbie sighed loudly. “That must be like heaven.”
“Not really, no,” Harry said. “I’d rather have a bunch of siblings like you do.”
Debbie looked like Harry just said that he’d rather be drawn and quartered, but Fiona jumped down the back set of stairs before Debbie could say anything. Fiona had a laundry basket in one arm and a baby boy in her other arm. The baby looked at Harry so Harry grinned and wiggled his fingers in a wave.
“This is Liam,” Fiona said, explaining who the little dark-skinned baby boy was. She sat Liam in a highchair then moved to the washing machine. “You want me to throw your stuff in with the boys’?” Fiona asked.
Harry assumed she was talking to Debbie until she looked over her shoulder at Harry.
“Uh, no,” Harry said. “I can just take it home.”
“Or you let me wash it so next time you’re here you’ve got your own clothes,” Fiona said.
“I- okay,” Harry said, relenting under the bossy tone. It wasn’t as if Sirius would notice, he gave Harry a card and told him him to go buy clothes when they arrived in the States and that had been that.
“Don’t say thanks,” Fiona said when Harry tossed his clothes in the washer and had been about to say just that. “Why don’t you help Debbie make lunches? The boys will be down soon and can go with you to get your bag.”
Harry felt a little caught up in Fiona’s bossiness and found himself at the kitchen counter with Debbie making sandwiches.
“Do you have a lunch?” Debbie asked as she laid out bread that Harry was meant to spread peanut butter on.
“Do I need one?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. Lunch had always been provided in primary and then again at Hogwarts.
“If you want to eat you do,” Debbie said. “Here, I’ll get you a bag.”
Harry accepted yet another odd kindness and then helped Debbie make the sandwiches and add bottles of water and apples to each of the bags. Debbie was carefully writing a name on each paper bag when Harry heard more people storming down the stairs.
Lip showed up first with his light brown hair sticking up wildly and an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. Harry wondered if Lip was a nickname, but he figured he’d ask some other time since Lip seemed preoccupied with a magazine in his hands.
Behind Lip was the bloke Harry meet the day before, Ian. Ian was a bit taller than Lip, and had more of a muscular build. He was actually rather fit. In fact, both Ian and Lip were fit. Apparently good looking blokes ran in their family.
Not that Harry would ever admit that, considering he got his arse kicked the day before because his voice sounded gay. Harry sounded like everyone he knew, but apparently it was a problem in the new neighborhood.
Ian also heavily resembled Debbie with his short-cut red hair and freckles though. It was another painful reminder of the relationship Harry had to end just a little over a month ago.
It was the day after Harry’s court hearing for underage magic, the night after Harry was told about his exile with Sirius.
Nobody else called it an exile, but Harry knew what it was. Nobody wanted the Boy-Who-Lived with the Dark Mark on his arm around.
The Ministry took one look at Harry’s arm and decided that he had likely killed Cedric Diggory and was planning to become the next Voldemort.
Harry found Fred in the kitchen that night and explained in a whisper what was happening.
“I’m coming with you,” Fred said. He had both of Harry’s hands in his on top of the table and Harry thought he’d cry at the earnest look in Fred’s eyes.
“You can’t,” Harry said, knowing it was the truth. “You’ve got to graduate, open the shop.”
“I don’t give a damn about my NEWTS,” Fred said firmly. “And I can open a shop anywhere. I’ll talk to George.”
“I don’t even know where we’re going,” Harry argued. It broke his heart to do it, especially after having Fred by his side for the worst year of Harry’s life, but Harry knew they had to end things.
“I’m not coming back, so you… you should stay here,” Harry said. He dropped his eyes to the table cowardly to avoid seeing the hurt on Fred’s face. “It’s been like a dream, this last year, but that’s all it was. A dream.”
“Harry, love, no,” Fred said. He held Harry’s hands hard so Harry couldn’t pull away. “I love you.”
Harry smiled sadly and gave Fred one last truth.
“Remember when you said that after the second task?” Harry asked. “That was the first time anyone’s ever said that to me.”
Harry looked up when Fred made a pained sound and Harry saw that the tears he refused to shed were streaming freely down Fred’s face.
“I love you too, but we’re over,” Harry said.
Harry slowly detached his hands from Fred’s grip and left Fred to cry in the kitchen while Harry went to cry in Hermione’s room.
“Oh, hey.” Ian smiled at Harry when he noticed him at the counter with his sister. “Gary, right?”
“Harry,” Harry corrected him.
Lip looked up from his magazine long enough to roll his eyes at Ian before looking at Harry.
And then doing a double take.
“Holy shit.” Lip jumped up from where he’d been sitting at the table and crossed over to Harry in two long strides. He grabbed Harry’s left arm, causing Harry to flinch at the abrupt contact, and held it up to look at the mark exposed on Harry’s arm.
The dark mark was hideous, in Harry’s biased and correct opinion. It was a giant black skull with a serpent crawling out through the mouth.
And it burned, horribly, at the worst times.
“You do this yourself?” Lip asked as he studied the tattoo.
“No,” Harry said flatly.
Lip whistled and released Harry’s arm. Harry twisted it to the side and kept the mark hidden from the others that were looking at him curiously.
“It’s badass,” Lip said with a grin. “Damn. It’s way cooler than my stick and poke.”
“It looks like it hurt,” Fiona said.
“It did,” Harry said.
It had been so excruciating that Harry wished he’d died. Harry thought crucio was painful? It was a walk in the park compared to being branded.
Harry felt uncomfortable in the silence that followed and then the boy from earlier, a younger boy with short brown hair and a few sparse freckles on his nose, burst out of the bathroom and took the attention off Harry.
“Carl, go brush your teeth,” Fiona told him when the boy started up the stairs.
“I already did!” Carl yelled back at her.
“If I touch that toothbrush and it isn’t wet then you’ll be on diaper duty for two weeks!” Fiona yelled up the stairs.
Harry grinned when Carl promised to brush his teeth. Fiona was clearly a brilliant parent to her younger siblings.
“And you two,” Fiona pointed at Ian and Lip, “walk Harry to school and be sure to stop by his place for his backpack. I’ll drop Debbie and Carl off on my way to work.”
“Will do,” Lip said, giving his sister a one-fingered salute. He grabbed the brown bag of lunch that had Ian’s name on it and tossed it to him before grabbing his own. “Let’s hit the road, boys. I have a stop we need to make.”
“Nothing illegal!” Fiona cried.
Harry grabbed his own lunch and followed the brothers while Lip yelled back a promise that it wasn’t illegal.
“It’s definitely illegal,” Lip laughed as soon as the back door closed behind them. “Harry, you ever taken the carburetor from a car before?”
“No?” Harry said slowly. He didn’t even know what a carburetor was.
“It’s a good trick to know,” Lip said. He opened the back gate and then waited for Harry to open his own gate right beside theirs.
“You don’t have to go with us if you don’t want to,” Ian told Harry as he shoved his brother in the shoulder.
Harry shrugged. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do.
“Yeah, give me just a minute,” Harry told them. He opened the unlocked back door and expected the others to wait outside, but they followed Harry inside. Harry would have asked them to be quiet, so they didn’t wake Sirius, but they just stood by the backdoor silently.
Harry dashed up the stairs on quiet feet and quickly grabbed his backpack off his bed and snagged a jacket from his closet. It was rather warm out, but Harry didn’t think he’d stand out too much with a jacket on. Sirius wasn’t in his room when Harry poked his head in so Harry went back downstairs.
Ian was still standing by the back door when Harry got downstairs, but Lip had his head in the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of beer and held it up toward Harry in a silent question that Harry answered with a nod.
Harry held a finger up at them and then slowly and silently made his way to the living room. Sirius was laying on the floor, facedown, behind the sofa. He still had his jacket on so Harry very carefully pulled the black wallet from his pocket.
Sirius only had a few crinkled green notes in the wallet, but Harry went ahead and took them all. Either Sirius would notice and be pissed later or he wouldn’t notice and he’d still be pissed.
Either way, Harry could go to the post office after school and mail Hermione and Dudley back.
“Score anything good?” Lip asked when they were safely outside and on their way to steal a car part. Lip had popped open the bottle of beer on someone’s fence and offered it to Harry after taking a drink.
“Couple dollars,” Harry said. He passed on the drink and Ian took it from his brother and took a long drink of it. “Is postage very expensive?” he asked uncertainly.
“Depends on where it’s going,” Ian said. “You writing someone back in England? Might be a dollar then, max,” he said after Harry nodded.
“Are envelopes expensive?” Harry asked.
“Don’t buy those,” Lip said. “You can take those from any teachers desk at school.”
“Ah.”
“What’s your uncle do for work?” Lip asked after a minute of walking in silence. He held up the beer he swiped and grinned. “This isn’t cheap shit.”
“He’s a motorcycle mechanic,” Harry said. “Or, he’s going to be, I guess.”
Sirius had been excited about it when they first moved in. It had been a decent day- they bought Harry clothes and school supplies. Sirius had seen a help wanted sign at a garage with a dozen motorcycles parked out front and talked about nothing else for the rest of the day.
Harry had matched his excitement and thought maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. Sirius was talking to him just as he had before and Harry thought perhaps the new house was a fresh start after all.
Then Sirius went to apply for the job and didn’t return until late. Harry didn’t know if he’d applied or not, he’d smelled like liquor and weed and immediately mistook Harry for James.
Lip hummed in response to Harry’s answer and then paused long enough to light the cigarette he’d been carrying around all morning.
“Mechanics don’t make shit around here,” Ian said. “Most people fix their own shit.”
“Does he have a bike?” Lip asked.
“Yeah, but he left it in London,” Harry said. He grinned ruefully when he remembered Sirius’ absolute dismay over having to move the muggle way and being unable to bring his bike.
“What kind is it?” Lip asked Harry. He offered Harry his cigarette, but Harry remembered he still had half of one… in the jeans that Fiona put in the washer.
Harry never used to smoke. Then he was entered in the Triwizard Tournament. Then he spent most of his time with the twins and their friends. Then Harry discovered that not only did most of the Hufflepuffs smoke cigarettes, but they also grew weed in the edge of the forest.
Fred didn’t smoke cigarettes, but he’d have a joint on occasion. Harry didn’t touch any of it, until he went to a Hufflepuff party after the first task and Cedric offered Harry a joint.
And then Harry hated to give up the floating freeness in his mind. Luckily, Sirius was apparently a smoker (something Harry didn’t know until they moved out of Grimmauld Place) and never noticed when Harry swiped cigarettes and joints from him.
“No idea,” Harry answered Lip after taking a drag off his cigarette and returning it. “I don’t know a bloody thing about mechanics,” he admitted.
“No better time to learn then!” Ian laughed and slung a friendly arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry was mildly relieved to have a bruise on his face, masking the heat from the unexpected movement. “Here’s rule one on stealing parts: if the cops show up, just grab what you can and run like hell.”
Harry thought Ian had been joking.
He hadn’t been.
Lip had just dropped a heavy metal piece from beneath the car he’d been under when a cop car drove past them. Ian swore when it did a u-turn in the middle of the road and headed right back toward them.
Harry grabbed the part that Lip dropped and then ran as fast as he could to keep up with Ian. Lip went in a different direction and Harry didn’t see him again until Ian finally stopped under a bridge. Harry dropped the part to the ground and bent over at the waist to catch his breath while Ian laughed.
“You’re fast,” he told Harry. “You run track or something?”
“Or something,” Harry said with his own grin, one that felt natural instead of forced.
Lip arrived a few moments later from a different direction and cheered when he saw that Harry still had the part.
“Just for that, I’ll give you ten percent of what I sell it for,” Lip said.
Harry narrowed his eyes at Lip for a moment while he considered it.
“Twenty,” he said.
Lip laughed and picked the part up easily with one hand.
“I knew I liked you,” Lip said casually. “Come on, if we hurry we can sell this before second period starts.”
Harry felt something very similar to relief when he fell in step with the Gallagher brothers. So far, Harry wasn’t completely lying to Hermione in his letter. It seemed as if Harry had accidentally made a couple of friends.