A Fateful Encounter
His instincts were screaming at him in chorus to run. His breath was rattling through his lungs like a desperate, starving animal tearing its way through his insides screaming at him to breathe. He pumped his legs even faster trying to push through the pain he was in. His whole body ached the way it tended to when he was sick, but he couldn’t let it get the better of him. Just a small stretch left and he would be in a forested area with cover and– Fucking hell– the street underneath him flipped upside down and inside out and he felt his ankle roll in an unnatural way.
Now he was facedown on the ground in a puddle of water that had understandably not yet evaporated in the cool morning air and his hands and cheek burned from the fall on the unforgiving Asphalt. He tried– he really did, it was hard not to with the adrenaline pumping through his veins– to get up but the second he even slightly moved his ankle it seemed to form its own fiery heartbeat with the consequence of Harry bitting very hard on his cheek and the very familiar taste of –ugh not again– blood mingled with the lovely slimy rainwater and several pieces of gravel he was now spitting out.
He suddenly heard a shout and several pairs of feet slapping against the ground and another bullet of adrenaline shot through his body and he started to try and crawl to shelter even though he knew he couldn’t make it. A hand grabbed him roughly by his overlarge shirt and he was being torn to his feet against a large body with his shirt now hanging in tatters off his shoulders and glasses laying in some undisclosed location reducing his vision to a kaleidoscopic blur. His ankle protested– rather loudly–and he whimpered while frantically fluttering in the grasp of this person, whose touch disgusted him so much he felt ants crawling up his limbs.
“LET GO!“ he screamed, while tears escaped the corner of his eyes. A chorus of laughs was to be heard and Harry felt the rest of the group closing around him. The flick of a knife startled Harry enough that he gave another violent shove, but then he felt nails digging into his scalp, gripping his hair, which exposed his neck to the startlingly cold and delicate knife that ran across his throat teasingly.
He felt a sudden presence closing in from further away–not part of the group– taking his attention away from the pain and jeering and reached out with his magic asking for help. It suddenly became clearer–Harry supposed it was coming nearer– and tugged even more insistently on them with his magic until he heard an unamused voice say: ”I suggest you let go of him now and leave before you get hurt.“ Arms crushed him even more firmly and the knife dug into the underside of his chin hard enough to for him to feel something hot run down his neck. He wheezed under the pressure and the newcomer growled and his magic sang through the air in a violent torrent of chaos and Harry slipped to the ground without support. He finally blacked out from the pain and the last thing he remembered was being cradled in strong arms and feeling safe.
His eyes fluttered open slowly. He had never woken up so peacefully before. He was curled up in a soft blanket and he was warm, his head was rested on–hold on, his head was resting on someone’s lap. He sat up so fast that he knocked his head into the strangers chin and winced, while simultaneously trying to scoot away.
Before he could demand he be given his glasses he belatedly realized he scooted too far and fell in a tangled heap on the floor. The blanket was now wrapped firmly around his limbs and over his head and he couldn’t see–he couldn’t see he couldn’t see he couldn’t see. His heart fluttered rapidly in its cage trying to break out and he was in a stranger’s house and he couldn’t see. He sucked in breath after breath and the colors he was able to see started to become gray and black and– cool hands were on his forehead and a voice was buzzing in his ear from far away saying something but he wasn’t sure what. However, those cool hands felt wonderful so he pressed his face more firmly into them. They smelled comforting like herbs as if he had just been cooking and his head felt like a snowglobe that had just been shaken and his thoughts were the snowflakes spinning furiously in a blizzard and still he couldn’t breathe. The hands left and he felt so helpless. Suddenly his mouth and nose were covered with a paper bag, and he struggled to get away because those wonderful hands were now betraying him and– his vision was gaining back colors and he felt his glasses being slid on his face and those wonderful cool hands were back on his forehead and he could breathe again–albeit shakily.
After some time that could have been hours or minutes, he realized his checks were wet. Some words then came out of his stupid mouth that he hadn’t planned on: “Why did you put a fucking bag on my face! I couldn’t breathe.”
“You were hyperventilating.” The stranger answered with a very calm and collected voice which Harry hated because he felt like such a mess in comparison –hiccuping on the floor with tears dripping down his face, tangled in a fuzzy blanket. “Which means,“ he continued, ”that you were taking in too much oxygen and not expelling it, which why I used a bag to help control your breathing.“ Harry studied the stranger‘s face while he was talking and it was just as calm as his voice. Elegant dark locks brushed against high cheekbones and contrasted beautifully with his impossibly clear skin. His eyes were focused on Harry and looked very serious but also soft. Harry’s anger deflated at the look this gorgeous stranger was giving him and suddenly felt so tired that he could have fallen asleep right then and there.
“You’re absolutely beautiful,“ Harry whispered and looked into the dark eyes of the stranger and felt at peace again. “What’s you’re name?“
“Tom,” the stranger answered and looked at him curiously but with the hint of a smile on his face.
Harry suddenly felt guilty for yelling at him and supplied his name even though the stranger hadn’t asked yet. “I’m Harry.“
“Hello, Harry.” Tom replied. He smoothly took Harry’s right hand and planted a soft kiss on it, which made Harry’s stomach go all warm and mushy. “Do you need help getting out of that blanket? You gave me quite a scare.” Tom was still holding his hand and rubbing it with his thumb and looked at him so earnestly that Harry instantly trusted him. Harry had never trusted anyone before, especially not with touching him, but something felt so safe about this man that Harry nodded in answer to his question–Harry reasoned it was probably because he also had magic and this was, in fact, the only other person with magic he’d ever met, which made him both excited and nervous.
Tom slowly moved closer towards him and that was when Harry realized they were both sitting on the ground–and just how was it possible for someone to look so put together whilst scooting forward on the ground he would never know. Those gentle cool hands slowly unraveled him from the blanket and maneuvered his limbs with ease until Harry was blanket-free and slightly shivering in his torn and dirty clothes on the cool hardwood floor. Tom set the blanket aside and looked him in the eyes again while saying “Darling“ and Harry nearly melted on the spot then and there. “We need to get you cleaned up and see to your injuries. Can I pick you up?“ Tom waited until Harry nodded in affirmation and he wrapped an arm around his back and another under his knees and stood up carefully with Harry in his arms. Harry had never been carried like this before and relaxed against Tom’s chest that was so wonderfully solid and warm.