Chapter 4
Three days become two weeks, but to Harry they fly by so quickly it’s like she and Tony have their own separate bubble of time.
They visit everything. Tony takes her to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Tony talks obnoxiously loudly to try and piss Harry off.
(“Ah! Queen. Unfortunately, Harry over here has no idea who these people are. Before I told her they were a band, she asked me if we had to bow before them! A cry for help has never been so crystal clear.”)
They don’t stop at Ohio. Before Harry knows it they’re in Oklahoma, with Tony demanding they go to a museum dedicated to cowboys. Tony makes her dress up as a Cowgirl (he dresses as a Cowboy, obviously) and they spend the whole time in there trying to attempt a western accent. It goes so terribly that Tony gets into an argument with a middle aged man, at first about the appalling accents, but it eventually almost becomes a fight when Tony accidentally insults the fellow.
(“No, no, it’s not a round stomach, it’s just perky! It has life, it’s adorable, I’ll touch it if you want me to show you I’m cool with it.”
“We still talking about the stomach there Tony?”
“Harry, for once I gotta say you’re actually making this worse.”)
Next it’s Montana. They decide to hike up a mountain, and Tony whines the whole way up about how his calves hurt. When Harry reminds him that it was his idea, he goes off.
(“When have my decisions been good, Harry. Truly think that question over, no, really. I dare you.”
“You said yes to travelling with me?”
“Well had I known we’d be climbing the mountain of death I may have thought twice.”)
Being with Tony is refreshing and fantastic. He never stops asking for her input and she never stops feeling so valued and needed, and she doesn’t think she can stop valuing or needing him either. He is so different to her world, the world where the majority of people would frown over most of what Tony says, and Harry sometimes feels overwhelmed by how starkly interesting this boy is, but in a positive spin. Like when you’ve brought a gift for someone and you know they’re going to like it, she feels as if she’s in constant suspense with Tony, positive trepidation over what they’re going to do next has implanted itself into her bones. She also knows he feels the same way, especially when he smiles at her. His grin is impish and so carefree that she feels she’s caught some sort of infection, but she’s never heard of an illness where warmth seeps from your head down to the tips of your toes.
Tony seems to have gotten slightly better in the last week. Not in the healing sense, Harry knows first-hand that that takes time, and one cannot rush it. He still has nightmares, but Harry occasionally uses her magic in order to soothe his dreams. She feels incredibly guilty over it sometimes, but she can’t help it, seeing him in distress is unpleasant at best. She also casts silencers over herself before she falls asleep as to prevent Tony from hearing any screams she may have. She’s had several nightmares, if she’s being honest. Nerve wracking ones that cause her to feel sick and angry and sad and so alone. There are times when she misses her family so much she can’t breathe. There are times she’ll think of fallen comrades, friends, Hermione, and the contrite will consume her so aggressively she has to dig her nails into her palms to prevent any hysterics from breaking free. But Tony will say something, and she will ease. Not completely, but significantly.
It is ironic that she is the witch and yet he is the one who is magical.
It is on the third week, on a Friday to be exact, where their dynamic begins to shift.
“Oh my God Harry look!” Tony points to a sign with so much excitement sometimes Harry feels like she’s travelling with a toddler after he’s gotten his sugar fix. Not that she’s much better.
“Ooh, what what what?” He turns to her with a scheming grin, and that trepidation feeling burns brightly. “There’s a festival three miles ahead. Whadda you say? You, me, country music. I’ve even got that pink wig you love, yes I kept it because I’m awesome, it’s in the trunk.” He starts singing a western song with unsuppressed glee, his voice squeaking when he tries to sing a high note.
While Harry smiles, she feels her stomach drop slightly. It’s not that Harry doesn’t like having fun, it’s just that after the war, being in large crowds is incredibly intimidating. She hates the atmosphere of suffocation that large groups all huddled together can bring. The book convention had been fine in that people understood the basis of personal space. But she remembers her first panic attack after the war, when she was helping the reparation of Hogwarts and was swarmed with journalists. Ginny had punched a reporter in the face when he wouldn’t back off, if she remembers clearly.
But Tony looks ecstatic, and he deserves to look like this, so why not? Harry gives him a bright beam, adding excitement to her tone so Tony doesn’t think otherwise.
“It sounds like fun.”
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Harry isn’t a jealous person.
Her teenage years reflect this. Had she shown jealousy when she found out Cho had feelings for Cedric? No, she understood where Cho was coming from and respected both her choice in blokes and Cedric’s honesty when he told Harry about the ordeal. Had she been jealous when she’d seen Draco talking to other girls? No, because she knew that what they had was special, and the times she’d been pissy with Draco had nothing to do with something as petty as having female friends.
But tonight, seeing this girl, unashamedly flirting with Tony. Well.
Okay, yes. Harry is jealous.
This is a completely new sensation, and she finds that she hates it with a passion. It’s making her something she’s not; right now, she has the urge to get Tony and take him somewhere this Abby can’t find him ever again. It’s made her possessive and territorial, and Harry wants to lock these emotions so deep within her that she can never conjure this mental feeling again.
It has also brought questions along, some that have come to the surface of her mind and are refusing to allow themselves to be buried again: why is she jealous? She wouldn’t be jealous if Ron made a new friend, how come she’s going through this shade of green for a boy she considers on the same level as Ron?
The answer: Tony is clearly not on the same level as Ron, Tony has been placed on a different level to Ron for quite some time and doesn’t seem to want to leave it. Harry shakes her head at that, because what they have is so bloody good and Harry’s decided to try and ruin it by putting Tony in a position he obviously doesn’t want to be in.
No, she thinks smarmily, he wants to be in a position with Abby. Happy, fun, Abby, with her green top and red lipstick and ‘I’m a great dancer! Dance with me?’
Ugh.
Harry wants to shake her head at that, seeing as Abby is so sweet and has very good taste in boys- stop it, Potter, stop that right now. Merlin, she wishes Hermione was here with such a solid ache in her chest that she could cry right here right now. At least Tony would glance her way-
Shut. Up. Potter.
Before her thoughts can further unravel in this negative spiral, she is greeted with a tap on her shoulder. It’s that girl from earlier, Josie, she thinks her name was. Her and Tony met her in a lovely group of people. Abby’s also in that happy go lucky group. Abby gives the group a bad name. Abby- she needs to stop. Josie’s holding two shot glasses, her lips wide and expression cheeky.
“You in?”
Harry casts one last look at Tony and Abby, who both look content in dancing the night away. Tony is very beautiful when he dances. He looks like he’s in his own world, and Harry wishes she could join him there. She’s currently not having a great time in this one.
“I know that look.” Josie comes nearer to her side, her face looking at the dancing couple. “I’ve been there, my friend. Trust me, if they’re not looking at you now, you’re in that friend zone for life.”
“Friend zone?”
Josie gives her the look Tony always gives her, but instead of Harry laughing, that roaring jealousy tries to take control again. “Babe, honestly, so much to teach you. In Friends, Ross doesn’t get Rachel ‘cause he waited too long to ask her out. So he became her friend. Get it? He got stuck in the friend zone. I mean, I know they eventually dated, but that’s a TV show! Life isn’t that nice.”
“So you’re saying”-
“I’m saying that you need to come with me and do so many shots that you forget that boys name. Take it from me, alcohol can be your best friend. You’ve just got to see a lot of her.” She gives Harry a wink. “Let’s play a drinking game. Whoever can’t drink any more, owes the other fifty dollars.”
A protest lies on the tip of Harry’s tongue, because since the age of fifteen she’s hated feeling out of control over her body. But she thinks of Tony and Abby dancing together, and her anger morphs into determination to forget about the whole thing.
“Fifty? A hundred, and then you’re on.”
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Harry wins, as she knew she would. Josie stops drinking with a defeated groan, mumbling something incoherent, and stumbles away to another girl after giving Harry her money’s worth. Not that Harry would have remembered the bet. The alcohol sets in her mind like a big grey cloud, and she can’t think much apart from ‘worst idea ever’, ‘worst idea ever.’ She wants to go and find Tony, to tell him something, anything, and she’s so excited to find him she almost trips. Huffing, Harry looks at her surroundings. Most people are in the tents watching the music unfold, and those who aren’t are patched up in different fragmented areas, drinking and smoking and having fun. It makes her smile, the freedom she sees, and she remembers that Tom could have put an end to that. Before she can fall down that rabbit hole, she reminds herself that Tony’s around. That perks her up again.
“Hey.” A boy runs over to her, his face extremely happy and his eyes practically black. “Wanna dance?”
“Nah mate,” she says, untrusting and nervous around this stranger. Tony’s essentially become her armour when she meets new people. Without him next to her she doesn’t like socialising and she doesn’t want to. “I’m good. Have fun tonight.”
“Aww”, he pouts, edging closer to her and into her personal space. “Please. I’m bored.”
“I’m serious, mate. Go find someone who wants to have fun with you, because I don’t. Another time, maybe.”
“But I’m boooored.”
“Then go play monopoly.” Harry snaps, flinching when everything starts to spin a little. She wants Tony here.
“Woah, why you being like this? I just wanna dance.” The boy grabs her arms, not unkindly, but his nails begin to dig into her skin and Harry begins to lose whatever patience she thought she had.
“I said I don’t want to. Repeat it back to me and let me go.”
The nails dig in deeper. Oddly, this stabilises her a little, not sobering her up but allowing her to do what she will if he keeps being like this. Although she wants Tony here, he isn’t needed.
The boy’s face begins to become serious, his dark eyes blackening further. It’s almost demonic, like she’s peering into his soul.
“I want to have fun. Come dance.” When one of his hands start travelling from her arm to areas that should be reserved, she has officially had enough. She knees him in the groin with precise speed, and when he releases her arm she moves her foot to kick him square in the chest. The boy goes flying into the mud, falling in one swift squelch. She wasn’t too violent, the boy will only have bruises tomorrow, but she does feel slight satisfaction in knowing her training skills are still on par.
A couple of boys come running over, their mouths agape.
“Hello boys.” She nods, once again flinching when the world becomes a Ferris wheel. “This one over here doesn’t know when to take no for an answer. Educate him?” The boys slowly nod, one of them looking down at their apparent friend in contempt. Harry smiles. “Have a good night.”
Walking away, Harry has the strangest sensation, like she’s being watched. It’s a feeling she hasn’t felt in over a month, so it sets her hairs standing on her arms in attack mode. She’s too drunk to bring her wits about however, and the feeling doesn’t feel dangerous as it does in surprising terms of comfort, so Harry doesn’t think much of it. She then feels her stomach begin to rebel against her quite suddenly, so her priorities manage to lose slight focus.
She ends up running to the communal loos, her body slumping against the stalls. The alcohol has well and truly set in, and it is so lucky she gets there just in time to see her stomach unload into the toilet rather than the floor.
Happy days, really.
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There’s a presence behind Harry. It’s that feeling she had five minutes ago, the feeling that someone’s been watching her, but rather than the approaching doom that past experiences like these have made her aware of, this one brings familiarity. Like a surprise birthday party (not a sensation she’s actually familiar with, but she has a sense of what that entails) or someone saying they have important news, but it’s understood that the news is going to be good rather than dreaded. It’s similar to what travelling with Tony makes her feel, and it brings Harry a level of comfort that’s embracing instead of a form of suffocation. Harry knows that maybe she should be scared, that there’s someone behind who’s just opened the door to her bathroom stall that she doesn’t know, but she’s drunk and heaving and when a pair of arms wrap around her waist she sinks into the warmth as easily as a blanket enfolding her.
“Who’re you?” She manages to slur out, but everything was spinning before these arms grounded her, so she doesn’t particularly care about who this is. She doesn’t care about much right now.
After a short inhale from the Stranger, he (it’s a man, should she be frightened?) mumbles an “it doesn’t matter”, in a voice so low and fast as if he wants to prevent her from hearing him. Harry has an excellent set of ears though. She huffs and turns around slowly, in order to prevent an earthquake of course, and is immediately surprised. Because when she turns around, she is greeted with the sight of Tony.
But he isn’t Tony. She means that yes, he looks like him, but he’s not. He looks a tad older, around his forties, faint lines in his face that were certainly not there twenty minutes ago and has an actual beard that is patterned stylishly on his visage. Whereas the beard in the joke shop they used back in Ohio made Tony look comical, this one looks so natural that it suits him perfectly. She knows she’s openly gaping, because Tony is the most handsome boy she’s ever seen, but this man, this clone or something, is something else entirely. She must be hallucinating. Harry is so drunk and so bored of it, perhaps her brain is trying to make it up to her.
“Woah,” is all that comes out of her mouth. She eyes her Hallucination? Fantasy? Distorted image? Speculatively, and decides he’s a hallucination. Tony’s probably off with Abby.
Her Hallucination gives her a small smile, dimples stretching. There’s a sadness in his eyes though, and he looks so tense, as if there’s a weight on his shoulders he can’t shake. It translates to some sort of burden, and that makes Harry confused. She knows that look, she took on Tom with that look. It makes her feel nauseous, though that could be the vodka talking.
“Hey there.” The Hallucination finally says in a voice so soft and it’s surprisingly deeper than how Normal Tony speaks. It’s very pretty. He takes one of his arms and out comes a water bottle from his pocket. He gives her a pointed look. When she downs the bottle (not that it helps, but whatever, she wouldn’t expect imaginary water to help anyway) he still doesn’t say anything. He just watches her. It’s annoying and way too intense for her chaotic mental state to make sense of.
“Is this real?” She asks him, though it comes out even to her ears as unintelligible crap. The expression on his face hasn’t changed though, he looks at her with such tenderness that she’s caught off guard. No one has ever looked at her with eyes that soft before.
“Since you don’t remember this, I’m gonna go with yeah. It’s as real as you want it to be, Harry.”
“I leave you alone for five minutes ‘n you’ve aged like, forty years.” She speaks slowly so he can understand her (as if her own mind won’t understand what she’s saying, Merlin she’s off her face) and is victorious when he comprehends her words.
His mouth forms into a mocking gasp, but his eyes never lose that damned softness, it’s disorienting. “Okay, I’m stopping you right there. First of all, forty years? That is so off you don’t even know. Second of all, current Tony is trying to find you. I get you’re a witch, but this disappearing act is so uncool.”
“You’re trying to trip me out. Tony doesn’t know I’m a witch, this is my mind trippingme out.” The room starts swaying again, and Harry clenches her eyes shut as she turns to the toilet to throw up. One of her Hallucination’s hands tighten around her (differently to the previous arsehole drunkard, this feels more reverent), while the other gently holds her hair back, his thumb stroking the back of her neck. The whole thing is very bizarre.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t talk. I’m sorry. Have more water, please, losing hair here.”
“No, I like it when Tony talks! I just- was goin’ on?” She turns back around to him with open eyes, frowning when she sees his face has become guarded.
“Can’t tell you.”
Now Harry’s angry. “You can’t- no! You’re making me think I’m crazy, that’s not fair. And! And you said I won’t remember this.” She gestures throughout her speech, her arms flying wildly around her. Her Hallucination moves his head whenever her hand whips too close to him. This would make her happy, but his smile firmly sits on his face, full of fondness and such longing that she feels so sad. She’s confused as to why. “Tell me.”
When her Hallucination replies, his voice is thick. “I just wanted to see you, that’s all. I’m sort of…not supposed to be here, and it was supposed to be a blink and you miss it moment for me, but you were drunk, so- fuck I’m an idiot. How old even are you this year- like fifteen?”
“Seventeen, you patronising…shithead! ‘N what you mean, year? Are you senile in your old age?”
“Old age- okay yeah I’m right, definitely fifteen. Late fourteen maybe, wouldn’t be surprised if you had some acne.”
“Rude!” Harry exclaims, and she attempts to push herself up from this rude old man who is not Tony, because Tony isn’t rude. Well, he can be. But never intentionally! And never to her. “I am leaving now.”
The arms slightly tighten around her, almost frantic. “Don’t leave.” He says, rather desperately, Harry notes. “I’m sorry I- it’s good to see you.”
Harry frowns, relaxing back into her previous position, her lips form into a pout. “I’m lost.”
“So am I- well I’ve been lost for a couple of years now, but I’m fixing it currently. I mean I say fixing, it’s risky business this mission- you know what, I’ve said way too much, my ass is gonna be handed out to me on a silver fucking platter. Fuck, I’m telling a fifteen year old all my secrets, this is ridiculous, this is comedy worthy, I’ve pretty much become a walking cartoon character”-
“You talk a lot.” Harry finds her Hallucination very interesting. But he’s beginning to talk more to himself than her, and she usually isn’t attention seeking, but he’s supposed to come from her mind, so her being the centre of attention isn’t a diva demand.
“Better get used to that gorgeous, you’re kind of stuck with that for”- he glances at her left hand and looks away as if he’s the one who’s nauseous and not Harry- “doesn’t matter.”
“I thought I was supposed to be the cryptic one.”
Before he can answer, the door to the toilets open. “Tony?” Someone calls out, and Harry doesn’t recognise the voice, but her Hallucination does. He goes rigid and clenches his jaw, his arms slowly leaving from around her small frame as if he’s being pulled by string. Harry gives him a betrayed glare, because he’s her hallucination, he can’t just leave whenever he wants!
“Why are you leaving?” The world is swaying again because of him, and it’s not fair. But his face gains a look of determination as he stands up in front of her, and his fists clench into a stance that looks rather heroic, if she doesn’t say so herself. He opens the door, and behind him Harry briefly sees a very tall blond man, his muscular arms crossed.
“Tony- your Tony, will be back in a few minutes. You’ll start rambling about halluc- It makes sense now, just gained a full circle moment wow, so yeah, that’s epic”-
“Tony.” She hears the man say again, sterner this time, though there’s a tinge of guilt in his tone.
“Got it, got it.” He’s still standing in front of her though, so Harry doesn’t think he actually gets it. Her Hallucination looks hesitant for a split second, and then it’s like he’s lost a battle in his mind because he bends back down to her and gives her a kiss on the forehead. It’s long and lingering, and when he pulls back his breaths are shallow.
“I will fix this.” He whispers to her, urgent. “Something bad happens, but I’m going to fix it, I promise. I’ll see you soon.”
Her eyes are wide. “Can I help you?” Hallucination or not, she knows she’ll always want to help Tony.
He forces out a shake of his head and opens the door once more. “Just drink some water, please? Kids in the 90s, they know how to party.” He takes one last look at her, his former smile nowhere in sight and his gaze bruising, before he closes the door behind him with a gentle shut. By the time Harry manages to stand up and find him, he’s gone. She sits back down, feeling slightly less drunk, but there is a pit at the bottom of her stomach she can’t and won’t make sense of.
She won’t think much of this for some time.
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Tony- her Tony, no beginnings of wrinkles in sight- comes in a few minutes later, like her Hallucination predicted. (She might be psychic. That would be unsurprising really, she is usually right.)
“Harry?” His speech is high pitched and out of breath. She opens the door angrily at this, the stall opening with a bang. When he sees her, he deflates in apparent relief, which is a lie. He’s probably looking for Abby.
“Are you Tony? Last time I saw you, you were a senile old man.”
“Oh thank God. Harry, where did you go?”
“I had to throw up, so I did. It was disgusting, but I have now released all my negative energy.” She doesn’t really know what she’s saying, but Tony’s beginning to show amusement on his face, and all she really wants right now is for him to laugh. Hallucination Tony didn’t laugh. He was sad.
“You hallucinated me?”
“Did I say that out loud?”
“No, no apparently I’m a mind reader now. Come to my magic shows, they’ll have no booze whatsoever considering the fact you’re a lightweight.” He sounds angry, which is really irritating because Harry’s been angry at him all night. He can’t just flip the tables, it’s rather rude.
“Well if you don’t like that, go back to dancing with Abby.”
“What?”
“Abby. She’s pretty. Really pretty. And she was dancing all over you. Like- like some kind of- stupid dancer!”
“Harriet.” He says slowly, a smile seeping in his incredulous tone, bad mood seemingly forgotten. “Are you jealous?”
She scoffs. “No. Not of Abby and her terrible dance moves. Shockingly bad dance moves.”
“The worst,” Tony agrees, coming to sit beside her. Instead of his arms going around her like the Tony her mind made up did, Tony sits next to her cautiously, like she’s some sort of animal lashing out.
“I’m not an animal lashing out.” She informs him. He nods and watches her, his expression mockingly serious.
“Okay. I understand. You’re just a very, very big lightweight. Or small, I don’t know lightweight math like you do. It’s no big deal though, lightweights spend less on drinks.”
“It’s my fault. I entered a drinking game against Josie.” She grins at Tony. “I won.”
Tony’s smile is gigantic, his teeth shining up the dim aesthetic to the bathroom. “That’s my girl!”
“No.” Harry says, unable to hide the bitterness in her words. “Your girl’s probably waiting for you to dance with her again.”
“I don’t- I didn’t.” He sighs, slouching against the stall wall. “I was trying to be nice. I didn’t realise she was flirting, until ten minutes ago. That’s when I asked Alec where you were, cause you weren’t in the tent anymore which- I didn’t think you were in trouble, but, you know, I worry since I’m now a Mother Hen- and he said he saw you run to the bathroom. So, yeah, that’s what happened. I’m sorry I left you.”
(She left him after seeing Abby dance closer and closer to him. Not wanting to physically harm another being, she left under the excuse of getting drinks.)
“I was the one who told you to stay put while I got drinks, Tony, I told you to stay”-
“But I should’ve gone with you.” Tony interrupts, his decision final. “And- Harry I’m so sorry. I didn’t even want to be with Abby. I mean yeah, she’s a dead ringer for Uma Thurman, which fourteen-year-old me would’ve been drooling all over, it’s embarrassing, I own up to that. But I spent the whole time being with her and thinking, um. Well you know.”
Harry frowns. “I don’t know.” She watches in fascination as he scratches his head, his face red and sheepish as he looks at the floor.
“I just…wanted to, uh. Be with you. And stuff.”
Drunk or not, it’s now Harry’s turn for her cheeks to brighten. She turns to the loo seat, looking down as if that is more interesting than the conversation at hand. (It isn’t. Nothing will ever be as interesting as this conversation.)
“Don’t let that go to your head, Pitter Potter.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good. Your ego’s so big anyways we’d have to get a bigger car to make room.”
“As long as we’re driving off without Abby, we can have any car you want.” It’s made to come out as a joke, but Harry realises her drunk self has no obligation to her future morning after self. It’s rude, and Harry wants to shrivel up until Tony can’t see her, can’t see her face in pure embarrassment. She’s lucky Tony’s amazing though, because he answers her with honesty.
“It’ll just be you and me.”
There’s silence after that, because Harry is so in awe of Tony, and she presumes that Tony is slightly humiliated with himself at the moment. He’s not usually like this, so open with her, and Harry wants to savour this moment so much. It’s a shame she’s not sober.
“How are you feeling?” He questions her after a few minutes. She nods with a grunt of determination, and uses the loo to push herself up, triumphant when the room doesn’t decide to become a roundabout. Tony makes a disgusted face at her.
“Gross! Don’t think I’m ever touching those hands again, we’re gonna have to go to some hospital lecture so you can discover the rules of personal hygiene. That is grim, Potter, so fucking grim.
“Five points taken from Gryffindor!” She announces, laughing manically when Tony stares at her like she’s the weirdest person he’s ever met.
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Though the world is no longer spinning, Harry finds herself stumbling quite a bit. She tries to walk with finesse but after her fifth time almost hitting the ground, Tony seems to decide he’s had enough of her nonsense. He scoops her up into his arms, and it is wonderful. She rests her face into his neck, and he must be very thirsty, because from then on he begins to consistently take large gulps of air.
“For someone who inhaled their drink like oxygen, you’re as light as a feather, Harry-Wan Kenobi.”
“I thought I was Yoda?”
“Oh you are. I’m just running out of things to call you, losing my edge really.”
“Call me crazy”-
“Okay, Crazy it is.”
-“But I always thought people should address others by their first names.”
“Someone has clearly had way too much to drink. We’re gonna get you in a hotel with a water fountain and leave you to drink it all. And then, in the morning where all you want to do is die, I will laugh in your face and recount the long list of quotes I have of Drunk Harry.”
“Everything I’ve said tonight has been perfectly reasonable."
“I’ll start with that one.”
“And I’ll have you know I managed to hold my own against an arse of a boy. He attempted in typical drunkard aggression to cop a feel, and I attempted to throw him on the ground. The difference between me and him, however, is that I succeeded.”
She doesn’t realise Tony’s stopped walking until she’s finished talking. She gives Tony a confused frown. He’s playing with his jaw, expression unreadable. His hold on her becomes a bit overwhelming, though it’s not unpleasant.
“Where is he.” It comes out as more of a statement than a question. Harry shrugs, trying to see what’s made him upset. She kicked the boy’s arse, if she recalls.
“I left him with his mates, near the tent with the beer sign.”
“Right. Time to take a detour.” He swerves round a tad too sharply for Harry’s liking. Maybe she should walk?
“No, Tony, I dealt with it. The boy was drugged out his mind”-
“Yeah, I don’t listen to excuses.” He snaps, and Harry sighs, her face collapsing back into his neck. For someone that’s been sweating profusely all day, he still smells nice.
They don’t find the boy back at the beer sign. And when Tony kicks the beer sign, Harry lifts herself out of his arms.
“Yo, Pink Pixie Cut!” He hollers at a girl walking by with a friend. They stop walking and look at him with trepidation. Harry can relate. “You seen a drugged up piece of scum nearby? What did he look like Harry?”
Harry shrugs. “I don’t remember Tony.” All she remembers is his eyes, really.
“You don’t- Harry!” His pitch makes her externally cringe, and she sees a flash of regret in his eyes when she looks at him. “I’m sorry. I’m- fucking filth.”
Harry nods in agreement, but Tony still doesn’t appear satisfied. He starts ranting, his body vibrating as if an alarm clock.
“Wow, okay, that’s fine. It’s all good, just, wow, look at me, being a jumble of emotions. There’s anger, yep, definitely feeling the anger aura. Confusion? Yeah there’s confusion in there, not gonna ask why, I’m not my own therapist. Or I am, I guess we’re all our own therapists in some existential way. Crap, I’m trying to be existential, this is embarrassing. God, when we met I was all like ‘I won’t duel for your honour,’ well check me, two weeks later, getting my fucking rage on some asshole, who I mean, you duelled him yourself, which any other time I’d be all like, wow, badass, but right now, Jesus. I could punch something, you know, for a festival set around nature I can’t see one fucking tree in my vicinity, what the fuck”-
He’s getting increasingly agitated, and the two girls he heckled have run away in part confusion and majority fear. Harry knows they won’t find the awful boy again, she knows the world can be nasty and unfair like that, and yeah, a few months ago that had enraged her- like Tony right now. He’s a cocktail of emotions; Harry wants to calm him down, because Happy Tony is Harry’s favourite Tony.
So she walks up to Tony, and without thinking too deeply into her actions, brings her lips to meet his own.