Chapter 8
She doesn’t think she’ll ever admit this out loud, but Harry always feels incredibly selfish.
It’s explainable, she won’t bore anyone with the details that she wants to bury deep and never visit again, but there has always been a part of Harry that is twisted and so very dark. And Harry has ignored it for the most part, because why think of things so horrid? Especially when other horrendous thoughts constantly slip into her mind like an uncontrollable fog, slithering around and planting themselves to become ripe, vicious nightmares.
Harry has never felt like a completely decent human being, and quite rightly. Because when Harry wakes up after being blasted unconscious, she knows what she will witness, she knows she’ll be pushed back into reality’s greedy claws, and for a few seconds she just can’t. She wants to embrace her selfishness and never open her eyes again, because she’s weak, because hasn’t life taken enough from her? Can’t it ignore her dark scattered mind and leave her alone? Harry wants to scream, she wants to empty her lungs and spill all her pain out into the world.
When Harry does eventually open her eyes, she immediately regrets it.
She feels odd. It’s the impression of missing something, of feeling incomplete. Her mind is foggy, causing her to shake her head to become focused. Something is off, and she straightens up, slightly more awake, when she realises that she cannot feel her magic. Instead of dwelling on this (if she dwells she will scream, if she dwells she will panic to the extent of being useless when the back of her mind tells her she can’t be useless, she needs to protect Tony- Tony) she looks at her surroundings with a desperate pace, whipping her head around the room.
It’s a small room, plain walls filling around them, no windows in sight. It’s design seems ominous, and a sense of foreboding strikes through Harry, making her feel trapped and incredibly claustrophobic. Anything of notice in the room is a singular vent high up on a wall, though Harry brushes over this as soon as she sees the boy next to her.
“Tony!” She yelps, her heart beating wildly, and once more her selfish instincts have ruined everything. He’s unconscious, a relief when she finds air coming from his parted lips. He looks unharmed and yet, Harry knows that when it comes to magic, nothing is ever really as it seems. She gently nudges him, hating herself for forcing him back into reality, something she didn’t want to do to herself either. But here they are, and she takes one of her hands to smooth over his forehead. Whether it’s to apologise or to savour any brief moment with him, she’s not completely aware.
He mumbles something incoherent- at this her gentle shakes become faster, more rigorous. His face twitches, nose flaring and his pupils moving behind his eyelids. At first, they peek dimly around them, and suddenly he’s wide awake, sitting up so fast Harry is surprised he doesn’t have whiplash.
“Harry,” he says, alert and more serious than she’s ever seen him. He searches her face, then scoots over to where she’s sitting, grasping her elbows in his hands. “Are you okay? You hurt?” He’s irritated when it takes more than a second for her to reply, her mind still processing the world around her. “Harry, come on. Don’t do a disappearing act on me now, not an ideal time. Are you hurt?”
“No,” Harry shakes her head firmly. “You?” He shakes his head too, and they sit there in silence, Harry trying to grasp her head around the vicious reality that’s come to play.
“I think we’ve been drugged.” Tony says aloud, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and inspects his arms, practically speaking to himself. “Probably not injected then, but gases can be used. Or maybe darts? Not sure what drug it is either, I mean, it could be acid cause of the hallucinations, but acid always has more than one vision.”
“What are you talking about?” She asks distantly.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” He taps his neck, seeming to count the speed of his heartbeat before appearing confused.
“I- the car broke down, there was a flash- then nothing.” The cloud immersed in her brain has almost completely faded, and now she can be fully concentrated, useful and protective over the boy at her side. Memories are coming back to her now; the car breaking down, inspecting it, hearing a distant shout, running to action with fear and underlying rage, a bright light and finally having the sensation of falling, and seeing nothing but a void.
She’s completely alert now. She knows what’s happened.
She has never been more selfish.
“We were most definitely drugged. Last thing I saw was a rabbit become a middle-aged guy. Most likely a gas that induces delusions.” Tony isn’t as scared as she’d expect him to be, and a rush of pride runs through her, though it’s overshadowed by the deep festering pit of guilt in her stomach.
“A rabbit becoming a man?” A rabbit. Becoming. A man.
Shit.
Tony bites his lip, rubbing his hand over his face, thrumming with anticipation.
Nothing is making sense and yet everything is. Harry practically jumps at the continuing aspect of her feeling powerless, and imitates Tony’s previous actions, searching her body for any signs of tampering. It’s when she sees a clasped bracelet wrapped around her wrist, one she’s never seen before in her life, does she understand, that they may be, almost certainly quite fucked.
“I didn’t have this bracelet before.” She tells him, peering down at the vicious thing. It’s the colour of steel, a heavy garment that she wouldn’t have even noticed had she not been looking for it. Which is…well, peculiar, seeing how it is quite visible.
Tony holds her wrists gently in his hands, inspecting it with curiosity. “That’s fucking weird.” Is all he can say. When Harry first met him, she knew he was not the best at comfort, but this event has continued to solidify that fact. “Reckon it’s a tracker or something?”
“A tracker?”
He shrugs defensively. “I don’t know. I’m not really getting any of this.” Tony attempts to take it off, to slide it on her wrist. And Harry emits a sharp intake of pain, when the bracelet wraps itself even tighter around her, almost cutting off her circulation.
Tony places his fist under his chin at that, and for all intents and purposes he looks blasé. Harry knows much better than to think this to be true. The hand that is not resting under Tony’s face is shaking. Automatically, Harry takes his hand and warms them, like what Tony did for her, because it made her feel so much better. What’s to stop him from feeling similarly now? Apart from the fucking kidnapping, of course.
“That’s not our biggest issue at the moment.” But it is, isn’t it? She can’t even grant him the protection of using her fucking magi-
“I think we were taken because of me.”
Harry’s focus is immediate and infinite when Tony speaks. His eyes are cast downward and his posture is hunched, looking for all intents and purposes, as if he’s defeated.
Harry shakes her head instantly. “That’s ridiculous Tony,”-
“This isn’t my first kidnapping situation,” Tony begins sharply, looking at anything but her. “It’s always like this: the bait, the room, the waiting. Howard’s son, you know? They want money, they’ll let us go once they have it.” He finally levels her with a piercing sweep, his expression heavy. “I- it’ll all be over soon. And not in the ‘they’ll kill us once we’re no longer valuable’- shit, no, sorry I even sai- it’s gonna be fine.”
Harry shakes her head once more, so profoundly guilty she’s surprised Tony can’t feel her emotions projected. “Tony, this isn’t your doing. This is my fault. I’m just- I’m so sorry.” Harry confesses, and though the room is small she still imagines her admission to echo across the room and shatter the walls surrounding her.
“Hey- hey no,” Tony leans into her space and sweeps his thumbs across a couple of stray tears that have managed to escape. “None of this is your fault, okay? This is all on me. I should’ve- I should never have put you in danger like this. And I’m sorry.” He sounds so anguished and sincere that more hot, heavy and guilty flecks of water trail down her face. This only causes him to look worse, and so the cycle continues.
“It’ll be fine.” He promises urgently, determination etched into his handsome features. “Uncle Obie’s gonna bail us out. I’ve dealt with this before, always the same outcome. All they want is money, we just have to wait it out. Jesus, I’m so sorry.”
“No.” Harry shakes her head, her voice rising, pushing herself to say what she is about to. She knows Tony’s taken aback by this, but she barrels ahead, like ripping plaster off a wound that will never heal. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
Tony’s wary now, she notices. He continues to wipe the remnants of tears off her pale cheeks, but the pace is now slow. He waits for her to speak, studying, confusion mixed with caution. What he says next is said with trepidation.
“That’s ridiculous. How is this your fault, Harry?”
When she next speaks, her speech is raised loud in order to hear herself over the thumping of her heart.
“The kidnapper wasn’t after you. He came for me.” Taking in a deep breath, unsurprised when it is static, she forcibly, finally, shoves her confession from her throat.
“I’m a witch.”
Tony gives her an unimpressed gaze. “Funny. What, you trying to find your sense of humour in here?”
“No.” Harry presses, “I’m a witch Tony. A proper witch.”
Tony’s eyes flash in consideration. “Does that stand for something?” He hastily removes his hands from her cheeks, and heavily gulps. “Are you…are you working for someone? Some organisation? I can help you Harry, let me help you.”
“You don’t-!” Harry snaps, willing him to get it, willing herself to spit it out in one swift motion. “I’m a witch. Potion brewing, broom flying, wand casting bloody witch. The bracelet is preventing my magic from working so I can’t prove it, but it’s true, Tony. I’m a witch.”
A beat.
“One last chance to tell me you’re kidding.” It sounds like a prayer.
“I’m not.”
It’s silent. Harry looks at the ceiling, noticing a vent in place and scratches imbedded into the walls, but she feels as if she’s noticing nothing at all. Her mind is a blur and her heart slowly travels to meet her stomach, spooling around in frantic nerves. When she summons the courage to look at Tony, he’s looking at her intently, his expression unreadable.
“What you saw earlier- that wasn’t a drug, the animal becoming that man, it was all real. He must be a dark wizard, a Death Eater.” She shivers at the thought. “He took us because of me, because of recent events that happened in my world. In the magical world.” She’s not making sense, things are tumbling out of her mouth in a heated rush, but she can’t stop, can’t organise her thought process coherently, she’s forgotten how. It’s not like Tony’s helping the situation. He still hasn’t spoken.
“Tony,” she reaches out to him without thinking why, and she doesn’t know what but something within her threatens to snap when she sees him scoot backwards quickly. He watches her with betrayal and something akin to agony. It gives her the sensation of feeling as if she’s lost something vital.
“Harry stop.” The words come out strained, as if forced. His breaths begin to heave, flashes of infinite sadness crossing though his eyes. “Stop it, you’re- stop.”
Harry can only nod, too numb to ask why. It’s not like she doesn’t know why. The sentence ‘you’re ruining everything’ comes to mind, and she wonders if this is what is currently unspoken between them. He doesn’t believe her, doesn’t trust her. It hurts, it hurts so much, more than Harry wants to put into words. Not only because the ache in her chest feels overwhelming, but if Harry managed to say why she’s wounded out loud, it makes this all real. She should’ve snapped out of her reverie yesterday and soaked up all of Tony, because now, now with his distrust and him certainly thinking her certifiably insane, she knows she’s likely to having lost him forever. And it’s an unbearable thought, but she is powerless to stop the down-spiral of all the positive memories of this month, watching everything they’ve built together collapse with three words.
“You don’t believe me.” Rationally, she understands that this information is a lot to swallow. Stress can make her reckless, however. Her pit of despair begins to grow.
“Tony shakes his head speedily, placing the back of his hand over his mouth and taking lungsful of breath. His breathing has begun to slow down to his usual rhythm, but he appears pale, so Harry knows he’s not fine at all.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” Harry asks, wanting to leave this conversation altogether. Wanting to leave this memory behind forever.
Tony takes his hand from his lips harshly, bringing his nails to rake over his head of hair. “I don’t- how could you do this? How could you let me- and now you think”- So many emotions cross over his face, too many for Harry to decipher. She does note the anger though, she does note the simmering mourning. For what, she isn’t sure.
“I can’t prove it to you now,” she whispers, “but that’s not what’s important. I swear to Merlin I will protect you”-
“From the dark wizard.” Tony snaps, using his heels to lift himself up from the ground. When he does, his legs appear shaky. Nonetheless, he begins to pace. “Cursing about Merlin makes a lot of sense now. You pray to him or something? When you’re not wearing pointy hats and adopting black cats. Christ, how could you not tell me this is what you thought? How could you travel with me for over a month without voicing that belief? How could you make me care”- his voice breaks, and he takes a deep inhalation, pulling himself together. “The guy who took us gave us something. He’s here for me, and that’s the only logical explanation.”
Harry stands up herself, not letting him look anywhere else but her eyes. “After everything we’ve been through, and you don’t believe me?”
Tony looks at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. “You’re telling me some crap about being a witch! How the fuck do you expect me to believe that? Especially since you can’t even prove it- makes sense; oh yeah, get this Harry, I can turn into a bat, but I can’t right now, since I’m wearing underwear!”
Harry practically spits on his face. “Explain why I have a bracelet on that I wasn’t wearing before! Explain how a rabbit became a fully-grown man! Are you so arrogant that you won’t acknowledge any of this?”
“I can acknowledge it, I’m acknowledging it right now. With rational explanations! You expect me to believe you’re a witch. News flash, there’s no such thing! Magic isn’t real, it’s a concept created years ago by people who didn’t understand why their crops and neighbours were dying- so what did they do? Invented a warped fantasy and burnt innocent people alive! Magic is delusional, and in the day and age of science, you expect me to nod my head and hop on the communal broomstick?”
Harry clenches her jaw, glad her previous tears are gone. The fight within her has left though, replaced by guilt. She should have told him a long time ago, she is so fundamentally selfish that she feels out of place in Tony’s light (albeit, very irritating light that she currently wants to kick in the shin). Really, it’s her fault he’s here, no matter what he thinks, so she herself takes a cool calm and collected aura, because she’s done, she’s done being angry, and she’ll be damned if she loses this boy to the truth. She walks towards where he is, still walking even when he takes a step back. When she reaches to him, she places her hands on his shoulders, holding him still and peering at him with what she knows is overwhelming intensity.
“Regardless of what you say, this is my fault.” At his head beginning to shake, she places a finger on his lips. “But I will get us out of this. I just need you to trust me Tony. Please?”
He looks so vulnerable at this moment, as if he wants Harry to become a wreck, to sob into his chest and hold him with in despair. Before he can say anything, the sound of a spray is heard from above their heads, causing both Harry and Tony to look up to the vent on their left. Smoke rises from it, filling the room, and before Harry can do anything Tony immediately moves his hand to cover her mouth and nose, as if it will help. It doesn’t, soon Harry feels a drowsiness cloud into her mind. Her eyelids feel heavy and they slowly begin to drift shut despite her half-hearted attempts to keep them open. She drops to her knees, all but collapsing onto the floor, yet before her head drops to the ground she feels a hand cradle her skull, blocking any painful impact. When she looks up she sees Tony closing his eyes, uselessly engulfing himself around her in a futile attempt at protection.
After that, there is nothing.
-------------------------
The next time she wakes, Harry is tied to a chair.
She snaps her head at once as soon as consciousness returns to her, frantically searching the room once more for the one person she actually cares about in this situation.
“Tony,” she hisses, her eyes roaming as much as she is able to. Harry sighs in relief when she hears a groan right behind her, and realises belatedly that her blind fear has made her ignorant of her surroundings, because Tony’s back is pressed against hers and both their wrists are joined together in the tangling of one thick rope, as are both of their legs. This surprises Harry, because if they have indeed been taken by a magic user, why on earth is he using muggle tools?
Nevertheless, Harry focuses on her main concern.
“Tony? Are you awake?” A rush of déjà vu sweeps over her.
There is a rush of words Harry cannot identify, and she feels a bobbing of a head, from the way her chair slightly jumps up and down.
“I-yeah.” Tony finally gets out, allowing her heart to calm down. “You?”
“It was me that just asked that question.”
“No- you alright?”
Harry emits a soft, bitter sigh. “None of this is all right.”
There is only silence at that, and yet it’s said more than actual words can.
“I’m sorry, Tony.” She says again, painfully aware that no matter how many times she says it, it won’t change anything.
“Stop saying that.” Tony snaps back, though there’s a lack of rage within his tone. “None of this will ever be your fault, okay? Damn Potter, you’ve got a guilt complex.”
“What if you believed that I am a witch?” Harry pushes, unrelenting. “Would you blame me then? Seeing as it would be all my fault.”
“Right, yeah, then it would be your fault.”
Harry’s heart falls down, down, down-
“Because you obviously put a gun to my head when we met. You said, ‘You’re coming with me or I’ll shoot you’, and then tied me up and put me in the hood of your car. And then you paid someone to tie us up and leave us both here to wait for some psycho to do some evil bidding on us. Hypothetically speaking, if you are a witch, the only thing that would change on the blame spectrum is that my anger that we drove a car with the heat having a fucking party, rather than us chilling on a broomstick.”
Harry has the impression of something reigniting within her, something similar to that of hope, and so much affection pulsating through her that she’s sure it’s unnatural. Her lips jerk up.
“You’re really banging on about that broomstick.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, what other reason would there be to rock the Witch title?”
“How about we get out of here and I show you?” Behind her, the laugh she hears is short but genuine. Like it’s a normal day for them, like they haven’t been taken against their will, awaiting the worst.
“Ah, what the hell. I’ll hold you to that, I guess. Still don’t believe you, but…you don’t strike me as”-
“Crazy?”
“I was about to say delusional, but whatever, put words in my mouth.”
Before she can reply, there is a jiggling behind the door in front of Harry. She braces herself, holding her head high and proud, because she will not be a victim. She hasn’t been a victim in years, and talking to Tony, feeling the warmth she’s come to always feel in his presence, has given her more strength and balance than a shot of adrenaline ever could. The door opens.
The man who walks in is…typical, Harry can’t help but think.
He’s dressed head to toe in black, a sophisticated suit that fits him relatively well, though it’s obvious that what he’s wearing was never tailored for him specifically. He is pale, paler than even Harry, which is frightfully sickening. He has a dark beard and deep brown eyes that flash with glee when him and Harry cross gazes, his lips curling in satisfaction.
And it’s all very…typical
There is no other word for it.
“It’s good to finally meet you, Miss Potter.” His voice is unexpectedly light, and though Tony can’t see him from where’s the man’s standing, he emits a soft sound of surprise. His finger manages to stroke Harry’s, in support or apology she’s not completely sure. “I hope you enjoyed my Animagus? I could tell you were wary of me when you saw me near that lake, good. Intelligent girl.”
“Who are you?” Harry cuts to the chase. The stranger has the audacity to look affronted, giving Harry the urge to roll her eyes twice over. Honestly, what is wrong with some people?
“I suppose it makes sense you wouldn’t recognise me.” He justifies, coming nearer into her personal space, and Harry hates people broaching into her area. Only few have made the cut for her to accept it, want it. “Wars can scramble the human mind, traumatise the soul.”
Behind her, Tony tenses, tilting his head as if it will give him better audio. Harry herself has frozen at the mention of something she would prefer to not speak or think about again.
“Who are you?” She repeats, pressing.
The Man smiles, Harry briefly notes yellow teeth, “My name is Patrick.”
There’s silence in the small room, Patrick clearly waiting for a reaction. He’s probably not expecting Harry to burst into laughter.
“Have I done something to amuse you, Miss Potter?”
Harry hunches over, wanting to grip her sides that are getting stitches. All the noise in the room is her almost silent cackling, tears leaking at the corner of her eyes. “Out of- all the names you could have.” She tries to spurt out, her cheeks aching. “Bloody hell, you’re trying to look terrifying- and your name is”- She shuts her eyes and attempts to reign in her hysteria.
“Read the room, Harry.” Tony hisses behind her, sounding careful. And Harry wishes she hadn’t laughed, hadn’t made Tony say something, because now Patrick (Patrick) waltzes round to the side where both of them can see him.
“You haven’t introduced me to your friend.” Patrick states, eyeing Tony with a glint in his eye that Harry can’t decipher.
“He’s not important.” Harry says quickly, all traces of laughter gone. The air has become stale, and the room is so small each individual’s breathing is heard. Tony’s is levelled, calm, and all Harry can do is try to imitate that. Patrick’s is rapid, like a dog after a run.
“He must be, for you to abandon your community and run off with him.” At Harry’s raised eyebrows he continues, encouraged. “Ah, yes, word has spread. Harriet Potter, the Girl who Lived, flees the country. Reports have last seen her with an adolescent boy.” His lips are pointed in victory. “
“Adolescent boy? That’s all the dirt about me in the papers? Adolescent?” Harry knows what he’s doing, trying to take the heat off her, and in that moment, she wants to kick him, tell him to just stop. Pity their legs are tied by the wrapping of rope.
“You just said one name? No last name.” Harry states, ignoring the glare Tony’s sending her way. “Why is that?”
“Don’t be rude, Harry. All diva’s only have one name. Madonna, Cher…Mozart?”
“My first name is my professional name,” Patrick says, not giving Tony the time of day. Like Tony’s some pesky insect just waiting to be squashed; Harry tries to hide her shudder.
“Professional?” Something in Harry’s mind clicks. “You’re a bounty hunter.”
Patrick offers a grin, though a flash of anger is fleeting in his gaze. “Clever girl.”
“How much is she worth?” Comes Tony’s voice. “I’ll pay double for our freedom. Triple. Give me a price, Morticia Adams.”
“Tell your muggle to be quiet. Or I will make him quiet for you.” It’s only now, that Harry sees the wand gripped in his white knuckles, a dampener on the presence in the room. Because it’s her wand he’s holding.
Bastard.
Patrick seems to note where her eyes have strayed to, taking the wand and bringing it to his nose, peering at it reverently. “It is this wand, this thing of beauty, that vanquished the Dark Lord once and for all.”
Harry thinks of another wand, a wand placed in a box in 12 Grimmauld Place, hidden and forcefully forgotten. “For the most part, yeah.”
Patrick takes the wand and brings it even further to his nostrils, sniffing it deeply, closing in eyes in what looks like bliss.
“Well that’s not normal,” Tony observes.
The Creep realises himself, opening his eyes with a snap and rearranging his posture to appear threatening. It doesn’t work, and it’s actually rather painful to watch.
“You were worth a lot of money,” Patrick continues as if his little episode never happened, walking back to just Harry’s direction. He brushes a stray hair from her face with his puffy, clammy hands, lingering on where she knows her scar is. “And I was the one lucky enough to find you. Me. My first job. I didn’t do it for the money, you know?” He circles her scar lazily. “I’m somewhat…a fan. I will treasure these moments forever.”
He takes a step back, taking her wand and pointing it at her, longing etched along the lines of his forehead. He must think this poetic, using her own wand against her. He’s also taking his time, looking at her in what she assumes is him attempting to photograph the memory. Harry meanwhile is starting to feel an increasing trace of panic, her heart thumping getting wild and sporadic. Her mind is blank at what to do, she has the ambience of reliving the war, having wands at the ready to strike, to injure, to kill.
An image of Hermione crosses through her mind.
“Anything left to say?” Patrick says, a smug grin on his face, once full of such conceited arrogance Harry wishes she had enough saliva to spit on him. She’s afraid though, not for herself but for the boy behind her, who’s fiddling with her wrists for some obscure reason. Before Harry can make a witty retort to the barmy creep in front of her, Tony speaks, his voice matter of fact and oh so very fearless.
“Confession time then. Harry: I’ve had to control like…over eleven erections in the past month around you. It’s been really, really difficult.”
Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. And by the looks of it, neither does Patrick. Tony, apparently oblivious to the aura of bemusement around him, merrily ploughs on.
“I check you out pretty much every day. Tried to stop myself but I totally see you doing it to me, so I guess we’re both perverts. You have the nicest ass I’ve ever come across. If there’s a heaven, your ass is on all of the propaganda posters.”
Patrick’s smug grin has vanished, his mouth dropping in definite confusion. He’s probably baffled Tony lacks the fear Patrick’s been planning for months. As for Harry, she herself is shocked by this utter imbecile. Why in Merlin’s name did he say that? He’s not fooling Harry he’s obviously petrified, she felt his hands shake against hers-
Harry almost gasps when she notes the subtle tug of the ropes on her wrists. Tony’s distracting him, giving them time to free themselves, she realises with a rush of admiration and affection, taking her fingers and stretching them to reach the knot of the rope.
Not that she hasn’t simply forgotten what he’s just said.
“What do you expect me to do with that information, Tony?”
“I dunno, write a book, sell movie rights. Open a support group?”
“There will be no future for that to be enabled.” Patrick spits out, his posture attempting to be threatening but coming across to Harry as a sulk. “I will kill you, Harriet Potter, and then I will kill you.” He turns to look at Tony, his eyes sadistic, thrilled at the attention given his way. Harry feels some of the rope begin to give way, the knot beginning to loosen. “How about I kill the muggle while you watch?” He asks Harry, his tongue poking out his mouth. “Then, you’ll be begging me to kill you.”
“The only thing I’ll be begging for,” Harry begins, reigning in her anger at the mere thought of him placing his vile hands on her man, “is for you to use toothpaste. I’m confused as to why you thought eating garlic was appropriate before coming anywhere near my vicinity?”
“Nice one Harry!”
“Enough!” Patrick yells, his face now so close to hers it’s sickening. And although Harry wasn’t serious, she now notices that his breath is in fact, rancid. “You think this’ll bide you time? You think you can outsmart me?” He lets out a forced rigid chuckle, taking his fingers and grasping her chin. The rope is increasingly weakening, so Harry is not particularly worried. “Think again.”
The rope falls to the floor. Time stops at a halt.
Harry stares at Patrick. Patrick stares at Harry, and when his eyes flicker to the rope on the floor, Harry collides her forehead with his. He sinks to the floor rather quickly in pain, holding the wand to his chest as if it’s one of this organs. There is no time to dwell, however; Harry loosens the rope wrapped round her legs, rising to her feet. Blindly, Harry reaches out to take Tony's hand, who is peering at her with something akin to wonder. “Let’s get out of here,” she says firmly, only just managing to slam the door shut before Patrick’s lunge at them is successful.
-----------------------------
The halls are narrow and dark, and without her wand to show her the light Harry feels unarmed and restless. Trepidation has begun to seep into her skin and is currently settling within her bones. She has Tony’s hand forcefully in hers, and even if Tony were to try to pull away, Harry wouldn’t let him.
“This is a fucking maze,” Tony mutters, looking around him at an increasing speed. He sees a nail on the ground just in front of them and swiftly picks it up. Harry furrows her brows, staring at him to explain, but there’s no time. They speedily run down the corridor, seeing a door. Harry sighs in upcoming relief, but it plummets when she begins to open the door. And it won’t budge open.
“Damn it,” she stutters out, beginning to frantically shake the unrelenting door, wishing she could feel her magic that has always been a constant. Tony takes his hand from hers and grasps her shoulders to the side, taking the nail he had previously found.
“Can you pick a lock?”
“Used to break into Howard’s office all the time,” he says offhandedly, and puts the nail in the keyhole, moving it around and finding the right angle. Harry is on look out, attempting to see what’s behind them in the darkened hallway.
She hears the sound of footsteps approaching.
Harry turns to Tony, who in turn gives her a sharp silent nod, holding his finger to his lips. He gestures to the door and gives a thumbs up, slowly and without noise opening it. They move out, and Harry wants to scream at the top of her lungs when she sees that the door only leads to stairs, going up.
Harry grimaces, but embraces her determination, taking Tony’s hand back in hers and running up the flight of stairs.
“Keep going,” Tony whispers, adrenaline seeping in his tone. “There must be an exit door or something.”
A door clangs open from downstairs, footsteps becoming more audible. All Harry can do is squeeze Tony’s hand, her palms sweaty, and keep running upwards, faster than before, sprinting for dear life.
The stairs lead to only one door, and when Harry and Tony barge it open together, they find that it has led to the top of the building. The view is high and the fresh air crashes into Harry, a wave of biting cold sweeping over her, chills ingrained in her brain. There is nothing on the roof, nothing to hold against the door, nothing at all. When she looks over the edge, there is no possible way to climb down, no other rooves to jump to. She feels so disassociated, so removed from reality that she wants to shut all her emotions in a bottle and never let them come out. Still, when she sees the open expanse, she runs back to the door, keeping it shut as tight as she can with her body, however pointless it may be at least it’s something, anything. Tony follows suit, giving her a brave grin. When he next speaks, there is something so final in his speech.
“This has been the weirdest day of my life. And I’ve done some shit in my time.”
Harry stares at him in what she knows is awe, and yet she cannot stop it. “How do you do that? How are you so brave?”
Tony looks at her like she’s ridiculous; she’d be self-conscious if her nerves weren’t already flying around. “From what I’ve heard today, from what I’ve seen, I know you’re the brave one. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.” The sound of running is heard from behind the door, and Harry braces herself for what is about to occur, for what her selfishness has caused.
“Whatever happens,” Tony tells her, no trace of a grin in sight. “I don’t regret this. Any of it. Yeah? You’re- you’re alright.”
She chokes on a laugh that almost becomes a sob. “You’re alright too. I wish I told you that every day.”
Tony’s smile is soft and knowing. “I guess we’re both idiots.”
Nothing else is said. Tony takes Harry’s hand, their weight pressing on the door while Tony brings her hand to his lips, lingering. Harry moves her forehead to meet his own, noses brushing, and Harry can pretend for a few seconds that it’s just them in this world, this unfair cruel world that takes and takes. She breathes everything that is Tony, wishing for more time.
And then the footsteps becoming increasingly clearer, the clanging of shoes hitting the metallic staircase. A few words and the door clashes open, sending Harry and Tony flying through the air. She lands on something so concrete and hard a tangled scream leaves her throat, pain coursing through her body. She brings a hand (an empty hand, where is Tony?) to her side and all that she can think when she sees the blood is, ‘Oh, makes sense.’
Once more, there is nothing.
----------------------------
When Harry next opens her eyes, it is because something is tapping her cheeks insistently. She says something that even she can’t make sense of, and the tapping becomes harsher, forming into wicked slaps. Harry knows she’ll be face to face with Patrick, so it becomes very difficult to actively want to open her eyes and see the creep in human form. But when she thinks of Tony, Tony whose hand is no longer linked to hers, her eyes snap wide open like clockwork.
“That’s better.” Patrick beams, simmering in what she understands to be rage. He’s the equivalent of a child holding a temper tantrum, and it makes Harry’s blood boil. “Tried to get away, didn’t you? Disrespectful,” he tuts, picking her up and tightening his hold over her when she sways.
“Where’s Tony?” She tries to bring her head around the scene of the roof, but before her face can even slightly swivel, Patrick lets her go to allow her to feel the sharp impact of the slap, her cheek whipped and bruised. Harry tastes blood.
“The muggle is next. You’re now.”
Harry is unrelenting. “Where is he?” Anger is prominent now, seeping into her veins as if injecting itself into her bloodstream. She has had enough, she wants this to be over, she wants to see Tony, and he’s not letting that happen.
“You do not get to ask me questions!” Patrick screeches, dots of spit littering his chin and Harry’s visage. “I am in charge here! I am the one who caught you!”
“Where is he?”
Another slap, though this time, Harry cannot feel a thing. “I said enough!”
Adrenaline begins to course, potent and greedy. Patrick’s not the only one who has had enough.
“You’re pathetic”, Harry seethes, an idea forming in her mind. “For someone who tries to act like they have everything under control you really don’t. Tying us up with rope was the first clue: you are one of the weakest wizards I’ve ever encountered; I doubt you were even hired to find me. You probably saw a bounty on my head and decided to prove yourself, seeing as no one in their right mind would hire someone with a rabbit Animagus”-
Patrick lets go of her to deliver a punch to her jaw as Harry knew he would, as she ducks under him and kicks him in the groin. He makes a noise of pain, hunching forward; Harry uses this moment to punch him in the jaw, taking her wand back from his loose hand and runs across the roof, searching intently. And there he is! She sees Tony’s figure on the ground, eyes closed but chest rising up and down and he’s alive. Harry almost approaches him when Patrick yells.
“Petrificus Totalus!” Harry has barely moved to the side before the spell hits right next to her. Harry’s an idiot, she should have realised he had another wand, she should have made sure he was knocked out, and know Tony will d- will get hurt because she was selfish, because she had to make sure he was alright. The irony is not lost on her.
Harry gets to Tony, throwing herself over him like some protective shield. He looks relatively uninjured, apart from a nasty gash on his forehead. She manages to pull herself together and drag his heavy, limp form. She won’t be able to hold this up.
So, she holds onto her wand and focuses. Perhaps the bracelet is weak like Patrick, perhaps she can override anything done to her. It is a long shot, but the door is far away and Patrick is running to her from the corner of her eye, wand in hand, and she has to do this, she has to.
Closing her eyes, Harry tries to conjure emotions that will offer her power. She thinks of the hatred she felt earlier towards Patrick, the complete and utter loathing she has towards the man who threatened Tony.
Tony.
Tony’s laugh. Tony telling a joke, his eyes brightening and beam blinding. Tony fixing the car, his gaze so concentrated and endearing. Tony looking at her with a soft smile painted on his lips, expression tender.
There is a rush of what can only be power over her, and Harry looks down to her wrist, seeing the bracelet having fallen to the ground.
“Petrificus”-
“Expelliarmus!” Patrick’s wand flies from his hand. His face has further paled, revealing a sickening colour on his shocked features.
“That’s not possible.” He stutters.
Harry grins.