Carry On

Chapter 7

It was like stepping back in to the war, entering Grimmauld Place. Harry eased the door shut behind himself as he took in the dark, moldy interior. The thick smell of it all, just the smell, was making his body tense. He remembered every moment of his life that he had ever lived or existed in this place.

Although that might have been just because of how little time he had spent here. Especially after the war, he hadn’t been able to stand the thought of returning then.

He wouldn’t be here now, if he had a better place to be.

Harry ghosted forward once his eyes adjusted. He could read the distinction of light enough to catch the cracks of light coming in to the hall from the kitchen. The musty smell of the house always lessened when one was close to the kitchen, and Harry found that still to be true as he lingered by the closed door.

A quick glance around, and Harry silently lowered himself to the ground to peer in to the kitchen under the considerable gap between the door and the floor. Harry mentally applauded the poor interior design of this home, for the large kitchen table was far enough away that he was able to get a good look at Frank’s waiting frame.

Harry pulled back, rolling to sit on his heels before popping up to his feet. Another glance around and he noted that it was extremely doubtful that there was anyone else lingering around.

Frank could... wait. A little more.

Harry tucked the photograph and frame closer to his chest as he padded away and located the stairs. A quick hurry up and he was at the top. If this home was going to burn, there were a few more things that he wished to take with him. Just a bit... more.

The bedroom he had inhabited with Ron when this place had been a headquarters for war was scrubbed clean and empty. Certainly not like the last time he had been here. Sirius’ room was of the same state. Harry frowned at the pristine state, and reluctantly moved to the other side of the landing that Sirius’ room was located in, and he nudged open the door to Regulus’ room.

The preservation charms here were cracking. Harry doubted they would have lasted much longer even if it wasn’t going to burn. Even still, Harry needed a few things, and this would work well enough. Harry couldn’t even feel the backpack he had been toting around, but he unshouldered it and opened up the flap.

Right. The octopus.

“Hey, little guy. Just a bit longer, okay? I’m just getting a few more things settled. Then we’re off to Germany.” Harry smiled, tapping the glass and mentally making himself not acknowledge the frantic little wiggles of it’s tentacles. Harry reached around the aquarium and pulled out the enchanted shoebox. It was teeming with money, and Harry pulled out several wads of British currency, and shoved them in to his pockets.

The two guns he had in his pockets got chucked in, now that he had the box open. Frank had done him a favor with all the money and the box. Harry would need to pick up some book on enchantments or something, because having a space like this was handy on so many levels. Harry set the open shoebox on top of the not dusty bed and raised the closet. Sure, the clothes were severely outdated, but Harry just needed a few changes. He was a bit bigger than Regulus had ever been, but it was close enough. Some pants Harry could use for sleeping, a few changes of shirts—all of that and Harry was good to go.

Anything that even looked useful was chucked in. Some quills and papers, some ink wells (after he checked to make sure it wasn’t dried out), a few books that look passable for reading if he needed it. The fancy duvet cover was shrunk before he chucked it in.

Seriously, he needed to learn some enchantments.

... and there was a library in this house.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, debated on if he would actually read the books, and supposed he could take some with him. Harry quietly picked up a few photos that he found in the room. Little things. Not all of them had Sirius, and he’d toss them later—but he no longer had his album.

(His precious things had stayed in the family, and he could only wonder who had inherited his cloak after his announced death and will reading.. maybe James, maybe Albus, maybe Lily—it hadn’t been Teddy. It was one of them. Ginny wouldn’t have let anyone else take it, even if anyone outside of his tight circle had known it was a hallow...)

Harry shook his head and waved goodbye to his octopus for now, whispering promises for treats later as he closed up the bag and tugged it on. He kept the shoebox and lid in his arms. He walked down the hall, and anything that he felt like taking with him he magicked it in to his seemingly infinite box. Harry was sure he would find the limit. This was his only chance to carry some small part of his past with him, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t take it.

It wasn’t what he wanted—but it was what he was getting. He’d take it.

The library was still in disorder. Several sections were also suspiciously empty. But there were still a few books on enchantments and enchanting, so Harry tossed those in first. Curse books, charms, Harry shrunk and shoved. Although from the sheer number of books, he was rather doubtful that everything was useful, and he doubted even more that he’d read them all. But for some reason he took as much as he wanted and then closed the box.

Harry paused when he heard a growl, and raised his eyes to the squirming monster book of monsters that had been left on the shelf. “I always thought you were kind of a stupid book,” Harry grumbled, watching the book stretch against the confines of a belt. In fact—Harry squinted at the book.

.... was that his book? That belt certainly looked familiar. And large. That belt wrapped around it so many times that it looked Dudley large. Harry eventually rolled his eyes, it wasn’t as if he wanted to take that ridiculous book with him. He glanced around the library and noted how orange tinted everything seemed all of the sudden.

A look outside of the home and he could see that the fiendfyre was even closer. Perhaps just a row of houses between them now.

“... you’re obviously leaving,” Frank assessed from the doorway, and Harry turned to look at him.

And the horror that was half of Frank’s obviously mangled form. Fire and burned much of his skin, and Harry had congratulated himself on not yelping at the sudden sight. The skin was raised, bumpy, peeling—some healing magic had obviously been used. Frank’s eyes were glazed, so Harry didn’t doubt that potions had been used to dull the pain.

“The fire got you,” Harry edged closer to the doorway (and coincidently Frank as well) as he spoke. This close and he could smell the pain as well as the potions.

Frank’s eyes were both unmanaged, though. And were locked on Harry. Watching his every movement with a terrible calm. “It did,” Frank mildly replied, hands at his side. Harry noted the white fingered grip that Frank had on his wand in his right hand. Harry didn’t let his eyes linger on it, though, if only so that Frank wouldn’t catch on to the fact that Harry knew how prepared Frank was to lash out.

“It got a lot of people. Hundreds. Witches, Wizards, mundanes, creatures—we’re all burning.” Frank wasn’t calm, Harry realized. Harry could feel the hidden rage there. And now that he noted it, he could tell it was there behind Frank’s eyes.

“I didn’t pull you back so you could RUIN US!” Frank exploded, angry red sparks shooting out of his wand as he took a determined step forward. Harry already had his wand in hand, but knew he was burdened by the shoebox. Perhaps Frank wouldn’t attack, but Harry didn’t survive a war and his time as an Auror on the good will of others. So Harry shuffled a bit to the side, watching Frank mirror him until Frank stood near a bookcase that still had some books. Harry spotted the monster book of monsters, and considered himself good.

Harry debated what to say even as he watched Frank draw himself up. Ron had been splendid at negotiations, and Harry felt unbalanced without the familiar precense at his elbow now that he had entered a ‘hot’ situation. Before Frank could explode, Harry decided to just blunder through it. “I didn’t ask to be put here—“ Harry started, or tried too.

“I didn’t ask you to BURN US!” Frank’s raised voice was making Harry internally cringe, just as he wondered why Walburga’s craggy voice wasn’t making itself known.

Harry let out a breath, hiding the tip of his wand behind his thigh but not his hand. “That place was corrupted beyond anything that was salvageable. It needed to be scrubbed off the face of the earth.” Harry kept his tone even and calm, clawing at his mind for all of Ron’s negotiation tips that Ron had tried to beat in to his head.

“The research! Hundreds of years of research! All of those people!” Frank jabbed his wand in Harry’s direction, and Harry watched those sparks. No spell came, not yet.

“So what, I’m the bad guy all of the sudden?” Harry hissed, his own anger fanning back in retaliation to Frank’s rage. “I’m not the one that let this happen!”

“You did! You did, you did, you did! You let them take you away!” Frank was screaming, and a flick of his wand in rage and he blasted a bookcase to the left in to the wall. Harry heard the wall crack, and the roof creaked. The fire was getting closer, and it was so warm inside the library Harry doubted that it was just him. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Frank to check the fires outside.

Harry scoffed—screw being calm. “I LET them take me away, did I? Just like I let them abduct all the squibs and chain them in to desks? Like I let the ministry slaughter the goblins?” Harry hissed, fully ready to mock Frank with a viscous ness that Harry was not surprised to feel. He had always had a vndicative streak that he had kept hidden in the past. It wasn’t something that had fit his image, and something that hadn’t much come up after the war ended.

“There were other wizard and witches, smarter and stronger than me—that could have done something! Anything! WHERE WERE THEY! Huh!” Harry flicked his wand, and banished half of the bookcases in the room to slam in to the wall, using the magic to hide the weak cutting spell that he cast on the belt caging the monster book of monsters. The thing started to wiggle frantically, as if it could sense that freedom was close.

Harry had started his own tirade, and he stalked closer to Frank, teeth barred and ready to make the man feel the brunt of his rage. Frank faltered, paling even as he took a shaky step back before he stopped. Harry remembered Frank’s office, then. The black marks. The destruction.

(I did that, Harry thought viciously. Frank knew from the very start exactly who he was dealing with. Frank should have known better... Harry should have been a better person.)

There were tears welling in Frank’s eyes.

“You’re nothing like what grandpa said you were,” Frank hissed, partially scared and mostly angry.

Harry stilled. ... grandpa?

“How long have I been gone, Frank?” Harry asked, voice absent of the rage he had felt moments ago.

Frank’s eyes widened, before they narrowed. “Come on, Potter. For a man over a hundred years, your memory is starting to really go, isn’t it?” He hissed, finally realizing the dent in Harry’s seemingly impenetrable armor. “All your children old and nearly dead—all of your friends gone. They all died because you were gone! They died altered and confused and unable to comprehend the crimes wrecked upon them because you got suckered in by the unspeakables!”

The scream in Harry’s head seemed louder than before, the longer that Harry stared at Frank and the more that he heard. Frank was getting bolder the longer he continued on with his raging. Harry could see the subtle movements of Frank’s wand, and wondered who Frank thought he was with a soft kind of numbness that was going to crack soon.

“How long have I been gone, Frank?” Harry asked again, his voice coming down like a whip. Frank stuttered to a halt and blinked at Harry. Slowly, the man took another little step back.

“... it’s been seventy eight years, Potter.” Frank’s voice didn’t crack, and didn’t hurt.

Harry felt numb, mostly. His mind calculating ages rapidly in his head. What was he, a hundred and six, then? That was a lot of time for things to go wrong like it did, wasn’t it? Nearly a century?

“Why were you even looking anymore?” Harry murmured, but his voice carried over the faint screams of sirens.

“Because the Unspeakables were still looking.” Frank replied.

“... and why were they still looking?” Harry almost couldn’t hear Frank or himself over the roar in his head.

“The prophecies, of course. The strongest seven—however it was said, exactly.” Frank was pulling back from this short bout of friendliness. But the mention of prophecy, and the fact that Frank actually knew what it said spoke more to Harry than anything that Harry could say.

Frank was not going to let him go. Not after a prophecy.

The noise in his head became silent.

His ears were ringing.

Harry whipped his wand up, already in his spell as Frank smoothly responded.

“ACCIO!”

“STUPEFY!”

Harry neatly rolled under the red stunning spell, but Frank wasn’t so lucky, getting a monster of his book smacking against the back of his head, and then biting down. Frank screamed, falling to the ground and rolling in desperation to get the book off of him.

This was it, then. Harry silently summoned Frank’s wand before he stunned the Auror. With Frank still and unconscious, Harry skipped forward and stroked the spine of the book. The book groaned and went still. Harry rolled his eyes and pried it off of Frank’s face. Those bite marks were horrendous.

Still... Harry quickly shuffled through Frank’s pockets and found Moody’s expanding trunk. As well as some handcuffs? Harry eyed the metal things that obviously had to have belonged to a muggle at one point. Still, the trunk was what he wanted, and Harry quickly had it to the correct size and open. The hole in the trunk wasn’t as steep, and the blond was nestled inside safely. Harry could still see him breathing. That worked for now.

Harry shut the lid, but paused when he noticed the other handle that he hadn’t pushed up before. There were two latches, with two different colored handles. The one he had pushed up had been leather edged in black. The other leather one was edged in a light blue. Harry considered it, and grabbed the blue one and pushed it up.

It was like looking in to a medicine cabinet, but perhaps more obsessive. Harry reached in and picked up a vial. He squinted at the obviously type written font and found that it was a blood clotting potion.

Harry glanced down to Frank, then out of the windows.

“Well... nothing for it, then.” Harry did have a medic certification, after all. He could always go to a wizarding community in Germany or France if he really needed to. Harry shut the lid and re-shrunk the trunk. He ripped off a piece of Frank’s sleeve and made a necklace out of the cloth. With the trunk secured in to place, Harry stood.

And then cursed himself for not sticking the damn shoebox in there. He rushed through shoving the shoebox in to his backpack and scrambled to grab the calm monster book of monsters. He gave it another stroke before he tapped it with his wand. “Portus,” the book glowed blue for a moment, and once it was settled Harry placed the book on top of Frank’s chest, and adding a sticking charm to keep it there.

“... I’ve burned you enough, haven’t I?” Harry asked himself, before he murmured the password and watched Frank disappear.

Harry jumped when he heard the glass windowpanes cracking. A look out and he could tell that the fire was on the house now. Noticed how profusely he was sweating. And remembered the anti-apparition wards. “Oh f—“ Harry slurred, scrambling to his feet once he was sure he had the trunk and the bag. He jumped down the flights of stairs, slipped a bit near the bottom and rolled to his feet in front of Walburga’s portrait.

... or where it used to be.

Harry stalled, eyes widening as he caught a glimpse of what was there. He reached out and yanked the ratty curtain down and let it crumble. There was no portrait here. Instead... instead...

“Hello Harry,” Ginny smiled sadly down at him. Harry felt his breath hitch. There, that perfect red of her hair. The dimple of her cheek that he was so familiar with. The curve of her shoulders and her decorative freckles.

He breathed her name like it was oxygen.

“I thought it was something like this. When we got the news, I made this portrait.” Ginny murmured, one of her painted hands reaching out as if gesturing against the frame. Harry felt the tears—hot and stinging—raining down his face as he touched the bumps of dried paint and slid to his knees.

It was so... final. Here. His Ginny.

The portrait was life sized. And she kneeled down in front of him as well. Pressing her hands against where he had placed his own. Like some demented mirror, but there was no other side. “I love you, Harry. I’ve loved you every second we’ve been together. And I can tell you that the other me has loved you until the end.”

Harry hiccuped and pressed his hands firmer against the painting.

“H-h-“ Harry choked.

Ginny just smiled, “how can I tell it’s you?” She asked, the curtain of her hair sliding over her shoulders with the tilt of her head.

“Your eyes.” She murmured, one hand moving as if to caress the skin next to his eyes. His skin prickled in sympathetic feeling. Harry could smell the burning of Grimmauld Place, could hear everything cracking as the fiendfyre ate the wards around the house.

There was no time. No time.

Harry snapped to his feet, his hands reaching out to grasp the frame of Ginny’s portrait to give it a mighty yank. It didn’t come off.

“It’s not a canvas, Harry. It’s painted right on the wall.” Ginny murmured as she stood up.

“Then I’ll take the whole damn wall with me!” Harry yelled, wand out and a tempered blasting curse on his lips before he spotted Ginny’s face. There were tears there, and the light of his spell died as he focused on her.

Slowly, Ginny shook her head ‘no’. “The magic won’t survive. It’s already being eaten.” She pressed her hand to the confine of the painting, and Harry mirrored her.

There was no warmth to their touch.

He felt so cold.

“I love you, Harry Potter.”

“I love you, Ginny Potter.” Harry trembled under that smile.

It was just... just too much.

“Go,” she murmured, eyes flickering to behind Harry. The roar had gotten louder. Dragon snarls and hissing flames.

“No,” Harry whispered. Just, no.

“Go, or I’ll make you regret it Potter!” Ginny yelled, turning fiery once again under his eyes as he felt the flames at his back.

The wards cracked like an egg.

Harry apparated.

Harry stumbled and fell with a shout, his shoulder on fire. He snarled, wand up and the world was awash with colors and spells as he beat the fiendfyre attached to him in to submission. Time slipped from his fingers, but the sky was dark above him, and even breathing hurt. His left shoulder was a numb, blackened mess, and Harry didn’t even have the energy to sit up from the pile of leaves that he tumbled in to.

The Forest of Dean.

Harry could recognize this place with his eyes shut.

Harry laid on his right side, eyes closed and just breathing. He ignored the tremors of his body, and the tears still on his face. He gasped to himself, and ignored the world. He needed this. His chest was ice and his body was frozen and he just... just...

No. Not yet.

Harry gingerly rolled on to his knees. He ignored the scream that was his shoulder and slowly pulled his necklace off. The trunk he had pilfered was soon normal sized and the medical section out.

Frank had been burned. With this stash, Harry could just bet that Frank had healed it as much as he could by himself. Harry found the first pain potion that would work with him and downed it. Harry, once sure he couldn’t feel anything anymore, cast a simple lumos for the dark clearing and set his wand down at his knee. Harry unzipped his leather jumpsuit and pulled both arms out of his sleeves. He tied the sleeves around his waist and shifted to settle on to his bottom.

That was two brushes with the same fire that he had survived. Harry was sure that the fiendfyre was frothing with sentient anger over missing consuming it’s castor not once, but twice. Harry downed another potion. A nerve booster. He slapped on a thick layer of burn paste and jumped at the sensation. Even with the pain potion, he had still felt that. Maybe the nerve potion should have come after. Harry rubbed his eye with the back of his right hand.

The tears were half dried and itchy as hell.

Harry checked the incubation time for the burn paste, and mentally timed out thirty minutes. Thirty minutes and he’d need to chip off the shell and look at what was there. Harry stared down at the vials at his feet, before he shuffled forward and peered in to the mouth of the trunk.

Might as well...

Harry pawed through labels. A blood replenished. A pepper up. There was a skele-grow here, but it wasn’t what Harry needed. There was something tickling at the back of his mind that was important, but Harry couldn’t recall what it was. He picked through jars and vials and—

Potter Pupil Restorer?

Your modern solution to everyday eye problems! A quill to your pupil? An eye-gouging curse mis-aimed at you instead of your opponent? Fear no more! The famous Albus Potter has created this lovely potion to meet all your needs! Vanish the mess, wrap up the eyes for a twenty four hour period, and eyes restored!

Instructions:
Half-vial for one eye. Full vial for both eyes. Add three drops of blood, stir vigorously for ten seconds, and then consume.

Warning:
Those of mixed heritage (creature and human) should consult a healer before consumption.

Harry reached out and caressed the name. Albus... Harry felt the world wobble before it stabilized. Harry shook his head and set the vial down with the others. This was the potion that those ministry workers had been talking about when he had stepped in behind them at the lift. The eye potion from that ‘Potter boy’. Who wasn’t a boy, not really (it’s been 78 years, Harry. 78, he told himself.) and would never be a boy again.

Still, he looked over everything and picked out a few more general healing potions before he switched handles and spotted the blond. Harry levitated the man out of the trunk and laid him flat on the ground.

A bit of charm work and he had the blond man on a conjured sleeping bag and pillow. The leaves banished away from the makeshift campsite. A charm on the air to keep away the chill. A proximity ward and, well... Harry sighed and focused on that mess of a face.

It was good he had a hard stomach.

He vanished the goo that looked faintly like it could have been eyes. A few healing spells had the rips on his face and his broken nose snapped in to place. Harry inspected the blond, not looking at the empty sockets were the eyes were. Well, he waited as long as he could before he focused on them.

The eyelids were gone. Harry grimaced and searched his mind for something that could fix that. Eventually he just settled on a restoration healing spell, got ready to supercharge it—and prayed.

A bright ball of white light made the clearing light up like a lightning strike. Harry was blinking away spots for several nauseous minutes.

There, eyelids.

Harry lurched, hand clamping over his mouth. He closed his eyes and breathed for a few minutes. He was exhausted! A little more... Harry, once he was sure he would be keeping his stomach inside, focused on the blond man again. A quick peel back of his eyelids showed that the eyeballs hadn’t magically reformed. So Harry followed the instructions and conjured the bandages that swiftly wrapped around the blond’s face.

A bit of blood, a count to ten—and Harry poured the potion down the blond’s throat and sat back on his heels with a sigh. His body felt so, so heavy. Harry was already slipping down without conscious thought. His head cushioned by an arm. It was okay to sleep for a little, right?

Harry raised his wand and tapped it on the hardened paste on his shoulder. The paste shattered and tumbled to the dirt. And that was fine. Harry couldn’t feel the burn right now, but a quick glance showed that it was less black and more raw red. It looked less like the steak on the grill and more like raw steak.

... not a great comparison.

But he was slipping.

Down... down.. down...

Harry sniffed, jerking slightly when the salt of the ocean stung his nose. Harry went from his exhausted desire to sleep all the way up to full blown panic. He would have jerked to his feet and would have been running if the arm around his middle hadn’t tightened in to a band of iron.

Harry wheezed, eyes blinding by the bright sun reflected off of the ocean water to the point that tears dripped down his sensitive face. His fingers scrambled at the arm around his middle, digging in as he snarled. There was a shout in his ear, and it took a stinging slap to the back of his head before the language translated itself.

“Oi, oi, oi! Settle down—kora!” A man had yelled that in to his ear.

Harry froze, blinked, and tilted his head up to look in to the ice chips that the blond man had for eyes. The green was gone. It was... a dark blue suit? With a tie and matching hat. Harry glanced down, and found their feet propped up on the trunk. The backpack that should have been with him... it was gone!

“My bag!” Harry helped, squirming again—

Harry wobbled, suddenly woozy, as if all of the strength left his body. He sagged back against the seat of the ferry that they obviously were on. Sagged right in to the arm that was still holding him up.

Harry tried to speak—but nothing intelligible came out.

Several things came to Harry at once. The fact that he was no longer wearing the jumpsuit. Simple jeans and a hoodie were what he could spot. If he was wearing more, he couldn’t feel it. Those were the boots he had been wearing, though. His face felt heavy, and Harry could spot the slathered white makeup over the back of his hands and could only assume the same was on his face.

This man had dressed him. In more ways than one.

Was familiar with Harry enough that he knew how to put that makeup on. What was this man to Harry. It seemed to take hours to angle his face to look the blond man in the eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’ve called the others.” The man spoke lowly, in such a tone that would never be heard by others. But that wasn’t English. It wasn’t English at all. It felt like something in his mind was breaking, and Harry didn’t think he had the energy to stop it.

This man knew him. From his past.

“W... w...” Harry felt his eyes rolling. This man had done something to him. This man had to have some kind of magic! Harry would never be this weak otherwise. Even when he was dying, he hadn’t been so unable to move.

“You’ve saved me. And you’ve suffered for it. I’ll take care of you.” The man reached out and tilted Harry’s head. Harry mentally groaned when he lost sight of the blond and the strange expression on his face. “A sealed flame—that is serious business. But don’t worry.” A pat on his head and—

Harry gasped awake, jerking. He was in a hotel—his mind quickly supplied. There was a shower going on and the trunk was closed at the foot of the single bed in the room. Harry was up and on his feet. He didn’t have his shoes, but he spotted them by the door. Harry ran for the trunk and shoved it open. There, his bag was inside. He yanked it out and closed it.

He yanked the bag open and hauled the aquarium out. A limp octopus came in to sight... and jerked to happy life when it spotted Harry. Harry resisted the urge to sob. Harry knew that when he exhausted himself, he could be out for days. “You must be hungry... don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” Harry shivered, and glanced down.

He was shirtless, and his shoulder newly bandaged.

Harry pressed his lips together, taking in the hotel room in a calmer state of mind now that he was sure that the pet wasn’t dead. Harry took a few shaky breaths and wiped at his eyes. He was so close to the mental edge that his eyes were being terribly disobedient. Harry’s eyes eventually landed on to an in-hotel menu. The decor was very, very rich looking.

... the menu was in French.

Harry pressed a hand against his heart and looked to the bathroom door. The shower was still going on, so he assumed that the blond man was still inside.

Harry was completely unprepared for this. He wasn’t ready to reconnect with his past. He needed some distance. But... Harry placed the aquarium down on the side table next to the bed. From there, he dug his wand out of the medical compartment of the trunk and closed it. He scrambled for the bracelet on his wrist. It was no longer glowing, but Harry could still see the shifting.

Harry picked a cluster of one of the tiny vials and enlarged it. It was a cluster of seven vials. He resituated the vials and held up the small fistful that had been returned to normal size.

The water in the bathroom cut off.

Harry felt the panic beating in his heart, even as he used his magic to pop off the tops of the vials, grab the seven memories, and shove them all to his temple.

Harry had a single moment of clarity—this was definitely not the best of choices he could have made—before things started to go dark around the edges. Harry frantically casted a handful of spells. A notice-me-not on his wand and on the bag. He stuck his wand to his arm and kicked the empty vials under the bed as visions of other people and other places swam in front of his eyes.

The floor was carpet.

Harry closed his eyes—and the world heaved.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a new hotel. Wearing new things with a new bandage. It was empty again. Although this suite looked even fancier. He was on a large bed, and his body felt as drugged as it had that one time the blond man had had a hold of him. The blond—Colonello.

... Harry remembered... an island.

And... a blond baby? That he called Colonello? Who looked like a tiny version of the blond man? His body was already aching, and it ached even more in sympathetic pain as he recalled the blows he received from the blond baby. And... the bullets from the black haired one?

It hurt. It had hurt. And it hurt now. Why was his body so fragile to pain? Where had his threshold for pain gone?

Harry didn’t know.

All he knew was that he had to leave. Being carried around... being yanked to place—it made his skin feel like it was burning. He needed to leave. Harry needed to get to a place where he could hunker down and become one with his memories again.

He heard frantic tapping, and found the octopus in the aquarium next to the bed. There was even some wiggling fish in there. Harry smiled when he saw it. Well—there was that. “At least one of us isn’t hungry anymore, right little guy?”

That... that was a good thing. He needed to focus on the good thing. Harry looked down to his wrist.

.... his bracelet of memories was gone.