Chapter 10
Chapter 10
It had been exactly fourteen days since his last run in with the Arcobaleno. His shoulder was healed, although a little discolored. It had taken him seven days before he actually figured out some method to the memories. The vials with the most color codes to them held the most fractured and incomplete memories inside. Memories that had to be paired with other memories to become complete. Harry never even realized all the things that he did know, but couldn’t actively know—until he had returned all the topic relevant memories to his head.
So many languages.
Pro motorbike riding. (The idea of doing those jumps again made him dizzy and too excited for words.)
Lock picking.
… bombs. (Misslesrocketscannonsairship?)
(In any case—he now had all the skills and knowledge he needed to fix up his bike and keep it running.)
The more he had learned, the more unsure he became over everything that made up his future self. If Harry wasn’t so determined to realize every aspect of himself—if he had other things to focus on, he was sure he would have stopped.
(The drugs… oh merlin, the drugs—)
The violence was almost normal now. The more he uncovered, the more… he didn’t feel one way or another about the violence. The violence others did to him. The violence he had showered on others. Harry wasn’t exactly blameless, and more often than not he couldn’t even call himself a victim when he instigated his own beat downs. Was he a masochist? Why did he do these things?
How could the others in that strange little group stand aside and let it happen?
(Didn’t they see a cry for help?)
It was such a headache, going through things out of order.
The most joy he got was realizing past meals that he loved, and then going out to try them again just to realize he did like it. He liked avocado on toast. He liked lentils. He adored cake. And the drinks—so many beverages that were region specific that he was just dying to really travel on. The whole world was literally just waiting for him.
Or it was… until…
Until he stumbled on to a future that never was. To a death that didn’t happen but it did. Harry didn’t know what led up to that moment of death. And neither did he know exactly what happened directly afterward. But the fighting for his life—
And that led to now. Harry morosely poked at the bag of fish he had. He had set himself up in a little apartment in Hamburg. He had meant to continue on, to continue to somewhere else. But this felt as good of a spot as any to stay for a little. He had set Oodako (precious, loving, with an initially hard to pronounce name that he had to actually practice before his natural accent finally lessened up a bit that it didn’t sound wrong—)up in the middle of the studio apartment that he had, and had spent his days reviewing memories and eating whatever he fancied.
This was now. Him living completely in the present. And it just felt pointless. Like he was festering. He didn’t much care for it. But he also didn’t much feel like leaving either. Harry shifted and dropped another fish in to the tank for Oodako. Harry closed up the top of the bag filled with water and fish with his fingers and shifted so he sat on his rear with his legs crossed.
He watched the octopus start a lively little chase after the fish. “Tomorrow, would you want some shrimp?” Harry looked away from the octopus and eyed the little home he had inevitably created. Harry had transfigured a little wooden chest, and as promised he had filled it with twenty shiny galleons. He had seen Oodako play with them from time to time, so he hoped that the little octopus was happy.
And hopefully happy with the glass jar he had tossed in once he had eaten all the caviar that was inside. He had eaten caviar and crackers with avocado for days (it was so damn good), and had the brilliant idea of cleaning out the jar and lid and settling it inside. Harry swore his smart little octopus actually used that jar to count his galleons, or perhaps was just using the jar to help with the counting. “I’d hate to eat the same thing over and over again, so hopefully a little change up would be nice, yeah… Oodako?” Harry smiled and wiggled his fingers at Oodako when the octopus slowed to look at Harry.
Harry watched those tentacles move in time with the wiggle of his fingers.
It had always puzzled him why Oodako had moved in time with his fingers. The memories hadn’t really cleared up the why, so much as the knowledge that the octopus used it as a command. So Harry cinched the bag closed once more with a proper tie and set it in to a bucket at his hip. He raised his hands and practiced. He would help Oodako catch this fish! Harry had fumbled through this a few times already, but now he had it a bit down to an art. They caught the fish together in five minutes, and Harry let his hands drop out of view so Oodako could eat in peace.
Harry had read through his octopus care book—started it two days after living here and no one had suddenly shown up to try and take him away. Harry hadn’t done much with his time other than memory absorption and caring for Oodako. There were some plus sides (finally starting through his memories, plus a happy octopus), as well as some down sides (learning that he had broken the law so thoroughly with illegal muggle substances that, as a muggle raised boy, he should have known bettershouldhaveknownshouldhave—at one point it made him sick (not withdrawls, not withdrawlsnonono)).
And it all led to now.
To the memory from the morning.
“I died, Oodako. Again. Somehow? It seems like a constant thing for me. Dying for others...” Harry murmured, eyes watching the octopus push the half a fish in to its mouth. Although its eyes were focused on Harry, so Harry was rather sure that Oodako was listening. “Did they even appreciate it? Did they even care?” Because Harry might not have all of the information, but this memory had been startling clear behind his eyes. Burned in to place like the horror it was. Of course, it wasn’t completely crystal clear, with small swaths of blankness and jumps in the memory. Harry attributed it to the trauma of fighting for his life and then actually dyingagainaginagain—
When Harry had finally admitted to Ron and Hermione what he had done (a whole year after the battle of Hogwarts and more than a bit hammered) after that first death, they had cried. Hell, it had made Harry cry, just watching them cry. Even now, Harry felt the tears pooling. Harry sniffled to himself, and when Oodako drifted to the glass closest to Harry and stuck himself, Harry reached out and pressed his hand against the glass. There might be a barrier between them, but Harry understood the sentiment.
“I guess I’ll find out soon enough. If they cared.” Harry let his hand drop, and leaned back on his hands as he took in the empty apartment. He had a small sleeping bag and mat off to the side with an inflatable pillow. A bit of foodstuff in the small kitchen. And a few cleaning things in the cupboard under the sink. It was empty, but he didn’t have the heart to dig through the pilfering of Grimmauld Place to decorate an apartment he wasn’t going to stay in. “I’ll find a lot of things out, eventually. Caring and forcing submission is different.” Harry was sure the first Death Eaters had learned that lesson quickly.
It was very different. Harry wondered how the other him had dealt under such a physical onslaught. With his body alternating between hyper sensitive and hyper dull.
“I’m going to get a… cell phone, today. A cheap one—just to see if it lasts. They have cameras in cell phones now. Even if the photos don’t move, I think it’d be nice…” Harry trailed off as he took one last look at his apartment before he stood up (superimposed over it was the living room of his home—stuffed full of cushy furniture, photographs—). Harry brushed off his jeans before he moved to the front door. There, hanging from the three hooks was his single leather jacket.
Harry shrugged it on and checked his pockets. His trunk was in hand, and the rest of his memories around his wrist. Less than half of the vials had been removed. And there were still so many questions that needed to be answered. How did he go from doing motorcycle stunts to… drugs? How was he brought back to life after he died a second time? Who were the Arcobaleno, really?
“I’ll be back,” Harry called absently as he shrugged on the jacket and wiggled in to his gloves. He pulled his medical mask out of his pocket (that had been a swell idea, taken from that one blond lady) and hooked it behind his ears. It had taken some time to get used to the feeling of the paper like disposable cloth against his nose and lips, but it was a small discomfort for anonymity. Harry traced his mouth and attached scar through the mask as he stepped out of his home and locked it behind himself.
He had had a memory of using a cell phone the night before. It had been rather similar to magic, and it had appeared to have some kind of game on it. It had looked fun, no matter how hazy the entire memory was.
Harry wanted one. It was also a good excuse to leave the house.
His German was accented, but he remembered being fluent without an accent at one point. It would just take time he supposed. Time and practice. The morning air was pleasant, and Harry found himself letting out a deep breath and his muscles loosening up.
It was rather peaceful here. The streets were clean, widely spaced, and almost rural. The buildings were a bit tall at times, but Harry had been in far more claustrophobic places. It was so easy to see the clouds and skies from his apartment, and the streets. Harry had spent some days waking with the dawn just to see it.
It was as if the world here was just… separate. From everything he knew. Slower.
It gave him time to think. Harry waved faintly to a passing man—he was the shop worker at the convenience store that Harry kept visiting. Harry got a wave in reply, and the two of them ignored each other from there. (Harry wasn’t going to be here forever, so it was best to not make friends. He would be gone soon, and that would be that.) That was the general outlook Harry had for everyone here. Until he found a good place where he would even want to stay, he would stay as he was (he had Oodako anyway).
He moved from residential to the shopping district at an easy clip. Harry could have biked, but he appreciated the exercise. He found a shop with big pictures of cell phones pressed to the windows. It was the first one Harry had found, although he knew more existed. But one should be as good as another, and he slipped in to the store and spent the next bit browsing.
He ended up practicing a lot of German with one of the saleswomen before he soon he had a cheap touch screen cell phone in hand. It was called a ‘cloud FX’. He rather liked the name, and it was a bit of a cloudy day so he figured it matched. And it had only cost about 40 euros! With the prepaid card he had to purchase to use it as it was intended, he might have gone a little crazy and dropped a hundred euros in to his account.
He had to take a glove off to use it, but Harry found himself absently walking around as he prodded around at the screen. He didn’t have an email, so he set one up as was prompted. An email would allow messages, right? It was rather fun, really. Harry felt the same forbidden feeling panging through him as he paged through the phone. The feeling was so similar to when he had been holding that television remote controller two weeks ago.
(As long as he didn’t think too hard about what he was doing, using his phone was easy enough…)
Harry eventually found a café. A pastry and tea that he dimly remembered trying before and wanted to have again. Once he had a seat at one of the small two person metal tables outside, he settled and really focused on his phone. He had red as his background wallpaper, got his clock set up, and a few more things he finished up before a waiter came by with his order. He ate half of his apple pastry before he focused on his phone again. A bit more fiddling and, finally, he moved on to the internet. Harry could remember it being such a fledgling thing last he noted it. Hermione had been raving about it, how it could revolutionize everything. And it seemed it had… for muggles. Harry hummed as he slowly fumbled through a google search on octopi.
… Oodako was cuter.
One thing led to another.
And he wound up on a news site.
THE GREAT LONDON FIRE FINALLY CORRALLED!
It felt like the air was knocked out of his chest. The phone gave an alarming little chirp, and Harry let it clatter on to the glass top table before it could be damaged. Harry breathed out though his nose and used his fork to prod at his reaming pastry, easily giving in to his body’s demand to fiddle. His small shiftings hid the sudden shake to his hands, and the hard pit of guilt in his gut didn’t seem so bad as he focused on other things.
… maybe he should have helped.
But he couldn’t go back to England. Never to London. In the end, the British community had only have hurt him. Even from before he was born. He was loathe to return to it ever again—even when he had finally hurt it back so many more times than he had ever been hurt. Not even just the wizarding community, but the muggle one as well. It was his fault, all of it. And Harry…
Not going to think about it anymore.
Harry jabbed at his phone to get to a new page. Any page. Anything was better than this.
Harry stumbled on to a more local news page—programmed as the home button of his internet browser.
The first thing that caught his eye was, ‘DANGEROUS COMPETITION CONTINUED CONFIRMATION OUTSIDE HAMBURG RAISES CONCERNS!’
Harry stuffed the rest of his pastry in to his mouth and confidently clicked the title to get to yet another new page. If it was dangerous, it would be more than distracting for him than being stuck in his thoughts. And being stuck in his apartment for nearly two weeks—it would be a relief to get out of here. If only for a few hours.
‘A motorcross stunting competition was announced over half a year ago despite local protests. Construction of the dirt track was completed last month. And while safety of riders has been assured, the itinerary of stunts required of riders has been deemed exceedingly dangerous. Riders under the age of 17 have been banned from entering the competition…’ Harry skimmed over the local protests. There was going to be a competition… a biking competition!
His heart hammered in his chest, and Harry felt his body give an excited tremble. A single day competition. Already hundreds of applicants.
… today was the last day for entry!
The last competition he had entered had been against his will, and had nearly cost him his life. (And had taken away someone else’s life instead.) But Harry could remember the feeling of a stunt motorbike under him as he sailed through the air. And he ached for the feeling of flying. It would finally be him in control, and now he would be able to compare the temporary freedom from the ground against the total freedom of a broom and decide which would be better.
Harry grinned behind his mask and dialed the number provided at the end of the article.
(Was it just him, or was his self-control slowly slipping out of his hands day by day? But then again, did he have to contain himself? Who was even going to judge him? Harry could be a creature of his whims if he wanted!)
A harried voice picked up on the third ring.
“Hello, this is Richard, event organizer for—“ the man started, but Harry didn’t bother to contain himself to wait it out.
“I want to enter the competition!” Harry was almost startled with how much he wanted to be in it. Harry couldn’t really remember the last thing that he wanted so bad outside of his own freedom. (Harry also had a suspicion that he was shouting…)
“… right. Settle down with the volume. Young man, are you over the age of seventeen?”
“I’m almost thirty.” Harry wrinkled his nose at the voice.
“Bring your identification for check in, then. We’ll verify it. Law enforcement will be there, so you better not be lying.” The man still sounded harried, and maybe a bit irritated now. “The fee for entering is four hundred,” Harry sucked in a breath at the cost, what! “—which has been raised from the initial two due to legal fees and the cost to have emergency services on the premise.”
… that made a terrible sense. Harry found himself using the end of his fork to tap at the table, irritated and antsy like hell. He couldn’t keep his feet still, either.
“Sure, sure. I agree. Whatever. As long as I’m in.” He would do anything for a ramp!
“Sure, kid. What’s your stage name?”
“… stage name?” Harry paused, hesitating at the question.
“You could use your real name if you prefer. But I need a name to put in the list to add you to a grouping.” The man shuffled some papers on the other end of the phone. Harry mulled over his real name (can’t be Harry Potter, not anymore), and he considered the terrible name Frank gave him for a second before dropping that. That would be a horror to be announced as ‘Wallowby’. What was the name Mr. Chameleon called him? Frank… Abagnale?
Harry would rather not be called ‘Frank.’ He rather disliked the name at the moment.
Another name… another…
“Skull. That’ll be me.” Harry decided—the Arcobaleno had been calling him that, he could use it as a stage name.
The man on the other end made a scornful little scoff. “Like the famous Skull DeMort? I’ve got another three dozen boys and girls with the same damn stage name. Pick another.”
(Skull DeMort—that sounded like a terrible name. Poor man, it was way too similar to Voldemort…)
“No. I want that one.” Harry immediately dug his heels in. He had thought rather hard over that name! Besides, it was a piece of the human body and no one had a claim to it. Richard gave a hissing breath, but was obviously too tired to even bother to dissuade Harry.
“Fine. Skull. What’s the name on your identification?”
Oh… well… Name. Name. He needed a name! A real one! “It’s—Harry… Abagnale.” Fuck! It just came out!
“… really.”
“Yeah. I know.” Harry rolled with it and worked on sounding genuine and Britishly apologetic.
“Whatever,” the man muttered under his breath, and Harry strained to hear the sound of pencil on paper. “Got a pencil?”
“… yeah.” Harry lied, and it came out heavy on his tongue.
The man rolled with it anyway. “You’re confirmation number is CB923R. You’ll be wearing it on your suit during your slots.” Harry used a finger dipped in tea to write it out on his pastry plate.
“Got it,” Harry couldn’t stop the wild grin even if he tried. This was better than even escaping Mr. Chameleon. (Although it seemed like a near thing.)
“Take care, son.” Richard the event organizer hung up.
Harry found his face was starting to hurt from the stretch of his grin. Harry took a picture of his number written in tea so he could remember it. As Harry was setting an alarm on his phone for competition day, Harry went to sip at his tea. But it was already on the cold side of lukewarm. Harry rolled his eyes and pulled his mask backon. He stacked his dishes and left the café.
On the way back to his apartment, it hit him that not only did he not have a stunt bike (as if he would use his own), he also didn’t have a suit or a helmet. “… talk about jumping the wand.” Harry rubbed at the back of his head, ruffling his hair as he loitered on the street. He would really need all of that.
And his face… he wouldn’t be able to wear a mask over his face.
…. And the identification card.
“I’m an idiot.” Harry groaned, “a troll brained idiot!”
A snort of a woman walking by him in the street had Harry shuffling off to the side. He needed to sort himself out. What was the easiest thing for him to do? Well, get all of his gear. Harry reached in to a zippered pocket and pulled out his wallet. Right.
… Harry ran all the way back to his apartment, raided his magical shoebox, ran to the bank (it took forever, a lot of apparition, before he found the German center for wizarding commerce and a bank—ran by what Harry assumed were moss folk and dwarves… he should probably refresh his fantastic beasts knowledge sometime soon… he accepted the handful of flowers graciously in any case. It was strange to get a gift along with his converted money, but that was fine…) and was soon swimming in euros again. Harry focused on what he wanted rather than the price tag. He found a plain padded motorcross suit with Kevlar guards on his elbows, knees, and shoulders. It was a nice white with red strips on the outside of the arms and legs. There was a purple striped one, but red was a superior color. The red was actually very much like the color of Oodako! And the white… it reminded him of Hedwig.
It was a perfect combination.
A suit and a white helmet—this was good progress. He ran home again to drop that off before he left for a stunt bike. Something good that he wouldn’t care if it broke or not. (And wasn’t his main mode of transport that would ensure his escape when necessary…)
Too expensive. Even for Harry. Once Harry had found a shop that sold the motorbikes, he found everything marked up and the shop frothing with people! Everyone seemed to be around to make last minute purchases. And the more reasonably priced bikes had all been bought out! How offensive.
Harry wanted this one… even if it was Slytherin green! That was such an easy fix… Harry crouched down next to the Kawasaki KX450F and mentally whined to himself. It was almost eight thousand euros! There were four of these motorbikes right here. Would anyone really miss it if he took one—
No. Not a criminal. Not a drug enabler. Harry pressed the palms of his hands in to his eyes and took a few breaths where he was crouched down next to the bike. He had gotten a ridiculous amount of galleons from Frank, so perhaps if he returned to the bank tomorrow and did another exchange…
Well, it was really his only option at this point.
Harry left the shop dragging his feet.
He brought his rain cloud back to the apartment and laid down on the floor next to Oodako’s aquarium. Harry pulled his knees to his chest and watched the octopus do lazy little laps in the aquarium. “… I entered in to a biking competition. And I don’t have a bike.” Harry confessed, his voice thick and he could feel the frustration expand in his chest and his eyes sting a little.
(Harry felt like a little voice was laughing at him for the over exaggerated reaction to this recent roadblock—and he was more than sure it was himself.)
“This is stupid,” Harry grumbled to himself.
(“You’re stupid!”)
Harry grumbled to himself, before he sighed and pulled himself up from the floor. Harry hung up his jacket by the door and grumbled to himself as he unshrank his memories and rolled them out on the floor.
More motorcycle stunts. Harry would definitely have to remember some of these for the competition. And he would need to practice… if possible. (He needed a bike he could afford to destroy!) Harry tossed the empty vials he made in to the shoebox with a grumble. This was a first that he wasn’t purely happy after a bit more remembrance of his past on a bike.
Harry took the next vial, idly glancing over the sides.
Oh. This was one of the few with no color coordination spots. Harry hadn’t added any of these back before. Harry, wand in hand, scooped up the glowing white wisps and put it to his temple.
It burned. He was burning. He was on fire! White smoke surrounded everything. Skull couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe! He was choking! He was… Skull gasped for breath as the smoke dissipated in to nothing. The shine of the spring he was in front of blinded him and it took several blinks and a few tears to adjust even behind the safety of his helmet visor.
Skull took some shuddering breaths as he rubbed his hands over his arms, rocking his body slightly as he raised his hear and looked to the others. He was trying to rub the fire out of his muscles and it seemed to be working. He exhaled hard and the fire sparkles of pain disappeared with each breath. Skull was coping, and the people stronger than him—
… babies?
Why were there babies?
Skull watched Verde as the scientist slowly looked down at his own tiny feet. And then his tiny hands. Skull watched the surprise bleed in to blankness as Verde focused on something else. Something ahead. Skull looked from his right to his left—to the back of the red clad Fon. Fon was pressing his face to the grass, hands in tiny fists as he made slow grooves in the weak dirt.
And ahead. Across. Reborn—
Skull looked down at his tiny toddler hands and—he took off his helmet. Even his helmet had shrunk with him! Skull giggled, because that was the most ridiculous thing of this all. More ridiculous than flames. More ridiculous than being surrounded by the mafia. Moremoremore—Skull choked on his giggles.
“What’re you laughing at, lackey.” Hissed Reborn. Gun up and pressed to Skull’s forehead and—
Harry gasped, heart hammering in his chest and vial shattered in his gloved hands once more. God… oh god, what?
Why was he small? How had he been small!
(“The Arcobaleno curse!” The voice in the back of his mind wailed, long and sad and wrecked—)
… “The curse…” Harry murmured. He vanished the glass and quietly repaired the rips in his gloves. He had been cursed? To be what, a child? How did that even work? Harry set his wand down by his vials and shuffled off to his tiny kitchen to… what was he going to even do? Harry set a kettle on and got it ready to boil. And from there, he paced.
Reborn… with the… Harry passed by the fedora next to Oodako’s aquarium and it was just like the one the toddler Reborn had worn in his memory. The crystal clear terrifying bringhimawayfromthepresent memory… Harry picked up the hat and twirled it on his finger.
Mr. Chameleon was called Reborn, then?
“That’s a worse name than Chris,” Harry snarked to himself, and it was bitter on his tongue. But it was just as fine, since apparently the man was so ill tempered. Harry obviously hadn’t been laughing at the man! Harry threw the hat like a Frisbee, and watched it bounce off a wall.
Reborn wasn’t the only name. Reborn. Verde (that creepy creepy doctor coat wearing horror!). And then Fon… he hadn’t seen Fon’s face. But… was that the lady he had seen? Harry felt like it had been a man, but he could have been wrong.
The kettle whistled.
… he didn’t have any more tea on hand.
Harry sullenly drank his hot water next to Oodako’s tank and eyed the memories that remained. So, he had been cursed to be toddler sized. And… and looking back—a lot of his memories seemed a bit… clearer? Height and depth was better, for the strange memories where he antagonized Reborn and blondie, and they antagonized him. Not, all, but some.
How horrifying must it have been to have them all turned in to children when they were merely muggles?
Harry rubbed at his chin with his knuckles, biting at the plump muscle next to his thumb and tasting leather.
Well, the curse had obviously been lifted. Harry looked down at his fully formed and adult body and shivered. Harry was sure that if he had been awakened and had still been cursed… he would have raged from the start. He would have been scared and horrified and—and merlin knew what else. Harry kneeled down next to his imprisoned memories and methodically extracted each vial that didn’t have any kind of color identification added to it.
He had ten left.
Harry got up again and grabbed the fedora. He tossed it up and down in the air as he focused on thinking. It would appear that these were his most important memories deemed by Frank. And the one Harry had, had certainly shed an intense light over everything. The question was… should he take them all now? Or should he take them last?
“It cleared up some of my other memories, Oodako. But it left me with so many questions…” The biggest question of all of it was ‘WHY’. “If I take all the others first, then these memories would help cinch it all together.” Harry tossed the hat too high and it smashed in to the ceiling. Harry shuffled to the side and smiled faintly to himself when he got it to land on top of his head. Harry placed his hands on his hips and continued to circle around his apartment. The aquarium was his centerpiece, and he walked around it over and over to soothe himself.
If he waited, it would probably make more sense.
“… but… maybe just… one more?” The one that he had, it had been so clear and made so much sense.
One more couldn’t hurt.
Just one more.
Harry sat down on the floor and hovered his hand over the row of vials. Ten left. So Harry picked the two middle vials. A faint smile crawled on to his face. He remembered something that little Lily had adored. He held the two up, and glanced back and forth between the two vials as he spoke, “eeny, meeny, miny, moe—catch a werewolf by the toe. If he wiggles let him go. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe!” Harry held up his left hand and the vial within as he set down the one in his right hand. (Teddy had giggled helplessly over that one too… Ginny had introduced him to it, and Harry couldn’t help but share the little rhyme constantly. His heart gave a soft warble of pain before it settled. Harry only had a hitched breath for a moment before he was fine…)
He resolutely pulled out the cork and took up his wand.
Don’t do it.
Harry blinked and hesitated. It was more of a feeling than anything else. A leaden weight in his gut and a heaviness to his limbs. Harry frowned as he really took stock of himself. He was shaking, just a little bit. So small that he hadn’t truly noticed it before. Harry rolled his shoulders and forced his body to relax.
He wasn’t scared of some memories. You can’t run from the past. He was going to have to face it sooner or later.
Harry scooped up the memory with his wand before he could decide otherwise and pressed it in close. It felt icy, letting this memory inside. His vision whited out—
Chris was on fire! Everywhere! He screamed as he thrashed. He had been screaming for what felt like forever. But no one had come. No one was saving him from this monster. “Petrificus totalus!” a voice above him snarled. Chris’ arms and legs snapped together and he could no longer thrash.
The pain moved, everywhere, nowhere—and then it stopped. It actively stopped but he ached!
Chris couldn’t move, but his leaking eyes locked on to the man in the red robe above him. His face was shadowed, but his icy cold eyes… Chris tried to wail, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move anything but his eyes. Couldn’t stop the tears even if he tried. Why was this man hurting him!
“Seems we have to make a few… recalibrations. You’re a bit too much of a waste of space.” The man murmured, voice thick in his German as he crouched down next to Chris’ head. Chris struggled. He pushed on this invisible force that was around him. He stilled when he realized it was giving a little bit. And that there was a warmth happening in his body that was warm and friendly and as desperate as he was! In the corner of his eyes, he swore he saw a colored fire flicker to life. And…
And the cold press of the man’s murder stick dug in to the corner of his eye and—
Agony.
It didn’t end.
It felt like needles and nails shoved in to every pore. Chris watched the skin of his body peeled away like tape. He gagged and flailed and—and gave up—
Harry heaved, shuddering as he choked on bile. His body—he couldn’t move. The body bind! He was still in the body bind! He was.. he was… tentacles?
Harry stared down blankly at the tentacles as thick as his wrist for a moment before he looked up. “… Oodako?” Harry’s voice was wrecked, but it gained the attention of Oodako (who was somehow giant) and the octopus levered Harry’s limp body up so that it could nuzzle Harry’s cheek. Harry’s eyes automatically tracked around the apartment.
The aquarium was shattered. Late morning light filtered through the cracked windows (it had been nearly sunset last he checked) and his body was shaking like he had been running for his life and—
Don’t. Think.
Harry tried to talk to Oodako, to convince the creature to let him go. But the only thing that came out was babble as the tears poured out without his say so. Harry shuddered, and ignored Oodako’s silent croon as the octopus manipulated his body in to a fetal position and wrapped him up tight. Harry shivered, and eventually allowed it.
Being gently squeezed in a small space…
… it felt okay, for now. Harry hid his face against Oodako and sobbed.
His body chafed, even in his clothes that had been perfectly fine before. His skin, what had they done to him? They had pulled him apart!
Harry wished he had let Frank burn.
He wished he could have seen such a happy thing.
(How many more wizards and witches had been tortured like this? … how many more would never wake up from the memory modifications?)
Because that shadowy face that loomed over him…
That had been—
No.
No more.
Harry focused on his tears, on his body… and between one moment and the next, he let himself sleep. He woke up to darkness outside, still cradled against Oodako like a mother holding one’s child. Hary let out a long shuddering breath before he patted Oodako’s tentacle to get his attention.
“I’m… I need to get up.” Harry wasn’t fine. He didn’t think he’d ever be fine again.
Harry relaxed minutely as Oodako released him and gently pushed him upright and on to his feet. Harry smiled at the octopus as the large tentacles kept around his arms until they were both sure Harry would remain standing. Harry found his wand and fixed the windows of the apartment. The blinds shut. He flipped on the electric lights and rubbed his stomach.
He glanced to the stove and shuddered.
He couldn’t… he didn’t want to be around fire right now.
“… how did you get so big?” Harry murmured, knowing that Oodako couldn’t talk but wondering all the same. Oodako had been so small a little bit ago, and now the octopus was tall enough to reach his waist! Oodako’s tentacles gave a lazy wave as he moved and settled on to Harry’s sleeping bag. “Right… right…” Harry trailed off as he stared at the tank. It was ruined… And water was everywhere. Harry cleaned it up with a few waves of his wand, but that didn’t change the fact that that the tank was broken. Harry reached out for the little chest, jar, and galleons and placed them next to his sleeping bag in front of Oodako.
“Will you be okay without a tank?” Oodako’s lazy wiggle of his tentacles was as answer that Harry assumed was yes.
Harry checked the bucket that had held fish the day (the day?) before. The fish were gone.
“I’m going to go grab something to eat. I’ll bring you back some shrimp, okay?” Harry patted Oodako on the head, rubbing it with a smile as the octopus closed his eyes. Very much pleased.
Harry smiled to himself, didn’t bother to change his clothes, and only made sure he had on his jacket and his wand shoved in to his sleeve. With that, he locked the apartment behind himself before he ran. He didn’t know exactly where he was going for food, but he just needed to run. Run like he had been unable to do so in his memory.
Without access to his magic… he had been truly helpless.
(“I’m not weak!”)
Harry slowed down to a stop eventually. When he felt a bit better. When he didn’t feel like he’d die if he didn’t keep moving. He took a moment to put his hands on his knees and took a moment to breath. Straightening up he found himself in front of a pub. It was probably the nosiest and busiest place around Harry, and he had run straight to it.
His throat ached.
… just one drink.
(“Not the best idea… but sure. This is fine.”)
Harry took a moment to appreciate the fact that he was rather sure he was hearing voices (of the non-snake variety) and that was a bit not good. But at the same time, where could he even get help? As long as it didn’t tell him to kill indiscriminately he should be okay. (Did the fire count?)
Just one drink. Then he’d go and get the shrimp from somewhere. And then go to bed. If he was remembering right, then he had lost a day to his—not gunna name it—and had been unconscious and sleeping for an entire day. Which meant that tomorrow was the third day. The third day before the competition.
That would be okay. One day to go exchange his money. And then go throw it all at a bike shop…
And… and he should probably—was this why he wore the make up? To hide the scars—
The face looked above him. Holding strips of Chris’ flesh in front of his eyes. “My, I think this helps.” That was Chris’ face! It was his face! The world had tunneled and all Chris could see was the stick that could cut coming to the corner of his mouth and—
Harry gasped, his whole body shuddering as he leaned over and gagged.
Don’t think. Drown it out. Harry had more sorrows than he could deal with, and he would prefer them gone. Right now. Harry dived in to the crowds teaming outside the pub and made his way in. All of the tables were full, and while the food that he could see smelled appetizing, Harry didn’t have the will for anything except—
Anything to dull the senses.
The stronger. The better.
Harry elbowed his way to the bar. Even as he struggled to decide on what he wanted. Fire whiskey was obviously out of the question. And that was pretty much the only alcoholic beverage he had ever had. But Harry elbowed up and it wasn’t some magical mishap that spilled from his mouth. “A starry night!” Harry called out, his lips stretching widely in to something Harry knew was not a smile behind his cheap mask. The barkeep, a tattooed lady, merely nodded and went about to gather together the jägermeister and the goldschläger. Harry drummed his fingers against the bar to stop himself from bouncing in place.
When an elbow dug in to his side, Harry dug his own and added a little push back.
“Des tat weh!” A masculine voice at his elbow yelped, and Harry turned his head to curl his hidden lip at the stranger. How dare he invade his space! Harry wasn’t that short, and was actually rather average. But he found himself eye to shoulder with the man.
… with dyed purple hair, and make up that was far too familiar and Harry was recoiling before he could stop himself. Why did this man hold the same look as that strange identification card he had? “Wha…” Harry hissed even as the man drew himself up, thrusting his chest out.
“I see you have come to realize that it is I, the great stunt rider, Skull DeMort!” The man grinned widely, and Harry could feel the narcissism all the way down to his bones. His teeth ached at the bravado.
Wait… Skull DeMort?
Hadn’t Richard said that… people were picking the name ‘Skull’ because of some great rider Skull DeMort? Did that mean this man was actually good? He looked a bit older than Harry…
… did that mean Harry had borrowed the name of this pretentious ass and had the Arcobaleno call him by that name?
As if his level of self-disgust couldn’t get any higher.
“Let me guess, you’re going to be in the competition the day after tomorrow huh?” Harry drew himself up to, even knowing that they wouldn’t be eye to eye.
“Of course! I’ll be the one to win that ten thousand euro prize! No one will ever be able to defeat me, Skull DeMort!” Merlin, the laugh that this chucklehead spewed had Harry leaning away, along with everyone within arm’s reach.
Wow. Just no.
Harry was distracted by the bartender passing him his starry night in a shot glass.
Harry downed it and slid the glass back. “Another!” The cinnamon burned more than the actual alcohol. He had hardly even tasted it, so he would take a moment to savor the next one. Till then he needed to cut this man down to size! (If only to make himself feel better about stealing a name, damnit…)
“I doubt you’ll win against me.” Harry tilted his chin up, and did his best to try and impersonate Malfoy. The side-eyed look he got from Skull told Harry that the man had definitely felt something of a challenge in that statement.
The man leaned forward, looming over Harry as he held out a hand and caught his beer as it was slid to him. “You’re puny. You don’t even look like you have a lick of muscle! All bones and no flesh does not make a great motorbike rider. You can’t even do any stunts with such a pathetic body!”
“Oh, like you judging my muscle tone will really change the fact that I can do more stunts than you.” Harry raised his voice and made it nasal high just so he could have another way to annoy Skull. Harry pulled his lips back in a hidden toothy not-smile at the way Skull winced at the vocal tone. Harry hadn’t known he could use his very voice to passive aggressively annoy others—but he was going to make sure to remember it for the future.
(Violence was not play after all. Didn’t mean he couldn’t use everything in his arsenal to drive people insane. Umbridge was a very good example of that. Hermione had certainly helped though.)
Skull flicked a long strand of purple hair out of his face, and the more Harry looked the more differences he could spot between them. Thank merlin Harry had never had the ridiculous idea of growing such long hair. It would just be in knots all the time (Ginny had sworn to never speak of that hair experiment). “I bet I could do better stunts than you.” Skull had loomed so close, and (killitkillitburnitwithfire!) Harry merely raised an eyebrow at the other.
“We’ll see on competition day.” Harry crossed his arms and sniffed, turning his head away to ignore Skull. It was such an easy manipulation, and Harry mentally cheered to himself when Skull quickly scrambled to try to continue to assert his supposed superiority.
“I challenge you to an arm wrestling match!” Harry hated Skull. He was such an idiot.
“I got one better. I challenge you to a drinking contest! Loser pays the tab!” Harry wanted to get so drunk that he’d forget that he had stolen the name of this arrogant blockhead.
“You’re on! You… you… hey, what’s your name?” Skull started incensed, and cooled down to a lost little voice as he realized that there was no name for his opponent.
Well, Skull was a stupid name. Might as well stick to stupid names!
“You can call me Reborn!”
(“Not the best idea… could be worse.” Augh, that judging voice in the back of his head.)
Skull laughed too loud and too annoying and Harry knocked a foot back and kicked the other in the shin. It wasn’t like it was hard, but the man was soon howling. “Jägermeister shots!” Harry called from the barkeep and jerked Skull to stand at his side in front of the bar.
“I’m going to drink you under you little shit,” Skull hissed. “You better have a fat bank account.”
Harry smirked and yanked off his face mask—gleeful at Skull’s recoil of horror. “You better be able to back up your words else you’re going to have to give the nice bartender your motorbike.” Harry laughed at Skull’s face at the full body shudder the older purple haired man did in response to seeing a grin on Harry’s face.
The jägermeister shots were first. Then three shots of liquid heroin.
Harry was going to drink like he was dying of thirst.
It still felt like his face was being peeled off—
More. More alcohol.
More and more and more—
Harry couldn’t help the hysterical giggle that came out when Skull dropped to the floor and at the groaning feet of his companions. “Reborn wins,” Harry giggled out, pressing his face against the bar. Wow, he was still sober enough to remember what false name he was currently borrowing.
Of course, that meant that he still hadn’t had enough to drink.
Harry flagged down the bartender, pointed to the drunk to the point of stupor Skull and promptly told the woman to put everything on the man’s tab… and then he drank more! Anything he could think of. Copying the drinks of the people around him. He avoided the beer, because as the saying went—beer before liquor, never been sicker. And Harry was all for the liquor right now.
And… and he was sure he called someone… on his phone.
And… and took pictures. He got a marker at one point?
It was all…
Black.
When Harry cracked open his eyes, he found himself sprawled out in his sleeping bag, being squished by Oodako and rather almost naked. His head was pounding and his eyes were just too sore. Harry squinted his eyes and croaked. Wow, he felt ill.
Oodako lifted himself up and used a tentacle to push sticky hair away from Harry’s face.
“… How?” Harry groaned and sat up slowly. He very much appreciated Oodako’s help with this. A faint stirring of panic was being born in the back of Harry’s head as he slowly started to scramble to find his things. There! The afternoon light showed his jacket was hanging by the door. Harry clawed himself to his feet and over to his jacket. He rummaged through his pockets and found his wand hidden up the sleeve. And his trunk was on a necklace around his neck… and his unshrunk vial of memories was hiding under a dirty shirt and pants set.
… there was literally no money in his wallet.
“… what the fuck.” No, that asshole Skull lost the drinking bet! Harry should still have his money!
Harry groaned, head throbbing and his body more than willing to topple over. Well, buying that motorbike was going to be so painful when he got to that. But it will be so satisfying to win against that annoying man not only for drinks, but also in the competition that they were both in.
… what was that?
There was a big… tarp? “… Oodako, did I go out and buy furniture last night?” Harry croaked, eyeing the new shape that was almost too big for his apartment dubiously. Harry had gotten his wish, and had gotten black out drunk.
Yeah, the little voice was right. Not the best of his ideas.
Just another one to add to the pile.
Harry sighed and wobbled over to his sleeping bag once he had his wand in hand. Harry couldn’t even bother to remove the tarp himself. So he, from his sleeping bag, he flicked his wand and banished the tarp to the wall.
It was not furniture.
…. It was the green bike. The expensive green bike from the shop!
“… what. The. Fuck.” Harry groaned and rolled over to hide his face in to his inflatable pillow.
“Oodako! Did I buy that? How the hell did I buy that—“ Harry whined in to his pillow, but jerked at the sudden cry of a bird of prey coming from the open window. Harry slowly turned his head and stared at the hawk.
“… I give up. Too many strange things. Oodako, you’re in charge of the apartment.” Harry did not care that he whined like he had never before done in his life. He was allowed the ability to complain, right? His head hurt! His stomach hurt! And it wasn’t as if there was anyone here that could judge him for it. Harry felt Oodako settle on top of his back as he laid out on his stomach. The weight felt nice, even though Oodako was kind of cool to the couch. It worked out, because Harry felt a bit too hot. Harry took several deep breaths and tried to get himself to relax back in to sleep.
Harry almost made it back to the realm of sleep before he sighed and stood. Common sense told him not to remain dehydrated. He ignored the way that Oodako attached himself to his back with his tentacles and suckers. Harry dragged himself to the kitchen and drank a big glass of water.
And then finally looked at the hawk.
It was a fairly large creature, even with its wings shut. It was a pretty white bird (not Hedwig, she was long gone and Harry did not see her every time some white avian spot moved in the corner of his vision) tipped with black feathers and decorated in golden yellow beak and feet. So, somehow he had gathered up a motorbike and a hawk over the course of the night.
“… did I get you shrimp?” Harry asked Oodako, a little resigned to that being a negative.
Oodako dropped from Harry’s back and moved over to the bright orange food bucket, and helpfully pulled a mostly empty bag of uncooked shrimp out for show.
“Good…” Harry murmured, before he looked to the hawk. “You wouldn’t happen to be a shrimp eater?” Harry didn’t expect the best, but he could hope. The hawk opened its mouth like it was yawning. But it held it open.
… did the hawk want Harry to feed it?
… spoiled.
Harry also recognized that he was going to spoil it regardless. Harry gathered a handful of shrimp from the bucket, found a small bowl, and set it in front of the hawk. Harry backed away and watched the hawk inspect the offering that Harry had set in the windowsill and then focus judging eyes on Harry. “You can feed yourself,” Harry grumbled before he turned away.
And then his phone started to go crazy. Screaming like a banshee. Harry hissed as he clapped his hands over his ears and stomped over to where his phone was sitting. Which was on the floor under his jacket by the front door. Harry used a naked toe to swipe to the left to stop the alarm before he pulled his hands off of his ears. Harry fished his phone up carefully and peered at the screen, squinting at the rather bright light.
‘GAME DAY!’ The screen was stating. But what did that…
…. Oh.
Oh no.
“Did I lose a whole day?” Harry breathed, eyes going to the top right corner of his phone. Yes… yes he had! He had slept a whole day in a drunken stupor! Of course… Harry paused and slowly looked over to the bicycle. Perhaps he hadn’t even gone to bed that night, and had gone off… shopping.
He hoped that the bank would allow him back.
Harry paused and slowly got his magical shoe box from the trunk. Inside of it… inside of it, he couldn’t see any more galleons.
“… uh oh.” Harry dug around the box, shoving things around. Perhaps there was some galleons under all of the Grimmauld Place junk? Harry’s movements became a bit jerkier, a bit more panicked the longer he went without finding any other cash.
His stomach felt twisted, and a sour aftertaste lingered in the back of his mouth as his hands eventually stilled.
His phone started screaming again.
Shit… shit, shit, shit! He needed to start moving if he wanted to get to the competition. Harry spun in a circle, trying to calm himself down from his panic. Harry wanted to go to the competition, but there was so much happening he didn’t know what to do with himself!
His phone pinged.
That was a new sound.
Harry raised his phone and checked the screen.
1 new message.
Harry pressed the letter symbol, and watched the phone screen take him to… a texting conversation? Harry slowly scrolled up to the top of the conversation. To the first text. Which is from him.
“Hey Reborn! This is Reborn! We won a drinking contest!” Well, that did sound like him. As a drunkard.
“Who is this?”
“I said iz Reborn! Talking 2 Reb0rn!” Wow, this message was sent two hours after Reborn’s reply. And Harry could only imagine what he had been drinking in the meantime. Harry checked the time stamp under the message and stared at the one in the morning time.
“Tell me who this is. If I have to track you down you will regret it.” 1:01 AM.
“Catch me if U canz!” 2:10 AM. Oh Merlin, Harry didn’t remember any of this at all.
And the last message from Reborn, the one that Harry had just gotten.
“World’s. Greatest.” 11:24 AM.
Merlin, that man was insane. And Harry doubted he was any better. This was why Harry had trouble blaming Reborn entirely for the curb stomping his memories said he had gained. Kingsley had mentioned on more than one occasion that Harry could be rather… antagonistic was putting it lightly.
Still didn’t make it better that Reborn always kicked him when he was down.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and stumbled in to his driving suit. He took a moment to brush his teeth and quickly rinse his purple hair in shampoo in the bathroom sink. A bit of magic to dry it and he shoved his helmet on to his head.
Time to go and get in to that competition!
… he rather needed the money now, apparently.
Harry grabbed his keys, a bagel, and his wallet and shoved everything in the pockets of his new suit. He even took a moment to check and see if he had gas in the motorbike.
Thank goodness that drunk Harry was apparently reliable.
“Oodako, you’re still in charge!” Harry called, made sure a tentacle wiggled at him in response, and shoved the bike out of his apartment. Thank goodness his floor was tile, and he wasn’t on the second floor. Harry rolled the bike out to the street before he slipped on. He was a bit dizzy, so he shoved half of his bagel in to his mouth before he shoved the visor of his helmet down.
Keys to the ignition—and Harry was off.