Carry On

Chapter 11

The stadium was obviously new, and did not belong in its environment. Harry drummed his fingers on his bikes’ handlebars mindlessly as he stared at the building. He had rolled on it, and now that he could be stationary he raised up the visor of his helmet and brushed out the crumbs of his bagel. Eventually he tugged off the helmet and pulled on the medical mask that would cover up his lower face.

Well, there was still the problem of the fact that he had no money, no proper identification for ‘Harry Abagnale’, and… Harry checked his phone for the picture of his code that would identify him during the competition.

Harry pulled the keys out of the ignition and left the bike amongst all the others out front. There were other men and women in similar suits with similar bikes milling around. They were all conveying in to one area where there were rows of people at tables handing out papers that people were pinning to their suits. Harry brought his helmet with him, swinging the helmet idly as he shuffled closer.

He literally had no plan—maybe it was because it wasn’t a life and death situation he couldn’t think of what to do?

Roll with it. Things could be fine? Perhaps Harry could swear that he would win and would use the prize money to pay the fee? All the same, Harry got in line and slowly inched forward amongst all the nervous and excited riders. Harry didn’t know how he survived the slow crawl of the line, but eventually he made it to the front, to the short balding man in the suit.

“Um, hello—“

“Harry!” The man greeted with a grin, yanking Harry in to a hug before he released Harry so quick that Harry didn’t know if the man had super speed, or if Harry was suddenly feeling dizzy again. “Great to see you! A little later than you said you’d be.” The man was all smiles.

It was making Harry paranoid. He prayed that this wasn’t going to be the wizarding world all over again. Harry was lacking of a Hagrid to intimidate the crazy away. “Y..yeah. I was a bit slow to wake up…” Harry eventually decided on the most neutral statement that came to mind after the initial sass of demanding who this man was. The man looked obscenely happy still, even as he turned.

“Hey Derrick, get Harry here his number!” The short man yelled loudly, and the chattering crowds around them briefly silenced and didn’t pick up again until an almost quiet, ‘yes Mr. Richard’ warbled back. Harry blinked—this was the man from the phone? The organizer? Well, that made sense he supposed. But how did he recognize Harry on sight?

Well, time to use light interrogation techniques.

Harry smiled and gave a cheery wave to catch Richard’s attention, and with Richard’s eyes on him Harry spoke. “So, were you waiting out here for me?”

“You bet! When you came by the day before and made such a huge bet,” the man leaned forward, words going in to a whisper even as the few riders behind Harry in line were enticed to other areas to get their numbers. “By golly, I was going to make sure you arrived after I bet on you myself.” The man gave a large belly shaking laugh and Harry got a rather bad feeling of where his money had gone.

“As it is, your little friend arrived at the start of check in looking for you. I was a bit worried.” Richard leaned back and accepted a paper with CB923R printed on it in thick black letters. Richard jerked Harry by the arm and spun him around. Harry allowed it, head twisted to the side so he could watch Richard use safety pins to pin the paper in to place. Richard motioned for Harry to twirl back around, and Harry placidly watched the man pin a second paper to his front.

When Richard pulled back, Harry took a moment to poke at the paper just to hear it crinkle. “… my friend?” Harry eventually settled on asking that.

“Yes, the thin little Asian fellow you came in with yesterday. He’s waiting in your area inside. Go win me some money!” Richard gave another laugh and Harry almost fell over from the swift spin Richard did to send Harry on his way.

Asian fellow?

Harry rubbed the back of his neck as he jogged out of the way. He took a moment to inspect his number. It listed his ‘name’ of ‘SKULL’ in smaller words under his number. Along with that was the identification of his bike (including color and model).

Harry had definitely been here before. In the day he lost due to drinking.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out with a slow sigh. Harry hadn’t noticed when his body had calmed, but it had. He had a mystery to solve now, and it was easy to focus on it rather than on the immense unknown of the future. Harry widened his stance before he stuck his helmet between his knees. He took a moment to press the heels of hands against his eyes.

Okay. He had been here yesterday.

And had apparently made a bet on himself for the rest of his money? (Isn’t betting like this illegal? It was before… maybe not now?)

He had met, made friends with, and somehow he had proven his identity to Richard. And had obviously become something of a ‘buddy’ to the man, Harry could tell if only because of how familiar the other man had acted toward his person.

Harry had brought a friend with him. An ‘Asian’ as Richard described him. And he was inside.

Harry pulled his hands back and stared down at his boots from between his fingers blankly for a moment before he reached down and snagged up his helmet. Right. He looked to the parking lot and saw that many of the drivers with their numbers on were moving their bikes. Walking them to a dirt lot behind some large doors and parking them. Harry shoved his helmet back on before he followed along. In the dirt lot, he noticed that there were parking spots with their numbers written in chalk on the dirt. Harry’s number was near the large doors directly against the building. His row was titled ‘M1/2’.

All of the other rows had ‘G’ next to them. Why was this one an ‘M’?

There was a man at the end of the ‘M’ row, so Harry turned and jogged over to him. Harry needed to get as much information as he could about the area and why there was a difference between ‘G’ and ‘M’ before he continued on.The man had just parked his bike and was slipping off of it, so Harry deemed it a good time to infiltrate and buddy up. Harry shuffled to a stop and cleared his throat, “hey, um.” Harry raised a hand, two fingers raised when the other man pulled off his helmet and turned to look at him.

It was Skull! From the bar!

There were some deep bags under his eyes, and he looked rather irritated. “What?” He ground out, voice low.

Harry raised his hands and took two steps back, “ah, sorry. Thought you were someone else.” Harry felt immensely glad for his helmet and his reflective visor now as he turned and quickly moved in the opposite direction. He heard a grumbled ‘whatever’ from over his shoulder, but Harry would rather not go near that person. Because that was not one of his finer moments. Harry jogged in to the building, following the flow of people as he entered a giant labyrinth full of cubicles. Curtains gave privacy to the little ‘rooms’ through their doorways. And next to the little doorways were names printed on paper and stapled in to place.

It didn’t take long for Harry to realize that the names were alphabetical according to last name.

He eventually found ‘Abagnale, Harry’.

… why were his curtains purple? All the others were a strange not-exactly beige.

He heard… Chinese? Coming out from the cubical?

Well, Richard said that Harry’s ‘Asian friend’ was waiting. Harry felt certain now that he had run in to somebody the day before if they were here. Of course, considering the location, the type of people, and his mindset—did he get himself a manager?

Was that a stereotype?

… was he even good enough for a manager?

It couldn’t be the wizards in any case. They weren’t this muggle savvy.

It couldn’t be the Arcobaleno—from the few memories that Harry had slowly been gaining of them, they wouldn’t bother with an elaborate cat-mouse game like this. They had seemed to actively avoid Harry for the most part. So, to Harry, out of over a hundred memories, had only had roughly ten to fifteen with the Arcobaleno starring a role. Perhaps Harry just hadn’t found the memories of them, but Harry also felt that he just didn’t interact with them much.

(Or if he did—it was that masochistic self-induced beat down—something he’d rather not think too hard on…)

So… it was someone he met when he was drunk.

Harry pushed the curtains to the side and stuck his head in.

A little cot had been set up with a serviceable green sheet and pillow. There was a small fridge tucked to the far side. A folding chair and small folding table set. All crammed together in to a space really only met for one person. It made Harry itchy, just looking inside the cubical that he was supposed to wait in.

It was the person inside, though… who was swiftly ending the call and shoving his phone in to a bright red sleeve that drew Harry’s focus.

“… Longwei?” Harry had met Longwei yesterday?

“Harry! I was worried when you didn’t show up when you promised. Especially after the fall you took yesterday.” Longwei’s lips were pressed in to a thin line as he reached out and pulled Harry the rest of the way in to the cubicle by a wrist.

“Here, let me check your head. Hold still,” Harry blinked and the helmet was off. The mask was soon yanked off and followed the helmet on the bed. Fingers—chilled—prodded around Harry’s cranium as the taller man crowded in close and peered through the strands of his hair.

… what?

“I fell?” Harry croaked.

Longwei hummed his confirmation as his fingers raked through Harry’s hair, and eventually found a sore spot on the direct back of Harry’s head. Harry hissed on contact, and arched his head back to take it out of view of the Chinese man.

Longwei blinked, dark eyes puzzled as he tilted his head to the side in question.

What had Longwei called himself when they had first met? … intrusive, right?

“Do you not remember? You do know that memory loss is a very bad sign!” Harry watched panic stretch across Longwei’s features. Could hear it in his voice. But for some reason, Longwei felt far more calm than panicked.

“Um… I was pretty sloshed. So…” He wasn’t losing memories. He just forgot this one. There was probably a science about why alcohol did this to people—Hermione would know.

(… Hermione would have known.)

Longwei squinted and leaned in close till they were almost nose to nose.

“You smelled a bit like alcohol yesterday. If I knew you were so drunk I wouldn’t have let you do all those things!” Longwei’s voice twisted high in complaint as he immediately started to chatter fast. A hand on Harry’s elbow tugged him in to the cubical until Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Let me…?” Harry frowned, instantly drawing up and shoulders tense. As if he would ‘let’ anyone stop him from doing anything. Especially a stranger!

Longwei’s hands were already up and a disarming smile on his face, “well, not so much ‘let’ as ‘help’. I mean, I know a bit about bikes and stunts—it seemed you just needed validation to make your purchases.” Longwei snagged Harry’s sleeve and raised Harry’s arm up high in demonstration. Longwei did one long stroke down the sleeve as a silent ‘showing off’. “I convinced you to get a different suit after all. The other one was fine for practice, but this one is best for competition. Stage lights are hot!”

Harry stared for a moment before he mentally sighed and yanked his hand back. The hand came back easily, even as Longwei wggled in to a seat next to him on the small cot.

“Anyway, are you still coming with me afterward?” Longwei asked.

“… why would I come with you?” Harry asked, eyebrows down and close together.

“Maa, you really forgot everything! To, like, join the circus of course! I’ve decided to be an acrobat, and you expressed such interest yesterday when I spoke to you about it that I called the ring master last night and he expressed an interest in you and your stunt driving!” Longwei really did easily fill in the silence, or so Harry thought dazedly.

Still, to join a circus? Had Harry really agreed to that?

… well, he had tried to ‘run away to the circus’ as a child after the Dursleys took Dudley and not him to some fun event that children would adore. He had spent a day with Mrs Figg. He hadn’t gotten far from running away from her house before a neighbor had brought him back, but it was really the thought that counts.

“I’ve never been to a circus before,” Harry mumbled, not really intending for Longwei to hear. But the Chinese man did, and he merely grinned and launched in to the longest tirade about the circus, compared European and Chinese tastes… and it eventually moved to festivals. And carnivals. And… And Harry didn’t really realize when they had both squeezed on to the tiny cot with their backs to the cubical wall. But he was knocked out of his listening (and replying. They were chatting—he was actually in a conversation and he felt like he was making a new friend and wasn’t that just terrifyingscarywhat—) when a loud speaker screech occurred.

“Racers in the G1, G2, and G3 categories are now allowed out for warm ups. First wave will begin in an hour.” The speakers gave one more screech and then music replaced it. Loud, rather obnoxious metal music.

Harry jumped at the hand on his knee.

“Hey, did you eat breakfast? I brought a meal. Mr. Richard mentioned you’ll be one of the last groups up. And they don’t start until six at night!” Longwei didn’t need to be so cheery all the time, but Harry was loathe to actually tell the man to be sad. Harry’s stomach gave a little lurch, and…

… and Longwei was so nice. Harry didn’t want to even imagine the man trying to poison him.

“Um, I had a bagel. But I could eat.” Harry wanted to trust. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t do a subtle check with his wand. Harry shifted a little to give Longwei room to shuffle off the bed to the little fridge. “Do all the rooms have an ice box?” Harry asked, even as he dug his fingers in to his left sleeve to fish at his wand.

… it wasn’t in there.

Harry switched to check inside his other sleeve.

“Nope! I brought it.” Longwei laughed as he placed two water bottles on top, as well as grabbed a lacquered black box. Harry nodded (it was strange. It was strange to go to so much effort for food) but was distracted on the fact that he just couldn’t find his wand in either sleeve. Harry leaned forward and checked inside his boots.

There was no room in his actual suit for his wand, so where…?

…. The bathroom sink. When he had been drying his hair. He had set it down and had forgotten it in his rush to get out of the apartment!

Keys. Wallet. He had left his memories with Oodako as well.

He wouldn’t be able to check for poison. Or do much of anything… oh merlin. Oh merlin!

“Here,” Longwei folded his legs criss-cross on the cot, facing Harry with an easy smile. Harry numbly accepted the open box from the man. “I brought a fork for you,” he added, and Harry accepted the fork with the same numbness as the box.

Still, a quick look to Harry’s face and Longwei frowned. “Are you alright?”

“Um, well… I just realized I, um, forgot something at home…” Harry trailed off. Longwei’s eyes were still so calm, and Harry could feel the pressure at the back of his own neck ease a little. “It doesn’t matter—let’s share?” Harry offered—because no matter how much he did want to trust this person he was tentatively starting to label as a friend in his strange life, he had also lived a life where he had to be wary of mind altering potions. He knew there were muggle drugs that worked to the same effect.

He waited, watching Longwei’s face—the man smiled and held up his own fork, “I planned to—I’m glad you offered before I had to ask.” Harry nodded, not embarrassed at all (perhaps pleased would be a better description) as he tilted the box in Longwei’s direction, even as Harry looked down to really take in what was there.

The left half of the box were sandwiches stacked neatly. Then there were some yellow circles, a big spot of bright green noodle shaped things—which Longwei stuck his work in and swirled some up. Harry silently copied the man, even as Longwei chatted before his bite. “I’ve always appreciated vegetables. Did you know that seaweed is considered, like, a miracle vegetable?” Longwei’s lips curled in the corner before he put his swirl of seaweed to his mouth.

Harry turned his eyes to his own forkful of apparently seaweed with some dubiousness. On closer look he didn’t doubt what it was. “Why’s that?” He asked instead.

Longwei’s fork went to one of the yellow circles, and promptly sectioned off a piece for himself as he spoke, “well, it’s been studied to have more concentrated nutrition than land vegetables. Lots of minerals.” Longwei reached out and nudged Harry’s still raised fork closer. Harry huffed and promptly ate the seaweed. Although with it in his mouth, he didn’t really know how to feel about it as he chewed and swallowed. He had been expecting slime from the look, but it wasn’t really slimy. Not the worst thing he had ever eaten (and considering what he had eaten in the past, didn’t really mean much. Gillyweed what?), but he wasn’t really raving about it.

Harry went to the yellow circle next. It was fluffy, springing back when he poked it.

“It’s egg. It has brown sugar and soy sauce in it,” Longwei supplied, even as he set his fork on his knee and took one of the four sandwiches.

“… It’s good,” Harry supplied in response after he ate the egg. It was sweet, and he found that he rather appreciated the sweetness of his food now.

They had a moment of silence before Longwei perked up, “oh! You mentioned yesterday that you would send me the pictures from your phone. You haven’t done it yet,” Longwei gently chided with a long fingered poke to Harry’s shoulder.

“… I took pictures?” Harry already had his phone out and a sandwich in hand as he unlocked his phone. His fingers moved on autopilot mostly to the icon with ‘photos’ listed under it. Harry tapped the toes of his left foot to the air as he waited. And continued tapping the air as a wall of photos appeared. Harry paused before he scrolled all the way to the right and selected the first one.

There was that annoying Skull DeMort from the bar. With black marker all over his face. Mostly drunk looking swirls and a black eye. Harry felt Longwei lean in close to look as well, but Harry was mostly just fascinated by actual evidence of what he had been doing during his black out. Cell phones were the most ingenious invention (from muggles) that documented everything so well! The images were so crystal clear too. Although apparently Harry was taking too long, and Longwei reached out with a finger and swiped the picture.

Harry stared at himself. Him—purple hair mused, green eyes bright, and scars white against his pinked face amongst a bunch of men and women together. They were all grinning in front of a table littered in empty glasses.

Pictures of all the drinks Harry had probably consumed.

It was so weird. There was something about seeing himself in these pictures that was so off. Harry didn’t know if it was the hair. Or the scars. It was something little, so little that he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was that was wrong. Harry pushed the last of his sandwich in to his mouth, frowning at himself. He used his now free hand to gently scratch a nail over the sensitive scar butting from the corner of his mouth. He hated this one the most.

“I brought the make-up you mentioned yesterday. We forgot to buy it together, but I saw it on my way to my hotel.” Longwei offered, second sandwich mostly done in his hand. The Chinese man shifted, smoothly sliding off the bed without even shifting the coarse blanket out of place. There was a little bag tucked next to the small table that he pulled out of. Longwei soon produced four jars of different sizes, a brush, and a sponge.

Those were, for him? “Um, how much do you want for that?” Harry didn’t actually have money on himself right now (since he betted it all on himself—talk about toxic confidence), but Longwei seemed the type to be accepting of a ‘pay you later’ kind of thing.

“Let me put it on when you finish eating,” Longwei said with a smile. Harry immediately wrinkled his nose at the demand. That was way too close to his face.

But at the same time… well…

The good part about the situation would be that his face would be covered.

He’d look less like himself. People wouldn’t stare at him like he was a freak (Harry shuddered a little bit at the mental use of the word, and shifted a little when Longwei continued to stare as the silence stretched on and on and—).

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Harry eventually conceded. Because there were four jars and Harry had hardly even watched Ginny do her applications when she felt up to it. Longwei hummed and left it all at the table and returned to the cot. Harry finished off the second sandwich and the box was soon empty. Although Longwei soon shoved a bottled smoothie in to his hands. It was… green.

Harry mentally shrugged, broke the safety seal, and found it tolerable.

There was a picture of himself with Oodako (it was cute, there were three of them. One where he wore Reborn’s hat, one where it was on Oodako’s head, and one with the hat all curled up in Oodako’s tentacles and it was just so cute). And shrimp. And Harry skipped a few pictures and—

Yeah, he had definitely gone and converted his money while in his own stupor. A ‘selfie’ in front of the bank by himself showed at least that much. Why did he have two fingers up?

(Peace!)

The next photo had him and Longwei in it. Harry didn’t have the phone in his hands, and in fact, both of his hands were on Longwei’s cheeks as Harry smashed the sides of their faces together so they could grin up at the cell phone together. “You’re surprisingly strong for being so skinny,” Longwei added. Harry mumbled an apology even as he skipped to the next one. Them at a café. A picture of a cake slice. They went to a pub and drank more. Longwei’s face was a bit red in these pictures.

They went to a bike shop—and eventually found the bike that Harry had driven to this event. And the new suit that was just like his other one. More food and drink. Overall, Harry supposed that he had taken twelve pictures with Longwei. It didn’t explain all the time, but it gave a picture of the relatively easy day he had spending all of his money.

Harry handed his phone to Longwei, “go ahead and email yourself which ones you like.” Harry leaned back against the cubical wall the cot was stationed against and sipped at his smoothie.

He definitely felt more at ease. Not as crazed.

The calm that Longwei had seemed to seep in to the air. And Harry found himself content. It had been a long time since he had been ‘content’. Ever since he woke up to Frank spewing lies and the wizarding world sullied. Perhaps even before then. Maybe.

Did he need magic? Harry considered this as he swirled the smoothie to stop it from settling as he slowly worked at it. Harry was magic, just as all wizards and witches were. It was in his body, it came from him. He was magic—but did he need it? Did he need to do magic every day to be magic?

(His whole body tingled, like a limb that had been asleep from lack of adequate blood flow suddenly getting a rush of brand new blood—the tingling felt strongest when his thoughts focused on magic. In particular, his hands tingled almost to the point of burning—)

Sure, he cleaned sometimes with magic. Dried his hair off quicker—but that was the result of laziness, rather than an actual need. Harry could always just do such things by hand. Harry had even left his temporary home without his wand, it hadn’t even crossed his mind as he had run out the door. That had never happened before (and he was still having a bit of a small panic over the fact that it was gone, it made his muscles ache).

In the end, it all boiled down to need—and did Harry need it?

Longwei tapped Harry on the shoulder and quirked a smile. “It looks like you’re thinking heavy thoughts,” Longwei raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press further. Longwei merely shifted to settle down in to place next to Harry once more.

There was no pressure to answer. And Harry only had to look over to see that Longwei had closed his eyes, hands peacefully on his knees and leaning back against the cubical wall.

This reminded Harry of Luna—a little strange, but kind. Not pressing, but merely existing alongside each other. Harry felt his body slowly let go, the tense to the point of pain muscles finally releasing so that they could lean against the wall together. It was nice—nice in a familiar sense. He and Ginny had gotten like this at times as well. But they had been so pointedly focused on each other it wasn’t that they existed alongside each other, but existed on the same road going to a fixed destination.

Right now there was no destination.

“…maybe we’ll talk about it later.” Harry eventually mumbled in to his smoothie. Longwei gave a vague hum of agreement, and Harry focused on the drink more than anything else.

Between one moment and the next… he fell asleep.

Harry woke up to someone tapping his arm with a finger, and his face pressed in to someone’s shoulder. He blinked to himself for a moment before he slowly sat up, grimacing at the tight tug in his lower back as he straightened out. He looked up and found that Longwei was the owner of the shoulder, and the finger that poked him back in to consciousness. “We should apply your war paint now,” Longwei offered with a grin.

Harry blinked, before he grinned as well, “war paint—I like that.” It sounded infinitely better than ‘make up’.

“… did you sit here the whole time? How long was I sleeping?” Harry frowned as he wiggled forward and eased himself to his feet.

“Yes, and not so long it was intolerable.” Longwei answered as he rolled to his feet and moved toward the table. Longwei patted the table, “sit here.”

“… um. There?” It didn’t look the most stable, but if he fell Harry doubted it would hurt much at all. The distance to the floor was negligible from that height.  So Harry perched on the edge of the table and focused on Longwei as the man unscrewed the jars and pulled off the safety seals. “… I apologize for making you sit so long.”

“It’s fine, you seemed tired.” Longwei said as he produced a cloth, dabbed the cream on, and reached out for Harry’s chin. Harry watched the hand come close, but only grimaced at contact rather than pull away from Longwei. Harry had figured this would be the easiest way to fly under the radar, so this was fine. And he got someone else to do it for him. It took more willpower than Harry thought was really necessary to just stay still and let the cold not liquid be patted in to his face.

Harry was a bit hesitant to call this a friendship—but it was really only friendship that would have him let someone keep touching his face. He had always been leery about people touching his face (lack of contact with his Aunt and her family, and that one mistake the first night of being a Gryffindor before he had put his foot down—), and it had always really been his forehead that he had not let anyone touch.

(Ginny had always asked permission to do so. Never mind that they had been married for a decade and he really enjoyed facial massages, she would always pause and ask. Just like he always asked for her hands to hold rather than just reach out to grab. His forehead and her hand—they had been points of contact to a once-man known as Riddle…)

His forehead and that thick, terrible scar next to his mouth that gave just the tiniest bit of a Glasgow grin…

Longwei fingers were covered in thick white now. “Harry, could you hold your bangs back?” Longwei asked, and Harry complied. “Also, you might want to close your eyes for this. If I don’t get the lids it will be a bit… strange.” Longwei quirked a smile, and Harry’s stomach churned just a little at the idea of closing his eyes.

… but Longwei hadn’t tried to poison him. Hadn’t tried to kill him in his sleep.

Harry closed his eyes.

“I’ll start with your left cheek,” Longwei murmured, and a second later Harry felt the lukewarm sensation on his left cheek. Harry surprised himself by not flinching. Longwei moved swiftly. Cheeks, nose, eyes, forehead—Harry was surprised at the speed really.

It was a pleasant surprise, really, “you seem rather good at this,” Harry said when the fingers were tracing his hairline. Small mercies for the fact that Longwei hadn’t lingered over that lightning bolt. Although compared to the rest of his scars that one only looked like a beauty blemish. Smooth and light.

(Faded—all things must fade eventually. Harry half hoped that the lightning bolt would finally fade completely. It represented so much, but Harry… after so long it just felt like a chain.)

“I’ve become rather good at applying make up to others. Family—I’ve had nieces and younger cousins.” Longwei hummed, and Harry could imagine the good natured smile the other was probably wearing.

“No children?” Harry asked, because he could see Longwei married with kids. Or just with kids. He didn’t remember a ring, but then again some people didn’t use rings. Longwei’s fingers were on his eyes, gently rubbing circles to keep the makeup even.

Still, Longwei answered, “no children. You?”

Harry meant to lie.

But, “yes,” slipped out before he realized it.

The fingers stilled on Harry’s jaw line before pulling away. “You do? You look way too young,” Longwei commented, ever calm.

Harry’s fingers clenched in his hair. “I… I’m 28. My wife and I… we had our first child earlier than planned. And it just went from there.” He and Ginny had been drawn together after the final battle. Protection and prevention hadn’t really been on anyone’s minds in the weeks following that final battle. It wasn’t just Ginny that had been pregnant, but neither of them had really planned on it then (it hadn’t even really been a thought). It was good that Ginny’s family had been so accepting and practically eager to help.

“Wife?” Longwei asked, before he added, “I’m going to apply the paint to your neck. Then I’m going to mist it to lock it in. And then some powder…” Longwei trailed off in a little mumble.

“Y.. yeah, wife.” Harry said, going still when fingers touched his neck. The paste was colder now, having not warmed up in Longwei’s hands. Harry kept quiet, and Longwei didn’t press and he swiftly and methodically applied everything. Shortly, a misting was adding. And then a powdery something added (Longwei asked him to hold his breath). It was a comfortable silence that came upon them. Longwei didn’t ask any more questions, and Harry took the time to ponder their current predicament.

They had met on a train just a short time ago. Had barely known each other for a day—and then Harry had met Longwei for some drunk shopping. And Harry had invited the other here. And… and it lead to this.

Longwei called a quiet ‘finished’, and Harry opened his eyes.

“Longwei, are we friends?” Harry asked before he could think better of it.

Longwei, as he was wiping his hands on a tissue, merely smiled. “I count you as my friend.” And Harry could read between the lines. It was simple, really. What Longwei was saying was ‘I will be your friend if you wish it’, with a ‘I want to be your friend’ added in there as well.

They had met on a train. Done some drunk shopping. And Longwei had invited Harry to the circus. As a stunt driver.

And here they were.

It was crazy.

It was like Ron—inviting Harry over to his home for the holidays for the first time. Asking nothing in return.

Harry didn’t want to replace Ron. That would be impossible. And a terrible thing to do to the memory of Ron.

… but Harry didn’t have to be lonely forever.

(He had lived a life with friends and family… he deserved the chance to make new ones too. With his previous connections gone… Harry hadn’t been there to save them—but he couldn’t save everyone. He had learned that lesson the hard way in the aftermath of the last battle of Hogwarts. And even if it hurt (and it did, so much), he knew that life would move on anyway.)

“… yes. I count you as a friend as well.” Harry added, offering a hand to shake.

Longwei reached out, and they shook.

“So, you have a child?” Longwei asked, letting go and settling down in the chair. Harry, comfortable perched on the table stayed put.

Harry could have lied about that. About Ginny. But if they were going to have some weird friendship, Harry would rather not base it on lies. So he nodded, “yes. Three. Two boys and a girl.” Harry smiled to himself, imagining their youthful little faces.

“Are they home with your wife?” Longwei asked, and Harry felt like someone had punched him in the gut at the thought. His hands shifted from his knees to a white knuckled grip on the table.

Longwei’s eyes had tracked his hands. And Harry watched Longwei’s dark eyes flicker from Harry’s hands to his face.

He didn’t press.

“They’re not… they’re…” Harry wheezed before he was on his feet and pacing.

They’re old and dying. They had buried Harry a long time ago. They were as good as dead to each other. In both directions. Harry felt dizzy. Dizzy and hot and wheezy and off-footed and—

“Harry—!“ Longwei called, his voice snapping Harry out of his spiral.

There was blood in Harry’s mouth. And he found the meat of his hand, the space between his thumb and index finger, in his mouth with his teeth deep in the flesh and—

Harry froze. His hand stung. Longwei slowly got up from the chair and approached. Harry watched him… and made himself stay still. Made himself not jerk away as Longwei’s hands came up, and made himself watch as Longwei quietly separated Harry’s hand from his teeth.

Suddenly, Harry couldn’t feel his body. He felt numb.

Longwei reached in to a pocket and pulled out a cloth handkerchief. He quietly wiped away at the sluggish blood before he pressed the bit of cloth down and held the pressure on to Harry’s hand.

“You don’t have to force yourself to talk. I can understand keeping things to yourself. You can just tell me you don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Longwei quietly, seriously, explained. And Harry felt the metal band around his ribs loosen.

There was no take here. No obligation. Only give what you wanted to. And that was fine.

“I don’t… want to talk. Right now.” Harry eventually broke the silence.

Longwei nodded, and changed the subject with a smile. “You’ll be doing warm ups in thirty minutes by the way. Maybe you should go get your bike?”

“… wait, how long was I sleeping?” Harry stared at Longwei as he mentally computed the hours of time he had obviously missed.

Longwei smiled and pulled away the cloth from Harry’s hand. The small wound had clotted, and Harry numbly pulled on his gloves when Longwei pressed them in to his hands. Longwei smiled but didn’t answer Harry, and said instead, “it wasn’t intolerable. Besides, you looked like you needed some more rest!”

Harry sighed, but he couldn’t help but smile.

Longwei was… a strange mix of Ron-Hermione-Neville and… and Harry couldn’t have asked for better from a new friend.

With his helmet in hand, Harry waved a goodbye to Longwei and exited the cubical. Harry took a quick detour to the bathroom before he went out and located his bike. There was a considerable amount of missing bikes from the parking lot that Harry had stored his bike in. Harry gave his bike a quick check over (tire pressure was good. Seat was still firmly in place, and overall he checked for any tampering that could have occurred while he had been away) before he took his bike off the kick stand and started to walk it toward a double door set. A set of doors he had seen another bike rider walk his bike through. Harry flicked his visor down, letting the reflective coating muffle the bright interior lights as he followed the biker in the suit that was loaded with what looked like advertisers everywhere on the chest jacket.

In fact, Harry could remember that there had been a lot of people with such patches and advertiser design on their sleeves and torsos. Harry looked down at his blank white suit. The simple red stripe down the sides were enough for him. He felt that, if he had anything more—it would be too similar to being branded. Like he would be owned.

(His lightning bolt, in a way, had been a brand.)

Following the flow of bikers, and Harry soon found the warm up area. It was a small dirt track, with men and women on bikes doing lazy circles and going over small bumps. Harry dragged his feet a little, walking toward the entrance of the track. He kicked his bike stand in to place and trailed over to watch his competition.

The air felt electric, here. Far more lively. The lights were still florescent, there was still dirt from the track everywhere, that horrible metal music, and too many bodies. Harry gently knocked at the knee high wall of sandbags that lined the oval track with his shoe. A warm up would be nice, but Harry felt confident enough in himself that he could go out cold.

“Aren’t you going to warm up?” A voice sounded at his side, and Harry turned his head to see who was speaking to him. It was a man, roughly the same height as himself—and Asian, Harry noted that, even as he felt something off about the thought. Cho had been the only Asian person he had noticed at Hogwarts. There had probably been more, but Harry had never noticed them.

Black hair, grey eyes, pale skin—with a pinched face. Those details came next to Harry after the initial evaluation of race. His bike suit was all black with no sponsors. Harry glanced briefly around, and didn’t see a bike anywhere nearby. Nor a helmet. “What’s it to you?” Harry asked, squaring his shoulders as he turned to fully face the man.

The steely eyed man merely placed his hands on his hips and leaned back—he had a youthful face, and on second thought Harry was reluctant to call him a man. Perhaps teenager or young adult?

“Nothing,” the young man murmured, eyes drifting from Harry to look at the other bikers circling the track. Harry crossed his arms over his chest for a moment and waited for an inevitable continuation. There was always a ‘but’, wasn’t there?

… the young man didn’t reply.

“… um, it’s really nothing?” Harry hated to ask, but he did.

Those grey eyes looked back to Harry, before dismissively looking away. Harry couldn’t help but stare at the young man, because if that hadn’t been the most dismissive look ever then Harry would need to get his eyes checked.

Harry dropped his hands, letting them hang at his side as he observed the young man that had walked up to him. The line of his shoulders was relaxed. His feet were shoulder width apart and knees just slightly bent. It was a very loose, relaxed stance. Harry almost wanted to say that it was a resting military stance, but not exactly. Harry took a step to the side, away from the young man.

He took another step—no reaction.

Harry stood next to his motorbike, and wondered if this new, mysterious person cared that he had just up and left the sphere of conversation.

Harry watched the young man watch the racers on the track. All the way until the intercom welcomed the riders of the G-10 group. There was a general cheering as men and women rushed out of the warm up area. Harry tracked them, and when he looked back to the young man, the black suited man was gone.

He wasn’t weirded out. Harry glanced to his bike and then to the track.

Altogether, weird. But not the strangest thing of his life. Harry slid in to place on top of his bike and turned it on.

“M group, please warm up. Thirty minutes until your event.”

Harry rolled on to the track, going easy as he did a few smooth laps around the inner edges of the oval. There were perhaps five others on the track. And two off. On one go around, Harry noticed that one of the two men at the edge of the track was that Skull from the bar. Harry grimaced, recalling the irritated face of the man from a few hours ago.

It figured that they would be in the same group.

Still, Harry had gotten in some loops and rolled out of the track.

He parked as far away from Skull as possible.

Harry recalled the picture he had of the man’s face—he didn’t doubt that the marker had been hard to get off. (He only felt a little bit guilty about the lack of ease about cleaning up—but otherwise Skull was a consenting adult and there were worse things than getting a marker to the face after one woke up after a blackout. Like learning one bet all the money they owned on a stunt competition.) It would really just be best that they never met again.

There was still at least twenty minutes left of his ‘warm up’ time though. Harry tapped at his helmet and was glad to have it on, although he did nudge up the visor so he could see without the dark tinge of the visor.

His pocket buzzed.

A moment later and Harry had a glove off and his phone in hand. It was a text.

FROM: LONGWEI

Hi Harry! I’m in my seat!

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Harry squinted at the blurry picture of a stadium. In the middle there was a large mound of dirt with paths that led up the side made from the constant compression of tires. There were other ramps in other places which would allow higher stunts.

If Harry wanted to win, he would need to do the hardest flips he could think of.

… which wasn’t much.

Harry sighed to himself and glumly brought himself to google to search out a good lineup. It inevitably brought him to youtube.

Inevitably brought him to stunt videos.

There really were no coincidences in this world, Harry decided as he watched Skull-from-the-bar do a shaolin backflip in a competition video. The man was good, but that first impression at the bar had really ruined any potential admiration Harry could have. Harry still paged through youtube, and by the time the voice on the intercom called his group (the last group), Harry had a set idea of what he wanted to do.

FROM: LONGWEI:

GOOD LUCK!

Harry tucked his phone back in to his zippered pocket and followed the rest of his group over and in to a small waiting area. Harry lined up, unfortunately, right next to Skull upon direction of one of the officials in a yellow-black uniform. Harry felt something itch in the back of his mind as he focused in on the official after he was parked, but—

A hand roughly grabbed his helmet and jerked Harry’s head to the side—

“Hello,” Harry reached up and swatted the hand away and focused in on Skull’s gaping face.

“It is you!” The man practically spat. Harry nudged down his visor and grimaced to himself. Skull was parked next to him, and would remain so until they went out for their runs. The official was talking to them, but Harry couldn’t really focus on the man that made his brain itch when Skull kept talking to him in a lowered voice.

Skull’s body was tense, “that bar bill was over three hundred euros! What did you do, bath in it?” Skull’s face was twisted in a scowl, the lines running from the sides of his nose down his face had deepened with the twist. It was rather comical looking, and Harry didn’t know if his own face was grimacing or similing in response to the ridiculous picture the other painted.

Harry gave a little shrug, “I was a bit thirsty.”

“… A bit? Sohn einer hündin! Unbelievable.” Skull grumbled, slurring his German as he reached up and ran his fingers through his vibrantly purple hair.

Harry leaned back on his bike as he watched Skull—and eventually deemed the other harmless. Oh, sure, the other probably had a nasty streak in there somewhere. But of the non-violent kind. The man could swear at Harry all he liked, but in the end they were just words, and Harry didn’t have to listen to them.

The chatter around them picked up, and Harry grimaced when he noticed that the official was gone.

“… so, want to bet on who is going to win the competition?” Skull asked after a moment.

Harry glanced to Skull, finding that the man’s face was composed and intent on Harry’s face.

Harry tilted his head to the side, and Skull took that as a silent sign to continue. “Three hundred euros says I win, you lose.” Skull’s mouth crawled in to a curling smile. His chin angled up and his spine straight. Very confident, this one. But then again Harry had seen the videos of the other on the internet. It was apparently an arrogance well earned.

“No, I’m good.” Harry resisted laughing at the inevitable fall of Skull’s face.

“How am I supposed to scheme my lost money out of you if you don’t take the bet!” That was definitely a whine right there, and Harry rolled his eyes and swatted away the hand that approached from the side. Skull retracted and rubbed at his hand.

“Reborn, come on! You know you want to make a little tiny itsy bitsy bet with me, right?” Skull asked, doing his best to widen his eyes and smile pretty.

Reborn? Harry glanced around, paused, and then felt like smacking himself.

Right—that’s what he had called himself.

“My money is tied up in other things.” Harry replied, firming his spine and trying to sound older and firmer as he did so.

It was amusing, seeing the man’s face twist in disappointment.

Harry reached out and patted Skull’s shoulder, “you’ll get over it. And if you win, it’ll be all the sweeter.”

“When I win—not if,” the man murmured crossly.

(I should be saying that—Harry thought to himself, not this arschgeige.)

Harry ignored the man next to him as he continued to talk. Skull seemed content to talk and talk and talk. Even without any input. It was a relief that an official called him away, and Harry could watch one of the TV monitors in peace. Or he thought so, an official in a uniform waved at him. Harry pointed to his own chest and got a nod from the official. Harry slid off his bike, taking the key with him as he went over to where the woman is standing.

“I need to check and make sure it’s all pinned correctly!” The woman spoke loudly—British English. Harry nodded, and watched her as she checked the pins keeping his number pinned to his chest and back. When finished, she gave him a thumbs up, and Harry returned to his bike. Although shortly after sitting, the crowd roared, and an official motioned for him to roll in to the starting point.

Right. This should be fine.

The crowd quieted. Harry could hear his intro (As ‘Skull’ rather than ‘Skull DeMort’ as Skull had previously been introduced before him… and the Skull before him. And the Skull before him—no wonder Richard had sounded so annoyed by that first phone call.) There was a lackluster cheer at the name, and Harry was glad he was technically out of sight of the crowd because he was sure he would have followed in the actions of his wife if he had gotten such a lukewarm greeting.

(Ginny had, famously, as a Quidditch player in France, did a few rude gestures in the sky that had gotten her carded…)

Harry sighed, revved his engine—and waited.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1—

Harry smiled to himself. And soared.

First jump—cliffhanger flip.

Harry roared up the ramp, and once in the air—once his ascent stopped and before gravity really took a hold of him—it was everything he remembered. His heart stilled in his chest, all of his anticipatory shakes gone—this was everything he needed. His face hurt from grinning even as he yanked his body in to the backflip-cliffhanger combo.

Perfect landing. Harry used the speed to swerve around (quicker than he should) to do a quick climb up the mound to do a small trick before rolling on to a track that would bring him to the big ramp.

It seemed easier, this time—ascending. Harry picked a tsunami this time. It was almost tricky keeping the bike horizontal and level.

Harry had two more minutes.

He filled it expertly with tricks.

The cordova flip. The crowd had cheered for that.

The dead body was one of Harry’s favorites. Perfect landing.

The rock solid he did—that was so close to flying that Harry almost didn’t want to catch his bike.

The lookback Hart Attack, Harry almost didn’t scramble in time to land nicely.

Harry had time for one more, or so said the glance to the digital screens around the sides of the arena. Harry didn’t really notice much outside of the dirt and the screens. But that was all he needed really. Harry rolled in to position, and he knew exactly what he was going to do for the last one.

Kiss of Death flip.

Harry laughed to himself as he lined up, and then let the bike come to life.

… before he even hit the ramp, he knew something shifted.

Something was wrong. And he didn’t know what.

But he was at the bottom of the ramp and going too fast to stop now. Harry knew that stopping now would only hurt him. So he focused, let the engine max out—and launched himself in the air. When at the right height, he backflipped. Backflip. Handstand and knock his helmet in to a ‘kiss’ with the front fender while still upside down.

And down—down—down—

Harry secured his body seconds before the ground came up.

The moment his front tire touched the hard packed dirt, he knew what was going to happen. The bike didn’t feel right, and he watched as the front tire, the metal frame of it… crumbled. Harry lost control as he bike flipped. The world blurred. Harry saw the ground rise up to meet him. And went face first in to the dirt.

The bike followed him—slammed in to him in a dizzying blur and—

And Harry blinked up at the ceiling of the stadium through the twisted mess of his bike.

It was too loud, but the ringing in his head only hurt for a minute. Harry groaned and wiggled—and nothing hurt. Once the ringing was gone, he felt fine. Harry pushed at his bike, and found that it wasn’t budging. He shifted himself to try again, but the bike moved on its own.

Well, he thought it was on its own. But it was really just the paramedics.

“Sir! Participant is conscious.” The female paramedic to his left said as she crouched down next to Harry’s head.

“Hey, hey! Skull—don’t move, okay. We’ll stabilize—“ One of the paramedics at his elbow started to run off.

“I’m fine,” Harry blinked at them, and realized his helmet was gone. He sat up in a lurch, and ignored the horrified gasps of all the paramedics. Harry raised a hand and rubbed at his neck. A look to the left and he grimaced at the twisted remains of his bike. That had been expensive!

And the shattered remains of his helmet littered the dirt. Literally shattered. It was shrapnel.

Harry ignored the squawking of the paramedics as he rose to his feet. Of course, as he rose, the noise of the crowd died. It was literally silent in the stadium. It was eerie, really, that all the noise just went away. Harry turned and moved toward his bike, but paused when he felt a breeze. He looked down at the shredded remains of the upper half of his jump suit.

Wait, was he actually injured?

Harry patted himself down in a quick panic. But nothing hurt. There was no blood. And Harry didn’t see any swelling or bruises.

“Well… huh.” Harry glanced to the bike, toward the indent his body had made in the dirt, and then to the helmet.

And then a news crew shoved a camera in his face. The words of the lady with the microphone slurred together in incomprehension. Harry stared blankly. “… what?”

Longwei dropped a hand in front of the camera lens, his other arm wrapping around Harry’s shoulder. Longwei shouted a quick “no comment!” at the camera, using his hand to shove it down even as he shifted and dragged Harry toward one of the staff entrances/exits of the arena.

“Wait—Longwei—“ Harry tried to catch the other’s attention, but Longwei shook his head, and pulled Harry out of sight of the suddenly screaming crowds and in to the back waiting area. Harry just caught Skull out of the corner of his eye before Longwei stepped back, pale faced and eyes widen in front of Harry.

“Are you hurt?” Longwei whispered.

Harry shook his head, he actually felt rather good.

Longwei let out one long, bone weary sigh even as his hands landed on Harry’s shoulder. Longwei leaned forward until his forehead found a place against one of Harry’s shoulders as well.

Harry patted the other on the back.

Some flashing out of the corner of his eye, and Harry turned his head to watch one of the screens in the waiting area do a ‘replay’ of the crash. Harry watched his front wheel crumble. Watched his body get launched over the handlebars.

Watched out his motorbike landed on him—his body, his head, and how the ball of machine-human spilled to a stop next to the ply board walls of the active arena. Harry felt a little sick to his stomach, watching that.

Harry gave Longwei another pat on the back, but didn’t dislodge the other.

No one came near them, and Harry was reluctant to move Longwei.

It didn’t take long before a wide eyed Richard joined them.

“… not a scratch on you,” was the first thing Richard said to Harry. And Harry paused and did a quick check down. Harry observed his body for a moment.

“Yeah, seems so.” Not a scratch indeed.

“That’s good… I hired the emergency team, but I’m glad that there wasn’t really a need for them…” Richard shook his head before he gave a long sigh and held up a business card to Harry. Harry stared at it for a moment before he reached out and accepted it.

“In any case—you’re one of the best damn stuntmen that I’ve ever seen. Pity I have to disqualify you.” Richard looked rather wretched at the thought. Harry, for a second, wondered how much the man had bet on him and now lost before the words really sunk in.

Indignant, “disqualify me?” Harry’s throat tightened, and his words came out more of a hiss.

“It’s unfortunate. But we’re taking the best from each group and having them do one last stunt drive to declare one the winner. Your bike is trash. You didn’t finish your round and you were not standing in the designated end point when your time was up. Disqualified.” Richard didn’t even look apologetic.

And Harry couldn’t use logic against the man.

The business card crumpled in Harry’s tight grip.

“If you ever want to do more stuntwork, give me a call!” Richard gave a simple wave as he turned and walked off.

And then it really hit—Harry had lost.

Lost the competition.

And all his money.

“… fuck.” Harry hated the burn in his eyes at that point. It was pointless crying, but he really wanted to anyway. Damn his drunk self for betting on this stupid competition.

Longwei pulled back, hand on his forehead and looking less pale faced and wild as he did so.

“… shall we leave?” Longwei spoke quietly.

“… yeah.” Harry sighed. He had nothing to collect here after all.

Of course, before they could really leave, Harry was accosted by the paramedics and got a full physical check over. Harry couldn’t even tell how many people looked at his unmarked body. In the end, he got some hospital scrubs to change in to, and it was insanely late at night.

Longwei paid for the cab back to Harry’s apartment. And Harry really didn’t have the energy to tell Longwei to go away when the man followed him out of the cab. Harry merely sighed, used a key to open his apartment, and smiled wearily at Oodako as the octopus rose from Harry’s bed area.

Harry let himself in first and heard Longwei close the door. Harry ignored the bird in the window. He ignored the mess of his things. And he went straight to Oodako. Harry reached down, and smiled when Oodako wrapped his tentacles around Harry’s arms, and used that to eventually wrap himself around Harry’s torso.

The soft pressure of the cling let something in the back of Harry’s mind ease. And he relaxed.

Until a too familiar chameleon popped up on top of Oodako’s head.

It was Mr. Chameleon’s chameleon.

Harry swallowed.

This was a terrible end to a terrible day. Harry raised his eyes and looked around his apartment. The tarp was still inside, but it was flat and with no way for anyone to hide in there. Harry wearily looked to the kitchen, but that was empty too. He silently walked to the kitchen where the bird was crowding the window. Harry stuck his head out, and noticed no one crouched around his window on the other side.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Longwei asked, even as the man moved to Harry’s kitchen and moved to the kettle.

“Um… nothing.” Harry lied through his teeth, and grimaced at the little chameleon crawled to his neck and settled in against Harry’s collar.

That only left the bathroom. Harry edged to it, and ignored the quizzical look Longwei gave him as Harry approached the bathroom. The door was shut. Harry held his breath for a moment before he burst in to action and yanked the bathroom door open.

He slapped his hand against the light switch, and when the florescent lights flared…

… no one was in there.

… But there was his wand. Harry shoved it in to his waistband and dropped his shirt over the handle.

That didn’t explain the chameleon and the lack of Reborn, though. Harry flicked off the light and dragged his feet over to Longwei. Longwei looked a bit frazzled, but overall the man seemed calm again. Harry felt calmer just having the man there.

(If Reborn actually tried to spirit him away, Harry actually felt like he could trust Longwei to help stop him.)

“So, it seems like you don’t own much. Which is great! We can leave any time for the circus!” Longwei cheerily added.

Oh. Right. Circus.

… it wasn’t as if Harry had any money left to support himself or Oodako now.

(Harry was still in disbelief that he had actually lost… let alone that a bike had been able to crumble like that!)

(Tampered, a voice in the back of his head hissed. And Harry’s gut agreed.)

Harry rubbed at his face.

“Yeah… yeah… I’ll tell the landlord tomorrow.” Harry… gave in.

Longwei patted the other on the shoulder. Spotted the chameleon, and promptly started to coo at it.

It was a long night before Longwei left to go get a room at a hostel.

… And Harry realized that the fedora was nowhere in sight.

He was not going to be getting any sleep now, was he?