Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Harry grimly observed the chameleon from his seat in the dry bathtub. He had darkened his apartment shortly after Longwei had left, and had dragged his sleeping roll in to the bathroom before he had shut the door. In the end, he ended up lining the tub with the soft materials and curling up with Oodako.
The bird had squawked for a time, but Harry had ignored that thing. It had gotten quiet when a resident above had started to yell.
It was eerie, how still the chameleon could be.
… it had also now taken Harry’s toothbrush and was brushing against it like a cat.
Harry hadn’t even taken off his boots. He remembered how much the sprint through France had torn up his feet and he would rather not do that again. Harry had packed away all of his important things in to the trunk necklace. He had thrown in the shreds of his racing suit and scrubs in to the backpack, along with a spare pair of shoes and a few other things he could show off if needed that he had things that weren’t just appearing from nowhere.
It led him to now. To watching the damn chameleon, all the while his fingers toying with the unshrunken memory vials. He was trying not to remember the events that led him to where he was now. “Oodako, remind me to transfigure a new toothbrush tomorrow,” Harry sighed, twitching slightly over the heavy footsteps above his head. It was increasingly becoming closer to dawn and the busy-bodies above were getting ready for their early morning work.
Harry hadn’t slept. He couldn’t sleep.
He wanted to not think about what had led him to here. But Harry literally could not do anything but think about it.
He had had that competition in the bag! How could it have gone wrong?
Harry let his chin rest on the edge of the bathtub, and watched the slow rub the chameleon did as he rubbed his belly over the toothbrush bristles. It was only vaguely annoying. It was just a twitch that made him want to set the chameleon on the window seal with the bird and wait for Reborn to pick him up (because he was obviously around).
The motorbike, though.
That was something he could obsess over.
The bike had been fine when he had picked it up from the lot.
Between then, and that jump… he had only been off it two times. Inevitably—that led to only two variables. The black suited Asian kid, and the British woman. Either the two were in on it, or they had been unfortunate distractors that had given a chance for someone to step in and tamper. Harry grimaced and shifted so he could press his forehead against the cool side of the tub.
Harry ignored Oodako’s suckers as they attached to his jaw line. Somehow it had been easy to accept the large octopus that could change size at will. Although Harry had yet to personally see it change its main core body bigger than a basketball. He had a few memories of it being bigger.
“This is a headache,” Harry muttered to himself. The soft brushing noise from the chameleon was only making it worse. “I wish Ron was here…” Harry sighed—Ron and Hermione often came as a duo. The smarts and the planning. Somehow it worked, even when they were clashing. Hermione was a bit too rigid with her plans, but she had the smarts to support her reasoning of why things should be done a certain way. Ron, however, was supremely great at reading situations and reacting accordingly. A great intuition that could pick out the motives of other people and prepare for them. Harry had relied on that more than once.
In the end, his brooding led down to one problem.
The bike. And it’s missing status. Harry fished out his phone and tapped the power button to bring the screen back to life under his touch. Harry pressed on the voicemail that would lead back to Richard.
“Hello Harry, my condolences once again. But thank you for your participation! Upon your approval, I would like to request using video from your jumps in promotional video for next year’s competition. The papers releasing your videos wasn’t signed, if you have the time to come back in the next few days to sign, or have an email I can send the forms to, we can get this worked out. Royalties will be included. Thank you for your time, and thank you for sending a team to pick up the wreck!” Click.
Harry couldn’t even bother to open his eyes.
Sabotage. It had to have been sabotage. But who could find him here? He had been in a damn helmet the other time. Amongst a swarm of other ‘skulls’ and he was the only one who wrecked? What were the chances of that?
He should just leave. Unshrink the other bike and leave.
(… Longwei expected him at the circus, though?)
Harry frowned at the sinking feeling in his gut. He was rather familiar with the feeling of being afraid to cause disappointment in others. But even then, Longwei shouldn’t matter that much to him. He was a vague, new friend. One that Harry should be able to drop faster than a hot coal if he was detrimental to Harry’s wellbeing.
So why did he feel this way?
The chameleon stopped making noise.
Have raised his head and blearily peered at the silly thing. It had climbed on top of the sink tap and seemed to be perching for the night. Well, the early morning.
“I need to leave, Oodako.” Harry might have thought himself insane for continuing to talk to the octopus, but he had done the same to Hedwig. And the gentle squeeze of tentacles was enough of a response as any hoot from Hedwig. Harry shifted and sat up properly.
But he didn’t want to disappoint Longwei.
Harry groaned, hands coming up to roughly scrub at his hair. He hated this feeling! It was like playing games all night with Ron, and then trudging to breakfast to face Hermione’s disappointment after she had taken the time to make study notes for the exam after breakfast. It was terrible.
“Longwei isn’t important. Making him upset shouldn’t matter to me.” Harry said to himself, watching Oodako shift around and sprawl over Harry’s suddenly available lap space now that he was sitting up. “It shouldn’t.” Harry added, before he pressed his lips together to make himself stop. Oodako reached up and patted Harry’s face with a tentacle.
It was nice comfort.
Although ultimately it didn’t solve anything.
“… Maybe it will work out,” Harry offered Oodako. The circus could be great. Maybe he’d make an awesome life there? A wizard in a circus tent. Doing tricks and stunts on the side? It wouldn’t require much thinking. And from his understanding, Harry would be able to travel to many places. Plenty of adventure.
… but did he want to?
Harry fished up the memory bracelet from his bedding and held it up. This was his key to everything, really. Harry knew that if he could solve the past, then the present would be easier to navigate. “The only people that have shown their faces are the Arcobaleno… are they the only ones I had?” Harry shifted and raised his legs so that he could lean back against the tub side facing the wall, and his legs could dangle out and in to the bathroom over the side.
“Oodako… we need to find the beginning. The unspeakables placed me in Germany. That’s where this faux mission started. I can’t go and play circus until I know where this started.” The memory of the horror that had been done to his face still made his stomach churn, but it hadn’t been the start.
Harry picked up another cluster of memories and held them in a fist as he dropped the belt to the side. Methodically, Harry straightened out the cluster and levitated them in to place at his elbow.
His chest gave a twinge, and it was enough to make Harry pause and press a hand to the center of his chest. The feeling was gone, and Harry couldn’t place exactly where it happened. Oodako’s main tentacle fell in to place on top of Harry’s hand, and Harry placed the handle of his wand between his teeth to free up his wand hand long enough to give a soothing pat to Oodako’s head.
Petting Oodako reminded him of his children. Freshly born and so soft he had to moderate all his strength so that they didn’t break under his touch. Soft hair and still forming skulls.
Harry took his wand and selected his first memory.
(… Mafia… island?)
Harry dropped the empty vial and collected another.
(Russia—the cold was biting. But his flames buffered the worst of it away. Skull always ran hot. Hotter than most. Skull grinned all the same, crouched as he was in front of Viktor and Kirill. “Well,” Skull murmured as Russian and blood slipped out, “this has been fun. But I need to go!”)
Another vial.
(“Wow, what is this called again? Green tea flavor? It’s bitter but good!”)
Another.
(“Oodako, let’s go swimming in the East China sea!”)
Another.
(“… Senpai, I seem to have come across some, uh, pirates…”)
Another.
(…their mission hadn’t gone smoothly. It had been terrible from the start. Skull had been regulated to lackey and was considered incompetent. Skull wasn’t incompetent! So what if he had just done everything for movies instead? Skull knew martial arts, even if they were stages. And when the three suited men had jumped over the wall of the estate that Skull had been ordered to ‘guard’, he was easily able to take them down. He had them bound in twine and unconscious—and was terribly proud of himself when he produced the three to Reborn and Colonnello. Skull hadn’t been prepared for the gun, or how dark real blood looked in the moonlight.)
Harry stared down at his hands after dropping the last vial of his current line up to the side. Slowly he reached up and pressed his hands against his eyes and breathed.
Brain and blood and the winking sight of bone shards—
(“Bone of the father, unknowingly given…”)
Harry pulled his hands away and found his hands dry. His face was dry, but his soul felt wet. He hadn’t even known them, but those three men had had their lives wasted away. Harry, unfortunately, had been more than willing to give people second chances as he grew older. There had been stipulations, of course. But he had never been able to abide by lives cut short as long as their crimes weren’t too heinous.
(“… blood of the enemy…”)
Harry rubbed the crook of his arm, folding in on himself as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
(The fiendfyre roared as it charged at the unspeakables. Harry noted the whites of their eyes even as he slammed the door shut. They were as good as dead, and he didn’t have the time to feel guilt until he was long gone and still alive—)
“What was it Hermione said about second chances?” Harry asked himself, because he knew that Oodako wouldn’t know this. “… only the strong give second chances?” Hermione had never been one for second chances after the war. Harry didn’t really know what they would say about Hermione, since she was one of the strongest people that he knew. Even more so than Ginny, and Ginny was strong enough that Harry felt weak.
Harry hadn’t felt strong in the department of mysteries.
… he had been angry. And terrified.
Which seemed to be his constant state of living. Now. In the future.
Harry grimly took out another cluster of memories. Harry levitated them up and made another line in the air. Harry took a moment to pause and check his cell phone. The power was almost gone and he needed to charge it. But he didn’t have the mind to get up and find the charger. Still, it was four in the morning.
He was tempted… oh so tempted.
He picked up his phone and moved to his messages. He clicked on the number he knew would give him a direct line to Reborn. Harry glanced to the man’s last reply, and quietly composed a message to the man.
“Why did you become a hitman?” (Because it echoed in Harry’s head. Reborn. The world’s greatest hitman…. But children didn’t start out wanting to be Hitman. What led this man to here?)
… Albus Dumbledore was a great man, who had left a mark on the world and on other people. And this was his mark on Harry. When Harry was unclouded and not in a rage, he was more open to second chances. Because everyone had a purpose in life. Even if, ultimately, it was to repent for their sins. (Snape… Pettigrew… They had been terrible in their own different ways. But they had died serving a purpose. All of which, revolved around Harry.)
Harry debated with himself, before he pressed the ‘send’ button.
Harry remembered the cursed Reborn waving around such a title like a shield against the curse. Harry was gathering more pieces of the puzzle, and his memories seemed to be slowly slotting in to place the more he returned to his head.
He set the phone face down at his hip and gathered another vial.
(Luce was cold and kind in equal measures. An easy smile on hand, looking angelic with her white dress and easy recline in the comfortable chair. The cookies from her hand tasted bitter, and Skull itched to run as much as he wanted to sit at her feet and beg her to take him home. The baby bump made him want to throw himself in front of any bullet that would come her way. Out of all of the Arcobaleno, she was the one that sat him down and calmly explained what he lacked without a demand for anything in return…)
The warmth in his chest hurt.
Harry ignored the quiet buzzing on his phone.
(Luce reached across the kitchen nook table and placed a hand on top of Skull’s scarred hands. The smile was easy on her face, and her touch was so warm against the chill that seemed to be coming inside. “We’re not a great fit, in the future. But we’re okay to exist as we are now. In the same sphere. Fate… has other plans for you, Skull.” But Skull didn’t want that. He wanted what was in front of him. For the first time in his short, short life he wanted something like a family. He could build himself around Luce. He could make her the center of his world. Not a wife. Not a lover. But as family. A brother to a sister. “That future is not for you.” Luce murmured, smile sliding away as if she could read his very thoughts. “Not for you, and not for me.”)
The phone was still buzzing.
Agitated (disappointed—annoyed—humiliated at rejection for what-could-have-been), Harry snatched up his phone and slid the green button to the side. “What?” Harry hated how wrecked he sounded, but he wouldn’t take it back.
“Are you remembering?” Reborn’s voice was soft over the line, and it made the echo of the bathroom seem all the more claustrophobic.
“… yes.” Harry barely bit off the ‘senpai’ that wanted to fall from his mouth. It burned in his gut.
Harry pressed the phone against his eat, and heard the quiet shifting of cloth.
“What have you remembered?” These questions were leading to something, and Harry did not want to play any games with the man.
“I’m remembering enough. Enough to know that the Arcobaleno are not people I want to be associated with.” Harry had goosebumps from memory flashes of black blood and moon washed grey brain.
Harry heard the quiet inhale of a breath through the nose, and wondered if such a comment had hurt the other. And then Harry wondered if he even cared about such a thing. “Murder. You’re a murderer. Are all of you the same?” Harry’s voice trailed off.
“It’s part of the job description. Mafioso.” Reborn spoke evenly, and if the other could even feel hurt Harry wouldn’t even be able to tell by the man’s voice.
“That’s not me,” Harry replied instead. He was a murderer, yes. But was he a murderer for hire? No. That was a big, resounding, no.
Reborn hummed, “are you sure? You got over your aversion eventually.”
“Lies—“ Harry hissed before he could think better of it. The memory of Luce’s denial for family still burning, and he would not let someone manipulate him right now.
“How do you know? Do you remember our history?” Reborn’s tone and voice were not changing, but Harry felt the dig of intent shift.
Harry folded his legs and sat up straight, a hand coming up to hold on to the edge of the tub. “I wouldn’t change that much,” Harry was sure that he, at the core of himself, couldn’t have changed that much.
“It appears that we have a difference of opinion,” Reborn’s snark was showing.
“It appears so.” Harry sneered, and hung up the phone and dropped it to his side.
… it took a moment before Harry realized that Reborn never answered his question. About why. Harry flipped the phone up and checked his messages. Nope, no answer. It seemed that Reborn actually won this round, and had gained more from that conversation than Harry had. Harry dropped the phone again, vaguely disgusted with himself, and still irritated he gathered the next memory to reintegrate.
(Colonnello stomped down on Skull’s arm, small chubby face twisted in annoyance. “Would you just stop!” The blond baby yelled, “you can’t even invade properly!” The stomps didn’t register much on Skull’s pain ratio, but Skull was angry that he had been thwarted again, so he tilted his head back and screamed like he was on fire, throwing in ‘senpai’ and wailing whenever he felt like it would have the most effect. Anything to equal out the measure of hurt he felt—)
Harry sighed—and that was what he meant when he couldn’t even see himself as the victim at times. He had been the cause. And he had retaliated against actions taken against his person that he had instigated in the first place.
He was slowly gaining a little mountain of empty memory vials.
(Skull looked to his left, to Viper. Their bodies almost squished on to the small couch, but Skull was doing his best to give the other space. When Viper spoke, Skull was, as always, disappointed that he still couldn’t pinpoint a gender to the other. “Since we will be partners under the same sky, I will give you a discount.”
Well, that seemed nice. “So, what are flames?”
“One thousand euros.” Was the quick reply.
“I thought you were giving me a discount!”
“… nine hundred and fifty.”
“That concession was really tiny!”)
Harry snorted, pressed the back of his hand against his mouth as he laughed at himself. This ‘Viper’ didn’t seem so bad? It seemed that Harry, as Skull, respected their space. Although Harry himself was curious now, was Viper a man or a woman? Were those marks on their cheeks scars, paint, or tattoos? It was all very… purple.
Harry glanced to the vial of memories he had charmed to float. Three more. And he didn’t really have anything substantial other than the fact that the Arcobaleno were very bad news. And that Reborn had admitted that they had crime connections.
… and Harry was involved with murder. (His kill count was certainly rising.)
Two memories of Italy’s lovely countryside, and then the last memory brought something, altogether, more important.
(His eyes opened, cracking and squinting against the white of the room. It took a moment before he opened his eyes all the way. He looked left, and right—and found himself in a long room with a few other beds. His eyes tracked the room once more. There was no one else there. There was something heavy on his face. It took ages before he raised a skinny arm to flip a hand over the plastic thing over his mouth. He curled his fingers and jerked the thing away.
The hot air he had been breathing disappeared. And it was like cold hands were smothering his face. He choked, and something was beeping. There was some yelling and his vision went dark before it lightened up. The warmth was back on his face, and there were fleshy, pink-brown-blue-white moving things around his bed. Holes opening and shutting on their circular tops—
“Sir, we’re glad you’re awake. You’re at University Medical Center, in Hamburg. You’ve been in a coma for some time…”)
Harry wheezed slightly as he came back to himself, his phone blessedly silent.
Well… that was a start.
Harry shrank the rest of the vials and stuck the bracelet around his wrist. Harry banished the other vials. He hauled himself to his feet, and with a bit of magic and work, he had packed everything up and in to the one bag. He looked to Oodako, a hand coming down to cradle the octopus’ body. Without having to say a word, the octopus gave a shiver and shrank enough to be more travel capable. Harry shrugged his leather jacket on over his body, and Oodako made himself at home wrapped around Harry’s torso, hidden.
He held on to the straps in his hand. He didn’t want to squish Oodako, so he kept the bag there. Harry checked his trunk necklace. And then double checked his memory bracelet. His trunk. His memory. His wand. That was everything he needed. Everything else was replaceable.
With a sigh, Harry gently picked up the chameleon as he exited the bathroom in to the dim morning light of the apartment. The window was still open. And the bird was still there. Not sleeping, either. Harry walked over to the window and set the chameleon down next to the bird. Harry eyed the bird for a moment, before he decided that it was fine. They both seemed terribly intelligent.
Harry checked his phone. It was on its last leg.
He sent a text to Longwei.
'Something came up. I have to settle a few things. Text me an address to meet you at the circus in three days. Phone is dying, will charge when able.'
There, that settled something in his stomach.
To Reborn, 'come get your chameleon.'
Harry rubbed at his face before he turned to the kitchen counter. He had a pen and notepad here, and he scrawled a quick message to the landlord. The lease was supposed to end in two weeks, but Harry didn’t see a point in staying here. So he wrote down his plans, signed the name that the landlord knew him by, and folded the letter in to his pocket. He’d stick it in the mailbox on the way out.
There. An easy wrap.
Harry checked to make sure the motorbike was in his jacket pocket and that nothing around the apartment was anything he would miss. He checked the bird and Chameleon, and found that they were fine.
… the calm was nice, while it lasted.
(Would have gotten bored after a while…)
Harry opened the front door with tug, and stepped in to a body. That didn’t move—Harry found himself bouncing back slightly before he found his feet. Harry blinked down at the shiny black shoes before he raised his eyes. It was that stupid sunny shirt—and the fedora.
“… Reborn.” Harry forced himself to not take a step back.
The man tilted his head slightly to the side and nodded, “me.” The man slipped his cell phone in to his front pocket.
“What do you want?” Harry questioned, tightening his grip on the handle of the door he still had, as well as shifting his weight to his toes.
Reborn shifted, foot subtly moving forward to block any attempt for door clamming, even as an arm came up to rest against the door frame. He minutely leaned forward a little bit, using his slightly superior height to loom. “Many things, really. Answers—for one. And your compliance.” The man’s dark eyes swept over Harry’s body, lingering on Harry’s empty hands and on the bulge Oodako made under his coat.
It was easy to slip in to English when Reborn was responding in kind. Italian accent twisted the words, but Harry found the accent familiar and altogether easy to understand.
“Why would I give you my compliance?” Harry frowned.
“You desire answers, no?” Reborn was slowly shifting his weight forward. But Harry wouldn’t be cowed back. He refused to lean back against the looming. He refused to be the first to give.
Harry firmed up his shoulders, “I can get my own answers.”
“Yes—but is the world stationary? You have holes in your knowledge, and enemies at your back. You claim no friends. How will you survive.” The end was less a question and more of a musing as the arm leaning against the doorframe slid down, Reborn’s hand lingering on the frame above Harry’s own. Reborn was in the perfect position to launch himself forward.
Not good—the challenge that Harry had issued thrummed in the back of his mind. “… What’s it to you?” The remembrance of the sabotage was not far from thought.
“Skull.” Reborn spoke, and Harry swallowed his immediate denial (notmynamenotmyname) and was sure that Reborn caught the action all the same even as the hitman moved to speak, “you are Arcobaleno. You don’t stop being Arcobaleno from wishful thinking.”
“I’m not mafia,” Harry flashed his teeth, as if that would help cement his denial.
“You don’t remember it. But you are. We trained the civilian out of you—we can do so again.” Reborn was horribly calm, and Harry could see a weaker version of himself being swayed by such a thing in the face of uncertainty.
“Not a civilian.” Harry just wanted to refute everything Reborn spoke, to find some way to get some small victory.
“Ho?” Reborn shifted again, and they were so close that Harry could practically feel the movement of Reborn’s breath.
(I’m the best! The immortal—!)
“As a police officer, I’ve caught more terrible people that you’ll ever—“ Harry hissed as the hand on the doorframe slammed down on to his wrist in an iron grip. The grip jerked him forward, and then Harry found himself off balance and being pushed back. The door to the apartment slammed shut. And the bag looped over the wrist that Reborn had captured slammed back and forth.
It actually hurt.
“Police officer?” Reborn’s voice was so flat.
Well, perhaps not the smartest thing to say to a hitman.
“Let me go,” as soon as the words spilled out, Harry felt the déjà vu for it. Reborn’s grip tightened, and Harry didn’t doubt that he felt the same.
“Not so hard this time—“ the voice at Harry’s shoulder made him jump, and his eyes left Reborn to find Colonnello in the room. When…? Right, the window. The window that had remained open for the bird.
Reborn. Colonnello. Lal. Viper…. Creepy doctor man. The Asian girl? Man? Luce… the Arcobaleno.
The grip eased minutely, not enough to stop hurting. It took a moment before Harry realized that this was the wrist that Harry had broken in Reborn’s grip to get away. And the way that the fingers were minutely shifting, Reborn was checking for a break. Checking the level of pain.
“We’ve captured you,” Reborn taunted with a raising of the captured wrist.
That was a challenge.
Harry lashed out, kicking a leg back toward Colonnello. The blond let out a ‘whoa!’ even as Harry let his weight drop. Reborn grunted, but appeared strong enough to stand on his own. But Harry lashed out with his foot, kicking in the side of Reborn’s knee.
Reborn’s knee buckled. But the grip on his wrist creaked in force.
Two arms came up under his own—the taller Colonnello lifted him up. Harry found his feet leaving the floor. Reborn let go of his wrist, now that Harry was contained somewhere higher. Harry straightened his arms in one last desperate bid to get out. But Colonnello’s hands laced together behind Harry’s head, and he found himself a bit… trapped.
Harry would kill to have Ron at his side. (And considering his record now, well… not a statement to take lightly.)
“… shit…” Harry grumbled, kicking out a foot and watching Reborn easily slap it down.
Not good.
He should have ran the moment he saw the chameleon. (But… Longwei—NOTIMPORTANTWHYWHYWHY—)
“Skull, we have some questions for you,” Reborn responded easily as he circled around. And then out of Harry’s vision. Harry grimaced at the interrogation tactic that Reborn was using. Harry still jumped when he felt fingers weasel in to his sleeve over his obviously not broken wrist. The touch was there, and then it was gone.
“Where were you and Colonnello being held?” Reborn circled back in to view, and kept walking.
Harry pressed his lips together, in stubborn silence.
“Are you siding with them?” Reborn asked, from somewhere behind Harry’s head. And Colonnello shifted, obviously uncomfortable with the idea.
“No…” Harry murmured. He wouldn’t side with Frank.
“Then why not give me the information I want? What are they to you?” Reborn continued on. And it was the worst thing ever, being captured by this man. Harry had a feeling that this interrogation was going to go exactly as Reborn wanted it to go.
Harry squirmed. Yep, Colonnello hadn’t let up at all.
“I’m not letting you go,” Colonnello added, not even adjusting the grip he had locked Harry’s arms in. Colonnello didn’t even need to emphasis how stuck Harry was. Harry flailed a leg out, and watched a prowling Reborn smack it down again with a painless shove.
“What are they to you?” Reborn asked again, from somewhere just out of sight.
Harry’s eyes caught a blue haired woman with a red mark on her cheek, could see her setting down the bag that had gotten lost in the scuffle and pawing through it. Through his ripped suit and little odds and ends. Harry frowned, but didn’t bother to tell her off as he connected her image with the mental picture of the toddler from his memories.
Reborn rudely captured his jaw and angled his face back to the current interrogation.
“Lackey…” Reborn started, voice low.
“I don’t answer to you. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.” Harry pressed his mouth together tight as he tugged at his arms. Shifting as much as he could, looking for some give.
Reborn crowded in close, pushing down the knee Harry brought up to keep them separate. Reborn’s grip on his jaw never abated, and Harry held his breath and stayed still as their foreheads touched. They were eye to eye now, and Harry wanted to be defiant, but didn’t dare actually close his eyes. That just seemed like a stupid move, and Harry made more than enough accidentally to deliberately do a stupid move.
“And what is it that you want to do? Hm?” Reborn’s voice was silky low, and Harry gagged a little in the back of his mind as it reminded him of Snape. Snape had had a deep, dangerous voice like this and it had terrorized Harry when he was young. It was a voice that promised painful things should Harry fail to perform as expected. And Harry did not plan on moving to Reborn’s dance. He just had… to… get out.
The silence crawled, and Reborn eventually spoke up again, “anything Lal?”
“Nothing. Clothes. Shoes. No papers or tickets.” The woman concluded calmly as she neatly rolled and folded everything neatly back in to the bag she had pulled everything out of. Harry glanced to the side, trying to see past Reborn’s face. But the other was too close.
Reborn never took his eyes off Harry. It was eerie.
All of these people were terrible.
“You were always horrible, weren’t you?” Harry observed, trying to crane his head back but unable to with the grip. “That’s just how you are.”
Reborn’s dark eyebrows raised up. But his silence prompted more.
“You shot at me. You beat me. All I wanted was help—did you ever help me?” Harry asked, pulling at his memories as he scrambled to find something to off balance everything. There was that calculating light in Reborn’s eyes, and Harry heard Colonnello’s sharp breath in his ear. One of these two had to give, and Harry was setting his hopes on Colonnello as the weak link.
He just needed to find the right verbal trigger.
Harry would not lie—he had suffered lies before. But the truth… well, he could do that.
“I’m too old to take this shit from anyone. I refuse. I’m not your lackey. I’m not this strange Skull. I’m Harry—I will not bend to your perception of me.” Harry refused to change himself to be some kind of facsimile of a person.
“I am sorry, Colonnello, that you got caught up in my mess. What they did to you, no one deserves that. But you have new eyes, now. With vision better than you’ve ever had before—“ Harry was looking to Reborn, but he was talking to Colonnello, now. Harry could feel the fact that the man was holding his breath. Reborn obviously noticed the change. Harry could see the man shifting, the hand rising to silence him.
Now or never.
Now or never.
“They wanted you to die—I didn’t know you then, but I wouldn’t let an innocent man die in my place. They ripped out your eyes, and you felt every second of it. They wouldn’t give you anything to block the pain because they’re terrible human beings. But they ripped them out, because they were going to use the space to cut you away, until they could pull out your brain in one, whole piece—“ Harry was rambling, trying to induce a flash back. Anything. Anything to make the grip weaken.
Harry jerked his body, tugging at his arms.
Nothing budged.
The hand sealed over his mouth.
“… you’re certainly more conniving, now. I’m not sure I like it.” Reborn murmured.
Harry glared—if his mouth wasn’t blocked, he would have had a nice come back of, ‘I don’t exist to please you’ because Harry thought that it had a nice ring to it. But the opportunity was lost, and the hand didn’t move.
Colonnello let out a shaky breath and shook his head.
“What would a mafia family even want a brain for?” Colonnello murmured.
“Biological research,” Reborn offered easily.
Harry snorted—they thought the mafia was responsible for them? Harry mentally rolled his eyes. And remembered last second that Reborn was still so close and watching so intently.
“Oh, not mafia then?” Reborn humored, amused that he was getting answers so easily, as much as Harry mentally raged that the man was still getting answers from his silenced actions. Harry put more energy in to squirming.
“So, not mafia… and it’s a group of people with connections to you… who were after you. Not the Arcobaleno. Not Colonnello.” Reborn mused, and Harry heard rather than saw Lal walk over to their little gathering.
Her voice was more of a surprise just because of the rarity that Harry remembered it coming from her adult mouth rather than her toddler mouth—“they were efficient in their take down, as Colonnello described of their capture. Must have been a militant force.” Harry tried to stop his grimace, because that was a crude but true description of the Aurors. Not exactly normal police, and similar to military police.
Harry hated the fact, right now more than ever, that he had never gone back and mastered mind magics of the protective kind right then and there. Slack faced Snape had had the protection from interrogation by having a face he could control. Harry deeply, deeply wished he had the same thing.
“So, they wanted our Skull for his brain,” Reborn snorted, and the hand pressed harder against Harry’s mouth, pushing his head back as far as it would go. It didn’t hurt, but it was putting some strain on his body to contort at such a strange back bending angle.
“They sealed his flame and then wanted the brain? As an experiment?” Colonnello brought up.
“Skull told me, a few weeks before you were taken—that he thought he was being followed…” Reborn trailed off, and Harry wondered how that had gone. How, or why, the other Harry had even approached Reborn with such a thing. But the silent, quick breath of Colonnello behind his head spoke volumes of the fact that Reborn hadn’t released such information before.
Which meant that communication was poor. Mismanaged trust?
Harry gave a mighty jerk of his arms, and felt the slightly weakened hands slip on his arm. Harry grinned as he felt the give, but choked when Reborn’s hands clamped down on his neck. Harry’s feet dropped to the ground, and Colonnello let go entirely as Reborn’s hands caged Harry in.
Harry dug his nails in to Reborn’s hands—and Harry scowled at the leather his hands met. It was skin warm and skin soft—he hadn’t even noticed Reborn was wearing gloves because the color matched the man’s flesh in the dim morning light.
“Why are they after you?” Reborn’s fingers flexed on Harry’s throat. Enough pressure to always remind Harry that they were there. But not enough to choke, yet. Harry hated the fact that this sensation felt familiar. “You spent decades not remembering any of this—and one visit from this group and you completely lost everything you built up… for a time.” Reborn conceded the last part.
“You know who they are. And admitted that they’re after your life. They wanted to experiment on you. And they have.” Reborn added. Harry dug his heels in to the ground and tried to lean away. But those hands were like iron, and Reborn’s arms weren’t even shaking. Instead, he merely gave Harry’s neck a squeeze when he felt that Harry had leaned too far, and Harry minutely let his body return to how it was before. Harry could see Colonnello to his left, and Lal to the right.
“The only question remains—is where to put you. We need to hunt down the other group…. They’re not dead, like Skull bragged.” Reborn had been watching Harry’s face, reading minute tells. Harry tried to settle on one feeling—but he was just so jumbled. He didn’t need to deal with this shit. He didn’t want to. These people were all insane criminals (and so am I…) and Harry was being coerced in to a cage—
It was everything he hated. Everything.
“You made my motorbike crash, didn’t you?” Harry accused. Because it seemed like something Reborn would do.
Reborn didn’t look guilty. Or sad. Or repentant. He had a better poker face than Harry ever would.
“If I did?” Reborn challenged.
“Then you’re the absolute worst.” Harry barred his teeth, trying to focus his scattered will to do something. Anything to get away from these assholes!
Reborn gave a shrug, “I could live with that.”
Harry refused to live with it.
‘Fiendfye’ burned on his tongue. And Harry pressed his lips together. Trying to contain himself even as he started to haze around the sides. He refused to be caged and manipulated.
(They’re just trying to help!)
(Albus Dumbledore just wanted to help too—that doesn’t absolve him of his sins.)
Come on! Think! Thinkthinkthink—Idon’twantthisanythingfreefreefree!
Harry’s hands burned first. A spasm of pain wracked through his body—and Harry squeezed his eyes against the sudden onslaught and the roaring in his ears. If he made a noise, he couldn’t hear it as the pain burned up his arms and in to his body. Why did it hurt? He gave a full body shudder, his legs feeling weak.
… what was happening?
The hands around his neck were gone. Instead, when sensation returned, Harry found himself on his back with two fingers pressed against his pulse point. Harry was still burning, though. The burning centered in his chest. It hurt, like a crucio just expired.
Harry sluggishly opened an eye to blank faced Reborn. And white faced Colonnello at his elbow.
“Where is Verde?” Colonnello’s voice was tense. “He and Viper should be here.”
Lal murmured back something, but Harry was more caught up in the déjà vu of being on his back when Reborn hovering above. With Reborn and Colonnello above him.
“Wow—our relationship was so shitty that it took me being in pain and on the floor for everything to feel like normal,” Harry dug in, focused on making it hurt. Harry saw Colonnello draw back slightly with a grimace. Reborn was unfortunately unmoved.
Until Oodako launched himself from his not so hidden spot partially under Harry’s coat and aimed right for Reborn’s face. Reborn got an arm up in time to stop the face grab, but it removed the hand from Harry’s pulse point.
This was the only opening he was going to get.
Harry let the world tunnel.
The pain isn’t there. Not really.
Harry rolled in to Reborn, knocking against Reborn’s crouched knees and pushing the hitman off balance even as Colonnello scrambled forward. Harry’s wild kick to the side glanced against Colonnello’s side, but it was enough to throw the other off balance, and for Harry to slide back. Harry felt Oodako’s tentacles wrap tight around his arm, and as Harry scrambled to his feet he kicked Reborn’s side, sending the other sprawling.
And losing the shoe on that foot as Reborn grabbed it and took it down.
Lal had already moved to block the front door.
Harry rolled backwards until his back hit the wall. Oodako was firmly attached to his shoulder, and holding on tight. Reborn was rolling to his feet, and Colonnello was already charging.
… they really needed to stop meeting like this.
Harry, with a body ever used to split second decisions and running for his life, dropped low and barreled in to the kitchen and promptly dived out of the open window. If anyone was close to catching him, he didn’t even feel it as he went. The air burned as he sprinted hard, the uneven gait of his lack of shoe a terror to his coordination as he ducked left in to an alley way to another street. And down to the right. To the left.
“We’ll be okay,” Harry panted, comforting himself and a clinging Oodako.
Moving hurt. And Harry didn’t understand why. His body oscillated between numb and pain free… and burning.
(“Harry Potter burns.”)
Harry mentally shouted some choice swears at the remembrance of that prophecy. If this was what that prophecy was talking about, Harry certainly had a bone to pick with seers as a whole. They were just a pain in the ass. All the same, Harry didn’t dare look behind himself as he ran. There was hardly a soul around at the moment, it being so early.
Which was good. Harry probably made a terrible sight.
He shoved a hand in to his jacket and pulled out his shrunken motorcycle.
He was running through a residential when he spotted a car driving away… and a closing garage door.
A sprint, slide, and roll—and Harry was inside a sealed garage. Harry took a few deep breaths and looked around the garage for cameras. He didn’t see any, and he wasted no time in unshrinking the motorbike. He gave it a look over (mentally lamented over the paint he scratched back in the ministry of magic), before he seated himself and turned it on. A bit of magic to push the button of the garage opener, and Harry drove out of the garage once the door cleared enough for him to duck out.
It took ten minutes of fast driving before he eased himself a bit. It took twenty minutes before he turned on the emergency lights and ducked to the side of the road. He carefully took out his wand and sent out a pulse of magic around his body. He heard the sharp whine of something fizzing out—and eventually fished out a black chip from the pocket of his pants.
Harry dropped it with a grimace, and continued on his merry way.
It was only a few hours later that Harry realized he had fried the battery of his phone as well. (He had stopped to look at the time... and to transfigure himself a new boot to make up for the missing one...)
As Harry approached Hamburg, he resolved to finish his business and gather a new battery for his phone. If only so he could open the line of communication with Longwei. (Already, Harry felt a bit nervous about getting back to his friend… but there were bigger fish to fry at the moment, and Harry intended to be the one to catch the big fish.)
Harry was still pushing against the last lingering tingles of pain when he arrived at the hospital. Well, it was the Universitätsklinikum Hamburg-Eppendorf. A teaching hospital. The red brick of the front entrance, once Harry found the entrance, was intimidatingly beautiful. The dark ivy climbing the sides of the building, the perfectly cut green grass…
“How serendipitous…” Harry murmured, skin crawling as he read one of the banners pinned up for view.
‘DAY OF THE OPEN HERITAGE SITES’ was what Harry translated the German words in to as he zipped up his jacket. Oodako had firmly wrapped himself around Harry’s torso, his body smaller and settled. Harry glanced around at all of the milling people, and was glad that he hadn’t washed off the ‘war paint’ that Longwei had painted on, because it hid the thick scars.
He had woken up here after a coma of some sort.
… the memory was fuzzy, in a strange way. And a little nonsensical as a brain wiped empty tried to come to terms with the world. But Harry knew that this muggle hospital would have records. Perhaps they were digital records now, but he would find them. Of course as Harry stepped in to the hospital, he found that while the entrance felt familiar, it was still considered the ‘former main entrance’.
Didn’t matter.
Harry kept himself loose, eyes curious and not lingering on anything too long as he followed the pull of the crowds.
It was way too easy, infiltrating the paper record hall. And upon discovering that the dark archives only went back fifty years, Harry found an ancient looking computer terminal (closer to what he was used to) and eventually located the digital records of his person. Harry had to take the time to sort through patients by time period, general characteristics, and by his more iconic lightning bolt scar before he located himself. At least hospitals were well documented machines even back then.
Apparently the hospital staff named him ‘Max Mustermann’ for lack of anything better. Harry printed off the considerable file before deleting it. After he scrubbed the digital file clean, Harry cursed the fact that the terminal wasn’t hooked to the internet and he couldn’t go and get a virus to take care of the rest.
Once his file was printed and tucked in to his shirt, Harry murmured a curse to the computer that had it imploding in to a miss of shards.
Harry left as smoothly as he came in.
(That was all the more reason to be super twitchy. He wanted to scream every time he saw a flash of green out of the corner of his eye. The back of his neck felt chilled from the cold sweat he had.)
The sun was going down when Harry settled down in a public park. He pulled out his file and eyed the black and white printed photos of an emaciated and scarred body that Harry felt was his own. Harry had been admitted as a ‘John Doe’ after his body was stabilized at an emergency unit in a non-teaching hospital. When he had stabilized, they had brought him to a teaching hospital.
The reason was listed as funding. And research on trauma related coma. His brain waved had apparently been very low in their readings. But Harry couldn’t make heads or tails of the print out.
Harry was more interested in the parts of his file related to waking up. He dug through the doctor lingo as much as he could. And supposed that all of the mentioned physical therapy was ultimately helpful in the end. Harry had lived at the teaching hospital for nearly six months, and his astronomical recovery after a nearly two year coma had been documented extensively.
Well… Harry had information. At least somewhat.
He had a start from when ‘Skull’ had been born.
“It’s a start, Oodako…” Harry yawned, patting the bulge over his stomach where Oodako was tucked away.
The cold press of the muzzle of a pistol pressed against the nape of his neck. Harry let out an aggravated sigh. “Really?” Why did Reborn have to keep doing this to him? Harry was so hopeful that the man would just give up already.
A female voice spoke up, “raise your hands.” The voice was calm, and it had Harry pause before he slowly raised his hands.
“Higher.” The woman ordered, and Harry complied.
His left wrist was hooked in to handcuffs, and the right wrist soon followed.
Not impossible to get out of. The gun lowered, and Harry lowered his now handcuffed hands and twisted around to see what he was dealing with now.
A woman in a biker suit and helmet.
… wearing a lot of purple.
Harry was really starting to hate the color. It just seemed to be a continual sign of ill omens.
“You’ll be coming with me, Skull DeMort.” The woman stated, gun in her pocket and Harry knew from the indent that it was pointed right at him. Harry let out a big sigh and jammed the papers in to his shirt as he ambled to his feet.
Somehow, he had a feeling that this was related to the mafia.
(He wouldn’t make a bet on that, because even Harry could recognize a sucker’s bet. If he wasn’t so used to similar bullshit events happening in his daily life before being lost in time, Harry would have been one angry scream at this point. But really, right now… well, Harry just rolled with the punches.)
Harry placidly walked as the woman indicated. Moving toward the parking lot.
… this woman was a bit incompetent wasn’t she?
Harry had his cuffed hands in front of his body. And he easily slipped a hand out with minimal movements. One hand, then the other. Who knew his hands could bend that way? And apparently she hadn’t put the cuffs on completely. In fact, Harry could recognize that she had been extremely gentle with the gesture.
Harry shoved the cuffs up a sleeve (that didn’t hold his wand) and kept his wrists together and in front of his body to give the illusion that he was still cuffed, but the sleeves dipping just enough to make it seem believable.
A creepy white van was the only vehicle parked next to his bike. The door slid open as he approached.
One man in the driver’s seat. Looking bored. One man in the back, looking bored and also ready to receive them. The black haired man shuffled forward, one hand out and reaching toward Harry’s elbow as Harry stopped in front of the door.
Harry turned his head minutely to look at the woman.
“Whoops!” Harry pretended to trip, dropping down to catch his hands on the edge of the open side of the van. His weight shifted to one knee where he had 'fallen'.
The woman and man both gave a sigh, and Harry reached out with a hand to catch the van man’s ankles, and a foot reaching back to catch the woman by the knee. Harry lashed out and downed them both. He heard van man’s head crack on something, even as he whirled in to a standing stance and gave the woman a firm punch to the throat.
She went down gasping and clutching her throat.
“If you hadn’t been wearing the helmet, I would have punched your nose instead!” Harry called as he scrambled on to his bike and turned it on.
An easy kick to the approaching driver had him falling away.
Harry drove forward and through the park, rather than backing out and taking to the street as the weirdly dressed fail mafiosos scrambled to adjust.
“As if I would be such an easy target,” Harry murmured to himself, eyes squinting against the wind and jaw still smarting from the pressure Reborn had exerted on it.
He was getting increasingly closer calls as time went on.
… perhaps Reborn was right.
Holes in his knowledge. Enemies at his back.
“Skull... what a pain.” Even the other him that had existed in the absence of Harry was turning out to be more of a pain than Harry wanted to deal with.
… well, no time like the present to lay low in the circus.
Perhaps he should bleach his hair?
Before Harry could go in to phone store, Harry remembered that he actually had no money to his name. And after a moment dropped his non helmeted head on to the handlebars of his bike.
He couldn’t actually just go in and buy a replacement battery!
Well, this was going to be a problem.
.. it was a good thing Harry was such a problem solver.
Well, he could at least problem solve—Harry decided this a few hours after he walked out of a pub, having swindled many a drunk person out of a few euros. Never too much from one person. Some people, he just asked for some change. Others, he had stolen the wallet, wished out a handful of bills, before throwing it under the victim’s feet as he absconded.
Three pubs.
He got more than enough free drinks.
His chest ached more than he felt tipsy. He felt terribly normal, even as he walked in to a phone store right before closing and got a replacement battery. With the phone on, Harry wandered away. He paged through Longwei’s several texts of worry and located a longitude-latitude coordinates that led him to a city near the border of Germany to France.
Harry typed in a simple ‘see you soon,’ and got himself ready to head south. Might as well head this way, since going north seemed to bring him nothing but trouble.
Harry, before he shuffled his phone in to a pocket, took a moment to bring up a news site. Reluctantly, he typed in the words 'LONDON FIRE' in to a search engine, and waited for the result.
'LONDON FIRE EXTINGUISHED!'The first link claimed. There were more articles attached to this one, which would no doubt explain in depth property damage and lives lost and the plan to rebuild. But Harry could only stare at the title before letting the screen go dark.
... if Frank survived, he was going to have a lot more free time to plan and extract revenge from Harry.
This was perhaps the first time Harry was going to be treated like a bad guy and actually deserve it. (A part of him hoped that Frank would just let things be. But the part of Harry that always expected the worst merely shifted and Harry started to make some plans to get ready for the worst to happen.)
Harry revved his engine and pointed himself south.
Roll with the punches. Harry could do that.