Chapter Text
It started small. But over time it had become wrecking.
Holding a wand in hand was much like holding a hot coal, now.
It hurt.
Logically, Harry knew that his hand physically wasn’t on fire. Hermione had dragged him straight to a healer right after his whispered complaint. There was nothing wrong with his fixed wand. There was nothing wrong with his hand.
But every time he held his wand, every time he even touched it—it hurt. Agony raced up his fingers and down his arm. It wasn’t even just his own wand. It was Hermione’s wand. It was the healer’s wand. It all hurt. Harry stared down at his hand, fuzzily watching his fingers move for a moment before he reached out to the whiskey he had on the table.
Everything was just… unraveling.
Everything was supposed to get better.
Voldemort was dead. The Death Eaters disbanded and were being hunted down. Kingsley was interim minister. Diagon Ally was open to the public once more with no fear of disappearing. The camps had been disbanded. Wands had been returned. Everything was on the up and up.
Everything but Harry, that is.
Harry dropped his face to rest on the table.
It was like… a world gone silent. Or perhaps just gone?
Harry felt ill every time he stepped in to a magical place. His stomach hurt. His skin crawled. It felt like he couldn’t even breathe.
He couldn’t even stand being in Grimmald Place.
Couldn’t stand to look at Ginny.
“I can’t do anything…” Harry murmured to himself. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was green. Green and red. Dazzling bright lights that burned his eyes from just the memory of it all.
“Can’t sleep… can’t eat…” Harry moaned to himself.
It was probably what led him to hear. Everything was hazy to his senses. Trapped between a painful hyperawareness and a stifling fugue. Harry blinked at his hotel room. With its dingy little table, cot like bed, and horrid floral chair under a tiny prison like window.
Harry had stood up one day, left the Leaky Cauldron, and landed here.
Harry had thrown up shortly after casting the wards necessary to keep owls and tracking spells away from his person. He had shortly started to drown himself in alcohol shortly afterward, if only to stop his wallowing. But considering that this was the first time he had ever consumed such heavy alcohol with full intent to black out—it wasn’t going like he imagined it would. His stomach felt sour—his head was heavy. And it still felt like his skin was crawling underneath.
It figures that he was the kind of drunk person that would… wallow.
Harry jumped to his feet. “I’m not going to wallow away!”
The irritated pounding on the wall to Harry’s left, and the incomprehensible yelling from his neighbor had Harry ducking his head, hands raised by his ears as he eyed the apparently thin wall separating the rooms.
“Shut up!” Harry yelled at the wall the longer the yelling on the other side continued.
Harry ground his teeth together against the aggressive pounding of a fist to the wall.
Well, if the other wasn’t going to stop… Harry marched right over to the wall and slammed his own fist in to the wall, as quickly and as loudly as he could before it started to make his hand hurt just a bit too much.
A long, wordless scream from the other side before Harry heard stomping, a door slamming… and then something heavier than a fist slamming against his hotel room door.
If Harry had an active conscience, he would claim that answering such a summoning was obviously a very, very bad idea.
The inhibited, fed up, and self-pitying part of him was rather large at the moment and wanted to spread his hurt to everyone in the vicinity. Harry didn’t even have to think about it. His hand landed on his lock, and with a jerk he had his door open and a boot in his face.
Harry went down hard—blood instantly flowing out of his nose.
“Shit—!” The voice above him choked.
… this called for retaliation.
Harry snapped a foot out and tripped the man in to the room. The man went down screaming, landing on the floor next to Harry. Harry kicked his door closed and swung a fist. It landed in something soft and he heard an ‘oof!’ before something hard knocked in to Harry’s stomach.
Hard.
Harry choked, flailing hard—his elbow got something that went crunch, and an arm was trying to wrap around his neck and—
It was just a messy pile of flailing limbs. Harry didn’t know how long they went on for before the other man successfully wrapped an arm around Harry’s neck and waited him out in to submission. Eventually, all of Harry’s energy disappeared, and he sagged in the pin that the stranger had him in.
“… you done, asshole?” The voice—young and exhausted, whined against Harry’s hair.
“… yeah, m’done.” Harry murmured in to the carpet.
The man let out a long sigh and untangled his arms before sagging in to the carpet next to Harry.
“… ow.” Harry mumbled. Although when he got no reaction, he repeated himself. “Ow.”
“Fuck you—if you’re hurting it’s your own damn fault.” The man hissed, a lamp hand coming out to smack the middle of Harry’s back. It didn’t really hurt, but Harry hissed all the same. Harry also raised a limp hand and socked the man in the side.
The man snorted, “don’t dish out what you can’t take, you dip.”
As if a minor fisticuffs could compare with a crucio.
Although the thought didn’t help much, considering that his vision had gone dark and he was fading fast. Between one exhausted blink and the next, Harry woke to pre-dawn light. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his nose felt clogged and tender (a lot of things felt tender, actually).
And he was wrapped around in someone’s arms, a leg hitched over his middle like some demented pillow.
Harry slowly craned his head back and blinked up at—purple hair. Obnoxious purple hair, coupled with a young baby face—
“… you’re a punk!” Harry near yelled, and then winced to himself at his own volume.
The man jumped, and blearily opened an impossibly purple eye at Harry. One look at Harry and the man theatrically groaned.
“Come on! You can’t stay up super late being a loud shit, and then wake up super early also being loud!” The man wailed, and Harry groaned at the level of noise the other was achieving. Harry merely sighed and dropped his head on the stranger’s shoulder. Harry’s head felt like it was splitting in half and he was going a little crazy from the overload of sensation.
“… broke my nose.” Harry slurred.
“… sorry.” The man murmured, eventually shifting and loosening his hold on Harry enough to sit up. The man even nicely pulled Harry up with him. Which Harry was thankful for. Harry shuffled a bit to the side and moved to lean against the wall in the tiny hallway next to his hotel door.
Harry eyed the leather the man was wearing for a long moment before he raised his eyes and locked with the queer purple the other man sported. Harry noted that the man looked pale and haggard. Although at the eye up, the purple haired stranger quirked a tired grin. He opened his mouth—
“Don’t you dare,” Harry hissed. If he heard one pick up line from this man, he would throw another punch. Exhaustion or no exhaustion.
“So, what’s your name hot stuff?” Well, that there was pure deliberate.
Harry kicked him in the leg. The idiot actually giggled.
“… M’Harry.”
“Harry…?”
“Just Harry.”
“Dunno—you’re pretty clean shaven to be hairy.” He quirked, and Harry narrowed his eyes , pointing a finger at the stranger in silent warning. Wow, this was like talking with one of the younger years when you told them ‘no’ and they deliberately did the thing that they were just told off from doing.
“You can call me Skull—Mr. Hairy.” The stranger, ‘Skull’, grinned all teeth and some strange form of pure mirth at the situation.
Harry dropped his hand with a breath, “you’re horrible.”
“I’m the best kind of horrible.” Skull laughed as he rolled over and on to his knees. “Anyway, let me look at your nose alright? I don’t think my boot actually broke it.”
“Oi, I’m not letting you touch my nose!” Harry hissed, already scrambling to stand himself. Harry didn’t get too far before Skull threw a leg over Harry’s two legs and crouched over him. Harry reached out to shove the other man out of his space, but merely got his hands redirected to the side before there were thumbs pressing into his cheekbones.
“Side note—aren’t you a might bit too young for the drinking thing you have going on?” Skull added, eyes focused on Harry’s nose.
“Aren’t you a bit too baby faced for the black lipstick?” Harry huffed.
“It’s not black, it’s rouge berry!” A pause, and then, “… or it might be my black honey one—can’t remember which one I put on last…” Skull hummed and shifted his bodyweight back a little as he sat back more firmly on his heels even as he leaned away from Harry a bit. “It’s not broken, by the way.”
“Good,” Harry hummed, and promptly shoved the other back.
“Cheap!” Skull managed to hiss out, arms flailing as he landed solidly on his bum.
A moment of silence and then—
“So hey, Mr. Harry NoLastName—you rudely interrupted me when I was creating a stage name for myself. So you gotta help me.” Skull scooted back until his back touched the wall of the hall opposite to Harry. Although the hall wasn’t that large. Their legs remained largely entangled with each other.
“Why would I help with that?” Harry crossed his arms over his chest, and then winced at the feeling of his bruised fingers contorting in to loose fists.
“Because you inconvenienced me last night—and I have like, an hour before I need to submit my stage name to my agent!” Skull pitched his voice high, and Harry winced and gave the other a little kick to stop.
“Fine! Stop that racket.” Harry glared, and Skulls’ smug grin didn’t ease the annoyance that Harry was feeling. “Lemme think.”
What was the most terrible name he could think of? “Is Skull part of your stage name?”
“Yes, I need a last name—I’ll be doing stunts for movies in Hollywood!” And then the purple haired man continued to blather on and on. Harry dubiously eyed the other, and firmly settled the man as a ‘chatter box’ in his head.
Annoying. Utterly annoying.
In a naïve, joyful way. A bitter part of Harry wanted to snuff out that happiness, if only to share his own misery.
The side that was growing larger and larger the longer Harry was in this man’s presence—wanted to help protect this simple joy.
… still annoying, though.
Skull Longbottom? (The name itself was annoying, not really the man that currently owned the Longbottom name...)
Skull Malfoy? (Sounded rather off. Not a great stage name...)
“How about Skull deMort?” Harry quipped, a curling grin taking over his features in such a way that he couldn’t help but grin through the small pain his face felt.
“Is that French? It sounds fancy.” Skull tilted his head to the side.
“Yeah, it’s a bit French I think.” Harry shrugged.
“… I like it! Sounds rather gruesome. Mort is ‘death’ right?” Skull’s smile was large, probably only so large because apparently his mouth was so wide.
“Yeah. Mort is death. You ever learn any French?” Harry asked, because even as someone who never actively learned French he could probably passably ask for help in the language just from sheer exposure.
Skull whined, “languages are hard!”
A moment later, Skull’s stomach grumbled.
“C’mon little fisticuffs man—let’s go do some breakfast!”
“I’d rather not…” Harry trailed off. He didn’t have a great history with food lately. Or appetite...
“Aw, why not?” Skull asked, jumping to his feet with extreme energy.
Harry looked away, toward his unused bed. “I think I’ll sleep.”
Harry let out a rather involuntary yell as his arms were grabbed and he was jerked to his feet. Skull’s unrepentant grin so close to his face was only a little bit annoying at this point. It was the gentle, warm hands on his forearms that brought most of his ire really.
“Come eat with me. As a thank you! I was really having trouble with that name.” Skull egged Harry on, edging Harry toward the door.
Harry let out a breath and shrugged his shoulders, “thought you said I owed you.”
“Hee, well that too. Let’s mix it up?” Skull cocked his head to the side, dropping Harry’s arms. Although he paused before he leaned in close and sniffed at Harry’s shoulder. Harry and Skull grimaced at the same time.
“You might, uh, wanna dress in something other than rags?”
“… I don’t have anything but this.” Harry mumbled.
Ultimately that was how, a few minutes later, Harry found himself at the café next to the hotel in loose leather pants and a purple shirt. “… baby wipes, seriously?” Harry asked, rubbing at his elbow.
“It’s good in a pinch,” Skull gave a little shrug, “sleep in late and you don’t wanna smell like body—a little wipe of baby, uh, wipe—right as rain!”
Well, Harry would have appreciated this a little while ago. A few months ago. When he was wandering the woods with Hermione and Ron. Well, in the beginning it would have been appreciated. After a while being nose dead was fine for the most part. Cleaning charms only stretched so far after a time.
A waitress bustled by and delivered their coffees and breakfast sandwiches. The sun was just coming up, but the little sunshine café was packed. Harry and Skull were squished in to a corner.
All the same, they had their drinks and food. “… thanks for, um… buying breakfast.” Harry poked at his sandwich, staring down at his breakfast if only so he wouldn’t have to look Skull in the eye.
“The more the merrier,” Skull hummed, swiping up his coffee to give a loud slurp. “Eat!” Skull prodded after a moment of silence.
Harry sighed, picked up his sandwich, and gave a reluctant bite.
… it tasted like… fresh bread. And tomatoes. Some kind of cheese—Harry blinked and stared down at the toasted bread. It tasted like how he had expected it to. It tasted like normal. Like his memory said it should.
It wasn’t ashes and death and green-green light—
“… It’s good.” Harry murmured.
“You’re welcome,” at Skull’s words, Harry raised his eyes to look at Skull’s beaming face. “You’re so skinny, you should eat more!” Skull added with a little huff.
“Maybe you should feed me more,” Harry mumbled, but Harry soon froze in place when he noticed that Skull had frozen in place as well at those words. “Um… that is, I… uh…” Harry choked on his embarrassment.
“Sure. Come to America with me then.”
Harry didn’t think it was possible for his face to feel any hotter—but those words from Skull made him feel like there was fiendfyre in his veins. Harry stared at the sandwich in his hands for a moment longer before he raised his eyes and focused on Skull.
There was nothing but serious determination on Skull’s face.
It was comforting, if nothing else, to see the jokes ease away for this.
Harry couldn’t stand to be in the magical world anymore. And this—this would be as good of a time as any to just leave. “How would I get a passport for that?”
“You can be my bike mechanic! You know anything about motorbikes?” Skull smiled—the seriousness drifting away like clouds dissipating under a joyful sun.
“Uh—I know they can be loud?”
“That’s a start!”