Archive of Our Own

Harry didn’t know how it happened, just that it did. If you asked him to explain it, he wouldn’t be able to give you the slightest clue of how it happened.

In one moment, he was in the freezing cold water, so dark that he couldn’t see the small misshapen island where he had been dragged off. His vision blurred so badly that despite having his glasses on, he could barely make out the white flesh and bones of the zombie-like corpses that were dragging him below, their fingers clawing at him like vultures with a carcass.

He tried to struggle, he really did, swishing his wand about and frantically thinking spells in the desperate hope that he would be able to achieve at least one non-verbal spell before his oxygen ran out. His mouth was no longer tightly closed, the panic and urge to scream - spells or otherwise - had opened his mouth just a crack but it was enough that bubbles of precious oxygen were trickling out like water at a spring.

Harry’s lungs, eyes and throat were burning; how long had he been under the water? He truly couldn’t say. It felt like hours, perhaps his magic was keeping him alive, similarly to the Second Task? All he knew was that he was getting dragged deeper and deeper, away from the surface, the water turning colder and blacker somehow.

He wasn’t sure when he began to lose feeling in his arms and legs; when the scratches and claw marks stopped hurting; when he wasn’t even sure if he was still holding his wand anymore. The realisation only made him more distressed, a warming bubbling feeling began to form in his stomach and Harry hoped and prayed to anything out there - deity or otherwise - that he wasn’t about to throw up; that he wasn’t about to lose the last few seconds of precious air.

The sensation grew hotter, practically melting his insides like a volcanic eruption going off in his stomach. It was only then - once the sheer terror had been worn away slightly by confusion - that he looked down, witnessing his body beginning to glow, his warm brown skin becoming almost golden as it shone, illuminating the sickly blue-blotted skin stretched over tightly latched fingers which still grasped his arms, his legs, his clothes, his everything.

Eventually, Harry was forced to close his eyes, the searing from the salt water and the blazing glow of his body was too much for the bright green eyes, his glasses providing little to no protection.

It was almost enough for him to miss the strange twisting he felt in his gut, not dissimilar to apparition or a port-key. Almost, but not quite. It didn’t linger particularly long, dissipating as the crescendo of the scorching inferno inside his body began to cool - he didn’t really detect it at first, it was only after hours of remembering and theorising later that he noticed it.

In bewilderment over the dying heat and light show, Harry reopened his eyes, realising even through the prickle of tears and the ache of his lungs that the corpses that once surrounded him were no longer there. Disorientated and baffled, he looked around, trying to spot them; maybe they thought he had drowned. Or perhaps the light had driven them away from him. At that particular moment, Harry didn’t care, he was too busy frantically trying to swim towards the dim lights he had spotted, internally praying that he was going up towards the surface where Professor Dumbledore was and not further down.

He breached the surface just as he released the last few priceless bubbles of air. Gasping for the life-saving oxygen that his body had been oh so deprived of only seconds prior, he wasn’t focused on his surroundings, too busy treading water.

Harry didn’t know how long he stayed there, likely only for a few minutes, regaining his breath and calming down from yet another near miss with death. It was only when he noticed waves splashing his face with the occasional briny sea water making it into his mouth, that he realised the water was too… he couldn’t quite think of the word just then, but it was no longer the motionless lake that hid an army full of inferi beneath it. Instead, it bore a remarkable resemblance to the ocean just outside the cave, the waves rising and falling in a crest-like motion, however, it was slightly calmer in general, and the lack of rain and high winds made it survivable for Harry; a still relatively novice swimmer.

The light source which originally attracted Harry’s attention wasn’t Dumbledore like he had first presumed. It was a city.

It vaguely reminded Harry of London with the tightly packed buildings (from what he could see) and the plumes of smoke rising high into the sky, obscuring the natural night sky and its stars. The ships along the docks - he’s in a harbour, Harry worked out - were a lot bigger than the rickety little rowing boats Harry had used in the past. He knew nothing of boats, thanks to being raised in the suburbs of Surrey and the Highlands of Scotland most of his life, but he knew those ships would crush him if he lingered in the water much longer.

Pushing his aching and exhausted limbs, he swam where he presumed the shore was, or at least the side of the harbour. His legs screamed at him and he kicked weakly, doggy-paddle being the only real swimming technique he knew, not like Dumbledore’s strong breast-stroke that he had performed only earlier that day (Was it the same day? How long has it been? Did Dumbledore think he was dead? Where was he?)

There were multiple close calls with boats nearly hitting Harry, they must not have spotted him because surely they would have stopped or said something otherwise. He didn’t know and he didn’t want to know in case they had seen him and just left him to drown. If it wasn’t for the fact that Purebloods would never use boats alongside muggles, Harry would’ve been a lot more terrified of being found by Death Eaters - he still was to be perfectly honest but he had bigger concerns at the current moment in time.

It felt like years by the time Harry made it to the wooden pathways along the Harbour edge, it could’ve been hours for all Harry cared. He was just happy to be nearly out of the water. He grasped one of the wooden posts that held up the dock as tightly as he could, giving himself a few seconds to regain his strength. Harry was surprised that it had taken him this long to realise that his wand was still held firmly in his right hand, he had only noticed it when he went to grab the post and spotted that his hand was clenched around it - he had yet to regain feeling in his hands or feet despite the burning he could feel in his arms and legs.

Harry should have been more worried about the lack of sensation or awareness in his extremities but he didn’t care. All he felt was relief, pure and utter relief that made him sag against the dock weakly. He still had his wand. He hadn’t lost it in that inferi-filled cave. He still had a chance of survival, he could dry himself off once he was out of the water, he could protect himself against attackers, and he could work out where he was.

He had lost all sense of time since leaving Hogwarts with Dumbledore, his near drowning and apparent apparition had completely knocked his internal clock off its kilter. He was soaked, lost and confused - he didn’t even want to think about where he was going to stay once he got out of the water, or if this place was even in England anymore. He was just glad that he had his wand and that his magic kept him from getting the most common illnesses such as colds. His biggest concern was possible infections from the dirty sea water in his numerous cuts and scrapes.

Well, that was a lie. His biggest concern was getting out of the water and not getting hypothermia.

Whilst the stopping had helped to regain his breath, he quickly discovered that clinging onto the wooden post had sapped any of his remaining strength, leaving him to feel as weak as a newborn kitten. Harry wasn’t sure where he found the strength to crawl his way out of the harbour, maybe it was the fear of drowning, of dying to the cold that had seeped into his very marrow, or maybe it was his magic urging him to survive as it had back in the cave. All he knew was that he was out of the water by some sheer miracle. He collapsed on the wooden decking, grateful that he no longer had to hold up his body weight - which was only possible in the first place thanks to his Quidditch training and his starved body that never truly fully recovered from his imprisonment at the Dursleys’.

He knew he couldn’t linger long, someone was sure to be patrolling the docks at night and he had no excuse or reason as to why he was there or how he had got there - assuming they even spoke English. Of course, there was a translation spell that he could use, Fleur taught him during one of the quieter moments back at the Burrow over Christmas, it was one that the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang students used during the Triwizard Tournament. However, he couldn’t exactly whip out his wand and use a translation spell in front of muggles - he couldn’t take the risk.

So, after laying on the docks for a few minutes - no longer than 15 if Harry’s internal clock was right - he gradually stumbled his way to his feet. First, he sat up which was hard enough to do with the chest pains that come from near drowning let alone whatever his magic did, then he turned over until he was on his hands and knees; all of his limbs shaking from exhaustion and the cold which clung to him like a Dementor was hugging him.

He nearly resigned himself to crawling away from the docks but the wood beneath him was untreated, with numerous splinters ready to jam themselves into Harry’s hands and knees, further increasing the chances of infection. He wasn’t about to risk it any further than necessary so he slowly rose to his feet, wobbling the entire time as if he was in gale-force winds and not on a relatively sheltered and stable dock.

Harry hunched low, his arms held out slightly to steady himself and walked slowly to the entry of the docks, clinging to the shadows like he used to do as a child to avoid Dudley’s attention. His entire body shook with chills but he didn’t dare use magic until he was hidden somewhere - whether it be an abandoned alleyway or a derelict building. At this point, Harry didn’t care.

It took until Harry had nearly reached the guard station at the entrance of the docks before he suddenly remembered something incredibly important.

Cursing under his breath, Harry reached up towards his neck, where his somehow still relatively dry moleskin pouch lay underneath his soaked shirt. He reached in, feeling foolish at the fact that he had forgotten something so useful, and grabbed the slippery smooth fabric which was his cloak of invisibility.

Wearing the cloak not only made him hidden from the naked eye, but it also shielded him from the cold night’s breeze, allowing his body to warm slightly from the near-frozen temperature it had previously been.

Harry crept past the guards, careful not to bump into anything or make much noise (he had learnt the art of walking silently at a young age and had perfected it during his Hogwarts career). He wanted to hold his breath as he passed them but the ache of his lungs and memories of his near drowning mere minutes - hours? - ago prevented him. Alternatively, he maintained a calm shallow breathing pattern, his panic and distress were pushed deep down within him as he focused on every footstep and breath.

He didn’t start to breathe normally again until he had rounded a corner and was out of view of any dock workers - guards or otherwise.

Unfortunately, his next problem was finding an empty alleyway or building whilst invisible without bumping into anyone. A challenge considering how crowded the streets were and how there were at least two people in every alley. If it wasn’t for the fact that Harry was absolutely exhausted and the invisibility cloak wouldn’t fully cover him, Harry would’ve attempted to climb onto the rooftops of the nearby buildings. Not only would that give him a vantage point to get a feel for where he was or where he should go next; it would also provide him with a modicum of privacy to dry himself off and take stock.

Harry managed to find an alleyway which was dark enough that he could dry himself and take the cloak off despite being partially occupied by a man who seemed to be sleeping off all his winnings going by the stench that wafted off him. Harry decided it was the best option, he couldn’t walk much further in such a crowd in case he got hit or knocked into, nor could he go much further in his wet clothes.

He dried himself off using heating charms, keeping a half-eye out for any Ministry owl coming to give him a warning or expel him - surely this would count as a life-threatening circumstance? His hair curled and fluffed ridiculously because of the spell, expanding to an even greater mess than usual causing Harry to quietly huff in discontent. His clothes, whilst dry, were still ripped to shreds, and an entire sleeve of his coat was torn off and hanging by the cuff, which was quickly fixed by a muffled “Reparo”. Altogether, Harry was surprised that he hadn’t lost his shoes or any other article of clothing.

Still remaining under his cloak, for now, Harry took stock of what was in his moleskin pouch: his money pouch which had 10 Galleons, 25 sickles and 17 knuts remaining, his photo album, a practise snitch, a couple of books which Luna had shoved at him for no reason a few days previous, and a few potions including a pepper-up which Harry took immediately, sagging in relief as warmth spread through his entire body, it felt like it even went through every strand of hair.

He wanted to look at the books in more detail to work out what they were and why Luna had given them to him - he hoped they weren’t just filled with made-up creatures from the Quibbler but one could never be too sure with Luna. However, after taking the potion, his stomach made a surprise appearance, gurgling so loudly that Harry’s head snapped up to check on the sleeping drunk to see if it had woken him up. Thankfully, the man didn’t move. It was getting to the point where Harry was beginning to question whether or not the man was drunk or dead.

Another rumble of his stomach cut off Harry’s thoughts of checking on the man; Harry had enough going on without having to check on a stranger especially if the man was actually drunk. Harry had learnt from Uncle Vernon to avoid drunken men and to never wake them up, it only ever resulted in shouting and a wallop to the head.

Staying in the shadows, Harry cautiously removed his cloak and wished he hadn’t when the cold began to leach whatever warmth the pepper-up had given him. He carefully folded it away into his moleskin pouch, not wanting to risk leaving it in his pocket. His wand was kept tucked up his right sleeve, ready to be dropped in his hand at a moment’s notice.

He followed what he thought was the main street, limping behind a large crowd of what he presumed were tourists considering they ooh’d and aww’d at every little street performer and vendor. As he walked, Harry cursed himself again as he realised that nobody was speaking English or any other language he could vaguely recognise like French (from Fleur and Sirius) or Hindi (from Padma and Pavarti who tried to teach him some of his paternal cultures). He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten to cast the translation spell back in the alley, too busy sinking into the warmth of dry clothes and too distracted by hunger.

It didn’t matter anyway, it wasn’t like he could buy anything with the money he had, he doubted that there was a Gringotts or magical community nearby, at least one that he could find. He was tempted to duck into another alleyway and use a point-me spell to find anything familiar but he couldn’t risk being seen and he daren’t use his cloak again.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, thought Harry as he reverted back to his pre-Hogwarts Survive-the-Dursleys mentality. Each time he limped past a stall full of food he would drop his wand back into his hand and summon a singular piece of food - whether it was a single apple or a pastry - and snatch it up with his left hand like it was a snitch, squirrelling the food either up his sleeve, into the moleskin pouch, into his pocket or his mouth. His eyes were constantly moving around, spotting stalls that had plenty of wares to sell that missing one wasn’t a disaster, as well as checking for any sort of police - not that he knew what uniform to look for.

By the time the vendors looked to be closing up shop for the night - how late had it gotten? Harry didn’t know - Harry had made his way down the main street, he’d walked over two bridges making sure to not look at the water as it flowed beneath him. Originally, Harry was going to just linger near the harbour where he arrived but there were very few areas of shelter for him to rest and there was more food as he followed the road further so he pressed on.

The main road eventually turned left, following alongside the river. There the road became even more crowded if that was possible, with numerous people shouting what Harry assumed was their wares, not that he could understand them. There were plenty of women and boys wearing very little clothing as well as different masks which made Harry slightly wary. He tried to stick to the shadows but there were people on both sides of the street so Harry ended up in the middle instead.

He kept walking, searching desperately for somewhere to stay or even just rest. He passed many other people wearing costumes and shouting what must have been catchphrases as he noticed multiple were repeated regularly. It was extremely overwhelming and incredibly disorientating but Harry marched on.

Looking back, Harry found himself lucky that he had made it the entire way down The Lid and past the Menagerie without being stopped, robbed or propositioned. The only explanations were the cuts and scrapes that were visible on his hands, neck and even face made him seem like he had gotten into a fight and won; or perhaps he just looked bedraggled enough that he wasn’t worth it.

Harry was just glad that he hadn’t been attacked and eventually found what looked to be an old derelict attic. The only reason he had spotted it was the boarded-over window which peered over the small alley that Harry had ducked into once he finally reached his breaking point.

There was a sturdy metal guttering that went from the rooftop all the way to the floor right next to the window which was the perfect place for Harry to clamber up - his limbs screaming in pain as the stiffened muscles moved strenuously. Fortunately, the window was easily unlocked using “alohomora” and the board itself was quickly dislodged, allowing Harry to scamper into the attic space.

It was a decent size, at least five metres wide and ten metres long, and relatively dry with all the tiles there even if one or two had been dislodged. Overall, it was a fantastic find and Harry patted himself on the back, happy that he hadn’t given up earlier because of a little bridge.

There wasn’t anything in the attic, it looked like it had been boarded up for years with the amount of dust gathered on every surface, only a few empty crates were stacked haphazardly in the corner furthest away from the window. He left the window unboarded for the time being, wanting to get a fresh breeze into the stale attic, he also wanted the disturbed dust to hopefully file its way out like an army of ants but alas, that didn’t happen.

Making sure to walk as quietly and cautiously as he could, Harry crept around the room, leaning down due to the slated roof at times, to check on the floor stability and to identify any possible pests present. As seemed the common theme for the last… 30 minutes, Harry was in luck, there was little to no damage from pests or the elements.

After the brief overview, Harry sat by the open window uncaring of the dust clinging to his only remaining outfit, he pulled out the books that he had previously wanted to look over, the ones that Luna had given him with a happy - if slightly not-with-it - smile, her eyes clear but not looking at him, more like through him.

There were only four books: Common Household Spells, Wandless and Nonverbal Magic, Elemental Magic, and finally Tricks of the Trade: From Business Management to Gambling. Harry flicked through the first three with interest, saving the fourth for last which he opened in confusion.

“Chapter One: How to gain money…” Harry muttered to himself. “Chapter Two: How to invest wisely.” He kept paging through the chapters, thinking that this gift was more like something Hermione would give him than Luna.

“Chapter Ten: How to card count.” Never mind, Harry thought with amusement, Hermione would never encourage gambling, let alone cheating at gambling. He looked at chapter eleven and chuckled.

“Chapter Eleven: How to look like you are not card counting.” Harry spent the next hour or so, using the dim outside lighting to read through the book. He may have skipped the first few chapters but he diligently read the chapters about the different card games such as Blackjack and Poker. If all of his school textbooks were this interesting, Harry would have been as dedicated as Hermione in his studies.

He was forced to stop once he realised how late it had gotten. Quickly opening up the book of Common Household Spells, he leafed through the pages until he found a specialised banishment charm meant specifically for dust and dirt. He further used “Scourgify” and “Tergeo” to clean anything missed, such as the cobwebs hanging from the rafters. Harry also transfigured the crates into a bed, pillow and blanket for him which came as a relief for his bruised and aching body. He just hoped that the spells would stay for at least a night so he wouldn’t wake up laying on two crates with another on top of him.

The last crate was transfigured into a goblet which was quickly filled with clean water thanks to the “Aguamenti” spell. If he slightly overpowered it and had to redry himself, nobody had to know. The freshwater soothed his parched throat immensely - he hadn’t realised how desperately thirsty he was until he began to drink. He wanted to gulp down gallon after gallon of water however, he knew from experience that that would cause him to throw up, wasting the water and the food he had acquired earlier. Sipping it slowly, he could feel his eyes start to fall shut against his will now that all of his bodily needs had been sated. One last “Cave inimicum” to keep threats away was cast all over his little hideaway before he finally succumbed to sleep.

----

The morning came, not with the twittering of birds, or the starting of engines as Harry had expected. Instead, he awoke to the shouts and cries of vendors and customers alike, it was as if they hadn’t stopped at all last night and just kept going.

Harry groggily sat up, wiping the dried mucus away from the corners of his eyes and grabbing his glasses which had miraculously survived yesterday’s journey. He was happy to find the crates still in their transfigured forms, even the goblet which he quickly filled with fresh water, gulping it down to soothe his irritated throat.

He sat up, folding his blanket so it wasn’t at risk of falling onto the wooden flooring which, while the dust and dirt had mostly been removed, still smelt like mildew. With the removal of his blanket, Harry suddenly realised just how disgusting his clothes were; they were coated in dust and blood and stained from their little dip in seawater, the colour seemingly seeping out of them. His skin underneath the crusted clothing was covered in a thin layer of grime - Harry didn’t even want to begin to guess what was in that harbour water, let alone the cave water which was filled with decaying bodies.

Stripping off his clothes made him feel slightly cleaner despite it leaving him exposed to the cold breeze that slid through the cracks of the partially boarded-up window. Harry desperately wished he had some soap but instead had to rely on multiple applications of “Scourgify” and “Tergeo” to get his clothes into a vaguely decent shape. A few more “Reparo” charms were necessary to fix whatever little holes or rips he had missed yesterday.

Once his clothes were fixed and cleaned to the best of his current ability, Harry turned towards himself. He wrapped himself up in his blanket to stay warm as he transfigured his goblet into a metal washing basin and filled it with water. Originally, Harry had planned to use a controlled “Incendio” beneath the basin to heat the water but he recognised the flaw in his plan almost immediately - he was surrounded by dried-out wood and clothing, all of which were extremely flammable. Thus, Harry was forced to spend the next half an hour scouring through the Common Household Spells only to find the Gentle Water Warming charm tucked between the Dishwashing and Potato Peeling spells. Harry pulled on the ends of his hair in frustration, he had just sat naked in an unheated attic for 30 minutes looking through the entire house cleaning section, only to find it in the cooking section - he could’ve screamed.

Finally, the water was warmed to a hot enough temperature - just below scalding - Harry scrubbed himself down to the best of his ability, utilising a flannel that he had transfigured from a nail to rub off the worst of the muck. He carelessly reopened most of his cuts which had begun to heal but thought it was for the best, at least then he could clean out any infection that might have settled in. After 20 minutes, Harry had to drain and refill the basin four times; twice to wash his entire body and twice to wash his hair - each time the water ended up a murky sort of greyish-brown which disgusted Harry immensely.

By the end of that entire endeavour, Harry had cleaned and healed most of his cuts, discovered numerous bruises in the shape of hand prints which were beginning to form, and made his hair a slightly cleaner bird’s nest as it defied gravity yet again after a quick drying charm. Harry only wished that he had some soap to feel completely clean, which he promptly added to his list of supplies that he needed to gather that day.

Harry had been deep in thought as he methodically washed, he knew for a fact that he had used plenty of magic in a muggle neighbourhood yet he hadn’t received a single letter from the Ministry. Nor had he been sent any owls by his friends or Professor Dumbledore - if the wizard even made it out of that cave. All this, combined with the foreign language being spoken outside, meant that Harry was no longer in England.

With this in mind, Harry - once he was redressed of course - began to cast numerous Point-Me spells in quick succession.

“Point-me England.” His wand remained still on his palm.

“Point-me Paris.” No movement.

“Point-me Berlin.” Nothing.

“- Moscow.”

“- Hong Kong.”

“- Tokyo.” Panic began to build again as his wand remained immobile. Harry continued to list as many non-English speaking cities as he knew which he quickly ran out of considering he hadn’t been in muggle education in six years.

He knew for a fact that his wand wasn’t broken, he had been casting spells all morning, and he knew he could cast the Point-Me spell correctly, he had used it in the Third Task regularly.

Harry collapsed on his bed - the wood creaking loudly in protest - and tugged his pillow into his stomach, hugging it tightly as if it would provide him with a slither of comfort and protection. It did little to help.

It was almost as if he wasn’t on Earth anymore, like Dorothy in that book Harry had once read when hiding from Dudley and his gang in the primary school library. However, that was a hurricane, not whatever Harry did.

Then again, he pondered, that was a book and you didn’t think magic existed back then. He cringed internally as he thought back on how oblivious he was - somehow getting on the roof, oh yes the wind must’ve blown me up there. Merlin, Harry wished he could go back in time and shake his stupid younger self.

Shaking his head, Harry pushed away those thoughts, focusing once more on the situation at hand. He was possibly - probably - in a completely different world, or at least a country he didn’t know, with no knowledge of how to get back to England, no stable source of food, no usable money and living in a derelict attic after nearly drowning. His only belongings were books, his invisibility cloak, money he couldn’t use, his photo album, a snitch that had little to no use and his wand. He had one hastily repaired set of clothing and no way to get more. His furniture was all transfigured and he didn’t know when they would go back to their original state.

Overall, time was of the essence. Harry needed to learn as much as he could about where he was, gain a source of income (preferably legal but at this moment in time, Harry didn’t mind a little stealing) and get some furniture and belongings that aren’t held together by his magic.

Harry munched on the few remaining pastries he had stolen yesterday - it was mildly concerning how quickly Harry had abandoned his morals - and planned his day. It was approximately ten in the morning if Harry’s guess was right, he had been up well over an hour and a half at this point, which left Harry plenty of time to walk up and down the local streets. His idea was to steal enough food to last him another day or so, find somewhere he could possibly buy some more clothes as well as work out the currency of this city. Harry also needed to have a good look at where he could possibly work; he wouldn’t be able to do anything academic considering he wouldn’t be able to read or write their language but he could do manual labour better than most.

With his plan of action set out, he carefully clambered down the pipework until he was back in the alley, making sure that there was nobody visibly watching him or the alleyway. He just hoped that his magic would prevent people from entering his little attic. He had remembered to cast the translation spell before he left this time so now he could understand all the shouting and offers made to the public.

“Test your luck at the Emerald Palace! Just follow me to your fortune!”

“Fresh goods over here! Just baked this morning!”

“Try this new tea!”

“Find the perfect girl for you at the Menagerie, we’ve got beautiful Kaelish Mares and even a Suli Lynx!” One cried, gesturing to a larger building further up the street. To Harry it looked more like a gilded cage, with golden bars covering the windows, vividly reminding Harry of his summer after his first year at Hogwarts. As he got closer, he noticed numerous people sitting in the windows and lingering by the front door, all wearing masks and costumes; there were what he assumed were foxes, snakes, one or two wolves and even a couple of horses. Suddenly Harry understood what they meant earlier, it wasn’t a zoo but a brothel, his eyes widened and he veered away from them, not interested in being dragged inside. Not that they would want him considering he had little to no money.

Harry kept walking, browsing the wares more carefully than he did yesterday. Wherever he was, it was similar to Diagon Alley with its crapped buildings and busy main street. The only difference was the wares; Harry strongly doubted that there were a brothel or gambling dens on Diagon Alley, perhaps Knocturn Alley but definitely not the more open street where children regularly run amok. The apothecaries and magic shops of Diagon Alley were traded for more cafes, bakeries, market stalls and bookies. It was overwhelming in its differences but comforting in its similarities providing a strange discombobulating feeling in Harry where he felt at home yet a complete outsider.

For over an hour, Harry walked, retracing his steps from the night before, only turning around once he had nearly reached the harbour. He lingered closer to stalls and shops, even entering a few only to retreat once he saw what they sold - he was not interested in acquiring a mask despite the fact they seemed popular here. On his return journey, Harry decided that he had gained enough food to last him at least two days if he rationed it carefully, a trick he had down since the age of seven.

No longer focused on stealing food, Harry could dedicate himself more to looking for a job. He decided that the best jobs for him to try would be ones with minimal speaking - despite the translation spell, he still held a heavy English accent which stuck out like a sore thumb - which meant cafes were out unless they needed a cook.

With this in mind, Harry entered the next available coffee and tea shop, immediately noticing that they sold baked goods alongside their hot drinks. He waited patiently until the gentleman at the till was available and then approached him with a polite smile on his face.

“Good morning, how can I help you today?” The man had a sharp tone, matching his brisk manner, his dark brown eyes piercing Harry’s with an intensity that shocked Harry causing his smile to slip slightly.

“Um,” Harry stumbled slightly. “Hello, I was wondering if you needed another pair of hands in the kitchen?” His voice rose slightly towards the end, his nerves getting to him but he maintained eye contact.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed and his smile, which was practically non-existent in the first place, completely disappeared.

“No, we don’t.”

“Ah, okay.” Harry ducked his head, breaking eye contact, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Do you know somewhere that might need someone else in the kitchen?”

“No. Is that everything?” It was a question but it sure didn’t feel like it to Harry. Instead, it felt more like a command to get out.

“Yes, thank you for your time, sir.” Harry turned and left quickly. If he had a tail, it would’ve been firmly tucked between his legs. In Harry’s opinion, it felt like everyone’s eyes were on him as he retreated, just waiting to gossip about him once he left.

It didn’t get any less embarrassing after the first time either, Harry just got less nervous and more resigned when asking, as if he knew he was going to be denied.

He lost count of how many cafes, restaurants and patisseries he went into on his way back, he just knew he had passed his little attic and was going further away from the more populated street which Harry had found out was called The Lid.

He was beginning to lose all hope as the day wore on, the sun well past its peak. He decided that he couldn’t go much further today, he hadn’t drunk anything since this morning as he didn’t think to bring a water bottle and he didn’t know these narrower streets which seemed shrouded in darkness despite it still being daylight.

His final attempt of the day was a bakery that had a large storefront filled with loaves of bread, cakes, tarts and pies; all of which made Harry’s mouth water despite having eaten some of his supplies not that long ago. Entering the shop made his head swim as the aroma wafted into his nostrils, overwhelming the disgusting smells that lingered outside.

“What can I do for you, young sir?” The question made Harry nearly jump out of his skin as he spun around from where he was inspecting the cake decorations.

The speaker was a large man, easily clearing six feet tall, his arms were sheer corded muscle even if his belly had a slight podge to it. He had little to no hair on his head but that was probably because it had all migrated south into a fully-fledged beard, covering the entire bottom half of his face and neck, like Hagrid’s. It was well groomed, and it most likely wouldn’t have broken numerous combs just to brush it once, unlike Hagrid’s beard.

Harry suddenly realised that he had been staring at the gentleman for a while now and panicked.

“Hey!” He winced as he accidentally shouted at a potential employer, he was just grateful that the bakery was empty so nobody spotted him being an idiot.

“I’m so sorry,” He apologised profusely.

“You’re not from round here, are you?”

“How-” Harry was flabbergasted. “How could you tell?”

The man gave him a sort of deadpan look, his beard twitching as if he was smiling slightly. “A Kerchling don’t look Suli, boy. Nor do they have an accent like yours.”

He didn’t know what Kerchling or Suli meant but he could only assume they were nationalities, like English or Bulgarian.

“I don’t know what a… Kerchling is supposed to look like.” Harry stated cautiously.

“Not like you. Though your eyes ain’t Suli. More like Ravkan or Kaelish. They’re not Zemeni, Fjerdan or Shu that’s for sure.”

“Right.” Kaelish, Suli, Ravkan, Zemeni, Shu and Fjerdan. They all knocked around in his head like a tangled ball of string. “Well, I was wondering if you needed a spare set of hands in the kitchen?”

The man huffed lightly. “You got experience in the kitchen, boy?”

It was the most progress Harry had had all day and he leapt at the chance. “Yes! I can bake cakes and pies. I know how to make bread and I would be willing to learn anything you could teach me.”

“You’re eager, I’ll give you that. Who taught you?”

“My aunt, sir.”

“Not your mother?”

“My parents are dead.”

The baker barely blinked at that, as if it was a common occurrence to run into orphans. Maybe it was here, Harry didn’t know.

“You’re a long way from home.” It was said as a statement but it was probing, questioning Harry’s life, looking for uncertainties.

“I never planned to come here.” It was vague enough that Harry was telling the truth without sounding completely insane, yet it caused the man to scowl; it changed his entire appearance from a giant friendly teddy bear to a fierce intimidating fighter who could probably snap Harry in two, causing Harry to shuffle back a step.

“Slavers?” The man spat with disgust. “There’s nothing I hate more than slavers.”

Slavers? Harry felt a tad light-headed. This place still had slavery? Just what sort of world was he in? He had noticed earlier that most people dressed like it was the late 19th century or the early 20th century - very few women wore trousers and most men wore either suits or at least slacks. There were no jeans, cars, phones or TVs. It would have been extremely jarring if Harry hadn’t already experienced this once when he was 11. The only thing that had now thrown him was the fact that slavery was common enough that it came up so easily in conversation.

Harry must’ve spaced out because the next thing he knew was a large, rough hand grasping his shoulder. Yelping, Harry threw himself backwards a step and raised his arms to protect his head.

The man backed up slightly, raising his hands in the universal surrender motion, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead even as his eyes traced the hand-shaped bruises coating Harry’s arms that he had forgotten about. Harry took a second to idly question where did a forehead end on a bald person before he snapped back into reality.

“I’m so sorry.” He apologised again, his face flushed a bright red and his ears burnt as if they had been set ablaze. If he wasn’t so desperate for a job, he would've run out the door by now.

“Don’t worry about it, boy. It’s a good set of reflexes you’ve got there.”

Harry mumbled something about his uncle which probably wasn’t the best idea; Harry had gotten the opinion that showing any sort of weakness was a mistake in this city. Yet it seemed like all his misfortune from yesterday was being countered today as his mumbles seemed to soften the man.

“Listen, boy, come here tomorrow, four am, bright and early. You help me bake and if you’re good, I’ll give you the job.” Harry thanked the man excitedly, a wide grin spread across his face.

“If you get the job, I’ll pay you ten Kruge each day and you can take home something that hasn’t been sold during the day. That’s if you get the job, you get me?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry was nodding his head so hard that if it wasn’t attached to his neck, it would’ve fallen off.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Harry, sir.” Harry’s accent apparently proved difficult to understand when it came to his name as the man then replied.

“I’m Mikken. In Ketterdam Hari, we shake to complete a deal, you get me?” He stuck out his large hand and Harry grabbed it, his entire hand practically swallowed by Mikken’s.

“The deal’s the deal.”

----

Weirdly enough, it wasn’t the first time Harry was grateful for his Dursley-educated upbringing, even if it made him sick to his stomach admitting it. The hours he had spent every day in that bland bleached-to-an-inch-of-its-life kitchen, slaving away trying to cook enough food for Vernon and Dudley combined (a challenge that got harder with each passing year), allowed him to mindlessly kneed, roll and glaze dozens of loaves, buns and pies without much difficulty. Even the early morning start didn’t really affect him, far too used to working through his exhaustion with little to no food, water or breaks.

By the end of his first day, Mikken pulled Harry to the side and shook his hand yet again, gruffly repeating “The deal’s the deal”.

Thus Harry had scored himself a stable income and job. He had also gained a friend and mentor in Mikken with the man regularly chatting the day away to Harry, the customers, and on numerous memorable occasions, the man raged as he furiously walloped a large ball of dough. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what he was ranting about, it could’ve been a multitude of things; slavers, the merchant council, a stupid customer who demanded a highly personalised cake at the last minute, or even a random bird which had pooped on Mikken’s freshly cleaned storefront.

Most of the time, Harry listened to the impassioned speeches with a bemused expression, adding a small prodded question when it seemed like Mikken was just beginning to wind down. Unlike Vernon, or even Hagrid, Harry thought with guilt, Harry never feared Mikken’s rage once he began working there. He grew comfortable with the fact that his boss would never turn on him when he was angry, he would never lay a finger on him. Mikken had sworn it solemnly after his first rant one early morning, not even a week into Harry’s job there.

There were odd moments where Harry had to calm Mikken down; a customer was present or Harry had spotted some Stadwatch that was patrolling and didn’t want to draw their attention, but it was simple enough. All he had to do was grab his nearest creation - usually a newly decorated cake or pastry although it varied depending on the time of day - and approach Mikken, his eyes as wide as he could make them. He’d then quietly ask Mikken if his work was good enough, practically shoving the cake into the man’s face. Whilst mildly embarrassing, the cooing and praise Mikken would shower on him afterwards always prevented any conflicts from forming.

If it also got Harry more free food or tips from the watching customers, well Harry was just making the most of his malnourished body which made him look 13, not nearly 17.

Harry’s favourite parts of the day were the early mornings and late afternoons when Mikken was calm and there were little to no customers. They would stand next to each other in the kitchen, busy prepping and decorating more food for the day, and Mikken would tell Harry stories.

They varied depending on the man’s mood of course, on a good day Harry would learn about Mikken’s childhood, his family and the children’s stories his parents used to read to him every night as they tucked him in bed. About the different mythological creatures; stags, sea beasts and dragons. About the Saints and Gods of Ravka and Kerch, including the newest Saint, Alina. Mikken would talk for hours about the Grisha and their powers; the healers, heartrenders, inferni, tidemakers and squallers. He knew fewer stories about durasts and alkemi but they were mentioned nonetheless.

On Mikken’s bad days, where the man seemed to be bursting with rage over every little thing or weighed down by neverending exhaustion, he would tell Harry about the plagues that ravaged Ketterdam only a few short years ago, taking his wife and daughter. He would quietly speak about the Ravkan civil war, how Ketterdam was flooded by refugees, and how Grisha were hunted and tortured by Fjerda and Ravka alike no matter if they used their powers or not.

He spoke so much about Grisha that Harry suspected that either Mikken was one - though Harry saw no signs - or knew one, possibly his wife or daughter that he spoke so little about. Never did he suspect that Mikken thought he was one. At least, not then.

It took barely a week for Harry to get into a comfortable routine. He’d wake up at half three - He was glad his wand could act as an alarm because he still hadn’t bought a clock - and work from four in the morning till six in the evening, with two small half-hour breaks and an hour lunch break which he usually spent out the front, chatting to customers as he ate his food (bought, not stolen).

It was these breaks which allowed him to become decent acquaintances with most of Mikken’s regulars, especially one by the name of Nina Zenik.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure why he seemed to get along more with Nina than other customers, maybe it was their similar ages, or maybe their shared sarcasm. Or maybe it was how Nina reminded Harry of a mix between Ginny’s spitfire personality and Hermione’s fast wit. It made his chest ache sometimes, talking to Nina, like a sort of homesickness was trying to pickaxe its way into his very heart. Yet at the same time, she filled the cracks that were forming with each strike of the weapon, like a strange antithesis; she was both causing and yet fixing the damage to his soul.

They first met on the second day Harry worked for Mikken, the first time Harry was working at the counter while Mikken was in the kitchen. She burst into the shop with a large smile on her face, with one half slightly further raised than the other giving the appearance of a smirk. Her eyes were green just like Harry’s but lighter than his, more like the fresh grass in Spring than his darker emerald green. She also had curly hair but unlike Harry, hers was brown and fell in neat waves cascading down her back like a waterfall instead of Harry’s gravity-defying corkscrews. She was taller than Harry as well but only by an inch or two, with Harry reaching 5’7 if he stood up perfectly straight.

In the time it had taken for Harry to notice this, and the way she walked like a predator despite her loud appearance, she had also spotted him, making her way over despite the small crowd that had formed in the shop during the lunch rush.

“Hello!” She cheerfully cried, her gloved hand waving jauntily as she stepped to the front of the queue. “You’re not Mikken, where is the big fella?”

Her voice had a slight accent to it as if Kerch wasn’t her first or only language. He had noticed the different accents more working at the counter than he had in all his time perusing The Lid.

“Hello. Mikken is in the kitchen but I can get him for you if you need him?” He responded politely, still extremely mindful of the fact that he needed the money that this job would give him.

She laughed, her head tilting back slightly to display her thin pale throat. The act was done in a sort of carefree way as if she knew she was the biggest threat in there and it didn’t matter if she exposed a vulnerable artery. Harry watched her carefully, wary of her confidence - arrogance? - which was so rare in a place like the Barrel. He could’ve almost mistaken it for ignorance but the fact she knew Mikken by name meant that she was no tourist, oblivious to the dangers that prowled Ketterdam.

“And lose such a handsome server?” She smiled sweetly, something that would’ve distracted most men but didn’t affect Harry too much. He was busy trying to work out why he saw her as such a threat. “I think not.”

Despite his mental distraction, he still blushed slightly at her compliment, he hadn’t got many when back at Hogwarts, he was a scrawny little git in the words of the twins, not particularly attractive except for his fame.

“Well then, how can I serve you today?”

“As you still don’t seem to make waffles,” Here, she paused, an exaggerated pout forming on her unblemished face. “I suppose I will have…” She hesitated, browsing the glass cabinet between them.

“Oh, I do love Medovik!” She cried, pointing to the honey cakes Harry had made only hours prior.

As Harry began to grab a couple to place in a small paper bag, Mikken emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on the dish towel he always kept tucked in his back pocket.

“Little Miss Zenik,” He announced loudly, spreading his arms wide although he was tall enough that they cleared straight over Harry’s head. “I hope you aren’t causing any trouble to my young Hari.”

Nina laughed yet again, it seemed to be a common theme for her. “I may have tried to get him to sign my waffle-making petition.” She replied wryly, a smirk spread across her face, her eyes light with mirth.

Mikken barked out a laugh, almost startling Harry as he placed the final honey cake in the bag, placing it on the counter quickly so he didn’t drop it.

“I keep telling you, Miss Zenik, you need to send me more customers so I can afford a waffle iron. A piece of paper isn’t going to cook them.”

She rolled her eyes, her smirk slipping into a more natural grin. “And here I thought my patronage was enough to pay for it.”

“You’d need to buy a few more Medovik than that to pay for a waffle iron.”

“Perhaps tomorrow then,” She declared airly, handing the correct amount of kruge to Harry and turning out of the door, her hand already shoving a honey cake indelicately into her mouth. Harry didn’t linger on the conversation, already busy with the next customer but Nina Zenik wasn’t so easily forgotten. She kept coming back, day after day, buying cake after cake. Eventually, her visit coincided with Harry’s lunch break, allowing Mikken and Nina to join forces and drag Harry shopping for more clothes.

“It’s not so bad, Hari.” Nina had taken to calling him that and no amount of corrections would change that. She found it hilarious that Mikken said Harry’s name wrong, thus making everyone think Harry’s name was Hari. It had gotten to the point that he was beginning to give up, a wise decision according to Nina.

“You’re not the one who has to be a doll for some evil woman to dress up, and pay for it.”

“If you didn't have such bad tastes, you wouldn’t need me to help you.”

“It’s not help if it's torture.” Harry snapped back grumpily. “And you take far too much joy from this.”

“Well,” Nina drawled slowly, her soft accent adding a small lilt to her words. “Watching your adorable little face scrunch up every time I pick something you don’t like, is quite fun.” That was another thing Nina had taken to doing, calling him adorable and pinching his cheeks like he was six. It seemed his doe-eyed act with Mikken had worked too well and now they refused to believe him that he was nearly 17 years old. Well, Mikken didn’t believe him. Harry knew full well that Nina had worked out the truth, she just enjoyed teasing him too much to ever disagree with Mikken. It drove Harry insane.

Yet as mad as it made him - it wasn’t that mad - the playful comments and gentle teasing from both Nina and Mikken made Harry feel as if he was forming a family there in Ketterdam; Mikken the grumpy yet kind father and Nina the sarcastic older sister or cousin.

Together, they pulled him out of the defensive little shell he was forming; Harry regularly had dinner with Mikken in the evenings even though he still left with a sack full of day-old bread, cakes and tarts at the end of the day. Nina consistently took Harry shopping; food, clothes, furniture or otherwise, it didn’t matter to Nina. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what contract she had with the White Rose but it seemed pretty slack considering she was always free around his lunch break to take him to the newest place that sold waffles, or to a shop that she favoured which had a shirt that she thought would suit Harry perfectly.

Before he knew it, Harry had been in Ketterdam for well over a month, his birthday was either past or approaching (the calendar was different here, making it hard for Harry to keep track). Nina had even admitted to being Grisha, although she said so warily, carefully watching his reaction. He only replied, “I always knew you were magic.” The grin on his face must have relieved her as she seemed to deflate, her entire body drooping even as her eyes lit up with happiness, the green shining brightly.

However, he did also get a light thump to the arm and spent the rest of his lunch break receiving a lecture about the Small Sciences and how it wasn’t actually magic.

Harry so desperately wanted to confide in her but he was terrified; he wasn’t like the Grisha of this world, where they could either control fire or water, he could do both and more. He didn’t want to be hated or feared like the Shadow summoners, nor did he want to be revered like Saint Alina, the Sun Summoner. Harry was one of a kind and that scared him more than anything. It made him stay quiet and deflect all of Nina’s questions when she accidentally spotted him using magic; like when he would summon a pastry into his palm if it fell off his side of the counter. He knew she was suspicious, most likely thinking he was a Grisha - it was probably the reason she had come clean about herself - but every time he thought about telling her, he froze, and no words would leave his mouth.

It left them in a mild stalemate with one refusing to confront the other, and the other unable to be completely honest. Harry comforted himself with the fact that they both held secrets, with Nina remaining quiet whenever Harry asked her about her reason for coming to Kerch.

----

It was nightfall when Harry returned home to his attic, a small sack full of bread and pastries slung over his left shoulder as he climbed the pipework. He dislodged the boards carefully, not wanting to let in the cold drizzle that always seemed to linger about Ketterdam. He was just thankful that Mikken had given him directions and enough money to buy a decent second-hand waterproof coat, the green so dark that it only showed in certain lighting, allowing him to stay dry and still able to blend in with the rest of the Barrel.

Dumping the sack on the ground, careful not to make much sound, Harry waited until he had boarded the window back up before he snapped his fingers - a useless gesture but one that helped him visualise his wandless magic - allowing a small flame to form on his fingertips. He lit the small candle on his side table, the light and warmth barely reaching a metre in diameter but it was enough for Harry to spot a shadow in the corner of his attic out of the corner of his eye.

Twisting, he faced the intruder, the flame on his fingertip spreading to his palm, acting as a light source and as a threat to the stranger. The was no point hiding it, they had already watched him light the candle, he just had to make sure not to use any different magic and they would - hopefully - just assume he was Grisha, an Inferni.

The stranger stepped forward, their hands open-palmed and away from their body as if to display their lack of weaponry. One hand, their right, moved slowly up to their face and pulled down the dark blue scarf that covered their mouth and nose.

It stunned Harry for a second, not only was the intruder a woman - a girl around his age if he had to guess - but she also resembled him; a relatively thin face framed by dark black hair. Her skin was the same shade as his, a rarity in Ketterdam he had come to find, most Suli (as Mikken called them) lived in Ravka travelling in caravans. The only difference between them was her sharp eyebrows were above dark brown eyes as opposed to the vivid green that he had inherited from his mother.

“I mean you no harm,” She said, her voice soothingly smooth. She didn’t come any closer, leaving most of her body still hidden by the shadows.

Harry, despite being wary, kept his body relaxed. The wards he kept on his attic prevented any threats from entering, especially if they meant to harm him.

“I know.” He replied, not expanding on his reasoning. He doubted she knew about his wards and he wasn’t about to slip up now. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m Inej, Hari.”

“How did you know my name?” He didn’t try to correct her on its pronunciation, Mikken still said it wrong despite Harry’s numerous attempts to correct him.

“You’re in danger.” Instantly Harry tensed, his body readying for action, his brain still deciding whether to fight or flee.

“And you’re not answering my questions.” Never taking his eyes off her, he slowly began to retreat backwards.

Inej must have noticed him moving as she sounded slightly more frantic when she next spoke.

“People have noticed you’re Grisha. Dangerous people who will force you to work for them.”

“Are you one of them?” Harry questioned coldly. He had no interest in becoming a pawn in someone else’s games, not now he had started to regain his footing.

“No!” She cried, taking a single step forward, freezing when Harry raised his hand still coated in flames. “A friend of mine, another Grisha, realised what you were a few weeks ago. She thought nothing of it until she noticed people watching you as you walked about. Men who force unprotected Grisha into their service, indenturing them.”

She spat out the phrase “indenture” as if it was something worse than all the other curse words put together. Harry knew what it meant, of course, Mikken had told him; it was just the polite modern terminology for legal slavery, a neverending sinkhole of debt that very few could crawl their way out of.

“Why do you care? Why tell me this?”

“I can help you-”

Harry cut her off with a harsh laugh. “How do I know you aren’t just one of those people who will use me? You said it yourself, I’m ‘unprotected’.” He said the word sarcastically, his fingers forming little quotation marks as he spoke.

“I would never indenture someone,” She spat. “I swear by the Saints.”

“I don’t know you so your words mean nothing to me.”

Inej sighed, seemingly deflating, not that Harry relaxed at all; he wanted to believe her but he was already lucky enough to have Mikken be a decent person and Nina. There can’t be three well-meaning people with no ulterior motive in this cesspit.

“Look, Nina said-”

“Nina?” Harry interrupted yet again, Mikken would’ve cuffed him over the head (gently) in reprimand if he was here. Good thing he wasn’t.

“Yes, Nina told me-”

“How do you know Nina?” Harry was pushing his luck with rudeness if Inej’s pursed lips and flared nostrils indicated anything.

“Ever seen this on Nina’s arm?” She displayed a small piece of paper with a cup and a crow sketched on it. “It means we’re both in the Dregs.”

“The Dregs?” Harry searched his brain, trying to find where he had heard that term before.

“Yes. It’s run by Per Haskell and Kaz Brekker, we own the Crow Club.”

“You’re a gang.” Harry could barely believe that well-put-together Nina Zenik was in a gang. Then again, he also didn’t really know her except for the conversations they had together during lunch and whilst walking back towards The Lid - She was most likely walking back from the Crow Club Harry suddenly realised.

“Yes, but we protect each other. We could protect you.”

“Who do I supposedly need protection from?”

“Pekka Rollins.”

Harry laughed. “What does the King of the Barrel want with me?”

“You’re Grisha, you’re powerful and he likes to collect power.”

“Unlike the Dregs?”

“The Dregs would never force you to do something that you didn’t want to. Nor would they kill you or your friends if you made a mistake.”

Harry’s blood went cold, it felt almost as if he was back in that lake, unable to breathe, his lungs screaming for air. He believed her. Pekka Rollins was the King of the Barrel for a reason; he killed those that displeased him or got in his way. Even if Harry joined his gang, what’s to say Rollins wouldn’t go after Mikken if Harry messed up? Or refused to do something?

“-ri, Hari, breathe.” He hadn’t realised in his panic that he had stumbled backwards onto the floor and curled into a ball, one arm wrapped around his legs whilst the other frantically rubbed his aching chest. Thankfully, his lack of concentration had extinguished the flames coating his hand, leaving them to rely on the still-burning candle on his bedside table. Inej had also moved without him realising, now crouching down in front of him. She didn’t touch him - a quickly learnt lesson in the Barrel - but she ducked her head down to his in an attempt to make eye contact with him.

“I’m so fucked.” Harry gasped out, choking on large gulps of air. He rocked back and forth in an effort to self-soothe, the hand at his chest moving towards his hair which he began to tug on mercilessly. “I’m absolutely screwed.”

“Not if I can help it,” Inej said fiercely, her eyes almost ablaze with their intensity as she stared at him as if demanding him to try and contradict her.

Harry scoffed weakly. “If he wants me so badly, I doubt joining another gang is going to stop him.”

“He has to respect it. He can try and poach you but once you’re under our protection, your friends as well, he can’t touch you without causing a gang war.”

“He’s the King of the Barrel, he’d win the war.”

“But he’d lose money in doing so, which no gang leader wants.”

“The more you have,” Harry murmured, “the more you lose.”

“Exactly.” Harry lifted his head, his hand coming away from his abused hair as he slowly calmed.

“Why did you come and tell me? Why not get Nina to do it, I know her.” Harry was about to say that he trusted Nina but he bit his tongue; did he know Nina enough to trust her with his life? With Mikken’s life? Not really.

Inej smiled though it was more mournful than happy. “I’m looking out for a fellow Suli.”

It was then that Harry realised, thanks to his still active translation charm, he wasn’t speaking Kerch as he had first assumed. Instead, he was speaking an entirely different language; Suli. The confusion must have shown on his face because Inej frowned, her sharp eyebrows furrowing sharply.

“I don’t…” Harry trailed off, hesitating. Did he come clean and say he wasn’t Suli? Or did he go along with the ruse? “I don’t know what being Suli means.”

A flash of anger swept across Inej’s face and before she could hide it, Harry rushed to continue.

“I’m an orphan,” He blurted, wincing internally as he said it so bluntly. “I never really knew my parents and I lived with my aunt.” All of what he said was true meaning that even a Heartrender wouldn’t notice him twisting the truth slightly.

“Look,” Harry quickly stood up and moved towards his bed. He pretended to rummage underneath his blankets with one hand whilst the other dove into his moleskin pouch and grabbed his photo album. Gently placing it on the bed, he removed one of the less magical photos of his parents - his dad swirling his mum around as they danced in their garden. Quickly using a wandless and non-verbal stunning spell (something he had practised a lot after working out how dangerous the Barrel was) he froze the picture, his parents remaining still mid-motion, both laughing happily as they stared lovingly at each other.

Turning back around to face Inej (when had he grown comfortable enough around her to trust her with his back?) he moved towards her, pointedly ignoring how her hand had originally strayed towards her hip, where a dagger was most likely hidden.

He carefully handed over the photo, fighting the urge to snatch it back instantly. Snapping his fingers again for more light, he carefully kept his lit hand away from one of his most precious belongings.

“That’s my parents.” He explained needlessly, just filling the silence as he waited for Inej to give his photo back after her inspection.

“Your father is definitely Suli,” Inej stated. “But your mother is entirely Kaelish. It explains your eyes.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled quietly, his spare hand reaching up to nervously tug on the hairs on his neck. “People used to tell me I look like my dad but with my mum’s eyes.”

Inej carefully handed back the picture, wary of Harry’s hand which was still aflame. Waving his hand away from them, Harry put out the flame and gently cradled the photo, placing it back in his photo album which, to keep up appearances, he hid underneath his blankets.

“If you didn’t grow up with your father, how did you learn Suli?”

The question caught Harry off guard, his finally relaxed shoulders tensing back up as he spun to face the Suli girl.

“Er...” Harry frantically thought of a reason which didn’t mention his magic. “I just picked it up after talking to another Suli.” Not entirely a lie, he did start speaking it after talking to other people of her culture - aka her - but only because of the translation charm.

She didn’t seem to believe him - it was a pretty weak excuse - yet she didn’t question it.

“Say I do join your gang,” Harry started, desperate to change the conversation. “How would I go about doing that?”

Fortunately for Harry, Inej let the topic drop. “You would approach one of the crows and they’d take you to see Kaz. If he accepts you, then you would become a Crow.”

“Not Per Haskell?”

“You’ll meet him eventually but it’s mostly Kaz who recruits people. Per Kaskell just benefits.”

To Harry, it sounded like Per Haskell was just a puppet leader for Kaz Brekker, not that he was going to say anything like that out loud. That was a sure way for him to be rejected and beaten up. Or killed.

“Considering you approached me first, do I get to skip the first step?” He asked, if he didn’t get to skip him then he was going straight to Nina. First to bitch at her for talking about him to other people and for not telling him what her tattoos meant, then to thank her for realising that people were watching him. He disregarded the fact that she was probably one of them, too overwhelmed to deal with that right now.

“I could take you to Kaz right now if you wanted?” Inej almost seemed to jump on that option and it caused Harry to wonder just how close he was to being forced to join Rollins’ gang (Harry still couldn’t remember the name).

“No thank you. I’d prefer daylight and a neutral area.” He wasn’t about to go meet a random stranger, one who was the shadow leader of a gang, in an area completely under their control and probably filled with their own people. Harry was a Gryffindor but even he wasn’t that reckless; Mikken, The Barrel and the events from the Department of Mysteries last year had knocked that out of him.

“Where do you suggest then?” Harry thought for a second; he didn’t know where the Dregs’ territory was, nor where Pekka Rollins’ was either. He really wanted Nina there with him. Despite her working for the gang actively attempting to recruit him, she was a comfort, something he desperately wanted as he was being dragged unwillingly into the underbelly of Ketterdam.

“The waffle place Nina loves going to, the one on The Lid. I can get there after work tomorrow, at about 7 pm. Me, you, Nina and Kaz.” He knew he was making himself vastly outnumbered but Nina was his friend and Inej hadn’t triggered his wards. Neither meant him any harm. Kaz Brekker was the only unknown in this entire equation, something that sent fear and adrenaline racing through his veins.

Inej nodded once, already raising her scarf back around her face as she did so. “I’ll tell Kaz. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

“You know where to find me if it does,” Harry replied sarcastically, gaining himself a look from Inej although he didn’t have enough time to decipher it before he climbed elegantly out of his window; the one he was pretty sure he had boarded up before that entire confrontation.

He fixed the boarding back to its proper place before heaving out a loud sigh, deflating back down onto his bed. It groaned in protest at the sudden weight but Harry paid it no mind, too busy going through the entire encounter, analysing every second, every word spoken and every movement made.

----

That night, Harry didn’t sleep a wink, tossing and turning on his rickety old bed which somehow was still in one piece by morning, to his surprise. He must have looked awful, most likely the bags under his eyes had doubled, but Mikken said nothing. His boss just gave him a mild look of concern and handed him a chocolate tart which had come straight from the fridge.

Whilst not his favourite - he internally apologised to Remus - the chocolate did help to give him a bit more energy, enough that he made it all the way to his lunch break with little struggle, even if he was a bit quieter than usual.

Nina was already waiting by the time he exited the kitchen, his apron already removed. He nodded his head to the door and she understood immediately, saying their goodbyes to Mikken, who waved them off with a small look of worry, they left.

They exchanged no words until they were comfortably settled into the cafe where, in a few short hours, Harry would be signing his life away to Kaz Brekker and the Crows.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Nina started.

“Do you?” Harry hissed, all his panic and anger surging upwards, he knew he had to be calm and controlled later so this would be the only time he could show his true feelings.

“I’m sorry I told Inej,”

“Are you?” Harry felt a smidgen of guilt, seeing the hurt on Nina’s face. But she betrayed him first.

“Rollins had men following you, I saw them every time we went out.” She whispered, reaching across the table to grab his hand. Harry let her, not bothering to pull away. She wasn’t the only one who wanted physical comfort despite their arguing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, leaning over the table, and staring into her frantic green eyes.

“You never seemed to notice them so I didn’t think you’d believe me.” She had a point, Harry hadn’t spotted anyone following them, too caught up in having a friend, someone he could rely on in this rat-infested place.

“I would’ve if you had told me. You didn’t need to go tell a stranger.”

“They would’ve still tried to get you to join them and you know it, Inej was the best option.”

“How is having a random stranger in my home the best option?”

“Inej would never hurt or threaten you. Pekka Rollins would have.”

“Please,” Harry scoffed. “Pekka Rollins would’ve never lowered himself to climbing up pipework.” He realised what he said as the words left his lips, his eyes widening and his face draining of any blood.

“What…? Hari?” Nina’s eyes searched his face, she could sense how his heart had started to race.

“I…” Harry croaked out, his mouth drying up. “I…”

“Hari, I won’t judge you for where you live. I grew up in an orphanage before moving to the Little Palace.”

His eyes snapped open, he didn’t even notice that he had closed them.

“You’re an orphan as well?” He asked, staring at Nina in confusion.

She smiled sadly. “There’s a lot of orphans in Ravka thanks to the Fold and the War. I was just one of many.”

Harry never really thought of it like that. Even back at Hogwarts, whilst he vaguely knew he wasn’t the only orphan from the war - Susan Bones jumped to mind - the Daily Prophet and everyone around him made it feel that way.

They were abruptly interrupted by their waffles turning up, Nina’s already soaked in syrup. They were quiet as they ate, Nina distracting herself with sugary goodness and Harry deep in thought.

Nina finished her waffles first and Harry pushed over his last one, not having the appetite to finish his pile. She took it gratefully, sending him a small smile even if her eyes showed her unease at his inability to finish eating, something that had never happened before.

“Look,” Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead to ward away the headache he was getting, either from stress or lack of sleep. “I get why you did it. I just wish you had told me before I had a stranger in my home.”

“I’m so sorry for not telling you, Harry.” Nina was sincere, her eyes filled with tears as she pleaded with him to believe her. “It’s just, you’re Grisha and-”

“I’m not.” Harry interrupted.

“Yes, you are.” Nina insisted. “I’ve seen you do it.”

“Nina,” Harry said quietly. He glanced around, making sure nobody was close enough to hear what he was about to say. “I promise you, I am not Grisha.”

His heartbeat stayed steady but Nina still shook her head. “I’ve seen you do it. You’re a squaller.”

“Am I? If you ask Inej, she would say I’m inferni.”

Nina looked at him, obviously confused. “But, I’ve seen you use the wind to grab something.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you did!” Nina stated loudly, almost rising out of her seat in her indignation.

“Did you ever see my hands touch?”

Speechless. That’s what Nina was as she stared at him, her mouth slightly agape.

“I’m not Grisha. I’m…” Harry stopped, his words stuck in his throat. He trailed his fingers over the wood grain on the table, trying to find how he could explain it all and not sound completely mad.

“Just over a month ago,” Harry started, clenching his fists so tightly that he could feel his fingernails stab into his palm, grounding him. “I was drowning in a lake.”

She sharply inhaled, her face paling to paper white. “I don’t know how it happened. One second I was in the lake, the next I was in Fifth Harbour.”

He raised his head, making eye contact with Nina.

“Where I grew up, Kerch, Ravka and Fjerda didn’t exist. Nor did the Wandering Isles or Novyi Zem. But Magic did. We didn’t have Grisha, we had witches and wizards. People born with amazing powers; they could turn into animals, fly, and create water and fire out of nothing. They could heal a broken bone in a few minutes, they could regrow bones in a single night.” Harry kept talking faster and faster in his excitement. He could finally tell someone everything and it felt great.

“We had some, like the Darkling, who were evil and killed people for no reason other than power. One of those dark wizards killed my parents.” Harry paused for a second, looking at Nina. Her eyebrows were hidden by her fringe but her eyes were blown wide, incredulous.

“Your heartbeat hasn’t changed.” She whispered, her hand grasping the front of her dress like an old lady grabbing her pearl necklace.

“I wouldn’t lie to you about this, Nina,” Harry swore solemnly. “I can’t show you everything right now but so you believe me…” He trailed off, moving around the bench until he sat next to her. Hiding his hands between their bodies he clicked his fingers like he did the night before, watching as a small flame balanced precariously on his fingertip.

Next, he extinguished the flame, leaving his hand flat, palm facing up. Murmuring the word “Lumos” Harry watched Nina’s face as the small ball of light formed in his palm. She was in awe as he then grabbed a glass off the table and filled it with a nonverbal “Aguamenti”.

“Most stuff I need my wand for, but I could do these without it.” He explained quietly, moving away from the seemingly shell-shocked Grisha.

“Do you believe me now?” He asked, desperate for her to say yes, for Nina to not accuse him of insanity or abandon him to Pekka Rollins.

“How can I not?” She said weakly. Not the positive response Harry was optimistically hoping for but she also wasn’t using her powers to kill him.

“Are your people…” She stopped for a second, looking down at her hands nervously. “Are they treated like Grisha?”

Harry knew what she meant instantly. Were wizards reviled or were they revered? Were they slaughtered in their homes, dragged to biased courts or sold into slavery? He didn’t want to answer her but he refused to lie or hold any more secrets.

“Hundreds of years ago, witches were hunted down and burnt at the stake.” He said hoarsely. Nina flinched, her face paling so dramatically, Harry almost wanted to stop.

“There are spells to stop the fire from burning them. But so many were not actually witches, or they were children with no control over their magic.” Nina lifted her hands to cover her mouth in horror.

“It was decided by the Council of Magic, by one of my ancestors, that they would enact a Statute of Secrecy. It separated the magical communities from those without magic. Only those wixen born to those without magic regularly went between the communities.”

“They were no longer hunted?” Nina asked somberly.

Harry thought back to his childhood, and Tom Riddle’s - where wizards had fallen through the cracks into the muggle world. To be abused and ignored, unwanted and hated.

“Non-magicals thought magic was a myth.”

He let silence fall around them, not expanding on the topic anymore.

“Are you trying to get home?”

Harry let out a weak wet laugh, blinking away the tears in his eyes.

“How can I? I don’t even know how I got here. I can’t read Kerch, I can’t even speak it without a translation charm. I don’t have any books that can explain it. I’m here to stay.”

Nina laced his arm with hers. “I’m sorry you can’t go home, but I’m glad I get to keep you.”

“At least you don’t lose your doll, hey?” They both chuckled weakly.

“Well, I might lose you if I don’t get you back soon. Mikken must be getting worried.”

Harry looked at the pocket watch in Nina’s hand and swore. Loudly.

“Look, I’ll pay. You get going. I’ll meet you here later?” Nina asked, smiling at him now that everything necessary was out in the open.

Harry agreed and sprinted back to Mikken’s bakery, dodging tourists, vendors and locals all the way.

Ducking into the kitchen as soon as he arrived, grabbing his apron, he ignored Mikken’s raised eyebrow and silent question, causing the man to huff and grumble about ungrateful kids.

“Everything sorted now?” Mikken demanded gruffly once the afternoon rush was over. “I ain’t going to see those bags get any bigger tomorrow?”

“Definitely not,” Harry assured, getting a flour-covered hand pat on his back.

“Oh come on!” He cried, desperately trying to wipe it off. He didn’t have enough time to go home and change before his meeting with Brekker.

“That’s what you get for making me worry.”

----

The final few hours of Harry’s shift seemed to drag on, with Harry feeling as if time had slowed to molasses. He was restless, unable to stop himself from pacing up and down the kitchen, delegated back there by Mikken after the man noticed how distracted Harry was.

He knew that he would have to make it up to his boss, Mikken was already incredibly understanding and patient with Harry, he didn’t want to push him any further. It was likely that tomorrow, if the meeting went well, Harry would either stay late to make up for it or work through his breaks. He was just lucky that he could glaze over whilst he worked, and retreat back into his thoughts, without harming himself or the bread dough he was kneading.

By the time six o'clock came around, Harry was a bundle of nerves. He didn’t know much about Kaz Brekker, in his attempts to stay away from the underbelly of Ketterdam he had become willfully blind to it, a mistake he was hoping to quickly rectify. All he knew was what Nina and Inej had told him; Brekker was the second in command of the Dregs, practically the Shadow Leader. Harry didn’t know much else, even if asked he doubted he could point Brekker out in a crowd, he didn’t know the man’s age, what he looked like, what he sounded like or what he was like. He was going into the meeting blind, with only his magic as backup - he couldn’t count on Nina’s loyalty considering she was a Crow long before she met him.

Harry would’ve preferred to face another nesting dragon. At least he knew what they were like.

He left the bakery only minutes after his shift ended, not lingering like he normally did. He had attempted to explain to Mikken what was going on but the man simply held up his large calloused hand and said “Tell me about it tomorrow, you’re too nervous today.” It seemed as if the giant had a vague idea of what was going on - he must’ve known Nina was part of the Dregs or suspected Harry would get pulled in - his eyes solemn, even as he smiled reassuringly at Harry.

Returning to the waffle place where he had been only hours prior was strange to Harry. It gave him a strong sense of déjà vu despite the fact that the customers were different and Nina wasn’t beside him.

He quickly shrugged the discomfort off, focusing on his plan. Arriving early was strategic; it allowed him to pick the table, check the surroundings and set wards (Not that anyone else would know about them).

He cautiously walked through the cafe, observing the servers and customers, specifically their arms for any glimpses of a crow and cup tattoo. It was extremely unlikely that he would be able to spot them, Ketterdam was rarely warm enough for people to roll their sleeves, and he doubted someone would do so if they were attempting to hide their allegiance.

Giving up on the attempt, Harry studied the layout of his chosen location. The tall windows let in plenty of daylight and streetlights, most likely to make the place seem bigger and also save on candles and oil for their lamps, yet they were also a vulnerability. Anyone could look in and see what was happening, read an entire conversation off someone’s lips. Harry was fortunate that earlier, Nina had blocked his body from the window, intentionally or coincidental Harry didn’t know.

The countertop ran along the entire left side of the building, with a single door behind it which led to the kitchen. The wooden counter was an ideal hiding space for eavesdroppers or assailants so Harry stayed away from it, picking the empty table in the only available corner of the cafe. It was away from the windows and thus dependent on a single oil lamp which hung above it. If Inej had told Kaz about his power over fire, they would both be wary of the lamp, their discomfort giving Harry a small amount of control over the situation.

Harry sat, his back against the wall, his eyes skating across the room, glancing at the door, counter and windows equally.

Keeping his hand underneath the table, his wand obscured from view, he cast his wards.

“Cave inimicum… Fianto duri… Muffliato…” He murmured, his lips moving as little as possible. Once he was happy with the knowledge that nobody would be able to get close to him if they meant to harm him or listen in on the meeting, Harry slid his wand back up his sleeve. He leaned back from where he had subconsciously moved forward in a further attempt to hide his hand movements, his heart rate had calmed now that his wards were implemented.

They didn’t arrive altogether. Instead, Nina approached first, a wry little smirk on her face as she sauntered towards him. She was unaffected by the wards as she passed through them, Harry’s body relaxing a smidgen at the confirmation that she meant him no harm.

She reached over the table and gave him a quick yet tight hug, her right arm encircling his shoulders and her left was held out for balance. It blocked Harry’s vision for a few seconds, his face tucked under Nina’s head and trying desperately not to be smothered by her hair which had somehow gotten into his mouth.

Nina released him soon after and laughed as Harry withdrew a single curly brown hair from his mouth, a look of complete disgust on his face. He well and truly thought hair-suffocating hugs were a thing of the past, left back in England with Hermione, but apparently, he was wrong.

“We’re a bit early so I’m going to grab some waffles, do you want any?” The thought of eating made Harry almost green, his stomach twisting in protest. It must have shown on his face because Nina patted his cheek gently before pinching it and shaking his head slightly.

“Aww Hari,” She cooed, “You’ll be fine.” The reassurance fell flat, the reminder of what was yet to come sending Harry’s eyes darting all over the place again, searching the entrances vigilantly. His right hand tucked itself in his sleeve, grabbing his wand for comfort, almost like a baby with their favourite teddy.

It didn’t take Nina long before she was back, the sweet smell of the waffles nauseating him further.

“Don’t worry,” Nina said around a mouthful of her food. “Kaz isn’t going to harm you.” The ‘not now’ was unsaid but Harry heard it anyway. Logically, Harry knew that Brekker wouldn’t hurt him, not when Harry was a potential for his gang. Yet Harry was terrified of the moment Brekker decided he wasn’t worth it and tossed him to the side, leaving him at the mercy of Pekka Rollins.

“He wouldn’t be able to get to me if he was going to hurt me,” Harry whispered whether he was trying to soothe himself or Nina, he didn’t know. Nor did it work. Despite Harry fervently wishing for a surge of apathy, he seemed incapable of calming down his racing brain.

Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Murphy’s Law. Harry’s life motto.

A kick to his shin brought him out of his spiral, hissing like a feral street cat Harry grabbed his soon-to-be-bruised leg, turning his head towards Nina about to angrily demand what the hell she was doing. He didn’t get a chance to ask her, however, as she tilted her head towards the door.

Looking at the entrance, Harry spotted what he originally thought was a businessman or a merchant, a relatively tall brunet who wore an immaculate three-piece suit, making Harry feel immediately underdressed. The stranger carried a cane, thicker and stronger looking than the little wooden one Dudley used to have from Smeltings’, and he walked with a noticeable limp as he approached the table.

The businessman - Kaz Brekker, Harry realised - sat down at the table calmly, despite the lack of invitation or social niceties. He looked Harry up and down systematically dismantling him and likely forming opinions, which he firmly kept behind masks, his cold steel-blue eyes remaining clinical.

Harry also took the time to further observe the second in command. His perfectly maintained hair made Harry marginally jealous, and his entire face was sharp; from his brows all the way to his jawline, not a hair out of place, nor any extra fat padding out his face. Harry noticed that his posture was proud, his shoulders straight even as his arms bent slightly so his gloved hands could comfortably hold his cane, a golden beak peaking out his hands. He sat slightly away from the table, not flush to it like Harry and Nina, most likely so he could keep his cane in front of him and easily get up if this meeting went south. It was obvious - to Haarry who was purposefully looking for it - that Kaz noticed the lamp, confirming Harry’s belief that Inej had told him about her interaction with Harry.

“Shall we get started?” Brekker raised a single eyebrow.

“We’re just waiting for -” Harry cut himself off, staring at Inej who had suddenly just sat down at the table. He liked to believe he was aware of his surroundings but she seemed to prove him wrong, a fact that caused a small smirk on everyone’s faces, with the exception of Kaz, who kept his eyes on Harry at all times. To Harry, it felt like a snake was staring at him, Nagini and the Basilisk jumping to mind, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

“Well?” Kaz asked again. Harry wanted to duck his head but instead, he lifted it, jutting his jaw out stubbornly, his emerald eyes looking straight into the predator-like gaze of Kaz Brekker.

“You’re the one who wanted the meeting in the first place, you start.” The kick to his leg from Nina was well-deserved, even if it made him wince in pain. Brekker was technically helping him out, he shouldn’t have been so confrontational.

“Very well. Nina and Inej have told me that Pekka Rollins has men following you. I want to know why.”

“Surely they’ve told you -” Kaz cut him off.

“They’ve told me what they think, I want you to tell me why you think Pekka Rollins has set his sights on you.”

Harry huffed, side-eyeing Nina who promptly nodded. “He thinks I’m Grisha.”

“And are you?”

“Do you distrust your friends so much that you ignore everything they say?”

“I like to make my own opinions. Answer the question.” Kaz leaned forward, his black gloves creaking slightly as they moved.

“No,” Harry snapped. “I’m not Grisha.”

“I saw you with my own eyes, you created a flame.” Inej insisted, so similar to how Nina had done so only hours before.

“Before the meeting with Inej, Nina told us that you were most likely a squaller. Yet Inej said you were an inferni. Do you see why I want to hear it from you, firsthand?”

“How do you know I won’t lie?”

Kaz just looked at Nina, pointedly.

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips. “She could lie to you, she’s my friend.”

“She’s my crow.”

Harry laughed slightly. He couldn’t help it, the image of Nina cawing and coated in black feathers jumped to the forefront of his mind. He turned pink and refused to make eye contact his Nina who must’ve guessed what he was thinking if her third kick of the evening was any suggestion.

“Will you stop that?” Harry hissed, rubbing his leg. He hated the fact he must look so childish in comparison to Kaz, with his immature laughter and sibling-like behaviour with Nina, not at all appropriate for a meeting this serious.

“Tell them the truth, Hari,” Nina said, her eyes staring daggers at him. It frustrated Harry; he spent over a month building trust with Nina before he came clean, yet she wanted him to spill his entire life story to some random strangers he had only just met. Dangerous strangers at that, with numerous connections.

“Why should I?”

“Because we are the only thing standing between you and Pekka Rollins, and I’m not about to recruit deadweight,” Kaz stated it so simply as if the fact meant little to him, it probably didn’t.

Harry wanted to shout and demand that he could take him but Harry was just one wizard, not even a fully trained one at that. Rollins had the Stadwatch in his pocket and half of the Barrel under his boot. Even if Harry was willing to kill, he wouldn’t get close enough to the man to do so, his magic didn’t stop bullets.

“For fucks sake,” Harry cursed, his hand tugging on his hair viciously. The corner seat, which seemed so strategic when he first picked it, felt more like a cage, trapping him where he sat with no means to escape except to spill all his secrets. “I’m not Grisha, I’m not Suli. I don’t know how I got here. One minute I was drowning in a lake of animated corpses, the next I was drowning in Fifth Harbour.”

If Harry was paying more attention, he would’ve noticed the concerned looks Inej had sent Kaz; would’ve spotted the paling of his skin and the clenching of his cane to the point it began to creak.

“It explains why there’s no paper trail of you entering Ketterdam, and why nobody knows your last name.”

“It’s Potter,” Harry whispered, his eyes tracing the woodgrain instead of the predator in front of him. There was no need for him to keep his last name secret but Harry felt naked now that it was out in the open, just one more piece of Harry pried out of him unwillingly.

“I’m not Grisha, I’m more. I can control every element, I can turn people into animals, and I can harm or kill people if I feel so inclined.”

“Prove it.”

Harry’s head snapped up, “That I can kill someone?” He asked incredulously.

“Prove you’re not Grisha.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief, if Kaz had tried to make him kill someone, Harry would’ve run faster than it took them to realise he was gone. He would’ve either dealt with Rollins to the best of his ability or fled the life he made here in Ketterdam. Neither were attractive options.

Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. So, Harry moved his hand away from the table where it had fallen in his shock, he clicked it again, displaying the small flame to an expressionless Kaz.

Then he grabbed Nina’s fork and with a quiet “Gemino” duplicated it, handing both to Inej who studied them intently. She passed them to Kaz who raised his eyebrow at Harry. With a small wave of his hand and a whispered “Finite,” the fork in Kaz’s left hand vanished.

A simple “Lumos” created a small ball of light, drawing a small gasp from Inej, drawing a side-eye from Harry.

“You’ve proven you’re not Grisha,” Kaz remained calm but the vanishing of the fork had left him unsettled Harry noticed, with his hand trying to grasp the air where the fork once was held.

“I want to say it now if you let me join, I won’t kill people.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” Inej assured him confidently, looking at him with awe as if his minor tricks had been the works of her gods.

“I can help with some stuff; keep your conversations private like I have now and defend against people if I must. But I won’t be forced or manipulated into things.” Harry was steady in his demands, they weren’t unreasonable he thought.

Kaz remained silent, staring at Harry in thought.

“I refuse to be a pawn again.”

Seconds seemed to trickle by, Harry shifting anxiously, all his stubborn bravado from earlier seemingly evaporated under the gaze of Kaz Brekker. Not even Nina’s company could keep him still.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was surely only a few seconds, a minute at most, Kaz moved, raising his hand across the table. Harry shook it, his own hand felt shaky and weak against Kaz’s firm grip. Relief flooded Harry and even Nina deflated slightly at Kaz’s next words.

“Welcome to the Dregs, Hari.”