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"Wait - Harry Potter?" One of the Marines Harry hadn't met suddenly spoke up and Harry's head snapped around at the familiar tone of awed surprise.
He zeroed in on a man who couldn't be more than a year or two older than himself, curling brown hair and brown eyes. Harry didn't recognize him, but he knew there were no other magicals in the Expedition. Nobody should have recognized his name, not that way.
Magic gathered around him without any conscious thought, preparing for the worst. For now, he ignored the startled eyes turning between him and the Marine, old instinct heightening his awareness of the room, putting an edge on his next words that plainly startled the Expedition members who only knew him as an excessively polite whizkid.
"You're not one of mine. How do you know me?"
The Marine quailed a little under Harry's intent stare, but managed to gather himself quickly enough.
"My - my mate, Dean, we grew up in London together and when I moved to the States, we kept in touch. He called me up a few years ago, said he'd be out of touch for a while, he said - " The young man swallowed and Harry let himself relax a few degrees, softened his tone.
"Dean Thomas, yeah? He's a good man." And he was. One of the few survivors of Harry's year group at Hogwarts, though it was no mercy; the Carrows had held him under the Cruciatus for nearly thirty minutes, trying and failing to get the location of Resistance headquarters. Dean was completely mad and these days spent his time in a soft, warded room next to Neville's parents' in St Mungo's.
The Marine recovered himself, nodding, "He was. They won't tell me what happened to him - " Harry didn't know what his face did at that, but the Marine stopped to close his eyes and breathe for a second before continuing, "I know it's not good. But the last thing he said to me was that if I ever met a bloke named Potter, I should listen to him. Said if he - you - said duck, I should drop as fast as I could and trust that I'd be protected."
Harry resisted the urge to flush or choke. Damn it, Dean. "That all he told you?"
When the Marine hesitated, Harry turned his best steely stare on him, "I need to know. If he broke confidentiality with you, he might have broken it with others and I'll need to get word back about it." Harry let old leadership fill him up, straighten his back and shoulders, when there was another moment's hesitation, "Tell me, Marine."
He didn't miss the way backs straightened and eyes widened around the meeting room at his change in tone and posture, but he ignored it for now. He doubted Dean would have said anything that broke the Statute of Secrecy, but he couldn't be sure, and he needed to know now. If it came down to it, he'd call in the Obliviators for the whole Expedition, even if it meant delaying the trip to Atlantis.
The Marine answered him at last, so quiet he wouldn't have heard if the room weren't shock silent.
"It didn't make much sense, but he said it was important. He said not to visit. Said if I had to be in the UK, to keep my head down and not mention his name. He said - he said if I ever saw people all in black wearing white masks, or a lot of bright green light, I had to run. He said to run and keep running and not to look back no matter what I heard."
Harry kept his wince inside. That was cutting it a little close, but it wasn't anything illegal. And it was sensible advice. Harry stuffed down the sound of screaming that tried to fill his ears.
"Alright then. It's good advice." Harry let the magic and authority drain out of him, feeling suddenly exhausted as he hadn't in months. Still ignoring the many confused and curious eyes on him, Harry rubbed at his temples and then stood, gathering his tray and carefully not meeting anyone's eyes.
At his elbow, he saw Rodney open his mouth, actually looking a little concerned. Harry shook his head at him, "Don't ask, Rodney. The Stargate NDA is impressive, but there are worse penalties than a federal prison sentence."
More wide eyes from his friends and the rest. It didn't matter.
He dropped off his tray and stalked hastily back to his room, the hoarse breathing of a soul-hungry Dementor and the cackling of a madman always at his heels. Harry dropped onto his bed and let his head fall into his hands. Then he very deliberately thought of nothing at all.