Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Minerva McGonagall was a sensible witch, well within her rights to choose her own actions. She liked to think she had a good head on her shoulders, despite the sometimes brash decisions she's made.

This, going directly against Albus' wishes, was one of them. 

In her animagus form, she trotted down the sidewalk in a sleepy little suburb. Since no one was paying attention to a lone tabby cat, she went unnoticed--which was how she preferred it. Even if they did, it wouldnt matter. She wouldn't be there long. Noone, wizard or muggle, would know she was there. 

It took her a bit to find the house she was looking for, since muggles didn't design to include any sense of individuality when constructing the place. However, she was successful and soon jumped up onto the fence between the houses, regarding number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, shrewdly.

Sitting where she was, she had a perfect view into the little house. Sitting down, she settled in to wait and watch, her tail curling over her paws.

It was dinner time, and the Dursleys were puttering about in the kitchen. The fat man that was Harry Potter's Uncle sat at the table, clearly content to let his wife do everything. Their son was banging his chubby little fists on his highchair, screaming loud enough that Minerva could hear him perfectly.

What a spoiled wee brat, she thought distastefully after listening for a time. If this was how they also treated Harry Potter, then the boy would have a rude awakening once he arrived at Hogwarts. The teachers, especially her, wouldn't put up with such behavior.

Where was the little Potter anyway? she wondered, her ears rotating forwards. She came to the stuffy muggle town, hoping to spot the little one. It had been little over a year since she's seen the baby, and her worry had gotten the best of her.

This family was the worst of muggles after all. 

However, as time passed it became more and more apparent that the babe wasn’t at the table. The muggle woman, Lily Potter's sister, came over to the dining table with a roast balanced on a serving platter. She set it down, served the family then also sat for dinner.

Minerva couldn't see any hint of Harry.

Where was he? He should also be there, being fed with the other child. 

Yet there was nothing.

She sat with increasing frustration, her ears folded back and tail twitching as the muggles ate. After two hours, they finally headed to bed. She shifted impaciently until every light in the house was shut off, and she leapt off the fence and raced to the house. She wiggled under the cat flap and into the house. Why they even had such a thing, she had no clue but nor was she going to complain. 

Inside, she sniffed the air. The odor of the house wasn't unpleasant per-say but it lacked the distinctive hint of magic that she'd come to expect wherever she went in the wizard world. She pushed that thought aside and focused on what she could smell. The strongest aroma was the meat from the muggles meal and the personal scents of the three humans.

There was a faint smell of milk that always came with babies but it was different, not the pleasant one that Harry had carried. 

Her heart thudding in her chest, Minerva started to search harder, even frantically, for a hint of the little one. Opening her mouth, she inhaled in a way that was distinctly feline and something she normally didn't have to resort to. A cats nose was already superior to that of a human, very rarely did she want or need the sensory bombardment that came with it.

All of the aformentioned smells were ten times worse, but there, under everything else, was the soft scent that she knew was Harry Potter. Relieved to have found something, she followed the trail around the house. 

Curiously, Harry's secent was strongest in the kitchen and at the door to the cupboard under the stairs. 

Confused, she looked at the metal handle above her. Why would his smell be strongest in a cupboard? It belonged in a crib or a bed, not this.

Unable to look further as a cat, Minerva changed back to a human. Crouched beside the cupboard, she carefully eased the little door open. She stared in horror at what she found.

A lone mattress, a thin blanket pushed to the side, and an electric lightbulb fixed to the ceiling. The mattress had stains in it, ones that weren't uncommon when it came to children's beds. The unusual part, however, was that it still smelled like soiled sheets.

Harry Potter was nowhere to be seen.

Realising this, she leapt to her feet and hurried out of that wretched house.

Back at Hogwarts, she raced up to the higher levels. Finding the gargoyle, she snarled the password at the stone creature. In her irritation, she paced back and forth as the stairwell appeared, missing how it moved faster than normal. Once she could, she ran up the stairs and burst into the Headmasters office. 

"Albus Dumbledore!" she roared, marching into the room.

The man himself startled behind his desk, clearly not expecting the visit.

"Minerva? What are you doing here? Didn't you go home to spend the holidays with your brother?" he inquired, pushing his half-moon spectacles up his nose where they had fallen. 

"I should be, aye," she spat. "However, I took a little detour. Tell me; did you move Harry Potter?"

The older wizard blinked rapidly, clearly thrown. Then his expression morphed into a placating look. "You need not worry about the boy, my dear. He's safe with his aunt and uncle in Surrey."

Minerva barked a disbelieving laugh, inciting him to stare at her more. Any other day, she would be smug to have put such a look on her all-knowing, unflappable, Headmaster but she could find little amusement if he was genuine.

"No, he is not," she spat.

"I beg your pardon?" he said, his brows rising. A pang of vicious pleasure stung her heart to see the appropriate alarm starting to grow on his face. Marching over to his desk she slammed her hands onto the surface and leaned a little into his space.

"I went to check in on him, Albus. Harry Potter is gone."

When Allen Walker had asked the ark to take him somewhere else, without any destination, this is not what he had expected. He groaned, reaching up to cover his eyes against a blinding yellow light. His head was splitting, his eyes feeling like they’d been stabbed. Well, not exactly. He has been stabbed in the eye before and that was a lot worse. 

Whatever, this was still bad. 

Through his pain-filled haze, Allen caught the sound of frantic flapping circling his head.

“I’m okay, Timcampy. Just give me a minute,” he mumbled to his panicking golem. The flapping stopped and he heard a soft thump. Probably Tim landing on the ground beside him. 

Rolling onto his side and curling his legs to his chest, Allen forced himself to breathe evenly. He rode each wave of the pain as best he could until he dared to peek his eyes open. The same, too-bright orange light from before assaulted his sight but this time he was able to squint around at his surroundings. Other than the one blinding light, it was dark, the field he was in shadowed by night. 

Well, that was one blessing. Or maybe not, depending on where he was. Sometimes a crowd was useful to be lost in, yet on the other hand it could mean an army of akuma. With his luck it would be the akuma. 

“Right. Up we get,” he muttered, pushing himself up into a seated position. His abdomen stabbed painfully, and he hunched over his legs. “Owww.”

Once the rolling pain subsided, he lifted his head and got his first proper look at where he was. He was sitting in an open field, the grass cut close to the ground. A street was a stone throw away from him, which is where the light was coming from. A tall pole was stuck into the ground with an odd looking lantern attached to the top. 

Was that…a street light? he wondered. But he couldn’t smell any oil. Nor did it look right. It was closer in design and shape to something he would see in the Order, not on a random street. 

“Where the heck am I?” Allen hissed and reached up to rub the back of his head. Looking at the field he was in, he squinted at a set of strange pole structures with dangling platforms that were only half lit by the lamps. One of the platforms squeaked as it moved in the soft wind. 

“Tim?” he asked, looking down at his friend. “Where are we?”

The little golem’s ‘face’ pointed towards him then he bent his wings in a shrug. 

“Great,” Allen muttered, then heaved himself to his feet. He wobbled slightly, almost falling right back onto his face but he managed to catch himself. Finding his suitcase resting on the ground next to him, he scooped that up too. Activating his eye, he searched the area. Strangely, he couldn’t see any sign of akuma. 

He hummed, not trusting it. Catching sight of Timcanpy flying beside him, he sighed. He lifts a hand to the golem, and he lands gently on his glove. Bending his head, he pressed his forehead against the little golem. 

“Thank you for staying with me,” he said quietly. 

Timcampy bumped his nose in response. 

Allen huffed a laugh. “Alright. Let’s go see where we are.”

Which is easier said than done, he mused while making his way to the road. Which is also weird, the surface a solid sheet of black bumpy stone, stead of cobbled pieces mortared together. He frowned, but stepped out onto it anyway. 

Well, it didn’t collapse under his feet, so there’s something. 

After wandering the area for a while, Allen did figure out some things. For one, wherever this is is clearly western, even English in design. Which…not the best, but he could deal. Second, he appeared to be in a housing district of some kind. He hesitated to call it a ‘city’ because he didn’t see any business signs. There was a church, and a small store but other than that? Nothing in the immediate area.

What was even stranger? He didn’t find any trace of akuma, or the Earl.

“What’s going on?” he muttered, glaring at one of the odd little houses. Nothing looked familiar. Everything was too straight, and identical to each other. Timcampy fluttered next to him, clearly just as confused. Allen sighed and started to turn down another street when sharp tiny teeth dug into his ear.

“Ow! Tim! Quit it!” he yelped, batting at the little golem. The pest let go of his ear, making sure he was looking at him before flying down the street he was going to turn away from. 

“You could have said something without biting me,” Allen muttered but followed dutifully. Soon enough, he figured out what Timcampy was trying to get him to notice. 

“Oh, hello,” he said, looking down at the curled shape on a bench. 

The little figure jerked, and a head of shaggy black hair tilted up to look at him. Allen blinked down at a pair of emerald eyes, large and slightly sunken. Cheeks that should have been rounded with baby fat were leaner. An angry looking mark was cut into his brow, zigzagging from his hairline to his brow. 

It was a kid, appearing no older than two. 

Resisting the urge to touch his own cursed scar, he wondered how such a young kid got that kind of mark.

“What are you doing out here?” Allen asked, squatting so he was closer to the kids eye level. The child blinked, scooting down the bench and away from him. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Allen told him, holding up his hands to show that they were empty. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The kid squinted at him, clearly not quite sure what to do with him. Then his eyes grew huge and darted to just beside Allen’s head. Following his gaze, he saw that the boy was looking at.

“That’s Timcanpy. He’s not going to hurt you either, he’s my friend.”

“Fwiend?” the boy asked, the word slightly mangled by a childish lips. Clearly, he hadn’t learned how to talk properly yet. 

“Yeah, my friend,” Allen agreed. “Can you tell me why you’re sitting here?” he prompted, hoping that the kid could tell him. It wasn’t likely, but he hoped that he would get the kid back to his parents. 

“‘m waiting,” the kid mumbled. 

“You’re waiting?” Allen echoed, his brows rising. “For what?”

“Ma aunt and uncle. Said that they’ll be back.”

Allen stared at him, a bad feeling starting to grow in his chest. “Really. Do you live around here?”

The kid nodded. 

“Alright. Do you know how to get back?” Allen asked next, hoping that this was just a misunderstanding or a mistake, instead of what he was suspecting.  

The kid ducked his head but nodded. Without prompting, he pushes himself off of the bench, pointing down the street. 

“Alright. Let’s get you home. It’s too cold to be out after dark,” Allen told him, offering his right hand for him to take. Which was true. The air was a little nippy, not the worst he’d been in, but far too cold for a toddler. 

The kid stared at his hand, blinking owlishly. He looked up at Allen then back at his hand.

“What? You don’t wanna hold hands?” he asked, tilting his head. The boy jumped, like he startled him, before cautiously taking his hand. The boy’s hand was tiny in his. Allen could barely comprehend how small he is. 

“I’m Allen,” he offered on impulse. 

“...’m F’eak,” the boy said inturn, making him freeze. Allen looked sharply at the kid, who flinched, a worried frown pulling at his little face.

Hey! Red-arm! hissed in his ear, laughter echoing the harsh call.

Noname.

Unwanted.

Forcing his face to smooth out, Allen stopped walking to crouch at his eye level.

“Is that what they call you?” he inquired, fighting to keep his voice soft. It wouldn’t do to scare the kid by showing how much that name got to him. 

His eyes wide and darting around his face, the boy nodded slowly. Gritting his teeth, Allen really wanted to hit something. Memories of beatings and ugly words being snarled at him popped to the front of his mind. His hands curled into fits, his left creaking like rusted iron. 

“Well, that’s not very nice,” Allen summed up flatly, succeeding on keeping his rage caged within his chest. 

“It’s not?” the boy asked innocently.

Allen closed his eyes. “No, it’s not. Come on, I’m going to carry you.” Scooping up the child, he placed the kid on his hip. The kid squeaked, his little hands latching onto the lapels of his coat before quickly letting go. 

“Soowy,” he said, a scared tremble to his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Allen reassures him, shifting the boy’s weight more comfortably on his hip. It was like carrying a flower, the kid was so light. He doubted that his ‘guardian’ fed him nearly enough. “You can hold onto me, if you want to.”

The kid watched him, clearly thinking it was a trap of some kind. Allen waited patiently, and he was rewarded by the kids slowly reaching up to wrap his arms around his neck.

“There, that’s better,” Allen said with a smile.

The kid hummed, and nodded. 

“Can you point me to where you live?” Allen prompted at a moment of silence. 

The kid sighed, but nodded again. He lifted his head to look around then pointed down the street. Allen nodded then followed his lead, Timcanpy trailing after them. It was close, it turned out, the boy pointing at one of the identical houses on the lane. 

Reaching the end of the path up to it, Allen glared at the seemingly innocent building. By how the boy's grip around his neck tightened, it was clearly anything but. 

“Okay,” Allen said, bracing himself. Lowering the kid onto the ground, the peers into the kid's little face. “I’m going to go talk to your aunt and uncle for a while. Do you wanna wait here?”

A shy nod.

“Okay. Here; take my coat. It’s too cold for you not to have one,” he says, removing his wool coat. He draped it over the kids shoulders, tucking it firmly under his chin. “Timcanpy is also going to keep you company; aren’t you, Tim?” he added, shooting his golem a look. 

His friend puffed out a sigh and nodded sharply, like he was reprimanding Allen for even asking that. 

“‘S wa’m,” the boy whispered, pulling the coat tight around himself. 

Allen smiled, soft and warm. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, getting to his feet again. Marching up to the house, he moved around a strange machine that looked like a carriage of some kind, heading for the door. Climbing the steps onto the front deck, he banged a fist heavily against the surface. The sound created was loud, and to a normal human, probably a little intimidating. 

When he heard nothing from within, he did it again.

He contemplated just breaking the door down after the fourth knock when screeching started from inside. Nothing like an akuma’s cry; it was clearly human so he felt justified when he curled his lip in distaste. 

For good measure, he banged on the door a fifth time, making it sound as thunderous as he could. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” a male voice called from inside, slightly muffled by the door.

“What?” a portly man screeched as he yanked the door open. His eyes landing on him, his ruddy face lost all colour and he quickly tried to slam the door.

Allen moved quicker, grabbing the edge and forcing it open. “Good evening,” he greeted with a cutting smile.

“Go away! We don’t want any of your kind here!” the man screamed. 

‘Your kind’? What did he mean by that? What did he think he was? He wasn’t wearing the cross that identified him as an exorcist, so it couldn’t be that.

Keeping his pleasant smile on his face, Allen continued like he hadn’t even said anything, “I just have a couple questions for you.”

Before the man could say anything, a woman’s voice called from further in the house. “Vernon? Who is it?” Allen looked over the man’s shoulder to a tall, willowy woman coming up behind the man. She must be his wife. 

“I found a boy outside on the street that says this is his home,” Allen cut in before they could start talking to each other. They both jumped, alarm crossing their features. 

“He’s lying,” the woman snarled. “We only have one son and he’s upstairs sleeping. So we’d appreciate it if you leave,” she said, looking down her long nose at him. She was eyeing his clothes distastefully, a wrinkle forming on her face like she’d smell something bad.

Considering the state of his clothes, Allen couldn’t exactly fault them—he hadn’t had time to wash them since he was on the run—but it seemed that these humans were pissing him off enough that he didn’t care.

Allen hummed, pushing the door open some more so he could lean on the frame. The husband backed away from him, going to stand just in front of his wife. Watching the two of them, Allen figured that the wife had more of a spine, despite the husband standing in front of her. 

“I never said he was your son,” Allen told them mildly, plastering on a fake smile. He didn’t even try to use one that was believable.  

They glared at him, before the woman sighed. “Fine. Where is he?”

“No.”

“No?” the woman echoed, her brows shooting up. Allen glared at her and she flinched back. 

“No,” he repeated. “I’m not leaving him with you. That, I can promise.”

The duo blinked, clearly not expecting that. The woman’s shoulders even fell slightly in relief.

So, the care of the boy had been pushed onto them, and they blame the kid for that. A bit different than his own situation but it was a familiar feeling, Allen thought with disgust. The troupe master would often remind him that he was lucky that his birth mother hadn't smothered him in his sleep, instead selling him to the circus. 

“So you’ve come to take him back to live with his own kind? Just take him. You didn’t need to come here,” the man snarled. Allen could tell he was putting on an angry front to hide how scared he was. 

“I did say I have a couple of questions for you,” Allen said, deceptively mild. He hated talking to these monsters like they were something to converse easily with. He’s done that before. This honestly put a worse taste in his mouth. 

“Ask then,” the woman demanded, a tremor poorly hidden under the iron in her voice.

“Who is he to you?”

The woman blinked, clearly not expecting that either. Apparently he was surprising them every which-way. She frowned, her eyes narrowing but answered dutifully. “He’s my sister's son.”

“Your sister's son,” Allen echoed flatly, another pair of siblings popping into his head. He could never , in a million years, even think of a universe where Kamui wouldn’t care for any child of Lenalee’s without his whole being. It was unfathomable. 

Yet here this woman was, willing to abandon her nephew to die in the cold. And called him ‘freak’ so many times that he thought it was his name. 

“So your nephew then,” Allen summed up. 

The woman grimaced, like the reminder was unpleasant. She still nodded.

“Why is he in your care?”

“His parents are dead. Drunken car crash,” the man spat.

Allen eyed him. He believed the dead part, but the ‘car crash’, whatever that was, didn’t sit the same way on the man’s tongue. 

“You know, when I asked him what his name was, he told me it was ‘freak’? Why did he do that?” Allen asked, stepping into the house but keeping his grip on the doorframe. Allowing a bit of innocence to sharpen his nails, he dragged his hand across the wood, leaving deep gouges. 

They both screamed, and scrambled to get away from him. Allen ran forwards, grabbing the front of their night clothes and slamming them against the wall. They both cried out, even if he was barely using a fraction of his strength. 

“The two of you deserve far more torment than I will give you,” he told them quietly. “I do not have the time nor the right to give you your punishments. Now. What is his name ?”

The man gasped uselessly, and the woman clawed at his wrist. 

“Tell me!” he snarled, shoving both of them. The wall shuddered with the force. 

“Harry Potter!” the man gasped. When Allen lessened the pressure, he continued, “the boy’s name is Harry Potter. Just take him.”

“Thank you,” Allen said with a smile. He released them, and both dropped to the floor, holding their throats and coughing. “You’ll never see him again,” he told the pair firmly, turning around and exiting the house.

“And good riddance! I better not see you around here again either!” the man called after him, his wife frantically shushing him. 

Allen snapped his head around to glare at the man. He yelped and fell back onto his ass.

Allen scoffed and marched down the steps. He blinked when he saw the boy—Harry, had moved closer to listen. He was staring up at Allen with open wonder, his mouth open. He smiled softly at the little boy, being down to pick him up. 

With Harry firmly on his hip, he began to walk away from that wretched house. Timcanpy fluttered merrily around them, doing loop-de-loops. 

“You yelled at ‘im,” Harry said after a bit.

“I did,” Allen agreed, amused despite everything. 

“fo’ me ,” the boy continued, staring at him. Allen smiled, hiding how his heart was breaking within his chest. Looking at Harry felt like looking at his younger self. Both had been so unused to kindness. Red had been a lot older than Harry is now, and it had made him jaded. Hopefully he could find Harry a home that could show him kindness like the Order had for him before…well. Before.

He’d love to keep the boy and show him the goodness of the world himself, but it was too dangerous. Allen had too many things after him; the Noah family, the order and Apocryphos. Every one of them could and would use Harry to get to him. 

Allen sighed through his nose. 

He’ll figure it out. 

Somehow, he managed to find food and lodging for them for the night. Going back to what was familiar, he’d sought out the seeder part of town, donning a pitiful look, he asked for help. The people on the street were sympathetic, eyeing the child and pointed him towards a shelter. Apparently, the city had set up warehouses for those down on their luck. It was far too open and filled with other people but it would do for the night. 

By a stroke of some kind of luck, he’d also found a newer-looking newspaper. What he read barely made any sense. It said he was in London, in 1982, not 1860s. If this was true, he was over a hundred years into the future. 

“But that doesn't make any sense,” he mutters to himself, reading it over Harry’s head as the kid uses his lap as a pillow. “The Ark travels through space, not time. Doesn’t it?” For all he knew, it did. But he was alone, so there was no one to ask. The science division was back at HQ, over a century in the past. 

All of his friends, Lenalee, Lavi, Kanda, Kamui and everyone else were long gone. Hevlaska would probably still be around, considering he didn’t know if she could even age, but it wasn’t the same.

Tears silently dripped down his cheeks, Allen not bothering to whip them away. He was grieving for a world he lost and it would certainly help his pitiful look. 

A clatter within the large room drew Allen’s attention, and he snapped his eyes towards the sound. It was fairly dark, but he could see well enough by the streetlights coming through the windows. It was just someone rolling over on one of the cots, knocking something off. 

Still, to be safe, Allen activated his eye, scanning the shelter.

Nothing. Again. 

Allen frowned, unease clawing at him. He’d never gone this long without spotting at least one akuma. Not out in the world anyways. 

Sniffing and whipping the tears from his face, he glanced down at Harry and—

Froze. 

Something was attached to the little boy. 

“What the f—” Allen mouthed, looking wide eyed at the…thing attached to him. He could tell immediately that it wasn’t the soul of an akuma, lacking the chains and distinct feeling of agony. This thing was similar to a Level 2 soul in appearance, but it clung to Harry, instead of being forcibly bound to him. 

It felt like a…like a parasite, for lack of a better term, feeding off of the kid. 

“What are you?” he growled at it. 

The thing lifted its head, black, hollow eyes staring up at Allen. It opened its mouth, perhaps trying to say something but no words came out except for a throaty gurgle. Allen’s face tightened. 

It was a soul, but only a fraction. It was less than a half, barely allowing it to function. Whoever had made it, had been especially cruel, cutting a soul up like this. Normally, when presented with an akuma, he loved them despite their murderous nature. Because that’s exactly what it was—their nature, something that they couldn’t control. The souls attached to them didn’t ask for their fate.

Yet this…thing. 

Allen was getting the impression that it was exactly what it meant to be. 

“You don’t belong here,” he told the soul fragment. He was careful to keep his voice soft so the little boy wouldn’t wake and hear him talking like this. “Harry is his own being. Whatever you are, you should be with the rest of your soul.”

The thing didn’t answer, just creating low groans. 

Not wanting to look at it anymore, Allen dismissed his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” he said softly. He ran his red fingers through the boy's hair, brushing it away from his face. “You don’t deserve this; whatever it is.”

The boy answered by snuggling closer, pressing his face to Allen’s hip with his coat thrown over him as a blanket. Allen smiled softly. He was adorable. 

He looked at Timcanpy, hidden within the folds of his coat. For some reason, he didn’t think this place would be too kind to a golden ball with wings.

“What are we going to do, Tim?” he asked softly. 

The golem pointed his little face at Harry then back up at Allen.

The exorcist groaned and tangled his free hand into his hair. His plan for dropping Harry off with people that could actually care for him was falling apart. With the thing attached to him, he couldn’t in good conscience leave the little boy alone. That would make Allen no better than his birth parents, selling their child to the circus. The guilt would eat him up.

Allen groaned and let his head thunk back against the wall he was leaning against. 

Was this what his Master had felt? After Mana was killed? He knew that his Master only kept him because of his connection to the fourteenth, but was he also placed in this position? Suddenly in charge of a kid that he had no idea how to take care of?

He stared blankly up at the water-damaged ceiling.

…what was he thinking, Master Cross didn’t care about him like that. 

Allen closed his eyes, grimacing. 

He couldn’t just leave Harry. He’ll have to keep him safe. It doesn't matter that he’s only fifteen and has no idea how to care for himself let alone a child. But it was their only option. He honestly didn’t think he’d do that badly of a job. 

If nothing else he had to be better than Cross Marian.

Chapter Text

The future, Allen decided irritably after a couple of days in it, was weird. There was so much he was struggling to catch up on, let alone take care of his new charge. He felt like he was learning a whole new language every time he asked a simple question. 

Like, 'What's those weird horseless carriages that smell awful?'

Cue the looks and people demanding where he's lived his whole life—on a farm?—before they would answer him. Automobiles, or ‘cars’ and something about pistons and a spark-powered engine. Imagine that. 

Another question being, 'Child labour laws? What the fuck are those?'

That one earned him incredulous and worried stares.

He stopped after that, taking a page out of Lavi's book to watch and listen instead. 

Some things, thankfully, weren't that strange considering that he'd seen similar things while in the Black Order. It had always seemed more advanced than the outside world. 

Other things, it turned out, didn't change. Like bars and gambling dens. 

He'd been hesitant to take Harry in with him, considering he might have to flee quickly, yet nor did he want to leave the child alone. He had been debating what to do when Harry decided for him, latching onto his neck and refusing to let go. 

Allen gave in. Well, it certainly would help his pathetic look. Bundling the child in his coat again, he carried the toddler into the bar.

The bartender, a tough-looking woman with long, thick curling black hair, had looked up, hearing his entry. A tattoo was etched onto her neck, disappearing down into the lower neckline of her shirt. It looked floral, but he couldn’t tell exactly what kind.

Hard, brown eyes latched onto him immediately, and she scowled. "Go home kid, you're too young to drink."

"I know that, ma'am," Allen said softly, lowering his eyes. "I'm not looking for any trouble. It's just…it's cold out and my brother doesn't have a coat."

The woman blinked, gaze less hostile as she peered closer at him. "Oh," she muttered softly, appearing to only see Harry now. "Where are your parents?" She demanded. 

Allen bit his lip, ducking his head. "Don't have any."

Silence greeted his admission—he hadn't even been lying—lasting long enough for Allen to peek at her over the top of Harry's head. Thankfully, the toddler understood the necessity of silence, and just watched everything with wide, emerald eyes. 

The woman’s lips were pinched and she tapped her nail on the wooden counter.

"Fine," she said after a moment. "It's early enough that we shouldn't have any customers soon. Go find a corner and don't cause trouble—got it?"

"Yes ma'am!" Allen said with a beaming smile. Quickly, so she couldn't change her mind, he carried Harry to one of the booths near the back and tucked into a corner. Somewhere people wouldn't see them easily but Allen could see them. 

"Okay," he muttered to Harry and Timcanpy. "Step one done."

Harry blinked at him, a confused frown on his face. Allen chuckled and ruffled his hair. They sat there for a bit, Allen entertaining the child with murmured stories. Some of them he made up on the spot, others he told were true, but twisted to be less sad. 

The Ghost of Matar, with characters like Lala, the singing doll and Guzo, her human friend, were starting to become favourites for the little boy. Allen would find it cute if it didn't break his heart. He made sure to give the two better endings than what they got. 

After a couple stories, Allen decided it had been long enough. Leaving Harry curled up in the booth, Allen made his way to the bar. 

Another worker had come in during story time, a younger man who was blinking owlishly at Allen. By the pity in his gaze, Allen could only guess the woman had filled him in. Good to know but the original woman was the one Allen was focusing on. 

"Um…ma'am?" he asked timidly. 

"What?" She demanded gruffly, fiddling with one of the beer taps. Or what he assumed was beer taps. With incomplete knowledge of this time, it was hard to tell. 

"Can I work for a meal?" he blurted. 

Both bar workers paused, stilling like they hadn’t thought of that. The woman's eyes narrowed. “This is a bar, kid,” she reminded him tartly.

"Please?" he pleaded. “Just a bowl of soup for my brother.”

The lady’s eyebrows shot up. “Nothing for you?”

Allen shook his head. Yeah, he was hungry, but he hadn’t had to use much energy in the last few days and the shelter offered enough nutrient foods to last him a little while. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time that he had to survive without eating. 

“He needs it more,” he said quietly. Which, while an obvious way to manipulate her, wasn’t exactly false.

Silence greeted his admission but he knew better than to put any more pressure on her. Some people were likely to refuse out of annoyance or spite despite being otherwise willing to offer aid. Others just didn’t like being told what to do. 

“If you break anything, you’re paying for it,” she said finally. “Don’t celebrate yet, kid,” she snapped when he grinned. “Our last dishwasher cut out on us. You’re just going to be filling the void.”

“Yes ma’am!” he chirped, hopping in place a little.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Go sit with your brother, I’ll bring the soup soon.”

Allen nodded, heading back towards the booth Harry was resting in. When Allen slid onto the seat with him, the toddler jerked, eyes snapping to him. 

“Just me,” Allen reassured with a soft smile. The kid relaxed, mirroring him. Once Allen was seated, Harry latched onto his arm, refusing to let go. Timcampy poked out of the coat collar, and he could practically see the question mark above the golem's head. 

Allen nodded, gently petting the kids, messy, dirty hair. The golem nodded back before ducking inside the coat again. 

A little while later, the woman came over, carrying Harry's Lunch. Allen smiled at her in thanks but stopped when he spotted a second bowl. 

The woman took one look at his startled look and glared. “The Lunch rush should be starting in half an hour. I need you not to collapse on me. We’re not a charity, kid. You’ll work it off.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, quieter. Pulling both bowls towards him, he ate some, testing the temperature (and for poisons. He didn’t expect anything, but he wanted to test it before giving any to Harry). Once he was happy, he spoonfed the toddler. Harry didn’t make a fuss, quietly accepting the food. 

“I’m guessing you want the brat with you?” the woman asked after they had eaten a little.

Allen nodded, giving Harry another spoonful. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

The woman waved it away. “Just make sure he’s not underfoot.”

“I will,” Allen promised, having no doubt that Harry would do exactly what he was told. He would have too, in the kid's position. 

He was right. Once Allen had explained things in a way he would understand, Harry stayed out of the way. It certainly wasn't the most comfortable or entertaining place, but Harry had tucked himself into an empty corner. Allen tried to make it fun, singing or telling stories when he had the breath to. 

He worked well into the night, only pausing to beg for a juice box for Harry. The kid had fallen asleep against the wall when the woman from earlier stepped in. 

"You've done shit like this before," she said mildly, watching as he gathered Harry into his arms.

Allen nodded, a wry chuckle escaping him. She was right about that. Manual labour was the thing he was most familiar with.

She hummed then dipped her hand into her apron pocket. "Here's your pay," she told him, dropping a few bills into his hand. Startled, Allen counted it in a split second. £25, which he thinks was a decent wage. He'd glanced at the menu when he'd passed it earlier and he should be able to buy a meal or two with this. 

25 British pounds was a lot more than he'd been expecting, considering back in his time he would have earned barely half of that for the same amount of work. However, things did seem more expensive and he knew economic inflation was a thing. 

"But the food—" he started, shutting his mouth and jerking back when she held up a hand 

“Is paid for. Kid, you worked for ten hours. That’s the popper pay.”

“Oh.” he pocketed the money, shifting a sleeping Harry on his hip. “Thank you for your kindness,” he said softly. 

The woman snorted. “What’s your name?”

Allen blinked. He hadn’t said? “It’s Allen.”

“Rose,” the woman told him. Her eyes flicked down to the kid in his arms. When Allen wasn’t immediately forthcoming, she looked back at him. “Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

“Yes.” No, but he wasn’t going to push his luck so early in a professional relationship. He’d been more comfortable doing that while wearing the Black Cross since he’d been an apostle of God. Here, he’s just a street rat. 

She nodded tersely. “Get out of here.”

Allen didn’t have to be told twice, escaping into the dark city night. Well, ‘dark’ wasn’t the right word, considering he could see the streets lit up at the end of the alley the bar opened up into. Which was something he never would have considered, that the future would be so bright. Not in the hopeful sense—hope was a luxury that he let others indulge in. He had faith, yes, but not hope. It was too painful. 

Yet…he always kept walking. There was nothing else now. 

Allen sighed and looked up between the buildings at the night sky. It was pitch black, the air thick with things he couldn’t name. 

There were no stars. 

It was disconcerting, the first night he realised how empty the sky was. During one of the jobs he’d taken while paying off his Master’s depts, the sailors had taught him how to navigate using the stars. A tool that he’d had relied heavily on, considering his…knack…for getting lost, to suddenly be gone. Strange barely covered how it felt. 

Allen shook his head. “Tim?” he asked softly. 

Making an inquisitive sound, the little golem popped out of his coat. 

“Is there any place close that would be safe to rest?”

Timcanpy nodded, wiggling free to lead the way, his wings flapping. Allen followed him into the semi-darkness of the city. 

A few weeks passed in this manner, Allen going to a different bar every day to beg for work. Some would give it to him, like Rose, and some would kick him out, despite the little boy attached to his back. Well, maybe because of him in certain instances. After a while of this, Allen had accumulated a decent amount of money. For one night, he used some of what he’d earned and rented a hostel room. There, he bathed himself and Harry, making sure that they looked clean. His clothes he could do less for but he still tried to clean them as best he could.

It was nice to sleep in the warmth for once, even if it wasn’t the most secure he’d felt.

Leaving Harry with Timcampy in a place he knew would be safe for a couple of hours, he went to the gambling dens. It was warm in the den, cigarette smoke filling the air. He sat and watched the men for a while before deciding to approach the table. 

“May I be dealt in?” he asked, changing the persona he’d been wearing in public since coming to this time. 

The men at the table looked at him, one of three raising an incredulous eyebrow. “Get lost brat, the kiddy games are housed three blocks away.” One of the others grunted in agreement while the other looked at Allen with more caution. A fair chunk of amusement too. 

Allen allowed his face to flush. “Well, if you’re so sure about your win; then you have nothing to be afraid of,” he said, reaching inside his shirt to put a stack of bills on the table. It wasn’t all that he’d earned, but there was at least £100. 

The men paused, looking down at what he offered to add to the pot. 

“Your loss,” one muttered and Allen slid into the empty chair. Allen smiled, one of his bland, polite ones.

“We’ll see.”

Then men grunted and the game began. As the night progressed, he didn’t cheat at all. Considering that it was his first night here and he wasn’t the dealer, he couldn’t do what he did in the past. What he did have over the other men, was an unbreakable poker face. Which, didn’t mean he gave nothing away. He was careful to give them something, but only what he wanted them to see. 

The first few hands, he lost money, lulling them into a false sense of security. Then, the moment he knew he had them, Allen earned it all back, and a fair amount more. 

“Damn kid,” one of the men, who he'd identified as Kip, said as he dropped his losing hand onto the table. “You’re a fucking card shark.”

Allen chuckled and scooped up his earnings, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’re one amazing liar ,” the man who’d been more cautious than his friends said. This one was Andy, and he seemed more amused than anything. He dropped his cards on the table and leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair.

Allen smiled without teeth, radiating innocence. 

Darren, the last man, scoffed, shaking his head in good humour. “Get out of ‘ere,”

Not needing to be told twice, Allen vacated the premise. Tucking his earnings away, he made his way back to the location where he’d hidden Harry in. Climbing up into the second story of an abandoned building, making it not easily accessible to normal humans, he smiled when he caught sight of the little boy sleeping under his coat. 

Timcampy perked up when he sensed Allen approaching. His wings flapped in greeting, but Allen noticed something when he didn’t fly up to circle him as he would have in the past. Allen tilted his head and snorted. 

“A little stuck there, Tim?” he teased. 

The golem’s cheeks puffed but he tellingly didn't try and get his tail out of Harry’s grip. 

Allen chuckled, flopping down beside the little boy. “I should get you a toy,” he said softly, brushing back his hair. His smile dropped when his fingers traced the shape of his cursed scar. He sighed and reached up and tucked the coat tighter around his chin. Now that they had a little more funds, he might be able to afford more luxuries.

First, appropriate clothes. Allen would like his coat back. 

After a month of washing dishes and gambling at different dens, Allen had a decent supply of funds. Finally, he’d gotten his clothes thoroughly washed and bought new ones for Harry. They were a little oversized, but he knew that the boy would grow into them soon enough. He had a vague memory of Mana doing something similar for him. 

Cross hadn’t spent a penny on him, forcing Allen to take care of his own needs. 

Ugh…thinking about Master Cross was giving him a headache.

(It was easier to gripe about him instead of remembering that the last thing he saw of his Master was just a pool of blood.)

What was beginning to worry him, however, was how empty his head felt. Not like lack of thought, but the lack of intrusion he felt within his own mind. Not once had he lost control of his own body. 

Allen didn’t trust it. What did it mean? For months he’d had the threat of the Fourteenth taking over his body and now that he was in the future, it just wasn’t anymore. He didn’t understand. The stab wound that Kanda had given still wasn’t healing, nor was it reacting to Apocryphos. Like Hyvlaska, the personification of Innocent didn’t age; so why wasn’t he hunting Allen? 

As well as the overwhelming lack of akuma. He didn’t understand what I meant.  

Did his friends win? 

Was the Earl gone? 

His eye hadn’t reacted once. It was weird. Before, when he hadn’t encountered akuma for a while, it had reminded him of his curse. He sought to save both akuma and humans. How could follow the terms of his curse if there is nothing for him to save?

Nothing made sense.

On top of that, he couldn’t access the Ark. 

For some reason, every time he tried, a disconnect became apparent. Focusing on the lullaby, he felt it, but like it was out of reach. Since establishing himself as the Player, the Ark had been a constant hum in the back of his mind. He hadn’t always known how to use it, but it had been there. Now, he could barely hear it. 

The lack of everything was beginning to make him twitchier than normal. He kept expecting something to happen. Any noise made him jump, lifting his left hand in preparation for an attack.

It got to the point that Harry took notice, making the boy just as nervous. Allen tried to keep his reactions under control, biting back his flinches but it took effort. It was like he didn’t have the advantage of his eye here, even if there was nothing wrong with it. 

He didn’t like the sour taste of fear.

Finally, his curiosities got the better of him and he took Harry and himself to a public library. The workers there cooed over the toddler, helping him pick out a picture book for him to look at. Always keeping at least one eye on him, Allen went looking for any mention of akuma, the Order, or the Millenium Earl. 

He did find references to Noah, but not The Noah. It was the biblical reference to the man who made the Ark and gathered a pair of each animal on earth to save them from the flood. Nothing else.

Annoyed, Allen snapped the book shut. Harry looked up from his picture book, his large little eyes worried.

“It’s okay,” he told the toddler, smiling softly. 

“He’s adorable,” the worker sitting next to the kid said. She was taking the time to point out animals and say them for him, getting it parrotted back to her. Allen felt a mix of pride and shame curl in his chest. He’d been helping Harry with his words, but he could be doing so much more. He should buy books like these or something. And that toy. Soon.  

“He is,” Allen said, putting on a soft smile. 

“He’s not yours, is he?” she asked, her eyes flicking up to his. She was young but older than him. Allen would guess that she was the same age as Kamui or a little older. Her curly, caramel hair was pulled out of her eyes in a messy bun and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses sat on her nose.

Allen chucked. “How can you tell?” he asked, amused as he came over to sit with them at the table. 

“The hair for one,” she said, a slight grin crossing her face. “And you're too young.”

Allen laughed and tugged on one of his snowy locks. It felt strange, having someone other than Kanda comment on it. “Fair. Although this isn’t my original natural colour. I used to be a redhead,” Allen told her with a small smile. The woman opened her mouth but was interrupted by Harry, the little boy pointing at his book. 

“Bird!” he said cheerfully, his stubby little finger pressed onto a cartoon drawing of a chicken. 

“Yes, that’s a bird. Do you know what kind of bird?” Allen asked, turning to him so the kid could feel like he was being paid attention to. 

“Ummm…” the kid blinked owlishly.

Allen snorted. “It’s a chicken.” 

“Chi’en.”

“Chi-k-en,” Allen sounded out, smiling to show he wasn’t mad at the kid. Harry repeated the word, saying it properly that time. Allen smiled and ruffled the kid's hair, making him giggle. Allen had come to adore that sound, trying to incite it whenever he could. Thankfully, it was becoming easier. 

“Did you dye it that colour?” the worker asked once Harry had gone back to his book.  

Allen shook his head. “No. Something happened to change it.”

She blinked, leaning back a bit in her little chair. “I didn’t know that could happen.”

“It’s not common,” Allen said with a smile. “It's a bit of a curse.”

The woman snorted, clearly thinking it was a joke even if Allen was being absolutely truthful. He smiled, inviting her to continue thinking of it that way. 

“Have you ever heard of akuma?” he asked out of the blue, glancing at the woman. 

“Akuma?” she repeated, surprise colouring her voice. She tapped her chin thoughtfully before shaking her head. “No, sorry. What is it?” she asked, her eyes glinting with curiosity. Well, considering she worked in a Library, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was as curious as those in the science divisions. As long as she left him out of any experiments.

Allen sighed, mixing his irritation with glum acceptance, hiding his actual reaction. It was so frustrating not being able to find anything. Even officer Moore had heard of them, despite being so far removed from the war before her brother turned into an Akuma. Even with the war waged in shadows, stories and myths leaked into folklore and bedtime stories. 

For there to be… nothing was disconcerting. He didn’t know the meaning behind it. 

“I read a book once,” he started on impulse, then paused when he realised what he was doing.

“You want to find it again?” the woman prompted when he didn’t continue. 

“Oh, no. Not really. I was just confused by something. I was wondering if you could help me?” he asked, smiling pleasantly. Harry got his attention with a poke and then pointed at a new page. “That’s a flamingo.”

“Sure, that’s what I’m here for,” she said after Harry had tried the new word. 

Allen blew out a breath, then constructed his tale. “In the book, the character got transferred to a different time, hundreds of years ahead of his own. The world was so different than his own, but he accepted that he was no longer in his own time. Yet, when he looked for the familiar, even a hint of places and things of his past, he could find nothing. Things he took for granted were no longer there. The book never explained it.”

“Hmm, that sounds like a tragic fate,” the woman said, her eyes unfocused, her mind obviously turned within.

Allen didn’t say anything, letting her think. 

“Sounds like an alternate universe situation,” she finally said. 

He blinked. “Alternate universe?”

“Yeah. Have you never heard of the multiverse theory?”

“I haven’t,” Allen admitted. 

“Ah. It's the idea that there are thousands, millions of different worlds, different Earths' where things didn’t happen the way they have or will in our world. Like if the Nazis won the war. Germany would look very different now if they had,” she said with a chuckle like that explained everything.

Allen made a sound of understanding when he had no idea what she was talking about. It must be recent history. However, it did shed some light on his own situation. Definitely, it was an answer. If the Ark had somehow brought him to a world where the Millennium Earl never existed, it might explain the lack of Akuma. 

He would have to find more evidence before he believed it wholeheartedly, but it was certainly something to keep in mind. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, smiling at the woman. 

She snorted. “I’m no ‘ma’am’. Just call me Chelsea.”

“Thank you, Chelsea. We should be on our way though,” Allen said, closing Harry's book and pushing it to the side. 

The little boy looked up at him. “Go?”

“Yup. Time to go. You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Allen reminded him. 

“Uh-huh,” the boy said with a nod. “Hungy.”

The woman chuckled and also got up from the table. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Come back whenever you want to talk.”

“We will,” Allen said, more for the societal expectation than any true assurance. Allen carried Harry, leaving the Library, his mind whirling with the new knowledge. If this time…world…didn’t have a Black Order, didn’t have Apocryphos, did he have to keep running?

Did that explain why Nea wasn’t pushing at the walls of his mind? Did the fourteenth sense that the object of his hatred wasn’t within this world and not feel the need to come forwards?

He had too many questions with no answers.

Chapter Text

“He’s not going to be there, I don't know why you aren’t taking my word for it,” Minerva McGonagall hissed as she walked quickly to keep up with her boss. Albus Dumbledore was practically marching ahead of her down the muggle street. The sun was on the way to disappearing, painting the dark grey pavement orange and gold. “I would not lie about such a thing.”

“Nor do I think you would,” Albus said, his tone pleasant and mild. “I’m afraid that I need to see it with my own eyes. You cannot fault me for that, can you?”

Minerva grumbled but kept her silence. Truthfully, if someone had come up and said that The Boy Who Lived had been stolen from his muggle, ward-protected home, she would have denied it herself. It was an outlandish claim, yet she’d witnessed it firsthand. Harry Potter, a child who should have been cherished and loved, was neglected enough to be stashed in a cupboard and not sought once he was stolen from his very home. 

Minerva didn’t say another word, choosing to change her form to a feline one when they reached the Dursley's home. She knew that she needed to keep her tongue during this exchange and this was the easiest and surest way for her to do so. She trotted next to Albus’s heels as he made his way up to the door and knocked.

“Curious,” the wizened wizard said as they were waiting for it to be answered. 

Minerva meowed a question, looking up at him. That particular tone normally didn’t incite anything good.

“The wards haven’t been broken,” the Headmaster mussed, stroking a hand down his beard. “Therefore, no one of ill intent towards Harry has crossed the property line.”

Minerva’s ears pressed flat. So, not a Death Eater. Curious indeed. However, she doubted it was not the only thing that caused such a tone. When he said nothing, she voiced a more demanding meow.

Albus glanced down at her, then lifted his hand to brush his fingers over the door frame. “Something unnatural made these marks,” he observed solemnly. Her whiskers twitching, Minerva trotted over so she had a clearer view. She inhaled sharply when she saw the four marks dug into the wood, spaced evenly apart. 

She looked down at her paw, flexing the digits, an uneasiness growing in her gut. 

Claw marks. The Dursleys had large, human-like claw marks cutting into their doorframe. 

That did not bode well. 

Albus knocked on the door again, louder this time. 

A muffled yell filtered through, and Minerva backed up and hid beside the door so that whoever answered couldn’t see her. Cats were often overlooked after all. 

The door opened sharply, a standard greeting on the woman’s lips before she cut off in a shrill scream. Albus lifted a hand, cutting off the noise before it could truly begin. 

“Now, my dear, there’s no need for that. I merely have a few questions,” Albus said pleasantly. 

Strangely, Petunia Dursley’s pale face further drained of colour and she stumbled back into the house. 

“May we come in?” Albus asked kindly. “We wouldn’t want the neighbours to talk, would we?”

“Pet? Who is it?” a man’s voice called from within, who Minerva knew had to be Vernon Dursley. Petunia opened her voice to yell back at him, but no sound came out. She scowled and jerked her head, allowing them entry. 

Wrinkling her nose at the demeaning nickname—why on earth did the woman allow him to call her that?—Minerva stepped in beside her boss. Although, she did take the chance to glance back at the claw marks. It wasn't just on the front. The damage cut all across the width, like whatever had made them had dragged their claws across the surface. 

Petunia led them to the sitting room, moving to stand behind her husband’s chair. Bringing his large nose out of the papers, he frowned at his wife. “Pet? What’s the matter with you, woman—you!” he cut off with a furious gasp. “What have you done with my Pet!?”

Minerva snarled under her breath and jumped up onto the back of the couch. Both muggles jerked at her appearance and Minerva felt a vicious glee at their fear. She didn’t hate muggles—her own father was one—but these two were the worst of the lot. 

“I have not harmed her. It's a simple silencing charm. Easily reversible,” Albus told them, and with a nod, Petunia was gasping audibly. Which was such an overreaction. That spell wasn’t a breath-stealer. 

“What do you want?” Vernon snarled, getting up to posture at them. It was like a miniature farm pig trying to intimidate a yak. Pathetic. 

“The boy,” Albus said, cutting right to the point, which was odd for him. Minerva glanced at his wizened face, curious. He must truly be rattled by the boy disappearing for him not to pull his normal tricks of wordplay. 

Both muggles suddenly turned mute, glancing at the other. 

“What about him?” Vernon grunted. 

Minerva pinned her ears to the head, growling quietly. She did not like his tone.

Both muggles flinched and jerked away from her. “Why did you have to bring that… thing here?” Petunia screeched. 

Minerva bared her teeth. She wasn’t a thing.

“Professor McGonagall,” Albus gently reprimanded. Grumbling, she obeyed, unpinning her ears. She ignored the indignant ‘Professor?’ that Petunia muttered under her breath. Yes, she was a Professor and very proud of that, thank you very much. 

Minerva shot Albus a look, clearly conveying her impatience. 

Seeing it, he turned back to the muggles, folding his hands in front of him. “We received word that he is…no longer in your care.”

Vernon’s already ruddy face purpled, and he opened his mouth but no sound came out. 

His wife, on the other hand, found her voice easily. “Where did you hear such a thing? Are you spying on us?” she demanded shrilly. 

“Of course we are,” Albus said mildly, making the question sound like the ignorant prattle it was. The look he gave them was pitying. “Harry Potter is very important to us, of course, we would look out for our own.”

“Oh, he is, is he? Then why did it take you two months to realise he was gone,” Vernon sneered.

Minerva stared at the man, the muggle succeeding in actually shocking her. Two months. The babe had been gone for two months and they only found out yesterday. How could she have let this happen?

Stealing a glance at Albus, a separate voice whispered in her ear. How could he have let this happen? There should have been far more precautions if stealing the child had been done so easily. 

Albus sighed through his nose. “We previously had no reason to believe that he would be moved. Yet, here we are. Can you tell me anything about who or what took Harry Potter?”

Petunia sniffed hauntingly, one hand coming up to fiddle with her pearl necklace. Since Minerva was watching her, she was surprised to see that the woman used the motion to hide rubbing her neck. And failed to do so, considering that Minerva noticed. 

“He was some…delinquent. We honestly thought you had sent him, considering his state of attire,” she told them spitefully.

“Oh?” Albus prompted with a raised brow. 

“His clothes were so…odd.” She wrinkled her nose. “An older style and filthy. Obviously, he had no idea how to use a washing machine. Or a pair of scissors. His hair was far too long. And that scar,” she shivered like the mere thought of it was revolting. 

“A scar?” 

“A large, ugly thing; worse than the brats,” Vernon spat, jerking a meaty hand towards his own face. “Took up half his face, it did. Somehow, he’d gotten a pentagram cut into it. That’s one of your marks, isn’t it? It was obvious he was one of you freaks.”

Minerva glanced at Albus again, wondering if he was thinking what she was. Wixen do not wear pentagrams on their clothes, let alone cut into their faces. What kind of Dark wizard would do that? 

Stranger even, one that had no ill intentions towards The Boy Who Lived? 

Was such a thing even possible?

“He attacked us,” Vernon continued with a spiteful growl. “Woke us from our beds and assaulted us. He should be grateful we didn’t call the police on him.”

Minerva’s whiskers dipped down in a feline frown. Looking the two over, Minerva couldn’t see any obvious signs of a fight. That perhaps could be because they were two months late or…their definition of ‘attacked’ was different than hers. No Dark Wizard she knew would leave muggles like this undamaged, let alone alive. 

What was the true story?

“Attacked you?” Albus echoed, drawing her attention again. The Hogwarts Headmaster wasn’t looking at her, his gaze locked with the muggle woman. How long had he been doing that?

“Brutally,” the woman confirmed. “Pinned up against the wall with his…unnatural hand. It looked like God himself had cursed it. Red, and…leathery. It was disgusting.”

Now that was interesting, Minerva thought. Yet, she had to wonder; who's God?

“So this…man came in, attacked you, and stole the child?” Albus clarified after a moment of silence. 

The muggles hesitated, Vernon glancing at his wife. Petunia, in contrast, didn’t take her eyes off Albus. 

“The truth, please. We only seek to find the boy,” Albus implored.

Vernon scowled. “It is the truth, you unnatural freak,” the man snarled, and Petunia flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head away. 

“My nephew,” the woman cut in, her voice shaking, “was out playing. Perhaps they ran into each other outside, I don’t know. Then that boy came and demanded to know who his guardians were. And his name. When he got that, he left, taking Harry with him.”

“ Petunia, ” Vernon hissed, appalled. 

Dread curled in Minerva’s chest, clogging her throat. Too much of that threw everything that they had said previously into question. Boy, not a man? Harry had been outside, alone? He hadn’t recognized Harry Potter by the scar alone? He’d had to ask? And they just told him? 

What in Merlin's name…?

Albus hummed, stroking his beard. “Thank you for your time, we will leave you to your evening.” The old wizard turned around and marched out of the house. Minerva ran to follow him, her much smaller legs having to move quickly to catch up. Once they were a block away from the wretched house, she changed back to human, hurriedly falling into step beside him. 

“Albus!” she hissed, her skirts bunched in her grip so she wouldn’t trip during their brisk march. “You can’t seriously believe what they said, do you? A boy, taking Harry Potter from his home? It's preposterous!”

“Yet it is the truth,” Albus said calmly, his hands tucked into his long sleeves as they walked. “Unless their memories had been tampered with.”

“Memories?” Minerva echoed then stared at him in horror when the implications of that dawned on her. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” he confirmed, stopping abruptly to look down at her. Now more than ever, she hated the couple of inches he had on her, making it feel obnoxious. “Come now, a little bit of legilimency is inconsequential if it helps to find the boy.”

“Using it on unwilling muggles is illegal!” she whispered harshly.

“The council will not know, nor would they care.”

“Albus! You wouldn’t have had to perform it at all if you had listened to me in the first place! I told you they were the worst sort of muggles yet you put the babe with them anyway!” she snapped, jerking her hand back towards where they had come.

“And I stand by that,” Albus retorted. “He deserves to live with his family.”

“A family that clearly didn’t love him!” her shout echoed in the air around them, and her chest was heaving in the aftermath of her anger. Silence descended between them, dripping like molasses. Thick and lingering. 

“Yet he would be safe,” Albus insisted, his voice soft and pleading, practically begging her to understand. 

She couldn’t. “Clearly not.”

The older wizard regarded her silently, his eyes giving nothing away. Then he dipped his head in a slow nod, agreeing, “Clearly.”

Allen sneezed, his whole body shaking with the force of it. He groaned, rubbing his nose with the back of his soap-covered wrist. “Ugh.”

“You better not be getting sick on me,” Rose said, marching into the back with a stack of dirty plates in her arms. A lock of her curly black hair had escaped and was hanging in her face but the rest was pulled back into a high ponytail, keeping it off of her neck. 

“I’m not,” he assured her, grabbing the tap nozzle and spraying a plate clean. Moving it to the other one, filled with soapy water, he used the ‘scrubby’ to sanitize it, then rinsed it with hot water again. “Someone is probably talking about me. Although, I do not know who would,” he muttered under his breath.

“That’s a strange saying,” his ‘boss’ said, placing the stack of dishes on the counter, next to the previous one. He’d almost caught up too.

“Is it? It’s common where I come from,” Allen commented, grabbing the cloth on his shoulder. In quick, practised movements, he wiped the plate dry before putting it onto a stack. That done, he whipped his brow with the back of his hand. Since he was sticking his hands into hot water, sweat was gathering there and on the back of his neck. He’d long since rolled up his sleeves, allowing the other workers to see his arms. 

At first, they had been shocked by the colouring of his left, but when he explained that it was a deformity caused by a skin condition, the only question asked was if he could still wash dishes with it.

He managed not to scoff at that question. 

The woman hummed. “Where is that, anyway? I’ve been listening to the stories you tell your kid. I don’t recognize any of them.”

“You have? Really?” Allen asked, looking at her in shock. He hadn’t thought anyone but Harry had been paying attention to him.

She snorted, walking around him to gather the plates he’d dried. “Of course I have. Everyone back here has. You’re quite the storyteller.”

“Oh.” His cheeks flushing hotly, he looked back at the sink. He cleared his throat and quickly grabbed the next dish. “I didn’t realise.”

“No sh—uh,” she cut off, shooting a glance at the kid in the corner, playing with Timcampy. The golem wasn’t moving, allowing everyone to think he was a toy. “Snizzle. No snizzle.”

“Smooth, Rose,” another voice piped up, and Allen glanced at the lead cook. Baraka was a lean, tall black man with thin braids tied back and out of his way. He was smirking, his clear blue eyes curved with his amusement. 

“Shush,” the woman hissed, shooting her friend an embarrassed, grumpy look. Everyone else in the kitchen laughed, smiles wide. Baraka grinned, smug.

“She does have a point, though, kid,” he added when the laughter had died down. He looked over at Allen, tipping his head speculatively. “You sound British, but the way you talk is a little off. Like an old man.”

“Gee, thanks; are you sure you’re not being confused by my hair?” Allen snipped back. Honestly, bickering with the man was fun. It was almost as fun as getting going with Kanda or Lavi. He also reminded Allen of Jerry, excluding the over-the-top cheerfulness. It was how skilled he was at cooking, despite working in Rose's little hole-in-the-wall bar, and the man's quiet kindness. 

Not that Jerry had been quiet in any sense, but his kindness came in smaller doses. Like sending a 'known traitor' a special bowl of oatmeal just to make sure he ate something. 

“Eh, it’s not helping ya.” 

Allen snorted, and hearing a giggle, looked over at Harry. The two-and-a-half-year-old was covering his mouth with his hand but it was obvious that he was finding amusement at his expense.

 “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Apparently, it’s ‘make fun of Allen’ hour.” He made a face at the kid, earning a new peal of laughter. Allen doubted that the kid actually fully understood what they were talking about, but they were having fun so he was too.

"So?" Baraka prompted once the laughter had died down. "Where are ya from?" 

Allen paused, not quite sure how to answer that. In all honesty, he didn't owe them anything, but he'd spent enough time with these people that he felt bad giving them nothing. 

He bit his lip, thinking it over. The best lies are built on truth, but he still didn't know enough about this world to safely spin a tale. 

"Nowhere, really," he settled on, placing another clean dish to the side. The dinner rush had just ended, so these plates should be the last few. Then the glasses would come in hoards. "I'm an orphan, you see. I got moved around a lot, travelling with a circus for a time. You get all kinds of folks passing through. I pick up a whole range of accents and languages."

Another kitchen hand, Pru—short for Prudence but she hated being called that—whistled. "That's a mighty handy skill," she commented with a thick cockney accent. 

"I guess," Allen agreed with a polite smile.

"What about the kid? If you're an orphan, how is he your brother?" Rose asked, her arms crossed. A slight frown wrinkled her brow, clearly thinking about their first conversation. 

"You don't have to be blood-related to be family. He's an orphan too. I took him in when no one else would."

"Amen to that," Pru cheered, a wide grin on her face. "Fuck blood family! They suck!"

"Pru!" Allen snapped, sending the girl a mild glare. Well, mild to him and his world. Civilians, he's learned, didn't have the same thicker skin that he and the other exorcists had been forced to forge.

She eeped and ducked out of his line of sight.

"Alright, that's enough chatting," Rose cut in before anyone else could say anything. "Get back to work!"

"You're the one that started it!" Baraka called after her retreating back.

“Bite me!”

Allen snorted, shaking his head. It was nice, he thought, being a part of a group again. Even if only for a while. 

"Al'en?" a hesitant voice called.

"Yes, Harry?" Allen said, glancing over at his charge, making sure to keep his voice soft and pleasant. The little boy had gotten a lot better about asking for things, but he still expected things to be taken from him. Allen was doing his best to reinforce that he could ask Allen anything. 

"Wha's fucs?"

Allen froze, knowing that he was trying to say 'fuck' but was having trouble with the harder k sounds. He plastered on a pleasant smile, barely hiding the sharpness beneath. "A word you're not allowed to say yet, alright?" 

Harry blinked, taken aback. It wasn't often that Allen denied him things, but thankfully he'd learned that Allen wasn't mad, just had his reasons. He nodded solemnly.

Allen nodded back, satisfied that he understood. That done…

"Oh Pru~" he sing-songed, abandoning his sink. A muffled shriek came from further into the kitchen and Allen followed the sound to his target. The older teenager was hiding behind the fridge, wedged into a corner. Marching up to her, he slammed a hand on the appliance's face, leaning into her space.

"Don't swear in front of Harry, okay?" he told her, his pleasant smile still firmly in place. 

"Y-ya, g-got it," she squeaked. 

"Good."

Baraka snorted, watching amusingly as Allen went back to his post. "Has anyone told you you're one scary kid?" 

Allen hummed, grabbing the tap nozzle again. "Once or twice." Almost every time his darker side came out, he added to himself. Lavi in particular would comment on it, shivering dramatically.

Allen's motions slowed and he looked down at the murky water, white bubbles of soap swirling on the surface. 

He missed them. Lavi, Lenalee, Kanda, Kamui, Johnny and everyone else. He'd been on the run before coming to this time or world, but then he knew they were safe . Here, he had no idea. If that librarian was wrong and this was decades into his future, it was highly likely that everyone he'd ever met was dead. 

Excluding the Noah clan.

If they were…he couldn't keep his promise. He couldn't go back to something that no longer existed. 

"Allen?" a worried voice broke him out of his thoughts. 

"Hmm?" he responded, turning to look at Baraka. The cook had set aside what he'd been doing, a concerned look on his face. Pru had also stopped, staring at him with wide eyes. 

"You're crying," the older man pointed out. 

Allen blinked, feeling his lashes stick together wetly. "Oh." He reached up and whipped his cheek. "Sorry."

"Why the f—heck are you saying sorry?" Pru screeched, her hands waving around uselessly.

Allen shook his head and used his sleeve to dry his face. "I'm fine, don't worry about it. I was just thinking of something sad.”

Baraka and Pru shared a disbelieving look. The teen's face screwed up, and she opened her mouth again but Baraka placed a hand on her shoulder. She shut it with a click. 

"Don't dwell for too long, grief is as unpredictable as the ocean. Be careful not to drown," the man cautioned. 

Despite the tears still dripping down his cheeks, Allen looked towards him sharply. Baraka was a smart man, he knew this, but he hadn't expected that level of perception.

Allen’s skin crawled with the feeling of being seen. He didn't like it. Few could say with any certainty that they knew who 'Allen' was. Hell, he didn't even know who he was. Before Mana, he'd been nothing, less than worthless. 

A discarded no-name.

Then he'd gained family, growing his world brick by blood-stained brick. He filled it with all that he cherished, only for it all to be stolen from him. 

No. He couldn’t afford to let these people see him. 

Burying his feelings deep, Allen let a fog seep into his heart. His face relaxed and he smiled softly.

"Thanks, but I'm okay—honest," he assured the two.

It was obvious that they didn’t believe him. They exchanged looks, but he was thankful when they didn’t push. He pointedly went back to work, dumping the dishes he needed to wash into the left sink. Silence fell over them, the only sound being the spray of water and Baraka prepping chopped ingredients for the next day.

“Al’en?” 

“Yes Harry?”

“Story?”

Allen closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before breathing out. “Sure. Do you have any in mind?”

The little boy smiled, wiggling in place and hugging Timcampy close to his chest. Tim’s tail twitched at the manhandling but he otherwise stayed still. “Lala?”

Allen pushed a soft smile onto his face, one that he hoped wasn't brittle. “Sure. Once upon a time, there was a city…”

“Here you go. Good work today,” Rose said, handing him a small stack of bills. 

Taking it, Allen tucked it into his vest pocket. “Thank you for always allowing me to work. You’ve been a lifesaver,” he admitted, not afraid to say so. It was mostly the truth too—her allowing him to work that first night had opened the door for him to start saving funds. 

“No need for thanks,” Rose said, waving a hand dismissively. “I know what it’s like to be down on your luck.”

Allen hummed sympathetically. It certainly did suck, not knowing when your next meal would be. Especially for him. Since coming to this world he’d been doing his best to eat only the bare minimum, but for a parasite-type accommodator, that still meant a lot of food.

“Still, I appreciate it,” Allen told her with a smile. Going over to Harry, he woke the kid enough to wrestle his coat on. He was half asleep and groggy but soon enough Allen had him bundled for the chilly outside air. The teen huffed a laugh when the little boy lifted his arms to be carried. 

Settling Harry on his hip, he turned around to see that Rose was still watching him. 

“What?” he asked, noting the slight frown on her face. 

She jumped a little, her eyes blinking back into focus. Then they narrowed onto his face. “You sure you’re okay?”

Allen tilted his head. “Yes?” 

Where were all these questions coming from? He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he?

Rose hummed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Baraka said that you were crying earlier.”

Ah. Stupid. Of course it was that. 

“I just thought of something sad. You don’t need to worry about me,” he said with a smile. 

Rose sighed. Coming over to him, she placed her hand on his shoulder not acting as a pillow for a child. “You don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders, Allen. It's okay to be upset.”

“I know that,” Allen told her, utterly bewildered. 

Rose’s eyes searched his, lingering a little more on his left side. “I’m not sure you do,” she murmured, squeezing his shoulder gently before stepping away. “You better be here next week. We’re still missing our Wednesday dishwasher.”

“Oh—yes ma’am!” he said, straightening. 

She shook her head before jerking her hand towards the back door. “Get out of here.”

Allen got gone. What was that? Why the sudden attention? Sure, he’d cried a little, but Rose had always been gruff with him. She didn’t tolerate lateness or excuses, while still being kind. A perfect person for Allen to work for, one that wouldn’t care so much when he eventually had to disappear. 

But now, all of them seemed to get attached to him.

Why?

They weren’t shield brothers and sisters, bonds formed during spilt blood and shared tragedy. They didn’t have the same enemy, making him important to care about.

They were humans, even more than the people in the Black Order. They knew nothing of the Earl and the pain of losing a loved one to the eternal torment of being an akuma. 

He was an exorcist.

A weapon.

He didn’t belong in this world with them. 

Gritting his teeth, Allen looked up at the moon hanging high above him.

The silver glowing celestial sphere didn’t look any different in the sky, but something felt wrong. It was like he could feel that he wasn’t in his own time or world anymore. The air smelled different, untainted by dark matter. 

Why was he here?

Harry shifted on his shoulder, moving to press his little face into Allen’s neck. 

Allen jerked at the unexpected touch, looking down at his charge. His face softened and he pulled the neck of Harry’s coat up so it covered him better. 

Softly, the familiar melody that he’d been singing over and over dripped from his lips. He didn't know why, but something about singing it felt right.

“ Falling fast asleep, may this little boy find blissful dreams. Among the ash and the flames that light up the night sky…”  

It was as natural as breathing now, the song coming easily. Shifting Harry to a more comfortable spot, he kept singing, walking down the alley and into the dark. Timcampy flew around them, bobbing up and down to the melody. Once he got to the last verse, he paused and ran a gloved hand down the boy's rosy cheek. 

“ I will never stop this prayer leaving my lips. Someone please show this child what love is. Take those tiny hands and leave a kiss,” he sang, then did just that, taking Harry’s little hand and bringing them to his mouth to press a gentle kiss to his fingers. They were so different from his own, still soft while his were rough from years of hard work.

He was innocent to everything, free of the blood that covered Allen’s hands. 

Harry wouldn’t have stayed that way if Allen had left him where he’d met him. There was no doubt that his aunt and uncle would have abused the boy further, turning him into the same bitter boy that Red had been.

Allen heaved a sigh, his breath fogging in the cold air. Timcampy hovered before him, wings flapping softly. 

Maybe this was why he’d been brought to this time. His only fate within his own was to fade away, allowing Neah to take his vengeance on the Millenium Earl. 

Here…he could actually protect someone. 

“Let’s go, Tim,” he told his friend quietly. “We need to find a place to sleep.”

Timcampy nodded and spun around. His eyes not leaving the golem, Allen followed the path that was made for him. 

He kept walking.

Chapter Text

Allen smiled at the wide-eyed wonder on his little charger's face. Harry was standing in front of him, leaning back on his legs to keep his balance while his head turned every which way to see everything that was in front of him. He waited patiently, amused, until the two-and-a-half-year-old hesitantly stepped away from him, little palms reaching towards the aisle shelves and the toys that were sitting there. Harry almost touched the animal stuffies before he jerked back, unsure. 

Frowning, Allen squatted so that he was at the boy’s eye level. “What’s wrong? Go ahead and pick one.”

Harry jumped, coming out of whatever trance he had fallen into. Turning wide, emerald green eyes towards him, his mouth fell open into a gape. “I can? Fo’ me?” he whispered, his head whipping back and forth between the toys and Allen. 

Allen nodded, hiding his confusion behind a pleasant smile. “Yeah. Who did you think we were here for?” he teased gently, poking his side.

Harry didn't giggle and bat his hand away like Allen thought he would. Instead, he looked down, scuffing his shoe onto the tiled store flooring. “No toy fo’ me. Un’le say. Only Dudley.”

Ah. Harry never got any toys, all of them being given to his cousin, Dudley. The woman had said something about only having one son, but at the time, Allen had been more intent on learning about Harry. Now, he was a little miffed that he hadn’t scared those two more. After two months and a bit since starting to care for the little boy, he was still learning new ways that his uncle and aunt had abused the kid. 

Not that Allen had a lot to compare it to; his childhood hadn’t been any kinder than Harry’s. The only reference to good guardianship he had was Mana, and the Clown hadn’t always been in his right mind. Relying on his experience with Master Cross was out of the question. In fact; anything that Master had done, Allen was sure to do the exact opposite . 

“Is Dudley here?” Allen asked gently. 

Harry looked around, squinting as if his cousin would appear from around a corner. “...no.”

“No, he isn’t,” Allen agreed and poked the kid's chest. “You are. So, we’re here for you.”

“Fo’ me?” Harry asked again, his eyes blown wide. 

“Yup.”

Harry gapped, turning back to the display. With no further prompting, he toddled over to the shelved, hands outstretched to run them over the different plushies. 

"Soft," he gasped as petted a cat plushie. An agreeing sound rumbled in Allen's throat, watching as the kid went down the aisle. A smooth mask settled over his face when he started to notice a peculiar habit. With every toy that he wandered to, Harry would wander his fingers over the surface before bringing it closer to his face, peering at it, before putting it back. 

He’d noticed it before, this was the first time that Allen was observing it in its entirety. Before he could ask the kid, Harry gasped, reaching for another plush. 

“Pa’foo!” he cried out, reaching for a black dog plushie. He yanked it off the shelf and held it tight against his chest with his face buried into the soft fabric. 

“Pa’foo?” Allen echoed, scooting closer to the kid. “That’s a dog, Harry.”

Harry frantically shook his head. “Pa’foo!” he repeated stubbornly. “He Pa’foo.”

Allen scratched the back of his head, mystified by the sudden insistence. “Okay…is that his name? LIke how I’m Allen and you’re Harry?” he asked, first pointing to himself than to Harry.

Harry’s head bobbling in a nod, he hugs the dog toy tighter, if that was even possible. A soft whine escaped him and Allen is shocked to see the child's chin start to tremble.

“Okay! Okay! His name is Pa’foo—please don’t cry,” Allen pleaded, unsure what to do. He knew that kids cry a lot, but Allen had been lucky to not have had to deal with a tantrum yet. Harry had been very quiet and unimposing, probably by habit. He couldn’t picture the kids' aunt and uncle treating Harry with any kindness if he’d made any large amount of sound. 

Harry ignored him. If anything, he started to cry more, fat tears dripping down his face. Giving up on trying to get him to stop, Allen reached out and scooped the kid up.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he murmured to the child, tucking the child in close. Harry turned his face against Allen’s chest, freeing one arm to cling onto his coat. 

“Is he okay?” someone asked beside Allen and he looked up at whoever had spoken. An elderly woman was near them in the shopping aisle, concern further wrinkling her face. 

“He’s just a little overwhelmed,” Allen promised her, standing out of his crouch and placing the child on his hip. Harry allowed the motion without acknowledging it, going nearly boneless as he clung to Allen.

“Poor dear,” she said. “My son used to cry a lot too. Had dreadful night terrors, that one. A warm cup of milk and a lullaby normally helped.”

“Thank you. I’ll have to try that,” Allen dipped his head in a nod, wrapping one arm across Harry’s little back. He carefully kept his face clear of discomfort when the motion caused another swell in the child's cries. 

“Is he yours? You look a little young to have a son,” she comments, squinting at his face. She had probably thought he was a lot older before she could see his younger features. 

Allen laughed uneasily and shook his head. “He’s my brother. Our parents are gone.”

The older woman tutted and cooed over them some more before leaving them be. Carrying the child into a less travelled part of the store, Allen ran his fingers through the boy's tangled hair. Harry had calmed somewhat but he was still clinging onto Allen’s coat. 

“Hey,” Allen greeted softly when his wailing had quieted. “What’s with the tears?”

Harry sniffed and hid his face against Allen’s coat again. He mumbled something, his voice muffled by the coat. Still, Allen’s sharper hearing caught it and he bit back a wince. 

“Mama and papa, huh,” Allen muttered, rubbing soothing circles on his back. It made perfect sense. Harry could still remember his birth parents, even just a little bit. “You really miss them, don’t you?”

Harry nodded, letting go of him long enough to wipe at his face. His eyes were red and swollen and his mouth was twisted into a miserable line. 

“Whe’e did ‘ey go?” he asked around a hiccup. New tears pooled in his eyes, but nothing fell. 

Allen sighed and kissed his little head. “They didn’t leave on purpose, sweetheart,” he murmured for lack of a better answer. In actuality, he had no idea if that was true but considering how much he missed them, Allen doubted that Harry had been abandoned.

Actually, he was almost positive that he hadn’t.

Allen knew what it was like to be discarded and treated as less than dirt; it left a particular bitterness in one's heart. He’s experienced it himself as well as observed the effects on newly abandoned circus kids. 

Plus, that woman had said that her sister was dead, so…

“‘ey didn’?” Harry asked, his head snapping up to look pleadingly up at Allen. Like no one had ever told him that before. A new bubble of rage started to boil within him but Allen kept his mask firmly in place. He had to comfort the kid, he could be livid with Harry’s previous caretakers after.

“No, darlin'. They loved you very much.”

“Oh,” he said quietly, looking down at the stuffed dog. He stared at it for a moment before turning back to Allen. “Did tha' man ta'e ‘em?”

“Man?” Allen echoed. “What man?” 

Harry frowned, eyebrows scrunched like he thought Allen was being silly. “The man. He point a’ mama. Mama fell. He point a’ me, an’” he reached up and touched the jagged scar on his head. “Owie.”

Allen stared down at the child, horror rising to replace the rage. If he understood the kid right, Harry had watched someone murder his mother, then try and kill him.

“That does look like it hurt,” Allen agreed if only to say something. 

Harry nodded seriously. “Owie.”

Allen mirrored him, then pulled the kid tight against his chest. Harry squeaked at the sudden tight hug but soon melted into it, snuggling close. Allen’s mind was whirling with too many questions, ones he knew Harry wouldn’t be able to answer. 

Who had killed Harry’s mother? Why had she been targeted? Why try and kill Harry too? Was he important for something?

The Earl didn’t even kill babies in cold blood. Sure, he might use their souls for fuel—if a parent had been grief-stricken enough to attract his attention—but he didn't go out of his way to kill them. They might be casualties from an akuma, since they certainly didnt care, but the Earl never sought out children to kill. He hadn’t even killed Allen even after he'd shown himself as an accommodator and destroyed a newly created akuma with his Innocence. 

But then again…knowing what he did now—about himself and the 14th—it was possible that something had stopped the Earl from killing him. 

Another question encroached on his mind, thick and unpleasant. Despite the acidic taste it left in his mouth, Allen couldn’t stop himself from thinking:

How had Harry survived? 

It sounded like his mother had been shot, and Harry soon after. Yet here he was, hale and whole with only a cursed scar to tell the tale. 

It didn’t make any sense. 

There were too many questions; ones with no answers.

Sighing, Allen pushed it to the back of his mind. “Come on, let’s go buy Pa’foo,” Allen said. 

Harry perked up, a smile stretching across his face. “‘eally?” he asked, beaming. 

“Really, really,” Allen told the child, putting him down when Harry squirmed. With Allen leading the way, Harry carried his new toy all the way to the cashier, even trying to put it on the counter by himself. The worker smiled at the child, smartly keeping her mouth shut about Allen having to pick the boy up so he could put the toy on the counter.

Allen paid for what they were getting, thanking the teller for her service and then they left, Harry clutching his new toy tightly. After taking the bus, they made their way back to the motel they were renting for the day and night.

"You can come out now, Tim," Allen said once the door was closed behind them. The lump in his collar wiggled and the golden golem popped out into the open air. 

Harry smiled at the mechanical creature, lifting his new toy up for him to see. "Pa'foo," the boy explained, holding the toy still as Timcampy looked at the stuffed animal.

The golem flittered around it and then made the appropriate fluttery movements to convey happiness for the boy.

Harry giggled, a free smile stretching across his face. Allen watched them as he took off his boots, a soft expression on his face. It was a relief to see him happy again after his breakdown in the store. 

A little while later, Allen left Harry with Timcampy to get food, bringing back some cheap takeout. He returned with a couple of happy meals to see the child playing with Pa'foo on the single bed. Since Harry was still so little, he could get away with paying the lesser price for a single bed. In a couple of years, Harry would need his own. 

Allen ignored the thought berating him for giving up on returning to his time, pushing that thought as deep as it could go. He couldn't think that way. Harry needed him and that was all that mattered. 

"Harry, can you count?" he asked once they had mostly finished their dinner. 

The child frowned, a mouthful of potato chips in his mouth. "Coun'?" he echoed around his mouthful.

Allen nodded, slurping on the straw of his drink. "Don't speak with your mouth full," he instructed, then explained what counting was. He got Harry to accurately count to four, which was all he needed.

"Okay. How many fingers?" He asked, holding up two fingers fairly close to Harry's face. 

The boy frowned, hugging his dog close as he thought. "Two?"

"Good job!" Allen praised. Making a fist, he pulled his arm farther away, at least a metre away. This time he held up three. "Now how many?

Harry's frown deepened and his eyes narrowed to a squint. "One?" he guessed. 

Allen didn't allow his expression to change as he slowly brought his hand closer to his face. He got a little more than a foot away from his face before his eyes focused and he perked up. 

"T’ree!" Harry declared proudly. 

Allen praised him again then offered the boy half of the cookie that he'd bought them for dessert. His normal smile was on his face, but his insides were churning with worries. 

Harry needed vision-correcting lenses. As his guardian, it was his duty to find the boy something that would allow him to properly see. 

But…how was he going to do that?

Minerva sat in one of Albus’s office chairs, tapping her finger against the sleeve of her crossed arms. Situated behind his desk, the Headmaster watched a quill scribble on a parchment, ignoring her pointed look. She gritted her teeth and glared back at the third member of their little meeting. 

Severus Snape paced back and forth around the circumference of the circular office, full-on ranting. Minerva had been enduring his furious triad for a few minutes now and she could already sum up his entire thought process as hogwash. 

“... of course he would do something like this!” the younger man snarled, his cloak flaring like bat wings as he swiftly pivoted to march back around the office floor. “Reckless, idiotic boy , just like his prat of a father. Is he really so arrogant and entitled to snub the family he has? Were they not good enough for him?”

“ Severus Snape! ” Minerva finally snarled, her restraint snapping. Surging to her feet, she bared her teeth as Severus whirled on her. “You have no right to speak of such things! You didn’t see the conditions that boy was living in. He was being abused, not pampered.”

He scoffed, a sneer twisting his face. “Oh? So he’s already lying at age two? I cannot imagine what tales of fancy he’ll tell once he—”

“Oh, get off of your high broom,” Minerva interrupted. “We didn’t even see him. I don’t know why you’re so disbelieving,” she continued, enraged when he rolled his eyes. “After all, if anyone knows what a horrid person Lily Even’s sister is, it would be you. On top of that, you are well aware of what it’s like to grow up magical in a house that fears it.”

Severus jerks back like she'd physically slapped him. Minerva took a certain vicious enjoyment in watching his already pale features whiten further. He stared at her in disbelief, clearly not expecting her to know that, making it clearer to her that he didn’t know her at all. She always looked out for the students that roamed the halls of Hogwarts. Since she had no children of her own, everyone that passed through the gates became hers. Hers to teach, hers to keep safe. 

Severus Snape, having been an abused little half-blood, had been no different. She would have done something for him if she could have, but her influence only reached so far. Which had led him walking a path she never would have wanted for him.

“That is quite enough,” Albus cuts in before either of them can continue. “What’s done is done. We can only move forwards.” Getting up from his desk, he dismisses the quill back into its draw, where a cleaning charm would rid it of ink. Picking up the parchment, he softly blows on the surface, drying it quicker. 

“What we must focus on now, is finding the boy,” he stated and offered the parchment to Minerva since she was closer. 

She accepted it, then blinked down at the scowling face looking back at her. “Is this…?”

“It is,” Albus confirmed. “The Dursleys never got his name but that young man is the one that took Harry Potter.”

Minerva’s first thought was that the face of the boy looked too young for the level of pain and anger in his eyes. He couldn’t be older than fifteen, his shaggy hair tied back in a horsetail at his nape. Petunia Dursley had been right about his clothes appearing old. His ratty coat, undershirt, tie and waistcoat looked like something from her grandfather's time, having gone out of fashion quite a while ago. Nor had the woman been lying about the scar. Set above his left eye, the ‘pentagram’ that was on his face looked more like a five-point star, pointed down. The tip didn’t end at his brow, instead extended further, like whatever caused it was dragged jaggedly down his face, ending an inch from his jaw. 

“A painting quill?” she heard Severus ask. He must have been inquiring on how Albus had made the portrait. Which made sense. It was a quill created to sketch an accurate memory of a person or thing when a professional painter hadn’t been available. It was mostly used by Aurors so that they could identify criminals. Some of them were still used, although she’d never thought that Albus would have one in his possession. 

“Indeed. My drawing skill is clearly not advanced enough to replicate his likeness to any degree.”

Minerva ignored their chatter, looking down at the glaring face on the parchment. “He’s so young,” she comments. “Not even of age.”

Both men looked at her and she offered the parchment to her coworker. Snape snatched it, clearly still peeved that she’d yelled at him. When he looked down at the drawing he scoffed and tossed it back onto Albus’s desk. 

“ That’s who took him?” Severus sneered. “He looks like a delinquent.”

Albus hummed in agreement, catching the painting with magic before it could hit his desk. “Indeed. Miss Petunia thought so too.”

Snape glared at him, his face contorting like he’d bit into a lemon. 

“Be that as it is, age often means very little in the grand scheme of things. Some fates are given far too young,” Albus commented, his eyes trailing over the face on the parchment. To Minerva’s right, Snape inhaled sharply and when she glanced at him, the man was looking down at his feet, fingers curled into tight fists. 

She had a moment to wonder what he was thinking of when Albus drew her attention back to the matter at hand. With a flick of his wrist, an object similar in shape as a pensive flew out of the cabinet to settle in the centre of his office. The wide, shallow bowl-like top was already filled with water, the surface rippling with silver. The parchment flying up so he could always see it, Albus moved to stand in front of the vessel. 

Minerva watched him, her face blank. 

She knew what Albus planned to do, but she had her doubts that anything would come of it. Scrying spells were inconsistent at best and not something she often put her hopes into. Especially without a physical part of what they were searching for added to the spell. Hair, nails, spit or even blood would enhance the chances of finding their target but they had less than that. Not even the boy’s name. 

Still, she kept her silence as Albus performed the spell, his wand circling the edge of the bowl in a clockwise motion. Once the final words of the chant were finished, he stepped back, his hands folded expectantly. 

Curious despite herself, she crept forwards to peer into the waters. A cloudy mist-like substance swirled around the edges, bleeding into the clear water. Soon enough, the whole bowl was filled with a white haze. The three of them edged forwards in anticipation, hoping to find any clue on where they could start looking for Harry Potter.

Yet, when the mist cleared, no images were shown on the watery surface. 

“That’s impossible,” Snape muttered, across from her but Minerva didn’t take her eyes off of the scrying pool. He wasn’t wrong, however. There were a few reasons why a scrying spell would have failed, all of them being attributed to the skill of the caster. With Albus Dumbledore being the one to perform it, those reasons were nil. Even if they had only gotten a watery visage of the boy, they should have seen something .  Yet here they were, looking at a spell that would have been labelled a failure by anyone else.

“Curious,” Albus said, a hand stroking down his long white beard. 

“Everything is bloody ‘curious’ to you,” Minerva hissed under her breath, her patience frayed to threads. 

Albus didn’t react, even though she knew he had heard her.

“What went wrong?” Snape demanded. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Albus said calmly, his eyes not straying from the basin. “No, if the boy was dead, we would have seen his body. This is something completely different. It's acting like our kidnapper doesn’t exist.”

“What the bloody hell does that mean?” Minerva demanded. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was worried. Harry had been gone for two months already and they had no idea if the boy was still alive. 

“Scry for Harry Potter,” Severus demanded as if reading her mind. He was glaring at the scrying bowl like it had personally offended him. 

Albus complied his movements as precise as before. This time, when the swirling mist cleared, an image formed in the water. Minerva’s shoulders sagged with relief when she looked down at the laughing face of one Harry Potter, his mouth stretched into a wide grin. 

“Oh thank goodness,” she sighed, a hand on her sternum. 

Severus sniffed without commenting. 

“He’s alive,” Albus said, voicing what each of them had been thinking. 

“That he is,” Severus agreed stiffly, looking away. 

Minerva, on the other hand, bent further over the image. “Look how much he’s grown,” she murmured, watching the repeating image of the boy laughing. It was similar to a magical picture, looping a moment caught in time. Looking a little closer, she saw that his hair was a tad long, covering the scar on his brow. But his features—those eyes; he looked so much like his parents. 

“He’s a baby. They do that,” Severus snapped. 

Minerva tore her eyes away to glare at him. “I’m well aware of that, Mr. Snape. Thank you for stating the obvious.” 

Severus opened his mouth to say something in turn, but he quelled under the force of her look. Apparently, he hadn’t been her co-worker long enough for him to talk back to her. Very few of her former students shook the instinct to be quiet in her presence. 

“What matters is that we can find him,” Albus commented, drawing both of their attention. “We need to find him. Harry Potter cannot stay in the hands of a dark wizard.”

Minerva and Severus nodded, the other wizard turning to look down at Harry’s face. Minerva, on the other hand, glanced at the hovering portrait of the unknown boy. The enraged, snarling still image made her skin crawl, yet something made her pause. 

Something about this didn’t feel right.

Chapter Text

Allen blinked at Rose, not really computing what he'd just heard. "Come again?" he squeaked. 

The woman sighed and half tilted her head like she wanted to roll her eyes. "You heard me." 

"I did, but I'm not sure I fully understand. Why would you want me as a full-time worker?" It was mind-boggling. Sure, he did the job given to him but he looked like a delinquent; a fact that more than a couple of older folk saw it necessary to inform him of. In their eyes, his white hair wasn't natural and his cursed mark looked like a facial tattoo from a distance. He also never took off his gloves when he went out, making them assume that they were stained from smoking something. 

Which, considering that he'd seen his Master intoxicated one too many times, he had no care for. (Also, he doubted that any drugs or alcohol would do anything for him with his high metabolism.)

"Why wouldn't I?" she shot back, stepping into his space to put away glasses where he couldn't reach them. He leaned away from her, keeping his face blank. It was like being around Kanda or Lavi all over again. Stupid tall people. Johnny was the only one that understood him.

"I have a tag-a-long," Allen retorted flatly. 

Settling back onto her heels and stepping out of his space, her haze flickered over to where said tag-a-long was asleep in his nook, Pa'foo hugged tightly against his chest. If he squeezed any harder, Allen wondered if the stuffed dog's head would pop off. 

Rose shrugged. "So what? He's never been a problem before and once you've been working for longer you can hire a babysitter. Hell, my—" she cut herself off, her face contorting for a second before it smoothed out again, "—my roommate would be willing to. She works with kids a lot. Harry wouldn't be any issue. Nor would he be alone. My friend is always watching someones kid," she added, clearly thinking that it would be good for his charge, since Harry had no one his age to play with. 

Allen hummed, handing her another glass to put away. While the offer was tempting and he could agree that Harry needed to have friends, he didn't think either of them was ready to be separated. Allen had done it once or twice out of necessity, but he'd been jittery and worried that something would happen while he was gone. He always left Timcampy with him but Allen always came back as quickly as he could. 

Being separated for a full work day? That might be impossible. 

He knew Harry could do it—the toddler was already fairly independent. Allen had been like that too as a kid, but considering how others had reacted to an abridged version of his childhood, he doubted that was normal. And that was from other Exorcists . They all had ‘rough’ childhoods. The one the most ‘normal’ out of them was Miranda and that was saying something.

"Why? Not that I'm saying no," he adds when he realized his reaction could be taken that way. "I would like to know your reasons, however."

Rose grunted in acknowledgement, stepping back and crossing her arms over her chest. She seemed to mull his question over as he dried the glasses. Her sharp eyes tracked his movements as he put them away at a level he could reach. 

“Wasn’t thinking you were,” she said finally. “It’s because you’re a good worker, Allen. You show up regularly, never make a mess despite having a ‘tag-a-long’ and if something does happen, you’ve proven to have a cool head when others are freaking out.” 

Allen nodded slowly. He remembered the incident that she was referring to. A few weeks after coming to Rose’s bar, one of the kitchen hands had slipped and cut their finger fairly deeply. No one had outright freaked but Allen had been moving before anyone else had finished gasping. He had grabbed a cloth and made sure the man was keeping pressure on the wound. Rose had taken over after that, but she’d found him later and thanked him for keeping everyone calm. 

Allen had taken the praise with grace but inwardly had been baffled. He hadn’t done anything too special. It was just a little cut; nothing like the wounds that Exorcists get on a regular basis. They had all learned how to care for small lacerations—partly to keep out of the Head Nurse’s clutches, and because often they didn’t have the luxury of receiving proper care. 

“Those are all qualities that I look for in permanent workers. You’re dependable, Allen,” Rose finished, a small smile on her face. 

“Oh. Thank you,” Allen mumbled, ducking his head to hide the slight flush on his cheeks. After taking a breath to compose himself, he put the glasses he was washing to the side and turned fully to face her. Leaning his hip on the sink edge, he copied her pose.

“Alright, sell it to me—what do I get out of this?” he asked bluntly, lifting his head high. He trusted Rose, as much as he could trust any new acquaintance, but the image of Alma’s grudge flickered into his head. If he’d known what exactly the higher ups in the Black Order had done and forced exorcists to go through, he would have gone into it with vastly different expectations and allowances. Hell, he might have stayed a wandering exorcist, his only goal destroying akuma, releasing them from their eternal torment. 

Doing so would have saved himself a lot of grief. 

On the other hand, if he had, he wouldn’t have gotten to know Lenalee, Kanda, Lavi and all the other friends he made while living there. 

"Reliable income for one," Rose snarked but it was more teasing than judgmental. Allen snorted, dipping his head in a sideways nod. The sound of cloth rustling drew his attention and he glanced back at his boss as she started to tick points off on her fingers. 

“One, I can offer you limited benefits. I say limited because we’re not a freaking large business. I would be able to help cover about 10% of yours and the little ones' doctors appointments. Two, you’d be working five days a week, starting at noon and all the way till closing at eleven. I know that’s a long day but you’ll be given Sunday/Monday off and you have an hour’s lunch and two half hour breaks. How does that sound?” she asked when she was finished. 

Allen mulled that over, his human finger tapping thoughtfully on his lips. Truthfully, he didn’t have the luxury of turning her down. Out of the couple of places that he rotated around, Rose’s Sweet Briar Patch bar was the one he felt the most comfortable in. 

Still, something about putting down roots and trying himself to one place felt strange to him. His whole life had been spent on the move, in every chapter of it. The Circus, travelling with Mana, being apprenticed to Master. Even when he thought he’d found a permanent home, travelling across the world had been a huge factor. 

In the end, even that hadn’t lasted. He’d been forced to flee when the Order decided he was a threat. Once again, he was back on the open road, Timcampy his sole companion. 

Did he even know the definition of ‘home’? 

To Lenalee, it hadn’t been the Order itself but the people in it. She’d described it like each person she met became a piece in the puzzle that was her world. The flaw with that thinking was that if that piece gets destroyed, there always leaves a hole where it should be.

He doubted that he could do that. People were fragile. He’d seen and experienced what an overabundance of attachment can do to someone. 

After all, wasn’t he still wearing the ‘mask’ of Mana?

Allen bit back a scoff, hating how his Masters' words rang in his ears. For once the man had been completely sober, his eyes clear while he stared into Allen’s very soul. The bastard had known Allen’s fate but let him walk it anyway.  

Everyone he grew attached to crumbled under his touch. Including himself.

Allen glanced over at the sleeping toddler, using Allen’s coat as a pillow. His breaths were deep and even, a peaceful expression on his face as he hugged his plushie. As always, his dark hair was a rat’s nest, sticking up in every direction despite their attempts to groom it.

He was innocent of the blood on Allen’s hands.

Was it really okay for him to look after a child? The boy deserves someone who could actually care for him properly. Not a scared, battle-worn exorcist whose prey had disappeared, leaving him feeling hollow and lacking purpose. Honestly, if he didn’t have Harry, Allen had no idea how he would have gotten this far.

That was wrong, wasn’t it? To be so dependent on a baby to help him get through the week. It’s supposed to be the other way around, right? Mana had certainly made him realize that fighting to see the next day was more than just surviving, it was thriving. Master Cross had also given him his purpose back, after months of not caring about it. His resolve after that grew to be more for the akuma than himself, keeping his last promise to Mana. Plus, having to deal with Master’s less than…ideal habits had rekindled the spite that he had thrived off of before. Even if the world kept on beating him down, knocking him back onto his ass over and over again, he would stand up.

It had been hard. It would be so much easier to just stay on the ground, accept the fate that had been decided for him.

Never stop. Keep walking.

His promise was the only thing urging him forward now.

Allen closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing his chest to expand and fill with air. The mangled skin of his scars pulled slightly painfully, but the added sting helped ground him. 

Exhaling through his nose, he looked back at Rose. “When do I start?”

Allen sat on the motel room floor, his legs crossed with his hands cupped in his lap. Behind him, he could hear Harry’s rhythmic breathing, deeply asleep. Timcampy rested on the floor in front of him, his wings half folded and tail limp on the ground.

Allen kept ‘eye contact’ with the golem before breathing in deeply and closing his eyes. Holding his breath for a count of four he started mentally singing. The familiar song continued in his head as he exhaled, trying to emulate Kanda’s meditation. Lenalee had dragged Lavi and him to Kanda’s room sometime after the battle with the first 4th akuma, trying to spend more time with all of them. Kanda had huffed and hissed at them but eventually caved and taught them how to meditate, on the condition that they keep their mouths shut, glaring at Allen and Lavi.

Allen hadn’t been good at it, his mind still too troubled by being unable to talk with his Master, and the recent losses that they had suffered. Lavi, surprisingly, had been very good at it, easily slipping into a calm state, his eyes half-lidded and hazy. Lenalee wasn’t the best at it, but every time she fidgeted Kanda would comment and bring her back into focus. Allen had given up after a while and half rested instead, careful not to actually fall asleep. 

They sat there, soaking in the small reprieve and each other's company before Link tracked down Allen and ruined their peace. 

Which, honestly, hadn't been Link’s fault. He was just an added presence that didn’t mesh well with their easy comradery. Not at that time anyway. 

That had been the first and last time that the four of them had been able to simply be without the pressure of the outside world weighing them down. Soon after they had moved Headquarters to be closer to central and there hadn’t gotten another chance. 

Allen’s heart stung painfully at the reminder that he would probably never see Kanda again. Kanda’s body had been cracking and falling apart when he sent him to Mater, releasing him from his bonds to the Order. He was with Alma now. Hopefully, the two of them could finally be at peace. 

Shoving the sting away, Allen took another deep breath and started the song again. Mentally, he pictured the Ark, drifting in its pocket dimension. When nothing connected, he concentrated harder, picturing the 14ths room and its white walls. 

“I watch the sky as milling dreams are shining,” he sang under his breath, a tension headache blooming above his eyes. “Little dreams…little dreamer.” 

Something tugged in his chest, so familiar it was alien because it really shouldn’t be despite all the times he’d connected to the Ark. A harmony of piano keys floated down to meet him, weaving into his lyrics. A trickle of power connected in his heart, like a door being opened just enough to let light into a dark room before it was snapped shut, tossing him back into the darkness.

Allen’s eyes shot open and he gasped. Stabbing pain shot through his body, lingering in his head and his abdomen scars. Groaning, he bent over, clutching his scalp. 

“Ow. Dammit,” he hissed, riding out the waves of pain. He felt himself connect to the Ark, but something was blocking him. Of course, when he actually needed the blasted thing, he couldn’t use it. He’d felt something similar before when the Skulls had warded Timothy's orphanage. It wasn’t the same, however, because he hadn’t felt it at all . This, he could feel it, but it was like trying to snag a balloon that had drifted just out of reach. 

Allen sighed and flopped back against the motel bed, resting his head on the lumpy mattress. The sound of soft snoring prompted him to turn his head. Seeing Harry fast asleep, clutching Pa’foo to his chest, he smiled softly. 

Well. Maybe it was better that he couldn’t go home. He hadn’t once felt Neah encroach on his mind and Allen’s reflection had been blissfully empty of the overbearing visage of the Noah. He had no idea why Neah was sleeping, but he wasn’t complaining. It was nice to be alone in his head again. 

If he stayed in this world, would it protect everyone else? 

If he died in this world, would the 14th vanish with him?

Road had told him that the Noah memory was immortal, and would just be reborn in another host. But…if he was in another world…could he trap it?

With him locked out of the Ark, and after a month of saving his money, Allen finally found someplace that he felt comfortable settling in. With Harry on his heels, he led the way up a steep flight of stairs and into a small little flat above a store in the older part of London. He’d managed to rent it for cheap since apparently it was old and lacked things that modern people had come to expect. Like electric heating and cooling and a convenient bathroom. Apparently, it hadn’t had a toilet and bath before, but one had been ‘tacked on’ sometimes in the last fifty years. It wasn’t the most comfortable. Too small and placed oddly adjacent to the main room. Also, it wasn’t reliable, the hot water cut out at odd hours and the toilet got clogged a lot. However, he had been reassured that there was a communal privy adjacent to the courtyard below if they had too much trouble.

The landlord had been shocked when Allen didn’t view that as a deterrent, instead accepting the keys with ease. 

To Allen, it felt like stepping back into his own world. 

Suffering through differences in weather had never been an issue for him. If it was cold; bundle up and start a fire. If it's warm; find shade, drink cool water and get used to it. He doubted that Harry would care much either, seeming to be content to follow Allen around everywhere. 

As for personal hygiene, he was a little shocked by how the common populace treated it. While in the Black Order, he’d gotten used to the facilities but to the rest of the world, places to bathe and take care of business weren’t in every home. That was something only the wealthy could afford. Now, it seemed that it was a modern necessity. 

Well, the streets were certainly cleaner, thankfully. The lack of horses as transportation certainly factored into that. 

“Alright, this is it,” Allen said once he’d reached the top and pushed at the trap door. He heard a pulley whirl and the thick wood lifted easily. Right across from him, a stone lifted, acting as a counterweight for the heavy door. Climbing up into the room, Allen surveyed the space. A cooking area was pressed against the wall, within easy walking distance. The two narrow windows on the far wall were the sole source of light, thin curtains pushed to the side. A short hallway branched further into the flat, which Allen knew led to the bedrooms and the converted washing room.

Harry bumped against Allen's leg, squinting unsurely around him.

Allen squatted beside the kid. “So? What do you think?”

Harry tore his eyes away from the new, strange place and blinked up at him. He shrugged. 

Allen chuckled, stretching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah…I should have expected that, huh?” Since being with Allen, Harry hadn’t lived in one place for longer than a few weeks, the older teen never feeling comfortable enough to stick to one location. To the child, this must be just another place for them to stop for a while. 

Putting on a reassuring smile, he told the kid, “This is home.”

Harry squinted, and Allen couldn’t tell if he was upset or just trying to see his face. “Home?”

“Yeah, home, it’s…ah. It’s something you come back to every day and feel safe in,” Allen tried to explain but winched. How the heck was he supposed to describe something he didn’t even understand fully?

Harry perked up however and pointed a stubby finger at Allen’s nose. “Home!” he declared. 

It took a moment for Allen to understand what Harry was trying to say but when it clicked he almost started crying. His heart constricted painfully in his chest while his cheeks flushed darkly enough for him to feel it.

“Me? I’m home?” Allen echoed, his eyes widening in shock. “Oh, no no no. Harry—a home is a place. A building. I can’t be your home,” Allen frantically corrected. 

How had he messed up that badly?

The bright smile on Harry’s face dimmed into a confused frown. A hint of defiance sparked in his eye, which Allen stared at, speechless. So far, Harry had gone along with anything that he’d said, not objecting to his directions. A tense silence stretched between them as the child obviously mulled that over. 

Finally, Harry shook his head. “No. You safe. Al'en is ma home.”

Allen hung his head, hands covering his face. Something light landed on his hair and he heard the tell-tale sounds of Timcampy laughing at him. 

Of course when Harry decided to ignore him it was for something that would be adorable and heartwarming if it wasn’t so tragic. As well as painfully familiar. If Allen had been asked where home was when he’d been ten, he would have immediately thought of Mana. 

How could he argue with that?

“Okay,” he conceded to the carpeted floor before lifting his head and looking the kid in the eye. “Okay; I’m your home. But this place is where we’re going to be sleeping at night—alright?” 

Harry’s little face was still scrunched in a righteous pout, but he nodded his understanding. 

Thankful that their little argument was over, Allen suggested that they take off their coats and boots then explore their new home. Harry still looked at him unhappily every time he addressed the flat as ‘home’ but they looked around the rooms without further issue. Since they didn’t have a lot of possessions moving in didn’t take long at all. The suitcase that Allen had been lugging around for months carried his only possessions, as well as a few of Harry’s. 

Once they were settled, he took them shopping, buying enough groceries to last a few days. That night Allen cooked for them for the first time since he’d taken the boy in. He was no Jerry, but over the years he’d learned to fend for himself, certainly able to make oatmeal without burning it. They ate out of cheap bowls with a side of stale spring rolls that he’d gotten at half price.

At bedtime, Allen tried to get the child to sleep in his own room, but Harry kicked up a fuss, clinging to him stubbornly. Knowing it wasn’t worth the tantrum, Allen allowed Harry to sleep with him, snuggling close under the thick covers to keep warm. On his sides, with Harry clutching Pa’foo tightly between them, Allen ran his fingers through his thick, unruly hair. 

Honestly, he couldn’t fault the kid. Being alone was scary, especially in a new place. Harry will probably want his own space soon enough, he can act as a comfort until he’s comfortable. 

Allen’s job wasn’t finished, however. Regardless of how short-lived it might be, he had managed to find a permanent place to live. His next task was finding a doctor that he could afford. Harry deserved to see the world clearly, and not through a murky haze. 

Maybe Rose would know someone…

“A doctor?” Rose echoed, a notepad in one hand. She passed the ripped off top page to Baraka, who glanced down at the scribbled order. 

Allen nodded. “Yeah. Harry can’t see very far. I need someone who can look at his eyes. I think he might need glasses.”

"Oohhh, is that why he always looks constipated?" Pru commented from her cooking station, deep frying some chips. 

Allen shot the girl a glare while Baraka reprimanded her with a sigh. 

Rose ignored her employee’s shenanigans and pursed her lips. “You’re not looking for a legit one, are you?” she asked finally. 

All sound in the kitchen stopped, and Allen felt the other workers' eyes on him. Allen looked back at Rose steadily, not reacting to the others' attention. 

“No.” 

Rose nodded, unsurprised. “Give me a couple days; one of our regulars should know a guy.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he said with a smile. 

She snorted. “I haven’t done shit yet—get back to work. That means the peanut gallery too.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Is this it?” Allen whispered to Timcampy, the golem hidden behind his flipped-up coat collar. He looked down at the crudely drawn map then back up at the plain door hidden down a back alley. Tim's feathers brushed his neck as he nodded. 

“Finally, this took forever to find,” Allen muttered to himself, shifting Harry on his back. The boy was basically asleep, having tired himself out an hour into their search. 

“Gah,” Tim vocalized in agreement. 

“Hush you,” Allen muttered. Going up to the door, he lifted his free arm and banged it against the metal. Harry jerked forwards at the noise, knocking his head against the side of his. 

“Oof,” Allen grunted playfully and laughed at the face he got. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S‘o’ay,” the kid mumbled and lifted one hand to rub his eye. Blinking blearily, he squinted at the door. “Found it?”

“Yeah, this should be it,” Allen told him. Pounding on the door again, he muttered under his breath, “If I read the map right.”

Just when he was going to knock a third time, the door was yanked open and a scruffy-looking man yelled in his face, “What?!”

Allen blinked up at the man then adopted a kind smile. “Good morning,” he greeted pleasantly. “Is this Doctor Valentine’s clinic?”

The man looked down his nose at Allen, his hazel eyes flicking from his face to Harry, then up and down Allen’s body. Allen endured the inspection, subtly doing his own. The man wore faded jeans and a raggedy lab coat over a stained wool jumper. His salt and pepper hair was overly long, his bangs falling into his face and curling around the nape of his neck. His wider Scottish features were half covered in scraggy stubble and a half-smoked cigarette was hanging out of his mouth. 

Allen kept his face soft and open, hiding how the smell of smouldering tobacco was doing its best to make his eye twitch. It was eerily similar to the brand that his Master smoked and he was not in the mood to be reminded of that guy. 

Finally, the man grunted and leaned against the doorframe, letting the metal rest against his shoulder. “That’s me. Wha’ ya want?”

“Well, Dr. Valentine, I’m looking for your services,” Allen told him, keeping his tone mild and non-offensive even if it should be glaringly obvious. 

The man scoffed. “You can’t afford me—get lost,” he grunted and started to retreat back inside. 

“Are you sure?” Allen asked, waving a stack of bills in his face, his polite smile not faltering for a second. 

Dr. Valentine froze, his eyes tracking the bills like a drooling dog shown a pound of flesh.

Allen inwardly smirked, twisting the roll so the man could guess at the amount. It hurt his wallet a bit to do this, but two weeks of his salary was in his hand. If it meant that Harry would be able to see properly at the end of this, the hit would be worth it. 

The man reached to snatch the money, but Allen quickly pulled it out of reach, arching a brow when he scowled. 

“Get in ‘ere,” Dr. Valentine grunted, jerking the door open. Doing as he was told, Allen ascended the last few steps and entered the dim clinic. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and let Harry down. The child followed his lead without fuss, but clung to his gloved hand.

The front room was a small space, with only a desk in front and two chairs shoved against a wall. There were a few magazines haphazardly flung over the end table beside the uncomfortable-looking seating as the only entertainment. Past the desk was a cheap door, closed to most likely prevent people from seeing what equipment he had.

Dr. Valentine exhaled a long string of smoke, putting out his half-finished cigarette in the ashtray balanced precariously on the desk corner. Moving around to the ratty office chair, he flopped down and leaned his elbows on the desk as he held out one hand. 

Already knowing what he wanted, Allen dumped the wad of cash there. 

Dr. Valentine took it without a word and shamelessly began to count the bills in front of him. 

Allen had no doubt that his little show would piss off other people but he honestly didn’t mind. He was content to let the man play his little power game, completely unaffected. He’d even done the same to others when paying off his master’s debts. 

Harry shifted uncomfortably against Allen’s leg, hiding his face against his slacks. Allen placed a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. They had nothing to fear from his man. 

With every bill counted, Dr. Valentine grunted in acceptance. Folding them back up, he shoved them into his pockets. 

“So ya can pay,” the man finally said, leaning back into his chair and regarding them with half-lidded boredom. “Wha’ ya want?”

“A check up for my brother,” Allen stated.

His gaze flicked down to Harry then back up to Allen. “Not you?”

Allen shook his head. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Hm. Fine; come on then,” he grunted and got to his feet, leading the way into the back. The two of them followed, Allen having to give Harry a gentle push to get him moving. Soon they were situated in an infirmary room, a hospital bed shoved in one corner. Harry fidgeted while he sat there, only staying still because Allen was holding his hand. 

“Name?” Dr. Valentine asked gruffly, a clipboard in hand. When Allen hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “Ya don’t have to give me your real one. I just need somethin’ in case ya ever come back.”

“Harry Walker,” Allen said after a moment of deliberation. Considering Harry was a somewhat common English name, he didn’t see an issue in using it. Allen only worried when it was combined with ‘Potter’. He had technically kidnapped the boy. Using his own last name wasn’t an issue, considering he’d never given Harry’s Aunt and Uncle it.

Dr. Valentine grunted and wrote it down. “Any known allergens?”

Allen shook his head. 

“Good to know. Anything specific you want looked at?”

“His eyes. I’m concerned he needs glasses.”

The doctor grunted again and set his paperwork to the side. Sitting on a stool with wheels, he scooted up to Harry and started checking him over. The boy clearly didn’t like it but put up with all the poking and prodding with stiff acceptance. Allen figured he was only not making a fuss because Allen was right beside him. 

Finally, when all of the tests were completed, the man rolled back over to his crappy desk and scribbled down his findings. 

“Ya have quite the little problem child on your hands,” he commented, finishing off his notes and putting his pen to the side. 

Harry ducked his head and pressed his face against Allen’s waistcoat. Wrapping an arm around him, Allen sent the doctor a dark look. 

“Don’t call him that,” Allen demanded, keeping his tone level. 

“I’ll do what I want,” the man retorted, which Allen refrained from arguing with. Inwardly, he seethed at the words he was putting in Harry’s head but kept his tongue locked behind his teeth. He still needed the man. 

When Allen stayed silent, Dr. Valentine continued, “What is he—two?—and already suffering from malnourishment. You’re lucky he ain't anemic. Where didja find this boy?”

“He’s my brother,” Allen told him shortly.

Dr. Valentine shot him a look. “And I’m a singin’ donkey.”

Despite himself, Allen snorted. Alright, fine; it was a bit of a stretch to claim that they were blood related. 

“It doesn't matter,” he settled on. “He’s not there anymore.”

Dr. Valentine tipped his head to the side in a wordless ‘fair’. “Well, good on ya. He’s regaining some of the weight that he needs. Keep feeding him richer foods and he should be back to normal soon. As for his eyes; you called it—he needs glasses.”

Allen sighed softly through his nose. “Do you have a prescription for us?”

“Aye, but I doubt you can pay it. Lenses that thick are not easy to come by,” Dr. Valentine said. He leaned back against the wall and pulled out a cigarette packet from his lab coat and lit himself one. When he breathed a cloud of smoke out, Allen waved it away from them. He didn’t care if the doctor would consider the action rude, he was being rude first. 

Allen plastered on a pleasant smile, holding out his hand. “How about you let me worry about that.”

Dr. Valentine looked at him. Not breaking eye contact, he snatched one of the papers on his desk and handed it over. Allen took it, still smiling pleasantly. When he glanced at the paper and the price scribbled at the bottom, he didn’t allow his face to change. 

The final number equated to roughly two weeks and a half of his pay. Almost all of it went to feeding and housing the two of them. He'd already used any excess that he'd put to the side. Any more needed to be put aside in case Allen needed to grab Harry and run. 

In short, Dr. Valentine was right; Allen couldn’t pay it. 

Legally. 

Allen shrugged, handing the paper back. “We’ll be back in a week.”

The man sputtered on a inhale of smoke, almost dropping his cigarette as his face slacked with shock. “Wha’?”

“Have a good day, Dr. Valentine,” Allen said pleasantly. “See you next Monday,” he promised, picking up Harry and carrying him out of the clinic. He smirked at the disbelieving muttering that was left in his wake. 

Now, he just needed to put money where his mouth was. Should be easy enough.

Chapter Text

Stepping down into a gambling den almost felt like shrugging on an old leather coat. Stiff and slightly uncomfortable but reassuringly familiar. Seedy places like this one had been Allen’s main source of income once he'd figured out the tricks to winning. 

He hid his devilish grin behind a nervous mask. This would be a piece of cake. With Harry sleeping over at Rose’s for the night, he didn’t have to worry about avoiding any fights. Not that he automatically assumed that there would be any, but if there were, he wasn’t worried. Very few normal people could beat an Exorcist. 

His gaze skipped over the tables cluttered around the room, he zeroed onto the one littered with crumpled bills and playing cards. Knowing that he would be underestimated if he wore a meek persona, he shortened his steps and ducked his head over fluttery fingers. 

"Can I join?" he asked, pitching his voice to be soft with a small waiver. 

"Who let a kid in?" A man with biceps proportionate to his head demanded. He was showing off said muscles with a white tank top, sneering at him. He lounged back in his seat with his legs spread wide, if the irritation on the woman's face beside him was any indication. She was a fair distance from him, scooting her chair closer to a vermin-like man with hunched shoulders.

The group collectively jeered at the comment. 

"This did," Allen said, holding up a wad of bills. It was the rest of his savings. "Will it also get me a game?" 

The gangsters' eyes tracked the money, not dissimilar to how Dr. Valentine did. 

Bicep Man laughed and jerked his head to the man across the table. He grunted then obeyed, pulling out the spare chair for Allen. 

He sat. Watching the woman shuffle the cards, Allen tucked away a smile. Sure, he just pulled the same trick he'd used on Kip and the other poker players he'd made a habit of going back to but it worked. Allen had learned quickly that people looked at his young face and saw an easy mark. He looked like a naive kid, so he must be easily taken advantage of. 

Heh. 

The men he normally played poker with had learned quickly that he wasn't to be underestimated. That made playing with them a little harder, but he also didn't need to trick them. The Poker Pals (as apparently they had nicknamed themselves and Allen wasn't one to ruin it) came together for fun, as something casual. He respected that, so he played by their rules and didn't cheat.

However, these people were not his normal crew. These men and women were obviously gang members, scars and tattoos on full display. Picking up his dealt cards, Allen had no reservations about holding back.

“Oh, my win?” Allen said, a soft smile on his face. Not waiting for an answer, he reached out and pulled the last of the cash towards him. The other people at the table were staring at him in a mix of disbelief and anger. 

A woman barked a laugh and threw her hand down carelessly. “You have the Devil’s poker face, kid,” she stated with a wry curl of her lips. 

“Thank you,” Allen chirped, sending a smile that was a fraction more genuine. He liked the heavily tattooed woman, half of her head shaved to show off the morning glories that decorated her scalp.

“You’re a bloody cheat, that’s what you are,” another voice growled. 

“Can you prove it?” Allen shot back, turning to stare at Bicep Man. 

The gangster’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth together, indicating, no, he couldn’t. Allen had been too careful for that. A lot of the time, cheating at poker with gang members when they know you’re cheating goes one of two ways; if they can’t figure it out, they laugh because doing so is their own skill or they get pissy and attack you. When he could, Allen specifically targeted the ones that would laugh, after all they would be cheating too. 

Looking at the men and women around the table, he could already tell which ones fell into either category. The tattooed woman definitely fell into the former while Bicep Man was in the latter. 

“Chill out, man,” the woman said to Bicep Man as she grabbed her beer, “it’s just a few hundred pounds. We make more than that in a month. Let the kid live a little. You’ll certainly have a tale to tell your mates tomorrow, kid,” she added, grinning wolfishly at Allen.

Allen smiled pleasantly despite the pain her comment caused. He wouldn’t be telling anyone. 

“No!” the lackey beside Bicep Man snapped. “That’s our money! He’s just a dirty cheat!”

“Yeah!” Bicep Man agreed, his fists tightening. “Give us back our money!”

“Um, how about no? I won it fair and square,” Allen said, smiling back at them. He’d already tucked his earnings away in his jacket pocket. The air around their table was practically igniting with the tension brewing and he didn’t want a single pound to go to waste.

“Kid,” the woman warned. The nervous-looking man slunk out of his seat, taking the chance to get out of the path of destruction while he could. 

“There was nothing fair about that game,” Bicep Man snarled and surged to his feet. Allen smiled, but it was different than the ones that he had worn previously with this group; this one Lavi would have shivered and called Allen’s ‘dark side’. His eyes were empty of light and there was an almost cruel twist to his lips. 

The Lackey saw this and faltered, but Bicep Man didn’t see it at all. He reached under the table and flipped it away, cards and bills going flying. Now without an obstacle between them, he lunged at Allen. 

Who was no longer sitting in his chair.

Allen moved the moment that he saw the man’s muscles flex under his exposed skin. Backflipping out of his chair, he balanced on the chair’s back for a brief moment as a taunt before jumping out of the way again when Bicep Man swung a heavy fist at his head. 

“Stop moving!” the man roared. 

“Uh—no,” Allen quipped, pausing to stick his tongue out. 

The bar descended into chaos, people either joining in or backing into the corners to avoid the fray. He didn’t really care to keep track. If they were coming at him, he either dodged or retaliated, sending quick jabs into soft, vulnerable parts. He was more used to fighting Akuma, so humans were a little trickier. Especially because he knew he had to pull his punches. Still, while training with Fo, and later with Kanda, he’d gained a better understanding of how the human body worked. With that knowledge, he made sure to hit pressure points, ones that would make a grown man go down and stay down, without killing them. 

“Enough,” a commanding voice boomed across the bar, making everyone still. 

Allen was perched on a table, about to kick an advancing goon when everyone froze. Following the sound to its source, he found himself staring at a well-dressed (he thinks, this century's fashion was all over the place) man standing at the landing leading up to the upper floor. He had a three-piece suit on and his dark hair was neatly slicked back. Beside him was the woman from before, her morning glories tattoos bright under one of the fluorescent lights. 

“What is going on here?” the newcomer demanded, voice soft but also carrying across the whole bar. 

The gang members shifted uneasily, some looking down and away sheepishly. 

“Boss!” Bicep Man started, clutching his jaw from where Allen had punched it. “That kid was cheating!” he accused, pointing a finger at Allen. 

“Hey! I did not! You don’t have any proof!” he shot back. 

“I don’t need it you little—”

“Stop,” the boss commanded again, his shoes tapping on the stairs as he descended to the ground floor. The gang members parted, creating a clear path. 

Allen watched the Boss, his eyes narrowing. Fighting this guy—if the man decided to attack—would be more difficult. Allen would still win, but he had to be more cunning than Bicep Man over there.

Finally, the Boss stood in front of him, his hands slipping easily into the pockets of his slacks. Keeping eye contact with him, Allen was reminded of creeping frost. Beautiful and strange, but cold. The icy blue regarded him just as intently, his eyes lingering on the mark on Allen’s face. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, breaking the silence. 

“Marrian Cross,” Allen lied easily.

The Boss hummed, his head tilting to the side. Allen knew that he didn’t buy it, his tone too smooth. 

“Well, Mister Cross, you have quite the talent,” The Boss started conversationally. 

Allen blinked. “Pardon?”

“I was watching your game,” the Boss admitted, jerking his chin towards the table that they had been playing at. “You are quite right; if you were cheating there is no proof of it. Out of all of the years I’ve been head of this establishment, I’ve never come across such a case as you. It is in fact very difficult to discern if you were cheating or not. Are you overwhelmingly skilled at sleight of hand, or just that lucky?” he asked, his eyes coming back to land heavily on Allen. 

Allen scoffed internally. Him? Lucky? Ha. Lady Luck played with him, drop-kicking him down the stairs at her leisure. Occasionally, she would help him out only to dump on him twice as hard. 

“So,” the Boss continued, “do you want a job?”

“What.”

At Allen's deadpan response, the Boss’s lips twitch into something that was between a smirk and a smile.

“We could use someone like you. There are plenty of casinos in the area that need to be taken down a peg or two. We’d have to clean you up, of course, no respectable establishment would accept someone so clearly low in income,” he said, one hand coming up to wave at all of him. “And your hair would have to be re-dyed to a less…eye-catching colour. A bit of concealer for that scar as well.”

Allen blinked, fully caught off guard. Out of all the things he’d expected to happen when gabbling, a job offer was not one of them. 

Climbing off of the table and standing on solid ground, he eyed the man. He took a moment to actually gauge the pros and cons of accepting. On one hand, he’d have a more reliable higher income and being intermingled with these people might make it harder for anyone to find him. 

However…living with a gang or mafia or whatever these people were isn’t a place for a child. 

“Thanks but no thanks,” Allen finally said, holding his ground. “I’m flattered, don’t get me wrong, and your current poker players could use some work but I have other obligations.”

There was a beat of silence as the Boss absorbed that. “Very well.” 

Then, in one quick, smooth moment, the man drew a small gun and pointed it at his head, the shot loud in the small space. 

“Ah,” the Boss said, his eyes looking down at the knife pressed to his jugular, the sharp blade against his skin with just enough pressure to allow the smallest bead of blood to trickle down his neck. “So that’s how it is.” The Boss stepped back, cool as a cucumber despite having almost lost his life. 

Allen also stepped out of his lunge, but kept his knife out, a clear warning. 

“Well done, Mister Cross,” the man praised. “The offer is still open; come back when you want to change your answer. Until then, get out of my bar.”

“Yes sir,” Allen chirped and did just that, leaving the place behind.

“As promised,” Allen said cheerfully, placing the required roll of bills down on the doctor's desk. He smiled smugly at the man, Harry propped on his hip. The toddler had his thumb in his mouth, watching everything with his bright green eyes. 

Doctor Valentine blinked dumbly, his glasses slipping down his nose. He snatched the bills and started to count them. His expression turned more incredulous the higher the number went. 

Allen smirked. He was proud that he was able to cause the man to make such a face. That wasn’t even all the money he’d won. During the week he’d given himself, Allen had gone around, seeking out seedy dens and swindling them of their money. The amount would easily pay for Harry’s glasses and any following medical bills.

“How did you—” Dr. Valentine started, then cut himself off. “Nevermind; I don’t want to know. Get the kid over here.” Stuffing the bills into his pocket, he swung around on his rickety office chair. 

Allen obeyed, placing Harry back onto the mattress that they’d sat on before. The kid fidgeted nervously and clung to Allen’s hand. Allen smiled and gently ran his free hand through the kid's hair, offering him wordless comfort. 

“Okay,” Valentine said, coming back over to them. There were a couple of different tools in his hands, ones that Allen had seen in Kamui’s medical office but never had to be subjected to them. That didn’t fill him with confidence for how this would go. 

“When I tested the kid before, I didn’t find his actual prescription. T’was more just a ‘yes’ to ‘im needing glasses. We’re gonna fix that now,” the doctor said, handing the kid a black spoon thing. Harry eyed it dubiously but followed instructions. 

The tests that followed weren’t actually bad. At all. Valentine just got Harry to read something on the wall, testing each eye individually, which was what the spoon was for, covering one then the other. Valentine got Harry to try on different glasses, discarding those that weren’t strong enough. 

Finally, when they found the right pair, Valentine whistled under his breath. “Your kid’s a few bits off of legally blind,” he told Allen, his brows raised. 

“What does that mean?”

Valentine shrugged, rolling back to his desk and jotting something down in Harry’s file. “It means that without his glasses, the kid can’t drive or do any dangerous shit. Legally. ‘Course, modern eyecare makes that point mood unless you’re fully blind. Which means two pairs of glass on your nose can’t do shit.”

"Language," Allen chided automatically, only half aware of what he was saying. During the test, they had switched so that Harry was sitting on his lap, comforted at being so close to his guardian. Now, he rested his chin on the toddler's head. 

"I can say whatever I F-ing want," Valentine grumbled, but his self-censoration told a different story. 

Allen ignored him. “Alright. How long will it take to get his prescription ordered?” he asked.

“Two weeks,” the doctor told them, closing Harry’s file and putting it back into a metal cabinet. 

Allen nodded. “You’ll see us then.”

Elsewhere, in a corner of Scotland forgotten by the non-magical world, a witch ascended a pair of stone steps, climbing as fast as she could without visibly rushing. Her fists were bunched in her emerald skirts, lifted to make the climb smoother. Once inside the chamber at the top, she didn't waste a single moment. 

“You’ve found something?” Minerva McGonagall demanded, tone-clipped and short.

“Ah, Minerva; thank you for joining us.” Albus Dumbledore looked towards the witch with a warm smile. 

She didn’t return it. This was his fault. If he’d been more careful or listened to her that night, Harry Potter would be safe with a wizarding family, not stolen by someone who managed to disappear so thoroughly that a scrying spell couldn’t even track him.

Severus scoffed, a dark scowl on his face as he leaned against the wall. “He thinks he found something,” he spat. 

“Come now, my boy,” Albus chided, a twinkle in his eye, “I know that Mundungus Fletcher has his faults, but the information he brought to us before helped during the war.”

Severus wrinkled his nose but kept his silence.

Minerva pressed her lips into a line. That is who is out looking for the child? “A liar and a thief,” she said flatly.

Severus waved a hand at her in agreement. 

“I admit that Mister Fletcher often resides outside of the law, but so does our quarry. We must tread the same paths if we are to rescue the child,” Albus responded, his face turning grave and thoughtful. 

Minerva was formulating a scathing response when the fireplace lit green and a wizard wobbled out of the floo system. 

“Hate those things,” the bald man muttered, his thick cockney accent cutting out the h sound to make it sound more like ‘ate’. He unnecessarily brushed ash off of his clothes. Not because there wasn’t any—because there was—but his robes were already filthy and it didn’t do anything. Looking up at the other wixen in the room, he lifted his hand to his head and tipped a non-existent hat. “G’day loves.”

“Good day, Mundungus,” Albus greeted warmly, a smile visible under his beard.

“It is hardly still day… mister Fletcher,” Severus drawled, the skin between his eyes pinched with displeasure.

“Alright, alright. Was only being polite,” the wizard muttered. Stepping away from the fireplace, he sauntered over to the Headmaster’s desk, his eyes immediately focusing on the loose nicknacks on the surface. 

“What do you have for us, Mundungus?” Albus asked, drawing his attention back to them. 

The wizard blew a heavy breath out and scratched the back of his head. “Begging yar pardon, sir but…it’s less news and more gossip.”

“Of for Merlin’s sake,” Severus hissed, reaching up to pinch his nose. Minerva almost echoed him, inhaling sharply and drawing herself up.

“Ain’t that it’s nothing!” Mundungus continued in a rush. “A bloke ‘as been making noise in muggle London. Young lad, dyed white hair, with a gnarly scar on ‘his face. Apparently, it looks like it's been burned into his skin.”

“That does sound like the boy we’re looking for,” Albus agreed. 

Mundungus nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “Aye, I thought so. Word is the kid’s a bloody card shark. Has been going to the poker places and clearing house.”

“Card shark?” Minerva echoed, not wholly familiar with the term. 

The swindler nodded again. “Someone who acts all meek and innocent but is good, really damn good, at cards. He’s either counting them or has more up his sleeves—has real cards and everything. Earning lots of gold.” 

“Where?” Minerva demanded. 

The wizard scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “That’s just it, he’s been all over. Name a gambling den in London, he's been there. Let me tell ya, trying to get anything out of all of those muggles was a pain and a half. All of them are pissed but keep mumm.”

“So you have nothing,” Severus stated, a sneer curling his lip. 

Mundungus shot him an affronted look but Albus cut in before he could retort. “I would not say that. Mundungus said that the boy has been all over London. Has he been seen anywhere else?” he asked, directing his question to the wizard. 

“Ain’t that I’ve heard,” Mundungus confirmed. 

“There you go,” Albus said with a smile. “Now we know that he’s still in the area.”

Minerva pursed her lips, conceding to the point. That was good news. It meant that they didn’t have to search outside of the country to get back the child. 

Mundungus nodded, relaxing enough to sit in one of the vacant chairs. "Begging yar pardon sir, but if this bloke is so important, why not get everyone else looking for him? The Aurors can cover more ground than little old me," he asked, leaning forwards to look anew at the nicknacks on the Headmaster's desk. 

Severus scoffed, his face twisting into a dark scowl as Albus gently but firmly placed a hand on the quill that the thief was eyeing. 

"Be that as it may, unfortunately, the reason why we're looking for this specific individual is not something we can tell the authorities. It is a delicate matter that needs to be handled with care."

Heeding the silent warning, Mundungus sat back in the chair, a faint pout on his face at being found out so easily. "If you say so. I trust ya know what you're doing, Mister Dumbledore, sir."

Minerva pressed her lips into a hard line. She could safely say that he did not.

Two weeks passed and anyone searching for the white-haired teen and green-eyed child would have seen them back into the small, dingy clinic hidden off of the beaten path. However, since no one knew to look for them there, Allen and Harry were able to retrieve what they came for without anyone following them.

Smiling, Allen slid the small pair of round glasses onto the child's face, watching expectantly as Harry blinked.  

“Whoa,” the kid said. His eyes widened, and he looked all over the room before focusing on Allen’s face. A grin split his face and he reached for Allen, making grabby hands. 

Laughing, Allen scooped up the child, kissing him on the cheek. 

“You’re not blurry!” the kid gushed.

“I’m not!” Allen agreed, echoing his enthusiasm. 

Harry grinned and then looked at Dr. Valentine. He squirmed until Allen put him down. Toddling up to the doctor, he hugged the man's legs. 

"Uhhh." The baffled man blinked at the boy, reaching out a hesitant hand to pat his head. "There there?" 

Allen snorted. Figures that the doctor didn't know how to deal with kids at all when he wasn't treating them. 

“Thank you,” he tells the man sincerely. 

Valentine blinks, shifting to make eye contact with the younger man. Disentangling himself from Harry, the doctor shrugged and went back to his desk. “‘Was only doing my job,” he muttered into the paper of Harry’s file. 

“Maybe,” Allen allowed, smiling at Harry as the toddler stumbled back to him. “I can still thank you.”

Valentine only grunted in response.

They wrapped up business with the crotchety doctor quickly and they were off, walking the streets of London back to their flat. The whole time, Harry was staring at everything, Allen had to pick him up because the kid kept looking at anything else besides where they were going. 

Amused, Allen let him, content to carry the boy as long as he needed him to. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he started a little bit when tiny arms wrapped around his neck. 

"Harry?" He asked, reaching up to place a hand on his back. The boy was hugging his tight, his little face pressed into the crook of Allen’s neck, the frames of his glasses digging a bit into the soft skin. 

"Thank you," the boy mumbled into his hair, nuzzling close. "Love you."

"Harry," Allen said again, his tone vastly different. Tears pricked at his eyes and he stepped off the communal area of the sidewalk, stopping beside a building so he could hug his kid. "You don't need to thank me for this." 

"Do too," Harry mumbled. 

"Hmm. Nope."

"Ya-huh."

"Na-huh," Allen argued back, smiling widely as Harry pulled back so he could scowl at his face. 

"Ya-huh," the kid declared with a serious set to his face. 

Allen bit back a laugh. He was adorable.

But…this mattered to the kid. He wasn't about to make fun of him. 

"Harry, it's my job as your guardian to do this for you," he said, reaching up to poke the bridge of the kids' glasses. "Your job, mister, is to be a kid. To play and have fun. I know I haven’t been doing the best there, but you're supposed to need things. I am the adult; it’s my job to give you the things you need.”

Harry still pouted, reaching up to touch where Allen had poked his glasses. He sighed heavily and flopped against Allen’s shoulder, one hand playing with his white hair.

“Fine,” he muttered. 

Allen smiled. He was adorable. Shifting the child in his arms, Allen lifted his hand and poked his little nose. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

Harry perked up, lifting his head up. On any other child, his large eyes and slightly protruded lip wouldn’t be a full pleading pout, but for Harry, it was practically begging. 

“Sweets?” the child asked in a whisper. 

Allen held back a laugh. “Sure, bud. We can get some sweets. What are you in the mood for?”

Harry grinned and started listing off any and every sweet he could think of. Allen’s smile softened to something Kanda would have scowled at, calling him a sap. He ignored the little voice and instead listened to the child’s chatter. 

In the  Gryfindore's Head of House office, Minerva McGonagall stared down at a map of London. The area was large and sprawling, with too many pockets for undesirables to hide in. Smoothing down the edges of the worn parchment, the witch set a dark stone the size of a galleon in the dead center. 

“Please,” she whispered softly. “Help me find them.”

Inhaling deeply, she tapped the end of her wand to the dark stone, clearly, but quietly voiced the incantation for the spell she was performing. The little stone jolted on the page, sliding over the surface. She watched as it spun in circles as if confused about where to go. It bounced from edge to edge, never settling on one location. 

She watched it with anticipation, willing for the spell to work. It was similar to the scrying one Albus had performed, but the one she was using was more ritualistic in nature. She wasn’t doing anything wrong or illegal, but it certainly wasn’t looked at kindly. 

The little stone was a lodestone, an borderline illegal artifact for its ability to track anyone it was set to. While extremely useful for tracking undesirables, if placed in the wrong hands, it could be very easily used to hunt and kill innocent people. She only had one because it had been a gift from her little brother, given with the idea she would always be able to find her family when in need. 

It had certainly come in handy to find his body during the war.

Pushing that thought aside, she focused on the stone again, watching it move. Finally, it started to slow, spinning in a wide range but centred on a certain location. It was still an overtly large area to search, but it was something.

“I’ll find you,” she promised to Harry, looking down at the part of London the lodestone was focusing on. “I’ll bring you home. You'll be safe.”