Chapter Text
Harry sat alone on the front steps of his highschool with a cigarette between his teeth and a skateboard under his foot, wishing he were anywhere but school. It's supposed to be summer break but because Harry’s always had a bit of a rough go of it at school, he’s stuck here, doing algebra and history tests on his sixteenth birthday, not that any one, much less Harry himself, cared. He never cared really. Hadn't even known what day his birthday was until he was about six or seven and by then things like birthdays and presents and cake were so unimportant that he laughed in his cousin’s face when he bragged that he’d gotten thirty-eight presents when Harry's never even gotten one. He’d laughed until his bruised ribs twinged and he couldn't breathe through the hilarity. He laughed until he cried and then cried until he finally passed out in his cupboard under the stairs.
“Happy Birthday, Haz” Nick exclaims, breaking through Harry’s pity party, and slings an arm around his shoulders. Harry huffs out a poor excuse of a laugh and looks at his on again off again boyfriend, who smells like car grease, cheap cologne, and vanilla body wash.
“Thanks, Nicky” Harry grins at him and laughs, a real laugh this time, when he pecks Harry on his cheek and starts counting,
“Two!” a kiss on Harry’s forehead “Three!” a kiss on his left eyelid “Four!” a kiss on his chin, and on and so on until he hits eighteen and kisses his lips, looking rather satisfied with himself. Harry pushes him off him with a smile.
“You're an idiot” Harry groans and stands, picking up his bag and skateboard, and ignoring the stares he can feel on his skin from the leering and sneering stragglers still hanging around the parking-lot.
“The only idiot that can get you to smile” he smirks and follows Harry to his busted up rusted excuse of a car Nick, named Betsey.
Harry met Nick when he was fourteen working at a queer night club in London bussing tables and wiping down the bar. Harry needed the work and liked the people, who were all sweet and loud and very protective of Harry, so protective that when Nick hit on Harry while he was working, Sean, the bartender had banned Nick for life and made sure the bouncers were extra rough on the throwing out aspect. Harry had rushed out to apologize and explain that he was underage and his colleagues were just looking out for him. Nick was understanding and told Harry that he’d snuck in with a fake ID and asked what school he went to. They went to the same school. Harry had just started, freshmen, and Nick was a junior. They were fast friends and the rest is history.
Nick dropped out halfway through his senior year. His dad had just gotten back out of prison and his home life wasn't the best at the time so when his eighteenth birthday swung around he dropped out, took more shifts at Tesco’s (his work at the time), and hustled until he had enough for a small crappy apartment in the shittiest part of London.
“So headsup, since I know you hate surprises, ive called in the troops and they’re waiting back at mine to surprise you” Nick swerves rather dangerously, breaking plenty of traffic laws, with an equally as dangerous smirk on his lips. It's moments like these that made Harry fall for Nick James. With his scuffed boots, beat up leather jacket, and penchant for mischief it was as if he were made to draw Harry Potter in and hold him captive. And honestly it's a problem, Harry thinks the hottest Nick has ever looked was that time he punched a cop right in his pig nose and smiled while the asshole called him a flurry of slurs and knocked his bad-boy ass in the back of his patrol car.
“You sicked Anna on me?!” Harry gasps, dramatic hand over heart, betrayed look on his face.
“Like hell she’d forget your birthday, Haz, you should be thanking me really.”
“Whatever for?!” Harry laughs
“I talked her out of a house party.” He smirks over at Harry, who’s trying to bash his brains out against the window.
“Thank god.” he groans “so who's on the invite list.” he glances over at his boyfriend with those infamous green eyes of his that Nick swear glows when Harry’s extra angry.
“Just the usual losers” he shrugs “you, me, Anna, Warner, Martha, and Sean” He turns into his apartment complex, smiling when he parks and steps out, rushing around the front of the car to open Harry’s car door like a real gentleman.
“You’re an idiot and I hate you.” Harry drawls, voice deadpan, but his eyes shine with mirth and amusement that makes Nick smile down at him.
Harry burst into Nick’s apartment with a resigned look on his face and a deep hunger for anything greasy and perhaps something to blur the edges because if his friends are good for anything its illegal substances in the variety of lots of weed in weirdly shaped bongs and cheap liquor that usually tastes like watermelon or lemonade, because Nick wasn't lying when he described their little band of misfits as losers.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!” Anna jumped out from behind the coach Harry and Nick had found on the side of the road and loaded up into Sean’s truck when Nick moved in a few months ago.
“Thanks, Anna” Harry sighs out with a fond little grin on his face that only Anna and Nick can ever summon on his usually bored broody face.
Everyone else waves half heartedly and goes back to playing video games, talking, smoking, or looking down at their phones.
“Hazza, Hazza, guess what I got planned!” Anna jumps up and down, obviously tipsy, but just a smiley and hyper as always.
“Please tell me it involves alcohol” he pleads, his green eyes going wide, blinking at Anna through his lashes she practically melts.
“Well, then, fine.” she huffs “you can get a drink first. But only because you're the birthday boy” she spins around in a flurry of golden hair and twirly hippie skirts and leads the way to the make-shift bar of half empty liquor bottles with the security tags cut off (having obviously been nicked) and two liter sodas that Harry’s sure Anna had brought. Nick slips in from behind him and starts mixing sprite and lemon flavored vodka, more vodka than sprite, because Harry only ever lets himself get truly trashed on special occasions and Nick takes sadistic pleasure watching and sometimes recording Harry being overly loud, flamboyant, clumsy, and obviously drunk. But at the end of the day Harry trusts Nick to take care of him, even if he is laughing while he does.
“Okay, okay, you've got your drink, thank you Nicky darling, now come, come, come, Hazza you’re gonna loveeeeeee this!” Anna squeals and drags Harry by his hand to Nick’s bedroom where Anna’s girlfriend Martha sits surrounded by makeup, glitter, and everything in Anna’s closet. “Makeover!!!!!!!” Anna smiles goofily with jazz hands and a clever little glint in her baby blues that scare everyone in the room.
“Fucking hell, Annes, im gonna need alot more vodka to get to this point of drunk.” Harry sighs but his laugh exposes his secret excitement.
“Sit or Anna’ll make you sit, pretty boy” Martha quirks an eyebrow at Harry and scoots over, eyeliner in hand.
“So what's the plan?” Harry asks and slowly, very slowly, makes his way to Martha.
“You still got friends at Apollo don’t ‘cha, kid?” Martha smirks when he sits down beside her and rearranges him so she can start on his eyes. He sighs, having seen this coming.
“Why can't you ask Sean to get us in, he was the bartender for like three years.”
“Because he quit and doesn't talk to any of them anymore ‘cuz he’s an arse and they’ll indulge you, everyone loves Harry Potter, of course.” Nick drawls, leaning back against the wall by the door where Anna’s humming to the song leaking through the walls from down the hall and looking through outfit options.
“I HEARD THAT, ARSEHOLE!” Sean yells, his voice muffled but very much heard. Harry laughs and closes his eyes when Martha brings out the eye shadow and stick on gems.
By the time Martha is done with Harry’s face Anna takes over and starts giving him out fit options. They eventually end up in baggy ripped jeans that sling low on his hips and a see through mesh t-shirt that hugs him so closely it's hard to move in.
“I didn't know you had a tattoo?” Martha stands and lifts Harry’s shirt to see the snake tat on his ribcage “thats fucking dope, kid.” she whispers.
“Yeah, Nicky did it last year.” Harry shrugs with a little proud smile on his lips and twists to show off the lunar phases tattoo on his left forearm that covers up a fair few scars and pulls down the loose jeans to flash the Grim Reaper tattoo on his upper thigh. “And these too” he shrugs and glances at his boyfriend watching him in the corner. Harry loves Nick’s art. He's truly, truly talented, even though he lets himself wallow in middle management jobs while barely scraping by in this shit apartment. He could be so much more if he just let himself dream. But mostly he just bought a lot of tattoo shit off of amazon and tattoos Harry and random people at parties when he feels like it.
“Damn, Nick.” Martha looks up at her girlfriend’s best friend sulking in the corner staring at the boy he’s so obviously infatuated with and grins “didn't know you had this in you, what shop are you working at?”
“Oh, no.” Harry jumps in, an evil little sharp grin on his face that speaks mischief and chaos “Nicky, here, only tattoos for fun” he drawls “he’s currently working at a target.” Harry deadpans and looks straight in his boyfriend's eyes and remembers exactly why they’re off and on all of the time. Ambition leaks out of Harry like a fatal wound. He's always bleeding for more, striving to be more than just a street rat with no one and nothing to remember him by when he dies. Harry wants to live up to more than this monotony. He doesn't want to be like everyone else. But Nick had been resigned to the fact that he’d be nothing more than a criminal and a drop out, long before he even met Harry Potter. And they are always fighting about it.
“That's shit man, you're damn good.” Martha adds but it's lost to Nick and Harry’s silent argument. They love and care about each other, alway looking out for each other and noticing each other when no one else does. They’re eachothers day one, and have been for as long as Harry started patching Nick up and icing his bruises that Nick’s ass of a father left there. Nick’s the only person that really knows what went down with the Dursley’s and what happened directly after. Nick’s the only one that knows about the terrible fucking foster homes, the even worse group homes, and the nights spent on the streets. And Anna’s the only one that knows about everything that happened with Mr. Wertz, because she understood in a way no one else has. She’d had a Mr. Wertz too, except he’d been her step-brother. And the three of them stood by each other in a way only other victims can.
But as they all step out into the warm London air, laughing, a little tipsy, and decked out in glitter and makeup and painted nails, the air was charged with something that Harry couldn't really understand. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. Like even before it began he could feel the end. Like death was breathing down his neck, or a ball was headed for his face and he was too slow to get out of the way. It was a warning. The static in the air caressing his skin and biting into his heart and telling him to fucking run.
It was usually on nights like this that decidedly freakish things happened around Harry Potter. When a threat he couldn't see stalked him, it was like Harry’s hackles rose and something otherworldly, but so Harry woke up within him.
“What is it?” Nick asked, voice whispered, the only person that hasn't backed away. Nick held on for dear life, his large hand clasped over Harry’s bicep, Hazel eyes bouncing around them, looking for a threat he knew Harry could somehow feel.
“Who’s there?” Harry whispers into the silent London street which should've been the first clue to something being off. London was not silent. But here they were. “I can feel your eyes”
A slow mocking clap announced the arrival of a stranger, who crept out of the shadows unnaturally, he was tall, dressed in all black, cloaks? Robes? Whatever it was it was dramatic and scary as fuck and where his face should’ve been was a black and silver mask.
“Is that you, Harry Potter?” the stranger asks, his head tilted creepily, voice drawling with an accent so posh it seems impossible to be here in this part of London. A shiver scrapes its bloody way down Harry’s spine.
“Do I know you?” Harry asks, tilting his head back almost mockingly. Something like dangerous excitement tumbles and bumbles its way in Harry’s chest. Because this is where Harry Potter always lived, in the chaos of anarchy, violence, and rebellion. And a mystery Harry always loved a good mystery, even better, thrillers. The thing he doesn't care for though, is Anna and Nick being next to him and an unknown enemy of unknown strength in front of them. This could be disastrous if Harry doesn't play this right. But he’s always been good on his feet, in a fight, and under pressure.
“I don't believe we have met, no, Mr. Potter” The stranger answers “you don't even know who you really are, so however would you know me?” The stranger grabs a stick from his gaudy cane and points it at Harry and Co. like a piece of wood should make them piss their pants in fear.
“I think I'm quite acquainted with myself, thankyouverymuch.” Harry quips back, a bite in his tone. The stranger barks out a laugh that echoes.
“Let me reword it for your small plebeian mind, do you know what you are?” silence only answers the stranger so he says “or where you came from? Do you know your parents' names? Do you even know your name Harry James Potter?” he laughs darkly into the night “because i do. I know so much about you Mr. Potter, it's rather ridiculous.”
“Why are you here? What do you want?” Harry asks, quiet and curious, but mostly a little scared now. Because even if Harry doesn't strictly know what he is he knows what he can do and if this person in front of him can do the same things? He doesn't know if he can save himself, much less his friends from that type of attack.
“Well i want you to die, of course, but The Dark Lord has ordered me to take you to him before any of that can happen.” he drops into a defensive stance that Harry clocks and “Stupify!” Harry dodges and pushes his friends at the same time.
“RUN!” Anna and Martha take off but Nick stays with his body over Harry’s on the cobbled road, forever his protector, and the only one that knew Harry wouldn't be running away.
“Nuh uh, Killer.” Nick smirks down at his boyfriend “you fight, i fight, remember?”
“You’re an idiot.” Harry grabs hold on Nick as tight as he can and concentrates as hard as he can on getting Nick to safety. They’re suddenly sucked into a void that spits them out on a random roof somewhere that’s obviously still London but further into the city, safer than the silence of the cobbled road with the stranger. But then Harry Potter doesn't run. He never runs.
“I’m sorry, Nicky.” and in a second Harry kicks his stunned boyfriend off him and cracks out of reality, only to be spit back out in front of the stranger. Harry stands and relaxes, a grin sharp enough to cut on his pretty face, and ready to burn the world down to get some answers “so you gotta name, Stranger?”
“...doesn't everybody?” The stranger answered, more cautious than before, the stick still held out in front of him.
“That's all you got, Magic Man? Thought i was supposed to be the plebeian.” Just as fast as Harry insulted the man he whipped his hand out with such force and nonchalance, sending the cloaked figure right across the street and into a building. The resounding clap of power and thud of the stranger’s body hitting the stone made Harry mad with laughter. He hadn't been this entertained in a long while. He didn't use his “freakishness” like this much. Sometimes he’d light a cigarette with his pinky or accidentally make a mess of his room when he had a nightmare but violence of this magnitude was only saved for the worst type of people and it’d been years.
Harry tiptoed his way to the stranger’s slumped and bleeding figure and nudged him a little with his foot, the man groaned, which was good because Harry did not need to be arrested for murder, thank the lord. But because Harry figured this may get the attention of other…freaks? Aliens? Magical fairies? Wiccan? Whatever they were, he decided to make a spectacle of it, of him. So Harry summoned some rope and stringed the fucker up by his feet on a light pole. But before he left he took a peak under the mask. He was surprisingly attractive, strong features, older, forties maybe? And his hair? Utterly and completely white. It was breathtaking if he were being honest. But he put it back, the mask, and crept back into the night, slowly making his way through London and back “home” or at least the closest thing to home he's ever known.