The night was blamy compared to the searing day of the heat of summer but Harry, he didn't mind it. Then again he hadn't mind many things since Sirius's death. In fact he had stopped caring at all. A lot of things that once mattered to him stop being so important. Personal health and mental health non existent, the radio silence of his friends; it had been weeks since he'd looked at a mirror, the horrifying image of Sirus's body drifting into the milky blue of the veil. It made going to the bathroom difficult, showering even more to the point of going to the kitchen at the wee hours of the night with a washcloth and soap.

He had started to do that more. Doing things with the cover of night not to be bothered. It didn't exactly mean he slept in the daylight hours, no more often than not sleep eluded him, leaving him in the quietness of both the day and night. The Dursley's oddly enough had left him be. In the beginning he had wished they would force him to do dishes, laundry, or anything for he would just stop thinking so much. But Vernon had taken one look at him and decided it wasn't worth it or something else. From the initial first point of contact after the disastrous ending of fifth year, Vernon has distanced himself more and more from Harry, as if sensing the despair that hung to him like a clouds of gnats.

Patinua acted differently too. She was… kinder? It seemed the only way to explain her progressively bizarre actions. Years previously she was at home with making his life miserable but it was if someone had jolted her now. It began with the little side glances as if she was unsure of what she saw. At the time he'd peak into a mirror or reflective surface, however long his mind would allow, and try to figure out why she kept doing it. But to him nothing had remotely changed, he still looked like himself abitit stressed and sleep deprived. She suddenly stopped once she caught him looking into the patio glass door. It was one of the last times he was able to stomach peering into a surface for longer than thirty seconds.

The next big strange thing that started to happen was that she would just sit in the same room he occupied, the only exception to this being his own bedroom. The first time it had happened, it had been only two weeks at most since he'd come back. He'd been sitting in the sun room his head pressed smooshed against the open door. The mid afternoon sun pressed uncomfortably against the thin hoodie draped over his body, the summer heat boiling him alive, but the creeping cold of unfeeling snuggling under his bones forcing the world into a state of nonchalantness. Vernon, earlier that morning, left for a week long conference and Dudley off at a friends house; leaving only himself and Patinua in the house. He wasn't sure how long he had idly stared at the privacy fence dividing the neighbor's yard from their own. Only that one second he was alone, the next the sound of a chair scraping the ground.

Shifting his cheek into the wood,he just barely craned his neck to peer behind him. Like a possum caught in car light or dishonest child, her hand hovered over the offending chair, the other holding a book about gardening. Disinterested at the time, he went back to staring at the fence, the sound of a cushion decompressing and the flicker of pages being the only sign she stayed. The next few days progressed similarity. He would find a place to sit and sometime later she would come with a book and sit with him. Never close enough to be in his personal pace, but close enough that he knew she was there. Initially he hadn't cared, but then Dudley had returned and much like his mother had given him strange looks then to sitting in the same room as him. It started to make his palms and arms itch. It made everything itch. They longer they stayed, the stronger the need to itch.

It all came ahead two weeks earlier. Harry had grown fed up with this weird watching over him. It grated on his nerves, his patience, his sanity. The sensation of bugs crawling all over him wouldn't leave and while he knew a shower or even a bath would help, but he could barely stand the mirror or even the reflective surface of the shower walls. Leaving him the only option to suffer and his irritation grow exponentially. Dudley had left the room at this point, doing who knows what while Patuina and him sat in the living room. He wasn't sure what extracurricular project she had decided to do today. He knew for sure it was paper with the amount of crinkling he could hear behind him. In between the silence and the last paper shifting his patience snapped.

"What-" he snarled, his body pivoting towards his aunt, "-do you want? You've been following me around for weeks. I'm getting fed up with it. So what do you want?"

Started, nothing comes out of her mouth. A piece of decorative paper between her fingers falls to the ground. "I-" she starts, her voice high and wispy, "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Befuddlement crosses his face for a moment before he's up from the couch. "You wanted to make sure I was okay?" He hisses. "Do I look okay to you?" He throws his hands up then motions to his days old clothes and disheveled appearance.

Her only response being that of silence, as if she herself was seeing a ghost.

Scratching his greasy scalp he sets his feet to pacing the room, continuing his tirade. "I haven't been able to eat, I haven't been able to sleep, I can't even look at any reflective surface without seeing his body, I'm in complete agony and you all just keep following me around."

"I'm sorry." She states.

"You're sorry? YOU'RE SORRY? Oh that's just great!" His arms punctuate the exclamation as his coiled body spins to face her. "What do you have to be sorry for? I mean you've been making my past fifteen years bloody miserable. But no. No no.' His finger waggles as his body stalks forward. " You're sorry for following me around. Instead of telling me why, you're just sorry."

"I-" her words die on on her tongue. A look of discomfort lifts from her face as if unsure how to continue, as if something like guilt sat in the bottom of her stomach. The whole look irritated him. It made the itching sensation worse which in turn irritated him more. An unending cycle of irritation. A bubbling well of irritation boiling over top.

" You know what? I don't care! Just stop! Just stop it right now! If you actually cared you would've been completely different over these years. What's changed? You didn't care then so why now? Wait no. I don't care. I don't want to hear your excuses. It's going to make me want to itch more."

"Itch more?" More decorative papers flitter to the ground as she suddenly stands up. "What do you mean by itch more?"

"Why do you bloody care?" He takes a step back not because Petunina is intimidating in herself, but the pure panic in her voice. He finds himself inching away, the seething anger quickly extinguished.

"Tell me what do you mean by 'itch more' right now." Her voice raising with a breathless quality. She steps forward while he instinctively steps back. "Please." She adds softly.

He shakes his head as his breathing picks up. Irritation may of fed the itch but if it had seemed almost unbearable before, it had hit it's fever pitch now. Without command one of his hands had already risen to scratch behind his ear, his neck or his shoulder, he wasn't sure but knew they all itched as if a stinging hex had hit him. Before his fingernails can even graze his skin, her hand like a viper had gripped his wrist in a surprisingly firm hold.

"Don't." Her voice grave "If you start itching you won't be able to stop."

A wet shuttery gasp escaped his lips. The itch ceasing for a moment. In turn a hot iron of sensation clamps to her hand contact. Directly on his wrist. Black bites at the edges of his vision. Somewhere from beyond there's a yip of pain and the hand loosens allowing him to tear it out of her grasp. Startled horror sets over, her body frozen, her eyes widening in realization. There's no words as they stare at each other. The precious seconds shatter the moment she moves forward. In panic she's shoved away as he races past her to the stairs.

"T-Harry!" She yells. Recovering from her near fall she turns, her heels clomping as she runs after him. In his haste Harry crashes into Dudley who'd been coming down the stairs. Bodily slamming him into the wall, Harry takes off like a bullet taking the stairs two at a time while a dazed Dudley stares on.

Skidding to a halt she spots Dudley pushed to the wall. "Dudley take it off, take your shirt off right now." Her voice near hysterical. Frightened by her tone he quickly tears off his button down shirt as his mother launches herself up the stairs. "Harry!" Her heels thundering up. A door slams shut as she reaches the top and something heavy scrapes across the floor.

"Harry!" She calls out again banging a hand against the door. She tries the handle, it turns but refuses to open.

"Go away." He shouts with his back pressed firmly into the frame of the bed that blocks the door. The horrible stinging pain bites now into both his wrists, arms and wrists. He wants to itch, he wants to itch them both but even with a small frame Petunia gives his hastily made blockade a run for its money.

"Harry please." The bed skids forward a few inches as she rams her shoulders into the rickety door.

"Mom?" He faintly hears Dudley ask. "Mom what's going on?" Nothing is said for several moments. Harry digs his heels into the chipping wood flooring in preparation. "Mom you're scaring me. What's wrong? Is Harry okay?"

Something cracks within him.

Something drips down his face

His breath hitches.

Once the tears start rolling down his face its as if a boat had been pushed into the rapids. More and more gush from his eyes as he tries to wipe them away his hoodie quickly becoming saturated from tears and watery snot. "just leave me alone." His voice wobbly as a batch of new tears leak out. With each new wave his voice hitches with each attempt at breathing. "Pleassee." Even more spill out making his head ache in dehydration and it harder to breathe. Short bursts of coughs sputter out as he attempts to get a big breath and a quiet wail rattles within him. His whole frame shutters as he gags from the tears, nearly sick from the sheer amount of mucus. He catches his breath stopping his gagging but the tears stubbornly hold on.

He isn't sure when he fell asleep, but he finds his body oddly twisted and neck twinging in discomfort as he in-pretzels himself. A horrid headache pounds behind his eyes as he wipes the crust out of his eyes. Like a foal first walking, he stumbles as he pulls himself to his feet. His body protests at the movement making every joint ache and his feet stumble as he makes his way to the window.

Before the whole incident it had been nearly lunchtime, now the moon hung high in the sky. The internal clock said it was the wee hours of the night and glancing to the dingy alarm clock on a shabby nightstand confirmed it was almost three in the morning. Hedwig had apparently spotted him sleeping and flew off to hunt for the night otherwise she would've patiently waited for him at the window. At the start of summer he had released her from her cage to let her come and go as she pleased. Which was smart considering he was becoming more and more forgetful.

Scratching his palm, he goes to his bed that still blocks the door. His aunt and cousin must of heard his crying session considering the door and bed are nearly in the same position when he started. He feels like he should be embarrassed. But he feels completely indifferent to it.

As quiet as possible he gently moves the bed out of the way. It's not because he's welcoming human contact but more of needing to use the loo. He hasn't become so desperate to use an empty bottle just yet. Multiple times he stops, listening for any movement within the house before going back to moving the bed. Just when he can barely shimmy between the door and wall does he take a step into the hallway proper. The whole house is quiet beyond Vernon's snores.

Even so, he finds himself tip toeing to the bathroom. Quickly taking care of business and avoiding any of the reflective surfaces he comes back out discovering what would be considered the latest of weird things for Petinua to do. On a white plastic dinner dish is some type of meat with potatoes and carrots sitting next to his door. Beside is a little tea cup which he guesses has some type of black tea with how dark the liquid looks. His stomach gives a quiet grumble but Harry gives it an irate look. He scratches his arm before turning to the stairs. He doesn't want any pity gifts.

Quietly he pads down the stairs spotting the white glow of the tv. An infomercial plays silently. Creeping down the stairs, he pauses at the entrance of the living room spotting Dudley on the couch a similar cup as the one upstairs sits by the remote that is loosely in his hand. One of the throw blankets cover his form. He mumbled sleepily in his sleep. On the other side surprisingly patinua sleeps curled up in an armchair. Her frame tucked snuggly into its sides. Another throw blanket covers her.

Distancing himself he goes to the kitchen, his hole filled socks cushioning his footfalls on the tile. Ignoring the fridge he goes to a cupboard and pulls out a small bag of crisps. In another he grabs a bottle of water that someone must of forgotten about considering how much dust clings to it.

Much like coming down he slinks back up, avoiding any loud sounds. He completely side steps the cold food and tea, slipping himself back into the room. Gently he closes his door unwilling to move his bed even more. Crawling over his bed he pulls out the water and crips along with a bottle of aspirin and sleeping pills. Ignoring the crips and pills he opens the bottle and takes a sip. A plastic-y taste lingers as he opens the aspirin and swallows them down chased with the old water. Opening the crisps next he only pulls out a few taking tiny bites as he studies the last bottle, the sleeping pills.

Throughout the weeks he'd thought of them, innocently sitting in the bathroom closet behind multiple other forgotten bottles. They'd gotten them after Hagrid had given Dudley a pigtail during first year. A tiny little smile inches across his face at the memory before the blanket of nothingness reclaimed its place, shadowing the memory. Apparently Dudley suffered nightmares after the ordeal which seemed utterly ridiculous at the time even more so now but they'd gone to a doctor and got him sleeping pills to help him sleep.

Of course nearly the whole house had forgotten about them. Harry had too till he spotted them while rooting around for the aspirin. The pale moonlight barely illuminated the bottle but Harry refused to turn the light on. His eyes squinting to read the fine print. He gave his neck a scratch annoyed at not being able to read what it said properly. Giving up he twists the bottle open banging out two pills into his hand. Thinking better he taps out another one before closing the lid. Eyeing the little red and yellow pills he rolls them in one hand considering before stuffing them into his mouth and chasing it with water. He hadn't slept for days till today. And the bliss of sleep had stopped the racing thoughts. Perhaps these would help too.

Closing the bag of barely eaten crips he sets them on the floor along with the bottle and medication and curls towards the door praying the expired pills would work. The last thing he hears is Vernon's alarm clock going off before he drifts off.

There was only enough for a week and a half before the pills were gone. It didn't help that he'd only stay up for five hours before popping another three in the belief of catching up on months of missed sleep. His body greedily drank in the rest making it hard for him to get up even when he had hardly gotten up at all. Some nights he would just lay in bed blearily staring up at the ceiling. Unable to really move or find the motivation to drink some water or even eat. Hedwig would come around every night at roughly one in the morning through his open window.

For the first two nights she'd perched herself on his bed hooting softly at him till he finally noticed her, his arm scratching easing. For the rest of the nights she'd complete skip perching on the wooden frame and directly landed beside his head settling herself between the crook of neck and shoulder. The first night this had startled him but after every consequential night he simply took it in stride. Occasionally she would hoot and nibble at his hair drawing his hand away from his own to gently pet her snowy feathers. It would only be much later when he realized the massive amounts of flaky brown specks crowded under his nails.

Much like the other nights when the pills ran out, he'd idly been staring up at the ceiling awakened early from his times of sleep. The green illumination across the room reading only ten thirty instead of the usual twelve twenty three. He was tempted to tune out everything, swallow another pill and go back to blissful nothingness but there were sounds of rustling sheets. A gentle chatter accompanying it. Against his better judgment he scooches over craning his head against the door.

"I'm worried Vernon." Petunia's quiet voice comes through the wood.

"There's nothing for it my heart." Vernon stiffly replies, "If Harry wants to hole himself in his room, it's his choice."

"We're his guardians though. We should be taking care of him more than this."

"I don't understand this."

"Understand what?"

"This sudden need to care for the freak."

"Vernon." Her voice hisses.

"What? You suddenly care about freaks? I thought we scrubbed our hands of Potter when they died all those years ago. Unless you're saying you want to be a witch again."

"Vernon I was just a little girl. Don't you dare hold that over my head as if you have any right to judge me. And you already know Potter has absolutely nothing to do with that boy. If his bloody father was alive right now he'd skin us alive for this."

"He-"

"I know you never met the man but god damn know that he wasn't one of those silly wizards. They saw people like him even less than us non magical people. He'd probably be rolling in his grave if he knew Harry went to a magical school." There's a ragged breath then she continues in a calmer tone. "Vernon he hasn't came out in nearly two weeks. Maybe he has but I know for sure he hasn't been eating and the one time I peeked in he was asleep. This isn't normal behavior for a teenager. Whatever happened over at that school has deeply affected him."

"If he isn't Potter kid then how do you explain the weird stuff going about him?"

A deep suffering sigh. "Forget it Vernon. I'm tired of trying to explain it to you."

"Heart-"

"Don't 'heart' me. Go to bed."

After a while when his uncles snores murmur through the crack does Harry lay more comfortably into his bed. Multiple questions swimming in his tired head. They feel like taffy. They feel bendy and unsolid as they drip into the nothingness. He flips over, grasping the bottle. His mind tired from its attempted gymnastics he taps the side. When no pill is forthcoming he tips it forward more and more until the whole bottle is upside down. Empty. Harshly breathing he throws the bottle, it bouncing harmlessly against the bed before rolling off to the ground.

Scritch scritch scritch.

He pauses.

Scritch scritch scritch.

Lethargically he rises from the bed, his wrists and arms stinging. Glancing at the digital clock with mind made up; he's to his feet quickly. Padding in weeks old socks he quickly opens a dusty drawer rummaging in between stale but clean undergarments until his hands finally grasp a hard lumpy object. Carefully he pulls out the jutting sock; the quid, galleons, and what else lightly ting as he places it into his hoodie pocket. Jamming his feet in too-large of gray trainers he gives the clock another peak before snatching the discarded bottle near the side of the bed. Shimmying on the side of his bed he cracks the door, ears straining, before easily sliding out into the hallway.

Slinking down the stairs is surprisingly easy with no lights on. And after confirming that Dudley wasn't sleeping in the living room does he unlatch the locks and make his escape into the hot night. With a semi plan of idea in mind he makes his way to the heart of Little Whinging.

The dark ink abyss stares as Harry glares at an innocent white plank in the pharmacy window. Closing time: 6pm. Scritch Scritch Scritch. He kicks the concrete in frustration. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid." He hisses out gripping his hair as tight as possible. Unbidden tears spill out as he collapses on the edge of sideway. Dammit. All he wants is the blissfulness of nothing. This is just another failure upon failures he's done. He can't do anything right at all apparently. People are counting on him. People have died for him. And he can't do absolutely jack right. He should be stronger than this. That's what the Wizarding world needs right? But he doesn't want to be this great hero. He just wants to be him.

A loud bang echoes throughout the empty Main Street pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. Scuttling from the side of the road he watches as a bright purple triple decker bus jerkily stop in front of him. Almost dumbly he gapes at it much like third year, the exact same gentleman steps onto the platform reading from what most likely is the same yellow note card as before.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your con-"

Similarity Stan breaks off his sentence when he spots Harry sitting on the ground. Unlike before he gives no comment as Harry quickly scrubs his eyes and steps forward into the gentle light of the bus. To be honest he's grateful no comment is forthcoming.

"Eh- " Stan intelligently utters eyeing Harry with only one could call a tentative look. "Speak English?"

Slightly bewildered he only nods. Giving a look over Harry, which appears more of someone observing a strange wild animal than a human, does his eyes track to Harry's face. Attempting to avoid the fiasco that happened three years ago he raises his hand as if to shake and introduces himself as "James Evans."

Stan gives his blood-crusted fingernails, blood stained sleeves, and freshly scratched wrist a look of disgust. Harry would feel a little bad at how green he looks it didn't have the exact effect of him looking away from Harry's face.

"So." Stan starts pointedly not looking at Harry. "Where yo goin?" Before Harry can answer he continues, "Location... Place…"

"Nearest 24 hour pharmacy." He tartly says, displeased at how rediciouslous Stan is being. As if he couldn't understand English at all.

Both Startled and surprised he only replies with "oh"

"Hey fucko." A heavily accented voice calls from inside."You gonna stand out there all night or is this bus going to actually move?"

"Y-yes sir." Stan calls back before turning to harry who has already pulled out the sock with coins. Depositing the two golden galleons into Stan's slack hand he mouths 'keep the change'. "Right" he only responds. Clopping up the stairs he leaves Harry to enter the bus himself.

Climbing up,Harry again is greeted by rolling beds, heavily curtained windows and lit candles in stands beside the beds. The bed closest to the door has a rather interesting wizard laying it it. Or at least one Harry has never seen before. He's dressed in muggle leathers; his black coat dripping onto the floor as his pants and boots fit snugly to his form. His white shirt is rumpled and his black hair mused but quashed under the weight of his almost black burns adorn his arms while more creep up towards his face. Something silver gleams between the dead skin and healthy.

"You gonna keep staring or are you gonna sit the fuck down?" The man grumbles in a deep tone. Even with his eyes closed, Harry feels watched.

There's a spark of high laughter above accompanied by a bubbly tone. "ダビをそんなに意地悪くしないでください。彼らはただ見たいだけです。"

"ええ、彼らは他の場所を見ることができます。" the man retorts.

"なぜそんなに恥ずかしがり屋 ダビ？" the lady responds back.

"ガキを黙らせる。" Without opening his eyes, the man snatches a pillow from a side bed and throws it at the voice. It hits its mark making the lady cry out in response before bursting out in laughter again.

"あなたが座っていない場合、私は生きてあなたを燃やすつもりです。" The low voice of the man growls, this time his bright eyes focusing on Harry.

"You better listen to him kid."A different but calm female calls down."Princess needs his sleep. Gotta find his charming doggy prince ain't that right? Wouldn't want a child getting hurt this early in the night mmm?"Stiffly nodding, Harry makes his way towards the front beds before sitting pointedly away from the man.

"くそくらえ" The man calls back to the woman.

Only laughter replies to what Harry can only assume is an insult. Turning from the strange witches and wizard, he spots Stan sitting in a seat behind what looks like Ernie, the driver, from all those years ago.

"-e got another. Don't recon 'e's older than fifteen. Poor kid. Parents probably dropped 'im as soon as 'is curse came in." Stan says, his head low as he eyes the other occupants. "'E can't be with 'em but there seems like there's more of 'em around lately."

A non-commital grunt comes from Ernie as Stan sits back up. A lever cranks and the bus lurges forward, making all the beds fly back. Holding onto dear life a cackle escapes Harry as the bus swerves making the beds rocket around like ping pongs. The last time he'd been so focused on not revealing he was Harry Potter and the big revelation of Sirius Black that he hadn't realized how fun the ride actually was. Two other joyous screeches echo his as a pang of sadness rattles in his core at the thought of Sirius. A moan of despair follows quickly after the others making him peek back at the other occupants.

The man from earlier is much like a cat, gripping the mattress as if by sheer determination he could make it stop sliding everywhere. Above there's two ladies and surprising a guy all with blond hair by one of the railings. The guy and one of the girls seem to be having the best time of their lives scooting and sliding around. The other girl mostly calm is staring down at the touchy man from before with a smirk as if she were getting pleasure out of watching him suffer.

A tailspin curve has the man gripping even harder which Harry considers a feat with already how flat the mattress has to be between the man's fingers. Another turn has him looking away when his bed slams into one of the walls and then swings back out. A bubble of laughter trickles out of him, this is.. oddly the most excitingly simple thing that has happened to him in quite a while that hasn't tried to kill him. Glancing over he spots Stan peering over his Daily Prophet. A look
of pity and innocent guilt plays on his face before catching Harry's eye.

Clearing his throat he lowers the paper a little more. "So James right?

"Yes, that's right." He spins himself for that he's at least facing Stan.

"Ever 'heard ov the Killin' Blow?"

"The Killing Blow?" He dumbly mimics.

"Where 'ave yew been? I's been all over-" he stops suddenly his face ghosting bright white. "Eh. Hem. They're a dangerous sort." He gently taps the paper:

Killing Blow Spotted In Europe. England Next?

"''Ere" he tosses the paper for Harry to catch. "'Choo need i' more than I do. I can get anuvver. Just don't read i' fron' ov' 'em." Motioning towards the others on the bus. As inconspicuous as possible Harry folds the paper and sets it beside himself. There's a clunking sound and by sheer past experience, he grabs the railing of the bed as the beds suddenly slam into each other as the bus stops. Peels of laughter float from a higher floor.

"King's Crossing" Stan calls standing up from his seat to walk towards the back of the bus. Two tones of disappointed groans follow his words, while another groan of sickness and a breathy laugh come just as quick.

There's a stamped of feet as two people come barreling down the stairs both joking and play pushing as they exit the bus quickly. A calmer set of footsteps, Harry assuming that it must of been the woman from earlier, sound off in the narrow stairwell as she too exits into the night. For a second there's no sound but then a harsh cough has Harry looking at Stan who almost seems to be looming over the wizard from earlier who has octopused himself to the bed.

"You plan on getting off sir?" His words polite but with a biting almost mocking tone to them.

Harry's not sure if he's ever seen a man so white in his life. Even his burns seem light purple with how pale he is.

Moaning like a dying cat the man slowly detaches himself with a half hearted "Fuck you" as he sits up. The movement of course has somehow made him look even paler. Harry's not sure if he's closer to fainting or being sick at this point.

"ねえダビ、大丈夫?" A new male voice calls from outside. Just a peak of blond hair and gray eyes are barely visible over the dividing bar.

"Yep. Give me a second." He responds in English. Slowly standing up he slightly wobbles as he too disappears into the street.

"このバスは、井口にお金を稼ぐ可能性があります。" a muffled chatty voice says from outside the bus as Stan closes the door.

"私たちがやったと言ってはいけません。" A pained male voice retorts.

"'Nd good riddance." Ernie spits as Stan comes back from to sit in his seat. "Thought 'em Kosies would never leave."

Stan clears his throat. Ernie eyes Harry with a look of destain. "Oh 'nother one then? Woss your name? Ryoko?" He cackles as if he made a particularly hilarious joke.

The feeling of whiplash is back but even stronger than before. Yeah he probably doesn't look or feel the best but everyone is acting straight up bizarre. First the Dursley's, now these two and even that crispy corpse of a foreign wizard had been strange.

"Ern." Stan starts.

"H-James." He answers arrogantly "James Evans."

"Oh really?" He huguffs, "The little Blackened Gertie Gitana has a proper British name? What, did yew choose i' in da plan trip 'ere?" He straight up laughs at the concept. "Probably an' allk some speacial'y classes ter speak all proper eh?

"Ernie." Stan grits "Jabba ya yap an' drive da bus."

"Oooo. Didn't know yew liked da Kosies." He smirks hitting the crank before starting the bus again.

"It's not like that."

"Oh so yew like 'em Blackened ladies 'mm? Must give yew a real 'rill."

"Shut up Ernie." He bites. After a few seconds he deflates to stare at the floor. Harry confused and with nothing better to do decides to sit in the momentary silence and try to wrap his head around what the hell is going on. He's pretty sure that on his first ride Ernie and Stan had been pretty good friends or at least coworkers. In three years had something changed? Or were there ideas and thoughts on these 'Kosies' and 'Blackened' so varied that it naturally caused a rift between them.

"Zafash 24 hour Pharmacy 'fur da little Blackie." Ernie croons making Stan take his hat off and throw it at him.

"Come on." He gently corrals Harry to entrance. Flipping a switch the door opens to both the darkness and the heat of the July night. "The pharmacy is right over there,"Stan points to a lit up building diagonal from them. Harry takes a step down onto the pavement when Stan tells him to wait. Confusion must be on his face as Stan looks at him in embarrassment. "I wan'ed ta say sorry about earlier." He scratches behind his head. "It wasn't exactly nice for me ter assume tings Mr Evans. I promise chooo not all wizards act like that." He smiles and offers out his hand much like Harry had done earlier in the night. "Nice ter meet ch'oo Mr Evans.

"Likewise Mr. Shunpike." He responds with a smile.

A pleased smile replies as he shakes his hand.

Turning away he steps the rest of the way off the bus.

"Oh Mr. Evans." His voice making Harry face him again. "Ch'oo forgot dis." The daily prophet gifted to him is placed in his hands. "Hope i' 'elps. Be safe James." He gives one final smile before shutting the door. A BANG punctuates the departure of the knight bus.

"Hope it helps?" Harry repeats exchanging the paper between his hands. Something within the paper crinkles and clings. Curious he undoes a fold of the paper discovering 7 galleons, 11sickles and several Knuts, unwrinkling the pound notes there's at least six 10 pound notes. He glances up already knowing the bus has disappeared into the night but can't help but wonder why at the generosity. A few tears escape before he's rubbing them off with his sleeve. Next time he sees Stan he'll repay his generosity.

Blinding is the word Harry would call the pharmacy as he enters from the night. It stings his eyes who are unused to the brightness. The fact should worry him but he isn't particularly bothered considering he's so close this goal now. He hasn't felt this live since- well.. before the department of mysteries. Carefully tucking his hands further into his sleeves and rolling them for the ends don't show he makes his way further in. To his right ceiling high shelves fill the walls mostly covered in hair color, perfume, lotions and further down vitamin gummies. To his right several short shelves are lined with toothbrushes, toothpaste and mouthwash. On the far right wall multi colored rims of glasses glint off the harsh fluorescent light as a large sign near the ceiling states : Welcome to ZAFESH. The Only 24 Hour Pharmacy In the Country! In front of him is counter decked with tiny little sweets while another aisle follows behind it with unknown but colorful items. Towards the back of the same aisle a girl no more than 23 sits with her cellphone open, her finger scrolling rapidly as a bright green bubble pops.

Stopping at the tiny counter he patiently waits for the attendant to look up who only sighs at the sight of him and leisurely strolls up. Her eyes lift in appraisal as she studies him. "So." Another bubble pops. "Whatcha doing tonight?"

"Just refilling this." The white bottle clinks as he deposits it onto the counter.

Picking it up with acid green nails, she gives the bottle a little spin "Dudley Dursley" Another indiscernible look passes over. "So not a night owl by choice then? Shame." Her lips smack as another bubble pops. "Wait here." Her boots clomp as she goes back down the aisle to a little window. Banging on the metal shutter twice, she opens it yelling, "Prescription!" There's a muffled sound from the other side. Tossing the bottle into the opening she releases the shutter making it fall with a Slam. "Said he'll meet you in the consultation room" She gestures to the side with her thumb.

Walking over, Harry spots the large sign with Consultation Room written on it stashed in the back of the next aisle across from the feminine products. Through the glass of the small room he can see a short bald man with a fluffy mustache. Tentatively grabbing the handle he opens the thin door and sits in the hard uncomfortable seat.

"Mr Dursley is it?" The pharmacist asks over his thick glasses.

"Dudley is actually my cousin." Harry admits under small brown eyes.

"I see." He picks up the bottle almost as if contemplating it. "Did he ask you to get some more then?"

"Yes sir."

"Mmmm. Do you know what this bottle contained?"

"Sleeping pills."

"Indeed." He sets the bottle down on the small desk. "Tell me. Do you know prescriptions have expiration dates?"

"Uh. Because they go bad?" Harry answers with his most innocent looking face. One of his hands grips the other wrist.

"Yes. But the reasoning why is because the drugs in them can have unexpected results if not taken in due time. So how many have you been taking each night?"

"E-Excuse me?"

"You come to a twenty-four hour pharmacy at two in the morning with your cousin's five year old prescription to refill it, instead of your cousin. So how many have you been taking each night then?"

Flushing at being caught his hand jangles up and down. Harry glances out the window to see if the cashier is out there or even make a mad dash for the door.

"This is purely confidential." The man calmly states, his foot gently blocking the door. "No one outside of this room will know."

"No one?"

"No one. It's an oath." He smiles pleasantly.

"O-okay." He releases his hand to only twine them together. "T-three."

"Three?" The Pharmacist exams the bottle again in a paturbed yet fascinated fashion. "One is the recommended dose. You swallow three a night? How long have you been taking these?"

"For almost three weeks sir." His fingers twitch.

"Interesting." He rubs his mustache and finally sighs at the twitchiness of the young man. "As you can already imagine I can not fill this prescription. Considering the circumstances and such it would be best I report it."

"B-" Harry unclamping his hands starts to rise out of his chair.

"-But." The man motions with his hand egging Harry to sit back down. "I see your'e just a young man, deeply troubled from something that has happened most recently. As much as I would like to fix you, as of present, I currently like my position and can not afford to risk it. What I can do-' he says as removes his foot from the door "-is suggest several options that can at least ease your troubles. If you are willing to hear them, that is."

Taking the lack of absence as a yes he motions for Harry to come closer. He hisses as the man grabs one of his hands and peels off the sleeve to reveal the less than a year old 'I will not tell lies' scar. He clicks his tongue. "Do you do this often?"

"No." He glances up at the man. "No. I don't harm myself." He snatches his hand out of his grasp. "I- A teacher made me carve into my hand."

"A teacher?" The pharmacist blinks.

"She's gone now. But…" he shrugs his shoulders.

"I understand." He responds slowly leaning back into his seat. "Now. About your sleep problem. Often people in high stress times can't slow their minds enough to sleep or simply unable to stay asleep. I can't speak to which one happens to you, but there are a few things I would suggest. Take whichever you fancy or try them all.

"The first is try tiring yourself with exercise. Another is a decent sleep schedule, it doesn't have to be the typical sleeping times but one that you follow and don't stray from. Sometimes mediation will work, reading a book or even calming music. When I was much younger I had a teen much like yourself who'd use repetitive motions. His go to was video games, but I wouldn't suggest that considering the light of the screen usually keeps people awake. Soft ambient and repetitive sounds work as well. There are quite a few options to be honest. Try them and see if any of them work for you okay?"

"Yes sir."

"That's a good boy then." The pharmacist responds vacating his seat and opening the door. "Come along then. Someone's bound to be worried about you at this point." Like a little duckling, Harry follows him out till the end of the aisle before the pharmacist is shooing him towards the door. There's a dualtrality of emotion in him, on one end something soft and pleasant on the other the icy tredels of dread and failure.

"And Harry," the short short stout man says in the most calm voice possible. "Stay away from sleeping pills. Especially Dalmane. It's dangerous."

"Yes sir." He answers departing once again into the night of London.

Opting out of taking another ride on the Knight Bus for obvious reasons, Harry takes to the mostly quiet streets of London to hopefully find a Tube that's still open at this hour. After two failed attempts at finding a station with a running train he's about ready to just find a bench to sit on for the remaining hours till five when on just an off chance he finds one still running. None of the tellers are open which isn't surprising considering it's almost four but a single dingy electronic teller is. Inserting a few bills, the machine sputters before spitting out a blue card. He goes through the electronic gate before finding himself a bench to wait. It doesn't take long for the train to show and he's seated in an empty cart in the back.

Glancing around he slowly pulls out the rumpled but still readable Daily Prophet. The edges are a little frayed and fringed as unfolds the paper;

Killing Blow Spotted in Europe. England Next?

In a surprising turn of events, the Killing Blow, an international terrorist cell, has been spotted in both Ukraine and only a few weeks later, Germany. Our foreign responder, Malinda Stockspirt as well as local reporter to the area Kizuki Chitose where able to send this report off before their radio silence three weeks ago. "They [Killing Blow] are an interesting bunch of characters to say none the least. In [the magical] community of Japan, they're seen as a small but dangerous group of individuals having [extraordinary abilities] that work surprisingly well together. They're considered part of Japan's most wanted and more often than not have no true goal beyond destruction.

[...] The six members consist of Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi, Himiko Toga, Suichi Iguchi, Twice and Mr. Compress. The true identities of Twice, Dabi and Mr. Compress are unknown for right now but it is only a matter of time before they are revealed. [...] Tomura's appearance is largely unknown but most of the others have made some type of appearance in public…" {more on page 3}

There's a cough as a man dressed in a heavy coat comes onto the tube making Harry break from the paper to look up. Glancing back down he goes back to the paper. Below the article is a surprisingly grimy photo of several individuals. The clearest individual is a man who appears to have multiple hands gripping his body while several other blurry figures follow him. The caption "Mr Compress with several individuals? What are they planning?" Is written in small script. The whole lot seem to be sneaking around what appears to be a destroyed building. Several other articles surround the larger one but consist more of propaganda articles about which witch or wizard did what scandalous thing today, warnings of the Death Eaters, the mounting talk of Fudge's possible resignation and who might replace him.

He only skims through some of them before turning the page to skim the big headliner article continued which consist more of what the Killing Blow had done; attacking a school, kidnapping children, destroying parts of cites, and a full out brawl with the Yakuza, who he learned were just Japanese gangsters. There was also a short description of each member; Mr Compress with the hands, Twice in a top hat and mask, Shigaraki in a gray full body suit, both Dabi and Suichi lizard-like, and Toga with short brown hair and wide brown eyes, the most normal looking between the whole group. At the end was a thank you to Rita Skeeter for help in translation.

Seeing the woman's name leaves a bad taste in his mouth and he goes to the other articles before turning to the quidditch columns. With the gentle rocking and quiet sound of the rail he finds his eyes drooping and head nodding till the paper slips out of his hands to the floor scattering about. It doesn't matter much to him though, with his head uncomfortably notched between one of the rails and seats he finally drifts off in a natural sleep elusive to him for months.

"Kid. Hey kid"

Someone lightly taps his shoulder. Mumbling about five more minutes he turns a little away, burying his face a little more into the seat.

"Get up kid."

The light taps turning into shaking. Blearily Harry opens his eyes peering at the officer. She chuckles as he closes his eyes again and snuggles even more into the seat.

"Come on now. I know you've been sleeping for a bit but I need you to get off the train for it can be serviced."

He cracks his eyes open again

"Oh don't give me that look. You can go to sleep on one of the other trains. Or wait for the next one to come considering at this point you've probably missed your stop a couple times over by now" she smiles, her arms cross nonchalantly over her chest.

"What time is it?" He sleepily asks as he stands up a yawn crawling out of his throat and cracking his jaw. His shoulders jitter as his spine cracks with his flexed heel.

"Five o'clock."

"Oh that's not bad."

"In the evening."

"W-what?"

"Yeah. Had yourself a nice long nap eh? You're been here since the start of my shift at eleven."

"Five o'clock." He slowly repeats itching at his neck. "Uh. Where exactly am I?"

"Right outside of Surrey."

"Really? That's actually my stop."

"Well fancy that. Now get off my train kid." She says with a teasing tone motioning with her thumb towards one of the doors.

"Right." He sends her a grateful smile before ramming into a pole.

"Careful now."

"It uh." He awkwardly pats it as it were an animal.

"Jumped out right in front of you right?"

"Yeah."

"Get off my train you loon." She grins before shooing him off.

He flinches as she turns and finds himself leaving the train. A few people mill around on the dock but he pays them no mind. His eyes only on his stinging palm. A few flakes of yellow sticking to it. Wiping his hands on his pants he goes up the stairs to exit the tube into Surrey proper.

It's almost seven by the time he makes it to Privet Drive. Most of the cookie cutter houses with their two point four average family per households have already turned in for the night. Leaving only a stragler whose grabbing the mail. They gave him an odd look inching away as if he were some rabid creature. He'd categorize this as bizarre along with nearly everything else crazy going on if it weren't the norm. For once after this chaotic night (day? Couple of nights?) someone wasn't acting like they'd snorted something.

Harry gives them a slight smile and wave and okay he might of gotten a little pleasure at them weakly waving their hand then scrambling inside as politely as humanly possible. He tucks his hands into his hoodie pocket as he comes up onto the curve in the middle of Privet Drive, number four within sight. His earlier good mood diminishing every step he comes closer. The itch is back. He hadn't even known it had left but he's tempted to run back the way he came. Dread mounts as he comes upon the stairs, a set of eyes staring at him behind his back. Glancing back reveals nobody, not even Ms. Figgs with her house cast in darkness. He vaguely remembers her saying she was going on a holiday some time late July. Had so much time already passed since school ended? It felt like time was crawling for him.

Turning the knob he slowly enters the house, the lights in the sitting room on but with nobody within. His hand aches. Gently the door closes as he properly enters the entrance hall. Despite the multiple social interactions he's had in such a short time he's not keen on another. Or specifically one with his Aunt. Or his uncle. Or even Dudley at this point. The house is silent as he makes his way back up the stairs. The pressure in the house seems almost heavier as he stands on the top landing. Something like a Geist with it's icy fingers grip his being as he passes the upstairs bathroom. A pale thin shadow traverses the space and he finds himself bolting the rest of the way into his room it following in his wake.

The door closes with a SLAM as he quickly locks his door staring at it as if whatever specter beyond was going to rattle or even come through the door. The thought of a dementor crosses his mind and for a split second it almost seems like a comforting way to go. If he can't jump through the void he could receive a kiss. But the longer he stares at the door the sillier the idea of a rogue dementor is. Maybe it's just Sirius's ghost to come to take him. A bubble of laughter slips through his lips and before he can stop they pour out like a waterfall unbidden and fast. His eyes sting at the sheer ludicrous thoughts but he can't stop. Something seems so instinctual funny. Maybe he's just going mad?

Tears gather at the edges of his green eyes as it becomes louder and louder until he's sure even the neighbors could hear. At the final fever pitch it deescalates, crashing that of a wave in the ocean, the force rolling underneath the surface. The tiny specs of leftover giggles slowly turn to sobs. For a second he had hoped for death. He. He didn't want to die did he? The empty void of silence within his mind was disturbing. Because for a second he couldn't even think of a reason to live. He tugs at his unkempt oily hair trying to ground himself, afraid he'll float away into the abyss.

There's a gentle knocking on his door, snapping him out of whatever was clinging to him. He's back in his messy room that had seen better days. A thick coat of dust covering everything except for the bed with it's overly tangled sheets. He hadn't even noticed the bed had been moved back to its original position until now. There's another knock at the door, it more insistent than before.

"Harry are you in there?" Dursley's voice muffled by the door asks.

"Y-yeah." He scratches at his throat. He feels like he's swallowed a nest of spiders. When's the last time he's actually drank anything? He tries not to think about it as he spies the half filled water bottle sitting on his nightstand and the barely eaten crisps. He thinks of Ms Figgs and the conversation he'd overheard earlier. How- how is he even alive right now? Humans at most could survive three days maybe four if it was humid without water. How long had he just been sitting here in the darkness?

"Um. Are you okay?"

He wants to snap at him, asking if he thought he was okay, but after everything he feels exhausted again. A weariness that seems almost part of his being weighs him down as he sits beside the door. "Not really." He replies.

"That was kind of a silly question to ask, wasn't it? Do you want me to grab you anything?"

"No."

"I- do you want to talk about it?" There's a shifting of fabric and the door bounces a little bit before settling.

"Talk about what?" He coughs for a second before itching his arm.

"Well…" Dudley starts his voice louder and clearer than before. "What happened with you and mum last week. She's been really worked up since then. And I heard you "

"You heard me?" He tries thinking back but it feels more like a dream than an actual memory.

"I heard you scream. And then mum was shouting your name when you ran past me and she nearly had a panic attack at it."

He shakes his head to answer but realizing that Dudley wouldn't be able to see answers. "No. I don't know why." He grabs his wrist mimicking roughly the same motion she had done. "She did grab me though." Skrit Skrit. "I don't know why but it felt like someone had branded me."

"Oh." His voice uncertain.

"Hey Dudley?" He asks after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you acting so nice right now?" He scratches at his wrist again before itching his neck.

"Well" after a beat, he continues, "Last summer. While it was all dark in that alleyway…" Harry remembered that. It was when the dementors had attacked. "You tried to warn me about whatever was in the darkness and I didn't listen. I just remember feeling really cold and nothing good would happen again. And I saw things… Really bad things… Like the way I was treating you. And the things I had done. I was so scared afterwards. So when dad asked who had done it, I blamed you because you were at the center of it all. It wasn't until much later this past year that I figured out why I was so scared.

"There was a segment our teacher had us watch during study hall about a girl. She… She committed suicide. The investigators were going through all the evidence and how her life had been. And I started noticing things. Things I had done. Things mum and dad had done. Things that were slowly adding up.

"I was just like the people who bullied the girl. Making her life miserable. And I realized I was just like them. I had been doing it to you. I had been doing it to other people. So I stopped being friends with a lot of people. They had laughed and joked about the girl, how stupid the movie was but they didn't see what they were doing wrong. I didn't want to be a bad person. I didn't want to drive people to that type of desperation.

"So when you came home this summer. I was determined to make it better. But. When you came home you were quiet. Something had changed and I started to worry that it was too late. I think mum realized too because she started to hang around you and I was worried so I started to do the same thing. Then that day came when you two fought. I had gone upstairs to use the loo and when I came down to find out what happened, You were running past me with the most horrific expression I've seen you have. And i was afraid something had happened.

"Later that night since you weren't leaving your room and I heard mum and dad having a spat I made you some tea. I thought it might calm you down. But it was still there in the morning along with a plate of untouched food. Mum started to check on you and dad refused to even acknowledge what was going on. It wasn't till yesterday that I noticed those really old sleeping pills were missing when I went looking for burn cream.

"I didn't tell mum or dad because I was scared about what they would do. So when dad left for work and mum went off to a friends house she told me to check on you. So the moment they left I ran into your room expecting to- expecting to see- I don't know what I was expecting to see but when you weren't there I was relieved. And then I started panicking. What if you had just left to… So I went to every place I thought you might of been hiding but still couldn't find you. I hoped you would come back on your own and I must have fallen asleep because I woke up to you laughing. I'm glad your back but…"

"Sorry." Harry says, "I had to go for a walk. This place feels like it's suffocating me."

"Oh." There's a sniffle from the other side of the door. "I can give you the house key then if you want. Dad nearly blew a gasket this morning seeing the door unlocked. I told him it was me late last night throwing out rubbish."

"Yeah. That would be nice actually."

There's a jangle of keys as Harry assumes is Dudley going through his own key ring before there's metal scraping on the wood floor. A bronze key barely peaks from under the door. "Thanks."

"Yeah."

"..."

"Hey Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"If I leave you some tea out here. Will you try to drink a little of it?"

"I can try."

"Thanks."

I'd been three days since that exchange. And good to his word, a cup of tea was always left outside his room. And Harry likewise attempted to at least swallow some if not all. Even if it left an uncomfortable full feeling in him. And thanks to the key, he'd been taking a walk each night.

This particular night was blamy compared to the searing day but Harry didn't really care. Then again he hadn't cared for a lot of things lately. Even with the key to escape his room, the clotting essence of despair hung around him like a sticky piece of gum stuck on his shoe. He at least tried some type of personal care by switching out of the grime infested clothing that swamped his figure. Then again the raggedy black hoodie and equally roughed-up jeans didn't exactly fit him either. He looked closer to swimming in them than actually wearing them. But they were clean and lacked the distinct red stains that covered the other hoodie's sleeves. The hood was up and with his hair now longer he was fairly sure most of the neighbor's wouldn't recognize him.

Then again they might call the cops on him for slinking around.

To be less conspicuous he finds himself walking in the more downtrodden area of Surrey. Nobody is on the streets this early in the morning and he gives his thanks. He's not sure what he would do if anyone tried starting something with him. He left his wand in his room and he's fairly sure he was going to get stabbed if it came down to a knife fight. Contemplating on returning he runs his hand on an older brick building, shuddering in bliss. The Itch had spread again. Not to his whole body but to his palms which had started from just annoyance to irritation.

It's while he's close to being out of the alleyway he's in when he hears it. Stepping away from the wall he pauses straining his ears. It sounds like… he's not quite sure what. Like metal striking concrete? But it sounds wrong, like the cling he imagines is dulled. Striking something heavier? Thicker? There's a Swoosh and he recognizes that. It's like the sound when using the floo network. Which is bizarre considering where would a fireplace be out here? His curiosity wins out as he trots over to the crossroads. Looking both ways only sees empty streets and darkness. Maybe the occasional flickering lamp and crumbling building but not any living being.

Glancing behind yields no results either just an empty alleyway. Hairs rise on the back of his neck and decides that yeah. Maybe cutting the walk a little early tonight would be a good idea. He's barely made more than a few steps in when the tail tale sound of billing smoke and ash comes from behind him. Spinning he only spots the woman with dark hair and cloak a split second too late before she's practically plowing over him.

They both go down like the world's worst trust fall, tumbling over each other in a tangle of limbs. She's the first to orient herself correctly, clambering over him like a rat and for the love of everything that is magical would she stop digging her sharp knees and elbows in him. When she's finally off him, Harry coughs out the dust of the road and blearily tries to look up at her. Sometime between falling, tumbling, or her re-enactment of bad rom com first meetings he's lost his glasses which is just great. Without prompting she's already grabbing his shoulders and bodily lifting him to a stand. Dear Merlin he's not that light is he?

"Ohthankgodyou'rehere.I' ' 'llbemyknightinshiningarmorandi'llgetawayfromthosenastynastyblackenedpeople." Her words are a jumble as she hides behind him directing him with his shoulders towards the crossroads. The pressure from her hands burn.

Like a viper he grabs what must be her cloak and throws her in front of him. She stumbles before whirling around cackling as if they were simply friends messing around. His arms itch. He can't place it but the laugh seems extremely familiar. The palms of his hands feel hot, almost as if they could catch fire at any moment.

"Oh don't' be like that." She laughs still outside of his blurry range of sight. "If we don't work together they'll kill me. You don't want a random stranger to die would you?" Her voice sweet. It sickens him.

"That's not exactly how you ask for help" He rasps out coughing a little at the tumble in dust. His throat feels thick yet raw at the same time. Her voice, has he heard it before? "Weren't you just scared out of your mind a minute ago?"

"Details Details. With a muggle here they won't do anything!" She crows. Something about the way she says muggle. Almost with a gross destain. He's sure he's heard her voice before. But it eludes him from where.

"Oh you should be so lucky!' She grabs his boulders again bringing him close to her "You get to protect someone as important as me." At this range even squinting he can see her curly brown hair wild and singed, slicked to her forehead and thrown back in a tangled mess. Her brown almost black eyes that glittered with unsheathed madness. Her sharp checks, pointed chin, small nose and pouted lips. There's a molten fury buried underneath his skin.

"Lucky huh?"

"Now you're getting it." She smirks.

A grin cracks across his face and she returns it. Little throaty snickers dripple between his teeth. She responds with her own tingly ones. The dam breaks as his laughter lets loose , escaping as if running from the devil himself. For a second she joins, her laughter high and ringing until sputtering as the collar of her cloak tightens across her throat.

"Luck? Is that what you call this Bellatrix Lestrange?" They're nearly nose to nose as he drags them face to face. He can feel her picked up breathing across his face. His jaw almost feels sheared in half with how wide his smile is yet it feels almost right. A small part of him feels disgusted but another part, much larger, is drowning in sheer ecstasy at the confusion, panic and fear in her face.

"Oh what don't recognize me?" He asks tilting his head and hooding his eyes even more. At her weak shake a giggle crawls out of his throat. "Let me give you a clue then." Her throat babbles underneath his knuckles. In the highest sing-songy voice he can manage, he mimics the sentence that's haunted him for weeks.

"I killed Sirius Black. I killed Sirius Black. I killed Sirius Black."

It's silent for a second, as if the idea has to sink in before her eyes blow wide. ""W-what?" Panic and confusion take center stage as her tiny eyes stare into avada kedavra green eyes. "Harry Potter doesn't look like you." She pulls at her collar, pushes at his arms, his hand, his body. Anything to get away. He doesn't move.

"What don't recognize your handy work?" His head tilting cutely. "You made me like this. You should be proud." A bark of laughter has him clenching his teeth down in another smile it smaller than the one earlier. She's scrambling like an animal caught in a cage. She digs her nails into his abused wrists and arms, scratching and borrowing like a rat caught between a hot cage and a warm body underneath. The panic the fear. It feeds the angry black thing inside him, the vindictive pleasure, the power. He likes it. He likes it a lot.

"Didn't you mock me about coming to get you? Ironic that you came to me instead." He itches somewhere behind his ear, as her struggling pausing for a moment before returning with vigar. She's given up attacking his abused arm but attempting to pull, twist, anything to escape her cloak.

"L-let me go." She wheezes as she tangles herself more into the fabric.

"Now why would I do that?" He hisses. How had his hand not caught on fire yet? A prickling sensation eats at his palm, it feels like the heat is bending and giving way. The thick fabric of the cloak feels thinner somehow. "You came to me for help. You're important right?" He mocks.

She pulls, twisting herself while attempting to claw at him again. "Let go. Let go. Let go." He thinks he sees tears. "They're going to kill me if you don't first."

"If you don't stop moving you're going to hang your own self." He grits raising his other hand to grab her hair. She whimpers.

"Oi" a deep voice calls out. His hand stops quickly, dropping to his side as a blurry object comes out of the darkness. "The boss wants a chat with her." The figure lights up in shades of blue for a second before dipping back into an outline. A soft glow of orange lingers nearby, the distinct smell of tobacco wafts in the air.

"Hehehehe. The pretty lady's found a friend. Wonder if their blood will taste as good?" Another figure giggles coming out of the darkness into a dim streetlight.

"Boss said wizards only kitten." A cool feminae voice says from another direction, their form heavily deformed.

"So this was who you were running from?" Harry asks squinting his eyes at the new people occupying the alleyway. Only one is somewhat visible, with blonde hair and a dark colored dress. Bellatrix only whimpers in answer. Instead of escaping she's attempted to curl herself to him. Letting her go only confirms she isn't running but hiding behind him like a human meat shield or a terrified child. Both ideas make the angry black thing inside him quiver; from glee or loathing he isn't sure.

"So kid." A soft inhale and a puff of smoke snakes around in the air. "She with you?"

"N-"

"Yes!" Bellatrix shouts cutting Harry off. She's gripping his shoulders as hard as possible. Her head near the crook of his neck and shoulder. "He's entirely a muggle and part of the death eaters." She nods at her lies as if her word was the only thing needed to confirm such facts.

"The fuck?!"

Before he knows what's happened she's in front of him again, his hands wrapped firmly around her throat. "As if I would be death eater you slimy miserable little bitch." He hisses.

Fweeeet.

"And I thought we were kinky!" The bubbling laugh of the girl is back.

"With friends like that why need us?" The other girl coos.

"As much as I would love to watch you choke out Mrs Lestrange here," the man's voice filled with barely concealed sarcasm, "We need her in mostly one piece."

"Mostly in one piece?" Harry repeats under his breath suddenly letting go as if burnt. Cold dread overcomes him, not because of what's about to happen to Bellatrix but what he had nearly done. He'd been so angry. Even angrier than the day Sirius had died. He- he promised himself he would never stoop as low as Voldemort. But he was just choking out one of his followers.

He steps back startled and staring as Bellatrix kneeling on the ground coughs attempting to catch her breath. Feeling dirty he wipes his hands on his pants but the clotting un-rightness lingers even if for a horrifying second it felt right. Taking another step back feels correct and for once in his life instead of facing the truth or tackling a problem head on, he turns and runs.

Barely a mew of panic comes out as Bellatrix tries to stand and follow but a knife has already found it's home hovering right at the hollow of her neck. Another voice tisks.

"Not much of a white knight were they? they ask gripping the distressed witch's arm in a cold grab.

"He he! They left a pretty good mark too!" The knife lightly pokes at the abused skin, leaving little dribbles when poked too hard. "Wonder what his quirk is? Looks like fun to play with!" she exclaims as the knife catches a piece of loose skin. Bellatrix whimpers as that knife pulls at it.

"That's enough. Hand job is going to blow a gasket if she's too messed up." The man says peering down at the cowering Bellatrix. His sacred mouth quirks up. The staples outlining his burns gleaming as much as his teeth. "So Mrs. Lestrange. Care to go on a stroll with us?"

The girl with the knife giggles while the other in a large baggy brown coat just scuffs at the antics. "劇的な雌" She mutters under her breath.

"You act as if you aren't one as well." He smirks at her frown. A glint catches the man's eye and he strolls over snatching a pair of glasses off the ground. He rocks them between his fingers as he leisurely stalks forward. "Maybe you can tell us more about your 'friend' eh?"

At the sight of them, Bellatrix's eyes water as the two girls beside her snicker.

TRANSLATIONS:

1. don't-be-so-mean-dabi—they-just-want-to-look

2. yeah-well-they-can-look-elswhere-

3. why-so-shy-dabi?-

4. shut-it-brat-

5. if-you-don't-sit-down-I'm-going-to-burn-you-alive

6. screwyou

7. you-okay-dabi?

8. This-bus-could-give-iguchi-a-run-for-his-money.

9. let's-not-say-we-did

10. Dramatic bitch