12

Chapter 11

Alex threw himself into his chair opposite Sergei with a groan. It was nearing two in the morning, and he was exhausted. Harry was halfway through the second potion now, and the shrieks of pain had been enough to turn even his stomach.

He'd been working hard to get everything done for his tiny boss, but when fatigue had led him to miss some mistakes in one of his report, he'd decided that he and Sergei were well and truly due for some downtime. Harry was such a driven little thing that he often forgot that other people needed time off occasionally. Alex didn't mind - usually - but he could feel himself wearing a little thin.

Their shared room had been expanded with wizard space, and turned into a rather nice suite. They each had their own bedroom off the small sitting room, and they'd decorated it to be as comfortable as possible. It had a decent sized fireplace (that Sergei had inexplicably rigged with a roasting spit), and the Russian had installed a huge squashy brown monstrosity that masqueraded as a chair, while Alex had elected for something slightly more refined, choosing instead a wingback armchair with matching ottoman in a pleasant cream. A large wooden coffee table rested next to the chairs, home to any range of books and papers and alcoholic leftovers, peppered liberally with weapons and their maintenance tools. The rest of the room was done in neutral colours that faded from memory as easily as the men who lived there.

"Why do I always have to arrange everything?" Alex moaned. "You're just as efficient, and probably have better connections than me anyway." He huffed, resting his head back and closing his eyes.

Sergei laughed, and handed his exhausted friend a shot glass of Vodka. He'd clearly been indulging even before Alex had arrived.

"It's because you've got this whole," he paused, waving a hand in a way that was clearly meant to encompass Alex's everything, "toff butler thing going on." He tossed back his shot and poured another. "It's why he hired you. You're dangerous, but you don't look it. Now me, I'm just the scary guy who lurks in the corner and removes vital organs when the boss needs entertainment."

Alex quirked an eyebrow. "Are you saying that he does it because I look more efficient?"

The mildly inebriated Russian smiled, toasting his companion. "Yep, so suck it up Butler Boy!"

Alex sighed, swallowing his drink and holding his glass out for another. "Yob tvoyu mat."

Sergei laughed, relaxing. "Don't be so sour. At least you aren't bored anymore. Before this job came along, I know you were just as itchy as I was. It'd been months since I'd killed someone, and I know it'd been even longer for you." He tossed back another drink.

"True. Though really, I think we need some more help. Captain Andrews has been useful, but I think we need someone as permanent as we are. Will you keep an ear out for someone you think could work?"

"Of course. But this is our night off, Pizdayob. Captain is watching the Boss, and we have sobering potions if there is an emergency. So shut up and drink your Vodka like a good little suka. Za vas!"

Alex smiled wryly and forced himself to focus on the most critical of tasks; getting as wasted as possible with the man he considered closer than a brother.

Pain.

It defined his whole world; arcing lights of agony and swirls of impotent misery as his screams tore free from his ravaged throat. Bones stretched and cracked and reformed and broke all over again, ligaments screaming as they were twisted and pulled beyond endurance. His muscles burned as they dissolved and regrew, baby weak and barely adequate. He could feel his skin soughing off, long strips that left bloody lines on the linens, whisked away by his conscientious Healer. It was endless, eternal, a never ending cycle of burning and rebirth like the phoenix of legend. Harry revelled in the pain as much as he despised it, clinging to its familiarity to remind himself that he still lived.

A thick liquid, soothing the burning as it slid down his tortured throat; a cool relief that spread through his aching body and brushed the last wisps of flame away from his quivering nerves. He sighed in relief, and allowed his mind to settle into the blank slumber that beckoned with all the seduction of oblivion.

It was the ache in his throat that pulled Harry from his drugged sleep. It burned, each breath feeling like sandpaper on a sunburned nipple.

His hand twitched, and his lips pulled down into a frown as he tried in vain to open his eyes.

A cool hand grasped his, and he whimpered slightly, trying to communicate his discomfort. A faint rustle and then a straw was pressed between his lips, and - oh blessed relief - water flooded his mouth and down his throat as he sucked furiously.

His companion chuckled. "Easy now, not too much."

The straw was taken away, and Harry whined in protest. He felt a cool palm against his forehead, brushing the ticking hair out of his face. He noticed the callouses, they rubbed unpleasantly on his hyper sensitive skin, but the touch comforted him in a way he'd never experienced before, and he was too tired to fight it either way.

He drifted back to sleep, lulled by the rich baritone softly humming a lullaby.

When next he woke, it was to a hushed argument at the foot of his massive bed.

"No, I don't care. He deserves better than to go through this without his new father here! What kind of man leaves his child to go through something so terrible and doesn't even stay with him? It's not right!"

"Tammy, he's not our child, and it's not our decision. Be grateful that you could be here, and that Mr Smith clearly understands how important Harry is to us. Remember, he said that Harry had asked for us. That means something, especially from a kid like him."

Harry lay still, trying to work out who was talking. Mama Andrews was obvious, but the other didn't sound like Greg, or any of the other adults that Harry had green lighted to be present.

A heavy sigh and a sound of an embrace. "You're right. It's just, look at him! He's so small, and so alone. All the luxury in the world can't compare to a loving parent who's there."

"I know, love. Why don't you sit with him for a while? Marcel said he should wake up properly soon."

"Yeah, I think I will. You're due for a break about now anyway."

More rustling and a body sitting next to the bed.

"Nathan? Thanks. I love you."

"I love you too. I'll bring you up a sandwich when I come back."

Harry sank back into sleep, satisfied now that the mystery had been solved. It was nice to be reminded that he couldn't predict everything; omniscience would be boring.

Harry sighed, squirming slightly as he unwillingly rose back to full consciousness.

His nose was itchy.

With effort, he wiggled a hand free and brought it to his face, rubbing it and managing to poke himself in the eye in the process. He frowned. His fingers didn't feel right.

Cracking open the eye that wasn't watering profusely, Harry glared blearily at his digits. They were definitely longer.

"I guess that's what the physical therapy is going to be for," he rasped softly. New body indeed.

"Yes. Your new dimensions will take some getting used to." Marcel spoke next to him, the clink of vials coming from the bedside table. "Open your mouth. I've got some stuff that'll make you feel really good."

"You sound like a dealer," Harry croaked with a faint smile, opening his mouth as directed.

"Too much time around degenerate crime lords. It's all your fault." He grinned back.

Harry obediently swallowed the six or so potions Marcel poured down his throat. Painkillers and Strengthening potions, Stomach Soothers, and a few he couldn't identify by taste or smell. He made a note to find out what they were later, when he could be bothered to care. He smiled as the ache from being flat on his back for two and a half weeks receded, and he felt a burst of strength forcing its way through his limbs. He dragged himself up into a sitting position, and looked at the blob that was all he could see of his Healer.

"So, how did it go?"

Marcel sat on the chair next to the bed, and made a note on the chart in his hand. "It went well. You are now on the taller side of average for your age group, and the damage from your abuse has been completely reversed. The scars are all gone, except for one. The lightning bolt on your forehead resisted any changes, in fact, it reacted violently and we nearly lost you a couple of times. It also bled nonstop, I have no idea why. I took some thorough scans of it during your treatment, and I'll be going over the results to try to find out why it did what it did. Even a curse scar shouldn't have reacted like that. Of course, nobody has had a scar from that curse before, but even so, I'd like to investigate it."

Harry nodded. "Thank you. So what now?"

"Well, your physiotherapy will start tomorrow morning. I thought you might like to spend this afternoon getting caught up on what you missed. I think Alex and Sergei have some long and boring reports to give you, and I know Connor is dying to give you the picture he made. He's been babbling about it all week. The entire Andrews family is here, and I'm sure they'll be thrilled you're awake now, and they can finally stop pestering me for updates. You've barely been left alone since they got here, you've always had at least one of them sitting with you. I told them it was an assassination attempt - poison - and that's why you were screaming for a week straight and we had to silence you. Nasty business, treating unknown poisons. Unpredictable results. Could be anything from accelerated growth to hairy eyeballs, especially when combined with the potions you were on already. Any questions?"

"I can't see well. My vision is a little better than it was, but I can still barely see you."

Marcel frowned and waved his wand near Harry's face. "It's hereditary, but correctable if I give you a potion in the next twenty four hours." He winced. "It will basically burn your eyeballs out and regrow them. I'm sorry."

Harry shrugged, resigned. "How long will that take?"

"An hour? Two at most. Luckily I can give you a mild painkiller that will take the edge off the experience, but it still won't be pleasant."

"Sounds like fun. Let's do it!" Harry gave a fake beaming grin.

Marcel grinned back faintly. "You worry me a little, you know that, don't you?"

"Meh. You're my Healer. If I wasn't making you worry, I wouldn't be doing my job right."

"I'm not entirely certain I like your logic."

"And I'm not entirely certain I care. Can I have some water now?" Harry blinked up at him innocently.

"Just for that, no. Die of thirst while I go tell your scary bodyguards that you're awake and demanding their paperwork." The Healer stomped out of the room in a mock huff, grinning to himself as Harry's giggles followed him into the hallway.

"Harry!" Connor leapt onto the bed, wrapping his arms around his guardian's neck and hugging tightly. "I made you a picture! Look!" He thrust a slightly crumpled piece of paper into Harry's face, bouncing with excitement.

Harry chuckled and took the picture, gently nudging the boy off his bladder. He squinted slightly, his glasses now the incorrect prescription. There were blobs that looked vaguely like trees, and another blob the same height with a black squiggle on the top and round bits on the massive circle under the squiggles. And a smaller shape that had brown and red… corkscrews, maybe?

"It's lovely, Connor! Thank you. I'm afraid my eyes aren't working very well right now, Marcel still has to fix them, so why don't you tell me about the picture? I can see a bit, but I'm sure I'm missing loads of details."

Connor beamed, and settled himself next to Harry, tucking himself under his idols arm. He pointed. "This is you, and this is me, and we're at the park. Look, here is the sun, and the swings, and the slippery slide, and a tree! And you're holding my hand! I drew it for you, because I thought that when you're better, we could go to the park, and this is to remind you, so you don't forget what outside looks like." He grinned, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Mum says - said - that fresh air was good for you when you've been sick, so I thought if we went to the park, you'd get better sooner. Can we go to the park, Harry? Just for a bit?"

Harry chuckled, genuinely entertained. "Sure, when I'm a bit better. I'm still very weak, but Marcel gave me a potion so I'd be well enough to talk to you for a little bit. Have you been working hard on your lessons?"

Connor sat up, bouncing on the bed again as his enthusiasm reasserted itself. "Yes! Mama Andrews has been teaching me and Daniel, though Daniel's lessons are way harder. She tells lots of stories about the magical world, and the really important people who used to be alive and what they used to do. There were battles and heroes and goblins and unicorns and dragons - did you know dragons are real? - and she told me about you too! Did you know you're in a book?"

He finally paused to take a breath, and Harry felt a stab of gratefulness when Alex stepped in through the door, just in time to head off another trip down Incoherency Avenue.

"Connor, Mama Andrews has a snack for you before your afternoon lessons. You don't want to be late, or Daniel and Greg will eat it all again."

The five year old yelped and flung himself off the bed, taking off through the door at a dead sprint. Harry watched him go with a chuckle.

"Sir, how are you feeling?" Alex sat in the chair, placing the folder full of reports on the bed next to Harry's leg.

"High as a kite, thanks to Marcel. He doped me up before he left. Not entirely sure what he gave me, but whatever it is, it's good stuff. Now, what's been going on? The brief version, I'll read the reports after Marcel melts my eyeballs."

Alex gave him a strange look, but didn't comment. "The orders were made and distributed with no problem since Tommy's Boys came through for us, and you made a rather tidy profit as usual. It's been laundered and banked. March was dealt with, and paid thoroughly for what he did. His body was found a week later, and the message has gone out that Vahan has a particular interest in anyone who pimps kids. Amusingly, several people on our watch list turned themselves into the cops and are providing information on anything and everything in exchange for protection from you, just in case."

Harry snorted in amusement, but gestured for Alex to continue.

"You and Daniel are both withdrawn from Surrey Primary and registered as being home schooled, and Mama Andrews and I will both be teaching you. Your extra lessons will be scheduled around what we've set as designated school hours. Mr South has been put off and seemed understanding, though I'd buy him something very nice when you do see him, just to be on the safe side. What else…" He paused, pursing his lips slightly. "Peterson has been arrested, his trial is next month and he's been refused bail. Connor has been doing very well in his lessons; I'm honestly impressed with how hard he has been working. I doubt he'll ever be the same level as you, for obvious reasons, but with training, he'll probably rival Daniel one day. Anything else you wanted to know right now?"

Nodding, Harry reached for the cup of water on his bedside table, smiling gratefully when Alex picked it up for him and held the straw to his mouth. He sucked eagerly, enjoying the cool liquid sliding down his parched throat. Pulling back, he licked his lips. "The Nestlings? The Andrews? Anything major you had to deal with? House Elves?"

"Marcel will give you a full report on the Nestlings, but as far as I'm aware they're doing well. I've taken the liberty of having Sergei and Captain Andrews tracking down as many of their families as we could find, and doing a complete profile of all of them. I think most of them will be able to return to their families, but there are two that I'd be reluctant to send back, and one has nowhere to go. Marcel has their family profiles with each folio, so you should discuss it with him.

"The Andrews all turned up. I know you weren't planning on Captain Andrews joining our merry band of miscreants, but he arrived with them, and proceeded to make himself useful. I know you were worried about Daniel figuring out what we do, but it was actually the good Captain who did. It only took him four days, as well. Much to my surprise, he confessed to having decided on leaving the military, and enquired if we had any work available. He says he's happy to do whatever is needed, but for the sake of not lying to Tammy, he thought he could perhaps do something with the kids we take in. I have to admit, I think he'd be an excellent addition to your crew. He could handle the less than savoury things if we need him, but he has a way with children that I think we would be foolish to not utilize.

"There were no major upsets, and the most dramatic thing Sergei and I had to deal with was a hangover. Honestly, never drink with that man; I swear he can't tell the difference between Vodka and water." He shook his head in fond exasperation.

"As to House Elves, you'll be pleased to hear that I managed to purchase five; they'll be ready for collection tomorrow morning. I'll bring them straight here and you can bond them, and we can assign them afterwards. I thought two here, two at The Haunt, and one as a personal servant for you?" He looked at his diminutive employer questioningly.

"Sounds good. The reports have all the details?"

Alex nodded and stood. "Yes. I'll keep the Andrews away until tomorrow, since I'm sure you want to sleep, and I'm not even going to ask about the eyeball melting thing. I'm not sure I want to know."

Harry grinned, stifling a yawn. "Fixing my eyesight. There'll be literal eyeball melting."

Alex cringed. "It's a good idea. Do you intend to keep your glasses as a blind, if you'll pardon the pun?"

The nine year old smirked. "Of course."

Laughing, Alex made his way over to the door. "Excellent. I win that bet! Sergei will be pissed!"

Harry rested his head back with a sigh, waiting for his healer to return. He was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. He cracked an eyelid open, peering at the folder on the bed next to him. He contemplated trying to read his reports, but the blurriness of his vision quickly dissuaded him.

With a grunt of annoyance, he put the folder on the bedside table, and threw his blankets back. Despite the Strengthening Potion Marcel had given him he still felt as weak as a kitten, but he refused to use a bedpan, or whatever the magical equivalent might be. He tried very hard not to think about what kinds of messes he might have made during his treatment.

Trembling, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and sat, panting slightly.

It was an odd sensation, he decided, knowing how to move but lacking the coordination or strength to do much. His body felt wrong, all out of proportion, and he felt off balance. He didn't like it.

Tottering, he forced his protesting body across the room, aiming for the bathroom. His lip curled in distaste when he pictured what he must look like.

Zombie, his brain not so helpfully supplied. You look like a zombie toddler.

He could feel his cheeks burning in shame and frustration, but pushed it aside, forcing his body to cooperate through sheer bloody mindedness.

His balance tilted too far forward, and he cursed as he felt himself falling. He managed to get his arms up in time to not smash his face on the carpet, but the impact was still jarring, and he swallowed blood from his bitten tongue.

Grunting, he pushed himself onto all fours, then used the convenient back of the settee to pull himself back upright. He panted with exertion, and little black spots danced in front of his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and calmed his breathing, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

The remaining fifteen feet to the bathroom door could have been a thousand miles as far as Harry was concerned. He left his hand on the back of the couch as he swayed on his feet, using it to anchor himself as he tried to get himself back together. His eyes drifted closed, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm his frustration.

Sometimes, when you're hurt or scared, giving up seems like the best option, but it isn't, kid. Not ever.

Harry started as Dave's voice rang through his mind.

If you want something, you've gotta be willing to move heaven and earth and everything in between to get it, no matter how impossible it seems at times. Nobody is going to hand things to you, and even if they did, it would be worthless. The only worthwhile things are the ones you have to fight for; the harder, the better. I know you're hurt, I know you're tired, and cold, and so damn scared you can barely think, but that's ok. Focus on the goal. That's the only thing that matters. Just keep going.

His mind drifted as he remembered that conversation. Mike had sent Harry into a building to steal something, a file of some sort. Harry had been caught by the occupants - a rival gang - and thrashed nearly unconscious. They'd tracked down Mike and tossed Harry's battered form at his feet, taunting the older boy for his failure. Mike had yelled at Harry once they were back at their warehouse squat, berating the injured boy for failing his task. Eventually Dave had stepped in, taking Harry aside and cleaning him up as best he could.

He'd whispered to him as he gently wiped the dried blood away, engaging the boy to bring him out of the numb shell he was sinking into as shock from the beating and depression over his failure set in.

Harry had listened, and Harry had learned.

That night after earning his keep as usual, Harry slipped away, making his way across the city; back to the target's house. He watched, absorbing every detail he could. Mike had given him information on the place and people, but it hadn't been enough. He would never rely on another's information before a job again, he swore to himself. They didn't see enough, didn't see the patterns he did.

And so he waited, watching. Hours passed, and his muscles screamed at his perfectly still position, cramping in protest and cold. But still he waited. The whole day passed and sank back into night.

It had just started to snow when he made his move. His body was wracked with shivers, but forced them away, single minded focus making his bodily needs unimportant for the moment.

He slipped in through the window, lithe as a cat and twice as silent. Ghosting through the house, he stepped over the squeaking floorboards, and made his way into the study.

He looked at the safe. Mike had said the file was in there, and that was how he'd been caught. He sneered, and turned away, crossing swiftly to the painting of a ship at sea on the wall behind the desk. He pressed the secret button on the underside of the tacky gold frame, and smiled to himself when the painting popped away from the wall, swinging open on a well-oiled hinge and revealing the real safe behind it.

He closed his eyes, drawing his memories from that afternoon to the front of his mind. He pictured the target's hand as it moved over the keypad, translating the pattern into numbers.

532781

He quickly typed it in, grinning broadly as the door fell open. He reached in, pulling free the file. He rolled it and quickly stuffed it into the small of his back, held in place by his waistband. He eyed the rest of the contents thoughtfully, and decided it would be worth it. Grabbing a convenient backpack, he quickly stuffed all the money, other files, and the brick of cocaine in the bag, then slung it over his bruised and aching shoulders. He drifted through the house, emptying a few other caches, then flitted out the front door.

He set off back across the city with a bounce in his step, proud of himself. Shoplifting was easy, but this, this gave him a rush! That he'd just successfully robbed a place filled with at least ten heavily armed men that would probably kill him on sight - alone! - left him nearly giddy with satisfaction.

He stopped briefly to put a couple of wads of cash away in one of his personal hidden stashes. Dave had suggested that when he could, he should build up his own emergency supplies. So far Harry had close to ten thousand pounds, assorted weapons, a med kit, and a couple of changes of clothes put aside in various holes throughout the city.

He was halfway back to Mike when the exhaustion and cold finally began to take their toll on the boy's fragile body. He was stumbling, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. His lungs burned with the cold, and his vision was swimming.

Just keep going.

So Harry did.

He was half dead when he staggered to a stop in front of his boss, but the look on Mikes face when the kid he'd been sure had run off returned and presented him with the pilfered goods had been extremely satisfying to the small boy. Dave had hustled the shivering and blue lipped child away, tucking him into his usual corner and bundling him up, a warm drink shoved into his hand, a joint and burger quickly following. The Armenian fussed over his protégé until the boy finally fell asleep, warm, relaxed and a little bit smug.

Harry blinked, pulling himself back to the present. Just keep going. He could do that. He forced his feet forward, one step at a time. Wobbling, he let go of the furniture, drawing himself up as best he could. One foot in front of the other, each more difficult than the last. He focused on the movement, excluding everything else around him.

Just keep going.

The cold tiles under his bare feet startled him, drawing him out of his blind determination. He grinned to himself as he used the facilities and washed his hands, taking his time. He couldn't see himself clearly in the mirror, but wasn't particularly concerned with examining the changes just yet.

Shuffling slowly back to bed, he resettled the blankets over himself just as Marcel returned, bearing a goblet that smoked and smelled of sandalwood and swamp arse.

"Alright, this is the potion for your eyes," he stated, moving the file into the top draw so he could put the goblet down. He fussed, putting out some bandages and swabbing next to it. "We'll get your eyes fixed up now, then you should go to sleep. Physio will start in the morning after your usual morning reports and a visit from the Andrews. All going to plan, you should be walking again in about two weeks, then it will be business as usual for the most part, just with extra muscle building exercises and larger meals."

"I've already done that." Harry stated calmly, holding out an imperious hand for the goblet.

"Done what?" Marcel questioned, ignoring the hand and placing the swabbing against Harry's eyes, winding the bandage around his head to keep them in place.

"Walking. I went to the bathroom a few minutes ago."

Harry had to admit, the choking noise his Healer made was extremely satisfying.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the screen, critically examining the one recent photograph of the boy that didn't inexplicably blur his features. Messy black hair and startling green eyes peered out of a narrow and slightly emaciated face, marked with a distinctive lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

Yes, he would do nicely.