"Symbiosis" (2/?)
By MmeFleiss
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN: Sorry for the delay, but I got distracted by a PWP and a number of drabbles while I was supposed to be working on this. Yes, my attention span really is that awful. <.< Special thanks to Jenn who beta'd this in between bouts of morning sickness.
*~*~*~*~*
If anyone had asked Harry during the weeks following the final battle what kind of future he saw before him, it would've been easily apparent how much he'd anticipated the normal life just waiting for him to pick back up after the War. From what he could gather from the disjointed remains of the fevered dreams he had at the time, this desire usually manifested itself with a vision of a cottage in a remote village somewhere, complete with a white picket fence and fields of wildflowers as far as the eye could see. The only proof of its owners' existence was a dilapidated postbox nearly overrun by thick brambles, the faded H. Potter as unremarkable as the man who bore its name.
More often than not, Ron and Hermione would be there visiting so that their children could play with their cousins. Despite the various adventures the youngsters became involved with, they always remained perfect in a way only dream children were allowed to be: their white cotton shirts unblemished and their silk ribbons remaining tied into flawless bows. Nobody ever cried in those dreams; only childish giggles blending with the lower tones of their parents' laughter in the drowsy June air.
However, reality turned out to not be so accommodating. If it had been, he wouldn't be living in the middle of the Sahara now with only the ever-changing roster of trainees and his fellow instructors to keep him company.
Sometimes, Harry still had trouble believing he'd been gone for so long. The six years away had wrought so many changes, not the least of which was the unmistakably adult features that stared back at him in the mirror every day. Long gone were the knobby knees and the famous scar that had so defined the Boy Who Lived, replaced by a healthy-looking man filled out from his years of Auror training and an uninterrupted succession of decent meals. The scar had thankfully disappeared along with Voldemort during the final battle, a fact which left the current Harry Potter so ordinary looking as to be mistaken for any other wizard.
In fact, outside of the other trainers and the handful of rookies he'd gotten to know well in both Hogwarts and during the War, no one else had been able to make a connection to his actual identity. It was funny how a few superficial alterations in one's appearance coupled with the expectation that Auror training and then the teaching of it was somehow beneath the man who defeated Voldemort could change things. Harry, who had been yoked to people's preconceived perceptions of him for as long as he could remember, still had to occasionally pinch his arm in disbelief for getting the chance to be treated just like any other bloke.
But of course, human nature being the perverse thing that it is, Harry often found himself beset with homesickness despite the endless possibilities his newfound freedom presented him with. It was usually at its worst on days when he couldn't rely on exhaustion to lull him to sleep. His activities would range from something as active as him having a drink with some of his co-workers to something mindless like him staring at the moonlight filtering through the gossamer curtains whilst he lay in bed: but he always found himself paralyzed by an almost painful longing over things as stupid as the memory of treacle pudding against his tongue or the ever-present sound of raindrops spattering on the windowpane.
However, Harry had been away playing hero for so long that he feared he was simply setting himself up for a big disappointment. It seemed as if every owl he'd received over the years were always mentioning a new feature or two in the name of progress. Just last year, Mr. Weasley sent him a two-feet-long parchment over the magical world's recent adaptation of eklectricity. Harry was truly happy to hear how much the rebuilding was helping so many move on from the War, but he couldn't help but wonder if he could continue to call home a place he hardly recognized.
"Saba'a AlKair, lieutenant," a young voice belonging to a boy no older than twelve called out from somewhere in his general vicinity, breaking his melancholy reverie.
"Good morning, Muhammad," Harry greeted in turn as he stopped and turned to catch a glimpse of the diminutive imp, paying no heed to the grumblings of the turbaned men behind him. He soon found his friend by a fruit stand no more than five feet to his left. No doubt the mischievous boy had managed to charm yet another vendor, judging by how the old crone didn't even pause in her haggling with the tourist in the starched khakis while Muhammad filched one of the browning bananas in front of her and swallowed it in two bites.
Shaking his head, Harry made his way towards the sun-bronzed youth and wordlessly bought him a fresher bunch before heading onto one of the less crowded alleys specializing in incense. He dispatched the approaching vendors hawking their wares with practiced ease, only pausing to modify his stride so that the shorter boy could keep up. "When's the last time you ate anything?"
"Yesterday, I think," the young boy managed to utter in between mouthfuls, wiping the sticky juice from his fingers to his stained shirt that had probably at one point been white. "Definitely on that day when those tourists stopped by the village. I found half a hamburger from the city when I went through their garbage. It was delicious; I do not know why they threw it away."
Harry glared at the shimmering horizon, his forehead creased in effort as he tried not to overreact. He learned long ago that such tactics only led to wounded pride followed by a couple of days of avoidance. "You could have come to me," he said in a voice free of inflection. "You know we always have some food to spare at the training camp."
"Am I so pathetic?" Muhammad asked instead, smiling just a little too brightly as he gave a little hop, leaving a small cloud of sand in his wake.
"You know that's not what I…"
"I wake up every day and think about how lucky I am," the younger boy continued, giving a passing beggar the rest of his food to make his point. "I don't need your pity."
Harry saw the familiar, firm set of his jaw and sighed. He'd been hoping to ease in his news during a more upbeat moment. "I'm leaving tomorrow."
"Then when you get back and see me still healthy, I will have proven to you that…"
"For good, Muhammad. I got my transfer orders last night."
The younger boy bowed his head, bony shoulders shaking while Harry stopped and pretended to take interest at a stall selling hand-carved lanterns.
The grand speech that had seemed so perfect the night before stuck painfully in his throat. He wished he had a Time-Turner so he could redo this conversation again; make it so that it wouldn't be impossible for Muhammad to agree to come back to England with him without relinquishing his dignity.
"I-I'll make sure to come visit."
"No, you won't. You'll step back into your life and forget me just like everyone else."
Seeing Muhammad try to act blasé about the whole situation--even as he continued to keep his amber eyes averted and hidden from view with his too-long dark fringe--was like seeing his fifteen-year-old self through a Pensieve, filled with the knowledge that in the end he had nobody else to rely on but himself.
Except in Harry's case he had Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys to reassure him that he wasn't alone. Muhammad only had experience reinforcing his fears to refer to. It was high time he was proven otherwise.
"Well then I guess it's a good thing I'm not everyone else," Harry said as he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and forced the corners of his lips to quirk upwards.
End (2/?)
*~*~*~*~*
AN: Any guesses where this is going? ^^