Chapter Text
Day One
A screaming rush of noise flooded his senses, consciousness slamming into him with a sickening lurch. Harry forced his eyes open, a heavy pounding in his ears, the taste of iron on his teeth from where he bit his tongue, and took a moment to breathe.
Clear blue sky lay above him through lopsided glasses, and he blinked slowly as he struggled to regain his equilibrium.
The blue sky was still there.
His fingers were coated in sand, warmed by the sun, and his fingers closed around the gritty material as he forced himself to blink again, releasing a measured breath through clenched teeth on the count of 1. . . 2. . . 3. . . He was no longer seated, but sprawled out on his back, and there was an uncomfortable weight pressed against his lower limbs that kept him pinned for the moment. His head throbbed, a heavy pulsing kind of pain that did not speak of good things. And. . . the blue sky was definitely still there.
Considering his last memory was of sitting in a window seat on a muggle aeroplane, his day was looking progressively worse.
His hearing tuned in and out like a radio scanner searching for a good frequency. The warbled tones he woke up to finally tightened into something distinguishable between his heavy thudding heart beats. Screeching metal, stuttering and popping engines, and a chorus of screams and shouts surrounded him.
“Help! Someone please help me!”
Clenching his jaw he forced his body to lurch forward, and willed his wand to hand from a non combative holster attached to his ankle. Sharp pain shot through his skull at the sudden movement, a white burst of static cutting across his vision at the same time nausea rose up to strike viciously at his stomach and the back of his throat.
It took him more than a few seconds to notice his hand remained empty. The reason why was easy enough to spot once he blinked the spots out of his eyes and Harry groaned at his luck.
The weight and pain on his legs that he’d thought came from being thrown out of a bloody plane at Merlin knows what speed and height was more accurately caused by a heaping twist of metal debris resting on top of him, pinning his two legs together in the sand, along with his wand.
It was a shattered piece of the plane's frame, with the silver lining that it was the smooth outside pressed against his legs instead of the jagged, warped metal ribs and collapsed, ripped five foot I-beam spar above.
He pushed against the wreckage with little result. The structure hardly moved.
“Please! Someone help me!"
Momentarily abandoning his struggle, sweat picking up at the back of his neck and his head absolutely pounding with every thud his heart took, Harry took a moment to scan the area around him and breathe through clenched teeth.
He was on a beach, further up near the tree line than most of the wreckage. Pieces of the plane he’d been flying in ten minutes ago were littered across his line of vision.
Panicked people were strewn about the sand haphazardly, some collapsed in very, very still forms and others in varying states of shock.
His eyes flit across each one of them briefly, searching for possible signs of immediate trouble and the cry his ears had locked in on to.
A man was screaming, pinned down underneath a larger piece of the plane, with three others already surrounding him to help. A man in a dark suit directed the rest to lift the debris while he pulled the man out.
Further along, a young man was shakily attempting to resuscitate an unmoving woman. A blond woman screamed hysterically, sitting underneath a wing of the plane. A man in a Hawaiian shirt wandered around clutching his head. A dark haired man called out frantically, in Korean if Harry wasn’t mistaken. Another shouted “Walt!” repeatedly, both obviously searching for the loved ones they’d been sitting next to just moments before.
Finally, his spotted a woman crouched near the water, and he caught sight of wavy blonde hair.
“Someone, please help me!” she cried out hopelessly in an Australian accent, clutching her stomach with both hands. His heart jumped when he realized she must be pregnant, and pretty far into third term.
His urgency rekindled, Harry returned to trying to get his legs free, mind whirling.
There goes your hero-complex, a snide voice commented in his head.
“Shut it,” he mumbled, still struggling with the unmovable debris in front of him and trying to ignore the growing pain in his skull.
“Come on,” he muttered to the rooted metal, trying to gather that particular focus that might allow for a little magical assistance to his push, and ignoring the newest wave of pain it sparked across the back of his scalp, “Move, damn it!”
Every second stuck here was another second someone else in this wreckage could be in serious trouble.
But from the position he was stuck in, he just didn’t have the leverage to lift the metal on his own, and from the way his thoughts were skittering about and the pain he currently felt, he'd say he'd taken quite the knock to the head.
He wiped at the sweat now dripping off his brow with a sleeve, and his hand came away bright red. Right, knock to the head, throbbing pain. Made sense even as he mentally cursed his luck.
Biting down a more vocal curse, he wiped at the liquid again already dripping, fingers tracing it to the source and winced as they came across a sudden sensitivity just above the left temple. He tracing over a deep gash in the skin, clotted with sand and a stream of blood that leaked past his fingers. Wishing very strongly for the wand currently underneath the who knows how heavy piece of scrap on top of him, he focused for a moment on unbuttoning his shirt, leaving a plain white tee underneath, now adorned with sand and small streaks of blood. Bundling the plaid button down, he pressed it down on his temple with a tense release of air and another bolt of pain that ran behind his eyes and turned his brain into a pulsing drum.
After a few moments to settle, he looked back up towards the pregnant woman still calling for help and saw another passenger dressed in a suit with dark hair shaved closely to his scalp already running her way.
A dull recognition sparked as Harry leaned forward to rest his elbow on the metal debris half burying him, his hand still held to the shirt pressed against his head. It was the same man who’d pulled the old man out from under the plane debris. He moved quickly to one knee, hand pressing against the woman’s stomach as he asked her questions. From the professional manner he inspected her belly and then took her pulse, Harry knew he had medical training.
And whoever he was, he certainly wasn’t panicking like most of the surviving passengers. In fact, he seemed pretty damn unflappable from here, even as he stood up and called out to a larger man with a head of curly black hair.
Harry could faintly hear his shouts over the stuttering turbine that was still struggling to run a plane in pieces.
“You need to stay with her! She can’t move with the baby, so you need to stay right here. Stay with her!” he shouted before running in the direction of the young man crouched over the woman Harry had caught sight of earlier.
As the wizard watched the suited man push the boy away and tilt the woman’s head at a better angle before attempting his own resuscitation, Harry had the numb, largely foreign feeling that his help wasn’t actually needed.
This guy was good.
Huh.
Muggles had gotten on without errant wizards saving the day for more than a few lifetimes. It looked like they would do so again.
Harry closed his eyes, and let his body fall back into the sand in relief, giving up to take a moment. A bit of a break really, to figure out what the hell was going on. Because holy loving Helga this was not how his day was supposed to go.
Aside from the obvious plane crash onto an some kind of beach – and he could mark that one off the list of Crappy Things That Happened To Harry – it was difficult to connect the dots.
One moment he'd been dozing in his cramped seat, the next, surrounded by a cacophony of sounds, colors, seismic shakes, wind and one painful smack to the head. After that, he was blinking up at the sky from a beach. So what happened?
An attack was the immediate guess.
He had plenty of enemies, obviously. He was the Harry Potter, to his continuous exhaustion. That didn’t come lightly. A lot of people went went to incredible lengths to make his life, and inevitable death, absolute hell.
And wizards had a flair for the dramatic. He didn’t know why, but they always insisted on melodrama. Given a choice between quick and easy and long and difficult, they always chose the latter. When someone was out to get him, they made sure he knew it with drawn out, convoluted schemes. Kidnappings. Wizarding duels, and diabolical monologues included.
Pulling an aeroplane in half mid-flight and hoping Harry just bashed his brains in was original, but honestly, a little anticlimactic compared to what he normally went through. And didn’t that show how sad his life was?
He couldn’t think of anyone that he’d pissed off enough recently that would have the skill and ability to track him down on a muggle flight and then pull the plane down around them.
Not to mention he was still alive, along with a multitude of others, and no one else was moving in to finish him off.
He hadn’t sensed any magical interference either. But, he hadn’t really been looking for it. Believe it or not, when not on the job or chasing down some insane lunatic, he did like to maintain at least some semblance that his life was normal. It was one of the reasons travelling muggle-style was so refreshing.
Usually.
Most people in the Wizarding World would hardly guess the Boy-Who-Lived flew outside of the occasional broomstick. And those that did hardly knew how to track him down through muggle records on computer systems they had an easier chance of blowing up than operating.
In the time that he wandered through terminals or sat in a plane, Harry could breathe freely and in complete anonymity, something he rarely got to feel these days. The only precaution he’d ever bothered with was keeping his wand on his person, and even that was in a holster safely strapped to his leg. Something he’d be reconsidering in the future thanks to his current problem.
Incredibly enough, unless there was some hidden plot he didn’t have the foresight to see, it seemed that Harry had somehow managed to get caught up in a disaster that wasn’t magical in nature, or caused by him.
The thought made him giddy.
Or maybe that was just the lightheadedness from his bashed in skull.
It honestly didn’t matter if he had a madman chasing after him, or a prophecy predicting his doom, or no magic at all. Things were always guaranteed to go to hell. Even the bloody muggle turbulence was out to get him.
Ron was going to have a fit when he got back.
Still, the fact that the plane had ripped apart in the air didn’t escape him. He might not pay that much attention to the happenings of the muggle world, but even he knew that didn’t just happen. How.many crashes broke apart that severely before even hitting the ground? A freak wind, or some sort of existing structural damage maybe? His technical understanding of the mechanics and physics behind aerodynamic flight was limited to pure guesswork.
“Hey! Watch out! You have to get out from under there!”
He opened his eyes again, leaning forward just in time to see the hero of the hour running back towards the pregnant woman.
He watched in morbid fascination as the two men and woman launched themselves forward to get away from a falling plane wing above them. They jumped out of the way just as it cracked and fell to ground in a small explosion that sent several people stumbling.
The scene gave Harry an unsettled feeling. Was this what others felt like watching him jump through hoops in some of his less than savory moments?
Closing his eyes again tightly, he breathed in and out in a practiced motion.
It was his good fortune that with how well the muggles seemed to be handling it – namely the man in the suit – he didn’t have to. He obviously wasn't at his best. As far as he was concerned, sitting here playing another lost muggle until a search party came would be just fine. He doubted he'd be able to just apparate out from the middle of nowhere Pacifoc Ocean.
That kind of distance, mixed in with the probable concussion meant a likely splinching, and landing in the middle of the ocean if he got his mark wrong. No need to make his miserable day even worse right off the bat.
His thin knowledge of aeroplanes told him there’d be a tracking device on the plane that would tell their location. And the pilots would have radioed in the situation before they’d crashed. Muggle authorities had to be coming. And with his status, potentially some wizarding ones.
So, the only question was when. With wizards, he could expect authorities to be popping in within a few minutes of them becoming aware of the problem. With muggles it could be anywhere in between hours to days for all he knew.
“Are you okay?” an accented voice asked, jolting Harry out of his thoughts.
Turning his head, he was relieved to see a Middle Eastern man with black, curly hair that nearly reached his shoulders and wearing a black tank top and dark cargo pants moving closer to him on his hands and knees.
He nodded briefly, wincing as he jerked his head towards his feet, the shirt underneath his fingers now wetter than it was before, “Yeah. A little stuck, but alive for the moment.”
“So I see,” the man said quickly as he reached him, turning to examine both the twisted metal and his feet below. "And your head?"
"Yeah, smacked it right good on the way down," Harry gritted out.
“Do you feel any pain in your legs?” he asked as he better positioned himself to move the debris Harry was currently under, eyeing the best way to get leverage.
“Only some pressure. I think the sand is keeping the metal from completely crushing them," Harry said, hopefully correct. Adding crushed legs to the list of his current problems was not necessary.
He'd gotten his "screw you" from the universe loud and clear already, thanks.
“Good,” the man replied, pausing briefly to look back at him.
“We need to get this off of you before it causes any damage. I’m going to count to three, and then I want you to pull your legs out while I lift this.”
“Got it.”
The man position himself in a bracing crouch, hands testing the debris until he found suitable points to lift from. “1. . . 2. . . 3!”
Harry jerked himself back with his left hand, dragging his body up the sand as the other strained to lift the crumpled metal for a moment. The shift in pressure on his feet was painful as they slid free, a rush of pins and needles stabbing all the way up to his waist. He dragged himself to against a palm tree well placed behind him before checking the both with a hand for any injury. A few scratches and bruises along the tops of his thighs and shins, but otherwise his legs were fine. His wand holster was still strapped carefully to the right, wand seemingly intact. With a wave of relief, he leaned back against the solid tree behind him letting the topsy turvy feel of vertigo wash over him for a moment.
“Are your legs injured?” the man asked, breathing heavily as he settled down next to him.
“No, no, they're fine, miraculously,” Harry said, before sighing. “Just my head, and it's as best as it can be, considering.”
"I suppose so,” the man commented, concern apparent in his voice and expression even as he leaned to rest his back against the partner to Harry's palm tree, brushing curly dark hair out of his face.
After a moment he leaned over, offering his hand, “My name is Sayid.”
Harry barely hesitated, his left hand already brushing his hair down over his forehead in that childhood habit he still hadn’t grown out over before he leaned over to shake Sayid's offered hand, “Harry."
"It’s nice to meet you, Harry, excluding the circumstances.”
He managed a weak, tired chuckle, “Yeah, you too. Thanks for the help.”
"Are you sure your head is alright?" Sayid asked, concern obvious as he studied where Harry had was forcibly keeping his now sodden shirt. Harry smiled tightly,
"Bleeds worse than it is," Harry responded, keeping the pressure firm and very seriously considering Accio-ing his rucksack with several key potions straight to him, Statute be damned.
Sayid nodded slowly but kept studying Harry closely. To distract himself, Harry chose to look around the beach instead.
The screaming had finally died down. Outright panic reverting back to familiar forms of shock. Another positive. His headache was bad enough as it was.
“So, what do you suppose happens now?” he asked, hoping Sayid was more informed on the holy-shit-we-just-crashed-onto-a-fucking-island protocol.
“We wait. The plane will have had a transceiver. They’ll know we’ve crashed and they’ll know exactly where to look for us,” Sayid said, studying the shoreline now himself.
Harry nodded, “How long you think that’ll take?”
“Half a day, 24 hours at most.”
The estimate was better than his own suspicions, so he’d take it.
He might even be able to get to the States and report back to Kingsley – and more importantly, Ginny – before there was any widespread panic that the Savior of the Wizarding World was MIA.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment against the heat of the pacific sun.
A blast of familiar green light blazed through Harry’s eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him.
Terrified, some part of him already knowing what was waiting for him, he opened his eyes.
Cedric Diggory was lying spread-eagle on the ground beside him, stiller than he’d ever been in life. Harry released a sobbing breath, feet dragging until he collapsed next to the boy.
Harry’s eyes searched for Cedric’s own, dragging over the unmoving face over details he had memorized a thousand times over. The indent of his chin, mouth half-open, the faint expression of surprise etched permanently into his skin. A batch of freckles, nearly unnoticeable on his cheekbone, open grey eyes staring sightlessly before him.
It was amazing how young Cedric looked, the passing years only reminding Harry of how much the other boy had since missed since that fateful night.
He reached over, brushing a hand over his classmates face and reverently closing his eyes. Bowing his head, he sighed.
“I’m sorry, Cedric,” the words were achingly familiar in his head, all of this was achingly familiar, another reminder of just how often he’d spent time here in his dreams.
A breeze swept through the foggy air.
Except this time it was different.
“Harry.”
His head snapped up to see Cedric standing by Tom Riddle’s marble tombstone, Hogwart’s uniform blowing lightly in the growing wind.
He glanced back down, but something told him Cedric’s dead body would be gone. His hand closed over empty air.
“Harry, you need to leave this place.”
His head tilted in confusion and he frowned, feeling uneasy. This wasn’t how the dream went.
The wind around them was picking up even more, the dead grass stirring around them.
He licked his lips, uncertain of the change, “This is just a dream, Cedric,” he replied.
Cedric took a step forward, shaking his head urgently.
“No, no it’s not a dream. Harry, you need to listen to me. The magic here. . . This island isn't meant for wizards, especially you. . . You have to leave. You have to get off the –”
Harry was pulled awake to someone shaking him.
His eyes jerked open, his hand automatically reaching towards his ankle before he caught himself and forced it back into the sand.
He blinked twice to ease the blurriness out of his vision.
Sayid was crouched down beside him and, from the slight narrowing of his eyes, had not missed Harry’s hand movement. His expression cleared shortly, and he smiled.
“Sorry to wake you, my friend. I don't think it would be wise for you to sleep for too long with that kind of head injury, in case you have a concussion.”
In reminder, a sharp jolt of pain shot through his skull. He nodded gratefully anyway, even as he lifted a hand that had dropped at some point to brace his throbbing head, “Probably smart, thanks.”
At least the bleeding seemed to have slowed, now only a sluggish trickle through clotted sand and hair. It was going to be hell to clean manually, if it came to it.
Sayid stood up, nodding to himself as if satisfied of Harry's condition before looking out to the beach himself, “I think I’ll have a look out there, see if my luggage survived the crash. Or if anyone else needs help.”
Harry nodded, thinking of his own carry-on. It was charmed against muggle interest, but it was always better safe than sorry. Last thing he wanted was someone poking around in one of the bag’s compartments and stumbling across his Cloak of Invisibility.
“I’d better do the same,” he said, shifting to stand up and taking the offered hand Sayid gave to lift him out of the sand.
Nausea struck in protest at his upright position, and he caught himself swaying until Sayid steadied him.
“Careful. A head injury like that could be serious.”
He flung out a grin, “After surviving a crash like that? I’ll take the bump on my head and keep most of the complaining to myself.”
Sayid chuckled, “Yes. We were very lucky, for such an unlucky event.”
An understatement, definitely. It was amazing they’d even hit an island in the middle of an ocean, let alone survived impact. The number of people walking was. . . almost impossible.
Sand poured in his sneakers, the gritty particles creeping into his socks as they made their way down to the beach. Sandals were one of the first things he was grabbing, when he found his rucksack. That, and a good dose of Star Grass for his head.
“What does your luggage look like? I’ll keep an eye out for it,” Sayid called over as he drifted to a part of the wreckage with dozens of cases.
“Erm,” Harry said somewhat sheepishly, pushing up his glasses. “It’s a Minnie Mouse rucksack. Medium sized. Pink, white polka dots, with uh, black ears on top,” he mimed the ears on his own head.
With the Wizarding World’s complete lack of understanding to the wardrobe and accessory styles of the outside world, he considered it a minor miracle that they’d picked up on such a well-known character, even if they’d confused the children’s themed items for the standard of luggage of all age groups.
Ginny’s infatuation with everything adorable – or, as Harry suspected, her sick sense of humor – had led to the bag being a present last Christmas. He was a sucker for keeping his wife happy, what could he say. That and his childhood had ingrained in him a sense not to toss a perfectly functional bag just because it was a little. . . childish.
He’d already marked the date on a calendar for the day when Lily got old enough that he could legitimately hand it off to her. As for now, he doubted a toddler had much need for it.
He couldn’t complain too much, poor design choice aside, the rucksack was a lifesaver on the road. Designed for wizards who spent a lot of time with muggles, the modern carry-on had multiple magical compartments that were warded from muggle eyes. Even when opened, charms guaranteed that muggles would see only what they expected to see. And if his enemies drastically underestimated an opponent carrying a Minnie Mouse rucksack? Well, that didn’t hurt either.
While Sayid was polite enough not to say anything outright, his look spoke volumes. Harry cleared his throat.
“My wife, Ginny, she has a weird sense of humor.”
Sayid floundered on what to say, choosing wisely to just “Ahh,” in attempted understanding.
“Yours?” Harry asked, kindly moving past the moment. It happened a lot.
“An ordinary black carry-on suitcase, I’m afraid.”
“Well, we can’t all live on the edge,” Harry quipped.
Sayid laughed, surveying the luggage around him and crouching down to check one, “Yes, I suppose not. At least yours will be easy to spot.”
“Right,” Harry agreed, turning his own way to look in earnest. He caught sight of it half an hour later, halfway across the beach near the gently lapping tide.
He reached down to pull it up and the shift in altitude came with a sudden wave of dizziness. Equilibrium momentarily lost, Harry stumbled to a knee, barely catching himself with a hand in the sand. He waited for the spike of pain that jolted forward with the harsh landing, breathing through gritted teeth.
“Hey,” a low voice called out, coming closer until a hand touched his shoulder, “Are you alright?”
He waved his free hand blindly, “Fine, fine. Just a little dizzy.”
The figure shifted, his hand remaining on his shoulder as he moved to Harry’s side.
“That head wound doesn’t look too good,” he commented, leaning in to get a closer look.
Harry squinted, opening his eyes to get a good look at the man. He was older, Harry estimated him to be in his mid-fifties, and bald. A cut crossed vertically over one of his blue eyes, which were both peering at Harry’s head in serious concern, his brow wrinkled in thought.
Seeing Harry looking, he smiled, gesturing to the sand, “Maybe you should sit down.”
Harry shook his head carefully, “Nah, I’m fine. Just moved too quickly for a second.”
The man studied him for a moment’s more, before smiling again.
“I heard there’s a doctor that survived the crash,” he nodded to the left near the tree line, “over there. You might want to have him look at you.”
Curiosity peaked, Harry looked over. Several of the injured were being laid out, the man in the suit - the hero he had watched run laps across the beach earlier - crouched among them.
“He looks like he has his hands full,” Harry observed seriously, not mentioning the fact that his head would be just fine after he got into his rucksack.
“You can never be too careful.”
Pasting a smile on at the consideration, Harry told the man what he wanted to hear, “I’ll stop by later. Thanks."
He sat down on the plane wing heavily, holding back the sudden spike of nausea that was becoming a common occurrence, the hefty Minnie Mouse rucksack dragged onto the space next to him.
Even with lightening charms, they left some weight to it to keep up appearances around Mundane folk. A not so helpful detail now.
Unzipping the compartment in front, Harry opened the flap to reveal a much deeper compartment that held a number of folded muggle-styled clothes.
Reaching a hand to the switch resting on the side of the compartment wall, he flicked it down three times. Gears clicked forward and the container holding the shirts creaked ominously before sliding downwards and out of view, robes followed, followed by battle gear, and resting on a container that held his dragon hide boots and a comfortable pair of sandals.
He had his priorities after all. And he hated sand. Pulling off his sneakers and socks, he replaced the footwear quickly with a sigh of relief.
Tucking the sneakers away, he zipped up the compartment and turned the rucksack to the left side pocket that held a few potions that was the wizard’s equivalent to a first aid kid.
The vials were positioned on a small rotating wheel, which held up to 20 potions at any given time. With Harry’s tendency to attract trouble it was no surprise that he had a few outside of the norm for extreme emergencies. Hermione wouldn’t let him leave home without them.
Spinning the wheel with flick of his wrist, he rotated to a few common pain relievers in the back that worked wonders on common ailments with just a sip.
Certainly an easy Episkey would take care of his head, but being surrounded by several muggles that had already noted the wound and who would probably question the sudden disappearance removed that option. A sip of Star Grass Solution would soothe all of the annoying symptoms without causing the same suspicion. Passing a bottle of Pepper-Up, Harry hit his mark, sliding the vial out of its slot.
With a quick glance to make sure no one was avidly staring, he unstoppered the glass and took a quick swig of the creamy orange liquid. The effects worked blessedly fast, and Harry placed the bottle back in its slot, estimating he had four more doses of it left.
With a far clearer head, he zipped up his bag fully, placing it at his feet. Some of the passengers had begun building piles of driftwood, lighting fires at Sayid’s encouragement for any possible search crews that could travel by after dark. People were settling down around them, some preparing makeshift beds just in case rescuers didn’t make it until tomorrow.
Harry was glad to see that the man who’d been searching for “Walt” after the crash had found him alive in the form of his son. Both were a few feet down from the wizard as they searched through some luggage of their own. The boy looked young, reminding him of First Years at Hogwarts, and uninjured.
Another man, with longer dirty blond hair had settled down near them as well, finding a book to read from somewhere – a harlequin romance from the look of the cover – and Sayid soon arrived with some driftwood of his own to start another fire in the center of the gathering.
The larger man with curly hair, the one who’d helped the doctor and pregnant woman soon joined them, sitting down on the wing right next to Harry.
Nervously he stared at the wood that Sayid was expertly lighting on fire, wringing his hands.
“Dude, I was just in the fuselage checking for food, but I had to get out pretty quick. Uh, it's pretty gnarly in there,” he started hesitantly, glancing at ‘Walt’ uncomfortably as he leaned forward to catch everyone’s attention. “What are we going to do with the B-O-D-Y-S?”
It was a good question. Up to this point everyone had been struggling to ignore the dead that lay across the beach and those still in the plane, but it seemed callous to just leave them. Especially if help took longer than tonight.
“What does that mean, flapjack?” the man with the book asked rudely in a Southern, American accent.
“He means bodies,” Walt said in an unimpressed tone.
“That’d be B-O-D-I-E-S, genius,” the man continued.
“Well, yeah, whatever,” Curly-hair shifted next to him, “What are we going to do with them? They’re everywhere.”
Sayid took charge, “We’ll need to move them, especially if help doesn't find us soon. We should clean up anyway, sort out the luggage, find anything that may be useful, such as food and water.”
“I guess I'll see if there’s any food left in the gallery,” Curly-hair offered, causing Arsehole (as Harry had dubbed the Southern-accented book reader) to snort, “Sure you will.”
“I’ll help you,” Harry volunteered shortly. The gallery was still attached to the main cabin of the plane, the fuselage. The dead bodies would be gruesome enough without having to deal with them alone.
“Thanks man, I’m Hurley.”
“Harry.”
They’d managed to find plenty of food in the gallery, Hurley losing the contents of his stomach halfway up.
To distract himself he’d kept up a steady stream of conversation with Harry. And Harry, well, he’d never been the best conversationalist. Talking about himself, he didn't stand a chance.
“So where you from, man?”
“The UK.”
“Yeah? Going on vacation or something?”
Harry shuffled around one of the rows, “Just finished.”
“So, uh, what’s in LA?”
He crouched down to move one of the bags blocking the cart from sliding down easily.
“Work, I suppose.”
“Oh?” Hurly said breathily, eyes darting around uneasily as he tried to keep talking, “What do you do?”
Harry sighed, “. . . I’m a detective.”
“That’s awesome, man!"
“Yeah.”
. . .
“So. . . you married?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. You got kids?”
Harry paused for a moment, clearing his throat, “Yeah, three.”
“Three kids! Seriously? But you’re like, younger than I am.”
“I’m older than I look.”
“So how old are you?”
Harry sighed again, but let the uncomfortable man continue the game of twenty questions. It was a clear distraction for the younger man. When they finally finished gathering the food, both left quickly with no arguments.
With no rescue team in sight, people began to settle down in groups for the night. They had moved any bodies from the beach to rest away from the camp around the corner, while Harry had been in the ruins of the plane. A short term solution to a grisly problem, but better than nothing.
Resigned to the impromptu camping, Harry chose to settle down near the end of the camp, away from the others. Surviving a plane crash together had left people feeling open to being far nosier than they would otherwise, Hurley being a prime example. Harry didn’t like talking about himself on a good day, let alone with a bunch a curious muggles just waiting to stumble their way past the Statute of Secrecy.
A few of the others had collected plane blankets, and paused to give him one on their route through camp. He’d slept with worse.
Once somewhat organized, he hesitantly made his way over to the tree line where the doctor had built a makeshift medical tent. Even with the pain taken care of, it didn’t help him to traipse around with an open gash on the side of his face. Although he certainly wasn’t eager to face the muggle doctor. Years of healers and magic had gotten him used to a less hands on medical practice.
He thought about the doctor as he walked up the sandy slope. The man, Jack, as everyone whispered in a disturbing case of hero-worship, was a certified champion amongst the passengers by now. Word of his exploits on the beach had spread quickly amongst survivors in desperate need of positive news. He had the eyes of everyone on him, thanks to quick thinking and his ability to stay calm under pressure.
As long as it wasn’t him, Harry was selfishly fine with that. He was mostly just relieved that it was someone else in the public’s very encompassing limelight for once.
And it was fitting. From what little Harry had seen, the man had a hero-complex that competed closely with his own. Watching the man run up and down the beach saving passengers reminded him too much of his Hogwarts years when he ran nonstop to every new problem. Needing to fix everything. Needing to save everyone.
But that was back when he could save everyone. Things weren’t nearly as simple as they used to be.
Reaching the small shelter before him, he ducked underneath a tarp. The doctor was in the middle of the tent, already tending to an unconscious man with an unfortunately large piece of shrapnel sticking out of his abdomen. A woman with long, dark wavy hair stood a few feet away from him, watching the doctor work.
They both looked up when he walked in and he attempted a smile.
“Er, hello. I was wondering if maybe you had something to clean this out,” he asked, pointing at his gash.
The doctor stood up immediately and gestured for him to sit on a cooler, “Take a seat. I’ll take a look at it.”
“I don’t want to put you on,” Harry said quickly, “You’re busy, I’m sure I can fix it up myself, if you have any alcohol, or . . . something.”
The man exhaled through his nose with a tight smile, heading over to a few standing suitcases and washing his hands with a small bar of soap and a bottle of water.
“Trust me,” he said over his shoulder, eyeing Harry, “taking care of your own injuries isn’t that easy. And there’s not much more I can do for them right now.”
“Thanks,” he said quietly, perching on the edge of the cooler with the hope that Jack wouldn’t be as intense as his other healers usually were.
Jack walked over, tilting Harry’s head to get a better look at the injury. He felt a few precursory jabs around the area. “This is pretty deep. How’s your vision?”
“As bad as it usually is.”
The doctor moved around, using a small flashlight to peer into both of Harry’s eyes.
“Any nausea or lightheadedness?”
“Yeah, a bit of both, and my head’s pounding.”
“Hmm,” Jack said, resting on his haunches and clicking the flashlight off, “Any trouble walking or speaking?”
“I’m a little wobbly on my feet, but I figure that most of its nerves from the crash,” Harry admitted.
“Can you tell me what day it is?”
“Wednesday, uh. . . September 22.”
“What’s nine times nine?”
“Nine times nine?” Harry asked confused, “uh, 81.”
Jack stood up, turning to dig through one of his bags. “Looks like you have a concussion. I’d say we don’t have too much to worry about as long as you take it easy. I’ll clean up the wound. Hopefully we can avoid any serious infection.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. This’ll be needing stitches, and we’re all out of anesthesia.”
The man turned to dig through another bag, and Harry caught the woman staring at him curiously from her corner. She smiled quickly, “Hi, I’m Kate. That’s Jack.”
“Er, hello. I'm Harry."
His smile was more of a grimace. Charming, he was sure.
There was a moment of silence before Jack returned back to his side and began the tedious task of cleaning it up. While the Star Grass was doing a good job curbing most of the pain, it definitely didn’t work as a local anesthetic. Harry refrained from wincing every time there was a small jab to a sensitive spot.
“This is going to hurt,” the doctor kindly warned before beginning the actual stitching.
Harry cracked a smile, “It’s fine.”
After all, he’d certainly been through worse.
Still, when it was through, Harry definitely thanked Merlin that the Wizarding World hardly needed to use stitches.
“Alright,” Jack said, patting him on the shoulder, “All done. You handled it like a pro.”
Little did the man know just how much of a pro Harry was. He stood up quickly, anxious to get out of their quickly before the man pulled out any more archaic muggle medical practices to torture him with, “Thanks again, uh, doctor.”
Jack gave a tired smile, “No problem. You’ll probably have that headache for a few more days, and I want to check on you again tomorrow, but you should be fine. Just take it easy until the search party gets here.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks. We're lucky you were on this flight. I'm, uh, camped out over there if you need anything,” Harry offered in reply, pointing in the direction of his sad in flight blanket bed.
He hesitated, before admitting, "I've got some field medic training. Not much help, but better than nothing if you need another set of hands down the line."
"Noted," Jack said, eyeing Harry again consideringly as he cleaned his hands with a rag he had in a makeshift sink system. "Military?"
Harry winced, "Eh, Special Forces. Law enforcement now."
Kate's eyebrow raised and she crossed her arms in front of her. "You're pretty young for that," she observed.
"Older than I look," Harry said with a tight smile, resisting the urge to flatten down his bangs. "Started just out of school. Imma turn in for the night. Holler if you need anything?"
He slipped back out onto the beach.
With a nod to Sayid, who was crouched by a steadily growing fire, he made his way back to his bed niche, and settled down quickly. If there was one thing he was good at, it was sleeping in the rough. Despite his general unease, sleep overcame him easily.
He dreamed of the dead again.
He was standing in a ruined hall of Hogwarts. Debris from a recent explosion showered everywhere, dust hovering in the air, and a familiar red head partially buried, his final smile still spread across his face.
He exhaled, and the wind swept around him causing the dust to churn chaotically.
The scene was off. It was too quiet. Percy, Ron, Hermione, they were all missing, leaving just Harry, the thick air, and the corpse before him.
“ Harry .”
He blinked.
Fred stood by the gaping hole in the outer wall, silhouetted by the star light.
“Fred,” Harry said hoarsely, recalling something from his last dream. “You’re really here, aren’t you. You. Cedric. You’re real.”
“ Yes,” George said, “ It’s really me.”
Harry took a step forward earnestly, limbs shaking and heart pounding, “Merlin! It’s good to see you again. I’ve – We’ve all missed you.”
“ Harry, we don’t have much time,” George continued seriously. The wind howled behind him, a strange clicking growing faintly in the background. “ This island is dangerous. You have to leave. “
“What do you mean?”
“The magic here is unpredictable, uncontrollable. You’re not supposed to be here ,” George licked his lips nervously, “It’s not what was supposed to happen.”
Chills rushed down his spine. In the distance, an ominous force approached, the weight of it tangible in the air.
George’s image seemed to fade and flicker, and he reached out into the wind that howled between them.
“Harry, I don’t have any more time, it’s coming. Avoid the island’s magic at all costs. If it gets a hold of you—”
Harry shot up, gasping in air as a sudden pressure slammed into him.
The forest roared into life behind him.
He fell forward in a mad scramble, climbing to his feet. Loud roaring noises filled his ears, filled the air around them. He threw out his hand, willing his wand forward and it snapped up from its holster and into his grip.
The others were beginning to gather, looking out into the jungle in fear, and he backed up cautiously to join them. Foreboding magical pressure swept around him, and trees began to tremble and crash before his eyes. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it ceased, the pressure easing away as if it had never even existed. His heart pounded in his ears heavily.
As the other people around him erupted into panicked noise, Harry slipped his wand into his pocket and studied the forest before him.
“Did you see that?”
“What the hell was it?”
‘Did you hear that noise?”
"Bullocks," Harry muttered, a realization beginning to sink in that this was not an ordinary crash after all.
And if that thing bellowing out there wasn’t an ominous warning, he didn’t know what was.