7"I think we should tell him."
"Do you?"
"He'll have our kind after him soon. It isn't right that he won't know that."
"He won't thank us for the information."
"Are you sure he is one of us? He hasn't stopped aging. The Watchers' records have his first probable death when he was only a year old. By rights he should still be a toddler."
"You can feel it the same as I can."
"I can feel something. But it doesn't fit what we know!" Duncan MacLeod slammed his palm against the concrete wall of the building next to which the two Immortals lurked. "Every other Immortal has stopped aging after their first death. There's also the question of how he keeps disappearing, and why no one has noticed him until now. As young as he is, it's a wonder no one's taken his head."
Methos merely leaned back against that same wall, eyes still on the topic of their discussion. "He has proven difficult to keep track of. We've only recently received information that may answer that."
"I don't believe it. Wizardry! And wouldn't you think one of us would have noticed an entire subculture in our midst?"
Methos raised an eyebrow.
"Good point." McLeod turned to lean against the wall, stifling a yawn. "So this is what it's like being a Watcher?"
Methos nodded. The alley they occupied was scattered with rubbish, and smelled like an alley as well. It was, however, a good place to watch the young Immortal who broke all the rules.
Harry was frustrated. He knew he should stay at the Dursleys', that he shouldn't venture out and risk himself. It was just... The Dursleys were leaving him alone, rather than risk the ire of the wizards who threatened them at Kings Cross. They assigned no chores. They ignored him. Harry would have thought this would be brilliant, but left alone, all he could think of was Sirius. Every time he saw the curtains fluttering in the breezes from the kitchen windows, he'd see Sirius falling, falling...
He had nothing to do but think of Sirius. So he escaped the house. He went to coffee shops, ordering the cheapest thing on the menu, just to have the right to sit and stare out curtainless windows, and to read the newspapers left behind. Anything to take his mind off—everything.
The newspapers didn't help. He scanned every article, looking through news of catastrophes, murders and disappearances, trying to determine which were caused by Voldemort. The prophesy, Sirius, Voldemort and the destruction he was causing all weighed in the back of Harry's mind as he cycled between grief and worry. He wished he were at the Weasleys, or at Hogwarts, anywhere where he could find out what was going on, where he could do something.
He didn't notice them at first. Sure, he'd catch a glimpse of two men in a reflection, but think nothing of it. If they'd worn robes, or if their clothing seemed not quite to match, he'd have been more concerned.
It was only when he saw them again, and then a few days later, that he started to get nervous. He couldn't help but feel they were watching him. He thought about staying indoors at the Dursleys, as he was sure Dumbledore would prefer, but he couldn't face it.
He might have seen them around the corner from the cafe in Greater Whinging. When he sat on a park bench, staring at trees and sky, doing his best not to think, he imagined he saw them again.
It came to a head when Harry had taken the Underground into the outskirts of London and stopped at a coffee shop looking out over an underground station. He'd taken a seat near the window so he could watch the trains pass, when he saw them, the same man with long, dark hair, accompanied by the same companion.
It was just then that he noticed something. The short-haired man had a tattoo on his wrist. Harry didn't have good luck with people wearing tattoos. He had to know what was going on. He had to confront them.
He took another glance out the window as he stood up, but they weren't there. Instead—no, he must have imagined it. It was just a glimpse before another train passed. After the train was gone, Dumbledore stood on the other side of the tracks. Harry wasted no time gathering his belongings together and leaving the money for the coffee on the table.
He kept his eyes open, his hand near his wand, but didn't see the unknown men as he made his way up the stairs and back down to the station on the opposite side of the tracks.
"You've been reckless this summer, Harry."
Harry suppressed a bit of anger and frustration. There were more important things to talk about.
"Sir, There were these two men. I keep seeing them, as if they're watching me. They weren't Death Eaters, but one had a tattoo..." Now that Dumbledore was here, he was less certain.
"No, Harry they weren't Death Eaters. I took care of it. They won't remember you Harry."
Harry sighed, partly in relief and partly in frustration. He hadn't realized how much the two men had added to his stress, unnerving him with their lurking presence. Still he would've liked to find out why they were following him.
Just as well, he thought. He had more important things to worry about.
I ran across some one-shots I wrote a while ago, and thought I'd share them with you. Let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the entire wizarding world belong to JK Rowling. Duncan McLeod, Methos, and the Highlander Series belong to a bunch of people who created works in the Highlander Franchise, none of whom are me.