172Harry stepped tiredly out of the International Wizarding Portkeying Centre and looked around the area he was in. All he had with him was his backpack, he had more than just a couple of things shrunk down in there, though he would admit that he had thrown most things in there in his hurry to travel as soon as he got the confirmation that there had been a cancelled portkey to America that he could take if he still wanted it. Considering the next available portkey was in two weeks and the burning worry in his stomach, he wasn't going to hang around.
Neville, Justin, Susan and Luna had managed to meet him at the International Wizarding Portkeying Centre in Birmingham and had given him hugs before he hurried to get his portkey.
Harry turned and made his way down the street, he would need to eat something to refresh his magic and energy so that he could apparate to where he needed to go. Finding a cafe in the middle of New York despite it being gone midnight was easy enough, and the woman behind the counter watched in faint horror as Harry scoffed down a burger and chips, guzzling back two cokes and then polishing off a large piece of New York cheesecake before he hurried out to find an empty alleyway, casting a disillusionment charm before he concentrated on the address he needed and with a deep breath he hoped that he would look like a panicking idiot and that he was just completely overreacting before he apparated out to Beacon Hills.
The area looked exactly the way that Stiles had described it in his letters, and Harry almost felt as though he knew where he was as he hurried down the road, his eyes scanning over the numbers on each doorway looking for the one that he needed, the address that he had written out probably a million times at this point.
He was longing to reach that door, knock on it and find Stiles on the other side looking utterly sheepish and with a good explanation as to why he hadn't written for so long. Merlin at this point, and with the sick feeling in his stomach, Harry would be happy with a really bad explanation as to why his friend hadn't written for so long.
Harry and Stiles had met in a manner of speaking when they were 6, they had been assigned to be each other's penpals, and they had both taken to it, Stiles was happy to have someone to talk to that seemed to understand him, and someone that didn't mind the pages and pages…and pages of his letters that would arrive, someone that didn't mind Stiles' newly diagnosed ADHD and just accepted it as who Stiles was. In return Harry was delighted to have someone to talk to, someone that Dudley couldn't bully into not being his friend, someone that didn't judge him for his clothes and make fun of him, he loved the length of Stiles' letters because he so rarely spoke to people and didn't have any other friends. He loved that he was able to write out long letters back to his friend, and that Stiles read it and responded.
When the time finished that the school supported their penpals Harry thought that that was going to be it, and that he was going to have to say goodbye to his friend, he had explained to Stiles that he would not be able to write anymore and told him how sorry he was. He had been beyond upset, and knowing that he had had a friend for a while only to lose them broke his little seven-year-old heart.
He had received what he thought would be his last letter from Stiles, and he had decided to read it in the safety of his cupboard, somewhere where Dudley couldn't get his hands on it and rip it up. He had put off reading it until the next day, not wanting to have to face that he would never hear from his friend again, and he would never be able to write to him again. He hadn't been able to hold in his sniffle when he had read Stiles' words, the other boy obviously exceedingly upset as well that they would not be able to write anymore, and he had thought that that would be it.
Then a second letter had arrived for him. He had been a little confused when the teacher handed it over to him, but he had tucked it away in his bag for safety, and he had waited until he was home and had finished cooking supper for the Dursleys and had been sent to his cupboard with his own scraps to rip open the letter, wondering at the fact that it had only been a week since he had thought he would never speak to his friend again.
Stiles had been upset for the whole week and finally, his mum had managed to get him to explain why he was so upset. He had explained to her about his pen pal not being allowed to write to him anymore because his family wouldn't pay for him to post the letters, and his amazing mum had stepped in. Enclosed in Stiles' letter was an envelope that Harry would be able to use to post his letter back, all paid for and just waiting for him to write back and pop it in the letterbox. And Stiles' mum was going to keep this up, every time Stiles would write he would include an envelope for Harry so that he could write back.
They had kept this up for the next year, and then Stiles' mum had stepped in again to help Harry. Over the years that they talked Harry took the chance to tell his friend about his home life, trusting that he had one person that he would be able to talk to about it that wouldn't see troubled, orphaned, ungrateful troublemaker Harry and never believe that the kind, upstanding Dursleys who had taken in their drunk sister and brother-in-law's son could ever mistreat him - never mind he swam in what was clearly Dudley's hand me downs - and that someone might believe him.
He had thought that it would just be getting it off of his chest and being able to talk to someone about it, talking to his best friend about it, and he had not even included the worst of it, like how he had really broken his wrist. But Stiles wasn't stupid, even at the age of eight he had shown that he was smart and could piece together clues from here and there, and he had taken his concerns, and Harry's letters to his mum and explained what it was that he thought was happening.
Despite being half a world away from Surrey, England, Claudia Stilinski had been furious and she had done everything that she could to ensure Harry's safety. Before he knew what was happening, social services and the police had shown up on the doorstep of the Dursleys on the report of an exceedingly irate Sheriff's wife from America, and a quick inspection of the property, and one look at Harry, had been all they needed to pack up Harry's few items and for him to be taken to a foster home.
The Dursleys had been arrested and charged with child abuse, neglect and physical bodily harm, Dudley had been sent to live with Vernon's sister Marge, though Harry knew that that wouldn't help him improve any in his behaviour considering she was equally as bad as Vernon, but he wouldn't ever have anything to do with Dudley again, so he couldn't have given a damn.
Harry was able to send his next letter to America with his own money, an allowance that he was given in the foster home. He had sent a letter for Stiles, and a letter for Claudia. He had thanked both of them for saving him. The foster system wasn't fantastic but compared to the Dursleys it was 100 times better. He had a room, he had food, he had clothes that fit, and he was able to do well in school and not have to look dumb to avoid a beating from Vernon for doing better than Dudley in tests. He got moved around a little, and it was clear from speaking to some of the older kids in the system that he probably wasn't going to be adopted, but he told Stiles that was fine, he would do well in school, get a good job and save enough money to move to America to see Stiles and Claudia.
That plan changed a little when Stiles and Harry were ten and Claudia Stilinski became seriously ill. She didn't know who Stiles was, and she called him a demon and accused him of trying to kill her. Stiles' letters were distraught and confused, angry at times, but more than anything he was lost. Harry had done everything that he could to support Stiles and try and help him through it, wishing that he could be there for his friend, wishing that he could be at his side during this as Claudia got sicker and sicker, and ended up in hospital. He had spent all the money he had on buying Stiles little things here and there hoping that it would bring at least a little smile to his face, and posting as many letters as he could as often as he could afford to.
But then Claudia had died, and Harry had sobbed into his pillow for the woman who had saved him, the only adult that had stood up for him and actually done something about the wrongs being done to a scared and hurt little boy. He cried for Stiles losing his mum, for losing the one person aside from Harry who seemed to really understand him, who had loved him unconditionally.
It was the longest that he had not heard from Stiles, but he had kept up frequent letters to his friend, not knowing what to say that could help him, but hoping that his letters would make the terrible situation a little easier. His friend started writing back to him, and Harry knew that he wasn't good, and the longer that they talked the more unimpressed Harry became with Stiles' dad.
The Sheriff buried himself in drink. Harry had tried to support Stiles as much as he could while being on the other side of the world, but it was clear to him from the other side of the world that Stiles was having to look after himself and the Sheriff, and that he was struggling.
After five months of this and becoming more and more worried for his friend, and under the belief that his own parents were no longer with him because they had been drunks and crashed their car while drunk, Harry had done the only thing that he could think of, and what he thought Claudia would have approved of, and he had managed to track down the number of social services in America and reported the Sherrif.
He and Stiles never talked about it, but he thought that Stiles had worked out who had reported the Sheriff, but Stiles' letters gradually improved after that, each letter showing more and more improvement from the Sheriff, and Stiles had gradually got better as well, he struggled with his grief, but Harry hoped that he was helping somewhat, and slowly his friend had shown signs that he was ok.
When Harry found out a few weeks later that he was a Wizard and was going to be going to a Magical School instead of the high school he had been planning on attending, he hadn't thought anything about telling Stiles. He learned quickly afterwards that he shouldn't have, but Stiles had promised not to tell anyone, and getting letters delivered by owl made up for keeping the secret. Harry's Hedwig was absolutely amazing, and she willingly made the journey back and forth for them taking Stiles' letters back to Harry and then taking Harry's back to Stiles once she was recovered.
Stiles had loved hearing stories about Harry's school, and they had told each other about the new friends that they had made, Stiles' Scott and Harry's Neville, Susan and Justin. Harry had been worried for a short time that this difference mixed in with them making new friends could spell the end of their friendship, but they had carried on as they ever had, and aside from feeling a small stab of jealously that Scott got to actually see and spend time with Stiles whenever he wanted, Harry felt closer than ever to Stiles.
During the summer of his third year, Harry was able to buy himself a mobile converting his money from Gringotts to muggle money, and then he and Stiles had actually heard each other's voices for the first time. They had spent hours and hours and hours chatting to each other, delighted that they weren't constricted by keeping it down to a letter, they had messaged all the time and when it had come time for Harry to go back to Hogwarts they had both been disappointed. Stiles had nearly had a heart attack when Harry had managed to get far enough out of the grounds of Hogwarts and away from Hogsmeade, sneaking out for the Hogsmeade trip, and called him, informing him of his escaped godfather Sirius Black who had apparently betrayed his parents and wanted to kill now. He hadn't been sure that his phone would work but he had managed to find a spot far enough out of the wards for his phone to work, but he had needed Stiles in that moment.
They talked it all through and though Harry was still confused, angry and hurt, but as ever speaking to Stiles seemed to make it a little bit better.
Harry hurried down the street, getting more and more frustrated as the further he went that Stiles' house didn't appear in front of him. He was walking faster and faster as the feeling in his stomach grew worse and worse, something was wrong, he knew something was wrong, and he just wanted to have Stiles in front of him.
He had only been able to see Stiles for the first time outside of pictures during his sixth year when they had been able to video call each other, they had sort of sat there staring at each other for minutes before they had both started laughing and then that had become something that they spent hours doing, just chatting to each other, both of them loving being able to see each other.
Harry had been scared that Voldemort and his followers would somehow find out about Stiles and manage to make their way to America to hurt Stiles to get to him since Voldemort's return at the end of his fourth year, he had suggested they cut contact until it was resolved, but Stiles had adamantly refused, even threatening to get a plane to England to come and kick Harry's arse for being so stupid.
Harry wouldn't have survived that summer without Stiles, being able to talk to him about Cedric and what had happened to him, dealing with the guilt of surviving when Cedric didn't, of seeing Voldemort brought back, of seeing his parents. He kept Harry sane.
Then it had been Harry's turn to fight the urge to travel to Stiles to help him when Scott had been turned into a werewolf and Stiles had been dragged into the magical world in his own town, including having to fight hunters, figure out who the Alpha Wolf was, and trying not to get eaten by his best friend. Harry had sent as many books as he could get to Stiles, including a few that he…appropriated from the Hogwarts library. Stiles had found it funny when a flock of owls arrived carrying all the books that he could find for Stiles.
Harry had gotten a taste for what Stiles had gone through with him over the years as life in Beacon Hills seemed to get madder and madder, some of the letters that Stiles had sent to him letting him know what was going on, Neville and Luna having to practically pin him down to stop him going to Stiles.
And Harry had been furious at Scott and the way that he had been treating Stiles, though his friend wasn't saying anything, Harry could tell that he was exceedingly hurt and lost with the way that he had been treated by Scott, and yet he still did everything that he could to help Scott, throwing himself into the middle of all the danger despite the fact that he was one of the few none supernatural beings involved. Neville had talked him out of figuring out how to send a hex via letter to Scott, not being impressed when he had tried to argue that technically Scott was in the magical world so he wouldn't be breaking the statute.
Things had gotten worse and worse in Beacon Hills, but it had happened at the same time as the war was coming to end in Britain, and messages between the two of them had been few and far between as Harry, Neville and Luna had been camping out in a tent in the middle of nowhere, moving frequently to avoid being detected. Letters had definitely been something that they couldn't risk, Harry sent messages from his phone as often as he could, but he could only charge his phone every now and then when they popped into the muggle world to get things to eat, but he let his friend know as often as he could that he was ok and still alive.
Stiles' messages had been…off and Harry had tried to make sure that he was ok, but he was stuck in an impossible situation. They had messaged for a few weeks after the Last Battle, and though things were still clearly off with Stiles he had been excited and happy for Harry that he had won, he had been relieved that Harry was alive and now safe.
Then the silence started. He had called, texted, and sent letters to Stiles by both owl and by post, but nothing had come back to him, his calls and texts went unanswered and unread. By the time they hit a month into the silence Harry had been panicking and he had spoken to his friends and talked to them about the fact that he was thinking of going to America.
His friends had laughed and said that they had been expecting it, though there was a little more of a sober feeling to it considering the reason he was going to America.
Harry broke into a run when he finally got close to Stiles' house number, rushing past his neighbours' properties, until he skidded to a halt in front of the house that he had been desperate to reach. He felt ridiculously nervous all of a sudden standing there, and he was sure that if he was here for any other reason he would have stood there for a stupid amount of time glued to the spot, but he wasn't here for any other reason and the worry was gnawing away at his stomach.
He took a step, and then another, and then was hurrying down the driveway to the door, noting that Stiles' precious jeep was in the driveway and that it was looking worse for wear, it definitely didn't look like the jeep that Stiles had proudly showed him around only the year before on video. He also noted that the Sheriff's vehicle wasn't in the drive, before turning his focus onto the house.
He hurried up the porch and to the front door, taking a deep breath to steady himself and try and calm down so that he didn't freak out on Stiles because of his worry, and he knocked on the door. A few minutes later he knocked again. And then again and then again, the gnawing worry eating away at him even faster and harder, everything in him telling him that something was wrong.
Taking out his wand Harry made sure that his hand was hidden from view of Stiles' neighbours and cast a point me spell for Stiles.
His wand pointed at the door.
The sick feeling grew worse and his brain spun for a second before he was reacting.
"Alohomora," Harry uttered and pushed the door open as soon as he heard the lock disengage, he hurried through the door, shutting it absently behind him before he made his way through the semi-familiar house that he had seen through talking on video to Stiles, following his spell on his wand to find Stiles as quickly as he could until he was standing in front of what Harry knew as Stiles' bedroom.
"Stiles? It's Harry," Harry tapped on the door, his wand humming telling him that the subject of his point me spell, Stiles, was right on the other side of the door. But there was no answer from inside, there was absolutely nothing. He didn't even consider it this time, he pushed open the door and walked straight into the bedroom, just dropping his backpack in the doorway as he raced across the room to the lump under the bedcovers on the bed.
Tugging back the covers he found Stiles laying there on the bed, his normally pale skin a terrifying shade of grey and blue, his lips were blue, and he was shivering and trembling despite having two duvets and several blankets on the bed covering him, he had heavy bags under his eyes, deep bruised marks that stood out because of the shade of the rest of his skin.
"Fuck, Stiles! Stiles!" Harry called as he yanked back the duvet fully, reaching out to feel that Stiles' skin was icy cold. He frowned at the hum he felt under his hands as he touched Stiles' face, as he cupped it in his hands and he reached for the wand that he had dropped onto the bed, quickly casting a diagnosis charm on his friend, waiting impatiently for the result.
He was both surprised and not when it came back to him that Stiles was showing the after-effects of some sort of possession, by what, Harry couldn't tell, but he thanked Merlin that he and Remus had spent so long talking about magical creatures, mainly because Harry wanted to understand what it was that Stiles could end up facing. He knew that muggle treatment wouldn't help, and while he wasn't 100% sure on the best way to treat this magically, he had a good idea where to go.
He threw the covers back over Stiles and cast warming charms on Stiles' clothing, on the duvets, the blankets, the beds, the room, he raced down the stairs and located the thermostat for the house and cranked it right up, before he filled the kettle with water and tapped it with his wand to get it to boil. Transfiguring a hot water bottle took three goes considering how hard his heart was pounding and the panic that was crawling up his throat, but he managed it despite the image of how still and…dead Stiles looked imprinted on his mind.
He grabbed an empty mug and made his way up the stairs back to Stiles, pressing the hot water bottle under the covers and against Stiles. He grabbed his backpack and stuck his wand into the bag, summoning his potions bag, grabbing it as it nearly flew over his head with the enthusiasm of his spell, he grimaced a little to himself as he yanked open the bag and nearly spilt the vials everywhere, but quickly found the few that he thought could help in this situation.
"Stiles, I don't know if you can hear me, but it is Harry, I am going to give you some potions now ok, I think they will make you feel better, I am not exactly sure what the best thing to give you right now is, but I am hoping that these will help, and when you are better I will laugh when you complain about how foul potions actually taste and remind you that I wasn't being dramatic about them," Harry found himself rambling to Stiles as he tilted his head back carefully and started pouring the potions into Stiles' mouth one by one.
He let out a breath of relief when Stiles swallowed reflexively, his nose scrunching a little at the taste of the potions, letting Harry know that he was still there, that he was still responsive enough to the taste and react to the potions. Once the last of the potions had been swallowed Harry pressed the tip of his wand to Stiles' mouth and cast a gentle Aguamenti charm to get some water into Stiles, completely unsure of the last time that he had had something to eat or drink.
Moving Stiles carefully so that he was resting against Harry's chest and arm he tapped the empty cup and created some soup, tapping his wand again against the cup to make sure that it was warm but not too hot. He needed to get some food into Stiles, and he needed to start warming him from the inside as well. Tilting Stiles' head back so that he wouldn't choke Harry fed him the soup in tiny bits, carefully watching to make sure that Stiles swallowed it, and that there was no sign that he was going to be sick.
It took a while but finally, the whole cup was gone, and Stiles was finally no longer feeling like he was made of ice. He was still far too pale, and his lips still had a tint of blue to them, completely baffled as to what had happened Harry gently placed Stiles back onto the bed and stood to take off his coat, shoes and jeans before he climbed under the covers, making his way over to Stiles and wrapped his friend in his arms, turning him so that they were both laying on their sides and he could wrap his body around Stiles' trying the pass as much of his body heat into the other as he could.
This was far from what he had imagined when he had pictured meeting Stiles for the first time, it was far from how he had imagined hugging Stiles for the first time, it was far from how he had imagined Stiles looking the first time they met. He had imagined Stiles with that big, bright smile of his, his eyes lit up as he ran towards Harry.
He had thought about it a few times over the years, just a few, and part of what had gotten him through the months of being on the run and hiding out in a tent had been more bearable with the thought that he could meet Stiles finally, he had planned out in his head coming over to America and spending time with his friend.
Thos was definitely not how he had thought it would go.
He rested his hand over Stiles' freezing chest, the feeling of his hand moving under Stiles' breathing reassuring him that his friend was still with him, helping calm down the panic that had gone through him at the state that he had found Stiles in. The only problem was, as he calmed down his mind started wandering and he started wondering where the hell the others were? Where was Scott? Lydia? The Sheriff?! How the hell was Stiles in this state and no one at all was here with him to help him, to make sure that he survived the night?! His anger was boiling in his chest, and he grimaced slightly as the air crackled a little around him.
His magic had been…interesting recently, since he had fully taken possession of the Elder wand, he had been a lot more in touch with his magic and the power that he had gained during his inheritance had been something that he had had to get to grips with, and when he became strongly emotional about something it was still reacting and sparking around him, desperate to do something for him.
He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to try and get control of himself, but then the scent of Stiles filled his lungs, and he found himself distracted. He leant forward and pressed his forehead to Stiles' shoulder and breathed in the scent of his friend, the emotions rolling through him only climbing higher as he finally clicked onto what had been going through his head for the last few years, the reason that Luna chuckled every time he had spoken about Stiles recently and the reason Neville looked at him with those twinkling blue eyes and a soft smile.
He was in love with Stiles. He had probably loved him for years now, and he had been falling more and more in love with his oldest friend. He had longed to see him, touch him, hold him close.
He loved him.
He didn't know if Stiles felt the same way for him, he knew that Stiles liked both men and women, and they had spoken about Stiles' desire for a partner, especially recently. Harry hoped that that was Stiles trying to tell him something. But right now none of that mattered except for the fact that Stiles was ill, hurting, and vulnerable, and everything in Harry was demanding that he protect him, protect his best friend, protect the boy that he loved.
He took another deep breath and felt the Elder wand hum on the bedside next to him, feeling its excitement at his intention to cast a significant spell with it. It barely took a thought for the wand to be summoned into his hand, and he whispered into the dark of the night the wards that he knew to coat Stiles' home to protect the house and more importantly, its occupants, from any harm. Harry didn't know if the things that had possessed Stiles were still out there, he didn't know if there was something else out there willing for an easy and vulnerable victim, going by the way this place had been recently according to Stiles Harry wouldn't be shocked if it was both.
He concentrated on the feeling of his wards sealing around the house, making sure that they covered the whole property, he used the multiple wards that Luna had taught him to use to make sure that they were covered against as many possible types of attack as possible, and as many types of magical beings as possible.
Finally, he tiredly opened his eyes and checked over Stiles, still too pale, too still and looking exhausted. Resting his hand back over Stiles' chest to reassure himself that his friend was still breathing Harry rested his head on the pillow beside Stiles, the international travelling, extensive use of magic, and jet lag catching up with him. He cast a few more spells on Stiles to make sure that he would wake if anything changed with Stiles, before he allowed himself to slip into sleep.