Holy Merlin. He's a muggle, Harry thought. Wyvern is hiding and living with muggles. Crap, I might have to Obliviate him and all of them in the crawl space. But Wyvern isn't stupid enough to break the International Statute of Secrecy. 
                              
"Sorry, just came from my godson's. We were playing dress-up games and I wanted to show it to Wyvern, when I heard what happened," Harry lied. He could have sworn that he saw the muggle's eyes flash to the area just behind him, like he knew that a Muggle-Repelling Ward was there. 
                              
"You the cop?" the Scot grunted.
                              
"Yes," he said, agreeing to the most uncomplicated terminology.
                              
"Badge?"
                              
Harry frowned. "You want to see my badge? He's not under arrest."
                              
"Maybe yeh're the one who 'hurt yer friend."
                              
Harry nodded. He pulled out his wallet and showed it to him. The Scot didn't take it, but read it.
                              
"Tha's an NPA badge. What's yer business 'ere?"
                              
For a homeless guy, he was smart, street smart. "He's my friend. I was trying to make sure he's alright as that's a lot of blood he lost. I caught the guy who did it. He was stupid enough to try me, and I arrested him. He's locked up for good."
                              
The Scot nodded. "Tha's good, fur yer friend."
                              
Harry did not want to play this game forever. "I brought him this," he said and threw a cellophane-wrapped sandwich at the guy. "It's his favorite."
                              
The muggle examined it and nodded. "Looks familiar."
                              
"I need to know that he's okay," Harry pressed.
                              
"I'm sure yeh do, bobbie, bu' listen 'ere. Sometimes, people don' wan' their friends ter see them when they're naut well. Yeh understand? I think yeh should give yer friend a few days an' he migh' feel more comfortable comin' out."
                              
He could see that was the most confirmation he was going to get. It made sense that Wyvern didn't want him to see him when he's hurt. "Is there anything he-I mean-you need? Anything you want?"
                              
The Scot smiled, like he was glad that he caught on. "I think some new shoes, would be nice."
                              
Harry nodded. "Okay, sure."
                              
"Maybe some clothes... and some gauze and a chest wrap," he said, quieter.
                              
Harry nodded, somberly. "Give me an hour."
                              
The Scot raised an eyebrow, but nodded, too. Harry went back into Knockturn and retrieved Wyvern's guide stick and repaired it. Then he apparated to Madam Malkin's and the Apothecary to get the clothes and healing potions. After deliberation, he exchanged some money and then out onto the London street to get muggle healing supplies, too. That part still threw him. That Wyvern, a former Death Eater, was living with muggles, but surely, by Wyvern's reckoning, muggles were safer than wizards and witches were.
                              
He got back before the hour mark and got more sandwiches. He carried the crate filled with supplies under the bridge and set it on the ground. The Scot came out of the small hole and came closer. He waited for Harry to back away before he took the items.
                              
"There's a pain medicine in there. I thought the liquid would be easier than pills, and there's a heavy-duty antibacterial healing salve in there for any cuts."
                              
The Scot nodded. "An' sum food, I see. Thank yeh."
                              
"There's money, too. In case you need something," Harry pointed out.
                              
He raised his eyebrow in surprise and nodded.
                              
"Wait. Here's his stick... a stick."
                              
"Good on yeh, laddie," he said, taking it, and said, in a low voice. "I'm takin' care of 'im, don' worry."
                              
Harry nodded and reluctantly left. He really wanted to make sure that Wyvern was okay, but the guy was right, Wyvern wanted some dignity. However, it didn't stop Harry from coming at noon the next day and the next. He brought a bag of ten sandwiches every time.
                              
It had been over a week since he saw Wyvern, when he came to the bridge that day. The Scot was sitting on the path on the other side of the ward, his feet dangling in the cold stream. Harry slowly crossed the ward line, and the muggle nodded as a way of greeting.
                              
"Come. Pu' tha' down and sit wit' me," he said, nodding to the bag of food.
                              
"Sure," Harry said, taking his shoes off and copying the Scot. The water was bloody cold, when his feet went under.
                              
"Yeh didn' 'ave ter pu' yer feet in, laddie," redhead huffed. "It wasn' a test."
                              
"I doubt that. Is he alright?"
                              
"The kid's sleepin'. I crushed up sum sleepin' pills an' put it in 'is tea."
                              
Harry frowned. "Oh... why did y...."
                              
"Yeh're the hero, right?" the Scot asked, looking at him.
                              
"What?"
                              
"He called yeh a 'ero. Yeh've bin helpin' 'im, righ'?"
                              
"I guess. I mean, I try to, but he's stubborn."
                              
"And yeh keep comin' back."
                              
"I don't abandon my friends."
                              
"Then why's he still 'ere?" the Scot said, pointedly.
                              
"I've offered to help him every day I see him. He won't let me help him. He fights me for every sandwich I give him."
                              
The Scot frowned and grunted, "It ain' jus' pride. Wha' is it?"
                              
"He doesn't think that he deserves my help."
                              
"I guess tha' makes sense. Were yeh in the gang wit' 'im?"
                              
"Gang?" Harry asked.
                              
"Yeah, the mark on 'is arm."
                              
"Ah, that," he said, understanding. "No, I'm a cop. I stopped it-them, though. Got a lot of them arrested and the gang is gone, now."
                              
"The kid was arres'ed as well?"
                              
"Yeah."
                              
"Yeh don' mind tha'?"
                              
"He was young when it all went down, and he's blind, now. I don't hold grudges. He won't tell me what he did and why he thinks he needs to be punished for it. I don't care what happened."
                              
"Alrigh', looky here, 'ero. The reason why I wanted ter talk to yeh... the kid, he's dyin' on the inside. He cries himself ter sleep every nigh'. He won' survive ou' 'ere much longer. He doesn' belong 'ere."
                              
Harry's shoulders fell and he nodded. "I do. I want to help...."
                              
"Whatever game yeh're playin' wit' him... ain' workin'."
                              
"I don't know how to convince him."
                              
"Figure ou' who he is," he declared.
                              
"Easier said than done. Unless you want me to rip his blindfold off or force him to tell me. But he's been hurt by a lot of people and I don't want to hurt him."
                              
"Figure it ou' and be quick. Don' let it drag on'. Before he decides that the world would be better wit' 'im gone."
                              
"I will," Harry promised and was relieved when the Scot pulled his feet out of the water and got up. Harry copied him and got his boots on.
                              
"Alrigh' git goin'. Oh... 'ero?" the Scot muttered and he looked. "He went ter school wit' yeh."
                              
"What?"
                              
"Tha's wha' he told me a couple o' weeks ago. 'Ope it helps," he said, and Harry nodded. It did.