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EVENT #1: THE BREAK IN
SCENE #1
Wylie’s fingers itched to turn into claws. He was ready to maul someone for a cigarette. His first burglary was off to a shit start, and given how their luck was going, they’d all be dead or in prison before the night was out.
They were a small crew—four in total—but the van felt filled to the brim with potential disaster. Wylie was in the back with his boyfriend, Beck, while the other two guys sat up front. Wylie was hunched on top of the wheel well, which gave him a clear view of the windshield and the gate blocking their way. His head brushed the roof and his back was cold against the wall, but he refused to move unless absolutely necessary. Every scrape of his sneakers on the grit covered metal floor made his teeth buzz and body tense.
What the fuck was taking so long? He wanted out of this damn tin can. Hell, he just wanted out: out of this night, out of this initiation, out of this stupid ass plan. The only thing keeping him from snapping was the cloak of darkness in the back. It was easier to keep it together when no one could see how close he was to losing his shit.
“Damn it. No,” Adam hissed from the passenger-side seat in front of Wylie. The teen clattered away on his mini keyboard while glaring at the small, burning screen in front of him. The self-proclaimed hacker was so short his head barely cleared the back of the seat, and the caustic, nervous tune he was humming did nothing to disguise his growing panic.
Wylie took a calming breath and tried to block out the electric scent of fear filling the confined space. The little tech-wiz was taking too long. Adam reeked of anxiety and showed no sign he was even close to breaking through the security system. For all they knew, the kid had turned chickenshit and was hoping to wait out the clock.
Ten minutes. Wylie’s eyes darted to the display on the dashboard when it flashed. Twelve minutes. The air grew heated the longer each second ticked and nothing changed. Wylie could smell the lingering scents of oil and stale blood beneath the annoying, fang twitching flood of testosterone in the enclosed space. Diego was flipping. Their asshole leader for the night hadn’t said a word since they parked, but Wylie’s nose revealed the rage building in the silent gangster.
This was a bad idea. A monumentally dumb fuck idea. He seriously should have taken that last smoke before they left.
“Is this happening?” Beck asked. A warm hand grasped his arm, and Wylie held still when his boyfriend pressed his chest up against his shoulder. Hair tickled his nose when Beck leaned across his chest and peered at the clock on the dash. “Shit, our timetable is going out the fucking window.”
Beck turned toward him but failed to find Wylie in the absolute black of the back of the van. The darkness didn’t stop Wylie’s supernatural vision. His pupils expanded, and shapes and colors began to appear out of the darkness. He focused on Beck and his gaze traced his boyfriend’s familiar, handsome features and slipped down to the smooth line of his throat.
This was a mistake. Beck was too idealistic, too sweet for this gang bullshit. He had never spent a day out on his own and didn’t know shit about the real world.
Wylie bent forward and brushed his lips to Beck’s ear. “We can still back out. No one needs to know we came out here.”
Beck shuddered, but it was only from the heat of Wylie’s breath on his skin. He turned his head and their noses bumped. It was surreal, and Wylie felt half a predator as he watched Beck’s useless human eyes blink in the dark. Beck fumbled and his palm found Wylie’s neck and moved up to his face. He rubbed along the peach fuzz of Wylie’s crew cut and inched forward, their mouths pressing close so they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Don’t be dumb, baby.” Beck’s lips teased over Wylie’s, and his fingers tugged at the strands of his blond hair. “This is our ticket out of all the bullshit. Once we make this score, we’re in and everything is going to change.”
“B, getting into the gang is only going to lead to more…” Wylie trailed off when an angry growl tore from the driver’s seat.
“Come on, you little fuck. Hurry up!” Diego slammed his fist on the dashboard, and everyone jumped.
Adam’s incessant humming silenced with his yelp, as did the keyboard clicking. He tried to steady his shaking hands beneath his armpits. Adam’s voice was timid and faint once he finally spoke. “I’m almost—”
“I thought you were a genius? This was going to take five minutes, tops,” Diego snarled accusingly. The seat squeaked when Diego turned and towered over Adam’s diminutive form. “Hurry the fuck up, you little shit! Or I’m dumping you in a dark alley full of flesh-eating freaks like the guy in the back. Crack the gate!”
Wylie gritted his teeth. He wasn’t a freak, and he sure as fuck wasn’t a cannibal.
“It’s not the same system Roth gave me the plans for,” Adam whispered from where he was cowering. “There’s another element I’ve never seen before. I’ve almost hacked it.” His narrow shoulders scrunched as he bent over his small computer and avoided Diego’s glare. His lips pursed tight, Adam ducked beneath his mouse brown hair and refocused on the screen.
“Hey, freak, you paying attention back there?” Diego threw his heavily tattooed arm over the seat and turned his aggressive stare to the back of the van.
“Yeah,” Wylie said through gritted teeth.
Diego’s hard, black eyes tried to find him in the dark. The gangster was as mean as a junkyard dog and twice as foul. Wylie might have been the only one in the crew who could transform, but Diego was all human and still managed to be as despicable as it got. Everything about the situation was setting Wylie on edge. It started all the way back when Diego showed up half an hour late to the heist and labeled him a freak. After an hour trapped in a van with the bad-tempered asshole, he was ready to smash the gangster’s face in.
Diego’s expression was brutal as he glanced at Adam a moment, then to the back of the van. “You’re going to break us through the gate if the kid fucks this up, freak. You might also need to beat the shit out of the little bitch if it turns out he’s screwing us over.”
“Yeah, none of that’s happening,” Wylie said with far less emotion than he felt. “Unless the alarms are down, we’re not leaving this van. We signed up for a robbery, not a fucking suicide mission.”
“You little shit!” Diego’s tanned features flushed red, and his chest puffed like a jacked up frog about to explode. His hand gripped the top of the dividing seat and the vinyl creaked in his powerful grip.
Wylie silently unwound from Beck and nudged him to the other side of his muscular form. He didn’t trust Diego not to lose his shit and start punching. Being saddled with three nervous, untested teenagers for a gang initiation probably wasn’t Diego’s high point of the night, either. It didn’t mean Wylie was about to throw his life away over the gangster’s explosive temper. He’d rather fuck it up in the driveway before they committed a crime, than have it turn to shit when they were balls deep in the mansion.
“Listen here, you fucking freakshow.” Diego stabbed a finger in Wylie’s direction, but had enough self-control to stop there. He wasn’t angry enough to reach into the dark and risk losing an arm. “If you don’t want to end up dead tonight, you do as I fucking say. That goes for all of you. This isn’t some pussy high school playtime, and I’m not going back to prison over you dumb fuck kids. If any of you—”
There was a loud rattle of metal, and Diego whirled in his seat to peer through the windshield. Adam beamed when the wrought iron gate blocking the driveway shuddered and glided open on motorized tracks.
“Halle-fucking-lujah,” Diego growled in relief and jammed the key forward in the ignition. The van sputtered, then roared to life. Diego showed thin restraint as he put the vehicle in gear, hit the gas, and they sped through the gate opening.
Wylie took a steadying breath as his gut clenched. There was no backing out. Whatever happened, they were in it now.
“We’re in,” Beck gasped in excitement. He fell against Wylie’s chest and peered ahead through the windshield. The sprawling mansion came into view, and Beck’s breath heated his cheek when he sought out his mouth. If Wylie’s response was more tepid than usual, Beck didn’t mention it.
“This is it, baby. This is our fucking future,” Beck whispered between quick, hungry kisses. “We’re finally going to be free.”
Wylie quickly sealed their lips together to silence Beck’s optimistic words. Running with Roth’s gang wasn’t going to be freedom the way his idealistic boyfriend envisioned. It was just another bunch of fucked up, hypocritical adults who used kids while calling it family. Doing illegal shit didn’t make it any better than all the other bullshit families Wylie had been through. It would be money, though, serious money that could buy him the future his fucked up arms stole.
Beck’s hand drifted down, and Wylie jolted when fingers fumbled for his zipper. “B,” he groaned, trying to keep from responding. He pulled Beck’s arm up and shot his boyfriend a smoldering look he couldn’t see in the dark. “Quit being a pervy kink. Focus.”
Beck rolled his eyes, and with a wicked grin, threw himself into Wylie’s lap. He wrapped around his boyfriend’s muscular form and kissed roughly up Wylie’s neck and jaw. “Don’t be that way, baby. We’re going to finally fuck tonight. We’re going to ace this shit, and you’re going to come over to my place and fuck me with your studly arms out.”
Beck rocked his hips against him seductively, and Wylie growled when his erection ground against his. Damn it, his dick dragged him into all kinds of trouble when it involved a tight piece of ass like Beck.
“B, you gotta take this seriously.” Wylie peeked an eye to the front of the van as Beck’s lips slid a hot path along his throat. “You know my arms are dangerous. With one wrong move, my scales could slice the flesh from your bones.”
“I don’t care. Your arms are crazy hot, and we’re totally doing it,” Beck whispered breathlessly. “Tomorrow morning, I’m telling my parents to go fuck themselves. No more evangelical school, no more sick fuck Reverend Clark, and no more pretending I hate dick. You’re going to move out of that shitty detention house where they treat you like a monster, and life is going to be fucking perfect.” Beck’s lips found Wylie’s in the dark and crushed him in a desperate kiss.
Beck was fucked up, and Wylie wasn’t complaining. He wrapped his arms tight around Beck’s narrow hips, squeezed his ass hard, and pulled him up into a deep kiss. Sneakers scraped the metal floor when Beck straddled his thighs, and his palms slid hot paths over Wylie’s chest and back.
“Damn it, Wy, you get me so fucking hot.” Beck shifted his hips, groaning into Wylie’s open mouth when his dick ground against his hard abs. “Tell me you want me…”
“B.” Wylie broke from the kiss and grabbed the hand trying to get under his sweatshirt and into his pants. He pulled Beck tight against him and pressed his mouth to his ear. “Promise me you’ll watch your back tonight. If you get even a whiff of the cops, you run.”
Beck stilled, glanced toward the front of the van, and turned back to whisper against Wylie’s cheek. “Dude, I’m the freaking lookout. I can’t run.”
He was so fucking naive. “B, you don’t owe these crazy fucks any—” Wylie fell silent as the darkness flashed and light dazzled his night vision. He hissed and covered his face with his arms. “Shit.”
Wylie stayed hunched until the blinding pain throbbing behind his eyes began to fade. An outdoor lamp illuminated the driveway where the van rolled to a stop in front of a large, multi-car garage. Diego cut the engine and silence descended. Wylie squinted up to the front once his eyes adjusted, and met Diego’s dark glare.
Wylie bristled and pushed back from Beck. He didn’t like Diego, he didn’t trust him, and he sure as fuck didn’t want his eyes on him when he was sucking face with his boyfriend.
Diego didn’t say anything as he watched Beck try to arrange his shirt to hide his obvious hard on. Beck was wearing skinny, black skater jeans that left nothing to the imagination as he tried to pull his already too tight shirt down his front. It merely lifted the fabric up his back, revealing the top of his ass where his jeans hung low on his hips. The gangster’s dark stare drifted down Beck’s body in a way that had Wylie growling in warning. Diego shrugged and pulled a packet from his pocket and jammed a piece of gum into his mouth. Wylie gritted his teeth when he realized it was nicotine gum. The fucker.
“Alright, kiddies,” Diego drawled. His gaze moved from Adam’s pale, anxious face, to Beck’s excited smile, to Wylie’s defensive glare. “Remember, the owner flew south to some fucking island, and we’re the professionals called in to check on a busted pipe. Easy.”
Wylie pursed his lips. They didn’t have a toolbox or even a sign on the side of the rusted-out van painted in matte black finish. They looked like three wannabe thug teenagers and a career criminal, not plumbers.
Diego didn’t seem concerned about the logistics of his plan as he pointed his finger at Beck. “B, you’re on lookout. I want you at the door with your ear on the scanner for signs of the cops. No matter what we’re lugging, you don’t leave that post until it’s time to go. As for you, you stupid shit.” He grabbed Adam roughly by the head and shoved him toward the door. “Get your scrawny ass out. We need someone to tag the stuff worth grabbing. Don’t fuck it up.”
Adam scrambled to keep his computer from falling while wrenching away from Diego’s touch. He didn’t dare look up as he shouldered the door open and slid down the seat until his sneakers reached the pavement.
Diego’s dark eyes burned with hostility when he turned to Wylie, who hadn’t moved yet. “Freakshow, you’re with me. Alright, you stupid fucks, let’s rob this shit.”
SCENE #2
The night air outside was cooler than when they left the city, and held the distinct bite of autumn. Wylie lingered at the open back of the van to get used to the smells and sounds of the area. They had parked in a spot sheltered from view, where large willow trees and gardens of sculpted bushes blocked them from being seen by anyone on the road. Lights were on outside the mansion, and the trees cast long, black shadows in all directions.
Diego didn’t want them wearing masks, said it would ruin the illusion of being plumbers, but Wylie wasn’t sweating it. Adam had taken the surveillance system down before he cracked the gate, and the kid was confident it worked. And really, it wasn’t like anyone actually cared they were there.
Wylie’s pale blue eyes narrowed as he peered at the surrounding manors and mansions on the other side of the gate. The neighborhood was unnaturally silent compared to the city, but that was the rich for you. They went to bed on time, didn’t look out windows, didn’t think anything could touch them. They were the kind of people who kept all the lights on and thought that was enough to keep thieves away.
Wylie scoffed under his breath. When you had enough money to keep the monsters out, anyone could be dumb enough to sleep at night.
Wylie braced himself as he headed to the front of the van where the others had gathered. This was money, real money. A future. He was an eighteen-year-old freak who was never going to have a shot at a job with his fucked up arms. He needed to get this initiation right and prove to Roth he was useful, even if it meant stealing and thuggin for a living. Shit, he had to be good for something.
“How’s it look?” Beck asked as he came up beside him.
“It’s all quiet.” Wylie’s gaze drifted to his boyfriend and the excited flush to his cheeks. He gripped Beck’s shoulder and leaned down to whisper. “Don’t forget what I said. If things go wrong, you run.”
Beck’s smile was guarded when he pulled away. Wylie could tell from the sparkle in his eyes that he was loving every moment of the heist so far. Beck wasn’t fearless, but he got off on adrenaline, and it made him reckless. Wylie had his own ass to worry about, though, and he took a slow breath as he eyed the door he was there to break through.
There was only one entrance on this side of the mansion, a small, black door in the side of the wall, like an afterthought for servants who ended up on the wrong end of the building. The place was weird looking compared to any house Wylie had been in before. The downstairs looked like it was buried underground, the wall either built into the side of a mountain or someone had dumped dirt over it once the building was complete. A hill reached up on both sides of the flat, white expanse, and above was a glittering, beautiful house that looked like it sprouted organically from the gardens around it.
Wylie hesitated when he saw Adam hovering in front of the door, the kid hunched over a keypad to the right.
“Let’s go,” Diego hissed. He grabbed the black gate protecting the door after the keypad flashed and dimmed. Adam took a shaking step back when Diego swung the gate open wide. “Freak, we’re losing minutes,” Diego called impatiently. The gangster was too loud. Wylie looked around, but the yard they were in was so large, it could have been the size of a mall. No one was going to hear them out there.
“You can do this, yeah?” Beck took Wylie’s black sweatshirt when he shrugged out of it. “I mean, it’s just a door. You can cut that.”
Wylie smiled grimly. “Yeah. Easy.” Out of all the uncertainties the night presented, his abilities didn’t factor in.
Wylie raised his muscular arms and focused on his hands. As he concentrated, the pale pigment began to darken and his skin hardened. Starting at his fingers, black scales erupted from his flesh in a bloodless rush and moved up his forearms. Wylie hissed sharply and took a step from Beck, who was edging over to watch. His scales grew longer and pointed out from his arms at jagged angles. They were beautiful, like a dark, ruffled bird, but each oil slick blade had a razor-sharp edge. If not careful, his scales would ruthlessly slice through whatever they touched, be it metal or flesh.
Wylie had no clue what the hell he was. A paranormal, definitely. A shifter, probably, but his demon arms didn’t look like any animal out there. Most days he felt like a monster, but tonight he might actually be useful.
Wylie held his arms up over his head and let Beck tie his sweatshirt around his waist so it wouldn’t get shredded. “For good luck,” Beck whispered and leaned close to peck a kiss to his lips. Wylie had no defense against the wicked hand that suddenly reached between them and cupped his dick. “In less than an hour, I’m going to be deep throating this huge cock of yours while we’re surrounded by a pile of money. This is the ultimate score, baby. Everything changes tonight.”
Wylie didn’t argue as Beck’s lips heated along his cheek and he squeezed him through his jeans, his breath stuck in his chest. He was too aware of how easily his scales could slice Beck’s flesh to be able to enjoy the moment. Yeah, there was no way they’d be fucking with his arms out. No matter how sexy Beck looked when he grinned up at him like that.
“Freak!” Diego snapped, his patience running out as Beck continued to press kisses to Wylie’s tense jaw.
“I’ll be right back,” Wylie said once Beck stepped away, his eyes sliding down his boyfriend’s tight form flushed with arousal. “Try not to start without me,” Wylie added, only half teasing when Beck reached down to adjust his pants that were caught too tight around his erection. It didn’t seem to matter what the fuck they were doing, Beck was always ready to get off whenever they were together.
“All the more reason to hurry.” Beck’s smirk was shameless as Wylie turned away.
Adam gasped and threw himself back when Wylie stalked toward him. His eyes were wide as he stared at Wylie’s jagged scaled arms like he was a bloodthirsty demon there to murder him. “I got… I got the…” Adam flustered. Wylie stepped right past him, his gaze glued on Diego, whose expression was twisted with undisguised malice.
“Hustle the fuck up, freakshow.” Diego pointed to the door just in case he was too retarded to figure out why he was there. Wylie’s nostrils flared as he watched Diego chew his gum. The no smoking policy was total bullshit. If they could grab DNA off a cigarette, the cops could do the same for a piece of gum.
“Alarm dead?” Wylie grunted as he looked at the back door. The keypad no longer glowed with light, and the protective grate was pushed to the side to keep it from locking. Even at a distance, he could feel a strange sensation, like cold electricity was lingering in the metal of the grate.
“Of course it’s fucking dead,” Diego snapped. “Open the shit up and shut your freak mouth.”
Wylie ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, his fangs itching to bite the aggressive fucker on the face. Money, he reminded himself. He needed the fucking money more than he needed stupid drama.
The door was black walnut with a gleaming finish varnished to perfection. It was misleading, made to look like every other pretty door on the rich houses in the area. The difference was that on this house, the wood was hiding a solid steel security door beneath.
Wylie drew a long, black talon down between the seam of the door and reinforced metal molding. He found the bolts, four in all, and scratched the surface to mark their placement. “Stand back.” He shot a glare over his shoulder when he found Diego hovering. “Unless you’re looking to eat metal.”
Diego grunted defiantly, but moved a few steps away. Wylie didn’t care if the guy ended up with an elbow in the face just so long as he had enough space to work. He ran his palm along where the door met the molding over the alignment of bolts, and braced his other hand to help muffle what he was about to do.
His first slam was experimental to give him an idea of what kind of force he needed. The door yielded beneath his palm, and the solid bolts were a soft bulge in the covering wood. Wylie abruptly clawed down the surface and scraped the glued on wood away to get a better look.
“Seriously?” Wylie muttered when he saw how close together the bolts were. Too easy. The pieces of metal couldn’t be more than three inches into the reinforced molding.
Wylie sank claws into the door with his braced hand, pulled his right back, and punched forward with an open palm. The metal buckled from the blow, and there was a shearing sound under the loud slam. Wylie kept pushing forward, and the door bent and warped from the molding around his hand. With a final slam, the mechanism holding the bolts tore through the other side of the door and clattered to the floor.
“Fuck, yeah.” A smug smile split Wylie’s face, and he turned the broken handle to loud protests from the metal, wrenching forward. Wylie pushed the door open wide with a flourish and waved the scowling Diego in. His gaze fell to Adam, whose chest was heaving and face pale as he stared at Wylie’s impossibly strong arms.
“Hurry the fuck up, you little bitch,” Diego snapped when he saw Adam frozen in fear. Adam jolted, and his eyes flew to Wylie’s face. Without a word, he scurried past and darted inside the dark room after Diego.
Wylie shook his head, his expression grim. He had only met Adam once before, and he reeked of so much fear it was hard to understand what the hell he was doing running with Roth. Maybe Adam was one of those types who didn’t want to be afraid anymore. Wylie sure as fuck didn’t have that problem. He stopped being afraid once he realized no matter how many foster families treated him like shit, he could still survive on his own. Even if he didn’t get into the gang tonight, Wylie knew he’d be fine.
“Baby, you got this,” Beck said excitedly as he stepped up beside Wylie, careful to avoid his scales. “Fuck college; you could be robbing banks! You’re made for this.”
Wylie pasted on a smile he didn’t feel. “Yeah, sure.” His boyfriend wanted him to be a career criminal. Great.
Lights flickered on inside, and Wylie eyed the gaping door where the other two had disappeared. Adam’s fear scent made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, and Wylie suppressed an annoyed sigh. None of this felt right. Adam was too waif-limbed to carry shit and too skittish to trust not to bolt if things got tough. Beck was at least a sweet talker. If some nosy biddy stuck her head over the fence, Beck could come up with a lie and a smile on his pretty face in a second flat.
It didn’t matter, not really. Beck shouldn’t have been there. Neither teen had the judgment or nerves suited to rob the place, and Wylie was left wondering once again why they brought four guys for this job.
He was in it now. Breaking and entering, trespassing, burglary, and damage to private property. Shit, Beck might have a point about this being a career.
Wylie squared his shoulders and stalked toward the door. “Watch your ass, B.”
“Yours and mine both, babe,” Beck replied with a wink as he whirled and sauntered back to the van.
Wylie paused as he stepped inside. He was expecting a great room, something relaxed with a television and couch. What he found was a space clinical and cold in both style and temperature, one with a purpose he couldn’t quite place. The floor was a hard tile, and the walls stripped of any personal touches or embellishments. It was a flat, white room all around, and Wylie’s ice blue eyes narrowed on the strange, bulky machinery made of glittering chrome and sleek plastic. The advanced looking equipment dotted the large space in an obvious grid pattern.
It could have been storage or even a weird art installation. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.
“Start tagging anything that looks worthwhile,” Diego ordered Adam, who was trembling where he stood.
The air was stale and void of natural scents, which only made Adam’s fear scent all the more intense. Wylie’s gaze darted to the wall of electronics, paused on a dividing curtain of plastic to the right, and landed on Adam’s diminutive form and hunched shoulders. Wylie didn’t know shit about tech outside of email and phone calls, but there was a lot of big equipment. If he judged by Adam’s expression, none of this was the run of the mill stuff you’d find in just any rich fuck’s house.
“This is military grade,” Adam whispered as he hovered next to a metal contraption that looked heavy enough to crush him. The machine he was fiddling with flickered and buzzed, and a thin light glowed between metal plates, producing a laser. Wylie’s scales puffed up as a chill zapped down his spine. The sooner they got out of there, the better.
“The door!” Diego snarled to Adam and pointed to a large, open doorway that led to the rest of the downstairs. “We’ve got one more keypad to get through to get into the upstairs house.”
“R-Right!” Adam flinched at Diego’s aggressive tone and nodded rapidly. Clutching his laptop to his chest, he quickly scurried in the direction of the hall.
“I thought you said the security was all down?” Wylie asked suspiciously.
“Subsystems. Simple shit,” Diego grunted. “Come on, freak. The safe is upstairs.”
Wylie followed after Diego’s retreating back with his lips pursed tight. No one had mentioned anything about keypads and internal locks. Had Adam been briefed on things the rest of them hadn’t?
Wylie wasn’t sure if he had good reason to feel paranoid or if the downstairs was just creeping him out. The place felt like an underground laboratory, and it got worse as he followed Diego down the unadorned hallway tiled in white.
Lights connected to motion sensors clicked on as they passed. On either side of the hallway were floor to ceiling windows that looked into large rooms. Inside were desks and more equipment, the spaces filled with the shiny, chrome stuff. But the instruments didn’t look like displays here; they were being used for something. Well, had been used, at least.
Everything was covered in plastic drop cloths to keep dust from getting into whatever was hidden underneath. Wylie wasn’t particularly interested in learning just what was under the plastic. What he could see was creepy enough, from empty vats and cages large enough to fit people, to examination rooms that looked both high tech and intimidating. Through one set of windows was a room that looked so dungeon like, Wylie stopped to peer silently for a long minute.
There were metal restraints, a metal cage that fit across an entire wall, and a metal grid on every surface. On the back wall was a large image of the inside of a human mouth. Except it wasn’t a human mouth, not a proper one. There were two rows of razor-sharp teeth belonging to a fully infected werewolf.
‘Howlers…’
“Shit.” Wylie’s scales ruffled, and he blinked rapidly as a strange wave of dizziness hit him. He turned from the image of the werewolf and forged ahead. He didn’t look into the rooms after that. He didn’t want to see any of it, didn’t want to know. The stuff looked like it was sitting there, untouched for years, and that was consolation enough.
“Figure out what’s important, and we’ll be down to move what you can’t lift.” Up ahead, Diego shoved Adam back the way they just came. “Don’t fuck it up.”
Wylie could see the fear in Adam’s eyes as the teen came his way. Adam stayed close to the side of the hall to avoid getting too close as he passed by him, his only acknowledgment that he was there. Wylie shook his head grimly and forged forward.
Too young. They were all too fucking young for this shit.
“Stairs,” Diego grunted and pulled open the door he was standing next to. Wylie saw the dead keypad on the wall and the metal grate that was once blocking the door now hooked to the side. It looked just like the metal used for the werewolf cage.
“What is this place?” Wylie asked as he entered the stairwell made of concrete steps that led up.
“None of your fucking business,” Diego snapped. “Less talking, more paying the fuck attention, freakshow.”
Wylie gritted his teeth and stomped up the stairs after Diego. He slowed once they reached the upstairs door and waited for Diego to open it, the gangster taking care to push another black metal grate aside before stepping through.
Wylie held his breath when he stepped out into the upstairs mansion. The lights were dim, but his eyes caught every detail as he looked around. Everything was different compared to the sterile lab area they left downstairs, and it felt like he was stepping out into another world.
The stairway door was tucked in a corner that opened out into a hallway, and directly to his left was a large, gleaming kitchen with expansive counter tops and state of the art equipment. Wylie fleetingly remembered what he last ate that day. It had been a bag of potato chips Beck grabbed him from his house. Before then, a piece of bread smeared with butter and nothing else. Wylie had never seen a kitchen so large before, and he had to force his feet from wandering in search for food. He was sure whatever was in the giant, stainless steel fridge was of a better caliber than anything that was back at his detention house.
Wylie followed Diego down the unfamiliar hall, his gaze darting to every shadowed room and new luxury. At the corner, he found a giant family room with a television big enough to hide inside. He passed a decadent dining room, the walls dripping in luscious drapes, the space filled with gleaming wooden furniture carved with elegant curves and whorls. Chandeliers dazzled above their heads in the low lighting, glowing with a faint magic that turned the crystals into prisms lit from within.
Diego didn’t seem interested in any of the opulence as he stalked through the long maze of hallways with complete confidence. It made Wylie wonder if the gang had gotten the house plans in advance, or if maybe Diego had been there before. It was hard to believe someone as coarse and crude as Diego had convinced a maid to let him see the place, but the gangster moved like he knew exactly where he was going, and didn’t bother to turn on the lights even in the dark hallways. Wylie admitted a mild appreciation that Diego wasn’t bumbling around like an idiot. He could put up with the asshole just so long as he didn’t get them thrown into jail.
The hallway suddenly branched out in four directions, and Wylie stopped short, his mouth agape as he turned and took it all in.
On one side was a curved music room with no doorways to block the sight of the ornate instruments. Gilded and ancient looking, each musical instrument was meticulously preserved and cared for, arranged to be seen more than played. Behind the wall where a harp arched like a giant platinum swan, floor to ceiling windows looked out onto the courtyard. Through the glass was a tall gate blocking the courtyard in, one that ran above like a cage so that nothing human sized could get out.
Wylie turned slowly, barely seeing the dual sweeping staircases that led to the second floor of the grand foyer. He zeroed in on the dark door on the other side of the foyer as his stomach bubbled with nerves. He had severely underestimated the security. The little door downstairs with the wimpy bolts he punched through was nothing compared to the mammoth door and extensive security that encased the front entrance of the mansion. Even from the distance, he could see electricity arcing from the metal door to a switch connected to a generator below.
Wylie started putting it all together: the lack of windows, the metal gates on every door, around the courtyard and the lawn, and now the only other door he’d found literally made out of anti-paranormal technology. The mansion hadn’t just been designed to cage werewolves downstairs; it was made to keep them out of the building.
It was a level of wealth he couldn’t fathom, and Wylie looked around the foyer like a starstruck tourist. What it would cost to power the gate, the doors, the fences… It was the kind of thing only cities could afford, yet here it was in a house built for one family.
Wylie tilted his head back and peered at the ceiling that arched above with geometric patterns carved in relief on the white surface. The marble tile below reflected the shapes in its sleek, shiny surface. All around him from the walls, to the statues, to the paintings, and lighting spoke of a luxury he had only ever glimpsed in the pages of magazines or flashes on television. He had thought it had to be an illusion, just media magic—or even plain old magic—but somehow there were people who actually lived like this.
“Freak!” Diego snapped his fingers sharply. “Pay the fuck attention!”
Wylie blinked and lowered his gaze, his expression impassive as he stared back at Diego’s scowling face. If the fucker whistled at him like a dog, Wylie wasn’t sure just what he’d do, but he doubted anyone would blame him.
Wylie turned his feet in Diego’s direction and returned to the path, this time with his senses expanded to take everything in. Diego’s voice was a low, angry rant far ahead of him. “…saddled with a bunch of snot-nosed, piss for brains, fucktard kids.” Wylie tuned it out, more interested in the many extravagances and flashes of treasure found everywhere he looked. In the study, a grandfather clock ticked from its tall, cherry wood case. It had a mother of pearl face that gleamed in the luminous tint of magic from the pillar lamps. Everything in the mansion felt larger than life, created to impress instead of just exist.
Warning prickled through him as he passed the study, and Wylie stopped short. He tilted his head, and his scales ruffled and nostrils flared as he attempted to sense it out. Wylie breathed in deep and turned his head when he caught the scent of flowers. Down a connecting hall was a sleek, mahogany table with a vase sitting in the center. Wylie’s scales ruffled again, and without a word, he turned to investigate.
They were daffodils mixed with small, white daisies in a classic vase. The flowers were fresh, free of droopage or spots of brown on the perfect petals, and Wylie’s stomach churned with the realization.
Diego glanced behind him and snarled when he discovered Wylie wasn’t following. When he caught sight of him, he stomped over to where Wylie was glaring at the flowers. “What the fuck are you doing?” Diego demanded.
“Fresh flowers,” Wylie said through clenched teeth. He rolled his eyes when Diego inhaled, moments from flipping out at him for wasting time. “They’re not even wilted,” Wylie stressed as he plucked one of the petals free with his dark claws. “Who the hell puts flowers out in an empty house?”
Diego’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward to briefly sniff the flowers to see if they were real. He straightened, and with a shrug, waved to the elegant hallways. “Look at this fucking place. Do you really think someone this rich does normal shit? Maybe the fucking maid puts them out to look nice in case they get robbed. Stop thinking and hurry the fuck up.”
“This is totally fucked,” Wylie muttered under his breath as Diego stalk back to the main hall.
The downstairs was full of military tech and werewolf cages, the outside gate had a code they barely got through, and the place was designed to withstand a siege of howlers. Who the fuck knew what else they might have missed? It was the middle of the night and whoever might be there—maid, butler, guest—could be in bed in one of the many rooms in the giant mansion. Wylie had no issue with stealing shit from someone who had more than enough, but he drew the line at terrorizing people.
“Psst!” Diego turned and waved his hand in an exaggerated motion to get him the fuck over there.
“Damn it. Fucking damn it,” Wylie growled under his breath and forced his reluctant feet forward. His scales were twitching so much, it felt like a bug was digging beneath his skin as he followed after Diego.
For all he knew, the fucking rich put flowers out every damn day even when no one was home. Rich people were fucking crazy. Money lifted them beyond reality the same way drugs did for a strung out crackwhore. Whoever lived there had rooms for their stuff, not for people. It’s not like he had found any photos in the giant place or anything. Who the hell was he to say what went on in the minds of the ultra-rich?
Wylie kept close this time as Diego led them surefooted down a branching corridor. He wanted this heist over with already so he could get the fuck out. They followed around a curved wall and passed an elaborate gym with equipment that looked too expensive to belong in anyone’s house. There was nothing normal about the mansion, and Wylie felt more and more out of place when they passed a library inside a study large enough to be a house all by itself.
The wealth was no longer impressive. Every new thing just reminded him of the anti-paranormal tech on the doors and windows. He might not know what his demon arms were, but Wylie was well aware they marked him as a paranormal. This was not a place he was supposed to be.
Wylie’s unease grew with every tap of prison tattooed fingers to the doors as they passed. Diego finally stopped at a dark wooden door where dim light greeted through a narrow gap.
“The office,” Diego announced when Wylie met him at the doorway. “There are jewels and bonds in here, plus some cash.” He pulled a black rectangle from inside his leather coat and unfolded it into a large canvas duffel bag. “The safe is on the far wall past the windows and desk. A bunch of books open up like a door.”
Diego glared into Wylie’s eyes as he placed the strap of the bag into his smooth palm, careful to avoid his talons. “Empty the shit and meet me down the hall. The clock is running down, so don’t fuck around. Don’t touch anything that’s not in that safe, and don’t run off. Just empty it and meet me five doors that way, left side.”
Wylie nodded and tried not to wonder what Diego was going for alone. If the asshole was stealing shit without Roth knowing, he sure as hell didn’t want to be the guy to snitch. Wylie knew why he was there: to follow orders so he could get in with Roth. If Diego wanted to screw himself with the boss, that was his death wish.
Wylie kept his mouth shut and waited for Diego to disappear down the hall before he pushed the office door open. He paused on the threshold and his gaze darted around the lush, sophisticated study. The room brimmed with expensive sculptures and artwork from all over the world. A single table lamp shone a warm glow from a solid wood desk in the middle of the room. It illuminated the warm brown tones of leather furniture and deep red walls. Wylie glared at his ratty sneakers, half afraid to step on the rich oriental rug and dirty it.
The room could have been two with the way bookcases dominated the far side of the space. The wealth was overwhelming, and all Wylie could think about were the shitholes he spent most of his time in. Each room of the mansion felt like new worlds, and this one was no different. Wylie pursed his lips and slipped through the door, careful to tread as lightly as possible on the rug.
Wylie grew tense with each wrong step. He didn’t belong here. He had spent years in foster care, living in houses where he wasn’t welcome, borrowing what was lent and rarely given. This time he was in a house to steal, not borrow. No one had invited him in; he had broken through the door. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. As much as he tried to brush it off, Wylie’s chest was tight as he walked the length of the room.
Scents tickled at his nose, and Wylie did his best to ignore the signs of recent life around him. The stale scent of human flesh was on the air. An older male… cigar smoker… “The butler,” Wylie whispered and took brisk steps to the bookcase on the far wall. Whoever left those flowers probably checked the rooms during the day to dust or some shit. He wasn’t sure exactly what it took to keep a mansion this size clean, but staff probably came by daily.
The false wall of books was easy to find. The hinges hadn’t been hidden, and although the books were real, they were placed as if in afterthought over the swinging door. Wylie’s pierced eyebrow raised at the ridiculousness of it all. The house screamed money, and anyone looking would know the place was full of cash. The owner must have really thought no one would ever get through the door.
Wylie clicked a claw into the wooden groove and nudged the false door open. The bookcase swung wide, and he eyed the matte black safe critically. It was more a vault than what he expected to find. Encased in cement, the safe was almost as tall as him. In the center was a dial waiting for a combination, and beneath that, a handle. Wylie considered the metal contraption in silence for long moments.
The downstairs door had taught him a lot for his first break in, and he didn’t bother trying to finesse this time. He punched his scaled fist into the safe door and ground his knuckles in hard until the metal ripped. He slammed his other hand down just as hard and slipped his claws between the jagged edges of torn metal. Wylie gripped tight and grinned as he curled and bent the thick, heavy door down. Even though it was made of steel, the door twisted like a thin tin cover of spam beneath his palms.
Shit, he really was made for this.
The darkness within the vault hid nothing from Wylie’s night vision. He couldn’t say what bonds were exactly, but he guessed the large, colorful pieces of paper kept in neat piles on the top shelf were them. There were flat boxes on the shelf beneath he figured must be the jewelry Diego mentioned. All the other shelves held cash separated into bundles and kept in tidy piles. It was the most money he’d ever seen in his life, and Wylie didn’t have to count it to know it was an absolute fortune.
Wylie wrenched the door with a final motion until the opening was as low as his knees, then he reached in to sweep the lowest shelf into the duffel. The scales on his wrist caught and tore right through a metal shelf and shredded half a bundle of cash.
“Fuck!” Wylie froze as ripped twenty-dollar bills fluttered down to his sneakers. Any sudden movement could end with all the money shredded. On the best of days, his palms were the only safe part of his hands when his scales were out. When he was shaking, his demon arms became even more of a hazard—not that he would admit to the adrenaline coursing through him.
Wylie took a steadying breath and glared down at his hands. His scales ruffled but refused to retract. “Come on, you fuckers,” he demanded in a harsh whisper. Everything about his arms pissed him off, including how temperamental they were. He was pretty sure the demonic things hated him back just as much, seeing as they made his life hell. “The claws, then,” Wylie pleaded and wiggled his fingers. “I need a damn hand!” His scales refused to relent, and Wylie growled in frustration. He peered into the paper treasure pile waiting in the safe as his mind raced.
Fear was starting to itch up his spine. Wylie couldn’t actually remember the last time he had let his arms out this long. Usually it was short stuff, quick moments where he would break something that needed breaking, or threaten someone who was giving him shit. He always shifted back right after, afraid of what might happen. His demon arms never felt like they were a part of him, but more that someone else was in there, controlling the terrifying things…
‘Hurry…’
Wylie grimaced as darkness throbbed for a moment behind his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. There was no fucking time.
“Fuck it.” Wylie gave up on his hands, and his eyes lit on a thick, hardcover encyclopedia on the bookcase shelves. It didn’t matter if his claws shredded the book just so long as they didn’t touch the money. Wylie pulled the encyclopedia down and used a sweeping motion to clear half of the first shelf into the duffel bag. “Yes. Fucking winning,” he cheered triumphantly.
He held the bag gingerly by the strap with his knee raised to brace the bottom. With the book, Wylie knocked the rest of the contents from the shelf into the waiting bag. Things went faster after that, and it was difficult to truly understand the stacks of money sailing past him.
Seriously, rich people were fucking crazy. Who needed this much cash at home? If they put their money in a bank, no one would be walking into their house to steal their shit. But then, what the fuck did he know? Wylie snorted under his breath as one of the flat boxes knocked open and a glittering necklace tumbled out, only to be covered by a half dozen bundles of cash. Maybe the thousands flipping past his view were the same as spare change in the couch for normal people? Giant mansions, giant tech, giant amounts of dough: the rich were too fucking large to comprehend.
It was a good thing Beck was stuck playing lookout; he would have been writhing in the vault like it was an orgy. Beck had big dreams he was looking to buy if he could only get enough cash. Wylie tried to understand it, but he stopped dreaming a long time ago. There was no point. Freaks didn’t get to reach their dreams. No, they were stuck doing the grunt work behind the scenes while ambitious crooks like Roth were safe at home making a fortune.
The seams of the bag were stretching by the time the safe was empty. Wylie tossed the now shredded hardcover book aside and flexed his shoulders to coax his scales further up his arms. His demon arms had weird limitations he didn’t fully understand. His muscles and bones changed to beyond human, but only where the scales reached. It didn’t matter how killer his arms were if he couldn’t lug the weight of a bag full of twenties.
Wylie held still as his biceps bulged and more scales erupted through his flesh. The edges of his tank top shredded from the sharp scales. Sight, sound, and scent flooded him all at once when Wylie’s senses responded to the transformation, and a vibrant rush of information greeted him with his next breath.
Yeah, there had been a man in the office recently. Very recent. Wylie could smell the molecules of sweat in the air. He carried the bag one handed and wandered to a stand of glittering liquor bottles where a discarded glass of brandy rested. He sniffed and picked up the sour hint of clinging saliva and bacteria off the rim. If it was the butler, he sure as fuck wasn’t afraid to leave his booze stealing ways out for all to see…
Wylie didn’t need his scales to twitch this time as his heart pounded with understanding. He smelled someone.
He had slammed through that downstairs door, and the sound of shearing metal when he tore through the safe wasn’t fucking quiet. Fuck. They could have already called the cops. Wylie grimaced as a snarl tore from his throat. Fucking whore, the cops could already be on their way! What if they missed something? There had been codes on the inside—what if Adam missed something? The cops could be sneaking up the driveway even now!
Wylie didn’t bother to count the doors as he booked it from the office and dashed into the hall. He followed Diego’s scent down the hallway while he swallowed down his anxiety. There was no watch his scales wouldn’t destroy, but he knew they couldn’t have been in the house for more than ten minutes. Wylie winced when he thought about how long it took to get through the downstairs with all the weird labs. Shit, it might have been fifteen. Even twenty minutes—the hallways were so damn long in the place. Fuck, they needed to fucking fly.
“Diego!” Wylie palmed the door handle to the room the gangster had disappeared into and used his knee to push it open. He stopped short with a sharp inhale when scent and sight revealed an absolute shit storm.
SCENE #3
In the dark room, each object glowed with a sharp halo to Wylie’s shocked eyes. Someone had outlined reality in a bright, vibrating light, making the open wall safe and the paper waterfall spread across the hardwood floor buzz at the edges. Even brighter were the forms of the man crumpled at the foot of the bed and Diego standing over him with a gun in his outstretched hand. Wylie’s senses strained as he tried to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. The world pulsed, and he realized blearily it had the same beat as his own heart.
It wasn’t the scent of fear, but the small whimper of pain from the homeowner on the floor that snapped Wylie back to reality.
“Don’t fucking do it, man.” Wylie stepped into the room, his eyes jumping from the gun, to the stranger on the floor tangled in blankets. What were once immaculate, silk pajamas were now stained in blood from the guy’s head wound. “Just stop.”
Diego barely glanced Wylie’s way, his glare fixed down at the homeowner. He waved Wylie off with his free hand and widened his stance to brace for the gun’s recoil. “I’ll meet you downstairs. Help the twerp with the—” Diego fell silent when Wylie defiantly threw the duffel bag full of money on the floor. Red colored his features, and he lifted the gun and pointed it at Wylie’s chest. “Pick it the fuck up, and get the fuck downstairs, freak!”
“Why? So you can shoot this guy?” Righteous anger heated through Wylie and clenched in his chest. The Glock didn’t waver in Diego’s hand, and Wylie stood taller in defiance. “We’re here to rob, not murder. Do you think Roth is going to pat you on the back for killing some rich slob in his fucking bed? No, he’s going to waste you for fucking things up. Think, for fuck sake!”
Doubt crept into Diego’s dark eyes. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“We’ve got the money.” Wylie waved at the duffel bag and the cash spread out on the floor. “I cleared out the fucking safe, and the little shit downstairs is rolling in enough tech to give him a woody. Walk the fuck away, man. We have everything we came for.”
“I can’t!” Sweat spilled down Diego’s forehead as he shifted from one foot to the other. He gripped the gun with two hands and pointed it back at the man on the floor.
“Just…” Wylie held his breath, and his gaze slid down to where the gun was pointing. Once he found the homeowner’s face, it was impossible to turn away. The older man’s eyes were open and glazed with pain and confusion. The head wound had split the paper-thin skin of his forehead, and blood the color of night streamed down his face unchecked. Wylie’s stomach churned and twisted as he got a fresh whiff of copper scented blood.
“Don’t do it,” Wylie whispered, his voice strangely hoarse.
“The rich fuck saw my face!” Diego shouted, as if yelling could justify what he was about to do. “I’m not going back to prison. I am fucking done with prison!”
Wylie’s eyes locked with the homeowner’s as fear trickled past his strong defenses. Diego was going to waste this guy. It didn’t matter what the fuck he said or what amount of money was at hand. Diego was more afraid of prison than of taking a life, and he was going to kill this guy. Wylie hadn’t realized he had something left to be afraid of, but apparently seeing an innocent man get shot to death was it.
‘Fight…’
Something dark shifted inside him, and Wylie nearly stumbled sideways as the room tilted a moment. Grasping his head, his eyes fixed on the gun and where Diego was standing. He couldn’t let this happen. He had to stop it.
“Listen to me, really closely here.” Wylie took a tentative step as he scrambled to think of something that would convince Diego to stop. He was a full seven feet away from the gangster. It wasn’t near enough to do a flying leap faster than a bullet, but if he could inch a bit closer…
“What?” Diego grunted. His dark eyes were full of warning when he glanced his way, and Wylie froze.
“Okay. Uh, let’s say he manages to describe you even though the lighting is total shit in here.” Wylie forged on, grasping for anything to distract Diego from pulling the trigger. “The guy’s got an egg on the side of his head the size of my fist. He’s fucking ancient, and he’s injured.”
Sweat trickled down Wylie’s neck as he stared at Diego’s tense face and waited for him to look away. Wylie slid his right foot closer. “Let’s say he doesn’t have brain damage or memory loss from that lump, and he can describe you.” Wylie stole another step closer while Diego growled. “What’s he going to say?” he pressed. “It’s just a face. There are a fucking million people who look like you. You’re not pretty, you’re not ugly or scarred. It’s just a damn face, man. There’s no way he’s going to be able to identify you with all that blood in his eyes.”
“I’m not going back!” Diego snapped his gaze back to Wylie, and the gun lifted a moment only to return back to its original target. “You don’t understand what it’s like in there, freak, what they fucking do to you! Arms like yours, they might leave you the fuck alone. But me? You think they care if I’m pretty or not? You think they care if I run with anyone?” Fear and rage battled on Diego’s features as he relived something in his mind. His body shook, and the red flushing his face and neck spread down his chest.
Wylie held his arms out in a pacifying gesture, terrified Diego was going to snap then and there. “Stop. Chill the fuck out.” There was a noise, and Wylie turned his head toward the door, his eyes squinting to peer into the darkness on the other side of the gap. From far away, he picked up the sounds of Adam’s thin voice calling from down the hall. Wylie tried to do the math of how long he’d been in the bedroom. Had the cops hit the scanner? Did Beck send Adam up to get them out?
It was possible. Fuck, the cops could already be there.
Wylie turned back, his frustration growing with every second of the fucked up situation. “Listen, if this all goes to shit, you’re either in it for robbery, which is a fucking cakewalk, or it’s murder. Think!” Wylie stressed, desperation creeping into his voice. “They will never let you out if you kill this guy. You fucking hear me? They will lock you away with the animals forever!”
“Shit… Shit!” Diego hissed. The gun rattled in his grip as his hands shook. “You don’t get it, freak. You can’t… Shit!”
“Just walk away, man. We gotta go!” Wylie held his breath, waiting, certain he had gotten through. Surely Diego would stop and leave. It was the only answer. But what followed was just as illogical as the gangster’s assumption their piece of shit van would be inconspicuous when parked in front of a luxury mansion.
Diego’s hands steadied, and he pointed the gun back down at the man groaning on the floor. “I have priors. It’s not robbery; it’s fucking armed robbery.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Wylie insisted. “The cops are on their way! We’ve been here too long.”
Diego shook his head and snarled. “Freak, you’re too fucking stupid to understand. If I let this guy live and then end up back in jail for armed robbery…” Diego shook his head again, and his eyes narrowed with determination. “Sometimes you have to do shit. Sometimes you gotta make sure your rep is set.”
Wylie’s heart raced as Adam’s footsteps came closer and Diego pulled back the hammer on the gun. There was no time. Danger was coming for him at all sides, and it was impossible to keep any semblance of calm anymore.
“This isn’t just about you, you selfish fuck!” Wylie shouted.
“What, I’m supposed to give a fuck about the rich asshole who wasn’t supposed to be here!” Diego hollered back, his face red.
“No, the lookout, you dick! The fucking nerd! Me!” Wylie pointed accusingly at Diego. “You’re setting us all up for life if you—!”
The door creaked as Adam pushed it open, and Wylie felt the trigger squeeze. His muscles screamed in protest as Wylie lunged with all his strength and knocked into Diego’s solid form. Noise and light exploded all around him as Wylie careened forward. His hypersensitive senses reeled and his sight blacked out the same moment a ringing overwhelmed his ears. Wylie felt more than saw Diego crumple and collapse beneath him.
Another shot jerked through his body. Wylie gasped as red throbbed behind his eyes.
‘Survive…’
Wylie jolted and scrambled to wrestle the gun from Diego before they all ended up dead. He clawed around Diego’s forearms in desperation, and the scent of blood filled his nostrils. His palm found the gun. The barrel was burning hot from firing, but his demon arms felt no pain as he wrenched the weapon from Diego’s grip.
“Fuck.” The maddening scent of blood was all around him, and the room twisted in dark tendrils. Wylie patted mindlessly at his chest, but if he was shot, he couldn’t feel it.
Time. They were out of time.
Wylie lurched to his feet and hauled Diego up after him. Diego howled, and Wylie blinked rapidly to clear the fuzzy, dark dot from his vision enough to see the damage. Diego’s flesh oozed blood where inhuman claws and razor-sharp scales had sliced and scraped. He squinted as he tried to decipher if it was bone or fabric peeking through Diego’s bloodied jacket. Wylie’s knees threatened to give, but when he looked down, they were free of any telltale blood or holes.
A small whimper broke his dazed inspection, and Wylie turned to the door. Adam’s eyes were wide and unblinking as he stared at the homeowner huddled on the floor. The kid smelled of piss and fear, and Wylie clenched his jaw and took a steadying breath.
He didn’t need to look. He could scent the blood pooling on the floor behind him. Now that the ringing in his ears had faded, he could hear the man’s shattered gasps for air.
“Get to the van, kid,” Wylie gritted out. He adjusted his grip on Diego and earned a fresh scream of pain.
Adam’s slim form was shaking so much, he had to grip his arms to his chest to keep them from flailing. Tears streamed down his small face, and with an effort, he turned from the view of the dying man. He looked green, and Wylie really hoped he wasn’t going to hurl.
“What about… W-What about the stuff?” Adam forced out between chattering teeth.
“Now!” Wylie yelled. “Get the fuck out!”
Adam swiftly backpedaled away when Wylie stormed toward the door. Diego screamed as his blood sprayed up Wylie’s shoulder and splattered hot on his face. Growling loudly, Wylie dragged him through the open door and into the hallway. Diego had no escape from the clawed hand gripping his arm and slicing deep into the muscle of his bicep.
Wylie ignored Diego’s thrashing struggles. He was too furious to even look at the gangster for fear he might do something he’d regret. Wylie was steady as he followed their scent trail through the mansion, passing the office and study in silence. He strode down the corridor and took the turn that opened out to the main hall, then snarled when the scent of flowers reached his nose again.
“Damn it! Fucking damn this entire night,” Wylie muttered. He was smarter than this. He was fucking better than this.
Wylie didn’t waste time on caution as he rushed toward the stairway hidden by the kitchen. The cops weren’t there yet. Yet. After two gunshots and a guy bleeding out in the bedroom, he didn’t have to guess how the night was going to end.
Wylie paused at the top of the concrete staircase and snarled down at Diego, who had stopped trying to keep up. The gangster’s legs had given out. His sweaty face was pale from blood loss, and his dark eyes were glassy as they failed to focus on his surroundings.
“You selfish ass.” Wylie gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to leave the gangster behind, locked in one of the rooms, or better yet, the cage downstairs. If he thought for a moment Diego wouldn’t sell them out, he would have gladly left him there to be picked up by the cops.
Diego’s cries of pain renewed when Wylie readjusted his grip and tucked the gangster’s slumped form under one of his jagged, monstrous arms. They descended the eerily lit stairwell at a quick pace, each step wrenching blood and weak protests from Diego’s flailing form. Wylie caught a glimpse of his savage smile in the reflection of the small window as he grabbed the door handle, and was momentarily stunned by how sharp his fangs had grown.
The downstairs was less creepy now that adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Diego’s boot caught on a narrow, spindly table by the door they exited, and a crystal bowl careened to the floor. Broken glass and small decorative rocks scattered in a spray at their feet. Wylie’s eyes narrowed and his fangs flashed. He wrenched Diego hard against his side and pulled him down the long hallway flanked by giant windows. Lights flickered on in response to their presence, and Diego’s boots thumped with each step.
Adam scurried behind them, deftly avoiding the blood on the floor. In his arms he clutched a small laptop while he bit at the fingernails of his left hand intently. He was silent, his eyes glued on the way Diego’s clothes and flesh were shredding in Wylie’s merciless hold and turning crimson.
Wylie rushed through the underground corridors and pushed through a door. He snarled when the lights of the strange, white room he first entered hit his eyes. He raised his free arm up to shade his vision and plowed toward the splintered side door.
Beck was waiting at the outer door, his anxious expression revealing he heard the gunshots. He didn’t say a word as he took in the way Wylie was holding both a gun and Diego, who was now unconscious and streaming blood on the sterile floor. Wylie felt a fresh wave of anger as fear slipped into Beck’s dark blue eyes and grew as he stared at Diego’s bleeding form.
The stupid fuck hadn’t run when he heard the gunshots. For all Beck knew, there had been a security guard inside shooting them down. The stupid kid just stood there waiting to be killed.
“You’re in the way,” Wylie snapped, and the scales on his arms ruffled up to prove the point. Beck’s eyes went wide, and he quickly backpedaled away. Wylie shook his head in frustration and made his way out into the night. He headed straight for the van while his ears strained for the telltale screams of sirens.
“What happened? Wylie, what the fuck?” Beck ran up beside him and tried to keep pace with his large strides.
Wylie grunted. Beck looked so young, like the naive high school student he was. His brown hair was dyed with stylish, red streaks, and he had worn his overpriced sneakers to his first heist. His pretty face and fast tongue had gotten Beck out of every petty crime he jumped into, but that was over. Given his pallor and the haunted look in his eyes, Beck was realizing he was an accomplice to murder.
“You’re driving, B. Adam, get in the van and make sure you keep those cameras down until we’re gone.” Wylie pointed to the front of the vehicle and ignored the hurt look on Beck’s face at the dismissal. Fuck, because B thought there was time to have his feelings hurt when there was a man dying in the house they just robbed. Wylie growled under his breath and quickened his pace.
Resolve hardened in Wylie when he got to the back of the van. Adam had gathered up a pathetic pile of electronics while they’d been robbing the place. The kid was useless unless he had a computer in hand. What the hell would happen if Adam ended up in prison? Diego had killed out of fear of going back, and he was a grown man with actual muscle. Adam was so small and weak that he’d probably be dead in days.
Was it worth it? Had any of this fucking gang bullshit been worth it? Fuck!
Wylie heaved Diego’s unconscious body into the back of the van on top of the pile of electronics. He resisted the urge to spit on him. They could have avoided all of this if Diego hadn’t lost his shit. Diego could have used his fucking brain the second they noticed the flowers. Fuck, no, he knew better. Wylie could have chosen to not get in the van when Diego showed up late…
Wylie went to shut the door and stopped short. He snaked a hand forward and snatched the cell phone half hanging from Diego’s pocket and slipped it carefully into his jeans. He slammed the doors shut with his knee and started walking.
“What, are you getting—? Wylie!” Beck gaped at Wylie’s back a moment, then took off after him as he headed back to the house. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m making sure that guy doesn’t fucking die!” Wylie whirled and jerked away when Beck reached for him, oblivious to his deadly scales. “Arms,” Wylie stressed when hurt again flashed in his boyfriend’s eyes. Beck bit his lower lip, and Wylie sighed and spoke more gently. “Get them the hell out of here, B. Diego’s going to need a hospital. I fucked him up bad getting the gun from him.”
“Don’t!” Beck pleaded when Wylie went to turn away. “Come with us. Baby, fuck, don’t do this!” Tears glowed in Beck’s eyes as he gripped his hands into fists to keep from reaching out. “No one will know it was us. No one will fucking know, and we can just… just…” Beck trailed off, unable to continue when he saw the resolve on Wylie’s face.
Naive. Beck was so fucking naive. Rich people didn’t get murdered in their homes with no one caught for the crime, not when it was a paranormal who broke through the back door. The police would never stop looking for them.
“Hurry up, B. That asshole is going to need you to save him after his huge fuck up.” Wylie smiled grimly and leaned down to press a swift kiss to Beck’s cheek. He paused to breathe in Beck’s unique scent under the stench of Diego’s blood. What Wylie once found comforting in his boyfriend now felt like a liability.
It felt like goodbye.
Wylie pulled back and tried to keep his emotions from his face. “Don’t let Diego pin this on you with Roth, okay? I know that crazy fuck, and he’ll blame us before ever owning up to his shit. I gotta go call an ambulance, but I want you safe and out of here first.”
Beck’s arms hung at his sides in defeat. “Shit… Shit, you’re such a fucking idiot.” Beck’s eyes continued to plead with Wylie even as he took hesitant steps backward. His gaze never left Wylie’s until he reached the driver’s door to the van.
The blood cooling on Wylie’s t-shirt from the night air was itchy, but he refused to move. He waited until Beck had climbed inside the van and the engine roared to life. The headlights flared, and Wylie growled and covered his eyes. Beck’s voice was rough with emotion when he snapped something at the hysterical Adam, put the van in gear, and turned sharply in the driveway. Wylie lowered his arm and waited until the van crossed through the open gate and pulled onto the road.
Wylie sighed heavily and turned back to the broken door. Shards of wood his claws had raked free littered the ground, red with Diego’s blood. He squinted when he noticed a small, white wad of chewing gum. It had been dragged by Diego’s shoe until it found its way onto the pavement. Wylie leaned down and speared it with a long talon, glaring at the little piece of nicotine laced gum for countless moments.
Beck was right: he was as fucking stupid as they came.
SCENE #4
Wylie stepped back into the mansion and twisted the ruined door behind him, wedging it until the metal bent and stuck shut. He grimaced when he slipped on the tile floor and found the overly bright room splattered in Diego’s blood. The scent and sight of the scarlet carnage had him sneering while his stomach churned. Wylie stalked forward and slammed through the doorway that led to the long corridor and automatic lights. Nothing felt untouched by the violence they had brought with them, each step streaked with blood and reeking of fear sweat.
Dread clawed at his mind as Wylie rushed to the stairwell, his heart racing in his throat. He didn’t want to face what was waiting upstairs in the master bedroom. The blood had been intense, a fucking puddle compared to what dribbled out of Diego. While Wylie’s scales could shred flesh, that gun did exactly what it was designed to do. That old guy was going to die.
He paused outside the open stairwell door and scowled at the broken table and shattered crystal bowl. It felt disrespectful on top of everything else to have Diego break the homeowner’s stuff after putting a bullet in him. Wylie took the concrete steps in large leaps and bounded around the corner, hot on his goal. He jogged down the upstairs hallway, his steps muffled by a long runner carpet. When he passed the grand foyer, Wylie stopped short and bit back a gasp.
Strewn lengthwise along the hall was the homeowner. He had crawled to get there and was collapsed in a puddle of his own blood. Wylie swallowed hard. A gory trail was smeared in thick crimson across the floor, but in the dim lighting, he could see the man’s chest heave with every struggling breath.
Alive. Thank fuck, he was alive.
Wylie tried to take a steadying breath and gagged on the overwhelming scent of blood. “Shit.” He grasped his forehead as a wave of dizziness hit him, and stepped forward to where the homeowner was fighting to get up. “Stop moving. You’re going to bleed out even more.”
Relief unclenched in his chest when he saw the determination in the old guy. He was a fighter, and he wasn’t dead yet. Wylie knelt down and reached to turn the homeowner to find the wound. He flinched back when the man cried out and wrenched away.
“Chill. I’m not here to hurt you. My palms don’t cut like my scales do so…” Wylie trailed off when he noticed he still was holding Diego’s gun. “Fuck,” he growled in exasperation. “I’m not going to shoot you either. I just didn’t want to leave it with that trigger-happy fuck. Hold on.”
Wylie jumped up and his eyes lit on the nearest closed door. Inside, he found a square table pushed to the side where he left the gun. He made sure to close the door tight when he returned to the hallway. The gun might have been mangled by his claws, but Wylie had seen enough thrillers to be paranoid. He wasn’t dumb enough to leave the damn thing lying around where someone could shoot him with it.
The cell phone was in his sweatshirt pocket. Wylie glared down at the man, then at his jagged edged, scaled arms. The incident with the safe was hot in his mind. How long had his demon arms been out now? Half an hour? More? Wylie didn’t like to transform in front of anyone, but there was no way his claws could work a touch screen. If he couldn’t get a call out, this guy was as good as dead.
Wylie took a slow breath, then another as he focused on his scales and attempted to pull them back in. “Please… Listen this one fucking time,” he whispered desperately. Wylie pursed his lips, fighting down his rising panic. After a breathless moment, he felt something change and his long, razor-sharp scales ruffled and absorbed back into his flesh. “Thank fuck.” He rubbed a pale hand along his blood streaked forearm to make sure they were completely normal. He had no idea where the scales went; it was a magic he didn’t understand. His arms ruined his life so completely that he rarely dwelled on where the monster inside him lived.
With eyes fixed on the man gasping on the floor, Wylie fished Diego’s cell from his pocket and dialed 911. As the phone rang, Wylie sank to his knees beside the homeowner and sought out the source of all the blood. “Don’t—damn it,” Wylie muttered. It didn’t matter how careful he turned him over, blood gushed in a fresh wave down the man’s nightshirt. It was bad, seriously bad.
Wylie untied the sweatshirt from around his waist and wadded it up, then pressed it firmly to what he could only guess was the wound beneath the crimson soaked pajama shirt. Wylie’s nose wrinkled as his hand grew slick with blood. He glanced at the man’s face, but there was no fight left in him. Either the old guy was too exhausted from blood loss, or he figured out he was helping. The homeowner tried to clutch the material to his chest to stop the flow of blood, but his hands were shaking too much, lacking any strength.
There was a click in Wylie’s ear followed by the buzz of background activity. “911. What’s your emergency?” a woman’s voice drawled from the phone.
“There’s a guy with a gunshot wound. It’s in his chest.” Wylie lifted the wad of sweatshirt to see, only to squish it back down. Blood pooled in the fabric between his tense fingers. “Shit. He’s, uh, he’s bleeding out and I don’t know what to do.”
Wylie hoped his voice sounded more stable than he felt, because he was freaking out. He wasn’t sure where the hell it had been hiding his entire life, but apparently there was still a lot of fear left in him. Now that Beck was safe, and he was alone with a wound that led straight to the morgue, Wylie had found a shit ton of terror.
“Where are you?” The operator sounded bored, like it was a simple walk in the park. It would have pissed him off, but Wylie was too busy trying to remember where he was.
He was robbing a house and didn’t even know the address? Fail. Total fail.
“Shit, dude, what’s your address?” Wylie peered down with eyebrows furrowed, waiting for an answer. The silence dragged on so long, he started to wonder if the old guy could even talk.
“Woodcrest… 135 Woodcrest Ave.,” the homeowner choked out as blood trickled from between his lips. He coughed and immediately sucked in a gasp of air.
“You get that?” Wylie demanded, unable to tear his eyes from the scarlet fluid splattered on the man’s chin. He knew internal bleeding was bad. Like, death bad. Maybe the guy bit his tongue when Diego cracked him on the head… Wylie wrenched his gaze away and turned to talk into the phone, hoping to muffle his voice. “Listen, you need to get someone down here now. This guy isn’t going to hold out much longer.”
“An ambulance has been dispatched. Are the two of you in a safe location?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine,” Wylie snapped, wanting to avoid any questions about gunmen or how everything went down. “The guy is losing all his blood. Is there anything I can do to, I dunno, keep the blood in him? He’s soaking through my sweatshirt.”
“Right, of course.” There was a clicking of a keyboard and a long pause before the operator continued. “Has pressure been applied to the wound?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m doing that right now.” Wylie turned back with a confused scowl. “It’s not doing much. I think the bullet might have gone through him. Should I turn him over to cover that one too?”
“It’s best to keep the pressure. Is there a magic user with you, someone who might be able to enhance the bandages you’re using? Even the most rudimentary healer kits have something to slow bleeding. Look for a vial labeled ‘gloo.’”
“I don’t…” Wylie’s eyebrows twisted as he looked around the opulent hallway. The place was huge and he hadn’t seen a bathroom yet. There might be something down in the basement, but that would mean trying to explore all the labs… “I have no fucking clue. This isn’t a hospital; it’s someone’s home. If I leave this guy to look, I’m worried he’ll be dead by the time I get back.”
“Hmm, no healer kit.” The voice tsked in disdain in his ear. “Is he moving normally, or is there signs that his spine might be injured?”
Wylie smiled grimly as he considered how far the old guy had crawled. “His spine’s fine.”
“If it’s safe to move the victim, you want to elevate the wound to slow the bleeding—oh, but that’s for limbs. But make sure you keep pressure on the wound at all times. If you have a healer kit… Oh, ignore that.” Silence descended as the operator clicked through web pages. “Here. It says to ensure his airway isn’t blocked. Is he breathing?”
“Of course he’s…” Wylie shook his head with a frustrated growl, thumbed the phone off, and tossed it down the hall. “Fucking morons. It’s like they don’t know where their ass is without magic. Privileged fucks.” He glanced down and met the homeowner’s confused gaze. “Sorry, dude. I’m not listening to her read to me until the cops show up.”
“Is he breathing?” Wylie muttered to himself as he refocused his efforts to stop the blood pouring from the man’s chest. “Don’t you think I would have started with he’s not breathing if the guy wasn’t fucking breathing? Shit, you better keep breathing, man.”
In defiance, the homeowner’s breath grew stuttered and full of gasps as each minute ticked by. Tension built in Wylie until his eyes squeezed shut and he found himself praying to whoever might be listening to not let this guy die. He didn’t know a thing about the homeowner. Well, except he was rich, kept way too much tech and money in his house, and might like daffodils. Now it was like the old guy was the most important person in the world. He must be, because Wylie knew exactly what he was doing by staying.
It was jail time. Juvie, if he were lucky. If the guy died—fuck, he picked up the gun, didn’t he? Wylie wasn’t sure if his clawed hands left fingerprints, but he was the one who broke into the house. He had the gun that shot the guy. He was the idiot who stayed behind…
Wylie held his breath when the man started coughing, and his chest heaved beneath his hand. Wylie raised his gaze and hesitantly met deep, blue eyes clouded with confusion. The guy looked military with his gray hair shorn close. There was something about the squareness of his jaw combined with his broad shoulders that made him seem like he had seen conflict. He could have been a retired soldier, out of place in the luxurious mansion. Wylie searched his face for more information, but beyond the twisting of his features, the homeowner didn’t have much for wrinkles.
“They’re on the way.” Wylie wasn’t sure if there was anything else to say. He was shocked the guy was still conscious; most of his blood was on the floor instead of in his body at this point.
“Your hands… Let me see your hands,” the homeowner gasped between loud, shallow breaths. He reached for Wylie’s hand, the one holding the compress in place. “Before… they were…”
“Yeah, freakish.” Wylie tried not to flinch away when his blood coated fingers were grasped and slipped through the man’s weak grip. “You don’t want a nightmare right now, man. They’re scary shit.”
“No… they were…” the man broke off with a wheeze, desperation shaking in his voice.
Wylie sighed and pulled his hand away when the homeowner tried to grab him again. “Dude, seriously…” Their eyes met, and Wylie saw a pleading in them he couldn’t understand. It was like the old guy was begging him, and it just didn’t make any sense. His demon arms were monstrous.
The guy was probably going to die… Wylie’s shoulders hunched in defeat. “Fine, whatever. But I warned you. Don’t start freaking out.”
Wylie sat back and made a point to keep his arm clear as he focused on his hand. It was always a crapshoot if he’d be able to control the transformation, and he didn’t want his scales slicing the old guy up. Wylie’s pigment darkened up to his wrist, and at the tip of his fingers, sharp, black talons pushed free. It wasn’t until the scales had finished sprouting over his hand that Wylie regretted giving in to the stupid request. The scent of blood was everywhere and overwhelmed his enhanced senses. Wylie turned away and determinedly breathed out of his mouth.
“You’re a shifter.” Shaking fingers gingerly touched Wylie’s claws where they were resting on the floor.
“You mean a freak. A killer monster with fucked up arms,” Wylie spat bitterly. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard it all before.”
“No… No, you’re a shifter.”
Wylie rolled his eyes. “Listen, dude, I know all about shifters, and I’m not like those guys. I don’t turn into anything fluffy, no fur or crazy inner animal. I’m some kind of demon monster who can only change his arms.” Wylie turned with eyes narrowed as fingers again touched his. He held his hand still as the man’s pale digits wavered near. “Careful. The scales are super sharp, so don’t go cutting yourself up even more.”
The man’s breathing broke down into coughs, and his entire body jolted with each uncontrollable spasm. He clutched Wylie’s smooth talons like a lifeline as his body shook. “Dragon,” he got out. “No such thing… as demon shifter.”
“What?” Wylie blinked rapidly and jerked his hand away. “What did you say?”
Blood speckled the man’s neck as he coughed and clutched his chest. “You… you’re a dragon shifter.”
SCENE #5
He was a dragon shifter?
How? What did that even mean? Dragons weren’t real. It wasn’t like anyone ever dug up dragon bones and put them in a museum. But… But he might have heard of someone going to jail for selling dragon scales…
Wylie’s mind raced as he stared at the rainbow sheen of color that coated his midnight black scales. Was he a dragon shifter? Did he have an actual shifter animal inside of him waiting to get out?
‘Hello…’
The scales on Wylie’s hand fluffed, and his breath hitched. For a moment, it was like a voice inside him, something that had been lost in his own thoughts but not. No, it was someone else. Something else…
“Well, fuck,” Wylie whispered. He curled his hand into a fist and watched the way his scales aligned in a beautiful pattern over his knuckles. He might be going to jail, but at least now he knew he was a failed dragon shifter. It sounded way cooler than a demon, that’s for sure.
“How do you know what I am?” Wylie asked the homeowner solemnly as he slowly unclenched his fist.
“I know… another.”
Wylie raised his eyebrows and turned to where the man was gasping for breath. “Really? You know another dragon shifter?”
“Spit.”
Wylie blinked at the change of topic. “Huh?”
The homeowner struggled to keep his head from falling back to the floor. “Your spit… can heal.”
Wylie wrinkled his nose and pressed down on the blood-soaked sweatshirt. “Err, I think you’ve lost way too much blood, old man.”
“Transform… and spit.” The homeowner’s bruised face twisted in pain, and another jagged cough shook through him. More blood spilled from his gaping mouth as he fought to breathe.
“I can’t do a full transformation,” Wylie tried to explain. “Even if I could heal—which is crazy unlikely—only my arms will change. I’m probably not even a dragon shifter, right?” A monster. Whatever was connected to his arms was a monster.
“Spit. It can… Transforming can heal…” The homeowner didn’t seem to hear Wylie over his shallow, desperate wheezes. “Spit heals… Transform and spit.” His voice grew weaker as he repeated himself between bursts of coughing.
Wylie sighed in frustration as the man grew more distressed and delirious. Whatever blood was left in the old guy was quickly escaping. “Dude, calm—” Wylie growled and pushed forcefully on the homeowner’s chest until he stilled. “Chill. I’ll do it, whatever. If you want to be spit on like a freak, I’ll do it. Just calm down and stop bleeding on me.” Fuck, who was he to deny the old guy his last—totally weird—dying wish?
“Hold this.” Wylie placed the homeowner’s trembling arm over the bloody sweatshirt. The guy didn’t have much strength, but it was safer than transforming on top of him with killer claws. Wylie focused down at his arms and stared from his scaled hand to his pale, normal looking one. He wrinkled his nose as the scent of blood again threatened to overwhelm him.
“Just hold on,” Wylie muttered and moved down the floor to be safe. Talons sliced through his fingernails and grew long and deadly. Scales slid free from his pale flesh, transparent with a rainbow sheen, and then filled with black as they thickened. In moments they were long enough to fluff out, his arms sharp edged from every angle. Wylie closed his eyes and tried to push the scales further up his arms for a full transformation. His other senses woke up, and his teeth sharpened and fangs poked free.
Wylie grimaced as he felt something fill him at his core, a dark shadow that grew larger, its presence expanding as he sought a more complete shift. If he really was a dragon shifter, that meant he was more than a pair of killer arms. Just… just, Wylie wasn’t sure he wanted to know just what the fuck that meant.
Maybe he had always known. There was something inside him, something that scared the crap out of him every time he peered too close. Now he knew it wasn’t a monstrous demon, though. No, only a monstrous dragon. Maybe it was safer. Maybe the dragon could do something he couldn’t. After this terrible night, he was desperate enough to try anything.
Wylie’s nostrils flared with his next inhale, and something stirred within. Something alive. Dizziness tilted him as the feeling grew and something shivered and slithered within his core.
‘Blood…’
Blood. He needed to focus on the blood. He was not for want of the life-giving liquid, and Wylie let his senses target the heavy scent rising in the air. The world slowed around him as he heard the rhythm of the blood flowing in the homeowner’s veins. It sounded wrong, sluggish, as if his heart had nothing left to pump.
Wylie groaned as saliva abruptly flooded his mouth. A wave of dizzying heat hit him so hard, he ended up hunched over the homeowner, who he just missed slicing with his claws.
“Shit.” He was hard. Wylie squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will the reaction away, but his body wouldn’t listen. It felt like a fire was burning through his veins, and his dick grew stiffer, swelling with need. Something about this, about the blood, was making him seriously horny. “Fuck,” Wylie muttered and shook his head. There was a new pulse inside of him, deep red throbbing through the darkness encroaching on his vision. For a moment, he could feel the creature again, a dark shadow twisting in his core, its heart pulsing with his own.
‘Blood… Feed…’
Messed up. Wylie gritted his teeth as his dick twitched and he fought the urge to grind against something, anything, to alleviate the building pressure. This was so not cool when there was some old guy bleeding out beneath him.
“Spit,” the homeowner pleaded, his voice a dry rasp.
Wylie’s lashes snapped open, his eyes no longer light blue but a glowing, otherworldly white. He tried to fight the pull, tried to push away, but someone—something—was controlling him. Wylie yanked the sweatshirt from the homeowner’s chest and tore away the sticking shreds of his bloodied shirt. A black hole cut through the man’s chest, pulling Wylie down, drawing him in. He bent over bare flesh, lips hovering a breath away as the fluid in his mouth increased. His sight dimmed with another red throb, and when he opened his mouth, his saliva spilled into the bloody wound.
“Ah!” The quiet gasp was tight with pain. Smoke began to rise from the wound, and the homeowner convulsed and hissed. He gripped weakly at his chest and heaved for air.
Beneath the scent of blood, Wylie was vaguely aware of the odd smoke and gasps of air quickly turning to pained cries. He inhaled again, nostrils full of the copper scent, and the world spun.
‘Blood… life giving… soul feeding…’
“No,” Wylie growled as he squeezed his eyes shut to try and block it out. “Shhhh-shut up!” A hiss escaped him, demented and animalistic. His eyes snapped open, but no, when he touched his face, it was still the same, no monster transforming his head. He whimpered when his blood wet fingers touched his lips, flavor jolting like small flashes of electricity on his tongue.
‘Taste… Taste blood… Feed…’
“Oh, fuck.” Wylie’s eyesight dimmed and darkness swarmed the edges of his vision. Before he could stop, he leaned forward and touched his tongue to the crimson, burning hot fluid coating the man’s neck. His senses exploded with the burning, metallic fluid, and Wylie moaned and surged forward, his mouth open wide to drink every drop down.
“Sorry… Really fucking sorry,” Wylie groaned, flesh vibrating under his lips as he sucked a patch of skin and lapped his tongue over the bloody surface. Somewhere, detached from the dark throb of arousal and the cloud of hot blood, he knew he was losing it, but his embarrassment was no match for his hunger. He was starving, and the blood tasted too good, too right.
‘More…’
More. He needed so much more.
Wylie licked long, heavy touches of his tongue up the man’s collar, seeking where blood had pooled into the hollow of his throat in a glittering, ruby red treasure trove. He groaned from the intense flavor as he swallowed the blood down, then chased the trail up the man’s jaw, sucking over sticky flesh and rough stubble. He paused, gritting his teeth to hold back when he found gasping lips wet with a terrifying trickle of scarlet. Wylie’s claws slashed into the floor as he tried to stop himself.
This was insane. The guy was bleeding out and he couldn’t stop licking his fucking blood. Shit, what the fuck was happening to him?
‘More… Drink more…’
The room twisted with a heavy pulse of red and black shadows, the same pulse throbbing through Wylie’s body, pushing him forward. The powerful rhythm built as he fought against it, the energy spiraling higher, shaking everything he could see until it was impossible to resist. “Sssssorry,” he hissed, knowing he had lost. Wylie pushed his tongue between the homeowner’s parted lips, using the pressure of his body to pin his prey down as he sought out every drop of blood he could find within the hot cavern.
The man’s mouth yielded beneath his, a wheeze of breath cut off as saliva and tongue invaded him. Wylie moaned as fresh blood burst on his tongue, the dark pulse growing triumphant in its prize. His tongue pried paper dry lips open, plunging deeper, relentlessly sucking wet sounds and weak gasps in. Beneath the pulse, Wylie felt his hips grind forward and his prey give in, responding, growing hard even as the homeowner’s body struggled to survive.
Above it, Wylie observed in a small sliver of sanity, cringing as he rocked harder against the man while stealing deep, ravenous kisses. He was kissing an old guy. A dying old guy. There was no redeeming himself after this. The guy was practically a senior citizen, even if he was kinda hot in a brutish, military way. Maybe fifties, sixties, not completely decrepit. But still, none of this was okay.
The homeowner whimpered a lost, hungry sound when Wylie’s lips broke away. It was only a moment, Wylie struggling with the shadows only to lose and surge forward again, stealing away the man’s air and blood. “Thissss isssn’t right…” Wylie got out, his eyes rolling back when his hips jerked forward, seeking more pressure for his aching erection. “Sssstop.”
The overwhelming pulse refused to abate, Wylie trapped for agonizingly long, awkward minutes before the addictive flavor of blood finally faded from his victim’s mouth. When he felt the possibility for escape, he dug his talons into the floor and pushed up on his arms, angling his head to the side. “Ssstop… just stop!” Wylie snarled. Cool air hit his lungs, and he whimpered in relief. “Oh fuck… fuck, what’s happening to me? I gotta… gotta run before…” Before he lost. Before this insane pulse demanded more than just kisses and easily available blood.
“W-Wait.” A hand grasped his neck, Wylie jolting when the homeowner’s trembling fingers pulled him back.
Wylie blinked down, confused when he saw the strange flush to the man’s cheeks, the only color to his otherwise pale flesh. He focused on the homeowner’s dazed, blown wide pupils, not sure what exactly he was seeing. He looked entranced, or maybe just really freaking confused after being tongue fucked by a total monster.
“No,” Wylie breathed out shakily. There was a heavy stream of blood on the side of the homeowner’s face from where the gun handle had cracked his skull. Darkness throbbed all around him, and Wylie’s mouth and tongue were attached to the hot flesh before he could comprehend it. He cradled the man’s head tight between his smooth palms and drew his tongue up the side of his face in rough, thorough strokes, refusing to miss any of the red fluid. Wylie’s fangs scraped skin, and he groaned, shivering at the pleasurable sensation of flesh yielding beneath his teeth and blood flowing on his tongue.
‘Drink… Drink our fill…’
Damn, it was good. Hot, tangy, and toe-curlingly perfect. Wylie’s cock pulsed in rhythm to the darkness twisting at the edges of his sight, and he groaned, wishing he could unzip but unwilling to release his prize to do it. He was so hard…
“Kid. My back.” The homeowner’s voice was stronger this time as he drew air in and blood didn’t spill free on his exhale. “The bullet went through.”
Wylie’s hands moved on their own accord, turning and shoving the man down chest first to the floor. His claws tore the bloody pajama shirt in half, revealing strong muscle, wide shoulders, and another dark hole frothing with divine blood.
“Crap.” Wylie gritted his teeth as darkness throbbed through him in a fresh wave of heat, his senses consumed with the heady scent of blood. This was bad. Whatever was happening to him was really bad, some sort of insanity he could barely comprehend. Worse, he was terrified of what it was turning him into.
‘Feed… We will have our reward…’
“Aw, shit.” Saliva flooded Wylie’s mouth, and he lurched forward as the room spun. Flushed and dizzy, he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the faint flicker he saw as the homeowner’s flesh pulsed with each weak heartbeat. Nothing should taste this good. Nothing should be able to take him over like a fucking puppet. Nothing should have him attack some weak, defenseless, dying dude.
Wylie fell forward and inhaled the combined scent of blood and flesh. “Fuck.” He licked his tongue out and shuddered when he touched fresh blood. Oh, hell, it tasted like a fucking god.
Wylie moaned loudly and roughly lapped the flat of his tongue along the burning hot wound. The room spun around him as he sucked at the blood, drinking it down between hungry gasps. His hips refused to still, his rock-hard erection grinding against the man’s thigh as the blood seeped into his senses and stole whatever restraint Wylie had left. The wound changed under his tongue with each swipe. Wylie felt the flesh slowly knit together and the blood flow trickle until it finally stopped. He instinctively sought more of the heady fluid, lost in the wild darkness swirling through him. He followed down smooth flesh and pulled scraps of cloth away so he could steal every streak and drop of red he could find with greedy, long licks of his tongue.
“Damn it,” Wylie rasped with a deep note of despair. The flavor was nearly gone, and the scent was diminishing with each lap of the firm, healed skin. “No.” He nosed down and tore at the homeowner’s shredded pajama top, but all he could find were the smallest specks of blood. “No!”
‘More… claw it free…’
“W-what?” Wylie shook his head, fighting the bizarre thoughts that sounded like his own.
‘Drink… He is ours… The weak bleed for us… cum for us…’
Wylie’s eyebrows twisted down as his arms jerked and sought to slash more blood free. “No… No! Sssssstop talking, you fucking psssycho!” A hiss tore from his lips as Wylie wrestled with the power that had taken him over. Images flashed through his mind full of blood, flesh and sex. Wylie inhaled sharply as fear gripped him. “I’m not… I’m not a monster, damn it!” He grasped at his head, snarling a sound that didn’t belong to a human. “Get out of my fucking head!”
“Kid, wait.” Somehow, the homeowner knew exactly what was wrong. With a grunt, he pushed his hand up where Wylie’s blood-soaked sweatshirt was balled in his grasp.
Stunned, Wylie watched as the sweatshirt was thrown a few feet down the hall. He was on it before the sweatshirt could hit the ground. He rolled and pulled the fabric into his mouth, a relieved growl rumbling in his chest as blood filled his senses and sparked on his taste buds once again. Wylie sank to the floor, his eyes closed as he tried to ignore the fact he was treating the shirt like a fucking pacifier.
He could still feel it, the beast thrumming inside him, its desires his as his cock pulsed with the twisting darkness. He could feel what it wanted, how it wanted it. Wylie gritted his teeth, tasting cold, ugly death as blood coated his tongue. He was going crazy. He had let his demon arms out for too long, and now he was turning into a monster.
‘Everything must feed… even monsters…’
Wylie grimaced. “Go away,” he whispered to the red pulse of darkness hovering at his consciousness. “Fuck off and leave me alone.”
Wylie wasn’t certain if the creature was listening, or if it was just bored without the promise of fresh blood to keep it around. With his next breath, cooler air filled his lungs, and some of the burning heat left his veins. Wylie exhaled heavily as the arousal pulsing through him abated to more manageable, less murderous levels. After a few more breaths, he turned his head enough to glare at the homeowner, who was staring back just as warily.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” Wylie asked hoarsely. He bit his teeth into the fabric and squeezed more blood free, but he didn’t have the urge to moan like last time. Without the scent of flesh to mix with the flavor, the blood from his sweatshirt wasn’t enticing his dragon.
“Nothing.” The homeowner grimaced as he moved his arm beneath him. He went to push himself up and immediately collapsed with a loud expulsion of air. “Hell.”
“Bullshit,” Wylie snarled. “You knew this was going to happen, otherwise you wouldn’t have thrown the shirt.” His eyes narrowed as he thought of the anti-paranormal tech that was coating the mansion upstairs and down. “Did you spell me?”
“Did I…?” The man blinked owlishly. “I’m not a sorcerer, kid.” He raised a weak hand and patted where the bullet had hit his chest. “If I am, I’m a really shitty one.” He tried to push up again, but his arms were shaking so hard, he ended right back down on the floor. “Damn it… It’s just bloodlust. Dragons are… are notorious for extreme bloodlust.”
Wylie remained impassive as he watched the homeowner struggle to get up. He wasn’t in a hurry to go near the old guy, not when he could remember all the weird stuff he had done, and the even worse stuff his dragon wanted to do. The homeowner man grunted as he tried and failed to get up again, and Wylie shook his head. “The ambulance will be here soon. Stop killing yourself.” He sought a fresh spot of blood on the shirt and crushed the material on his tongue until it seeped out.
“Run, kid. They’ll destroy a being like you.” The homeowner pushed up again and hissed in pain. “The cops will… they’ll shoot you on sight.”
Wylie’s nostrils flared. It wasn’t the panicked ravings of a dying man; he knew the cops had a bias against paranormals. He’d heard of things happening, of shifters getting shot for being aggressive with video proof showing up later of the exact opposite. Fear justified a lot of terrible things lately, even murder committed by the police. Even a rich fuck, who lived in the lap of luxury in the sheltered suburbs, knew it enough to warn him, and it struck a chord in Wylie.
Really, how did the old guy know about shifters? Where did he meet a dragon shifter, and were they friends or random acquaintances? How had he known he was a dragon shifter when Wylie hadn’t even heard of a dragon shifter before?
Wylie was silent as he pulled drinks of watery blood from the fabric of his sweatshirt. The man continued to try to get up like the glutton for an early death he was turning out to be. Wylie doubted the guy was healed on the inside. Healing the front of the gunshot wound hadn’t healed the back, and for all he knew, the homeowner was a bleeding mess on the inside.
Well, if he had any blood left to bleed as this point.
Decided, Wylie rolled to his knees. He kept his shirt firmly stuck between his teeth as he crawled over and sat on the homeowner’s back. The man collapsed flat under Wylie’s weight and finally stopped struggling.
“You need a doctor,” Wylie growled. The man, who was obviously in need of said doctor, didn’t have the strength to argue.
“Can you get me outside?” the homeowner eventually wheezed. “I don’t want the police in my house.”
Wylie snorted. “I fucking bet. I don’t know what all that shit is downstairs, but if the cops saw it, they might just shoot you on sight.” He looked down at the back of the homeowner’s head and added in a more serious tone, “You sure you can handle it? I can’t lift you without my scales out, and they hurt like a bitch.”
“It’s fine,” the homeowner said with false bravado. “After a bullet, I doubt I’ll feel anything.”
Wylie licked the back of his teeth. He doubted the guy was going to be that lucky. “Alright, man. If it’s what you want.”
Wylie stood and straddled his weak companion’s back. He cautiously slid his hands under his armpits and lifted him up. By the low hisses falling from the homeowner’s lips, it hurt like fuck and he was trying to hide it. Fresh blood welled up where razor sharp scales sliced into flesh. Wylie hesitated, but there was no sign of the dark pulse of before, no darkness twisting in trying to steal his sanity away. Wylie sighed in relief and took slow steps backwards down the hallway.
Wylie did his best not to hurt the guy. It wasn’t like he was mangling him on purpose like he did Diego. Still, there wasn’t much he could do to prevent the gasps of pain. His demon arms were things of destruction no matter the situation. Slipperless, the man’s feet scraped first the runner and then smooth tile as Wylie dragged him through the hallways. His goal was the basement stairwell tucked away near the kitchen, but Wylie paused when the ceiling arched above as they entered the grand foyer. He turned his head to eye the massive front door.
He honestly wasn’t sure if the old guy could handle a trip through the mansion and downstairs to get to the exit. And maybe, just maybe, Wylie was embarrassed with the state he had left the basement door.
The homeowner’s head raised, and he nodded when he saw the front door. “Closer. You’ll need to disable the security.”
“Uhh…” Wylie grimaced. “That might already be done,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or fear clenching in his gut as he carefully maneuvered the man down onto the floor. Fresh anxiety welled in him as he approached the front door and the sound of electricity buzzed all around him like a suffocating cloud. Wylie could feel something in the air. It was like an energy but cold, chilling. He reached for the handle of the metal gate blocking the door, hoping to escape the horrible feeling, but froze when the darkness suddenly pulsed around him, loud and full of alarm.
‘Danger…!’
“Wait!” The homeowner struggled to push into a sitting position. He lifted his arm sluggishly, like it was too heavy to move, and indicated the panel built into the wall next to the door. “Flip the blue switch left… and then right,” he rasped out. “Otherwise, you’re going to fry yourself.”
“What, like, it’s electrified?” Wylie glared at the panel where a switch glowed blue with power. Doubts flickered in his mind, but he pushed them aside. Why would the old guy try to trick him now when the ambulance was on the way?
Taking a deep breath, Wylie flipped the switch to the left, then again, all the way to the right. The glowing cut out, and the buzzing immediately stopped. Moments after, the black gate covering the front door slowly retracted on mechanical tracks, and there was a loud click as an automatic lock released.
Wylie’s shoulders sagged, and he exhaled heavily. He had no idea if his arms could actually handle an electric fence. The mansion had every defense possible for a howler attack, and it made him feel extra uneasy as he walked back to where the homeowner was wheezing on the floor. When Wylie crouched down, he tried to ignore how pale and fragile the old guy looked. “You get a lot of werewolves around here?” he asked flatly.
“No. Not really,” the homeowner whispered with a weak chuckle. “Make sure you latch the door behind us. The grid will re-engage.”
Wylie nodded mutely and pulled the man up into his arms. His nerves were taut as he pushed the front door open and felt the same unsettling feeling of cold dragging at his flesh. Once he had cleared the homeowner’s feet from the doorway, he kicked the door shut. Wylie jerked when the power reconnected and the scent of ozone filled his nostrils.
“What is that?” he growled, glaring back at the door where a metal grate was slowly wheeling into place on the exterior side.
“Less effective than it should be,” the homeowner wheezed cryptically. His face twisted as a cough shook his body, and when he spat, a glob of blood hit the stone at his feet. “Let’s get away from the doors. We don’t want to… to give them an invitation to search my property.”
“Sure.” Wylie couldn’t help but notice the man’s eyes were losing focus. He was cool in his arms, most of his blood left behind on the floor of the bedroom.
“Brace yourself,” Wylie warned as he tightened his grip on his armpits. The homeowner hissed in renewed pain, his body limp as Wylie dragged him down the front stairs. Outdoor lights illuminated them against the night when they moved onto the lawn. An ambulance siren wailed in the distance, echoed by a police cruiser. They couldn’t be more than a few blocks away.
Wylie laid the homeowner out on the lawn and stared into the dark where the sirens were growing louder. There was still time. He could run, take off, and hope the cops couldn’t track him. He glanced down and narrowed his eyes when he saw something shimmer on the homeowner’s chest. He peered closer and found a patch of pink flesh where the bullet wound once was.
Healed. He had healed him with a power he didn’t even know he possessed. If Wylie hadn’t walked into the house at 135 Woodcrest Ave. to rob it that night, he might have never known he could heal.
It meant something. He owed this guy something.
Wylie’s scales ruffled, and resignation settled heavily on his shoulders. He stared down at his clawed hands and concentrated until his scales pulled back in, and the black pigment cleared from his flesh. Once he was smooth, pale skin marred only by streaks of blood, he sat beside the homeowner on the stiff grass to wait for whatever hell was quickly approaching.
“The door… is it…?” The homeowner grasped at his chest, confusion twisting his features.
“Yeah, it’s locked,” Wylie soothed. “No one will know about your weird tech kink.”
The homeowner turned his face up toward the sky, and his eyes sought out the stars obscured by the white puffs of his breath. Shirtless and drained of blood, his skin was turning blue around his lips and fingertips in the low temperature. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Wylie. Wylie Doe.” He fished a crushed and bloodied cigarette from his sweatshirt pouch pocket. Wylie had a lighter in there too, but the damn thing was too wet to burn. With a sigh, Wylie rested the cigarette between his lips and glowered when flashing blue and red lights bounced off the shadowed houses down the lane.
“Wylie, I’m Collin McPherson. If you want… to know the name… of the guy you saved.” The sentence wore Collin out, and he wearily closed his eyes.
Wylie glanced over and frowned when he got a good look at his companion. The old guy looked like hell frozen over, tremors shaking him as the cold sank into his bare flesh. “Yeah, don’t get ahead of yourself there, pops. You lost a lot of blood, and I bet you’re bleeding on the inside. There’s still plenty of time for me to be an accessory to murder. Fuck, or I guess just plain murder,” Wylie added with a scowl. No one would bother looking for Diego when they had him right there covered in the guy’s blood. He really was a fucking moron.
Wylie exhaled heavily and wished beyond anything else his damn cigarette would light. “I’m sorry about what I did in there,” Wylie muttered awkwardly. “The, uh, bloodlust thing. I’m not usually into, well, corpses,” he grunted, feeling beyond defensive. He glanced over when the uncomfortable silence stretched. “Hey, don’t fall asleep,” Wylie snapped sharply. He reached over and knocked Collin on the shoulder when he saw his eyes were closed and body had lost most of its previous tension. “Shit, they’re right down the fucking road. Stay alive, damn it.”
“Right… right…” Collin mumbled.
“Crap.” Wylie tried to push down the fresh flare of anxiety as Collin’s words petered out. He had either fallen unconscious or asleep, but at least the old guy was still breathing. Wylie shook his damp, bloody sweatshirt out and draped it over Collin’s chest. It was all he could think of besides breaking back into the house for something warmer.
Sirens blared and lights flashed all around them in a dazzling display. It was surreal to watch the early October night transform into a garish carnival. The reds drew Wylie’s eyes the most as the lights bounced off of the bushes and illuminated the large expanse of manicured lawn in a wild kaleidoscope of colors. The flashing lights piercing the dark night were too much for Wylie, and he covered his eyes with his hand and tilted his head down. The grass around his feet was wet with blood and glittered with bursts of blue and red.
Doors slammed, and there was the metallic rattle of a wheeled cot being set up on the driveway. Wylie held still and kept his perfectly normal looking hands open and in view as people swarmed Collin, who was barely breathing beside him.
“Is this your dad, kid?” A middle-aged police officer in a dark uniform knelt down to Wylie’s level while everyone else focused on Collin.
Wylie had to wonder just what the man saw as he took in his blood-soaked t-shirt, splattered jeans, drenched sneakers, and crimson streaked arms. He probably had blood in his hair and around his mouth at this point. Did the cop really think he was some helpless teenager who just watched his daddy get shot?
Wylie lifted his hand high enough to glare into the compassionate eyes of the policeman, and smirked around his broken cigarette. “Nah. Never saw the guy before in my life.” Fucking cops.
Rant time, babes,
Sorry, I heard some news and it just struck a fucking chord.
Hi, btw! XD It’s been a while. I’ve been doing so much website stuff to transfer members over to the new software. I’m literally in the process of rebuilding the damn library because I realized there is no plugin available to do the transfer, so I have to do it all manually. It’s going to take time and I don’t want people in a limbo of not being able to sign in. I’ll be sending out emails with updates to each member once their new account is ready and their new password available, so keep an eye out.
I’ve had a few epiphanies the last month when it comes to being content focused on the website. I’m looking at creating the ability to let new members pay $5 to either read the library of finished books, or $5 to read the new stuff as I write for the month. I want economically friendly choices just in case the $10 for both is just too much for some people. I’ve finally gotten past the emotional obsession I had to ‘fix’ all the old stories. Unless it’s part of a larger series, I’m not touching the old stuff. Letting go and moving forward. It’s also time to stop trying to get things ‘publish ready’ like I’ve been doing with the PATB books. It’s why I’ve spent so much time on those stories and not had time for any other projects. They’re long and I wanted them ready for publishing so I gave them all my focus, and because of it, the website has been suffering with only that content being added.
I’m taking the website back to a focus on taboo stories. You know, the stories that have been ignored while I’ve been writing perfectly awesome PATB books. I miss the dirty sex, and I need to find a damn balance to ensure the hot stuff is being written with the more sweet stuff. There needs to be more dirty books written, no joke. Half because they’re awesomely fun, but also as a fuck you to all this bullshit censorship happening. These books need to multiply instead of disappear.
I have to adapt to a new model of writing where multiple stories/series are updated instead of one again. I’m stretching, relearning, getting this brain to work now that it’s healed. It really is a lot of relearning how to do the same old shit and getting over my neurotic perfectionism. It’s not easy but it’s where I want to be as a person, so it’s well worth the work.
Seriously, you want a medal for basic human decency now?
Okay, so Starbucks finally gets around to giving their workers sick leave. This is a company founded back in 1971, and whose net worth is $30 billion. 5 days a year you’re allowed to be paid when you’re sick to keep you from coming through the door and working, that’s their sick leave. And no, they didn’t do it for some altruistic reason such as, well, giving a fuck about their workers. No, they didn’t want their customers getting sick. That was their mentality for this. Sick customers = bad business. So, Starbucks finally gets around to being somewhat decent on such a base level, and they get mad accolades from the public. A company who cares!
Similarly, the leader of Amazon comes out after being pressured by progressives to say he’s going to be raising all of his workers’ minimum pay to that of what some experts (these numbers are already old) would say is the bare minimum to living. That means ideally for a worker, their bills are paid, their heat is paid, they can pay rent, they can get to work, they can get groceries, and, maybe, if they’re lucky, they can pay their taxes and also have some left over for the kids, right? Here’s hoping health care is included in that, cuz it’s usually not affordable. A living wage is just getting by. There is no profit for the people making it, it’s just not being in poverty. So big cheers for Amazon for setting a standard to pay their workers enough, barely enough, while most other companies don’t even do that.
Nike and Gillette had huge, controversial (dear fuck, why is this shit controversial?) marketing campaigns. Nike for the acknowledgment of protesting as being acceptable in a country that is still battling racial inequality and a prison system built around oppressing black people and the impoverished, and Gillette for acknowledging it’s okay to have a penis and not be a total dickbag in a country that is still battling gender and sexuality inequality. It’s a big fucking deal for these corporation to do the bare minimum of reflecting back the major sentiments already in the country and in most modern societies on the globe. Normalizing equality? Wow, what a freaking shock, right? Accolades, cheers, awesomeness for just being real instead of trying to sell their products. Companies marketing to the future instead of the past. Brilliant.
And, in the midsts of all this supremely basic shit of just being rational in an irrational world, Tumblr bans any adult content to the point of women having hard nipples show through their very modest clothing being removed, Youtube demonetizes anything that uses fair use (aka, LEGAL content,) Facebook blocks anything potentially adult, and Amazon and all major book retailers ban certain subjects pertaining to erotica and romance in fantasy, to the point that sex ED books are placed in erotica or removed completely. Why? Well, we know for a fact with Tumblr it was to sign up Verizon as an advertiser, and Verizon doesn’t want certain sexual content to be associated with them. The whims of a 229.1 billion dollar company has decided the moral/ethical standards for 456.1 million users of Tumblr in the matter of one business deal, just so Verizon can have the ability to market their shit to those users the company wants to change.
Amazon (a 1 trillion dollar company) has decided the moral and ethical standards for the readers who consume the hundreds of millions of ebooks a year on their platform. If Amazon says it’s okay to have books about straight sex, but not gay, they can set a standard for millions of people and then other book platforms as to if gay books are allowed. And if this feels like a stretch, many books being banned are within the MM genre and it started on Amazon before other platforms like Barnes & Noble started following suit. Amazon has been caught shadow-banning erotic books (meaning they can’t be ranked and therefore can’t be seen by customers,) removing erotic titles completely with no explanation, banning authors who are just too good at selling books on their platforms, etc. I wish I were joking, but yeah, that was a huge thing in 2018. Amazon removed accounts of authors who were too good at selling their books. They claimed the authors were making money through illegal means but were unable to show or prove that was the case. Since it’s illegal as an author to have a lawsuit against Amazon, the authors lost their livelihoods without court case or trial or any fucking way to speak up for themselves and their reputations.
What’s my point in all this? EMBRACE DISCOMFORT!
When companies are giants, and they say something is ‘right’ and something is ‘wrong,’ (therefore setting moral and ethical standards,) society starts imitating those beliefs. Not necessarily on purpose but through what is available, what is SEEN. When a playing field is filtered so that no one can see that gay people exist in movies, people who live in bubbles of culture get very uncomfortable to realize gay people exist and it perpetuates the fucked up mentality of trying to make them disappear.
How many men freaked out when Deadpool was pegged by his girlfriend? He’s currently the queerest super hero on the big screen and he doesn’t even screw guys in the movies. We finally had a movie about black people that wasn’t about them just being black and dealing with racism and oppression. You know, they were allowed to just be people. This shit is taking too long! And it’s because the companies who hold the power to make our media aren’t looking to reflect society but to pander to the people who are uncomfortable with diversity.
Where do you think that old line comes from of ‘I don’t care what they do, just don’t let them get married,’ in reference to gay marriage? That comes from the mentality that marriage belongs to only one group of people (usually white and religious and straight) and it can’t belong to anyone else because that group is not exposed to the vast, beautiful wonders of this diverse globe. They think their experience is the only experience, partly because they lack other experience and are uncomfortable in gaining it. The same with when you had the apartheid in South Africa and you couldn’t mix those of different skin colors as a fucking law. When people grow up in a culture devoid of diversity, they normalize it and then push that oppressive belief structure on everyone they meet. Their discomfort sets the norms of society. Gross.
This is ancient era bullshit in a modern world. Segregation is not acceptance and it’s not equality and it sure as fuck isn’t enlightened, modern thinking, but we still can’t get certain races/genders/sexual orientations represented properly in media because some consumers are too fucking uncomfortable. It helps no one. When it becomes normalized, the way billion to trillion dollar companies have the power to make basic decisions and normalize what is on our television sets or computer screens, those wrong, fucked up decisions can start normalizing negative beliefs.
People have to stop running away from discomfort and face the fact that many people are fucked up over sex because of the repressed cultures they’ve grown up in. And how in the world are they going to be able to do that when books about sex disappear one after the other because someone thinks it’s acceptable to discriminate against fiction? How can people be allowed to think for themselves when in this modern world we’re finally breaking free of ancient, oppressive religious systems only to discover corporate policies are trying to be the creators of our morality and ethics by literally removing that which they disagree with?
Either it’s a ‘free’ market, or business owners are just talking out of their asses, being hypocrites while trying to control the market. And just so we’re clear, I will protect a corporate entities right to send a message (even if it’s an old fashioned, fucked up message) because I as an adult am well aware that my behavior and beliefs are still my choice no matter what messages are bombarding me. But I won’t sit here and bullshit that it’s okay for a company to discriminate based on the books people write or read. When Gillette made that ad, were they saying we’re not selling razors to men who believe in ‘boys will be boys?’ No. But Amazon is saying they’ll ban your books and even you as an author if you don’t conform to the moral/ethical standards they refuse to even state about sexual content in fiction. There is a huge difference there.
Think!
Think. That’s all I want for the world. For people to think and to break free of the mental cages they have built around them. There are enough assholes out there with superiority complexes who think they’re the only ones allowed to be free. Sociopaths who think they have a right to tell other people how to think and then profit off of them. Our books are our thoughts. Our writing is our thoughts. Our stories are the lessons we learn, the random thoughts we share and others enjoy. Who the fuck is anyone to take that away and make it disappear? To say which thoughts are right and wrong? Especially companies who don’t even have the decency to pay their employees a living wage while they profit off their labor?
Corporations aren’t some evolved, brilliant form of humanity that are going to save the damn world. They’re comprised of the same fucked up people living in the world today, and that’s it. They make money (some,) they destroy the environment and economy (some,) and it’s not a reason to believe they hold greater value over the individual.
It’s time to end corporate welfare and to stop allowing businesses to decide our ethical standards. Stop cheering for them to do the bare minimum when they have set the standard of people working 3 fucking jobs and not making enough money to live. Corporations suck at giving a fuck. They don’t care about people and their welfare, just how to take money from their pockets. It’s sickening—in a world where many can’t afford health care.
There is something in the human mind that is sourced back to our days of tribes where we feel we need to listen to what we perceive the majority is, be it the loudest voice, the most aggressive, or the most powerful. It allows really fucked up people who hoard wealth to have power over the minds of others. The same way we as a society need to overcome old software like anxiety and PTSD in the modern world, so too do we have to get past this tribalism bullshit.
We are a globe of humanity, and if that’s scary, you gotta face it and get over it already. The world isn’t going anywhere no matter how afraid some people are. Discomfort is not an excuse for oppression and discrimination or the rationalization of irrational, toxic behavior.
Also, seriously, fuck Trump. How disgusting to watch such a transparent manipulation of minds work in his orange crusted hands. That people are more comfortable with a known rapist and xenophobic bigot instead of reality is just a sad, pathetic reflection of the society we’re living in. People have to stop running away from reality and face their shit instead of making it other people’s problems.
*deep breath* Cathartic. Totally.
Back to boring ass website stuff for me. The bulk work is nearly done. Hopefully be back to writing soon. Sorry no freebies this week, just juggling too much. See ya around, babes. <3
~Sins
The Beautiful, Unpredictable Phenomenon of Bitching
So yesterday I finally went into all the frustrating reasons shit just isn’t working with the rewrite, aka, I couldn’t find my motivation. But hey, once breaking it down, acknowledging that I’m bored–so fucking bored rewriting this book that was done what, 2 years ago now–I woke up today not as blocked.
The psyche is a strange, mysterious, sometimes predictable place. Sometimes there’s just something inside that wants to be heard. It doesn’t have to be an important damn message (I’m bored!) but it’s important to actually hear it. Because when you don’t hear it, the psyche holds you back, it drags you down, demanding attention like a squeaky cat again and again until you finally just stop what you’re doing and face it (or go into some sort of crazed rage.)
Bitching and ranting is an important part of being human, and damn, the Internet has made that fucking difficult. Because you can’t just bitch on the Internet like you’re talking to yourself. No, people show up and either judge, or agree, or want to fight you on your totally irrational opinion because all shit born out of emotions is beautifully irrational and it’s just a mess. Most people write shit down to understand what they’re thinking, but when you read words in front of you–even words you didn’t write–they become personal messages specifically to each and every reader who shows up, and their reactions can be big.
I should probably write stuff in a little journal or something, but I feel like it would defeat the purpose of letting everyone know I’m still alive. Alive and kinda bored because I want to get back to writing dirty porn instead of this very fun, interesting, crazy shifter love story of characters I absolutely adore. I know, it’s irrational, yet it’s true. Doing the same damn thing every day is redundant and my brain is fighting for freedom.
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Okay, tried to write this earlier but it just sounded grumpy as fuck. Let’s try again…
Hey babes ^^
I’m shaking as I write this. An uncontrollable tremor that has taken over my body and makes it feel like I’m anxious, nervous, my heart racing. Why? Well I’m chilling at Barnes and Nobles and there is a chemical in here that for whatever reason makes it so every time I’m around it, I tremble.
This is my life now. I am under the influence of chemicals everywhere I go. It changes my mood in ways that, well, I’m noticing—awareness is very good—but I don’t fully get to have much say in the matter. I find myself irritated, sometimes beyond that, sometimes we’re talking full rage, over absolutely nothing. And if that’s not bad enough, I’m seeing patterns of paranoia and illogical thought processes during this time as well. So, yeah, I might be turning into a crazy person on top of this bullshit.
If you’ve never been on the psych side of things, let me just say how extremely easy it is to diverge from the ‘norm.’ Our brains are a chemical cocktail that influences our thoughts, moods, emotions, perceptions, senses, and at the end of it all, our actions. It is still a choice—every action is still a choice—but when you are reacting instead of making a conscious choice to act, it is usually in result to the chemical balance occurring in your brain instead of anything to do with reality.
People seem to think that the ‘crazies’ are so far gone that they can never be reached, like it’s this wall of sanity you can never climb without huge amounts of stress. Nope. Sorry to disappoint. One pill, one inhalation, one knock to the head, inflammation that presses on the wrong brain cells, and you can slip away. And sometimes you come back, or sometimes you’re gone a while only to return and the people around you still think you’re not there, that you’re not allowed to be normal anymore because you crossed that line. They want a line, a wall, so they can feel safe. It’s not there. We are all malleable from road rage to sudden traumatic events and then we go home, and we’re normal until another moment hits. Sanity is amazingly subjective.
I’m hoping that removing myself from the chemical trigger that set me off initially and detoxing the chemical from my body will reverse a lot of this shit—there is always hope—but I’m dealing with a lot of processing and coping with the now as I watch these new changes come on. And the now keeps changing depending on where I am, if my mask is on well enough and the filter fresh, if people around me are wearing perfume, or shampoo, or smoking. My life is consumed by seeking balance in an impossible to control world where the smallest of things from the shifting of a breeze can change me from stable to someone not quite me.
We may have (pretty fucking sure) found the source of the contaminate in the house. Talking to the landlord, it looks like the tenant before us was running some sort of chop shop out of the house. Cars coming in and disappearing in the middle of the night, parking them all over the yard, body work, selling nice cars super cheap, etc, etc. The guy was a charmer, I’m sure. Anyways, we found a leaking can of this weird industrial grade marine epoxy in the basement directly under my room. Thought ‘Ah ha! This is it!’ and then we found about 12 cans of shit hidden in a hole in the attic in the garage. @_@
Paint thinners, more epoxy, asphalt emulation driveway sealer, motor oil, polyurethane, and plenty of shit with labels torn. The containers were all swollen from the high heat and the air was shimmering from the chemicals in the air. They’ve been there the entire 2 years we’ve been living here, and yeah, moved from a moldy apartment of 4 years into a chemical dump and I’m not 100% sure what the fuck to do. We took the stuff to hazardous waste to have it disposed of today, but things are looking grim. I’m still reacting to the house and yard.
I have spent all this time and thousands of dollars trying to do something to the house to make it work, only to now realize it may have been a complete waste. The guy was spraying cars with this stuff, likely on the yard, which is why I keep reacting when I go outside there. The place is probably broken beyond repair, and I’m at this crossroads of how do I move. Do I just move myself? Do I move my family who will have far fewer requirements for living arrangements or let them stay? I’m afraid they’re getting sick too, that this is why they’re still tired even though we moved out of the mold of the place before. But if I move them to fit my standards then this shit is going to be so much more difficult.
I don’t know if I can live in a house like normal people can. I’m reacting to everything. I’m getting more sensitive. I can’t handle smoke—any smoke now. Like, if steam is coming off my food because it was just heated up, I have a reaction. My options are getting more limited and I’m not sure if it’s a sign of things to come, or just a fluctuation as I start detoxing the chemicals that have built up in my body. My tears don’t feel like acid anymore, so, yay? Hope? I still feel like I’m spitting acid though at weird moments. Where should I be looking, seeing as all the shit I just did isn’t going to fix this situation? Do I just look for an old van, buy a solar generator, a shit ton of air filters, and park myself indefinitely in a Walmart parking lot until I can get my fucking life back?
It’s the long term verse short term solution choice. I want this to be short term. I want to waste my money because that means I fixed shit and I’m living in a house, and yeah, I can handle fucking up because I can work and make the money back. But if I go for the short term and fuck myself in the long run, things could be worse. People kill themselves over this illness. Multiple Chemical Sensitivity has a high suicide rate not just because of the symptoms of the illness but the absolute isolation and separation from family, home, and previous life involved in the condition. There are people running their entire lives looking for one safe fucking place to breathe and they never find it and they just give the fuck up because of the damn agony of living like this. Coping is key. My focus needs to be on objective assessment of the circumstances followed with the correct emotional and physical coping strategies to keep shit from getting too crazy.
I need to find a way to live my life right this fucking second, while also coping with what I’m going through, because this could be long term shit if I’m one of the unlucky ones. I need to keep a sense of grounding in my community, in the reality around me as every norm I know erodes away. I need to carry my serenity and my home with me everywhere I go, because I will not be able to find that out in this world full of everyday chemicals I can no longer tolerate. I need to be the calm against the storm instead of getting caught up in the whirlwind of despair.
And let me just say, it’s fucking hard. I don’t want to be calm; I want to rage, and cry, and freak the fuck out. I want to get caught up, and feel like a victim, and bitch my life away. I want to survive this very instant and fuck over the future because at least this moment was bearable. This really fucking sucks.
I have to be the other me, the calm, responsible me. I gotta hit my inner rhino up who has gotten me through every tough time I’ve been through and remind her that we don’t need to run blindly forward to get shit done; sometimes the strongest move is the one where we are still and sturdy. Sometimes we need to flow and bow when we see the insanity encroaching because hey, we can always flow right back to normal and happy moments later. Nothing is forever and we gotta flow.
There have been happy discoveries, by the way. I know this all sounds like a fucking downer, but I have found so much these last few weeks. My muscles are working again. I lifted a 50lb bag and thought it must be lighter because I could easily lift the damn thing. My skin is like real skin again. Even getting oily skin on my face when before I was dry as paper. The sores have all healed on my tongue, I’m producing actual body heat now, and hey, I’m tanning from all the sun I’m getting. I no longer need dopamine at all now that I’m out of the chemical trigger. I have a feeling the histamine response to the chemical had been so intense and so constant that my body had just stopped producing dopamine and was instead focused on histamines. Now that I’m away from the chemical, my body’s systems are turning back on and focusing on normal processes. (Aka, I don’t have Parkinson’s! Yes!!!) Also, I have a fucking mind in all this, and I know how to find answers. I have started treatment to improve my methylation on a cellular level, focusing on detoxification as well as protecting from and repairing the neurological damage that has come with this chemical exposure. I am not in a mental place of despair, but of being proactive.
But I won’t fucking lie to myself. People lose to this illness all the time and I refuse to be one of them. Stakes are too high to fuck around thinking it will solve itself. There is no perfect time, no perfect level of health where I can finally say ‘now I can focus on this.’ I gotta do this now. I gotta start living now and adapt to this new speed of living and make this work now.
So, with that in mind, I think I’ve decided on the writing front to focus on erotica for now. Short stories, mostly a taboo XXX focus, all with the intent of generating income. I can’t focus on novels—my mind and circumstances all refuse to reach that level of creative flow yet—and to be honest, I’m not sure if I can even really write a short story. I wish I were joking, but trying to get to the editing phase is like pulling teeth. It’s tedious beyond anything I’m used to. But I have to try; I have to go through the motions of living life instead of just being a reaction to every chemical that blows my way. I have to make now my life instead of waiting to live. This is my new job. 24-7. Coping strategies of how to live with MCS.
My biggest wall at the moment on the work front is the graphics situation. I really need to get to my PC so I can make cover art, but I can’t walk into my room without getting sick. I know the laptop I have for writing probably has the specs to be able to run Photoshop, but the screen is shit. It’s got a plastic glare, the contrast is turned up, and it over saturates everything. It’s just not usable for graphics. I can’t run the PC in my car—spinning disk hard drives in a moving vehicle is just asking for trouble. I’m actually thinking of those tablet things. The Cintiq or the Surface Pro (or whatever the hell the current versions are seeing as I haven’t looked at this shit in years.) It just feels like a toy, though. At least, when I was looking at it when I had a viable PC it sure felt like a fucking waste of money. But maybe a screen on the tablet would be the answer where the laptop would run the software but the visual graphics would still conform to a high standard screen. It’s a thought—one I can’t afford so probably won’t happen any time soon—but yeah, something to consider.
I guess it comes down to what is the long term damage of intentionally exposing myself to these triggering chemicals for the trade off of getting shit done? If the damage is low and easy to repair, then it’s worth the short term suffering to reach a goal. If it’s not—if I could be seriously harming myself just to make a fucking picture—then I gotta find another way.
I’ll leave you with a random discovery for the week; there are a lot of weirdos hanging out in parks. If you find yourself going to a wooded area to breathe and get away, and you think you’re living in a perfectly safe community, just be aware people looking for weird shit end up in parks. If you happen to have tits, it gets far more annoying as fuck, which is why I’m writing this at Barnes and Noble, chemicals and all, because people are far too polite here to pull that shit. This has been a damn frustrating week of annoying ass discoveries like this when all I want is to find a place to breathe and be a person. Oh, but a cool discovery! You can make your own blackout curtains for a car with $20 worth of fabric, malleable wire, wire cutters, and pliers super easy. And if you hook up a light and fan and hang out writing all night on your computer, it feels like you’re in your own little fort hidden from the world.
Werewolf Finding Love
This wolf runs alone.
Clayton is a werewolf with the blood of an alpha coursing through his veins. After his father’s death, it was his duty to take the position of pack leader.
Only, that never happened.
After getting caught up with the wrong man, he succeeded in getting his heart broken and his whole world turned upside down. Before he knew it, he was running alone – a lone wolf.
Moonlit Kisses
He had to find an apartment, somewhere near here where he could keep a close eye on the siblings. He had to find a job soon too, one that had absolutely no connections to his old life. He had bills to pay, food to get, maybe even some furniture. All the while, he’d try to convince himself over and over again that this was just a job, and nothing more. Despite all the passionate sex he and Daniel might have, it was meaningless in the end.
And yet, as he turned back, he fought a figure watching him. A handsome man, whose side eyes made him regret, for a moment, that he’d left.
Conner considered waving. He considered smiling, or at the very least, acknowledging the figure.
But then he closed his eyes. He turned back, and walked further down the street.
So, he searched far and wide for his mate…
An internet famous geek. A sexy landlord who hates him. An unlikely duo with slim chances of beating the romance game.
Simon Cromfield’s life seems perfect from the outside. His gaming channels made him an internet celebrity, he has great friends, and he’s just moved into a luxurious apartment. Yet his gorgeous landlord did a one-eighty turn and decided he hates Simon, his family thinks he’s a total failure, and some of his fans act like they own him.
Branden Dahlman has enough on his plate. He doesn’t need that pest, Simon, who became the bane of Branden’s existence on top of a large estate he never wanted and a family that drives him insane. As he unleashes his resentment on Simon, the sexy bastard insists on proving Branden wrong about everything.
In an unlikely turn of events, when Simon hits his lowest, Branden is there to support him. But will this new-found thing between them last when the pressures of Simon’s world come crashing in?
Gaming and IRL Boss Fights is the third book in the contemporary gay romance series Famous on the Internet. If you like geeks, binge-watching online content, and enemies-to-lovers tropes, then you will love Alina Popescu’s online celebrity protagonists.
Buy your copy of Gaming and IRL Boss Fights today to join the game.
Summer Love: A Non-Shifter Omegaverse M/M Mpreg Romance
It started as a fleeting moment, but it turned into the summer of their lives.
In every alpha’s life there is an omega he’ll never forget, and a summer where it all started. For Riley, that began with a young man who was desperate for a change. As soon as Riley saw that omega’s royal blue eyes, pink lips, and smooth skin, he was head over heels.
Alpha Riley was starting over in the freshly built town of Belleview Bay. His criminal past was something he just wanted to leave behind completely. All he aspired to do was open his very own restaurant. To move on. Too bad he didn’t have a cent to his name.
Omega Holden never believed in love, but he sure did believe in fate. At his core, he was a dream chaser. His parents, however, owned a family business, and they weren’t so keen on letting him leave.
Destined for something greater, he placed his things into a bag and left home for good. Within weeks, he was sh*t out of luck. With nowhere to turn, he was ready to give up. That is, until he saw Riley.
They both yearned for the unattainable. Alone, success felt impossible. But together, they could have had it all: Love, adoration, and a darling baby to complete their family.
Summer Love is a full-length gay second chance romance novel. It is 52,000 words. This book contains hot and sexy scenes, emotional moments full of desire, and a beautiful baby to fill your hearts with love. This mpreg book is meant for 18+ readers.
SCENE #Draco starts an adventure
Tugging persistently on his mother’s sleeve, Draco whispered furiously as his eyes fell on the exit to Diagon Alley. “Are there really muggles right outside, Mother?”
“Darling, you are ruining the wrist on my dress with your pulling.” Narcissa whispered back. “Now, I promised I would show you but I will not sacrifice my clothing for it. Control yourself. I dare say you would not be so wild if your father were here.”
At mention of his father, Draco immediately straightened, releasing the arm he had grabbed in his excitement. “Of course, Mother. Are there really muggles, though?” He bit his lip, watching as his mother flinched; he had spoken too loud while out in public.
Now eight, he was responsible enough to accompany his mother on her outings into the wizarding world. Everyone knew that the perfect companion for a lady did not speak loudly or act in a rambunctious manner while out in public. Being childish was only for children, and children were not aloud to go on outings. This was the seventh time he had escorted his mother to the amazing and fascinating place that was Diagon Alley and, although he had learned to curb his excitement, today mother had promised to take him out into muggle London and he could hardly restrain the anxious butterflies alight in his stomach.
“Alright, Draco. First I am going to show you how to get into Diagon Alley when you arrive from floo, or if necessary, walking or coach. The only thing you need is a wand, and the proper knowledge of how to use it. Remember that, Draconis; all power is nothing without knowledge. A man could hold the most powerful object in his hands and be destroyed by it merely for being ignorant.”
Draco nodded obediently and watched as his mother used her wand to prod the bricks on the wall leading outside. The power of knowledge had been the first rule, and as he learned every new rule to living life as a powerful wizard, he was constantly stumbling across that rule again and again. Knowing was power, and knowing that one doesn’t have all the information was just as important in obtaining that information.
He did not know a lot about the muggle world. He had learned of its existence when he was five and had been fascinated ever since. But he had also been warned about muggles and their oddities as well. He would be feared, hunted down, used, tested on, killed, or worse if he were found out to be a wizard.
The bricks began to move and he stepped back involuntarily, eyes wide on the scene that was revealed before him. After all those warnings—and he had learned long ago that his parents did not warn without good reason—he was still jumping to see this strange and dangerous world that didn’t even know he existed.
“As you can see, muggles aren’t too keen on cleanliness. It’s not so much that they are slovenly, as is they do not have the magic or the means to keep things as clean as we can,” Narcissa told Draco softly, indicating the storefronts and buildings that were covered with different levels of grime and soot.
It didn’t seem so bad to Draco; when his parents weren’t looking he had spent plenty of hours chasing toads at the creek in his backyard, and knew from experience that dirt could be caked on a lot worse than this. He made a small tsking sound nevertheless, just because he knew his mother was expecting him to.
The street was, on the other hand, surprisingly mundane. He had spotted mostly wizarding establishments, and that wasn’t anything new, certainly nothing worth looking at. What he really wanted to see was a real live muggle, and since wizards and muggles walked side by side here, he couldn’t be fully certain if he was looking at true muggles or just his kind in disguise. “You said we could walk around, right Mother?” he urged, making sure to keep his voice at a respectable level.
Narcissa pursed her lips and gave a curt nod. “First, do you remember how you are to act when in the presence of muggles? Run through the list again.”
Draco did quickly, letting his mother double check his clothing to make sure he would fit in. He hadn’t worn a robe over his normal clothes; robes were not of a muggle nature, and would not only stand out, but also attract negative attention from people who would think he was dressed in the wrong gender style. His dragon hide boots he had gotten for his birthday had been replaced by trainers, and the long-sleeved shirt he had on was simple, not having any lace or frills like the majority of the ones he owned. It was a little much for the summer weather, but mother had assured him he wouldn’t look over dressed to the muggles, just of someone of high society.
Satisfied with both of their appearances, Narcissa placed her delicate arm in Draco’s and together they slowly made their way down the street. Up ahead, Draco could see groups of people, all dressed in shorts and t-shirts and a few in more formal business wear. Coaches—no automobiles—buzzed and puttered, coughing out smoke and moving at speeds that seemed hazardous when so many people were about. Draco felt his heart speed up with it, and it took everything in him to stay with his mother instead of skipping ahead like he really wanted to.
A clock, towering spire piercing the skyline, gave a low chime and Draco stared in wonder. “That’s um…tekology, right?”
“Technology, dear, and yes. But that’s an older form; they have far more advanced models now.” Clearing the street and walking into the hub, Narcissa held Draco’s arm a little tighter so the press of bodies didn’t separate them up ahead. “Let’s go through a couple of stores. If I see anything suitable, perhaps we can get you a gift.”
“Really?!” Momentarily dismissing all protocol, Draco turned and gave his mother a quick, one-armed embrace before letting go and beaming. Narcissa raised a brow at his antics but smiled in response, and moved them to the closest storefront filled with electrical devices.
SCENE #Narcissa loses Draco
Mother had been very determined not to get him anything electrical no matter how much he pleaded. Draco knew that it wouldn’t run properly in the magical realm but he didn’t really care. He figured if he worked on it long enough he’d eventually be able to fix it so that it could run on a different power source. Mother had scoffed at him and picked out a muggle toy that shot out foamy disks. He liked the toy so he kept his complaints to himself.
“Draco, dear, stay in sight.” Narcissa pulled out the small handbag she kept just for muggle money, and joined the line waiting to pay for purchases.
The store was ridiculously crowded. Perhaps she should have saved their outing for a weekday when muggles were less likely to be out of their offices and schools. But she had learned long ago that it was easier to be inconspicuous in a crowd of people than in a scattering.
Maybe she would get Draco a small electrical knickknack after all. He had been looking forward to this outing for ages, practically jumping around the house like a happy puppy ever since she had told him it would be today. Maybe one of those little video games… she was pretty sure Lucius knew a way to shield the technology from the affects of magic.
“Pardon me, Madame,” a young woman wearing far too much makeup and clad in lacy black from head to toe, addressed Narcissa. “I couldn’t help but notice your dress. Wherever did you get it? It’s so hard to find custom made dresses, and such a fine quality at that. You must tell me.”
“I’m afraid it was a gift from my cousin. I couldn’t tell you where she found it,” Narcissa replied politely, but her eyes made it clear that she had no intention of discussing it further. Wilting under her gaze, the girl turned back to her friend without another word.
Narcissa kept her eyes set forward from that point after, only glancing around to locate Draco’s white blond hair from time to time. Maybe the video game was a bad idea; they had been there twenty minutes and her son was still staring intently at the screen along with a large group of boys, watching as two battled each other. Perhaps one of those portable clocks—wristwatch, if she remembered correctly—would be a better idea. Most all of the muggles wore them, and they would be helpful in getting her son home on time when he insisted on playing out in the yard when he knew dinner would be served soon.
She stepped forward, a tall man taking the place behind her and blocking her view of the corner Draco was playing in. She placed the toy on the counter so it could be scanned and the price entered into the computer.
Draco was probably too young yet for a computer. They were too easy to use in communication with the world of muggles, and although she didn’t mind feeding her son’s curiosity, Lucius didn’t want their son too sympathetic towards muggles. Certainly, her husband had gotten more lax over the years since the disappearance of the Dark Lord, but she had a feeling some things would never truly change.
She wanted her son to be able to see all sides and let Draco choose for himself, but Lucius and his Malfoy pride were not so lenient. If the gods were good and Voldemort truly dead, Draco would never have a choice to make.
“You have to be kidding me, lady. Do I look like a bank?” Narcissa fixed her eyes on the store clerk and raised a brow at his scowl. Honestly, didn’t muggles practice customer service?
“I have nothing smaller, young man. You have more than enough to reimburse me.” She ignored the man’s glare and waited patiently for her change. It was only for Draco that she had graced this particular low-classed establishment. She was certain there were more suitable toy stores, but she hadn’t had the time to research. It had been a long time since she had journeyed outside of the magical community, and things changed in the muggle world as much as things stayed the same in hers.
Finally her change was handed back to her… but things weren’t quite correct. The man was glaring at her still, and Draco’s toy had yet to be packaged. “Must I ask for a bag, or is commonsense beyond you?”
“We’re out of bags.”
Narcissa could see at least ten bags in plain sight right behind the counter. “It seems you are blind, as well as rude.” She debated calling for the manager, but decided she really didn’t want to stay any longer in this store than she had to. With a discrete flick of her wand the shelf behind the clerk gave a lurch, its contents spilling to the floor with a loud crash. “Oh my, what a mess…”
While the frantic clerk tried to bring some order to the mess, she reached across the counter and grabbed a bag, carefully placing Draco’s new toy in it. A demure smile in place, she whirled and carefully picked her way around the crowd, moving over to the gaming stations where Draco was likely still glued. She spotted his shining locks in the crowd and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Time to go, Draco.”
“Huh? Watch it lady.” Surprised, Narcissa stared at the crude boy that was most certainly not her son. Shaking off her shock, she turned and scanned the mobs of people for Draco, her heart speeding up the longer it took to find him. Forcing herself not to panic, she began searching each row, even going so far as to check the men’s loo.
No, no… he was probably right outside. Draco disliked crowds; he probably stepped outside for some fresh air. The bag shaking in her grip, she strode quickly to the door, not caring that she had knocked into at least five people on her way. Bursting out of the store, she looked desperately for Draco’s telltale white-blond hair.
Draco was nowhere to be found.
Alright… maybe he had wandered into another store. Maybe he had gone back to look at the one with computers while he waited. She’d check them all if she had to. Gods, what were the words to that locator spell?! Her mind was drawing a blank, and she wondered if she’d even be able to cast a simple lumos right now. Oh dear… no, she wasn’t going to faint. She didn’t have time to faint. Narcissa took a shuddering breath and carefully made her way to the closest bench so she could sit for a moment, just in case, beyond all strength of will, she did pass out.
Draco would be fine. No one knew who he was here, or who his father was; they would have no reason to harm him. And Draco was a smart boy. He knew enough to stay away from strangers or anything that could harm him.
Oh why hadn’t she given him his wand today! He only knew a few little spells, but the Ministry would be able to track him the instant he used it. Oh gods, her poor baby was all alone with all these strange muggles, probably scared out of his mind with no means to defend himself…
Pushing herself off the bench, Narcissa made her way to the nearest store to search. A moment later her vision dimmed again and she fell to the ground.
SCENE #Lost
Eyes wide for signs of his mother, Draco continued down the street he was certain led back to Diagon Alley. There he’d be able to floo call his father, or if need be, the Ministry—anyone with enough power to help him find his mother.
One minute she was there, standing in line, and a moment later she was gone… just gone! It wasn’t like her to leave without him, not when they were on an outing. All he could think was that maybe she had fallen ill; she had a delicate composition after all, and could have had to step out to rest.
The bench outside the store was filled to the brim with a muggle family, so he had taken off towards the one all the way on the corner, but that one had been empty. Not sure what to do—and standing around worrying seemed foolish if his mother was ill somewhere—he had retraced their steps back to more familiar ground.
Unfortunately, familiar ground wasn’t that familiar anymore. He had been certain that the right alley was up ahead, but once turning the corner he was faced with a dead end. Whirling, Draco looked for some sort of landmark that might let him know where he was but found none.
Oh no, oh no, oh no… he was lost—Wait! Eyes intent on the skyline, Draco picked out the tall spire of a clock tower. All right, he just needed to find the spot where he could see the face of it, and where the small landing jutted out at the side, partially covered by a tree, and he should end up on the street he had started out on.
Oh, but it seemed farther away than it should be… He must have been walking in the wrong direction since the very beginning. No matter, it was around lunchtime now, so it shouldn’t get dark for a while.
Feeling calmer now that he had a goal, Draco kept his eyes on the tower and began walking again.
SCENE #Harry on an outing
“Quit it!” Harry jumped over his cousin’s fat foot, resisting the urge to stomp on it for good measure. Something pulled at the back of his collar, and before he knew it, he was tumbling backwards, knocking his thigh and shoulder painfully on rocks hidden in the grass. He blinked up blearily, just making out Dudley’s sneering round face.
“I told you to stay out of my way.” Harry ignored him, his bruised narrow fingers scrambling blindly for his glasses and praying to any god listening that they weren’t damaged. He found them by his head and slipped them on, happy to see that they hadn’t gained any new scratches. Then he rolled out of the way before Dudley decided to start kicking him, and sat up, holding the ground until he stopped feeling dizzy.
Why Dudley seemed to need the whole bloody park was beyond him. It was huge, with trees, and a playground, and plenty of kids for the overgrown boy to pick on and yet, once again, Harry was left dodging his cousin’s attacks. His Aunt and Uncle had dropped them and Dudley’s friends there for the day to be watched by Pier’s parents. Pier’s parents were currently talking to a small group of parents also in the park, and didn’t seem to notice, or care that Harry had already been punched, kicked, knocked down, and chased during the whole first hour there.
“Grrr, stop it, Dudley!” Harry grabbed the foot before he was kicked in the stomach, and pulled. Leverage, and Dudley’s extra weight, was the only reason the big boy went down. Harry didn’t stay around to see just how angry Dudley would be once he recovered. Scurrying to his feet, he took off towards the trees and the opposite direction Dudley’s friends were playing.
If he had to, he could always hide up in one of the tall trees. Harry didn’t mind, really. Climbing trees was fun, and no one ever found him because he was really good at staying still when he needed to. He liked listening to the birds and being surrounded by layers of foliage, watching the people pass by oblivious to his presence.
It was funny how no one ever looked for him unless they wanted to hurt him… Right, that wasn’t really funny at all.
Once Harry was a few yards into the forest he slowed his pace to a normal walk, moving deeper in before he started looking for a good hiding spot. It was quieter here; the trees blocked the sound from the roaming cars and the noises of the city that surrounded the park. The light was different here too, sparkling and brilliant among the trees, and warm and yellow. It felt safe and familiar compared to the stark reality that greeted him everyday outside his cupboard door.
Only his second visit to the park, Harry already knew he was home.
He knew the perfect tree too, having found it last month when he had been dragged along on the Dursleys’ turn to bring the kids to the park. It was a tall tree, the lowest branch far out of reach for even Dudley, who was tall for his age. This deterred most climbers, but Harry had noticed the way a large rock had gotten tangled in the tree’s roots. If one had the courage, they could pull themselves up on that big rock and then, if they didn’t mind a few scrapes and bruises, they could wedge their feet against the tree trunk and jump, catching the low branch against their chest and using it to scramble up.
From there it was easy to climb the rest of the way up, and Harry didn’t stop until he was half way up and resting where two thick, strong branches crossed to make the perfect seat. The bark was even a good type, not that rough, bumpy stuff, but the smooth kind that didn’t itch his back and shoulders when he leaned back and rested against the trunk. He was high enough that he could see the goings on in the small forest, but not too high that he’d be exposed and spotted from the park in the thin leaf coverage.
The summer air felt nice, a gentle breeze rocking the tree he was in. He felt himself drifting and didn’t really mind. Harry fell asleep a lot outside. Maybe it was all the light; he never had nightmares when he fell asleep in the light and not the the dusty cupboard under the stairs.
SCENE #A surprise encounter
“Waaah—Ooof! Owwww, ow, ow, ow, owwy, ow…”
Harry started from his nap, grabbing frantically at the branch he had fallen asleep on before he could fall from his perch. Light headed and not quite awake, he blinked around for whatever it was that had woken him, his gaze eventually falling on the sniffling form on the ground below.
“Hey, are you okay?” Harry called down, leaning over to get a better look at the little blond. Bright, crystal clear gray eyes sparkling with tears met his, widening in surprise to see him there.
“Are you… are you an elf, or a tree spirit?” the boy whispered, his voice strained from crying.
Harry furrowed his brow, pushing up his glasses that gravity was trying to pull from him. Didn’t the kid know elves were make-believe? “What?”
“I’m sorry! I just wanted one little bitty branch to make a wand. That’s all, just a little branch. I’ll leave if you want. I’ll never touch a tree again, promise! Just—just don’t hurt me…”
Harry stared in disbelief, watching as the blond fidgeted, obviously ready to run if need be. “Why would I…? I’m just a kid, that’s all. I’m not some sort of elf spirit or what not.”
The boy didn’t seem relieved but winced and gingerly held his arm. Harry could just make out the red staining his shirt. “Hold on. I’m coming down, okay?” He grabbed hold of the branch he was resting on and pushed off, swinging down with his legs flailing a moment before his toes found footing on the branch below. Harry bent and used the tree trunk for support while he crouched and sat on the branch he had landed on, slowly making his way down to the ground.
Draco scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve, watching the strange boy maneuver down the tree. If it weren’t for the funny clothes, he’d think the boy was lying about being non-magical. He was very agile and small, just like the elves mother had told him about. The wild hair and glowing green eyes completed the image and Draco couldn’t help but stare as the boy leaped to the ground, landing as gracefully as a cat.
Stepping around the big rock, Harry walked up to the blond with a look of pure concern. “Is your arm okay? You’re bleeding.”
“No, I-I’m fine.” Draco shied away, feeling nervous around the wild looking boy. He was just too intense, energy crackling around waiting to spark like a broken toaster Draco had seen for the first time just that day.
Harry blinked, taking in the boy’s strange clothes and odd hair color. He lived with a family of blonds, but none of the Dursleys’ hair was quite as stunningly bright, almost white. And he had never met anyone with eyes like that, all silvery like. “Oh. Are you sure? That’s a lot of blood… And you ripped your shirt.”
Draco stared blankly down at his arm, seeing the large gash for the first time. It had hurt when he had fallen, but he was too busy crying about it to notice the blood.
“Err… you’re not going to faint, are you?” Harry put a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder as all color drained from his already pale face. “Here, maybe you should sit down.” He carefully led him over to the big rock, helping him lean against it. “Listen, if you tell me what they look like, I can go get your parents for you.”
Draco shook his head dully, first studying the ground and then the narrow grimy hands that were carefully pulling his sleeve apart to reveal his wound. He had to get back. He had to find his mother. The clock tower never seemed to get any closer and he had been walking for a while now.
“It’s not too bad… just a nasty scratch I think.” Harry gently closed the fabric back up and pressed it firmly to Draco’s upper arm to slow the bleeding. “Here, just hold it like this and it’ll be better in no time.”
“I, uh… thank you.” Draco covered his hand over the one holding the makeshift bandage, the boy carefully pulling his away. He’d never had a real cut before. Mother would always charm it away the instant he started crying.
“How do you know how to… um…?” Draco trailed off, feeling too miserable to really talk aloud. He had just noticed all the cuts and bruises on the brunette. The boy probably had a lot of first hand experience at treating cuts, being wild and living in trees.
“Oh, that’s from my cousin Dudley,” Harry answered, noticing where Draco was looking. “He’s bigger than me, and his parents love him and really hate me, so they look the other way when he beats on me. I’m pretty fast though, so he doesn’t catch me a lot. That’s why I was up there.” He pointed to the treetop. “Dudley’s too fat to lift his own weight. He’s real lazy, just like a pig. Good thing for me pigs don’t fly.”
The joke worked and Harry cheered inside to see the blond crack a small smile. “Come on, I’ll take you to your parents.”
The boy was small, almost as small as Harry, and he seemed really delicate, like he’d be easy to break if Dudley got his fists on him. His hair was nearly as white as his clear skin, and with his large crystal eyes Harry thought the boy likely more a tree spirit than he would ever be. Almost otherworldly… and it made Harry feel special just to be near such a beautiful boy. He probably had really caring parents that made sure he never got hurt. His clothes looked fancy, like a rich kid’s, so that would make the kid’s parents extra fussy if something had happened to the pretty blond.
“Oh, my name’s Harry, by the way. Do you live around here or are you on a trip too?”
“Oh, ummm… a trip, I guess,” Draco said lamely, unable to meet the boy’s questioning gaze.
Surprised by the obvious lie, Harry took a step back and shoved his hands in his over-sized jean pockets.
He hated being lied to, but he supposed maybe the blond had a good reason. Harry had to lie to his schoolteachers when something strange would happen, because he knew they’d only punish him if he told the truth. Of course, they always thought he was lying when he told the truth, which was why he was punished. It was easier to tell them what they wanted to hear, that way his Aunt and Uncle usually weren’t called about it.
“So… what’s your name?” Harry pressed when the boy didn’t supply it freely.
“Draco Malfoy, of the pureblood Malfoys,” Draco whispered, digging into the dirt with his shoe. “Um… you wouldn’t happen to know where here is, would you?”
“What… the park? Uh, I think there’s some sort of sign back that way.” Harry glanced towards where he had left his cousin and friends. Draco Malfoy… it was a strange sort of name. Kinda regal sounding, and maybe a little, well, special, like magical even.
The boy gave off that sort of air; he was too perfect to be real. He was really graceful, and with his eyes and hair he seemed almost not human. Maybe… maybe he wasn’t. What kinda person would see a kid in a tree and ask if he was an elf, all serious like?
Then again, he could just be crazy too… Shrugging, Harry turned back to Draco. “Why? Don’t you… err, don’t you know where you are?”
Draco shook his head, tears filling his eyes. “No… I-I can’t find my mum, and I d-don’t know where I am…” Saying it aloud was harder than he thought, and Draco began to cry, not from pain this time but from utter fear and hopelessness.
“H-Hey, it’s okay…” Not sure what to do, Harry placed a hesitant hand on Draco’s shaking shoulder. He had never known a boy to cry before in front of anyone else. Girls from school sometimes, but not boys. They would have been teased and beat up mercilessly. But Draco seemed less the type to care what others thought.. He was weird, just like Harry. “I’m sure if we find a policeman they’ll be able to find your mother and, uh, take you back home… Really…”
Harry couldn’t understand why the boy started crying more at his words. Harry sighed, not sure how to fix the boy, but very much feeling terrible that he was crying. He was pretty sure the police would be able to help… unless Draco really wasn’t from around here but some sort of elf or something… but that was just silly. “Listen, honest, all you have to do is tell a policeman your address and they’ll take you home in a jiff.”
“No! You don’t understand!” Draco wailed, sinking to the ground and burrowing his head in his arms. He shouldn’t have left the store. He should have waited there for his mother and… and if something h-horrible had happened to her no one would ever come for him no matter how long he waited! Mother and him had been the only ones from the wizarding world that knew they were there!
Draco began sobbing in earnest. He was never going to get home again. The muggle world was so big, and no one even knew he was there, and he had no magic to protect him, or gold, or anything!
Harry bit his lip and sat down beside Draco, letting the boy cry it out. Given that he probably had a good family and home life, he looked devastated to not be able to find his way back.
Harry would love to not have to go back with the Dursleys, but he didn’t have any other place that would take him in. That was really the thing, though. It didn’t matter where it was, he’d just be happy to have people that loved him. He would do anything for that… No wonder the boy was so sad.
“Draco?” Harry scooted over and carefully tugged at the blond’s arms until red-rimmed crystal eyes met his. “I’m going to help you, alright? We don’t have to go to the police if you don’t want. I’ll help you find your mum no matter what. I promise.”
Scrubbing his face free of tears, Draco gave a half laugh, half sob. “H-How old are you?”
“What? Er, eight… What’s that have to do with anything?” Harry scoffed. “I swear, I’m gonna help you.”
Harry looked so determined, Draco almost believed him. “Do you know the area well? I need to find a certain spot.” He sniffed and pointed to the clock tower that could be seen through the trees.
“Well… actually, I don’t.” Harry smiled sheepishly. “But, I am good at finding things. I have really amazing luck, and a good sense of direction. I know all about the rail system and how to get to Privet Drive from there—that’s where I live, at Privet Drive. Once I’m done helping you, I can just hop a train and go home.”
If Harry remembered right, elves were supposed to have pointy ears. Draco’s weren’t really round, but he wouldn’t call them pointy either… so he probably wasn’t an elf after all. His own ears weren’t that round either but he was pretty sure he wasn’t an elf. Aunt Petunia never would have taken him in if he were.
Draco bit his lip thoughtfully. He really didn’t want to be alone anymore in the huge muggle city. A companion meant twice as much help looking. But the boy was the same age as him, and it seemed wrong to let him get caught up in something like this. “What about your parents? They’ll be worried if you suddenly take off.”
“It’s kinda hard to worry when you’re dead,” Harry said blandly, shrugging his shoulders. “My Aunt and Uncle take care of me, but they won’t care. Honestly, I’m sure they’d be happy if I went off and never came back. They’d probably throw a party. I think Dudley would be the only one who would miss me, and that’s only because he’d have no one to blame when he breaks, or steals something from his parents.”
His own problems momentarily forgotten, Draco stared in disbelief. “You can’t mean that. Family is supposed to take care of each other… It’s—It’s like one of the rules!”
“I don’t know about that…” Harry scratched the tip of his nose, staring out into the woods. “I think my parents loved me… I’m pretty sure they did, but they died when I was just a little baby. Sometimes I think my Aunt wished I had died along with them. But I didn’t, did I?” He turned back, flashing a crooked grin. “One day I’m going to grow up and get away from all of them. I’ll fall in love, and have a family of my own, and I’ll make sure they’ll have as much love as I always wanted. That’s a ways off though…”
Harry blinked, sobering a bit. “Um, so did you want to get going now? Stuff like this, it’s best to figure it out the first day. After that I think things get more complicated, needing food and shelter, and all that.”
Draco stared silently at Harry, trying to figure out how someone so small had gone through so much, and could still smile so easily. They were the same age, and yet Harry seemed to know a lot more about some things that his parents had never covered. Life experience, he supposed. If anything, it made him a good person to be around in the muggle world, and… Suddenly Draco realized he didn’t want the boy to leave him.
“I just need to get a branch from that tree and then we can go, alright?” Draco reached a hand up, holding onto the rock to help stand. Startled, he gasped as Harry suddenly slid his arm under his armpits and lifted him up like it was nothing.
“I’ll get it,” Harry said, leaping up the side of the big rock before Draco could say otherwise. Draco watched as the boy jumped up to the low branch; was he really only some muggle human? Harry moved like a tree spirit or something.
Draco took the time to dust his pants off, willing the funny blush that had sprouted when Harry had suddenly grabbed him to go away.
“How’s this?” Harry called down, pointing to a fair sized branch longer than his arm.
“It doesn’t have to be so big.” Draco held his hands out to indicate the size, and Harry nodded, quickly snapping a piece and dropping it down to the waiting boy.
Draco caught it, surprised that it was exactly how he had wanted; thin, straight, and with no bumps or knots to mar it.
Before Harry could jump down, Draco whispered the words his father taught him to help find large concentrations of magic. Because Draco’s magic was weak from his inexperience, the locator would only be able to find really big magic, but that was okay because the only magic he was looking for came from the center of the wizarding world. If he went in that direction, he was bound to run across his own people.
“Hey, have you eaten lunch yet?” Harry jumped to the ground, cheeks red from the sudden activity. “I was just about to get mine before you showed up. I’ll get you something if you want… it might take a while until you get a real meal.”
Draco flushed, touching his stomach lightly. He’d had a late breakfast with mother before the trip into the muggle world, but with all the walking and worry, he was famished now. “I am a little hungry, I guess.”
Harry smirked. The boy was obviously starving. “I’ll go get us something to eat. Be right back.”
“Wait—” Draco grabbed onto Harry’s sleeve, eyes wide and desperate. “You’ll come back, right?” He didn’t know what he’d do if he was left alone again.
Harry turned, grabbing Draco’s hands and squeezing encouragingly. “I’m just going to get food to keep us going, and then we’re going to get you home. Your parents are probably really worried right now. If my parents were still alive… Well, people who care about each other should always be together, you know? It’s just how it should be.”
Beaming, Harry let go and skipped backwards. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back. Promise.” With that he ran off, back towards Pier’s parents and the bags of lunches waiting to be eaten.
Draco watched until the boy disappeared among the trees. Sighing, he sat back against the rock. The low throb in his arm kept him from relaxing, so he decided to see if it was all right. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of food muggles ate. Probably stuff less dangerous than food from the magical world. It’s not like there were monsters to disguise themselves as food around here.
Carefully, Draco pulled the bloodied sleeve away from his skin and peered down through the slash in the material. Huh, the bleeding had stopped. Actually… Draco opened the fabric wider so the light could reach the wound. It looked, well, smaller. He could have sworn the cut had reached higher, all the way up to his shoulder, but now it was only a thin red line about three inches long on his upper arm.
…Maybe Harry really was magical.
Smiling to himself, Draco climbed up to the top of the big rock and sat, swinging his feet idly while he waited to catch sight of the wild boy.
SCENE #A new adventure
Not feeling guilty at all, Harry grabbed both of Dudley’s lunches, plus his own much smaller one. He figured Draco needed it a lot more, and Dudley could do to lose some weight anyways. The older boys were busy picking on some children that were playing on a swing set while their parents looked on apathetically. Stuffing everything under the shirt Harry had inherited from his cousin that could have fit two of him at once, he slipped towards the closest stand of trees, following them round about to finally get back to Draco.
He was glad to see the boy had stopped crying and looked happier than when he had started out. Now free from prying eyes, Harry pulled the bags from under his shirt and placed them up next to Draco on the rock. “Do you mind eating and walking at the same time? I took my cousin’s lunch, and he’ll be looking for me once he figures it out.”
Draco couldn’t help but snicker at the thought Harry took his mean cousin’s lunch. “I bet he’ll be real mad, huh? Brilliant.” He scooted to the edge of his perch and stared warily down at the ground where Harry was.
“Oh, yeah, it’s funny as long as he doesn’t catch us.” Harry sent a nervous glance over his shoulder. He could definitely handle Dudley, but Harry did not want to think what his cousin might do to someone so soft like Draco. “You coming?”
Draco nodded but didn’t move, eyes still fixated on the ground. “Um… it didn’t seem so high when I got up here.”
“Oh, well… here.” Harry held his arms out. “Jump, and I’ll catch you.”
Surprised, Draco took a good look at Harry’s arms. They were really thin beneath those billowy sleeves, and even though he could see that there were the beginning signs of toned muscle, he really didn’t think they could hold much. “I really don’t think so.”
Laughing at Draco’s expression, Harry gave a little hop. “Come on, I’m stronger than I look. Or are you going to sit on that rock all day?”
“Ummm…” Draco wasn’t really convinced, but he didn’t want to stay on the rock all day either. He wanted to find his mother and go home. “Okay… Try not to drop me though.” Slipping his sneakers down the side of the rock face and lowering himself as far as he could without falling, he was still over the other boy’s head. There was no way he was doing this.
“Come on, don’t chicken out now,” Harry urged when he saw Draco trying to push himself back up to where he had started.
“I’m not chicken—I’m smart!” Draco yelped, his outburst causing him to lose his footing and fall forward. He was certain he had just killed himself, but surprisingly strong arms wrapped around his chest and his feet hit the ground with only a little thump.
“Told ya,” Harry teased, helping Draco catch his bearings and straighten out. “Besides, you’re almost as light as I am, so it wasn’t that hard.”
Draco nodded dully, his side aching a bit from where he had been caught. “I don’t feel so good…”
Harry immediately stepped back and put a firm hand on Draco’s arm, covering where his wound was. “Did it start bleeding again? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Draco cut him off with a shake of his head. “No, my tummy hurts… I’m all queasy from falling.”
“Oh, alright. Here, just sit for a bit.” Harry glanced back towards the way he had come, anxious to get going. They were supposed to have lunch at two, and it was around one forty-five now. Dudley would be bugging the adults to eat, and it would only take one look to notice that the lunches were missing.
“It’s okay,” Draco whispered, noticing how anxious the other boy was. He didn’t want to get Harry into any trouble. He certainly didn’t want him to get beat up by his cousin because then he wouldn’t help him find his mother. “I’ll feel better after a little walking, I think.”
Harry nodded, not really believing him but knowing they had to get moving. “We’ll go slow until you feel better. Which way?”
“Um, hold on a sec.” Draco pulled the stick Harry had gotten him from his back pocket and cupped it close to his stomach, turning his back so he wasn’t seen. The stick pointed to the left but Draco had been moving more to the right the whole time before. Conflicted, he decided to continue towards the clock tower. It wasn’t a real wand, and he didn’t know a lot of magic yet, so he was probably messing up the spell somehow. He tucked the stick back in his pocket anyways, liking the imaginary security it gave him.
“This way, towards that clock tower.”
Harry nodded in reply. He was curious about what Draco had been doing but he didn’t want to be nosy. Reaching up, he grabbed the bags of food and together they set off towards the right, the woods around them growing thicker and thicker for the first ten minutes before finally breaking away into the streets of a wealthy neighborhood.
SCENE #Blossoming magic
“You really seem to love her. Is she pretty? I think my mum was pretty, but I don’t really remember.”
“She’s really pretty, probably the prettiest mom in the whole world. She’s really nice too. She reads to me, and sings, and at least twice a month we both go out on an outing.”
“Outing?” The only outings Harry had been on were the few to the park, and once in a while he’d go somewhere with the Dursleys when his Aunt couldn’t find a babysitter.
“Yeah, we’d go for tea a lot, and sometimes clothes shopping… We always looked at the store windows even when mum said she didn’t want to buy anything. I was her protector. She didn’t like to go out alone because she has weak blood, and passes out a lot…” Draco trailed off, clenching his fists at his sides.
“She’s okay, Draco.” Harry placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The way you talked about her, your mum must be smart enough to take care of herself.”
“But she doesn’t know anyone here. How do I know some mean muggle isn’t going to attack her without me there to help! She could be passed out in the middle of a street or—”
“Stop it, Draco, she’s fine.”
“No, she’s not. She’s sick, and worried about me, and she could even be lost too!” Draco sniffed, his eyes going wild behind the new tears threatening to spill.
Harry sighed, placing the bags on the low wall they were passing so he could grab onto the boy’s narrow shoulders.
“Hey, it’s going to be all right. If something happened to her, they’ll take her to the nearest hospital and they’ll make sure she’s okay. And, if you’re just worrying for nothing and she’s fine, then she’s probably talking with the police right now to help find you.”
Harry carefully wiped the boy’s tears away. “Either way, you’re both going to be all right, and see each other again real soon. I wouldn’t have come along if I didn’t think it was possible. I would have pointed you to the police instead, and went back to sleeping in the tree.”
Something in his little speech must have been funny because Draco’s eyes widened in surprise and he giggled tearfully. “What? What did I say?”
“No… it was a really nice thing to say, really,” Draco managed past his giggles. “I do believe you. My mum is probably fine and I’m just worried.”
Harry looked unconvinced, mostly because the weird blond had yet to stop laughing.
As if reading his mind, Draco continued. “You—You sleep in a tree!” He laughed aloud, throwing his hands up as if the humor was obvious. “I thought you were an elf because I saw you in a tree, but you’re just a muggle, and yet you sleep in a tree! It’s funny.” Beaming, Draco pulled on Harry’s arm, only giving the boy a moment to grab the lunches before skipping down the street.
“I’m a what? A muggle?”
“Yup.” Draco answered distractedly and pointed to a skyscraper in the distance. “What is that? It looks like some weird, shiny mountain but my mum said that people work in it, and it lights up at night.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Harry commented thoughtfully, as Draco once again asked another strange question. PB&J equaled peanut butter and jelly; what kid didn’t know that? And come on, asking what a mailbox was for, or bicycles, or asking, god help him, why didn’t Harry just lose his glasses and see better? Draco was not normal, and Harry found it absolutely fascinating.
“I told you, I’m on an outing with my mum,” Draco said matter-of-factly.
Harry just rolled his eyes. “You’re a horrible liar, just so you know.” He said it lightly, not wanting to hurt the boy’s feelings. Sometimes you had to hide things, and Draco had no reason to trust him with the truth. He wasn’t about to let the boy think he bought his act, though.
“What? I was on an outing!”Draco insisted, his cheeks turning pink.
“Right, right, but where are you from? You won’t tell me that, will ya?” Harry smiled and pulled a juice box from one of the bags, handing it to Draco.
Together they had eaten their way through one of Dudley’s lunches. That left them with another big one and Harry’s own pitiful bag. He figured it would be enough for dinner, although he hoped it wouldn’t take that long. The more time he spent with Draco, the more he got the feeling that they may be looking for a long time—like a really long time.
After letting Harry fix the straw for him, Draco sipped on the drink, using it as an excuse not to answer. The first rule with dealing with muggles was secrecy. And he knew it wasn’t just for his own safety, but for Harry’s as well.
Right now Harry still had deniability. Wizards didn’t like muggles knowing about them. A lot of Draco’s people looked down on muggles, like they weren’t good enough to talk with or even touch… as if they were diseased. It had only taken a few minutes with Harry to see how wrong that opinion was.
“Want some?” Draco handed the juice to the brunette, making sure Harry saw him not wipe the straw off when he got it back and took another sip. He didn’t think Harry had any diseases, and he didn’t think he was stupid or inferior. Actually, the boy was really smart… He’d probably know how to keep a secret, too.
“I don’t usually sleep in a tree, you know. I live in a house with my Aunt and her family,” Harry mumbled, feeling it was important Draco know he at least had a home and wasn’t as poor as his clothes made him look.
Draco nodded. “You were hiding from your cousin, right?”
“Yeah.” Harry glanced over at him. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No, I’m the first heir in my line. Father wants mother to have another child, just in case, but she’s really delicate. It makes me glad I was born a boy, because my mum would have to keep having children until she bears a male heir.” Draco was oblivious to the confusion on his new friend’s face.
“Oh… well, if your mother wasn’t delicate? Would you want to have a brother or sister? I always wanted one—a real one, not like Dudley or the berks he hangs out with. I think I’d feel less alone, having someone around who understands me.”
“I don’t know. My parents, they really understand me.” Grabbing onto Harry’s hand, Draco gave it a small squeeze and smiled. “What’s to understand about you?”
The question surprised Harry, or maybe it was the simple kind gesture he wasn’t used to having directed at him. “What?”
“You know, what makes you you? Why do you feel so different from the rest of the people around you?” From what Draco had observed, Harry was a totally different species from all the muggles he had seen that day. He wanted to know why.
“Oh, umm… well, let me think.” It was a strange thing to figure out. Harry knew, there was no question there, but he wasn’t quite sure why, or what he knew.
“They’re hiding something from me, my Aunt and Uncle,” Harry blurted suddenly. “About my parents and about me. They know who I am and they hate me for it.” He turned gleaming eyes to the blond. “It’s hard to explain…”
Draco frowned, holding Harry’s hand tighter. “I don’t think anyone can really explain hate. Why do you think they feel that way about you?”
Harry shrugged, looking down at his shoes. “Weird things happen to me. It really freaks my Uncle out. He yells and knocks me around like it’s my fault. My Aunt will start shrieking, her lips and knuckles going all white like a ghost is about to jump her.”
“What happens?”
Harry met the worried gaze hesitantly. He was afraid to lose his new friend so soon. Eventually something weird would happen and Draco would freak out and never want to talk to him again. It always happened. Draco was pretty cool, but Harry was sure he’d still think he was weird or worse, lying about the stuff that happens to him.
“Weird things happen to me sometimes,” Draco offered quietly, hoping to stop the boy from chewing on his lip in anxiety.
Harry glanced glowing green eyes his way, hope sparking. “…Really?”
“Sure.” Draco flashed a small smile. “Like for starters…” Draco held up their clasped hands. “I can feel stuff, umm energy… a special type of energy. I can feel it in you.”
“Yeah?” Surprised, Harry reached up so he held Draco’s hand in both of his, crushing their lunches in the process. “What’s it feel like?”
“Uh, well l-like magic, of course,” Draco stuttered, the wild tingle coming from Harry’s hands going all the way down to his toes.
Harry watched the boy blush, his mind whirling. Draco had said the M-word, and he had said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Uncle Vernon had told him time and again, until he was purple in the face, that magic didn’t exist and anyone who said otherwise was a filthy waste of life. He had said it so many times, and always so angrily, that it had made Harry sure that he was lying about it. It made him wonder if magic was actually real.
“What… what does magic feel like?”
Draco shook his head dumbly, clasping his other hand over the two holding his. “It feels like you.”
Mother had told Draco about the rare muggles that grew up to have powers like his own kind. Eventually they would be accepted into Hogwarts, a school whose founders were indiscriminate with who was allowed to attend. They would become a part of the wizarding society… Harry would become part—
“You’re a wizard!” Draco cheered, lunging at the brunette and tackling him into a bear hug.
“W-what?! Ooof—watch it…!” Knocked over, his elbow stung from where it had hit the ground, Draco’s weight pinning him down. Rearranging his glasses, Harry gave the beaming blond an annoyed glare. “Are you off your rocker?”
Draco laughed, too happy with the prospect of Harry living in his world to notice his discomfort. “You know what a secret is, right?”
Harry rolled his eyes at the question. “Yeeeah. Why? Is that why you can’t tell me where you’re from?” He blinked innocent eyes at the blond.
“Well yeah, it’s a big secret, you see… But, if you can promise not to tell anyone, a real promise, a blood oath, then I could tell you. You’re going to find out when you’re older anyways. If you know, it will make it easier for you to help me find my home so, umm… yeah. What do you say?”
Harry wriggled distractedly; Draco’s weight was sending tendrils of warmth through him and he wondered if that was what magic felt like. Harry wanted to know the secret, there was no question about that. For some reason, he wanted to know everything about Draco, more so than he could remember ever wanting to know anything. “What’s a blood oath?”
“We both cut ourselves and mix the blood together while saying ‘I swear on my life I’ll never tell.’ It doesn’t have to be a lot of blood…”
Actually, since Harry was a muggleborn the oath might not even count. It wasn’t real magic, but things concerning blood alone could be more powerful than some spells. “We’ll have to find something sharp. That is, if you want to?” Draco tilted his head questioningly, smiling bemusedly as he caught the soft calming scent the boy gave off.
“Did you just sniff my hair?” Harry asked, a giggle bubbling in the pit of his stomach.
Draco blushed, realizing that was exactly what he had just done. “No! I j-just… oh, stop laughing!” He sat up, sitting on Harry’s legs so the laughing boy wouldn’t jiggle him.
“This is going to be so brilliant, Harry. When we find my mom she’ll be so happy to meet you. She might even charm up her famous fairy-honey squares just for you.”
“Fairy-honey squares?”
“Yeah, yeah, they’re really good! Even better than that candy bar we had. Come on.” Draco got up and grabbed Harry’s hands, pulling him to his feet. “We need to find something sharp.”
SCENE #A blood spell
It had only taken a minute for Harry to find an open kitchen window and ‘borrow’ a slender, but sharp knife. If he remembered later, he’d certainly return it, but for now he felt he should hold on to it for the remainder of their search for Draco’s mother and home. They were, after all, two kids in a very big and potentially dangerous city.
“Have you ever done this before?” Harry asked, barely flinching as he drew the knife across his palm and blood began to seep from the cut. He frowned when he caught the pasty look on Draco’s face. Something told him this was going to be a little more difficult than Draco had made it out to be.
“Once…well, I kinda saw someone do it.” Draco took the knife with a shaking hand, fear making his skin prickle and his grip waver. He stared at the blade, unable to press it to his flesh. “I… umm…”
“Do you want me to do it for you?”
Draco laughed tersely. “Yes, but it doesn’t work that way.” He took an unsteady breath and closed his eyes. “I can do this,” he whispered, and before he lost his nerve, Draco cut, trembling the whole time. “Quick, give me your hand.”
Harry did, lining their cuts up together like Draco had showed him. “I swear on my life I’ll never tell.” His eyebrows shot up as a distinct pulse of heat ran up his arm before slowly fading away. “Did you—?”
“Yeah.” Draco’s eyes were just as wide in surprise. “I… I guess it worked.”
“Guess so…” Blinking away his confusion, Harry tightened his grip to get Draco’s attention. “Well? What am I not telling?”
“Oh, yeah.” Draco was still staring at their joined hands with a look of confusion. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Err… no, it doesn’t actually.” Harry carefully pulled his hand away so they could stare at their palms. There was a smear of blood that had collected and mingled, but the cuts they had just made were barely a white line on each of their hands. “Wow… wow, that’s real. Draco, that’s real magic!” Harry said excitedly, his green eyes bright in exhilaration and awe.
“Well yeah, of course it is.” Draco huffed, but he was just as surprised as Harry. He examined his hand carefully, flexing his fingers. “That’s pretty neat, actually.”
“It’s brilliant,” Harry confirmed, lapping the scarlet puddle from him palm before wiping his cleaned hand dry on his jeans. Watching him, Draco hesitantly followed suit and flickered a pink tongue over his own palm.
Waiting for the blond to finish, Harry carefully pocketed their new knife in his jeans, his over-sized shirt easily covering the handle from view.
“How can you…?” Draco scrunched his nose at the odd tang of blood. It wasn’t completely unpleasant, but he certainly wouldn’t make a habit of it. “It tastes weird.”
“Yeah, but you don’t want to get it all over your clothes and everything. People will think you murdered someone.” Draco took another curious lick and then began looking around for someplace to wipe the rest of it off on.
Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed the boy’s hand. “Here, I’ll do it. Half of it’s mine anyways.” Grinning mischievously, Harry ran his tongue over the blonde’s palm, giggling when Draco yelped in surprise.
“H-Hey, quit that!” Draco tried to pull his hand away but Harry followed, using his other hand to hold the boy’s arm still. “Argh, that’s icky! Harry!” Draco whined, squirming in the firm grip as the spaces between his fingers were thoroughly cleaned.
“It’s only blood, Draco.” He found the boy’s squirming funny, and teasingly bit at his hand, rewarded with more giggling jumps.
“Harry— I’m s-s-serious here! Quit—ha, ha, haa! ” Getting a little fed up—he hated when he couldn’t stop laughing—Draco grabbed blindly at the boy’s messy locks, accidentally knocking Harry’s glasses off in the process.
“Sorry… just let go already.” Draco met the unfocused green eyes, amazed by the vibrant green color blinking at him. “You’re uh… you’re really weird, ya know that?” he said decidedly, combing Harry’s wild tangle of hair. “Like a puppy or something.”
“Puppy?” Harry cocked his head to the side, licking his lips in thought. “You know, I always wanted a puppy. A nice one; my Aunt Marge has this really vicious dog that hates me.”
“Oh, well if you were really a puppy, I imagine you’d be a really nice one,” Draco whispered, pulling his hand away, which was now squeaky clean and distinctly moist, and shoving it in his pocket before Harry did something else weird. Blushing, he helped Harry find his glasses in the grass.
“So, tell me already,” Harry persisted, pushing his glasses up his nose and scrambling to his feet. “Where do you live, and stuff?” He pulled Draco up, and grabbing their lunch bags, set off towards the clock tower again. He didn’t want to stay around the area, afraid that somehow they would get caught for taking the kitchen knife.
“My house is called Malfoy Manor and it’s, well it’s hard to say where it is exactly,” Draco tried to explain. “It’s unplottable—that means that it can’t be found by magical means. Only those who know beforehand can find and enter my house. That’s why it won’t help to ask the muggle police for help, because they could never find it.”
“So, only you and your family can find it? But, if you don’t know where it is, and you can’t find your mum…” Harry trailed off uncomfortably.
“Well, um, if I can get back into the wizarding world, I’ll be able to find it right off. You see, we have this floo system network thingy that lets us go wherever we say.”
Harry shook his head in confusion. “Maybe you should explain what you mean by wizarding world first. It sounds like you’re from another planet or something.”
“Uh, it’s the same planet, just… how do I explain this…? You know how you muggles have different countries, right? Well, think of the wizarding world as another country, just that only the people from that country and some bigwigs in your government know about.
“There are small groups of us everywhere, really, but London holds one of the larger populations of our kind. And I mean our, Harry. The only real difference between muggles and us is our ability to use magic, really.” Draco smiled excitedly. “Not everyone sees it that way, but my mom has been teaching me, and that’s what I figured out. Muggles are non-magical people, and that’s that. It doesn’t mean they’re meaner, or less smart, or anything else.”
“Um, okay.” Draco was looking at him expectantly, so Harry hesitantly nodded his head. He still wasn’t quite sure about all of it yet, but it sounded really interesting anyways. “You said that my government would know about your world. What if you went to them? Maybe they could help you get home.”
Draco bit his lip and shook his head. “I don’t think… Um, my father kind of has a history around here. They might…” He looked away, tousling his white-blond locks.
“We have money, you know? So people that want that money might decide that they could hurt me, or mother to get it. My father isn’t well liked in the muggle world, so they might think it would be okay to do something like that if they knew who I am… He’s an important man, my father.” Draco looked ahead blankly. “But I think there must be a reason so many people are afraid of him.”
Harry stared at the boy. Afraid didn’t really seem to fit the description. The way he had sounded, Harry would think people would be angry or jealous of Draco’s father, not frightened. He let it slip though, because Draco seemed agitated about the subject.
“Have you ever been kidnapped before, or am I your first?”
Gray eyes regarded him in surprise, taking in Harry’s teasing smile and laughing eyes. “You think you could kidnap me? I bet you’ve never even held a wand before!”
“I don’t think I have…” Harry mussed, not quite knowing what Draco meant by a wand. “But I’ve most certainly got you, don’t I?”
Draco shook his head in amusement. “If anyone is going to be considered a kidnapper, it’s me. For all anyone knows, I’m luring you to your doom.” He accented the last three words with wiggling fingers that he used to attack Harry’s stomach.
Sniggering, Harry wiggled away. “I don’t think it’s kidnapping if no one’s ever going to look for me. Ha, or if I actually want to go with you, too.”
“Do you want to go with me?” Draco asked suddenly, eyes wide and innocent and making Harry lose a step. Harry very much wanted to go everywhere with Draco.
“Uh… well, I don’t suppose that really matters,” Harry said awkwardly, his mood immediately falling. “I mean, the Dursleys are horrible, but I suppose I could be in a worse situation.”
“Still,” Draco persisted, “do you?”
Harry glanced at the boy, going quiet.
It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, mostly because there was no point getting caught up in dreams like that. Since the first time he could remember, he had been waiting for someone; his parents, a relative, a friend of his family, anyone to come take him away from the Dursleys and give him a proper home. He had hid that little dream in a small part of his heart, knowing that it would never come true, but unable to fully let it go. At this point it just hurt to think about it.
Concerned by his new friend’s brooding, Draco gently bumped Harry’s shoulder with his. “You’re a wizard, you know. You don’t have to go back to them anymore. You should live with your own kind.”
Sighing, Harry shook his head, but gave the boy a smile for his efforts. “Do you think it’s that simple?”
Draco shrugged. “It is for my father. He can do anything… Come on, I think I see something familiar.” Draco hurriedly dragged Harry towards the back of the line of houses, pointing out a tall, wired fence. “This was on one side of the alley we came in from so… that would mean the alley is right on the other side!”
“Um, I don’t think it works quite like that,” Harry said hesitantly, noticing the very normal field the fence was surrounding. “There’s more than one fence like this.”
“What…but…” Draco stopped and scrunched his nose, eying the quite obvious field that could be seen on the other side. Not completely convinced, he grabbed onto the fence and climbed halfway up so he could poke his head over the side. Like Harry had said, it was just a field. “Darn… I thought it was a magical illusion.”
“Sorry, things are kinda simple around here.” Harry waited for the blond to jump down, trying to hide his smile.
Imagine magic that could make you think you were looking at something, when another thing was really there! “What other things can magic do? Can it stop a war? Or make the snow fall in the middle of summer? I want to know everything.”
“Sure, um, let me just check something first.” Draco searched the skyline for the clock tower landmark. It still seemed rather far away and he couldn’t figure out why. If it was anywhere but the muggle world, he could blame it on magic. The residential neighborhood they were in was also confusing him. It seemed odd to have houses within a city, well, houses with large yards. But that could be a muggle thing too. Torn, he decided to try his locator again.
“Hey, Harry. Do you want to see some magic?” Draco asked while pulling the stick from his pocket. He held his hands palm up, the branch of magic free to sway as the green-eyed boy leaned close with an expression of rapt concentration. Sure enough, the stick stopped its spinning, only to point in the opposite direction they had been heading. Sighing in frustration, Draco plopped to the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, sitting next to him after a moment.
Draco made a moan of displeasure, pointing to the clock tower. “So, that’s the tower I saw when I was with my Mom, and I figured getting to the right side would be where I could find my world. But it hasn’t been working—I keep walking and walking and it just doesn’t get closer.”
“…Could it be magic?” Harry asked quietly, looking a little disbelieving at the thought.
“I don’t know…” Hand straying to where Harry’s was resting beside him in the grass, Draco fiddled with the boy’s fingers thoughtlessly. Harry frowned to himself, not sure why Draco kept touching him all the time. It didn’t hurt—it wasn’t like Dudley, always trying to hurt him. Harry wasn’t even sure if it was a normal thing, because he had never really had a friend before, and he didn’t know what friends did normally.
It made Harry look at Draco a lot, and notice how he looked, with his wide eyes and flush mouth against his pale skin. And Harry supposed that reminded him just how weird he was, because even if Draco liked to touch him, he probably wasn’t thinking the same weird thoughts Harry thought when the boy did it. Draco might have been pretty enough to be a girl, but he definitely wasn’t one, and Harry didn’t mind at all. Uncle Vernon would have called him a freak for it… definitely…
“Maybe it is magic…” Draco mused, eyes straying to Harry’s. “Diagon Alley is hidden by spells so you can’t see it. Maybe I’m looking for a clock tower that was hidden in the alley, and not in the city. That could explain why it’s taking so long to find the place—I could have been walking away the whole time!”
Harry was not sure if that was how magic worked, having only just learned about it, but he imagined Draco would know more about it then him. “So… should we go the other way?” Harry asked, watching as Draco’s white eyelashes blinked slowly.
Draco nodded, but made no move to get up. “I’m tired… really tired. I don’t think I’ve ever walked so far in my entire life.”
Harry nodded to himself, looking at their surroundings. They were at the edge of the field, in a suburban neighborhood. There were no houses close to them, and no other people wandering. “If you want to close your eyes for a bit, we can get going after you rest.” Draco was a delicate sort, and Harry didn’t want the boy hurting himself.
Draco fell back into the long green grass, eyes slipping up over the bright blue sky and the fluffy white clouds slowly blowing by. The grass tickled at his skin, and he squirmed, letting the smell of green and dirt fill his senses. He reached for Harry’s hand again, brushing fingers across and liking how Harry’s energy sparked at him in response. He had never felt magic quite like Harry’s, so raw and wild, like stumbling across a dangerous wild animal in the woods and bringing it home for a pet.
Draco glanced over, thinking that was probably not a nice, proper way to consider someone. But he couldn’t help himself, feeling like Harry was some wild, magical creature—very special, and very much just for Draco to play with and take home.
“Hey, Harry?” Draco asked, watching intently as the boy turned his way, a small frown on his tanned and dirt streaked face. “Can I see your glasses?”
Biting his lip, Harry pulled the taped frames from his face and handed them over to Draco by the narrow ear piece. Draco held them gingerly, bringing them closer and closer to his eyes until he was peering through at a blurry, almost watery world.
“Is this how you see things all the time? Fuzzy?”
Harry bent closer, flattening out on his stomach and scrunching his nose as grass tickled his chin and throat. “Without them, yeah. The glasses make things sharp for me. I can see up close okay without them.”
Draco pushed Harry’s glasses up to his forehead, the world tilting and coming back into focus. He turned his head, hand coming up to touch Harry’s fluffy hair. “You’re very different from the people I know. My mother would throw a fit if my hair was so messy… or if I came home covered in dirt… or wore clothes that didn’t fit right.”
Harry shrugged, eyes half closing as Draco insisted on combing fingers through his hair as if he were a dog. “That’s because your mom loves you… Although, even if I did have a loving mom, I don’t think my hair would ever be neat.”
“No…you’re too wild for that.” Draco agreed, looking very serious. “Harry, you should come live with me.”
Breath catching, Harry turned his head up to see if Draco was joking. He was very close, his bright skin smelling like soap and boy, only looking a little blurry as Harry blinked at him. “Draco, I don’t think your parents would ever agree to something like that… Adults don’t just take kids in…”
“So? I bet if I ask really nice, my mom would agree. All she’d have to do is meet you—I’m sure she’d like you as much as I do.” Draco said optimistically, very much used to getting his way.
Harry shook his head, very much liking the way Draco smelled. “I’m not normal… Your parents wouldn’t like me, Draco…”
“Harry, I keep telling you, normal isn’t good for a wizard. You don’t want to be normal,” Draco insisted, pulling a little too hard on Harry’s hair, his fingers getting stuck. He carefully worked at the small knot, smoothing the strands up into a point once done.
“I’m not a good person,” Harry whispered, looking away and burying his head into his folded arms. “I’m very much a bad person. People get hurt around me… and I don’t feel bad about it… I think sometimes that I’m glad they get hurt. Especially when they’re trying to hurt me first.”
Draco sighed, his eyes closing against the warm sun and soothing breeze. “That’s like my father. He’s good at hurting people… and mom loves him. I love him… He protects us. As long as you don’t hurt us, I’ll love you.”
Harry didn’t say anything, staring at the long strands of grass brushing his face while Draco’s breathing evened out into sleep. No one could ever love someone like Harry, and it was crazy to ever get his hopes up.
He pushed himself up on his arms, eyes roaming over Draco’s sleeping face. A part of him very much wanted to never find Draco’s parents. They didn’t have to go to the Dursleys—they would only hurt someone like Draco. They would tease him for being the type of boy that was sweet and cried, and liked to touch other boys because he not so secretly liked them.
Harry was fairly certain Draco liked him the same way he liked Draco… And Harry did not want to let the boy go. But Harry had no place to live if not the Dursleys. Draco was very soft and sweet—he would not want to live in trees, or out in fields. So Harry would take Draco home, to the people that loved him, and then Harry would go back to the Dursleys and forget about things like magic and how easy it was to fall in love with someone like Draco.
SCENE #Followed and captured
Harry eventually had to wake Draco up, the afternoon light slanting the trees shadows long, and reminding him that it would be night soon. Draco was still tired, his eyes heavy and body wavering as Harry helped him to his feet. The boy was worn out, plain and simple, just too much having happened that day.
As much as Draco felt uneasy about back tracking after all the distance he had traveled, after explaining it more to Harry, they both agreed it was the best course of action. Better to go back to where Draco had started than hope he was headed in the right direction the whole time.
Twilight was starting to fall, and Draco was getting hungry again by the time the trees started to be surrounded by small fences on the sidewalk and city neon began flickering in shop windows.
“It all looks so different at night,” Draco mused, looking around and pressing closer into Harry’s side. Harry had gotten used to how clingy Draco was by this point, and just raised his arm so the boy could wrap around it.
“Do you think you’re close to where you last saw your mom?” Harry asked, looking around warily. Cars lines the street, more flowing back and forth, taillights turning everything red as traffic sat for the signal. There were a lot of people on the sidewalks, older people being loud and stumbling as they went in and out of bars and restaurants in groups.
“I don’t know… I remember there being benches to sit on…” Draco trailed off, both Harry and him finding the nearest bench with their eyes, only to discover a homeless person camped out, a sign at his feet while he filled the bench with his dirty coat and black plastic bags filled with stuff.
Pursing his lips into a grim frown, Harry decided it was time for Draco to eat something, if only to distract the boy from his nearly panicked breathing. He pulled Draco to a bench not full of anyone and their stuff, and sat the boy down and handed him Dudley’s other large lunch. Harry didn’t eat, not feeling hungry at the moment, his stomach tight with anxiety as he watched every face that walked by and thought to look in Draco’s direction.
Draco was too pretty, Harry was realizing. Not just too young, because Harry was young and people didn’t pay him much heed. Draco was soft, and sweet, and everyone kept looking at him because of it as if they wanted to take him away… And some of the people, especially men, looked as if they wanted to hurt Draco, their eyes roaming over Harry’s new friend as if he were a meal to be eaten.
Harry wasn’t sure if he was glad Draco seemed oblivious, or frustrated. He did not want to panic the boy—it was too easy a task as it was—but Draco was just so carefree, swinging his feet and looking openly at these hungry looking people as if they weren’t the predators Harry sensed them to be. To the point that some slowed down, one man, this sandy haired, soft smiling thing with hungry brown eyes, daring to stop and talk to them while Draco sipped on his juice box.
“You two look like you’re out on a trip together,” the man said, crouching down so that he was eye level, as if not to frighten them. Harry glared, meeting the dark eyes and willing the man to go away. He did not, turning instead to Draco, his smile handsome and gentle even though his eyes were not.
Draco squirmed under the attention, glancing at Harry uncertainly. “We’re uh, just out for a walk…”
“Go away,” Harry snapped, taking Draco’s hand when the boy reached for him. The man seemed very interested in that, that Draco had reached out to Harry, and Harry found himself wanting to growl and push the man, but was afraid to frighten Draco who only looked confused and not scared yet.
“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you were eating, and I thought maybe you would like something warm?” The man said calmly, head tilting in a way that made Draco relax. “It’s getting cold out, and I don’t know if you realize it, but it’s very late.”
“It is?” Draco asked, eyes looking around the city that was now alight with colors and neon, the sun having disappeared hours ago.
“We don’t want anything from you, so get lost,” Harry said sharply, getting up from the bench to glower down at the man. “My dad is right in there, and he’s coming right back.”
The man held up his hands, smiling apologetically, and looking as if he didn’t believe a word of what Harry had said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just thought you might be hungry.”
“Well, you were wrong.” The man was still blocking Draco’s way, and Harry scowled, reaching for Draco’s shoulders and pulling the surprised boy down the bench and off. Harry glanced at the last of their food, realizing it was better to leave the bag than reach across the man again. Holding Draco’s arm firmly, Harry led the confused boy down the street, glancing back to make sure the man didn’t follow.
He was watching them, the same fake smile and hungry eyes watching, and Harry shuddered inside. “Come on, Draco, that man is trouble.”
Draco bit his lip, glancing back as well, and giving a small smile in response to the beaming one the man sent him. “He seemed okay, Harry. He just wanted to give us some warm food. It is getting cold out.”
Harry shook his head, amazed at the boy’s naiveness. “Draco, that was a bad man.”
“He was?” Draco furrowed his brows, glancing over his shoulder again, but the man had disappeared.
“Yes. He very much was. Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to speak to strangers?” Harry asked, huffing when Draco just looked at him blankly.
“Harry… my parents are always with me—always. If there is someone to talk to, they already know them,” Draco said uncomfortably, not sure why Harry was angry at him.
Harry sighed, noticing Draco’s expression and feeling guilty. “Just… just don’t go thinking everyone is safe, okay? You said people didn’t like your dad, remember? So you should be careful…”
Draco nodded slowly, staring at his shoes. He shivered, and Harry wrapped his arm around the boy, wishing there was a place they could go where they would be unnoticed. Kids weren’t out this late at night, not in bars or restaurants. They were home in bed, safe under their parents’ watchful eye. “How about you do the spell again? Figure out if we’re still headed in the right direction.”
“Kay,” Draco whispered, pulling the stick from his back pocket. He huddled his body against the wall so no one could see what he was doing. Harry took the time to look around, feeling very exposed all of a sudden as if they were being watched.
“Hey… do you know that guy?” Harry asked under his breath once Draco was turning towards him.
Draco looked up, hands frozen as he held the stick. A man in a long leather coat and straggly red hair was staring at them from the corner of an apartment building. “I don’t think so.”
“He’s been watching you, and I’m pretty sure he was on that last street we just stepped off of.”
Draco took another look at the man’s coat. From this distance it was hard to be sure, but the cut and the detail on the coat was a lot like wizard’s wear. “Do you think he knows my parents?”
“Actually, I think he’s a creep.” Harry said bluntly, grabbing onto Draco’s arm when the man started moving towards them. “We should get out of here.”
“But I think he might be one of mine,” Draco persisted, standing his ground. The man’s boots were definitely dragon hide. He was a wizard, which meant he’d know how to bring him home. “Harry, I think he’s a wizard.”
Harry shook his head in irritation, wishing again that Draco wasn’t so bloody naïve. “Draco, wizard or not, he’s damn creepy.”
Biting his lip, Draco watched the man approach, his straggly hair fitting well with his dirty face, scruffy beard, and worn clothes. If he was a wizard, he wasn’t a rich one… which meant he wasn’t a very good wizard, Draco imagined.
Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s shoulder, trying to pull the boy away, but the man was towering over them now, smiling cruelly and revealing rotted, tobacco stained teeth. “Malfoy, your father has been looking everywhere for you.”
Having scrunched his nose at the man’s unpleasant appearance, Draco suddenly beamed, relief clear in his eyes. “Oh, you do know my father! I was so afraid I’d never—Harry, did you hear him? He knows my father!”
Harry was less impressed, glaring at the man while Draco nearly pulled his arm off in his enthusiasm. The man glared back, beady black eyes fixing on him and then moving to Harry’s forehead where his thick hair blocked the view of his scar.
“That wouldn’t be Harry Potter, would it?” The man asked, something akin to greed crackling in his eyes and making Harry step back from the feel of it.
“Draco… let’s just get out of here.” Harry muttered, pulling at the oblivious boy.
Draco pulled himself free from Harry’s grasp, turning to stare at him disbelieving. “Harry… are you really? I mean—that’s mad! Are you really Harry Potter?”
Harry shrugged, unable to meet the boy’s blazing stare. “Uh, that is…”
When Harry wouldn’t give a proper answer, Draco stepped closer, carefully pushing at Harry’s fringe until he could see the lightning bolt scar. “Harry… that’s amazing… You’re amazing…” He breathed out, looking at Harry in such wonder Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
Harry swallowed hard, shaking his head and stepping away. “I’m not, Draco… I’m a monster… They all told me. The Dursleys know what I did, and I’m a monster…” He took another step back, faltering as the sidewalk crumbled beneath his feet. He stumbled, eyes going wide as a large hand grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and pulled him roughly upright.
It was the sandy haired man with the hungry eyes, his smile too wide and menacing. “It’s okay, Potter. You get just as much money selling monsters as you do little boys.” Harry had only an instant for the implication to sink in, and then he was falling backwards, the man slamming him hard against the building wall where his head cracked against the brick.
SCENE #Draco taken and cursed
“…stop…”
“Shh, it’s okay. Boys like you like this.”
“N-no. Don’t touch me… ohh.”
“See, you like it. Fuck, look at you, fucking pureblood…”
Harry shifted, red flashing behind his eyes. His head felt cracked in half, pain flooding like a heavy weight of hot sand where his brain should be, gritty and overwhelming to the point he could barely think.
“Please, l-let go.”
“You don’t mean that. Such a pretty thing like you.”
“Give me my clothes back… and stop. Stop doing that.”
“I will, I promise. First, first you’re going to do something for me.”
Red flashed again, and Harry groaned. His stomach churned like he was going to vomit and he wondered if it was another concussion. Petunia always yelled when he hit his head on things.
“Come on, pretty baby. Let me put it in you.”
“No. That… that feels strange. Don’t touch me!”
“You’re gonna like it. Boys like you always like it. You’re so soft… so fucking hot inside.”
“Don’t.”
The darkness was swirling, spinning, a whirlpool threatening to take him down and drown him. It felt so far away, every noise and gasp. Harry tried to grasp it but his limbs were too heavy to move.
“I’m gonna make your friend mine, your special friend. Is he a boy like you, baby?”
“Leave him alone.”
“I think he’s a boy like you, baby. I think he wants to play with us.”
“No. Leave Harry alone!”
“Or what, baby? Did you want to play with me alone. Do you want to be my baby slut?”
“Just stay away from him.”
It felt like Dudley was sitting on him, stealing his air and crushing him to the floor. Harry’s nose wrinkled from the smells. Cheerios… and cat piss… and rot… and noises… sniffling…
“Open up, baby. Spread those legs wider. We both know how much you like it.”
“Stop.”
“That’s it. Fuck, that’s it. Look how hard you are. You’re going to come. I’m going to put it in you, and you’re going to come.”
“Get off me.”
“Not until I…”
Eyes snapping open, Harry jerked up, the world jolting and stopping its maddening whirl. His stomach made a lurch, threatening to escape, but he ignored it, getting to his feet and swaying precariously. “Draco?” he rasped, searching the dark room cluttered with broken furniture, piles of old newspaper, shoe boxes, and clothing. Children’s clothes were everywhere, strewn across the floor, on tables and the one worn couch he could see among the mess.
“S-stop!”
Harry whirled, turning behind him where there was just a crack of greenish yellow light coming from an ajar door. It was Draco and he was scared. Harry waded through clothing and paper, stepping over and nearly tripping on an old suitcase. He could hear the boy crying, sounding like he was in the midst of another panic attack. “Draco!”
“Harry?”
Harry threw the door open, the wood resisting as it caught on clothes piled behind it. There were three large dirty mattresses on the floor, squished together, no sheets on any of them but more small soft clothing in bright colors covered the area. A television was on in the corner, the sound muted as a cartoon flashed on the screen. Along with the green tinted light it made everything look more ghastly and stark, especially the sandy haired man that had Draco in his lap, long fingers moving between his pale thighs.
Draco had such a tormented look on his sweet face, Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted him to save him, or run away and be safe. “Harry, I thought he killed you!” Draco sobbed, struggling with the hands holding his thin torso and hips in place. “Let go!”
“It’s okay, baby. He can watch if he wants,” the man murmured, kissing Draco’s neck while wrenching the boy’s hips still. “God, you can all have a turn before my friend comes back, I promise. Just give me a second to…”
Harry saw the man reach for his hardening dick and he stepped into the room. “Draco, it’s okay. He’s going to stop.”
“I am?” The man asked, smiling slowly as he took a look at Harry, eyes moving over him hungrily. “Did you want to go instead?”
Harry stared at him. He didn’t feel angry anymore, just empty inside. There was this dark, heavy feeling inside Harry’s chest that had replaced the rage he had felt the instant he had seen what the man was doing to Draco. The dark feeling knew what to do. It always did.
Harry took another step forward, staring the man down. “I’m going to kill you.”
The man laughed but Draco didn’t, going very still while staring at Harry with a mix between dread and absolute, all consuming hope. “With what? Come over here and watch TV while I play with your friend, you pretty, green-eyed boy.”
Harry blinked, glancing from Draco and then back to the very stupid man that had yet to let the boy go. “I just wanted to let you know, that’s all.” And then he let the darkness out, watching the man stiffen, his hungry eyes widening as his body began to twist on itself. Draco scrambled away the moment he could, whimpering as he rolled on the mattress, eyes fixed on the contorting man.
He barely screamed, the man’s thick neck twisting just as quickly as his muscular limbs, small choked gurgles of breath breaking free as blood burbled from his mouth. Harry watched dispassionately, making sure the man kept twisting, kept turning in on himself until he was thin, wrapped and completely broken.
Once he was certain he would never untwist and hurt Draco again, Harry breathed deep, letting the feeling seep out of him, willing the darkness to stop for now. But he didn’t let it completely go. He might still need it for the straggly haired man if he was there.
Draco was shaking, silent tears falling. Harry internally sighed, knowing he had very much lost his only friend. His head still hurt, more so now that Draco was safe and he could feel things again, and Harry touched the back of his skull gingerly while looking around the room. Blearily, he realized he had lost his glasses but it didn’t seem to matter. Draco had been right—all Harry had to decide to do was see better and now he could.
The sheets that belonged on the bed were covering the only window, red spaceships floating on a blue background splitting the otherwise bare, dingy walls. There were too many child things in the room, toys and stuffed animals, younger things for younger kids, and it made Harry feel sick to think about it.
His eyes were drawn to the television and a strange stick sitting across the top that seemed to be resonating power. It felt as twisted as the man was. Harry picked it up, flinching from the feel of the foreign magic. Glaring, he placed it back down again, not sure if he wanted to keep something that made him feel so sick inside.
“Draco, do you know where your clothes are?” Harry asked, seeing that the boy had gotten himself in enough control to stop shaking quite so wildly. Draco nodded his head but made no sign that he was willing to move just yet.
“I know you’re scared but we have to go, Draco… Even if you don’t ever want to see me again, we have to get out of here.” Harry crouched before the too quiet boy who had his face buried in the mattress. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t want him to hurt you anymore.”
“Not scared,” Draco murmured, squirming against the bed and refusing to look at Harry still.
Not sure what to do—obviously the boy was terrified, and rightfully so—Harry reached out and touched Draco’s shoulder. Draco stiffened from the touch, face peeking out to gasp for air, cheeks flushed and silver eyes hazy. “Draco we should… go…” The boy was looking at him so strangely, Harry had to swallow the lump that had risen in his throat.
“Harry, he did something to me,” Draco whispered, eyes downcast while he panted. “A spell… said to… oh, to make me like it… That boys like me liked it a lot…”
“Draco, he shouldn’t have done that. Even if you’re… you’re that kind of boy…” Harry said softly, having guessed before being caught by the man that Draco liked boys. “You get to decide what you like, not creeps like him.”
Draco nodded, moving up the bed, eyes closing as his skin rubbed against the mattress. “You don’t understand… god, it… it feels funny… feels good…”
Harry was at a loss, Draco climbing up him and holding onto his shoulders while pressing his face into his neck. The boy was pulling at Harry’s shirt, trying to take it off, and that seemed like a very strange thing to want to do at any time, even if it was Dudley’s hand-me-downs. Harry tried to catch Draco’s hands but his head was spinning and the boy kept rubbing up against him, making it hard to concentrate.
“I like you, Harry… I like you a lot…” Draco whispered into his ear, wet lips touching his cheek. Draco’s skin felt so very hot against Harry’s, like the boy had a fever. Closing his eyes, Harry nodded, a part of him very relieved that Draco wasn’t afraid of him for having just killed a man in front of him. If Draco could forgive that terribleness, Harry could forgive the strange things the beautiful boy was doing to him.
Draco finally managed to pull Harry’s over-sized shirt off, mouth moving over his neck and chest while his hands pulled at Harry’s back, rubbing and touching him with such intent that he had to wonder if Draco had done this before. Harry couldn’t help but noticed that Draco was hard, the boy making soft noises into his skin every time he pushed his hips up against Harry’s waist, grinding into him.
“Does it feel good?” Draco asked, pulling back to meet Harry’s eyes, his pale hands straying down Harry’s sides and making him shiver.
Harry shrugged, not quite sure how it felt, just that Draco seemed very engrossed in pressing his body against his and there was little Harry could do to stop it—at least without hurting the boy or his feelings. Looking concerned, Draco swayed closer, Harry nearly going cross-eyed with how close the boy was staring into his eyes. “I want you to like it, Harry. I want you to like me.”
Harry did like Draco, he just wasn’t really sure he liked touching Draco in some fucked up room with a twisted up corpse sharing the bed with them. He was about to say something along those lines when Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s, the boy’s gray eyes still intent on his. Harry closed his, unable to handle Draco’s closeness, another shiver shaking him. Draco was licking at his mouth and he wondered if the man had done that to him, and that’s why he thought Harry would like it.
Harry pulled back to breathe, and Draco followed after him, tongue delving into his mouth, surprising Harry and rushing heat through him. “Draco…” Harry gasped, but the boy only did it again, rubbing his tongue against his. Harry’s tongue felt slow, almost sore as he stretched it out, pressing back against Draco’s hesitantly. Draco made another soft moaning noise, rocking against Harry while holding his shoulders hard.
“Draco… someone could come back any second…” Harry tried again, but Draco didn’t seem to hear him, the boy having pulled away to lick at Harry’s neck. It made Harry feel funny, his skin tight and hot, with the only relief to be Draco’s wet tongue moving over him. Cheeks flushed, he didn’t fight Draco when his hands were suddenly on Harry’s jean waistband. “Oh hell—oh!” Harry gaped, eyes wide, Draco’s mouth latched onto his nipple and licking.
Draco pulled back, smiling softly with his eyes still very hazy, his entire body swaying as if he could hear a song in the background. “Did you like that?” He asked breathlessly, leaning in to lick Harry’s lips. Harry nodded silently, watching Draco’s smile widen, his swollen lips extra red now. Draco was very pretty… probably the prettiest person Harry had ever seen, boy or girl.
Staring at his mouth the entire time, Draco asked Harry another question. “Did you… want to put it in me, Harry?” He licked Harry’s mouth again, then breathed deep and sighed. “I think I’d like it if you did it.”
Harry shook his head, trying to gently push Draco away. “Draco… that’s only for grown ups, okay? He shouldn’t have made you think that… that you want that…”
Draco groaned, a soft whine echoing somewhere around Harry’s shoulder as the boy clung tight and began to lick his skin again. “The feeling won’t stop… he cursed me, and it won’t stop…”
Harry really wished Draco would just stop, the boy’s feverish flesh making him feel too hot and suffocating. He could feel the boy’s small hands, pushing at his jeans, pulling persistently until Harry’s pants and underwear were down his thighs. Then Draco was pulling away, pulling Harry’s pants off the rest of the way, leaving him with nothing but shoes and sock on. “Draco, this isn’t right.”
Draco nodded in agreement, then crawled back up Harry’s stiff form, wrapping his arms around him and straddling his legs. “Just once.. just until the feeling stops… He said it would stop once he… oh god… once he put it in me enough times…”
Harry growled, holding Draco’s shoulders in place and trying to get the dazed boy to meet his eyes. “He was lying, Draco! He just wanted you to do whatever he wanted—he wanted you like this. He wanted you to want this.”
“No, he couldn’t make me…” Draco whispered, leaning against Harry’s cheek. “I didn’t want him… I fought him…” He ran his hands over Harry’s back, slowly moving up and down and drawing little flames of fire over Harry’s skin with each touch. “Even with the feeling… I didn’t want him…”
“Draco…” Harry sighed warningly, his eyes closing on their own accord.
Draco just smiled, kissing Harry’s cheek, hands slowly moving down his body. “But I want you, Harry… You’re really nice… and strong… and brave…”
“I’m horrible, Draco. I’m a fucking monster and you shouldn’t touch me.” He opened his eyes, watching Draco flinch when he swore.
“I like you,” Draco insisted, eyes wide and clear of any fear.
Harry sighed, not knowing what to say to make the boy see reason. Because Draco still didn’t seem to care that the twisted bleeding corpse was only feet away, and that the creep’s partner could come back at any moment and capture them all over again. Was that what some magic did? Could it mess up someone’s mind so much they couldn’t see reality anymore?
“Draco, I think the curse you’re talking about is making you not see things properly… We really need to go, and… and, oh… Draco… you shouldn’t do that…” Although the pale boy was blushing, he still kept moving his hand over Harry’s hardening prick, trying to get it as hard as his was with slow tugs.
Draco pressed closer, rubbing up against Harry’s stomach while pumping his length. “I like you… and you like me, Harry… I know you do, ‘cus you saved me…”
“Damn it—that doesn’t mean… god… Draco, just promise… you won’t do this… with anyone else that saves you…” Harry managed to choke out, his hands flying to the boy’s shoulders and holding himself up. For all Harry knew, Draco thought this was a proper thank you, the sweet boy very much weird at the moment.
“Okay…” Draco promised easily, eyelashes fluttering as he watched Harry’s small length jump in his hand. Well, at least the boy wasn’t crying anymore, Harry thought distractedly, pushing his hips forward into the touch, mouth gaping when Draco tightened his hand more. “Oh, you like that… I can tell…” Draco murmured, smiling dazzlingly until Harry just had to smile back.
“Now will you…?” Draco asked, again looking very hungry and dazed at Harry.
“Will I… what?” Harry panted, unable to really focus on much of anything except the feel of Draco’s hand on his dick.
Blushing, Draco tilted his head and pressed his face against Harry’s. “Put it in me.”
“Draco… that’s really messed up…” Harry regretted it the moment he said it, Draco stiffening against him, his face hidden from view. “Crap, I mean… Draco!” Draco had not waited to hear exactly what Harry had meant, instead shimmying his thighs higher up Harry’s waist, and pushing the boy back onto the mattress. Harry tried very hard not to think of the dead man that was starting to rot somewhere just behind him while Draco smiled shakily down at him from his perch.
“There is a dead guy—and this place smells gross—and you’re still lost, and really bad people are looking to hurt you! Draco, wake up and stop being like this!” Harry tried again.
Draco just tilting his head, mouth open to pant softly. “He promised… it would stop… if he put it… in me… and I came…” Draco explained slowly, his hips rocking against Harry. “I didn’t want… him to… But I do… want you to…”
The darkness was rising inside him again, and Harry was afraid this time. He didn’t want to hurt the boy—he really liked Draco. Hell, he might have even wanted him like this some day. But this was really wrong, and Draco was not being himself. The sweet boy would not want this—he would never forgive Harry for this, because Harry sure as hell would never forgive himself. He didn’t want to be like the twisted man he had killed.
“Draco, do you want the feeling to stop?” Harry asked quietly, the darkness settling over him, stealing his fire and stilling his fear. The darkness wouldn’t hurt Draco, it protected him.
“Yes… god, Harry… I need it to stop…” Draco moaned, rocking against him again, and then leaning forward, rubbing down Harry’s stomach and chest. “I need something… inside…”
“Okay.” Harry tugged gently at the boy’s soft hair, pulling his face up. “I’m going to kiss you, and the feeling is going to go away.”
Crystal eyes regarding him curiously, Draco eventually nodded, leaning forward so Harry could kiss him. Lips brushed lips, a feeling of coolness passed from Harry to Draco in a long shiver. When Harry opened his eyes back up, Draco was asleep, slumped atop him awkwardly.
Harry took a moment to catch his breath, trying to comprehend what had just happened enough to know what to do next. The boy was messed up, some sort of spell making Draco really, well, messed up. If the darkness put him to sleep, maybe it couldn’t cure it? Harry didn’t know enough, but right now he figured he needed to get the boy out of the fucked up room where the sandy haired man raped children and sold them to other men to do the same.
SCENE #Lucius arrives
Harry dressed quickly, trying not to think of all the clothing around him and if they had belonged to kids just like him or if they had been bought and thrown there for kids just like him. He found Draco’s clothes balled together, shoes tossed against the wall. Some blood had gotten on them but Harry figured it was still better to wear your own clothes than someone else’s—especially these weird, sad clothes. Harry carefully dressed the sleeping Draco, trying not to wake him up just in case the magic only worked when Draco was asleep, and he might wake up full of weird lust.
Getting Draco out the bedroom was easy enough, but the living room was difficult, the piles of newspapers harder to navigate around. Harry thought of turning the light on but was afraid someone from outside might see and know that they were escaping. He thought briefly of looking through the fridge, maybe finding any money stashed in the apartment so that they wouldn’t be without resources. He wouldn’t feel bad steeling from these terrible people. But he didn’t want to linger any longer than they had to for fear of tempting fate.
Harry was carrying Draco to the outer door, arms under the fair boy’s armpits as he dragged him, when the door swung wide open and jolting him still. It was the straggly red haired man, filling the door with his large form. He didn’t say a word, face half in shadow while he just stood there. There was something off about the man and Harry glared, trying to figure out his options.
He tightened his arms around Draco, deciding he could give this man a chance seeing he hadn’t seemed interested in hurting Draco the way the sandy haired man had. “If you walk away now, I won’t kill you,” Harry said blandly, letting the darkness fill inside him.
The man didn’t say anything and Harry noticed that he wasn’t breathing properly and blood was dripping wet down the man’s face and neck. Harry did not want to drop Draco but he had a feeling whatever was happening with the man was going to need two hands to deal with. Harry was just starting to lower Draco to the ground, eyes fixed on the doorway, when the large man lurched forward, walking in halting jerks into the room.
Quickly backing up, Harry froze again as he caught sight of another figure following the man in. Swallowing, Harry stood taller, pulling Draco closer to his chest. The stranger was dressed all in black, tall and fit, a cloak swirling around his shoulders—Completely unremarkable in many ways, except somehow these clothes were also extremely fine and wealthy, the lines perfect, his black boots glowing in the dim light. His face was aristocratic, blue eyes sharp, long blond hair the color of Draco’s as was many more of his features, which was the only reason why Harry was not immediately killing the clearly dangerous wizard before him.
Draco’s father was powerful and Harry felt it as near a threat as he had when seeing the not so powerful sandy haired man touching Draco. But that power was not being directed at Harry, instead on the puppet of a man the straggly haired man had become, body too tight, beady eyes vacant and blood gushing down his face. The blond man shut the door behind him, walking with cat like grace as he moved around his prey and caught sight of Harry and Draco.
Revealing no emotion except a twitch to his lips to have found his son passed out in the arms of another boy in an apartment full of piles and dirt, Lucius glanced to the door where artificial light was streaming out. He strode silently across the room, Harry’s heart pounding once he realized that Draco’s father would see what he had done.
Harry would never be allowed to see Draco again. Hell, he might go to jail. Unless he left now before anyone knew who he was. Yeah, Draco might know that he was Harry Potter, but maybe the boy wouldn’t tell since he had save him and all. Hands shaking, Harry lowered Draco carefully to the floor.
“I gotta go, Draco. Your dad’s going to take care of you now. I… I hope you feel better… It was really nice to meet you.” Catching a final look at Draco’s peaceful, sleeping face, Harry stood and made his way to the door. He paused, staring at the straggly haired man blocking the way. He was breathing strangely, standing sideways as if he was going to fall over at any moment. Harry edged carefully around him, feet brushing against a pile of newspapers and accidentally knocking them over. Swearing quietly, he quickly reached for the door.
The door wouldn’t open no matter how hard Harry pulled or fiddled with the lock. He whirled, Draco’s father stepping out from the other room and fixing eyes on him. The blond was very much a predator but without the sick twistedness of the sandy haired man. Regarding him silently for a long moment, the blond man looked away, moving to Draco and crouching.
“What happened here?”
Harry jumped, not expecting the man to speak. He edged to the side so he could see them better. Together there was no question if the man was Draco’s father. Harry did not answer right away, not certain how much he should reveal. He had killed someone. At the time it had seemed very much like the right thing to do, so much so that he had been considering killing the straggly haired man as well just to be safe. But he was not certain that this man here would understand that—He was not certain anyone should understand such messed up logic.
“One of these men hit me over the head and brought us here,” Harry said, carefully choosing his words. “I woke up and that one wasn’t here anymore. And the other one was… in the room there… with Draco.” Maybe he would assume the man was already dead? No one would normally think a kid could kill a grown man.
Lucius looked up, eyes piercing into his. Harry had a feeling very little got past this man. “Why is my son asleep? He is not waking.”
Biting his lip, Harry shifted from one foot to the other. “You, um, you shouldn’t wake him. The man did something to him, and… well… I couldn’t fix it.”
Face set in a grim frown, Lucius stood, holding his hand out for Harry to come closer. Glancing up at the still unmoving straggly haired man, Harry walked around him, keeping a good five feet between himself and Draco’s father.
“What’s your name?” Draco’s father asked, his voice a low purr as his eyes accessed him warily.
Harry considered lying but figured Draco would likely tell his father his first name at the least. “It’s Harry.” He narrowed his eyes, watching as the man stilled and glanced to where his hair hid his scar. Apparently Harry was a very rare name among wizards if everyone immediately assumed he was Harry Potter.
“Harry, I need you to understand that I am not going to hurt you,” the man said evenly, his eyes never leaving his. “I am here for my son and have no interest in anything else. You are not in trouble. Nothing you say is going to get you in trouble. I do not care about how things happened but I do need to know what happened. I need to… I need to know how to help Draco. I can’t do that if I don’t know what happened here.”
Harry nodded slowly, understanding that as a father this man would want to help his son—Because even though he was a powerful man, he was still a good father. Harry was glad Draco had a good dad. “I don’t know everything. The other one hit me off the back of the head and I was knocked out.”
“But then you woke up,” Lucius pressed, his voice soothing.
“Yes. I woke up. And Draco was… was calling for help.”
“Did you help him? Did you try to go get help?” Lucius asked when Harry trailed off.
Biting his lip, Harry nodded. “I… I killed the man hurting Draco.”
Something shifted in the man before him, something that set Harry on edge, drawing his eye to the regal face and watching carefully to see if the blond was going to attack. But then the man calmed, jaw loosening, and nodded at Harry to continue. “What happened after the man was dead?”
This was somehow more difficult to speak, Harry’s hand tangling in his hair as he glanced down at Draco’s sleeping face. “He was… He said the man cursed him. That it made him… like…”
“The man had touched my son?” Lucius interrupted, his face completely blank of emotion but Harry sensed the anger frothing beneath.
“Yes… I don’t know how much. He had… taken Draco’s clothes. When I came in he had been… his fingers had been… inside him…”
Lucius held his hand up, his eyes closing a moment. “This is when you killed him. How did you kill him, Harry?”
Harry shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know… sometimes I want things… things bigger than I ever usually want… Then the darkness comes, and it… it gives me what I want.”
“Do you want things a lot?” Lucius asked, and Harry wondered if he wanted to know if he had killed a lot of people.
“This was the first time I, uh, wanted that,” Harry said after a moment. “There have been other things, much smaller things… but never that.”
Nodding in understanding, Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a slow breath. “And what happened after the man was dead?”
Harry sighed, wishing it had not come back to this again. “Draco was very—Damn it. The man did something to him. It made Draco want to… to touch me. And… and be touched back…” Harry pulled at his hair again, not meeting the man’s eye.
“Alright, but he is asleep now,” Lucius said after a moment, his voice strangely low.
Harry nodded quickly, glancing back at the man. “I didn’t want him to be like that anymore. That’s not how—Draco’s not like that. He’s a good kid, so I let the darkness come and fix it. It, um, it put him to sleep.”
Lucius took a step towards him and Harry instinctively stepped back. Staring at the flinching boy, Lucius instead held his hand out again. “Harry, I need you to wake him up. You are very powerful. I don’t think you understand just how powerful. I cannot wake Draco up.”
Harry bit his lip again, glancing down at Draco. “But… but he’ll be… He won’t be himself,” he whispered anxiously. “I don’t know how to fix him.”
“That’s alright, Harry. I know how to break curses. It takes a more complicated kind of magic that you won’t know how to do until you’re older. If you wake Draco up, I’ll be able to fix him eventually.”
Swallowing, Harry hesitantly nodded. Draco’s father would know more about these things, certainly more than he did. He just didn’t want Draco to be scared, and so… feeling so out of control like he had when Harry had put him to sleep.
Harry slowly walked up to where Draco was lying, edging around Lucius and another pile of newspapers. He crouched over Draco, gently touching the boy’s silky hair. Staring down, he let the darkness fill him again, empty and heavy inside. “Draco, I’m going to wake you up now. Don’t… Try not to be afraid.” Lashes lowering, he leaned in, listening to Draco breathe evenly. Carefully he brushed his lips to the boy’s, pulling away when Draco’s breath changed.
Gray eyes regarded him intently and Harry wondered for a moment if the boy was himself. But then Draco gave a soft gasp and then a moan, his face flushing quickly. Harry slipped back when the boy’s hands reached for him, standing and looking at Draco’s father helplessly. “He, uh, he can’t help himself. Don’t think poorly of him for…” Draco gave another needy moan and Harry looked away.
“I understand,” Lucius said tightly, his eyes glued on his gasping son. Draco heard him, eyes widening as he looked up to find his father there.
“Father… I got lost…”
“It’s alright, Draco. Your mother is fine, and I’ve come to bring you home,” he said swiftly, kneeling down and gently pinning the hands that had inadvertently reached for him. “Draco, I’m going to help you sleep. Until the spell can be removed, I’m going to have you sleep.”
Draco nodded, body rocking on the floor. “Okay… oh, oh no…” He closed his eyes, caught hands tightening into fists. “Feel so hot…”
“Hush, it’s time to sleep.” One handed, Lucius reached for his pocket while holding Draco still, using his wand to spell the boy to sleep. Draco gave a soft murmur and then relaxed, his body losing the heated tension of earlier.
Harry gave a quiet sigh of relief when Draco was asleep again. The boy seemed almost tormented, the terrible spell cast on him turning him into some sort of sex slave puppet. It wasn’t right. Draco was too sweet and it wasn’t right.
“Harry, would you mind sitting with Draco while I clean up?” Lucius asked, standing again. Harry did not want to stay, afraid that Draco’s father was still going to bring him to the police. But the door was locked and he really didn’t have much of a choice. Unless he was going to kill the man and that seemed to be very wrong since he was Draco’s dad.
Harry sat, eyes fixed on Draco’s sleeping face while Lucius left to disappear into the other room. It was a long time, Lucius returning only to have the red straggly haired man to jerk and spasm behind into the room with Draco’s father again. The door was shut, and everything became very silent and still, all light now gone from the room except for the digital clock on the mantel.
Harry could feel the power in the other room. It was very much the darkness, bringing fire that burned so hot even bone could not survive. Harry reached towards it, feeling it against his awakening senses, trying to remember exactly how it felt in case he ever needed to dispose of a body in the future. The power died down and he relaxed again, staring at Draco in the dark while waiting for his father to finish.
Lucius slowly opened the door, stepped out into the room and shutting the door behind him. His wand glowing light, he made his way to where Harry sat and Draco slept.
“Your family must be missing you, Harry.”
Harry shrugged silently, fingers still combing Draco’s hair.
“Do they live near by? Maybe by Diagon Alley?”
Harry shook his head, finally raising his eyes to the man. “You’re not going to tell, right? That’s why you…” He tilted his head towards the room Lucius had left.
“I’m not going to tell. Are you going to tell?” Lucius asked, already fairly certain of the answer.
“Hell, no. My Aunt and Uncle wouldn’t ever let me in the door again. They can’t stand that I’m strange.” He sighed, pushing himself up to his feet. “I should be going, Sir. I’m glad—I’m glad he has a good dad like you.”
Lucius watched him walk to the door, Harry’s hand on the handle that refused still to open. “Could you just…?” He asked, huffing in annoyance.
“Harry, what is your last name?”
Rolling his eyes, Harry moved his hair so the man could see his forehead and let him leave already. But Lucius still did not open the door, instead walking forward and bending down so he could see his scar clearly.
“Your family, they don’t practice magic, do they?” Lucius asked, touching Harry’s scar carefully. “Do they know what you are?”
Harry didn’t move, not used to being touched. He stared at the man that looked so much like Draco but very much not the same. He looked more like if Draco were to grow up into a dangerous beast instead of the sweet boy he was. But Lucius didn’t hurt Harry the way Dudley did when he touched him or Vernon for that matter. No, Draco’s father was almost acting like Harry was a skittish cat, gently trying to pet him calm. And for some reason it was working.
“Harry, someone as special as you needs to be around people that understand him. Otherwise you could want something that could hurt others. Not even on purpose like tonight. Because tonight was on purpose.”
“Yes,” Harry agreed quietly, eyes trapped in the icy blue gaze before him. “I wanted to save Draco. And… I wanted to kill that man.”
“I am very glad that you wanted that, Harry. Because I wanted that too, and I was not here to do it.” Lucius let his fingers curl through Harry’s messy locks, head tilted appraisingly. “Can you see how useful that is? Having someone around that could protect Draco while I’m not home? Someone who would like to play with him. Keep him from being so lonely.”
Harry’s eyelids drooped but there was no magic trying to control him. Lucius felt safe—Strong, and powerful, and safe, and it made him feel calm. This man was not afraid of him. He had seen Harry do something terrible, and he had then done something just as terrible. That was why Draco wasn’t afraid of Harry either. Because he had a father just like him.
“I like Draco, a lot,” Harry admitted.
“I can tell. I can also tell that he likes you, too… Maybe even more…” Lucius mused, thumb moving over Harry’s scar again. “And we like to give Draco the things he likes… Right?”
“Right,” Harry echoed with a small smile.
SCENE #Malfoy Manor
Narcissa was very dainty, sweet tempered and extremely relieved when Draco was brought home, held in Lucius’s steady arms. Harry was asked to stay in their large parlor, a funny looking short creature with large eyes and long nose bringing him biscuits to eat and pointing him to a couch by the fireplace with a plush blanket to curl up in. Draco was taken away, still fast asleep while his parents went to discuss what had happened without Harry hearing.
Harry was tired but afraid to sleep. He dozed, head dipping repeatedly as he tried to not fall asleep and let his guard down. Even though Draco’s father, Lucius, had invited him to stay and had promised Narcissa would be more than agreeable, Harry could not fully believe it. Surely someone—The Dursleys that hated him or the police or someone would interfere and make sure he could not be happy.
While Harry dozed he dreamed of the cupboard. Vernon waiting on the other side to unlock the door and let him out. Except he never did, just giggling a high pitched giggle that sounded too much like the sandy haired man.
He awoke with a cry, falling off the couch and tangling in the blanket. Voices he had not fully been aware of stopped and Harry looked up blearily to find Lucius and Narcissa staring down at him from across the room in a love seat.
“Are you okay, Harry?” Narcissa asked, the two of them getting up. Confused, Harry closed his eyes as Narcissa placed a soothing palm to his cheek. “Did you hit your head?”
Harry shook his head, blinking up at the pretty woman and then catching Lucius’s ever searing gaze. “I have nightmares sometimes, that’s all.”
“Oh, well, that’s okay. We all have nightmares and then we wake up and everything is better.” Harry focused again on Narcissa, not used to anyone comforting him before. He tilted his head, not sure what he was supposed to say.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Malfoy. I’m not afraid, not even when it hurts. You don’t need to worry about me.” He pushed the blankets off and got up to his feet. “Were you able to fix Draco yet?”
Narcissa gave him a disquieted look. “Draco’s condition is complicated, Harry. It might not be fixable.”
“That’s—No. That’s not right.” Harry whispered, freezing and swaying in place.
Lucius reached forward and held Harry steady by the shoulder. “We’re going to do what we can. Most children caught by those two particular men don’t live very long. My colleagues tell me the spell is permanent but, considering the situation, it has hardly been tested long term.”
“Harry, we are very grateful you brought Draco home alive,” Narcissa said earnestly, tears in her eyes. “No matter what happens, you saved him from a very terrible life. And we will never forget it.”
Harry nodded but he felt very empty inside. Draco might be messed up forever. What if the two men hadn’t realized he was Harry Potter? Would they have left Draco alone? Would Draco have even been there if he hadn’t met him in the park?
“I want you to live with us, Harry,” Narcissa continued, kneeling down to the boy’s level. “We want to give you a home where you can grow your power safely. And so I can thank you every day for bringing Draco home. Would you like that?”
“I… uh… I would… I just…” Harry bowed his head, pulling at his hair anxiously. “I should have just brought him to the police. He was scared and said they might hurt him—But I should have. Now he’s—he’s messed up.” He tried to step back but Narcissa pulled him close, hugging him tight. Harry stiffened in the hold, waiting to be hurt, waiting to be yelled at, but it didn’t come.
“Harry, you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. If you brought Draco to the police, a different type of bad man would have caught him instead. Powerful people have enemies and we are very powerful. We told Draco not to go to the police just because of that.”
Harry just nodded, swaying in the warm hold. Narcissa smelled like flowers, her hair tickling at his nose. He wondered if his mom would have smelled the same. Narcissa pulled back, smiling weakly and combing his hair with her fingers.
“Harry, we need the name of your relatives. Do you know your address? We want to explain to them that you are well and that we are going to be taking care of you. That way you can get all your favorite things from your house and visit whenever you’d like.”
Harry bit his lip, shrugging uncomfortably. “If you want… but I don’t want to visit. And there isn’t anything there that’s mine…”
“Nonsense. I’m sure you’ll want to take your toys, maybe some books to read. Your clothes. It’s good to have familiar things with you.” Narcissa stood, holding her hand out to Harry, who took it hesitantly. “Let’s start with your address.”
Harry studied the floor and then his shoe, a large hole revealing his dirty sock. “4 Privet Drive… in Little Whinging… Surrey…” He sighed, glancing up briefly. “Don’t tell them that you’re, uh, magical, okay? They don’t like… well…” He trailed off.
Lucius shifted, drawing Harry’s gaze, the man very much a panther full of power and danger. “There is nothing you want from the house? Nothing at all?”
Harry thought for a moment. “It’s not mine, not really. But they have some pictures of my parents… and I would really like those.”
Lucius nodded, padding out the door silently. Narcissa gripped Harry’s hand tighter, smiling down at him. “Shall we go to bed, then? I can give you a set of Draco’s pajamas for tonight and then we can get you your own clothes tomorrow.”
“Oh… you don’t have to do that, Mrs. Malfoy.” Harry said quickly, blushing. “I’m sure my own clothes are fine, and I don’t want to—”
“Harry, you are a very silly young man. It is hardly a bother to dress you. Look around you. Clothing you is not only easy to do, but will actually be fun. I can take you out and we can choose things you’ll like.”
“Well… if you want,” Harry mumbled, meeting the woman’s eye hesitantly. He did not want to wear out his welcome so shortly having gotten there.
“I do. Now come along and I’ll show you the room we’re going to fix up for you.” Harry let Narcissa lead him up the long flight of stairs that led to the bedrooms on the second floor. They stopped before the first door on the right, Narcissa holding her hand out. “This is mine and Lucius’s set of rooms. If you ever need anything, just come by and knock. Don’t be afraid to be loud—Draco comes by at night when he gets scared.”
“I, uh, really don’t get scared,” Harry said quietly.
“Even if you’re not scared,” Narcissa amended. “Even if you just want to talk.” She pulled him down the hall, stopping at the next door on the left. “This is were Draco sleeps and plays. Until we get your room ready, you can stay with him. But then,” and she tugged his hand gently, Harry following beside her. “You will sleep in here.”
They had stopped beside another door, the rooms behind completely unknown to Harry as had been the others they had stopped at. Harry looked up at Narcissa, curious. “Do I get a bed?”
“Naturally. Where would you sleep otherwise?”
Harry shrugged. “I sleep on the floor mostly. It’s not too bad. I think a bed might be too soft… Would you mind if I sleep on the floor?”
Narcissa was kneeling again and Harry took a step back, not certain what he had said wrong. “You can sleep wherever you like. But you will certainly have a bed because you deserve a bed. Harry, does your family not have a lot of money?”
Harry blinked, shaking his head. “Uncle Vernon is always talking about his promotions. They’re really proud that they have so much money.”
“But your clothes… Did you get these from the, uh, apartment where Lucius found you?” Narcissa asked carefully, pulling at Harry’s torn sleeve.
Harry sighed. “They don’t like me, that’s all. I get to wear Dudley’s hand-me-downs, and sometimes his old toys, but he usually breaks all of them. There’s something wrong with me and they can sense it…” Harry pulled away, not wanting to make a big deal about it.
“There is nothing wrong with you, Harry. You are very special, just like the rest of us. You shouldn’t feel bad about that. Your relatives are just ignorant, and that’s not your fault.” Narcissa held both her hands out and Harry reluctantly stepped forward and let her hold his hands.
“You’re not scared of me?” Harry asked, eyes downcast. “For what I did?”
“No. You did what you had to do—What a lot of people aren’t even capable of. You are a very special, very lucky boy, and I am not afraid of you,” Narcissa said evenly.
Harry nodded slowly, a small smile starting to form. “Does that mean Draco’s like me, then? Because he can do magic, too?”
Narcissa stilled, holding Harry’s hands a little tighter. “Not exactly. You’re very special, Harry. Draco has power, like most children his age. But he can’t do what you do. That’s why he couldn’t defend himself.”
“Oh.” Harry looked away. “So I’m different from everyone.”
“Yes, but that’s okay. You have a special power. Not even full grown wizards learn the power you have. What you have is something that comes naturally and it makes you important. You are a very special boy. And you should be treated like one.” Narcissa smiled broadly until Harry finally smiled back. “Come on, now. We’ll get you in some pajamas and tuck you in with Draco for now… unless you’d rather sleep on the floor.”
Harry knew she was teasing, but he really might end up sleeping on the floor.
Draco’s room was huge, maybe capable of fitting all of the Dursleys’ house. He had a bathroom off the side and Harry slipped into the blue silk pajama bottoms and top that Narcissa had charmed larger to fit. She was sitting over Draco while he slept, brushing his hair from his forehead.
Harry stepped up beside her, resting his hands on the large bed. Narcissa sighed, turning to Harry and pulling the blankets down. She patted the space. “You must be tired. It’s late and you’ve had a very difficult day.”
Harry crawled up the bed, slipping between the sheets. They smelled nice and felt cool and smooth against his skin. Narcissa remained, humming softly while continuing to comb Draco’s hair. She looked a cross between content and anguished and Harry felt sad for her. Turning towards Draco’s sleeping form, Harry let his eyes close, Narcissa’s humming slowly sending him to sleep.
SCENE #A secret conversation
“A crawlspace? That’s unimaginable.”
“I’ve dealt with it. Do not waste another thought concerning them.”
“Lucius, don’t tell me… They’re muggles. You know what will happen if it’s discovered.”
“It will not be discovered. It’s a wonder the boy hadn’t destroyed them from such abuse and ended up in an institution. They knew too much. Did too much. It was unforgivable”
“You cannot use that boy as an excuse to—”
“I will not be questioned on this.”
“Lucius, please. He is dead. Don’t make that sweet child his successor. He has a chance to be something more than just… just You-Know-Who’s vanquisher. He is a good boy.”
Harry listened, peering out into the dark, the hallway light shining into Draco’s room where their voices murmured through. Lucius had made as if to walk away only to turn, his form blocking the light from the room.
“Cissa, he is not dead. I didn’t have the heart to tell you, but he lives, somewhere out there gaining power.”
Narcissa gasped, releasing a weak, wailing moan.
“The boy must be trained. He is powerful. Given the chance, he will be the most powerful. We will never fear the Dark Lord again once Harry grows strong enough.”
“I… I understand. I will do what I can.”
“Just care for him, Narcissa, as you have our son. Treat him no different. Those muggles nearly ruined him. We will not make that mistake.”
“No, we will not. Surely we can do better than a cupboard for the boy, at the very least.”
Their voices faded away, leaving Harry to peer at the crack of light. He didn’t fall back asleep for a long time, the new smells of the room, the odd open feel and coolness all combining to leave him confused and alert.
SCENE #Harry and Lucius make a pact
Harry awoke to Draco kissing him, hot persistent presses of lips to lips until he could not hold onto sleep any longer.
In the daylight the room was bright, full of whites and soft blues, Draco’s bedspread patterned in elegant blue tree branches. Harry blinked at the ceiling a few times until Draco blocked his view again, gray eyes intent as he bent down and licked Harry’s cheek.
“Draco, you need to go back to sleep,” Harry whispered tiredly, wishing the boy was not so unlike himself.
Draco shook his head, small fingers curling on Harry’s shoulders and the smooth pajamas he was wearing. “You taste good. I thought I would get breakfast but you taste much better.”
Watching the boy warily, Harry wasn’t sure if Draco had just admitted to becoming a cannibal overnight. “You shouldn’t eat people.”
Not even cracking a smile—which concerned Harry even more—Draco licked his cheek again, then down to Harry’s throat, sucking small red marks into his flesh.
“Stop. You’re not right, Draco,” Harry groaned, trying to ignore how hot he was feeling every time Draco pressed up against him. “You don’t really want to do this.”
“Yeah, I do. I really like you, Harry,” Draco moved back up to Harry’s face, kissing him and running his tongue over his lips. “I want you to like me too.”
Harry whimpered, Draco straddling his waist and rubbing against him persistently. “I do like you… but… but I don’t want to be like that bad man.”
Draco pushed up the bottom of Harry’s shirt, hands moving up his chest. “You’re not. You saved me.”
“Yeah, but—but he made you like this to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry tried to explain, gently reaching for Draco’s questing hands.
“Silly, you’re not going to hurt me.” Draco had such a genuine smile, Harry almost believed him.
“You’re only saying that because of the spell—Oh!” Harry’s eyes widened as one of Draco’s hands got loose and found his nipple.
Draco sighed, bending closer so that he was nose to nose with Harry. “Maybe. Everything feels really hot, almost like I’m drowning… But not about you. I really like you.”
“I really like you, too,” Harry whispered, closing his eyes and biting his lip.
“Then help me feel better. Please.” Draco kissed Harry again, tongue pressing against his lips until he opened hesitantly. Draco lapped at his mouth, caressing his tongue and making Harry think of a cat. The boy kept pushing his hips against him, reminding him just how bad the spell was.
“Draco, do you want me to put you to sleep again?” Harry asked, cupping Draco’s face and pulling it from his.
Draco’s eyes traveled over his face, expression turning hurt. “Don’t you like it at all? Am I doing it wrong?”
Harry winced, not really sure what to say to that. “How the hell would I know?”
“There’s no dead guy now,” Draco continued. “And I’m home, safe, and you’re here with me. Oh, and it feels good,” Draco added with a whisper, Harry looking down to find that Draco had taken his pants off before waking him.
“Draco, I think…”
“Doesn’t it feel good?” Draco insisted, hands sliding down Harry’s hips, a palm pressing against his rising bulge.
“Yes… it does… but that doesn’t mean it’s right,” Harry gasped out. “You’ll be angry with me—You’ll hate me. You’re under a spell and I don’t want to hurt you. Let me call one of your pets to put you to sleep.”
Draco growled, fingers slipping down the front of Harry’s pants to wrap around his hard length. “Don’t want to sleep anymore.”
Harry swallowed hard, grasping at Draco’s arms. “S-stop.”
“Draco.” Harry jumped, head rising and eyes darting to the foot of the bed. It was Lucius, sitting there for god only knew how long, expression unreadable and blue eyes piercing.
Draco turned, not looking surprised to have his dad sitting there. Harry glanced between the two of them, realizing Lucius must have woken Draco up to begin with. “Yes, father?”
Lucius turned his gaze from Harry to his son. “You must respect when he asks to stop. You would wish the same for yourself.”
Draco frowned, turning back to Harry. “Sorry,” he mumbled, hands moving from Harry’s pants to his waist. “I just… god… It’s so hot…” he groaned, rocking against Harry again.
Harry didn’t dare move, glancing from his friend to his watching father. Lucius was a dangerous man who loved his son very much. Harry did not know if he was in trouble but imagined he must be.
“Sir, would you put him back to sleep?” Harry asked after Draco gave a particularly throaty moan and began licking his neck again.
“I’m afraid that is not a reasonable solution,” Lucius said after a moment, the man’s voice a low rumble in the room. “He would be asleep forever.”
Harry was not sure what to say. He did not want Draco to sleep forever but then, he also was not comfortable with the boy constantly humping him either.
“I was hoping you would help us, Harry. Draco suggested the curse might relieve itself if someone were to penetrate him.”
Harry did not understand how Lucius could say that with such a blank face, but he wished he had the ability himself.
“Harry, if you put it in… oh… it will feel better,” Draco murmured into his ear, licking his cheek right after.
“But… but he could have been lying,” Harry said to Lucius. “That’s all the man wanted to do to Draco. He would have said anything to get Draco to agree.”
Lucius nodded. “That is a very wise observation. I have spoken with some individuals that have seen this spell firsthand. They insist that the feeling abates for hours after penetration occurs. It is not a permanent solution but it could give Draco a life until we figure something else out.”
“So it could help him? Maybe even… fix him?” Harry looked down at Draco, who was currently panting into his neck while pulling at his shirt. “But… the man had… had his fingers in him, and Draco wasn’t fixed…”
“No, unfortunately the spell is very specific and the first occurrence set those perimeters,” Lucius said evenly.
Harry just stared, trying to decipher what the man was saying. “He… he already did that… to Draco? He… penetrated…?”
“I’m afraid so. Draco told me what happened, as best as he could.” Lucius let his eyes travel to his panting son, expression still blank. “He likes you. And I can tell you like him as well… I understand that this is not an easy thing to ask of you, but I am asking. I would do anything for my son. Even that, if it would help him. But if you are willing to offer the alternative, I feel it would be a better option.”
Draco had turned his head up, eyes again pinned on Harry, nearly unblinking. The boy’s cheeks were flushed but he didn’t seem embarrassed by any of it, just excited. “Please, Harry? It’ll feel so good, I promise.”
The boy really was lovely, and Harry wanted him to be back to normal. He just didn’t know if he could do what was needed. “I, uh, I don’t really know how…”
“But you are willing to help?” Lucius asked, waiting for the boy to raise his gaze and nod. “Thank you, Harry. I would like to set up some ground rules. Some limitations while we’re figuring this all out. The biggest one is that you do not engage in any sort of sexual activity outside of this room and never in front of Narcissa. She understands what is happening but she is having a lot of difficulty with it. Can you agree to that?”
Harry didn’t have an issue with it, really not in a hurry to be engaging in anything like that anyways.
“The other rule is that I must be present. I do not wish either of you to be damaged by this activity. Draco cannot distinguish boundaries and you are… powerful. I have taken time off from work until we get an idea of his patterns. I will return home when needed. You will inform Narcissa if the timing changes and she will call me. Is this also acceptable?”
Harry shrugged, really not sure how he felt about Lucius watching while Draco pawed at him. The man seemed intent on it though, so he nodded. “That’s fine, I guess… Was there anything else?”
Lucius smirked slightly, the first crack of his expression since Harry had woken up and found the man there. “One final thing. I ask that you don’t engage sexually with anyone else during the time you agree to help Draco. I do not want to risk him catching something.”
Harry was not sure if the man was joking or not. “That won’t be a problem, Sir.”
NOTES
So this was an old fic I dragged up, and rereading it before posting, I wonder if I never continued it because it might actually be finished. This was written back before I plotted things out. It really feels like an intro, like a prequel to what life would be like if you had a corrupted Harry. It has all the makings of Lucius manipulating things his way so that Harry would be his tool to gain power against Voldemort, and Harry quite happy to play the part if only because of the life he gets to live. Narcissa the perfect doting mother who forgives all. Draco would almost be required to remain simple and childlike as they grew to be the counter, the reason Harry would grow in power to protect his new family. Since killing the Dursleys, Lucius would end up playing whatever role was needed to keep Harry in line from teacher of dark spells, father to live up to, and when Draco’s innocence to Harry’s dark deeds grows guilt in Harry, a substitute lover to find an equal. Harry would be a trophy for the Malfoys to show off to the wizarding world, and a symbol of power to either fear or attain in the eyes of remaining death eaters. If Draco did manage to live long years under the curse, his behavior would eventually change, possibly resentment, attention seeking, lashing out, bitterness with Harry forever forgiving, but at the same time exploiting an emotionally exhausting situation as he looks for ways to be free.
I feel as though I may have reached this point, seen that entire story unfold in my mind’s eye, and thought yeah, I don’t know if it needs to be written. I doesn’t feel like an end, but at the same time, doesn’t feel like it’s not an end. I dunno. I guess we’ll see if I feel like revisiting and adding later.
SCENE #A date finally set
“You don’t have to do this, Harry. Believe me, it’s not something you want to just rush into.” Draco’s voice was tinny over the phone, more far away than usual. Harry knew his friend was just at his place of work, probably ducked outside to not be seen with something as muggle as a cell phone, but today it felt like another planet, Harry left staring at the old phone he had installed at his manor on Leviatheen Ave and feeling very alone.
“Are you there? If this thing has cut out again—”
“I’m here,” Harry muttered before Draco could start his rant about phones. “I just don’t have much to say. I have to do this. I have to make sure he dies.”
“The dementors will make sure enough,” Draco snapped, trying to get Harry to see reason. “Damn it—It’s terrible. It’s not just murder, it’s… god, like soul rape. You shouldn’t put yourself through that. You’ve done enough when you killed Voldemort. Why make yourself suffer over another terrible monster that doesn’t give a shit?”
Harry shook his head even though Draco couldn’t see it. “It doesn’t matter. This needs to be done.”
“Not by your hand, it doesn’t. Believe me, if I could take it back, I never would have gone to my Aunt’s execution. She didn’t mean anything to me besides being the equivalent to the twisted monster under my bed while growing up. Yet…” Draco trailed off, and Harry could almost see his friend, paler than normal, tearing at his one ragged fingernail as he relived a nightmare no one should have to see. “It’s not an easy thing,” Draco finished quietly.
“You should have let me go with you.” Harry said, remembering how messed up Draco had been, quiet and unresponsive for weeks after.
“And do what? Have you mope in a corner? Kill her yourself?” Draco sighed in exasperation. “What are you thinking, Harry? Going there won’t bring your parents back. It won’t change anything, except send you that final step back into the depression you only just managed to crawl out of. Stop torturing yourself. I’m still waiting for you to take me up on my offer to join me in Africa for the summer. You need to get out of the bloody house and get some sun. I’d have nightmares too if I was living in that tomb.”
Harry remained silent, letting Draco’s familiar voice tell him the many things he never liked to pay attention to. They both knew it would do no good. Harry did what he wanted to do, whether the Ministry, Hogwarts, or the laws of the universe disagreed. He defeated powerful wizards without raising a finger, heard voices and had visions that had no explanation, and still managed to find himself in the most miserable situations at every turn. Harry was the direct victim of Sirius Black’s terrible betrayal, his parents having been found and murdered because of the traitor, and for some reason in the wizarding world that made Harry responsible for what happened to him. They would not kill the man unless Harry was present, nor would they give him a trial, some antiquated bullshit on Harry basically owning the man’s life. It was twenty years since his parents had died and the Ministry wanted to get some space freed up in Azkaban, and Harry, once again, was stuck in the middle of it.
“Are you still there?” Draco’s voice flowed over the phone, calling Harry back to reality.
“Yeah.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“I, uh…” Harry shrugged, forgetting Draco wouldn’t be able to see. But Draco knew him well enough at this point.
“Is Lupin still going? I won’t let you go alone.”
“No, he’s uh… He’ll be there. I guess he has some unfinished business with him, after all.”
“I imagine so,” Draco said dryly. “I want you to summon up your patronus at least three times before you leave tomorrow. You’re horrible around those things, you know. Turns you back into a squeaky teenager.”
Harry just nodded, letting the silence stretch. Tomorrow would be the courthouse, not the prison. Harry had insisted on a questioning before he would agree to let the man be executed. Remus had protested but Harry was doing it for the man just as much as for himself. He had to know. Even if Sirius Black was the most evil, terrible person ever, Harry had to know. Because to hand your best friends and their small child over to be snuffed out didn’t make sense in a sane world. So Harry had to know Sirius Black was insane and that there was still some hope for the world that just seemed so bleak lately.
“Harry… Damn it.” Draco cursed softly, the sound of something being knocked over in the background following. “Fuck this—I’m coming over. God damn muggles and their goddamn phones… You better open those bloody curtains before I get there.” Harry stared blankly at the phone in his hand that had gone suddenly silent.
“Oh bugger.” Pulling himself from his seat by the phone in the kitchen, Harry took a quick look around and began spelling dirty dishes, forgotten books, and trash to their appropriate places. He quickly threw the curtains open in the living room, snagging his cartons of Chinese food from the couch and floor around his Xbox controller and smattering of video game cases. Draco gave Harry enough crap for playing video games all day and not going outside and getting a job and joining the real world. He did not need the blond to see the actual proof of his rant. Harry quickly nudged the games and controllers under the gap in the tv console with a few dvds of porn he had forgotten to put away, and hoped Draco wouldn’t actual come in the living room.
Harry quickly threw his handful of takeout food containers onto the already cluttered kitchen counter, needing to rinse them before recycling. The doorbell chimed a moment later, Harry having just enough time to realize he was an absolute mess in the hallway mirror before opening the door and being blinded by the dazzle that was Draco Malfoy. Harry recognized very quickly that it was Sunday, Draco dressed in casual, yet pristine designer clothes, short white-blond hair styled like some young gentleman model, and looking as if he had just been about to go yachting—Which, given the prat, he probably was.
“You look like shit,” Draco said abruptly, his eyes taking in Harry’s crumpled, dirty clothes, mussed hair, and unshaven face.
Harry shrugged in agreement and let Draco drag him into the hug he knew the blond was itching to give. He tried not to wince from the contact, not used to being touched much, even less so since having finished school and moving in to his parents’ old manor. They had never actual lived there, having bought the place while still on the run from Voldemort. Harry had found the deed in their vault and thought it was the perfect reprieve to being homeless, his Aunt refusing to even talk to him after he graduated. Harry didn’t care, just glad to finally be on his own and not having to be nagged to distraction. Draco was the only one he allowed to do that.
“Have you been bathing at all?” Draco asked, pulling away with his nose scrunched up.
“Hey, you know the potential dangers of hugging me, Malfoy,” Harry said, stepping out of the doorway so Draco could come in and he could finally close the outside world away again.
“Tell me you’re not going to look like this for the trial?” Draco pressed, pulling Harry’s t shirt down to get a better look at the soy sauce stain he had managed to get on his chest.
“I suppose I’ll wear a suit or some shit,” Harry said gruffly, glaring when Draco started spelling cleaning charms at him, like he was a damn five year old. “Malfoy, I can clean myself.”
“Clearly you can’t,” Draco muttered back, suddenly assaulting Harry’s face with a wet facecloth he had summoned. “You have dirt all over you—which is amazing, seeing as I’m pretty sure you never leave this house. Do you have potted plants I don’t know about? Is there a pile of mud in the basement? How do you manage—”
“Quit it!” Harry growled, grabbing Draco’s wrist before his neck could then be washed.
Draco stilled, a frown quirking his lips. “I’m worried about you. You’ve locked yourself up in this damn place, you’re not taking care of yourself, you—”
Harry rolled his eyes, releasing Draco. “There’s no one to pretty myself up for, that’s all. I’m not turning into some hermit.”
“No, that would require that you weren’t one to begin with,” Draco grumbled, dispelling the once white, currently dark gray cloth away with a puff of smoke. “You’re living here alone with your moods, Potter, and nothing good can come of it. I don’t even want to think how you’re going to be after this execution. I have work, you know. I can’t just be here all the time making sure you’re not losing your shit.”
Harry scowled, trying to figure out why the hell he was friends with Draco to begin with. “I do not need you fucking babysitting me, Malfoy. And I don’t have moods. Just because I remember shit, and like to drink so I don’t remember said shit, does not mean I have fucking moods!”
“Oh, right, that’s just fucking healthy shit right there,” Draco said with a snort. “Yell at me some more; show me just how pleasant a bloke you can be. No wonder no one calls on you anymore… Shit, Harry, you have to get out of this house. Granger’s talking about having a kid, and she tells me you haven’t spoken to her in nearly a year. Which is crazy, because you’re not doing anything besides brooding in this dark place.”
“I’m fine,” Harry growled, stomping into the kitchen. Draco followed after a moment, discreetly spelling cleaning spells on the cobwebs as he passed, repairing the crack in the mirror in the hall.
“When was the last time you went out? Had a date? Shit, got laid? I can only assume some muggle bloke with standards set to zero would accept the level of grime and ‘I don’t give a fuck’ you’re always covered in.”
Harry glared, deciding now was as good as time as any to rinse the food cartons. If he didn’t do something with his hands immediately, he was pretty sure he’d be strangling his very good friend. “I don’t remember,” he said flatly, ignoring Draco’s sigh at his answer.
“How about a party? Your old house is always throwing bashes, trying to sucker any damn fool in. They keep sending me invitations, like I’m going to somehow drag you along. I’m actually considering it, just to get you out of the house.” He looked expectantly at Harry, who only growled, sloshing water as he brutally scraped the last of the noodles from the cardboard container.
“There are always too many people at those things. Always loud—Everyone always fucking asking to see my scar, and did I really kill Voldemort when I was only fifteen, and oh my god, I must just be some really fucking terrible person for being able to do a killing curse while just a teenage!”
“Fuck them!” Draco suddenly shouted, Harry falling silent and glaring in return. “I told you to stop reading those fucking papers. It’s all trash, and no one really thinks that way. And if they do, who the fuck cares? They weren’t there. They couldn’t possibly understand. Stop carrying on like any of those close-minded, idiotic imbeciles mean a goddamn thing in the sway of your life, because they don’t. You are the reason you’re locked inside this house, not them.”
“…fucking… hate… you…” Harry muttered, slamming water and cardboard down on the kitchen counter, the sponge flying across the kitchen.
“I know, which is probably why I’m the only one you bother to talk to anymore. You love to punish yourself,” Draco snapped back, arms folded over his chest.
“I thought you came over here to help me with this trial shit?” Harry snarled, rounding and glaring. “All you do is yell at me when you come over.”
Eyes narrowing, Draco pursed his lips. He didn’t say anything for a moment, clearly trying to keep from saying something else angrily. “I’m worried about you,” he said tightly.
“So that makes it okay to yell every time you see me?” Harry shot back.
Draco nodded once, his gray eyes flashing in warning. Harry’s eyes widened, the boy clearly about to explode a retort when Draco held his hand up. “When you’re angry, I don’t worry that you’re fading away, Potter. So until I see that you’re actually a fully living human being again, I’m going to continue to piss you off, because—My god—I cannot keep leaving you here wondering if you’re just going to disappear into another mood and never return.”
Glare dimming slightly, Harry whirled back to the sink, scrubbing the basin with his soapy hand. “Hermione wants to have a baby?”
Staring at his shoes, Draco nodded. “Weasely is putting up a hell of a fight. Surprising, considering the way his family populates. They just got a new place. Told me they sent you numerous invites to the housewarming that you completely ignored.”
“I’m done with crowds,” Harry said gruffly.
“Then invite them down here. No one says you have to have a full house. They miss you, you git.”
Harry sighed, stilling all his movements to stare blankly out the kitchen windows. “I don’t want to have to clean.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “They won’t fucking care.”
“I’ll think about it,” Harry finally muttered, head bowed as he drained the last of the soap from the now sparkling sink.
SCENE #A heavy responsibility
Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Harry sighed. He had stayed up too late, his eyes bloodshot, skin too pale. He had resisted the urge to drink after Draco’s rant of yesterday, but it didn’t stop the nightmares. So he hadn’t slept besides stolen moments while playing a first person shooter video game. He preferred those at night. Complicated rpgs were good at times, but when he just needed to stay awake, the adrenaline was better than story.
Harry foamed up some shaving cream, quickly padding it on his face and carefully scraping his stubble away with a straight edge. He had to be around people today, and he didn’t want anyone taking pictures and saying shit about him falling apart. Everything he did was overly scrutinized, from the first time he kissed a boy and the papers had a huge exposé on gay rights for wizards, to when he had gotten his eyesight magically corrected and had to read about the boy-who-lived being a vain, self-centered snob, glasses sales plummeting and the industry about to go bankrupt. It was exhausting, never mind maddening to have so much written about you and no one knowing him at all.
Draco was one of the few Harry let in, and that was probably because the former Slytherin had been by his side when he had killed Voldemort while back in school. It hadn’t been a planned thing. The two of them had actually been fighting, Draco having tried to wrestle Harry for the snitch in midair, only to have a bludger smash into them, sending them both spiraling to the Forbidden Forest below. Draco had been seriously injured, his shoulder shattered and going into shock. Harry had been carrying the boy when the creature had slithered up on them, weak, twisted, and living off of unicorn blood and whatever poor soul that couldn’t escape in time. Harry had known it was something terrible, something evil that made his scar burn, but for some reason, Draco had known it was Voldemort and pleaded for Harry to kill it before it would kill them.
Harry later found out the blond’s father had warned him about the forest and the monster inside. Draco’s absolute terror was why Harry had been able to successfully use the killing curse his first and only time casting it, his need to protect fueling his determination to kill. They had started a rocky, strange friendship from that moment, one that managed to grow stronger than any of Harry’s other bonds. They had seen each other at their worst and best that day, and it just seemed like neither of them could shock the other into running off, no matter how much they fought at times. Which turned out to be a lot, especially when Harry had refused to move in with Draco in his new posh apartment and had instead holed himself up into his parents’ old house.
Glaring critically at his reflection, now free of beard, thoroughly showered of grime, and hair in some mild sense of order, Harry sighed in defeat. He could be as neat as Draco, and there would be an article about him cleaning up his act to start dating some socialite. He could go out how he looked yesterday, and there’d be something written on him needing rehab and being on drugs or some shit. He could go out how he looked now, and there would be a fantasy piece about him off to donate money to charity while secretly doing some back door deal to murder muggles in there sleep. It really didn’t matter what the fuck he looked like; the papers would still keep writing.
Harry gave up, going to his bedroom and kicking piles of dirty clothes out of his way as he made it to the closet. He had a small array of formal robes and suits—Draco’s insistence—and threw on the plainest, blackest suit he had. It felt like a funeral, and he wanted to dress appropriately. The suit barely fit, Harry having to adjust the length of the legs and width of the shoulders to accommodate his increase in muscle and height since the last time he had worn this particular suit. That he kept growing stronger while sitting around the house infuriated his slender friend, Draco having been trying to bulk up for years only to remain lightly toned at best. Harry had failed to mention the gym equipment he had set up in one of the many rooms of the manor, using it most days just to keep from going stir crazy. He probably should, but it was funny seeing Draco fume, so he knew he wouldn’t.
“Harry,” Remus’s voice called up the stairs. Harry poked his head out the bedroom door, shouting a quick reply back while fiddling with his tie. He rolled his eyes when he heard the man coming up the stairs. He wasn’t cleaning anymore that day!
Remus stopped in the doorway, looking solemn in his slightly rumpled black robes. He caught his breath when Harry turned, the boy raising a brow in reply. “Sorry. You just really look like James today,” Remus muttered, running a hand agitatedly through his honey colored locks.
Harry didn’t say anything, shrugging into his robe and letting it flow loose around his suit. James had died before even reaching Harry’s current age. His father had barely been out of school, already married with a newborn and being stalked by a psychotic murderer. It was like James had known he didn’t have any time left and had made sure to get as much living in as he could in the months left.
“You look good, kid,” Remus added, stepping back from the door. “I think I’m more shook up about this than you are.”
“It would be your right, Remi,” Harry said while following the man down the stairs. His shoes pinched a bit, not used to wearing the shiny black things, but he would suffer through. “Did you want to grab some food or anything before going there?”
“God no. I can’t eat—My stomach is a giant knot. The thought of seeing him after all these years…” Remus swallowed, hands again messing his hair in agitation.
“You were really good friends once,” Harry said quietly, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’m sure you’re feeling a lot.”
“I think it would have been easier if they just kept him locked away in the dark,” Remus said with a wry smile. “Didn’t have to think about him. Didn’t have to ask all these questions of why. James saved him from a really bad home life, Harry. Sirius’s parents used to beat that boy to the brink of death… I just can’t understand why he would have turned on us all like that.”
Harry nodded distractedly, scuffing the side of his shoe on the rug. “Well, we’re going to get to find out today. I think… I think it’s time you were allowed to let it all go, Remi. And well, even though I was just a baby and really didn’t remember anything that happened, my whole life was effected by that man. He was my godfather and… and he betrayed me and my parents. I want to know why he did it too.”
Remus slung an arm over Harry’s shoulder, walking him towards the front door. “No matter what happens today, Harry, I want you to know I’m here for you. James and Lily did so much for me, and you’re just a great kid in general. You’re not alone. Just… just don’t be too alarmed if I go a little mad today,” he added with a grim smile.
“Like I said, Remi, it’s your right.” He opened the front door, locking it behind them. It was a surprising bright, beautiful morning outside, Harry staring up at the sky in mild confusion. He rarely went outside anymore, and when he did it was nighttime. He felt exposed in the daylight, but also in this moment, warmed by the late spring air and light streaming onto his skin. He paused for a moment, absorbing the feeling, knowing that in minutes they’d be apparating into the courthouse holding Sirius Black and he’d would be feeling much colder.
SCENE #The execution of Sirius Black
Sirius Black and his lawyer were already in place behind an expansive wooden table, facing the judge and turned away from the entrance to the room. Harry noticed the guards inside the room, ten armed, stone-faced Aurors, two of them having originally helped capture Black on that fateful day. Harry was grateful no dementors were present. He did not know how Remus would handle reliving the past while also surrounded by the soul sucking monsters.
Remus grabbed Harry’s arm the moment he caught sight of his old friend, Harry letting him even though the werewolf’s grip was painful. He understood once they reached the side enough to see Black’s profile. The man did not look like the other prisoners that had been in this room after years spent in the horrible jail. No, Sirius Black was nearly healthy looking, form still full of muscle, posture nearly dignified even though his skin was too pale, grim frown lines etched on his ducked face.
“His lawyer must have cleaned him up,” Remus muttered under his breath. “To make us more sympathetic.”
Harry wasn’t so sure, knowing that dementors could waste a person just by being in their presence long enough. You couldn’t just glamor something like that away even by putting him in a nice suit and tie. Black’s lawyer took that moment to lean in to the man to say something, the criminal’s face rising and turning. Harry started, immediately closing his eyes and looking away from the exchange.
“He has that effect on people,” Remus whispered into his ear. “He never had to try to be charismatic, his face did it for him. Although, believe me, he was always smooth. He could charm the socks off of McGonagall.”
Harry nodded mutely, hating the flood of heat still tingling through his body. Not only had Sirius Black managed to not be a worn, weak sack of skin and bones, he had also managed to be beautiful as well. Heart stopping, breathtakingly beautiful. His dark features were sharp and aristocratic, long midnight black hair pulled in a sleek ponytail topped with a widow’s peak and making his cheekbones look even sharper. And his eyes… they were so stunningly blue, wild and mad as he stared intently at his lawyer.
Draco was right; he really needed to get laid. He had been cooped up in the house too long and had lost his fucking mind. Black had murdered his parents and Harry couldn’t stop seeing his damn eyes even though he had shut his own to block the sight.
Jaw gritted tensely, Harry took his seat, Remus beside him and blessfully blocking his view of the criminal with his powerful form. Remus usually liked to pretend to be meek and docile, but seeing his old friend turned traitor was bringing the beast out in him. The golden eyed man was puffing up, his muscles allowed to expand, his posture aggressive and ready for anything. Harry noticed some of the aurors looking Remus’s way, but didn’t comment. If this was how the man was able to cope, then he had a right to it.
Harry had chosen Remus to be his advocate, not wanting to get a lawyer involved in such a personal matter. The more people involved, the more likely reporters would start showing up, and Harry didn’t want this to be any worse than it already was. They waited patiently, the judge finally done sorting through the paperwork before her, ruffling the pages before placing them flat.
“Barrister Colms, I have read that your client has a request.”
“Yes, your honor. Mr. Black asks to be executed without trial or questioning. He concedes to all wrong doing, and wishes to spare the court the time and cost in continuing with these proceedings.”
Remus growled lowly under his breath, Harry meeting the man’s eye. “The coward,” was all Remus muttered, but Harry understood. Black was trying to get out from having to answer truthfully to his crimes under Veritaserum.
“Mr. Black, you cannot honestly sit here and tell me you are content to go to your death. I have read your file. You were very vocal about having been imprisoned wrongly. You demanded your day in court, and although granted, twenty years late, I cannot imagine you would not wish to have it.”
Sirius looked at his lawyer questioningly, his face a blank mask of emotion. Mr. Colms waved his hand, indicating the man stand when talking to the judge. He got to his feet only a little unsteadily, chains clinking, the man’s wrists bound together and connected to his ankles by metal shackles. “Your honor, there isn’t much point to it,” Sirius said lowly, his voice a gruff, harsh echo of humanity.
Harry watched, fascinated when Sirius suddenly fought back a smile. Was something funny about it all? Having to defend his want to just die? “It’ll be quieter, mam. No more screams to keep me up—I’m as good as dead anyways.” A grimace now, so deep, but his eyes were flashing even as he stood perfectly still. “I just want some peace… Years of their screaming in my head, years of their accusations… I just want it to stop. I’m so cold… just dead inside anyways… can hardly feel anything. So what’s the point?”
Remus suddenly stood, hands slamming down on the table, Harry jumping in his seat. “The point, you selfish asshole, is not for you! It’s for me and for the boy you orphaned. It’s for Peter’s dead parents, and every decent person that lost sleep as they relived nightmares from that horrible explosion you caused. Stop being such a coward and face the fucking truth!”
Sirius had fallen silent on seeing Remus, his eyes moving over the man slowly, confusion clear on his face. “Are you… Do I know you?” He asked hollowly, taking a step back when Remus growled at him.
“Lupin,” Remus snapped, looking for all the world like he was going to throttle the man.
Sirius bit his lip, eyes straying to the judge and then back again. “John?”
“Remus!” The werewolf roared.
Harry jumped up, grabbing Remus’s arm before the aurors decided to try to instead. “He’s confused, Remi. You know the dementors do that to a person.”
“Like hell—He’s just trying to piss me off!” Remus suddenly stilled, watching as Sirius’s eyes filled with tears, the criminal no longer looking at him but at Harry.
“J-James?” Sirius whispered weakly, slowly crumpling to his knees and speaking frantically. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, Jamie boy. He was too strong—I hadn’t known, hadn’t known someone was helping him—I tried to stop him, I swear. Had hoped to kill the little monster but he—He was too strong!” The man started gasping, huge, painful sobs shaking his entire form.
Remus tore away with a snarl of disgust. “Now you fucking cry? Now, after you got them all killed!” He paced away from Sirius before he started hitting. Harry stayed where he was, unable to look away as Black pleaded with him for forgiveness through desperate gasps for air.
“I wasn’t… wasn’t strong enough… Peter was smarter… someone… helping…” Sirius tore his face from his hands, wrenching at his ears and pulling his hair fitfully. “I let you down… got them killed… Lily—beautiful Lily and her sweet babe… Just… just finish it, Jamie… Just make it all stop…” he begged, eyes red rimmed and imploring as he stared up at Harry from the floor.
Stomach churning, Harry realized he just didn’t have any anger in him, not when faced with this raw mess of emotion. The man might have done horrible things, but he was human, and in pain, and clearly lost. Harry took a deep breath, edging closer to the broken man. “Mr. Black, you’re confused. My name is Harry. My father James died a very long time ago, but I didn’t. I’m Lily’s child. I’m twenty-one… You’ve been in prison for twenty years and a lot of things have changed.” He tried to keep his voice even and light, not wanting to upset the man more than he already was. “Mr. Black, I’m here to learn your story about what happened.”
Eyes full of confusion, Sirius began looking around the courtroom, finally finding Remus glaring from across the room. He stared at the man, eyes moving unceasingly, turning back to Harry again, taking in his green eyes and shorter stature. Then Sirius was looking at his own hands, large and rough, very different from the teenage hands he had gone into Azkaban with.
Sirius suddenly lurched to his feet, Harry stepping back quickly. “Remus, why would you bring this boy here?” He asked, voice harsh and full of disbelief. “Haven’t I hurt enough people? You need to have him watch me die?”
Remus gave a loud growl but kept himself from retorting, instead turning his back to Sirius.
“Please, your honor,” Sirius continued, returning to the judge. “You need to give me the Kiss. Just—Just stop this madness. Nothing they learn is going to fix it… Please. Just let it die with me.”
“Suck it up, Black!” Remus shouted from across the room. “For once in your wretched existence, do something for someone else, you arrogant, selfish ass!”
Sirius fell silent, chains clinking as he swayed on his feet. The judge didn’t say anything for a long while, fingers tapping as she looked the group over.
“We will have a recess so that each party can calm themselves. In ten minutes the Veritaserum will be administered, and the court official will ask Mr. Potter and Mr. Lupin’s prepared questions. You will not be capable of lying, Mr. Black. I suggested you come to terms with this now.”
Sirius slumped forward, looking all the world like a defeated man. Harry walked over to where Remus was vibrating with anger, grabbing his arm and leading him out of the room to collect himself.
“That selfish git. After all this time, he’d deny this one fucking thing.”
Harry just nodded, letting him vent.
“Pretending you were James. Acting like he couldn’t tell I’d aged.”
“Remi, he wasn’t acting and you bloody well know it,” Harry said sharply. “Even you thought I was James for a moment this morning.”
“I thought you looked like James. It’s totally different.” He glared at Harry’s challenging look, eventually huffing in defeat. “Fine… fine, he’s so fucked in the head he doesn’t even know he’s forty…” Remus suddenly choked on a sob, Harry grabbing the man around the shoulders and holding him tight. “He didn’t even know who I was… He’s going to die, not even knowing life went on.”
Harry rubbed the man’s back, eyes downcast. Remus had learned to cope. He had built a life after the tragic events that had led to the murder of the two Potters. Somehow to know Sirius was still frozen in that terrible moment, going to the grave twenty years later while still a young man in his mind was too much for Remus. Sirius had been his friend, had done so many things to help the young boy come out of his shell during school, and even though he had been a hotheaded, arrogant sod a lot of the times, Sirius had been a damn good friend too. The old wound was tearing open, and Harry wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have pushed for this. Maybe it would have been better to leave Black to rot in a cell in silence for another twenty years.
“Come on,” Harry urged once Remus had gained control of himself. “Let’s get this over with. We can visit their graves after, and we’ll tell them why he did it. Then we can all just let it go, Remi.”
Nodding weakly, Remus let Harry lead him back to the courtroom.
SCENE #Taking custody
“What the hell do you mean, inculpatory evidence? He was under Veritaserum! If he had been put under Veritaserum and given a proper trial in the first place, none of this would have happened!”
“I understand you’re upset, Mr. Lupin, but it was before my time. Now if you will kindly stop roaring at me for five minutes, I will try to get this situated as quickly as possible.” Judge Malie was doing her best to stay reasonable, but was having difficulty, Remus being a two hundred and twenty pound werewolf of pure muscle loudly yelling from a foot away after hearing Sirius’s very innocent testimony. It did not help that the court was insisting Sirius be taken back to Azkaban until everything was straightened out.
“Remus, I need you to give me a moment with the judge,” Harry said, carefully pushing the man back. Remus’s face was red as were his eyes, having broken down on hearing Sirius’s answer to why he had given up the Potters’ location to Voldemort. Sirius’s simple, truth induced answer had been blunt; he hadn’t. Everything that followed was chaos. “How about you go talk with Mr. Black? He looks very confused again, and I’m sure he could use your company.”
The Veritaserum always left people confused after, even more so with prisoners because of the daily mind addling effects they dealt with from the dementors. Growling, Remus finally stepped away, instead talking briskly to Sirius’s lawyer, Barrister Colms looking just as surprised about the turn of events as everyone else. Harry was grateful it had been a private courtroom and no reporters allowed in. They had tried to keep everything as secret as possible, not wanting to deal with a crowd for something so solemn an occasion. Now it was even more important because Harry was going to have to convince this judge to let him take Sirius out of there instead of going back to prison, and he did not need reporters writing him up as a dark, manipulative wizard following in Voldemort’s footsteps.
“Judge Malie, as we have all today come to understand, Mr. Black has been wrongly imprisoned for twenty some years. Returning him there after such an injustice is just perpetuating the idea that he has done something wrong.” Harry spoke calmly and evenly, holding the woman’s eye. He didn’t use any magic, no compulsion or trickery. He just spoke the truth and hoped that she would be receptive. “He can be harmed in that prison. When the other inmates find out he’s innocent, he might be killed. He has been scheduled for execution by the Dementor’s Kiss. Who is to say the foul creatures are going to let him walk out of there now that they anticipate his death?”
“Mr. Potter, there is nothing I can do. I can hold him here until 4pm, but then he must return. There are procedure to follow, paperwork to fill, people to call. We will need a full inquiry into how he ended up in the prison in the first place, and then another to conclude that he should be released from it. Prisoners do not just get to walk free.”
“He never should have been imprisoned. He is an innocent man,” Harry reminded. “You will be putting an innocent man in with the dregs of society because of procedure. He was already begging for his own death. You people have destroyed that man, and now you wish to continue it. Give me an option, your honor. Because if I have to call up every malicious, bloodthirsty reporter I know and drag you and the entire court system through the mud, I will. Every murderous fiend will be back on the street while awaiting a trial they likely never got. Is that what you really want?”
Judge Malie lifted her chin, her eyes narrowed at the threat. Harry met her glare apathetically, not caring if she tried to call him on it. All it would take was three phone calls—He had called these particular reporters enough to slam them for writing outright lies about him in major publications. They would love to hear some actual truth for a change, although likely they would twist it into something even worse than reality.
“As the last living, direct victim of Mr. Black, you hold certain legal rights over his life that others do not,” Judge Malie finally said, her voice restrained with anger. “If you would be willing to sign the correct documents to that fact, we can hand him over into your custody to do with as you see fit.”
Harry remembered Draco briefly telling him about something along those lines. That if he really wanted to kill Sirius Black with his own two hands for what he had done to his parents, he would be allowed to. But Harry did not wish to kill the man, he wanted to keep him out of the weeks to months of prison while the court got their shit together and fixed their mistake.
“Will this incriminate him in any way?” Harry asked. “He is innocent and I do not wish to take that away from him with some legal exchange of power.”
“There is precedent to reverse the title, once the paperwork through our side is done,” the judge snapped. “I must warn you. If any harm comes to Mr. Black while under your care only to find that he is innocent, you will be held accountable.”
Harry titled his head, trying to read the woman’s face. “Are you suggesting that he might not be found innocent even after his testimony?”
“I am.” She waved a bailiff to her, requesting a set of forms. “You will be his guardian in all sense of the word. You will provide him food, shelter, clothing; all the amenities a human being needs to survive. His assets will become yours, all his money, property, and other inheritances. You will own Mr. Black. He will be listed among your possessions by the Goblins. He will not have rights to his own name—You must sign anything legal for him, even for things as simple as a job application. Do you understand how severe a power this is?”
Harry turned, finding Black slumped over in his chair, quiet and blank while Remus held him in a tight hug, the werewolf crying into his shoulder.
“Why, Siri? Why would you ask to die? Why wouldn’t you want to tell us?” Remus demanded hoarsely.
“I’m just a fuck up, Lupin… We all knew it.” He tried to pull away but Remus wouldn’t let him. “I… I treated you all so badly you thought I could have done something so terrible… Surely I deserved it…”
Remus started crying harder, hiding his face into the man’s suit jacket. Remus would not survive the guilt of sending Sirius back to Azkaban, Harry knew it deep in his heart. And if Sirius was still found guilty even after all this…?
Harry turned back, his resolved. “I’ll sign whatever I need to. Sirius Black will be my responsibility.”
SCENE #Owning Sirius
Draco, sitting across from Harry at his kitchen table, didn’t say anything for a while, just looking him over worriedly. Harry had told him the entire story of Sirius Black’s questioning and rescue, aka ownership, by Harry. It was a lot to take in. Harry still hadn’t and it was Wednesday. Draco had popped over after work for a quick hello before going out to meet friends. He hadn’t bothered inviting Harry, knowing the boy would only say no.
Harry had managed to get Sirius home Monday, shortly after 3pm. Three aurors insisted on taking the man, still handcuffed and walking him into Harry’s house before finally releasing Black from his chains. Remus had come with, helping Harry spruce up the second large bedroom with full bath so Sirius could have a space of his own to relax in. Black had just stood there in the hallway the entire time, staring at the floor and his hands like he didn’t even know what to do with himself.
Harry had let Remus take the man away, trying to draw him into conversation and make sure Sirius understood what was happening. Then Remus had to leave, teaching at Hogwarts again as the DADA professor and having classes the next morning. Harry wasn’t sure if Remus had gotten through to the man. Black hadn’t eaten anything he had brought him. Harry had found him sleeping on the floor every time he checked in, the bed completely untouched. To the best of his knowledge, he hadn’t even left the bedroom—Although Harry was grateful to hear the toilet flush on occasion, one worry relieved.
“I’m having his things brought over from storage,” Harry said. “I guess they boxed up his entire life after he was imprisoned. Remus is hoping there will be something that will help ground him into reality. Right now… I think he still thinks he’s in prison.”
Draco nodded, having a long drink of his tea. “He was there for more than half his life. It’s going to take a while for him to adjust.”
“I know, I know—I just can’t handle seeing him like that. He practically huddles in the corner on the floor when he hears me come in. Like I’m going to fucking hurt him or something. Like I’m supposed to be angry at him because he thinks I’m my dad, or a ghost of my dad, or something.”
Draco held his hand up, Harry sighing and stopping. “You can’t take it personally. He’s not fucked up to upset you. He’s fucked up because he was wrongfully imprisoned for twenty years.”
Harry groaned, resting his head on the table. “I own him.”
“Pardon?” Draco asked, ducking his head to hear Harry’s muffled words.
“I own him. Like he’s my prisoner now instead of the Ministry’s. It’s so messed up. Maybe he thinks I’m angry at him and want to hurt him? Maybe he thinks I blame him for my parents even though he really had nothing to do with it—He blames himself. He thinks if he had been able to convince everyone that Pettigrew had been working for Voldemort, none of it would have happened. But I don’t blame him for that. That’s like—How can you just take on something like that? Like you’re responsible for what people believe? I can’t get people to stop thinking I’m some sort of elitist, dark wizard looking to take over the world. I’m not going to blame myself for—”
“Potter, shut up,” Draco snapped, pulling Harry up by his hair and holding him at eye level. “What the hell are you doing to yourself?”
Harry had no idea, having been a wreck since Monday and unable to stop. He hadn’t slept, had barely eaten, and was fighting waves of ridiculous guilt every time he knocked on the door to Black’s room with a meal. “It… it’s strange having someone in the house. I can’t seem to relax even though I know it’s not like he’s walking around. He hasn’t left that room. And that’s bad, I know it is, but I just… It’s really weird not being alone anymore and I don’t know how to deal with it.”
Sighing, Draco let Harry’s hair go, sitting back in his seat. The kitchen was suspiciously clean, signs that Harry was actually very agitated. The boy didn’t clean to have clean things, so much as to give him something to do with his hands. Which was why Harry also never used magic to clean when he did actually get so agitated as to attempt the chore.
“Alright, here’s the deal. This is a new thing for the both of you, and new things can be difficult,” Draco said, pointing his friend with a meaningful stare. “You need to give yourself time and him even more. I can come over every night, if you like—Not like I have anyone at home waiting for me. I’m happy to help you, even if you just need to talk, or want someone to go outside the damn house with. But for now, you should just keep doing the things you normally do every day, and just let him be. Don’t change your routine, and don’t expect anything from him.”
“I can’t just let him—”
“You can, and you will. You are not responsible for his happiness. Unless you find he’s dying from starvation or the plague, don’t bother the man. He probably needs all the time he can get just to comprehend this huge change—Also, not your responsibility.”
Harry scowled, nodding in agreement. “I’m still going to offer him food.”
“That’s very reasonable of you. Just don’t be upset if he doesn’t eat.” Draco stood, brushing his pants off lightly.
Harry studied his friend, standing as well. “How do you know all this stuff? Did you take in a wrongfully convicted prisoner of twenty years, and never tell me?”
Eyebrow raised, Draco did not return the smile. “I learned it from you, Potter. After you killed that bastard and saved both our lives, you sunk into such a deep depression I thought you were just going to sleep yourself to death. I spent many a week thinking I was responsible, that I was supposed to find a way to fix you. Then I got a wake up call and realized the only one that was going to fix you was you, and I just needed to be available when you were ready.” He shrugged. “You got there eventually, and I managed to not have a nervous breakdown.”
Biting his lip, Harry followed Draco to the front door. “Sorry I—”
“Quiet,” Draco snapped. “My suffering over your depression was my fault, not yours. Now it’s your turn to learn how to cope with a broken person. Just go about your day and try to live your life. And don’t pity him—You nearly shut me out completely when you thought I pitied you.”
Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, head bowed down. “Okay.”
Eying Harry, Draco wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed briefly before opening the door. “You’ll be fine. Call me if you need anything.”
Harry nodded, waving goodbye halfheartedly. He walked back into the kitchen, staring blankly at Draco’s empty teacup. It was hard to remember back to when he had killed Voldemort. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Harry remembered blearily at the time thinking that nothing was ever going to be right with the world, that he would always be stuck with that terrible weight on his chest from having taken a life. Sure, he had done it for good reason. But part of why the papers calling him evil bothered him was because he had wondered it himself. He had murdered someone and it had not been without consequences.
Shaking his head, Harry cleaned up the table, rinsing the mugs and letting them dry on the rack. He glared at the fridge, having been in there too many times already. He wasn’t a terrible cook, just didn’t see much point when it was so easy to get better tasting stuff by dialing a phone or ordering online. Decided, he grabbed the menu to his favorite Chinese food restaurant, doubling his order in case the man living in his spare bedroom was hungry.
SCENE #A return to feeling
Sirius could hear when the unfamiliar voice faded, the front door opening and closing. His senses had been on high alert since arriving at the house, part of him waiting for the instant danger finally revealed itself, the strange calm to finally break. It didn’t help that his side was burning now that the numbness of Azkaban was wearing off.
He was not enjoying feeling again. He had been cold and numb a very long time and now everything just hurt. His body was too large, too tall, to lanky and pale. His joints were stiff, having been in the cold prison too long usually in the same position, curled up as Padfoot, nose to tail. He hadn’t dared transform here, almost afraid if he did he might never come back. Sirius knew his mind wasn’t quite right at the moment but it had been so long since it had been, he wasn’t sure if it would ever right itself fully anyways.
He had figured out that James wasn’t there. James would have never called him Mr. Black like this boy did. James would have called him Siri, or Padfoot, or Snuffles, or shithead or dungbreath, or arrogant crowing bastard. No, this glowing eyed, strangely formal boy was not Jamie. And Sirius had apparently become his father, Mr. Black.
Head turning slightly to hear the vibrations in the floor, he listened as the boy moved around downstairs. He had been flittering about all day, shuffling around one room, banging things about that were very reminiscent of pots and pans although Sirius had not heard either long enough to fully remember what they were supposed to sound like. He had not eaten anything the boy had brought yet, fairly certain that he was trying to poison him. He looked like James, called him Mr. Black very politely, and kept bringing him food. It was the only logical explanation.
The other one was gone, the man that kept insisting he was Remus. But Sirius still remembered Remus, the sweet-tempered, honey haired boy that was always telling him off for pulling pranks. Remus had rarely cried, but this man seemed to know nothing else, looking so worried at him, eyes full of guilt and pity. No, the man had left, leaving Sirius alone with the strange boy. There had been the other boy, the new one for a while that he had not seen yet, but he had gone too. The rest of the house was empty.
Sirius stilled, closing his eyes, slowing his breathing. Footsteps on the stairs. They were moving down the hall hesitantly. The boy was also terrible at sneaking, if you could even call it that. What was the point when he kept trying to poison him? You couldn’t surprise someone with poison, you had to actually make them eat it.
There was a knock on the door, faint as if afraid to startle him. “Mr. Black?”
Sirius didn’t answer, schooling his features to look asleep when the boy pushed the door open.
Harry sighed, once again finding the man on the floor sleeping. What a waste of a perfectly good bed. “Mr. Black… I ordered some takeout. I don’t know if you like Chinese food, but I do. And I got you some if you like.”
Sirius’s attention was peeked. It would be harder to poison something if they ate from the same containers. He’d just have to make sure the boy was eating the food too…
“Alright,” Sirius said, wincing from the sound of his own voice. It was too low, raspy, and very much a man’s voice. The boy seemed to be just as alarmed, jumping in surprise. Then Sirius remembered he was pretending to sleep so he opened his eyes. That only seemed to make things worse, the polite thing suddenly blushing and stepping away.
“Right, so it’s downstairs in the kitchen if you want some,” Harry mumbled, escaping out the door only to collapse once he got down the stairs, swearing under his breath. What the hell was wrong with him? He could still see those burning blue eyes, piercing into him, belonging more to a wild animal than a man. And his voice—God, what a damn husky, sensual voice. He had only said one word. One word and one look. Harry really needed to get the fuck out of the house and start socializing more.
SCENE #Chinese food and blood
Harry decided that part of going about his day was not actually bringing food to the man instead letting him come to the food. After twenty minutes of waiting, no Black in sight, Harry was rethinking that idea. The man could be too scared to leave the room. He had spent a lifetime in a cell; maybe he couldn’t handle doors. Sighing and ignoring the little Draco voice in his head telling him he was being too nice, Harry got up, grabbing the chopsticks and bags of takeout he had yet to open while waiting for the man—because he was an idiot, Draco’s voice chided. Harry agreed and started up the stairs.
Sirius was still on the floor stretched out on his stomach, head cradled on his arms. He was actually snoring this time and Harry had a feeling it was legit, not too loud or overdone to be faked. He settled on the floor a few feet in front of the man, unpacking the plastic bags, hoping the noise would be enough to wake the man.
Sirius didn’t wake, instead suddenly whimpering. It was a very small sound, like a child was making it even though it was a grown man before him. Harry stilled his movements, watching the man, his body twitching with each whimpering noise.
“Peter… why? why—No!” Sirius gave a sudden shout, then went very still. Watching him, Harry could see the man was awake now, muscles tense, fingers spreading ever so slightly to reveal the glint of eyes from his shadowed face. Harry stayed as still and calm as possible, feeling like he was dealing with a wild animal and not really interested in being mauled.
Sirius made no move to attack or speak, so Harry opened up the nearest box of food, grateful it was still steaming. Cross-legged on the floor, he pushed a set of chopsticks towards the man and began to eat.
It was extremely interesting to watch the thoughts on Sirius Black’s face when Harry put down his current box of food and picked up another box, popping the flaps open. The man was very interested in what he had just eaten, and as Sirius slowly unfurled his hand towards that box, Harry could see the little flashes of wariness sent in his direction. When Sirius caught him watching him while reaching for that box, he suddenly stopped, withdrawing his hand as if he’d been caught doing something wrong.
Frowning, Harry plucked the container up, leaned forward and placed it inches from the man’s face. “It’s fine, Mr. Black. I’m not going to bite you or whatever the hell people do in prison. Stab… shiv? Is that a thing, shivving?” Sirius didn’t answer, and Harry figured it was irrelevant.
“I have chicken, if you like. The orange sweet stuff. Oh, and vegetables… noodles…” Harry went through all the boxes, opening them up while Sirius very slowly tilted the one right next to him down with his long fingers and peered inside. “Beef and broccoli with mushrooms,” Harry supplied helpfully at the man’s uncertain expression.
Harry tried not to stare when Sirius completely ignored the chopsticks and even his fingers and instead licked at the corner of the box, tasting the sauce that had pooled there. He did it again, wide tongue drifting out, face pressing in as he licked a piece of beef into his mouth and began to chew. Harry nearly dropped his chopsticks, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.
“Er… do you like it?” Harry asked, feeling very flustered and hot all of a sudden. The man was messed up in the head, eating like some animal and Harry was getting aroused over it. There was really something wrong with him.
Sirius just looked at him, glaring slightly as he used his tongue to snag a piece of broccoli from the container and snap his teeth down shut. Maybe it was supposed to be a challenge; Harry didn’t know. All he did know was that it was ridiculously hot and he planned to see what else Mr. Black liked to eat with his tongue.
Harry placed his current box of boneless spare ribs next to the man, curious to see if he’d be able to eat them without getting any sauce on his mouth. He could not, Harry forced to now stare at Sirius’s bottom lip stained with the pinkish red sauce. There had to be something… Harry fished through the takeout boxes, smiling wickedly when he found the lo mein. This was possible cruel and just terrible but he really wanted to see the man try and eat fucking noodles with his tongue. Except, when he placed the box down, Sirius only glared at it, instead looking at the one that Harry had been eating from.
Crap. Maybe this was just a bit more terrible than he had first thought. “You’re only eating the food I eat.”
Huffing, Sirius turned back to the beef and broccoli, nibbling on a piece of green fluff.
“What, do you think I’m trying to kill you with Chinese food? That I’d give you a room in my house and then try to drug you?”
Glaring challengingly, Sirius shrugged. Harry glared back, suddenly really upset with this weird, crazy man. It was fine that Black was fucked up, but that he though Harry was some murderous fiend after just meeting him—What, did the man get the paper in Azkaban?
Methodically, Harry went through every box of food in front of him, eating a mouthful from each. He them pushed the cartons over to the man, glaring him down. Sure enough, suddenly lo mein was good enough for the bastard now that he knew Harry hadn’t dropped dead from it. Harry considered storming off, very much pissed about the whole thing. Then he saw Black actually attempting to eat the lo mein and he decided he deserved the very strange show for his trouble.
Watching Sirius try to tangle his tongue around the noodles, teeth snapping and pulling a clump into his mouth, sauce flinging wildly as the lo mein slipped down his chin and then was sucked up, Harry couldn’t help but wonder just what it was like to eat like that. Squinting down at his own container of orange chicken, he raised it to his face, peering in dubiously. He lapped his tongue out, realizing quickly that it was much harder than it looked, the container actually quite deep and his tongue not so long. He tipped the box towards him, tongue outstretched, laughing silently when flavor finally reached him, a piece of chicken falling on the tip. He wiggled, trying to get the damn thing closer, growling when it wouldn’t budge. He tipped the container more, suddenly half the contents trying to pour onto his face. He pulled back with a scowl, a piece of chicken tight between his teeth, nose from chin covered in sauce.
“You’re a weird kid,” Sirius muttered, having watched the whole thing.
Harry just glared at him, chewing his well earned prize slowly while riffling through the bags for a napkin. The man thought he was trying to poison him but he was the weird one? Harry really didn’t put much stock in Black’s judgment. Even if his voice was amazingly hot and raspy. “Shit, how are there no napkins?” Harry sighed, going back to the first bag to no avail.
Staring up at him, Sirius crooked his finger. Harry looked at him warily, leaning closer to see what he wanted. Suddenly the man’s large hand was on Harry’s face, wiping down in a slow, thorough movement. Harry squawked, not pulling away in time at all, his nose, lips and chin raw where he had been wiped clean. He just gaped at the wickedly smirking man who then licked his fucking hand like it was nothing at all.
“You’re weird,” Harry insisted, sitting back a foot just in case the man tried to do it again.
Sirius just snickered, Harry noticing for the first time that he had lost the orange chicken in the weird assault. The bastard was eating it, very much easily snagging a piece with his tongue from the container. Harry had a hot moment of wondering just how long the man’s tongue was compared to his. Not to mention the quickly following hot thought that the man was definitely licking where he had been licking… And every time Harry took a bite of food, he had half a chance of getting something that had been on the man’s long tongue.
Which then got Harry wondering if that was why the man was eating that way, as if hoping he would not be willing to eat anything he had licked. Well, he would totally lose that bet. Harry plucked up the lo mein, chopsticks at the ready, not willing to try to lick his food after the last time.
Sirius gave him a glare, Harry just shrugging. “Hey, you had plenty of chances to eat all today and yesterday. But, if you’re still hungry after all of this, I’m sure I can find us something else.” It was Chinese food, after all. Harry would be hungry soon enough, and likely so would the man.
Or maybe not. Harry watched warily, Sirius suddenly pushing all the cartons away, his blue eyes wide. He carefully scooped as many cartons as he could away from the lurching man, clearing a path as Sirius headed unsteadily to the bathroom. Harry sought out the remains of the broccoli while Sirius threw up his dinner. Glancing to the floor where the man had been lying the entire night and day, he couldn’t help but see the small streaks of blood.
Harry continued to eat while waiting for the man to stop his coughing. “Want some water?” Harry asked when Sirius finally stumbled back into the room. The man shook his head, groaning and holding it immediately afterwards. He was still in his suit, Harry studying it briefly, trying to find where he was bleeding. It wasn’t immediately apparent, making him think it must be closer to his side under his jacket.
Harry stood, pausing when the man jerked and glared in his direction, still not fully trusting him. “Mr. Black, you might feel more comfortable without your jacket.”
Eyes closing briefly, the man nodded, making no move to actually remove said jacket. “Sirius.”
“What?” Harry asked, taking a cautious step towards the man. Sirius was hovering near the foot of the bed, possibly considering it for the first time instead of the hard floor.
“My name,” Sirius muttered. “You make me sound so old, calling me that.”
Blinking, Harry made an effort not to point out that the man was nearly twice his age. “Alright, Sirius. I couldn’t help but notice you’re bleeding. I also can’t help but notice that you’re looking at me like I’m going to shiv you,” Harry added, hands in his pockets. “I’d like to heal you but I really don’t want to deal with whatever you’re going to do to keep me from doing that. So the option is yours.”
“Option?” Sirius asked, wincing as he held his side lightly.
“Yup,” Harry said lightly. “You can let me help you. I’ll patch you up, grab you something lighter to eat and drink that your stomach will be less likely to object to. Or… Well, stunning you seems the most humane thing in this situation. I’ll patch you up, leave you that same food and drink, and likely have you bitchy at me for many days after. Your choice.”
“That does seem like a Potter option, just with less cursing and yelling,” Sirius said under his breath, looking at Harry with an unreadable expression. He bent forward awkwardly, holding his side while bracing his hand on the mattress and turning, trying to sit without falling. He managed, barely, pulling at his suit jacket with little success, his face twisted in pain.
“Well?” Harry asked, unwilling to help unless the man agreed. He had a feeling Black was the type to lure a person in just to try and gain the upper hand. Being wounded would likely only make him more dangerous in that regard. He really was a weird, wounded animal.
“What, you think I’m going to choose the stunning?” Sirius asked gruffly, grunting as he sat further back.
“Until you actually say you’re going to let me touch you without you freaking out, I’m not going to go near you,” Harry replied reasonably.
“Aye… You might not be that dim after all.” He didn’t say anything else for a while, just staring at his knees while he breathed. Talking seemed to tire the man and Harry wondered if the prisoners talked much to each other. Given all the dementors and screaming the creatures caused, probably not. Twenty years not saying a word—or at least, not a word anyone else was listening to. It was pretty messed up. “Alright, kid that isn’t Jamie. I will do my best to be calm if you are willing to take this pain away.”
Eyes tight on the man and his body language, Harry still approached cautiously. Black was way too tense, and he had a feeling it wasn’t just from the pain. “Can you bend your arm?” Harry asked, pushing the suit jacket off a shoulder and helping to guide it off the man’s long arm. Sirius was actually a good head taller than Harry and even sitting, his limbs seemed long.
“There’s our problem,” Harry hummed, finding the large bloodstain on the man’s white dress shirt. It was his side and it had been bleeding for a while, possibly since the prison. “Let me guess. A shiv?”
Looking down at the large mark, Sirius looked confused. “Ah… maybe. I can’t remember… I might have done it myself…” He trailed off, flinching away when Harry reached for the buttons of his shirt. Harry stilled but didn’t retreat.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” he said simply, Sirius glancing towards him, then quickly away.
“Just be done with it,” Sirius whispered hoarsely. Which then made Harry wonder when was the last time the man had ever been touched. He quickly and efficiently undid the row of buttons, mind wandering. Harry wasn’t a fan of being touched either, having trust issues that went back to being an orphan living with a family that never even hugged him. It had been very hard to get over, and still Harry sometimes felt like he endured hugs instead of enjoyed them.
Sirius’s undershirt was even more bloodied, Harry sighing as he pulled the dress shirt away. He reached for the hem of the red soaked shirt, hesitating when he felt the man’s breathing speed up. “This is probably going to hurt,” Harry said apologetically, slowly rolling the hem, feeling the blood cling to the man’s pale skin. Harry had a feeling the wound must have reopened when Sirius had gone running for the bathroom, fresh blood seeping into the already wet shirt.
“I’ve got this thing… with blood,” Sirius mumbled, head turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut.
“Where you bleed it, right?” Harry teased, hoping to get the man to calm his racing pulse. “You’d be surprised how a lot of people have that problem. Me more than others. If you hang around me enough, you’ll notice. I’m always knocking into something… Fuck—Nope, don’t look. Nothing worth looking at, just might need a damn needle and thread to keep your insides inside.”
Harry slipped his wand from his back pocket, already knowing that a healing spell was not going to do the trick. Internally he was yelling at someone Ministry and Azkaban related in his head that he had never met but was sure he hated. How the fuck had no one noticed a fucking hole the width of two fingers in the man’s side? What the fuck was going on in that prison that shit like this could just happen?
“Mr. Bl—Sirius. I need you to hold this to your wound. Would you do that for me while I go get some first aid supplies?” Harry asked, balling up the ruined dress shirt and placing it firmly against the wound. Harry paused, eyes snapping to the man’s hand as it suddenly covered his to hold the shirt. It was a very surprising feeling, like sparks of energy tingling through his fingers from the simple touch. Harry carefully slipped his hand free, focus completely on the feel of that large hand as he pulled away.
Harry glanced up to Sirius’s face, quickly looking away when he found the intense blue eyes looking back at him. “I’ll be right back. Just keep pressure there.” Harry straightened, again hating just how fucking unbalanced he was feeling around this man. So what if he was absolutely gorgeous? Black was also bleeding out, fucked in the head, and partially terrified of him—As hilarious as that last one seemed.
Harry managed to patch Sirius up with a minimum of ten stitches, some healing spells, and a large bandage. It would take a while for the flesh to fully heal even with the spells, but as long as the man didn’t move around too much, it should be fine within a few days. Harry grabbed him a t shirt, one without blood, and helped him get it on, Sirius in pain every time he moved his arm too high.
“My room is right down the hall if you need me,” Harry said, pulling the covers down on the bed for Sirius, who was sitting and not saying much. Eyebrow raised, he grabbed the man’s nearest foot, pulling his shoes off before he could protest. “If I’m not there, I’m likely downstairs in the living room. I’ll try to keep the volume down, but I don’t always hear well over my games, so don’t be afraid to holler.”
He put his hands on his hips, looking at Sirius’s bowed head expectantly. “You want anything? Water, tea, hot chocolate… beer?”
Sirius glanced up at the last one, looking him over questioningly. “Are you even old enough to drink?”
Harry tilted his head, looked away and then rounded on the man. “Really? Do I look under eighteen to you? Shit man, I’m twenty-one. I know I’m not the tallest of blokes, but really?” Sighing in exasperation, Harry took a step back. “Food’s in the fridge. Don’t be afraid to walk around the house. I don’t keep anything nasty magic wise, so no surprises… Right.” He found himself at the door, the man still looking at him oddly.
“She… she named you Harry, right?” Sirius asked, looking far away all of a sudden.
Harry smiled grimly, realizing he was still trying to piece the world together. “Yeah. That’s my name.” Sirius didn’t seem interesting in asking anything else, so Harry slipped out and shut the door behind him.
SCENE #A frustrating shower
God, what a weird, fucked up situation he had gotten himself into. Harry headed for his bedroom, throwing his bloodstained shirt in the by his bureau. Hell, could he even do this? What if Black never got his fucking mind back? Hell, what if the Ministry never found him innocent? Was he going to babysit him forever? Harry knew it was too early, and he was being an absolute dick, but still he had to wonder. He had signed those papers not really thinking of the long term, just thinking of Remus and the injustice that had been done. Black needed help, and Harry didn’t know if he was going to be enough.
“Keep it together, Potter,” he muttered to himself. Maybe it was time to get a house elf. He had put it off for ages, very much used to muggle living, never mind loving his isolation. Hermione might give him hell, but it seemed a fair compromise to getting a nurse. Hopefully Black wasn’t that bad off. He had already seemed a bit better today… But Harry needed to consider all the possibilities and be ready.
It didn’t help that the man was gorgeous. No, that was getting damn awkward really fucking fast. Harry was actually feeling a bit like a degenerate. He knew damn well that the man was messed up, hadn’t had human contact for nearly as long as Harry was alive. Yet he just couldn’t stop fucking looking at the man and feeling way too much lust to ever be appropriate for the situation. Hell, Black was literally old enough to be his father. There had to be some special place in hell for wanting to bone the traumatized friend of your dead parents.
Rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, Harry stripped, leaving his clothes with their many dirty friends on the floor. He padded into his connecting bathroom to shower off the blood from his chest, orange chicken sauce from his face, and fucked up thoughts from his mind. The first two goals were easy enough to achieve, the third, unfortunately, not even close to succeeding. Harry was pretty sure he was actually making things quite worse, his mind and hands wandering under the hot stream of water.
Fuck, he needed sex. Like hardcore, wild, crazy sex where you didn’t give a fuck who you were with just as long as the chemistry worked and their cocks did too. Harry had not had a good lay like that in over ten months, having grown tired of the noisy bar scene and frustrated with the lack of options. He had to keep things to muggles because of the whole boy-who-lived thing, and he tried to keep it to casual, which got difficult when you frequented the same places all the time. But maybe he didn’t mind that too much right now, if only he could get a hard, hot body against his for a while.
Black had a very hard body. Harry couldn’t avoid noticing, peeling the man’s shirt from his pale skin to get to his wound. Standing at his full height, the man was at least a head taller than him, body long and lithe with plenty of toned, compact muscle. Harry wasn’t sure what he looked like under his pants, but he could imagine, which he was doing at that very moment.
“Fuck…” he groaned, falling back against the tiled shower stall, eyes drifting down to his hand wrapped tight around his flushed cock. How fucking horny would someone get after twenty years of abstinence? It must be fucking hell. You’d probably start humping the damn dementors after a few years just to get some fucking contact. Harry smirked at the thought. They were apparently good kissers. If they sucked head as good as they did souls…
He really needed to get out of the house.
He had nice hands, Mr. Black. Big, strong palms, his fingers large and long, and Harry just bet they would reach really fucking deep. And if his dick was as long as his hands, well, that would just be fucking amazing. Groaning, Harry turned himself on the wall, tilting his head back to feel the cool tile on his neck, his nipples beading from the touch as he pressed up against the surface. He reached his hand down, pushing between his cheeks, moaning as he found his puckered entrance and pressed two fingers slowly inside.
It really didn’t matter if the man was wounded, old enough to be his dad, fucked in the head, and probably straight; Harry thought he was hot. In his mind’s eye, he could see the man walk into the shower, half dressed, sopping water through his clothes and long dark hair. He wouldn’t say anything, except maybe something gruff and low, then he’d tear his pants down and push Harry hard against the wall, maybe use that long tongue of his to lick his throat and then bite. The man would be rough, absolutely desperate after years of being alone, and he’d fuck him brutally against the shower wall.
Shuddering, Harry panted as he pushed himself harder against the tile, rocking his hips while fucking himself on his soap slick fingers. He really needed to get some sort of dildo in the shower. It just made fucking sense considering how much he liked touching himself in there. And although he couldn’t imagine why Mr. Black would ever be in his shower, if he happened to notice that Harry had a dildo in there, he might start wondering what it was there for. Even if the man was straight, after twenty years of prison, maybe cock didn’t suddenly look so bad…
He came with a groan, chest slamming into the wall, eyes shut, fingers squeezed tight deep inside his hole. God, he was a fucking mess. Masturbating while thinking of some poor, traumatized, wrongfully convicted man…
That fucking settled it. He was going to have to go out and get laid.
SCENE #Late night gaming
Harry still had nightmares even though Voldemort was long dead. Usually they were about the murderous creature in the Chamber of Secrets, sometimes a darker, smaller place where his fear burned cooler for the long wait of the cupboard being unlocked in the morning. Once in a while it was that day when Draco was nearly dying in his arms, Harry desperate to protect the boy while facing down the evil being that seemed so ready to crawl inside him and hollow him out, wanting to wear Harry like a suit. He had never told Draco about that part, had never told anyone how twisted and sick he had felt that creature to be in his head when face to face and how he had feared that Voldemort was connected still, and that he was terrible inside too.
Tonight it was that nightmare, except Voldemort had not died when Harry cast the killing curse. No, he had burrowed deep inside Harry’s flesh, the slithering, dry thing crawling down his throat, tearing his flesh from the inside out and hollowing him away. He could feel it all, his body refusing to die, feeling every bite and break of bones as the creature settled inside him and began moving him like a puppet.
Draco was there, so very pale and bleeding from his shoulder, breathing weakly. Voldemort would eat him first, drink down his pure, magic-soaked blood and grow stronger. Harry could not fight it, just watch in horror as his own hands reached for the slender boy, his own mouth widening while Draco screamed…
Harry awoke with a loud scream, heaving for air as he abruptly sat up in bed. “Fuck—FUCK!” He yelled into his hands. “Fucking Voldemort, sick, fucking sick, sick, twisted monster!” He whimpered, pulling his hands down his face, feeling the sweat and tears that usually went hand in hand with the fucked up nightmares.
Something shifted in the dark of his room and Harry jumped, wand summoned to his hand before he was even aware that he had called it. Harry breathed out unsteadily when he saw it was just Sirius, blue eyes watching him angrily from his doorway.
“Shit. Sorry, Mr. Black,” Harry growled, bringing the lights up to a very dim glow in his bedroom. “I should have warned you I get night terrors. I live alone so I forget just how fucking terrible it can be for someone else to hear.”
The man’s glare grew, as if Harry naming the issue made it worse. “I thought you were being murdered,” Sirius finally muttered, his body losing some of its tension of earlier.
Looking at him, Harry let out a hysterical laugh. “Yes, well, that was the gist of the nightmare.” Not interested in going back to bed and reliving said murder and murdering, Harry pushed his blankets down, trying to get his shaking limbs to move properly. “Sorry, really. I’ll put up silencing spells from now on. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing screaming…” he trailed off, remembering Sirius’s pleas to die because of the screaming. Harry toed through the clothing on his floor, finding a pair of loose pajama bottoms that he slipped on over his briefs and then quickly putting a semi clean t-shirt on.
Black was still standing in the doorway, eyes looking around the room curiously, lighting on Harry once in a while only to slip away. “You feeling okay, Mr. Black?” Harry asked, noticing for the first time that he was paler than normal and a little shaky. “Your wound didn’t open up again, did it?”
Sirius shook his head, stepping back into the hallway. “I, uh… forgot which door…” Following him, Harry raised his brows, realizing he didn’t know how to get back to his room. Early Friday morning, this was the first time he had seen Sirius outside of his room and he was likely confused by the size of the place. Harry stepped to the right, passing a bathroom, his gym, and office he never used, knocking on the door that Sirius was to be sleeping in.
“Here.” With a flourish, Harry waved his wand, spelling out Black in bold black letters over the door, his penmanship only a little crooked. “Now you’ll never wonder.” Sirius nodded mutely, eyes straying over the word, hand reaching up to brush the letters. Looking at the man and just how lost he still seemed, Harry added lightly. “You don’t have to go to bed, you know. I’m sure as hell not sleeping again tonight. Why don’t you come downstairs and have some tea?”
Turning his gaze to him, Sirius nodded again, not saying a word. Realizing he likely would not be talking much unless he had something to say, Harry just started walking, Sirius following slowly like some lost dog. It was almost funny. Harry had never had a pet, not wanting to deal with the responsibility of having his shit together enough to feed and entertain another living being. Yet, here he was trying to do it for this messed up man.
Stepping down the staircase, Harry started flicking lamps on, the windows that were open revealing it was pitch black outside, only 3 a.m. He went straight for the kettle, filling it with water and putting it on a burner. Harry then led Sirius into the living room, pointing towards the couch. Sirius continued to stand, staring at his large flat-screen tv with interest.
“You probably haven’t seen one of these,” Harry said with a small smile. Televisions had come a long way in twenty years, and as a wizard, Sirius may have never even owned one himself. Thinking quickly, Harry crouched to the floor, unwrapping another controller and hooked it up. He owned all the game consoles available along with the newest games, not caring that Draco thought it was a waste of his inheritance. Harry needed distractions from the terrible nightmares and thoughts that plagued him, and video games filled the void.
“Here, take this and sit,” Harry said, handing the controller to the man. Sirius sat slowly, his eyes staring at the black remote, fingers moving over the buttons as he turned it. Harry began rooting around under the tv console, looking for the game he had just been playing a week ago, throwing cases everywhere. “I really need some sort of organizer for all these things,” he commented to himself. They had some nice shelves, he just hadn’t felt like ordering anything, mostly because then it meant actually having to organize his stuff, which he would over analyze and turn into an annoying project leaving him with the need to have to put things back where they belonged, alphabetically, because he was a crazy person when being neat. It was better to be a slob and not obsess.
“Hardcore bondage boys…”
Then again, organizing might be a very smart thing to do now that he had a long term house guest. Harry whirled, snagged the very graphically imaged dvd case from Sirius’s fingers, and threw it under the tv console with perfect aim. “Ignore that… and that… and that…” Harry said, kicking another two under the console. “I live alone,” he reminded tightly, and knelt back on the floor to slide the game disk into the tray.
The kettle began to whistle, Harry turning towards the sound. “What kind of tea do you like?”
Staring at the television, racing cars zipping by as Mario Cart came on, it took Sirius a long time to answer. “Black,” he finally said, tearing his eyes from the bright graphics. “With milk… or was it sugar?”
“Hey, you’ll have a lifetime to figure it out,” Harry said casually, walking towards the kitchen. “I’ll bring the servers in and you can adjust how you like.” Once alone in the kitchen. Harry buried his face in his hands, growling lowly. Porn? Fucking porn? Shit, was he going to have to childproof his house or something? Could he unknowingly be traumatizing this already messed up man with exposure to his bondage fetish?
“Suck it up, Potter,” Harry muttered to himself, grabbing two mugs and rooting through his cabinets for the tea. He had a couple of black varieties, Draco’s favorite, so just put them on a tray with the mugs, filled a cup with milk and grabbed the sugar bowl. He left the tray on the couch next to Sirius, the man still staring quite fixedly on the graphics of racers zipping around a track. Which then made Harry wonder if he was somehow fucking up the man’s brain with flashing lights and colors—Could you get epilepsy from being in prison too long?
Cursing himself internally, Harry went back for the hot water, the steam as he filled the two mugs grabbing Sirius’s attention. “Pick your pois—er, tea,” Harry said, cutting off his very inappropriate joke considering Black had thought he was trying to poison him before. He returned the kettle to the stove and opened up a cinnamon tea for himself, throwing the bag in the hot water. Black ended up picking a vanilla chai, silently watching as the water slowly changed colors.
Harry sat on the floor in front of the tray, preferring the flatness of the floor, his back against the bottom of the couch. With his own controller, he started flicking through the options, sipping his hot tea.
“You ever play a video game?” Harry asked, glancing up to where the man was again staring, tea completely forgotten beside him.
“Tetris. It didn’t look like this.”
“No, it probably didn’t. This is a cart game… er, racing. You go a few laps trying to be first. You can sabotage other players, do jumps… It’s pretty fun.” Harry got up to his knees, leaning over Sirius and pointing at the different buttons. “Select the character with this—You unlock more options as you play. Then I’ll show you how to actually race. I’ll start on a slow level so you can get the hang of it.”
Sirius was again looking at his face silently, blue eyes very much intense and glaring into his. Harry sat back, doing his best not to blush. He should be considering that Sirius was dangerous and fucked in the head, thinking things like he was trying to kill him with his cooking. Instead, Harry was wondering if Black had ever fucked a guy and if he had glared like that when he had come. Very much inappropriate thoughts that he hoped the game would help him silence.
Harry waited patiently for Sirius to get the hang of moving through the screen, selecting with the cursor, finding a car he liked the look of. Harry didn’t even bother telling him about the stats, feeling like that was just a bit much for a first time player. Having another swig of his tea, Harry’s eyes strayed down to the man’s socked feet. Very much larger than his… How accurate was that old wives’ tale?
“Right, so now this is when you need to know how to accelerate and brake, and this button lets you jump and drag for the turns.” Harry got up again, indicating the buttons and then pointing to the screen. “See… that gets you moving… steer with this… brake, and jump… Got it?”
“I think…” Biting his tongue, Sirius glared up at the screen, glancing down at his hands from time to time to figure out where he was pressing. Harry watched him, eyes straying to the man’s stubble. He’d have to get him a razor… As long as he didn’t try to stab himself with it.
Harry sat back down, stretching his legs out and idly moving his character around while he waited for Sirius to get the hang of things. How had Black gotten that wound? Someone had cleaned him up for court. Had the wound been there before, or after? Had it been self inflicted or had someone attacked him? If Black was suicidal Harry would need to watch him twenty-four seven… Maybe a monitoring spell, like parents did for infants.
“Hey, that… What did that do?” Sirius asked, watching his character suddenly light up and grow small, moving painfully slow across the screen.
“It’s one of the things you can get to sabotage the other racers. Just, a character used it on you.” Harry quickly went through the list of items and how to use them, doubting he would remember it all. Except Sirius was already moving smoother around the track, starting to knock into other players aggressively to get ahead. He was catching on pretty fast. Putting his tea down, Harry decided it was time to join in.
SCENE #sex crazed deviant
Not only was Sirius Black a fast learner, he was also a terribly sore loser. Harry could not remember the last time he had heard such colorful swearing, and to such a passionate extent. Half of the time he was trying not to laugh at the man as he was sideswiped onto grass or off cliffs, slowed down by obstacles and turtle shells.
“Fucking chicken shit shells!”
Harry snickered sleepily, dragging into a turn and feeling Sirius behind him on the couch tilting his entire body in an attempt to do the same. He was vaguely aware that birds were chirping outside, the sun insisting on shining even though Harry was only now starting to feel ready to try and sleep again.
“Here, take this controller instead,” Harry said when the set of races was done. “There are other games if you want to play. Just make sure the box has this logo on it,” he said, pointing to the insignia on the game case. “There are plenty of dvd’s you can watch if you get tired of that… but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Harry added with a smile, the man completely hooked on video games in a matter of hours.
Sirius took the large controller when handed to him, staring with interest at the miniature screen in the center of it. Harry leaned up a final time, pointing out buttons and how to navigate through the main menu, yawning halfway through. “I’m gonna go back to bed,” he mumbled, pulling himself to his feet and heading for the stairs.
Once the boy left, Sirius slowly slid down to the floor, resting his back in mirror to how Harry had been sitting earlier against the couch. He stretched his legs out, relaxing, eyes straying around the room as he debated on which character to race with. His focus kept going back to the space beneath the tv console, foot rocking back and forth idly.
That had been a lot of flesh colored people for one little case cover. But not just flesh, but flesh wrapped in leather and thin cords, metal rings, one young man with a very bright red ball gag… Jamie and Lily’s sweet little boy was a total perv. Leaning forward, Sirius sneaked his hand out, hooking the last case Harry had nudged under the console and pulling if free. A total, nasty little pervert that apparently had a thing for young men being tied up and dominated by much larger, stronger men.
Eyes scanning the front of the case, he flipped to the back, squinting at the text. Reading was a little difficult after all these years, words looking unfamiliar. He tried to sound some out, eyebrows rising the further he went. Decided, he clicked the case open, ejected the game disk he was playing and switched it for the sharp edged dvd.
He quickly fumbled for the volume, eyes glancing up towards the ceiling. Nothing. The kid was hardly a quiet walker. Shit, but what a perv… Sirius couldn’t help it, clamping his hand over his mouth as the screen filled with very nude, very moaning flesh. It was no use, his laughter breaking free.
Crap, he could never watch porn, always finding it ridiculously funny… Although… he had never seen gay porn before, just the weird stuff James had rustled up with a lot of bushy chicks, very hung, but not always attractive men, and some drug induced artsy themes. This was definitely less funny… once you got over the awkwardness of watching some guy get tied up and forced to suck cock… Which Sirius was adapting to rather quickly, head tilting and socked foot rocking back and forth on the floor.
“Holy crap,” he muttered, hand covering his eyes only to peek through his fingers. When did condoms start coming out in rainbow colors? And when did men start looking so smooth down there? How they managed not to shave their balls off… “Hell… How can he…?” Sirius tilted his head the other way, side of his thumb wedged between his teeth as the very smooth blond boy was folded beyond human capability—he was pretty sure people could not contort that way—and crammed full of the larger, muscular sandy blond man.
Sirius pulled his thumb from his mouth, hitting the skip forward button on the remote. Tongue slipping over his teeth, he stopped at one with a rather slim looking brunette with dark eyes, hands being bound behind his back roughly while he whimpered. His captor could hardly be seen, wearing some weird leather hat blocking most of his face. He could be heard though, saying some very nasty things into the boy’s ear as he pushed him down onto a sturdy workbench. Why they were nude and in a garage with grease and auto parts lying around was beyond Sirius, but it didn’t seem to really matter much. Well, except for when the boy was suddenly gagged with a dirty looking rag… Maybe they were in a garage just to put that filthy rag in that very pretty mouth? The boy didn’t seem to mind, his dark eyes hooded with lust as he was roughly slammed forward and, “Ohhh.” Sirius was starting to understand the point of the garage now, a thick screwdriver handle lubed and pushed into the boy’s tight hole, being driven in and out, wrenched to the sides in likely painful ways.
Gaping at the very graphic view of just how tight that hole was, Sirius had a worrying thought. Did that kid let men do that to him? Was little Lily’s sweet tot out letting men fuck him in garages with screwdrivers and… thick hammer handles? “Holy hell,” Sirius groaned, hand again covering his eyes but failing to actually block the view. Was this just normal sex for gay men now?
Sirius grabbed quickly for the dvd box, eyes moving through the text. Fetish… fantasy… virginal—that brunette was totally not a virgin—unique, naughty bondage fantasies. Oh, thank god. Not normal. Very much fetish. Just weird, kinky… Sirius’s eyes were drawn to the screen again, his breath caught in his throat. “That won’t fit with that…” he croaked out only to be proven very wrong as the boy was double penetrated by hammer and screwdriver together.
Sirius hit the pause button, closed his eyes at just what had been paused at, and hit the eject button. “That boy needs help.” With shaking fingers, he slipped the dvd back into its case and pushed it back under the console. Then, because he was there and he really needed to know, he started pulling everything out from under the tv console, sorting as he went.
James had spawned a gay, sex-crazed, totally deranged deviant of a son. Maybe it was Lily’s fault—She had always been wild, James once confessing that she wore him out on more than one occasion keeping him up all night. Sirius had tried to tune it out at the time, really not that interested in what his best friend and girlfriend were getting up to. If he had realized what the end result of their union would be, maybe he would have said something. This couldn’t be normal.
At least, he didn’t remember it to be… Sirius used to have a flock of girls following him around in school, quickly finding out that they just weren’t that interesting. He had thought maybe he was just really fucked up by his abusive family and couldn’t let anyone in sexually. Then he’d had a random encounter with a bold sixth year punk in the boy’s bathroom his graduating year, resulting in a phenomenal blow job that had proven that he should have been barking up trousers instead of skirts. And for a very short while, he had really enjoyed exploring that new knowledge. Quietly, because being gay could still get your ass beat although not nearly as dangerous as being hunted by Voldemort.
Nothing Sirius had ever seen looked like the stuff on these boxes. Actually, he was pretty sure there wasn’t even gay stuff on boxes back then—maybe some girl on girl stuff. But there were a shit ton of gay boxes here, the majority with young men tied up and on display. Sirius tried to think back to James’s porn collection of magazines… James had probably collected twice as many magazines than his son had dvds… Maybe Harry wasn’t that fucked up…
But there were a lot of people tied up. Sirius flipped through the cases, finding only one that didn’t have anyone bound and sometimes gagged on the cover. Bedroom, flesh, sex… Sirius clicked the case open, sliding the disk in the tray and waiting for it to turn on.
There we go; people in clothes. Just two very attractive young men in clothes, kissing, and touching, and not tying each other up. And yes, those clothes did eventually end up on the floor, which was very nice as well as was when they started rolling on the bed with a very ugly looking bedspread. And if they both stopped because someone was knocking on the door, that couldn’t be too terrible because the pizza guy showing up in their bedroom was actually quite attractive and didn’t seem interested in tying anyone up either, just taking his clothes off and rolling on the bed too.
Sirius had not had pizza in over twenty years. He was pretty sure that was what everyone kept saying—Twenty. He could really go for some pizza… Maybe with a delivery guy that looked like this one… or better yet, like the slender, dark eyed brunette from the other video that was totally not a virgin. Sirius was actually rather curious to know if anything else ended up in that deceptively tight looking hole.
Humming to himself, he switched the dvd’s, trying to think what topping of pizza he would want to try first after all this time.
SCENE #Porn with pizza…?
“What? No, he’s fine… I don’t know. Video games, mostly…” Harry pulled the receiver away from his ear while trying to slip his sneaker on properly. “Stop yelling at me. Video games are a perfectly good way to pass time at any age—Shit, Draco, I have to get the door… No, for pizza.” Harry sighed, again pulling the phone away from his ear to dull the squawking of his friend. “I understand that you don’t think muggle junkfood is a good idea. And as you are well aware, I don’t care what you think. I’ll talk to you later. Yup, yup, up yours too, mate.” Harry hung up with a sigh, pushing his foot down until his sneaker finally crammed home.
He left the kitchen, finding Sirius waiting in the living room doorway, staring at the front door down the hall. “You can get the door if you want, Sirius. You’re not hiding here, and no one is trying to come after you.” Sirius didn’t say anything, just looking at him oddly and then at the door again. Harry sighed, walking to the door, feeling the man following slowly behind him.
Harry opened the door, smiling welcomingly. “Hey man, thanks for driving out here. I know its a ways off.” Harry lived in the middle of nowhere like most wizards and witches but that hadn’t stopped him from making sure he got muggle food delivered.
“Never a problem. You’re the best tipper I got.” Jamal smiled brightly, unwrapping the padded cover that held the first of Harry’s pizza boxes. “You throwing a party or something?”
“Nope, just wanted to try it all. Here, let me help you carry it from the car.” Harry stepped out, the late afternoon sun throwing long shadows over his hedges and expansive lawn. He had a landscaping company come by every other week to keep things tidy. He might be a slob, but he didn’t want his parents’ house to look like shit. Glancing into the backseat of the little delivery car, Harry wondered briefly if he had gone overboard, then brushed the thought away.
Mr. Black hadn’t had pizza in forever, and when he had asked Harry what kind of toppings they had, the man unable to remember, Harry decided to just get them all. It was his favorite pizza place with fresh ingredients and unique combinations. He had ordered all twenty-five different specialty pizzas they offered and figured whatever they didn’t eat they could eat tomorrow or the day after. Harry loved day old, cold pizza just as much as still warm, gooey pizza.
Hands full, Harry led Jamal into the hallway, Sirius edging away from the stranger and glaring suspiciously at him. Harry just raised an eyebrow at him, tilting his head for the man to follow. Jamal was his regular delivery guy, the only one willing to put his car through the extra millage to get to his house. He was a very friendly sort, full of quick smiles and stoner jokes and Harry did not want his new house guest upsetting him.
“Alright, I do believe that’s all of it, Harry. Twenty-five pizzas, two liters of soda; orange and root beer, and one order of garlic sticks and one of cinnamon sticks… with extra dipping sauce.” Jamal checked through the list while counting off boxes. He then handed Harry the bill, Harry exchanging with cash. “Shit, man, you’re going to be putting me through a doctorate if you’re not careful,” he said cheerfully, tucking the money away.
Harry just smiled, having heard that particular one before. “Hungry, Jamal? There’s no way we’re going to eat all of this.”
Jamal tilted his head back and forth, weighing propriety verse the long, hungry drive back. “I could steal a slice of the bourbon chicken,” he said eventually, taking a seat at the kitchen table when Harry offered it.
“Sirius, come on, stop hovering in the doorway,” Harry chided, holding a box of pizza out towards the man. “Where do you want to start? Roasted veggies in marinara, or maybe garlic potatoes with white sauce?”
“Oh, you should definitely try the potato if you haven’t yet,” Jamal said brightly, digging out the bourbon chicken and having a slice. “It’s one of our most popular pies.”
Staring warily at the young man, Sirius sized Jamal up. He couldn’t be much older than the weird kid, hardly anything much to look at. Maybe he was just really hung…? Sirius wasn’t sure, but he really didn’t like how Harry had just invited him in the house like that, feeding him and all. Course, Sirius had yet to see any pizza eaten in any of those movies Harry had stashed away, but then again, no one ever ordered more than one pizza, and Harry had paid the guy presumably a lot. Did you pay for the sex or for pizza…?
The phone rang, Sirius jumping from the unfamiliar sound. Harry slipped by him, pulling it off the hook and stepping outside the kitchen doorway. “Seriously, are you calling just to yell at me right now, Malfoy?”
Sirius edged further into the kitchen, pretending to look at the array of delicious smelling boxes and not the confusing delivery man. What the hell did Harry see in him? Pudgy, short, smiling… The brat could do better. Sirius growled, grabbing the nearest box and opening it.
“So how do you know Harry?” Jamal asked, eying the man curiously. He had only seen a few people at Harry’s, most of them characters. The one he was yelling on the phone with was about as yuppie, blue-blood as you could get.
“I’m his godfather,” Sirius growled, fairly certain it was the truth after he had said it. Annoyed, he tore into a slice of fresh mozzarella and spinach, only to freeze, eyes closing from the intense, amazing flavor hitting his senses.
“It’s good, huh?” Jamal said brightly, completely oblivious to the sudden glare sent his way.
“You’re pissing me off—Unless you want to come down here and cook us a fucking meal… No, no, of course you’re not going to do that, you arrogant… Right, right, I’m hanging up now… Son of a—” Harry returned to the kitchen and slammed the phone down. “My god, that boy nags,” he muttered, moving around Sirius to grab a slice of pizza. He paused, catching how Sirius was blatantly glaring at poor Jamal. “What are you guys talking about?”
Jamal stood, folding his slice of pizza in half. “Just meeting your godfather. I gotta get going. Thanks for the slice, Harry.” He held his non-pizza holding hand out, reaching for Sirius’s. “Nice to meet you, Sir.” Sirius just stared at his hand, making no move to shake it.
“Excuse him,” Harry said with a sigh. “Sirius hasn’t been around people for a long time.”
“Oh, like a mountain man,” Jamal said, not looking at all upset that Sirius was still glaring at him. Harry, on the other hand, was starting to get annoyed.
“Yeah, just like that,” Harry said, slapping Jamal on the back and leading him towards the front door. He glanced over his shoulder at Sirius, returning the glare sent their way. “Thanks for the pizza, man.”
“As always.” Harry waited till the man was in his car before shutting the door. Turning, he found Sirius standing in the hall.
“What? What’s your problem, Black?” Harry asked, striding down the hall and glaring up at the man. “Jamal is a very nice guy who drives over forty-five minutes to deliver me food. Believe me, it is really hard to find restaurants that deliver all the way up here.”
Sirius didn’t say anything, just stepped into the kitchen and started flipping open pizza boxes. Harry narrowed his eyes, debating if he really wanted to argue with the man. He hadn’t actually heard Sirius say anything to the delivery boy, and Jamal had seemed perfectly fine on leaving. It was actually odd to know Sirius had told him he was his godfather. Harry hadn’t thought much of it, having tried to separate from that fact when learning that Black had betrayed his parents. But that wasn’t true, and now Harry had a godfather. A godfather that was glaring at his only pizza delivery man.
Maybe Sirius was just feeling territorial of the house, not wanting people coming in. Harry decided to let it go for now, but would make a point to watch Sirius like a hawk when anyone was in the house.
“How’d you do on that game?” Harry asked, watching with interest as Sirius took two different types of pizza and smooshed them together like a sandwich, then took a bite out of it. The man just could not eat properly.
Sirius shrugged, throwing himself in a chair, legs wide as he lounged carelessly. “Wasn’t as fun alone.”
“Hmm… yeah, I guess not.” Staring at the pizza, Harry decided to try the sandwich move, throwing potato and barbecue chicken together. It was definitely a win. “Sweet,” he chirped, tearing off a bite and chewing as he got them some glasses and picked the soda off the ground. “So, we’re probably going to have to eat and hide the rest of this before 6 p.m. Which is when Draco gets out of work, and is going to come down here and throw a tantrum about me feeding you junk food. If you could not mention the throwing up of the other day, I would really appreciate it. You do not want to encourage his nagging.”
Sirius huffed, crushing pizza boxes down as he leaned on the table with his elbows and finished chewing. “Your boyfriend?”
Harry blinked, nearly spilling the soda he was pouring. “Fuck, no. Draco is a very dear friend, I love him to death, and I would likely kill him if we ever spent more than an hour together. And if I didn’t kill him, he’d kill me. When you meet him, you’ll see. He’s way too spic and span for my taste. Prat wastes half his day in the mirror.” Harry held up the soda, Sirius nodding towards the root beer.
Sirius again didn’t say anything, just gulping down the drink as it was handed to him. Harry had never felt talkative before, but next to this man he was a goddamn chatterbox. He glanced over his glass, watching Sirius discreetly. He was still favoring his side, hunched slightly. Not to mention, the man’s hair was a tangle, probably not brushed since the courthouse, and he was getting very bristly jawed. As nice a look as it was, Harry figured it couldn’t go on too long. Hell, he was still in the same clothes.
“Your stuff is going to be delivered to the house hopefully within the week, but until then I think we’re going to have to get you some things before then,” Harry said when the man looked his way again. “Off the top of my head, I’m going to say brush, toothbrush, razor, couple changes of clothes… Was there soap in your bathroom? If you can think of anything, I’ll write a list and go shopping this evening.”
Looking at Harry a long moment, Sirius said gruffly, “Flea shampoo.”
Gaping, Harry put his pizza down and wiped his hands on his jeans. He stepped up behind the man, Sirius bristling slightly when Harry carefully examined his locks. “You sure? I don’t see any…”
“I’m sure,” Sirius muttered, ducking his head down.
“Well, I’ll add it to the list,” Harry said, absentmindedly combing the man’s ponytail into some sort of order. “How’s your side feel? Anymore blood?”
Glancing back his way, Sirius sighed and lifted his shirt, leaning to the side and revealing the stitched up wound. It looked fine enough, no red around the edges or anything. “I’ll have to take those stitches out tomorrow or they’re not going to want to come up after that. You don’t happen to remember yet how you got hurt, do you?”
“I remember,” Sirius said flatly, stuffing another bite of pizza in his mouth right afterwards. Harry waited patiently, rolling his eyes when Sirius glared again at him.
“Well? What happened?”
“Got stabbed.”
Harry sighed, about ready to throttle the man. “Who stabbed you?” He pressed, trying to keep the frustration from his voice.
Sirius shrugged, looking for all the world like he was going to take another bite of pizza and refuse to answer. He paused, instead replying, “Red bearded fellow. Had glasses.”
Harry started, eyes widening as he recalled the people in the courtroom the other day. “You mean the auror?”
“Maybe… I didn’t really ask him his life story.” Sirius bit into his pizza, done with the conversation. Frowning, Harry sat in a chair, glaring at the pizza that suddenly did not seem so appetizing.
“When? When did he stab you?” Harry asked, knowing the answer was going to decide how he handled the matter.
Sirius pointed to the hallway and Harry remembered that the bearded auror had been one of the three to bring Sirius into the house the other night. “Well, fuck,” Harry hissed, standing abruptly and grabbing the phone. He left a brief message on Remus’s cell, having demanded the man join the modern world already. That someone had stepped into his house, stabbed his already terribly wronged godfather, and then walked away as if there would be no consequences infuriated Harry beyond belief.
“In my fucking home?” Harry muttered, hanging up the phone and pacing. “He came into my fucking home and stabbed you? Let me guess, while you were still chained up, right?” Sirius gave a brief nod, not looking disturbed at all about it. That was okay, Harry had enough anger for ten people. “I’m going to fucking ruin that shit. Walking into my home, committing an act of violence against a bound and innocent man—Fucking hell!”
Sirius looked around curiously as the room began to shake, eventually putting his pizza down when glasses started falling out of the cupboard and shattering to the floor. Harry just growled, spelling things clean while muttering under his breath. “Fucking goddamn piece of shit auror walking into my house—even after I told them to stay the fuck away, they weren’t needed—and then stabbing my godfather, like some fucking crazy vigilante instead of an officer of the fucking law. Fucking—Motherfucking—I need a walk. I definitely need to get the fuck out of here and go for a walk.”
He got to the front door when he suddenly turned, returning to the kitchen in a huff. “Can I leave you alone?” Harry asked, looking for all the world as if he didn’t know the answer. Sirius shrugged, not really knowing himself. So far he’d been much more calm than the weird kid had been.
Harry fidgeted from foot to foot, torn on what to do. “Fine, I’ll be upstairs. Try not to—If you throw up, just aim for something easy to clean,” he muttered, whirling and stomping up the stairs. Sirius just unburied another box, trying the Hawaiian style pizza and smiling from the taste.
SCENE #Draco pops in to nag
Sirius had a box of pizza in his lap and the game controller on top of it, playing the racing game when someone suddenly came into the house yelling for Harry. Not really sure what to do in such a situation, Sirius continued to play the game, assuming if the person was a threat they probably would not be calling for the owner of the place.
Draco stepped by, stopping in the doorway of the living room. “For real?” He commented, taking in the sight of Sirius playing video games while holding the pizza box possessively. “You’ve been here how long? He’s turned you into a damn slacker overnight.”
Sirius paused his game, realizing the kid was just going to keep talking at him. He glanced over, blinking dumbly. The kid was a damn veela… except… not. Just really pale, blond, and haughty. It was kind of annoying just how squeaky clean and pristine the blond looked.
Draco stepped into the room, rolling his eyes as he took in the mess. “Shit, how does he find anything in here? Hi, there. I’m Draco Malfoy, Narcissa’s son. We’re cousins, although I don’t expect you to remember me… I was probably like one when you were imprisoned.”
Sirius frowned, looking at the boy again. “Narcissa was a bitch.”
“Probably,” Draco said, hardly phased since he had called his mother worse on many an appropriate occasion. “So, beyond the terrible food, how are you faring? He’s a bit backwards but Harry does mean well. He’s just a bit… antisocial at times.”
Draco Malfoy was very bright to look at and completely blocking the television, both facts rather annoying to Sirius’s senses. While he waited for the boy to get the hint and leave, he pulled open the pizza box, grabbing another slice. Draco gave a sigh at the pizza, shaking his head. “Tell me he at least offered you vegetables or something more than just… junk.”
Eyebrows raised, Sirius pointed out the obvious array of vegetables covering his pizza, really not seeing what the problem was. He hadn’t eaten anything so goddamn wonderful in years and really hoped the blond wasn’t going to ruin things for him.
Seeing that Sirius was not going to answer him, Draco headed to the door, finally unblocking Sirius’s view of the tv.
“Potter!” Draco shouted, heading for the stairs. “Shit—Why is this mirror broken again? Have you been throwing another tantrum?” The blond muttered, sounds of glass being repaired echoing down the hall. Sirius was pretty sure whatever the hell the weird kid had been doing with the house-shaking magic was a bit more than a tantrum. Raw magical outbursts like that usually meant a powerful person in a powerful mood.
Sirius was not sure why he hadn’t unpaused the game, but he found himself eavesdropping instead, the blond having found Harry doing whatever it was the boy was doing to quiet himself and the two of them arguing quite heatedly. At least, it sounded like arguing but as they came down the stairs, the words didn’t match the tone of voice.
“Stop getting worked up. We’ll deal with it through the proper channels!”
“In my fucking house! What would your father have done if someone came into his house and fucking stabbed you?”
Draco laughed without mirth. “You really want to compare my fucking psychotic ex Death Eater father to you? He would have tortured the fucker for days on end and then, if he was feeling generous, let him die.”
“See! After all the fucking shit in the papers about me, that guy just walks into my house and expects me to not do something bloody insane in retribution?”
“I really don’t get what you’re saying here,” Draco snapped, stopping in the doorway. Sirius glanced over but Harry could not be seen, just heard. “You’re upset because you’re not going to torture him?”
“No, I’m upset that the one fucker that doesn’t think I’m a crazy dark wizard thought it was okay to walk into my house and attack my guest! I’m upset because every fucking person thinks I’m this crazy, evil bastard and I can’t even fuck that guy up as bad as I really fucking want to. No—I’m fucking nice, and proper, and am going to hire the most cutthroat asshole of a lawyer to ruin this dick the only way I can—because I’m just too fucking nice!”
The house started shaking again, Sirius glancing around the living room warily.
“Will you chill the fuck out?” Draco growled. “You’re going to bury us all in your goddamn temper. Go lift some more weights—You’re a total prat, by the way, for not telling me you have a gym! I fucking knew you couldn’t have been just sitting on your ass all day.”
Harry chuckled, the rumbling again ceasing. “It was fucking funny for the longest time—Hell, nope, it’s still pretty damn funny. Come on, I’ll show you the wound and you tell me if I’m overreacting.” Harry pushed his way into the room a moment after Sirius reached for another slice of pizza. “Siri, do you mind?”
Sirius stilled at the nickname he hadn’t heard in years. Head ducked down, Sirius glanced to the side, taking in Harry’s topless, sweaty, very toned form. He might have been short and slender, but the kid had muscle, his pecs and abs well defined, shoulders and biceps particularly nice, not to mention the dark trail of hair starting below his bellybutton and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. His calves were also rather nice, built but not overly so.
Sirius decided not speaking was again the correct response, finally finding Harry’s face, cheeks flushed from anger and exercise, green eyes bright, hair sweaty, half sticking to his forehead while the other half managed still to defy gravity. Harry looked very much like one of those tied up young men after a round with their older man friend and Sirius was finding it rather distracting.
“Draco’s better at healing charms than I am,” Harry admitted, oblivious to Sirius’s straying thoughts. He reached past the pizza box to tug up the hem of the man’s shirt. Sirius let him, raising his arms slightly while overly aware of just how close Harry’s face was to his chest. He could smell Harry’s sweat, but not in a bad way. More in a wanting to move closer and smell more way…
“Crap, that’s a pretty nasty wound,” Draco said, kneeling down to get a better look. Sirius held still, trying not to react to the fingers suddenly probing the still painful flesh. “Although, you did a fine job healing it. For all your recklessness, you always could manage to slow down enough to stitch properly. I don’t think he’ll even scar.”
Draco pulled back, folding Sirius’s shirt down. “You got lucky. No vitals were hit but it was damn close to nicking your lung. Were you planning on pressing charges against the man?”
Mind whirring at the very odd notion, Sirius shook his head.
Harry sighed in frustration. “Mr. Black, you have to! You can’t just let something like that go unpunished.”
Draco stood, grabbing Harry’s shoulder. “Chill. Mr. Black, you do know that you were attacked, right? That what happened to you was illegal?”
Sirius was not really liking the blond’s tone as if he were some slow idiot. “I’m a prisoner. It’s not illegal to hurt prisoners,” he said gruffly.
Harry looked like he was going to say something, but again the blond kept him quiet. “True. But you are no longer in prison. The moment Harry took you into his custody, he became responsible for you. Meaning, if someone hurts you while he’s caring for you, it is not only a crime committed on you, but also on him.”
Eyes straying to Harry’s, Sirius eventually nodded. “Alright. Why is he… Why am I here?”
Draco turned to Harry, glaring at the boy. “Didn’t you tell him anything?”
Harry held his hands up helplessly. “I thought he figured it out. I mean, my house is hardly fucking Azkaban!” Draco just sighed, shoving Harry back in annoyance.
“Mr. Black, Harry has taken you in after hearing your testimony under Veritaserum. He understands that it was Pettigrew, not you, that betrayed his parents. The court is going through the arduous task of trying to fix their mistake, and while they are doing that, Harry has chosen to become your guardian to keep you from having to return to prison.”
“So… I won’t be going back?” Sirius asked, again looking at Harry.
Harry bit his lip, stepping forward and holding his hand out. Sirius stared at it a moment, then raised his own, letting the boy hold his fingers lightly. “Sirius, you are never going back to prison again. Never. On my life, you will never go back there again.”
Staring at the boy’s watery green eyes, Sirius nodded mutely, not sure what the strange feeling was as it tried to unfurl within the numbness inside him. He had been numb for a very long time, as long as since failing his friends and being convicted for a crime he hadn’t committed. The feeling must be something sad though because he could feel warm tears sliding down his face. It must have been very sad because suddenly the weird boy was hugging him, bare sweaty arms wrapped around him so tight, Sirius could actually feel them too. Harry was very warm, an actual live presence and not the echoes he had been surrounded by for so long.
Sirius awkwardly placed his hand on Harry’s back, staring down at the boy’s dark bowed head. He actually smelled very nice, very real with his sweat, and very warm. In that moment, Sirius missed James. He had used to hug him, as had Remus after very difficult letters from his parents and waking up from nightmares. James had always listened when Sirius talked shit about someone, not caring that it was biased and him just ranting angrily. And James was very good at passing time, knowing how to distract with pranks and tricks. James had been Sirius’s best friend, and he really felt lonely without the boy.
“Come on, Potter, don’t tear those stitches,” Draco chided when Harry seemed ready to hug the man forever.
Harry pulled away with a sigh, looking Sirius over for a moment, hands lighting on the man’s face. His hands felt very warm, and Sirius wondered if the prison had just permanently chilled him inside. This boy really looked nothing like James. Not just the stunning green eyes. He didn’t have the anger James used to have. Harry’s lips were red and pouty, not thin from frowning all the time. There was a sweetness to this kid’s face that James had never had and he found it very interesting.
Harry straightened, turning to Draco. “I need to go pick up a few things for Sirius like a razor and toothpaste and stuff. Would you mind just hanging around and making sure he’s set?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t expect me to play any of those stupid muggle games,” Draco said, following Harry down the hall. “He seems comfortable, although still somewhat confused. I almost wonder if hanging out with you is just going to make him think he’s still a teenager.”
“Who cares how old he thinks he is? I mean, really. What the fuck does it matter if he spends the rest of his life thinking he’s twenty years younger than he really is?” Harry said, stopping on the stairs. “After what he’s been through, losing so much time, hell, maybe it would be a gift.”
Draco glanced back down the hall, hearing the game resume. “He’s going to have to join the real world some day, Harry. Get a job, learn how to be around people…”
Harry snorted, making his way upstairs to change. “Not everyone needs to live your life, Malfoy. This is the real world too, and it can be a nice, fulfilling place.”
Draco, who was pretty sure Harry was hiding away in some self inflicted prison of loneliness, wisely didn’t comment. Maybe Sirius Black getting better and moving on with his life might help wake Harry up to the reality of his very lonely, unsatisfying existence. Or, considering how stubborn Harry was, maybe not. Draco didn’t know but seeing how readily Harry had hugged the man, he was growing on the idea of Black staying there.
At least Harry wasn’t alone. At least he was being forced to think about something other than nightmares and the distractions he used to hide from them. It was a change and Harry needed change.
SCENE #Moony calls for Pads
Remus did not want to wait for Sirius to wake up, very much vibrating with both anxiety and anger. Harry was trying to soothe the man, but the reality was he was still just as angry. Draco had left hours ago. Remus, after finally getting Harry’s message, had apparated down at eleven in the evening, desperate to make sure Sirius wasn’t dying.
“We brought him here to avoid this sort of thing!” Remus hissed. “What happens when the papers get a hold of it? Him being released and living with ‘The Dark Lord’s Successor’—They won’t care that he’s innocent and wrongly convicted. Those fucking people are going to hound him for the rest of his days because they don’t want to believe the Ministry makes mistakes!”
“Remi, you’re jumping to conclusions. Bardly was one of the aurors that brought Sirius in. He had a personal vendetta that ignored the reality of the situation. No one else is going to be so blinded by hate,” Harry said calmly, not sure he truly believed his own words. The public had proven time and again that they didn’t care about the truth, they just loved a fucking scandal.
“We need to get ahead of this Harry. Before they’re at your door, looking to lynch him.”
Harry grabbed the man’s arm, pushing him back down in the kitchen chair. “Calm down. I’ll talk to Emilee, and her people can start on the PR. But Black’s not ready for this.”
“He’s going to have to be,” Remus muttered. “Someone stabbed him, Harry. A law abiding auror was in the courtroom, heard Sirius was innocent, and still stabbed him. You know what those reporters will say. Black tricked his way out of it. Harry Potter cursed the judge, made a false memory that everyone experienced—These people are ruthless. And if one person was crazy enough to try to kill him, there will be more. People died in that explosion—Innocent, well-loved people with very angry families. They are going to want vengeance and it doesn’t matter on who, just as long as they have their day.”
Harry sighed heavily, knowing Remus was right and hating it. He had gotten used to the threats on his own life. Usually just by crazy, obsessed kooks that thought they were saving the world from the next Voldemort. The people that would come after Sirius would be more than crazy, they would think they were right. Righteous people didn’t stop and were somehow even harder to rationalize with.
“I need to see him. He needs to understand the situation—He can’t go outside. If someone recognizes him—”
“Remi, you really need to calm down. You’ll only upset him like this,” Harry said as soothingly as possible. Remus naturally ignored him, ducking around the boy and heading for the living room. Sirius had fallen asleep on the couch, not interested in returning to his room anytime soon. Harry hadn’t minded, throwing a blanket over the man after returning with the toiletries and clothes. “Remi…” Harry trailed off, Sirius peeking his eye open from the couch, peering warily at the werewolf.
“Pads, I need to talk to you,” Remus said, crouching in front of the couch. “I need you to be really careful.”
Sirius stared at the man a while, then turned his gaze to Harry, eyes full of question. Harry bit his lip. “Remus just wants to know you’re okay. He’s really upset that you were hurt.”
“I want to talk to him alone, Harry,” Remus said, his voice hard. “Can you give us some space?”
Scratching the back of his head, Harry nodded. Sirius was looking at him, eyes so full of something he could not identify but begged for him to stay. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Right across the hall. If you need anything, just ask and I’ll be here.” He said it to Sirius, the man still looking very lost. Then he slipped away to sit in the kitchen and wait.
“Padfoot… Come on, Pads. I need you to focus on me,” Remus pleaded, pulling the man’s gaze back to him. “Do you remember me yet?”
Sirius did not like how the man was nearly eye level with him, feeling very vulnerable lying on the couch. He slowly sat up, wrapping the blanket that was on him closer to his body. “You’re Remus… but you’re old.”
Remus snorted without humor. “Nearly forty is not old—Have you looked in the damn mirror?”
Sirius gazed down at his hands. “I try not to. I don’t recognize myself,” he said gruffly.
“Siri, I spoke with your lawyer, Mr. Colms. He said that when he first met you, it was as Padfoot.” Remus sat back on the floor, looking up at the man. “Is that how you did it? Is that why you’re so healthy? Did you spend all your time as the dog?”
Eyes straying towards Remus, Sirius nodded. “It was easier. Less memories to hear… they hardly noticed me.”
Remus seemed almost relieved. “Good, that’s good, Siri. Can you still turn into Padfoot?” He sighed when Sirius nodded in reply. “Sirius, whenever you go outside, you need to do it as Padfoot. You should keep the curtains drawn so no one can see you in the house. Don’t let anyone in that Harry doesn’t know.”
Sirius leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Am I… not supposed to be here?”
“No, no, you are exactly where you are supposed to be,” Remus assured. “Harry will fight anyone that tries to take you away—You belong here, Siri. But there are ignorant individuals that think you hurt those people instead of Peter. For your own protection, you need to stay hidden. Just keep the curtains closed and go outside as Padfoot. That’s all you have to do.”
“Alright… Moony,” Sirius said, hesitating on the nickname. But Remus smiled to hear it, as if it were truly familiar to him.
“Pads, you believe me?” Remus asked softly, gnawing at his lip. Sirius could see the boy in the man’s face, very much still Remus’s honey eyes and hair with familiar expressions even if his body had grown much stronger.
“Do you remember that time in the shack… when Jamie tried to wake you up with that mask on?” Sirius asked, watching Remus’s face carefully.
“The gorilla one? After the full moon and I was so tired from the change and the stupid ass thought it would be funny to pretend it was the damn planet of the apes? Yeah, I remember,” Remus said with a small smile.
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, pausing to stare at his fingers. “I keep waiting for someone to pull the masks off. Off my face, off yours—Off that weird kid that makes me think of James even though I know damn well he’s his son. My god—The boy lived, Remi. How did he live?”
“No one is really sure,” Remus said honestly, relaxing the more comfortable and familiar Sirius became with him. “Dumbledore thinks Lily might have saved him. She was such a natural witch. We think her love for her son protected Harry against the killing curse. Siri… you’re going to be okay here. He’s a good kid.”
Sirius nodded, eyes straying to the door. “Why is he… He’s all alone here. He lives in the huge place all alone. What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing… not really,” Remus said, wrapping his arms around his knees. “He was hunted most of his childhood. You-Know-Who and his followers tried to get the kid killed. Then there was an incident when he was about sixteen and Harry ended up face to face with what was left of the Dark Lord. Harry killed him and everything changed.”
Sirius started at that, eyes widening, mouth going slack. “That can’t—Sixteen?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Voldemort was weak. He never recovered from his failed attack on Harry as a toddler. And Harry… He’s an extremely powerful wizard. He doesn’t do a lot of magic; I think he’s a bit afraid of himself. But he is one of the most powerful people that exists. And because of it, he is treated very poorly by the wizarding community. He’s feared—”
“But you just said he destroyed that monster,” Sirius rasped, glancing at the door and then sliding down to the carpet so he could whisper easily to Remus. “If he killed You-Know-Who, why aren’t they dancing in the goddamn streets?”
A wave of nostalgia hit Remus, having Sirius hunched over while the two of them whispered. It was so much like sitting in the shack trying not to wake Peter and James early mornings, talking about random school things and life. Remus scooted over to Sirius’s side, head ducked, shoulder brushing shoulder. “You know how those sorts of people get, Pads. They called the kid a monster for being able to do it in the first place. They’re afraid of him. And Harry, sweet kid that he is, sometimes thinks they should be afraid. So he’s hid himself away.”
“That’s crazy, Moony. Fucking messed up—Remember when Prongs went and scared Pete…” he stopped, hunching in on himself.
“Was it after the Yule ball?” Remus asked quietly. “When Peter got so scared he said he’d get even? And we all laughed.”
Sirius nodded, leaning towards the man until Remus was holding him up with his shoulder. “I fucked up so bad, Moony. I taunted that kid every fucking chance I got… How many times did I nearly eat Wormtail when I was Padfoot? Just to fucking scare him… Maybe he wouldn’t have done it, if I hadn’t been such a terrible friend.”
Remus sighed, having spent the last days wondering why Peter had betrayed them. “It was a long time ago, Pads. No one’s heard from him in ages. Sometimes you need to let things go, just so you can have a chance at a future. What happened with you and Pete is just one of them.”
Sirius nodded, relaxing into the oddly familiar scent of Remus Lupin. “You smell like chocolate.”
Smirking, Remus snaked a hand into his back pocket, pulling out a chocolate bar. “You still have Padfoot’s nose, I see.” He unwrapped the bar, breaking off a piece and giving it to the man.
Sirius closed his eyes and let the candy melt on his tongue, humming softly. “Holy hell… I forgot how good that was. I forgot how good things taste.” Warmth began to flood him, his limbs suddenly stronger, mind clearing a lot of the cold haze away.
“Side effect of the dementors. Usually takes a week for long term exposure to completely wear off. Same with your confusion.” Remus handed the man another piece of chocolate, taking in Sirius’s expression and mussed hair. “You seem better than the last time I was here.”
“Moony… you ever hear of bondage?”
Coughing on his piece of chocolate, Remus turned wide eyes to his whispering friend. “What?”
“Bondage.” Sirius pointed to the tv console, reaching his foot out and catching the corner of a dvd. Remus slipped his hand forward and snagged the box, coughing again once seeing the cover.
“I forgot Harry was…”
“Weird,” Sirius supplied. He glanced sideways at his friend, Remus having finished reading the back of the box. He wagged his eyebrows suggestively, the werewolf bursting out in laughter in response.
“No, gay,” Remus whispered after he had gotten his laughter under control. “He’s not weird. He’s just a little… kinky.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s weird,” Sirius said, eyes straying to beneath the console. “Do you think he lets men tie him up?”
Remus pursed his lips, tossing the dvd back in its pile beneath the tv. “Maybe. I don’t think the boy really gets out much, to be honest.”
Sirius hunched closer, tilting until he was right in Remus’s ear. “Think he’d let me tie him up?”
Remus gaped, scandalized. “Pads!” He turned, trying to read if he was joking. No, Sirius had that damn wicked smirk and naughty glint to his eye that very much said he was not joking. After all these years, it was still the same fucking expression. “No!”
“No to the question, or just you’d really prefer I didn’t?” Sirius asked, laughing when Remus shoved him sideways.
“I… I don’t know… but I’m sticking with that answer,” Remus said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You do realize he’s, well, young, right? James’s son, young. Lily’s son, young.”
Sirius shrugged. “He doesn’t look like the tot, that’s for damn sure. What he does look like is very nice… especially after working out.” Sirius’s grin grew, and he ducked his head again to whisper into Remus’s side. “Did I ever tell you about Hurley?”
“The Ravenclaw that sucked you off in the bathroom? Yes, a million fucking times,” Remus said lightly while trying to fight a smirk of his own.
“Right… So I think the weird kid has a mouth even nicer looking than Hurley’s. And he had a very fine mouth.”
“Sirius Black, you are incorrigible,” Remus chuckled while shaking his head. “Don’t you dare say any of this to Harry. He’s a good kid—Nothing like you at that age, for damn sure.”
“Ah, I’m not going to say anything,” Sirius said, bumping his shoulder to Remus’s. “I’m an old man now—”
“Forty is not old!” Remus growled, bumping his shoulder right back.
“Is too. It’s fucking ancient. I’m going to have to go coffin shopping soon.”
“You’re a bastard, Black. A thirty-nine year old, not ancient bastard.”
SCENE #The power of chocolate
Harry, who had been in the kitchen trying to figure out where he was going to store twenty-five half eaten pizzas, heard a crash from the living room. “Remi?” He shouted, only to hear a loud thud. Worried someone was killing someone, he ran to the living room, stumbling to a halt two feet in the door and nearly falling into the tangle of limbs wrestling on the ground. “Remus!”
“Do you concede?” Remus demand, ignoring Harry and pinning the laughing Sirius to the floor.
“Only because… I’m so old,” Sirius choked out between gasps of mirth.
“You fucking sod,” Remus said, about ready to throw his full weight on his friend, only to fall back wide eyed when Harry suddenly shoved him with magically enhanced strength.
“Remus Lupin, if you have pulled out any of his stitches, I’m going to hang you out on the rooftop!” Harry growled in exasperation.
“He keeps calling me old!” Remus said, chuckling at Sirius shocked expression to see Remus lose so easily to a kid smaller than him. “Tell him, Harry. Forty isn’t old!”
“I’m pretty sure forty is when idiotic men start losing their fucking minds,” Harry snapped, kneeling beside the still laughing Sirius. “Remus, you could have seriously injured him! Mr. Black, let me see your side. Come on… stop giggling.” Sighing, he pushed Sirius’s shirt up, bending over to see the stitches that he had sewn in the dim light.
Eyes caught on Harry’s bowed head, the boy practically sprawled atop him and holding him down to see his wound, Sirius grinned wickedly. He glanced over to Remus, wagging his eyebrows. Remus burst out laughing, never able to resist that particular look from his friend.
“Bloody… childish… idiots,” Harry muttered under his breath, completely missing the exchange between Remus and Sirius.
“Hey, Harry,” Remus sat up, resting back on his hands while smiling lazily at Sirius. “What do you think of older men?”
“I’m afraid I don’t fucking know any at the moment.” Harry didn’t bother looking up, clucking over the blood that was dripping from Sirius’s once perfectly fine side. “He’s bleeding!”
“Uh oh, I think the kid is going to murder you, Moony. He sounds just like Lils,” Sirius remarked brightly.
“Oh my god—Remember when James ended up ass end stuck in that tree!” Remus cheered, “And Lily insisted on nearly dismembering him to preserve the bloody willow!”
Sirius nodded mutely, laughing so hard from the memory a tear escaped. “She yelled… for… hours… while he was… bleeding out.”
“Mr. Black!” Harry growled, leaning forward to catch Sirius’s eye and grabbing the man’s shoulder to keep him from moving. “This is delicate work. Please stop laughing.”
Sirius abruptly fell silent with a gasp, Harry’s eyes widening in response. “Shit, did I hurt you?” He quickly looked back to the man’s side, worried he had hurt him by accident. Harry’s hands weren’t even near the wound.
“I’m fine,” Sirius mumbled when Harry looked his way again questioningly. Not fully convinced, Harry shrugged and went back to charming Sirius’s wound healed. Sirius again glanced over to Remus, tilting his head to how Harry was now holding him down, hips very much pinning hips, a knee pressed between Sirius’s long legs. Remus gave him a warning glare back, one that grew in strength when Sirius stuck his tongue out and wiggled it back and forth.
Remus suddenly slammed his foot down, glaring spectacularly. Sirius only grinned wider, Harry turning Remus’s way for a moment with narrowed eyes.
“For real, Harry. Ever date anyone older than you?” Remus asked, returning Sirius’s wicked grin.
“Date? Not really,” Harry muttered, leaning closer into Sirius’s side as he spelled up a needle and began replacing the ruined stitches.
“But you’ve been with older men, right?” Remus pressed.
“Well, yeah… all the time… You know I don’t date, Remi,” Harry said with a huff. “The last wizard that wanted to date me was hoping I was really some dark lord recruiting to take over the world. And I can’t date muggles. Eventually the guy would figure out I do magic, and that would be the end of that.”
“Would you go so far as to say you prefer older men?” Remus continued, this time wagging his eyebrows at Sirius, who had gone completely still in his wish to hear the answer.
Harry, tongue half sticking out as he carefully tied the last stitch into Sirius’s flesh, took a moment to answer. “Depends how confident he is.”
“Confident?”
“Yeah… I like forceful… confident… strong men that aren’t afraid to take control in the bedroom… Why are we talking about this?” Harry asked abruptly, head turning to glare at the suddenly innocent looking werewolf. “I don’t do setups. I don’t care how bloody ‘perfect’ you think he is for me. They all think I’m the next Voldemort.”
“Ow, ow, ow, owww,” Sirius whimpered, Harry’s fingers digging in too hard.
“Shit, sorry.” Harry immediately turned back, missing Remus’s smug look in Sirius’s direction. “Did I hurt you, Mr. Black?”
Sirius gave his best shaky smile, Remus rolling his eyes. “I’ll be fine, Harry… And really, call me Sirius. Or Siri… or Padfoot.”
“Padfoot?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised.
“He’s a dog,” Remus said flatly.
“He means I turn into a dog,” Sirius said quickly. “That’s why I needed the shampoo.”
“Nope, he’s just a dog,” Remus retorted.
Harry, looking between the two of them warily, decided he was done. “Sirius, I got you a few changes of clothes and some pajamas along with a shaving kit and other basic essentials. I left them in your room. Hope you don’t mind jeans.” He stood, glaring warningly at Remus. “No more wrestling.”
“Yes, mum,” Remus said with a teasing grin, ducking away before Harry could smack him off the head.
Shaking his head in mild amusement, Harry headed for the kitchen. “Remi, there’s pizza. Feel free to take half with you back to the school.” He turned, peeking his head back in. “Don’t be afraid to wake me up if you need anything, Sirius.”
Sirius grinned as Harry disappeared, Remus snorting. “You are such a dog.”
“Coming from the werewolf.”
“Just shows I’m an expert.”
Sirius glanced at the door, scooting over the floor until he was side by side with Remus and whispering. “He prefers older men.”
“Yes, men, not dogs,” Remus whispered right back. “And that boy can tell the difference.”
Sirius pouted. His eyes fell to beneath the tv console and he smiled wickedly. “Watch porn with me.”
“Like fuck,” Remus laughed.
Sirius leaned in closer. “You used to watch that shit James brought over.”
“And it was horrible and I swore it off since,” Remus said, foot twitching as he also peered under the tv console.
“Yeah… well this stuff is not horrible. It’s weird, but it’s definitely not horrible.”
“It’s gay,” Remus reminded, fixing Sirius with a stern look.
Sirius mirrored it. “You’re Bi, you jackass. Unless you finally picked a fucking side.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that being Bi is a real fucking thing and not just sitting on the fence?”
“Until I fucking believe you can suck cock and then go home to pussy—”
“You two better not be fighting!” Harry yelled from the kitchen. Sirius and Remus fell silent, staring at the doorway.
“That kid would eat you alive, Pads,” Remus said honestly, glancing back at his friend.
Sirius just grinned, leaning in to whisper again. “Given the shit in these films, I’m pretty sure he would rather be the one getting eaten.”
Remus was saved from answering, Harry suddenly appearing in the doorway. “Night guys. Remi, are you staying the weekend? I can get a room fixed up.”
Glancing at Sirius, Remus nodded. “I can share Siri’s room. We’ll try to keep it down.”
Harry shrugged. “Whatever. I sleep like the dead—Except for my night terrors. Sorry again about that, Sirius.”
“No worries.” Sirius glanced his way, then back to the floor.
“That’ll be interesting,” Remus said suddenly. “Siri used to wake us all up screaming in the middle of the night. Between the two of you, no one will be sleeping in this house.”
Eyes wide, Sirius knocked his shoulder into Remus. “Ass,” he mumbled under his breath. Harry didn’t notice, seemingly more worried about keeping Sirius awake at night.
“I’ll set up silencing charms,” Harry assured. “I’d hate to keep Mr—Sirius up with my screams. Night guys.” He disappeared towards the stairs, Sirius and Remus staring at each other until breaking down into giggles.
“You bring out the worst in me, Black,” Remus chuckled, shaking his head.
Sirius nodded, swiping a hand under the tv console and snagging the first fleshy colored cover he could find. “Thank god. You were always too much of a goody goody on your own.”
“Hey, I never agreed to watch that,” Remus said, staring at the box with a mix of wariness and curiosity.
“Oh, you’re watching it. I need someone else to comprehend the mental scarring. But first, pizza. For some reason it is required for most porn.” Sirius stood, heading for the kitchen.
“You know that’s just a cliché set up, right? Delivery men don’t just stop in to have sex.”
Sirius tilted his head, remembering Jamal. “Figured it out eventually. Was very disappointed earlier today… although, the pizza was amazing.”
Remus shook his head, laughing under his breath.
SCENE #Carrots don’t grow that big
“Nope, this is when he…”
“Holy crap… why? Why?” Remus whimpered, slouching down, back flat against the bottom of the couch. Sirius just snickered beside him, nudging his shoulder.
“The funny thing? They’re all muggles. No magic involved. That he can stretch… that… wide…”
Remus covered his eyes with both hands, peeking through his fingers. “For fuck sake—How did they manage to make this worse than James’s artsy crap?”
“Oh, this is totally better.” Sirius had another bite of pizza, noticing that Remus had given up on his own about five minutes into the dvd. “Oh look, this is when he—”
Remus groaned, hands back over his eyes. “Why did it have to be the kitchen? I’m never looking at food the same way again.”
“I’m never looking at the weird kid the same way again.” Sirius smirked. “I wonder if he’s ever put a cucumber…?”
“I’m not listening to this,” Remus said abruptly, hands over his ears, eyes squinting with one peeked open to watch the screen. “My god…”
“I know,” Sirius said gleefully. “You ever do that to a bloke?”
“I’m not sure that’s even legal,” Remus muttered, second eye peeking open. “But he really, really seems to like it.”
Sirius nodded. “Can you believe they want you to believe he’s a virgin?”
“No fucking way he’s a virgin,” Remus said, grabbing the dvd box and reading the back.
“I know. Bloody liars. Not that I care; it just seems really beyond believable.”
“Why do they keep… oh… oh hell.” Remus bit his hand, smirking around his flesh. “I want to do that with a bloke… Very, very much that.”
“And that?” Sirius asked, eyebrows raising.
“My god, yes. Rope and everything… No gag. He could totally be sucking something else.”
“Moony, you deviant,” Sirius teased. “What would Abigail Jordan think of you now?”
“Abigail married that dimwit, Kent, and has a brood of halfwits out in France,” Remus said distractedly, eyes tight on the screen. “Why do they keep gagging him? It really does seem like a waste of a perfectly nice mouth.”
“I think he likes it… goes with the theme of being tied up… and ruined in a kitchen.” Head tilting, Sirius pointed to the side of the screen. “Foreshadowing.”
“Carrots don’t grow that big.”
“I bet they grew them just for this movie.”
Remus nodded, having to agree. “Where do you find a bloke that lets you just… tie him up?”
“Dunno… But it looks like a lot of fun.”
Remus pulled his phone from his back pocket, keying in the web address on the back of the dvd box. “Huh… holy crap, the kid might have actually have been a virgin when filming this.”
“Fucking bullshit. What are you looking at?” Sirius leaned over, glaring disbelieving at Remus’s phone screen.
“Internet—Shit, you need to learn how to use a computer,” Remus said suddenly, smiling. “And I don’t just mean for porn. You can order pretty much anything and have it delivered to the front door. Can talk to people all over the world without leaving the house. If you want to find a bloke to tie up, you could easily do that… Although, you might end up with an ax murderer, so there are risks.”
Sirius tilted his head, humming under his breath as he leaned back. “I already know who I want to tie up. The weird kid.”
“Stop calling him that,” Remus grumbled. “Harry’s a good kid and you shouldn’t be thinking about him like… like that,” he said, pointing to the screen.
“Hey, it’s his porn. I think he wants to be thought of like that.”
“How do you know he doesn’t want to be the one tying someone up, huh?”
“Because he prefers older men,” Sirius said, grinning wickedly. “Confident, strong, take charge men. A man that would tie him up and do very terrible, nasty things to him—”
“He didn’t say any of that last part, you dog. That’s James’s son, you’re talking about.”
Sirius shrugged. “James was a perv too. Must run in the family.”
“James was not…” Remus trailed off, eyes losing focus. “He did let Lily gag him a lot, didn’t he?”
“Supposedly ‘cus he was just that loud while in bed. Remember that time we found them in the shack?”
Remus nodded mutely, eyes widening. “Maybe it is genetic.”
Sirius grinned widely, having another bite of pizza. “You ever play a video game, Remi?”
SCENE #Padfoot needs a bath
It was four a.m. when Harry came stumbling down the stairs in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, stopping in the kitchen to brew some tea. He peeked in the living room, finding Remus sprawled asleep on the couch, Sirius beneath him on the floor quietly cursing at a war game he kept getting killed in. “Tea?” Harry asked, Sirius glancing his way and then nodding.
Harry brought two mugs in, making Sirius his tea of last time and setting it on the floor in front of the man. He padded around, sitting on the other side of the man when there was a pause in the game, stretching his legs out. Above him, Remus was snoring softly. Harry reached over, throwing the blanket on top of the blond that was crumpled on the floor.
“Want to play the racing one?” Sirius asked softly. “It’s better two player.”
“Sure.” Harry glanced at the pizza box, trying to figure out if he was hungry. He had a sip of his tea instead, waiting for the man to switch the games out.
“Another nightmare?” Sirius handed a controller over, Harry placing his mug aside.
“Of course. I don’t even know how I manage to sleep half the time.” Harry kept his voice low, not wanting to wake Remus.
“Moony told me you had some heavy shit happen to you as a kid… Stuff that gives you nightmares.”
Harry shrugged. “I guess.”
“I know I used to feel better when I spoke my nightmares aloud,” Sirius said offhandedly. “Usually wouldn’t have another one for a while after.”
“Er… I guess I’d be afraid to give you a nightmare, if you heard the stuff I dream about.” Harry glanced the man’s way, smiling tightly.
“Honestly, kid? I doubt you can top living a nightmare for the last twenty years.”
Harry sighed, leaning back on the couch, Remus’s arm hanging down next to his shoulder. “Alright, I’ll take that challenge… So, picture a really big snake, like a boa constrictor. But imagine it’s also a person, this really old skull like face with thin, straggly hair, shoulders flaring out but arms melding into its sides. And it’s dry, like huge, thick layers of peeling snake skin, but it’s on his face and body. And his eyes even have a layer of it, this milky dry skin covering dark, blood red eyes.” He paused, sipping his tea and staring at the cup blankly.
“Now imagine that this huge, disgusting thing can talk to you in parseltongue—because I just happen to be one of the few people that can understand snakes. And it says it recognizes you… that you were the terrible boy that nearly killed him the first time… And that it wants to climb down your throat, crawl inside you, and eat away your insides. Destroy the world while tucked up nice and warm where your organs fit.” Harry grit his teeth, sighing softly. “And then, in my dream, it does. I don’t beat him, I just become cannibalized, walking around like some grotesque puppet while I kill everyone I love.” Harry placed his controller down, not even attempting to play the game. He took a huge swig of his tea, burning his mouth and glad for it.
“That’s fucking sick,” Sirius said after a long moment, also placing his controller down. “Is that… is that what happened to you?”
Harry snorted. “Not the last part… Although, sometimes I wake up really not sure. Because it’s the same fucking dream and it feels so real. I sometimes end up calling Draco because he was with me when it happened, just to make sure he’s still alive and I didn’t really kill him and become some sort of meat puppet for Voldemort. It tends to piss him off though, so I haven’t been doing that much anymore… I need more tea.”
Harry stood, stepping over the controller cords and walking to the kitchen. Sirius got up slowly and followed, leaning in the doorway and drinking his tea while Harry put the kettle of water back on. “C’mere, kid,” Sirius said, crooking his finger.
Harry took a hesitant step forward, remembering the last time Sirius had made that gesture. “You’re not going to wipe my face, are you?” He asked, looking at the man warily.
Sirius shook his head no. “Open your mouth. Really wide.”
Looking dubious, Harry did, forcing himself to stay still when the man suddenly leaned in close to peer into his mouth. “You’re good. No monsters in here,” Sirius said with mock gravity. “Maybe a fingernail or two, but hardly a whole creepy snake person.”
Harry clicked his mouth shut, rolling his eyes and smiling. “Thanks—Damn it!” He sighed, Sirius suddenly grabbing him one handed by the face, large palm covering Harry’s mouth.
“Told you. Nothing there to wipe,” Sirius said, smiling at the exasperated growl he got in return.
Harry carefully pried the man’s fingers off his face, resisting the urge to lick his hand. “You really don’t want to do that,” he warned.
“Why? Do you breathe fire as well as defeat monstrous wizards?” Sirius teased, voice gruff as he stared at Harry’s mouth.
“Nope, just bite.” Harry turned back to the cabinets to hide his blush. He blinked a few times, trying to get the man’s eyes to fade from his mind but it was useless. “So… you seem to be better,” he said, trying to fill the growing silence.
“Moony and his magic chocolate,” Sirius said, sipping his drink.
Harry suddenly smiled, reaching for the top shelf of the corner cabinet and pulling down a tin. “Hot chocolate! Totally should have started with that. Then again, you probably wouldn’t have drunk it because you thought I was poisoning you,” he added, glaring over his shoulder at the man.
Sirius smiled sheepishly, combing his hair with his fingers. “Yeah, well… I was crazy.” He looked at his tangle of dark hair, frowning at it. “My god, I need a brush.”
“I put one upstairs for you,” Harry said. “With your, um, flea shampoo in the bathroom.”
Sirius nodded absentmindedly, still looking at his hair. “I might need your help with that. I really can’t give Padfoot a bath by myself.”
Harry looked at the man dubiously. “You want me to give your animagus form a bath?”
“If you don’t mind… or I could have Remi do it. No biggie. Padfoot’s about as nice a mutt as you can find. I’m just really itchy and it’s not going to stop until I get the dog taken care of,” he added with a small twitch and lazy grin.
Turning, Harry switched the stove off. “Well, I can do it now, if you want. I’ll just have to get a ton of towels from the linen closet.” He led the way up the stairs, Sirius following with a calculating glint in his eye. “Think this will be enough?” Harry asked, holding up a pile of towels.
“Couple more. I’m afraid Pads has been twenty years due for a bath,” Sirius said, helping Harry carry the towels.
Harry, who had never given a dog a bath before, began filling Sirius’s bathroom tub with warm water while reading the back of the flea shampoo label. “Can the dog get in the tub safely?” He asked Sirius, the man spreading the towels on the floor around the tub.
“Normally, but I feel like Pads is a bit stiff after all we’ve been through. I’ll change in the tub and that should do it.”
“He’s not going to bite me, right?” Harry asked, a little concerned. “I never had a dog, and never knew anyone who had one…”
“Pads is a saint… Although, he might lick you,” Sirius added, shrugging as he took his socks off. Blushing, Harry turned, Sirius unbuttoning his pants so as not to get his clothes wet. Harry couldn’t help but peak at the man’s legs, taking in the long, strong calves, sneaking a little higher to see his thighs and then glancing away as the man turned and tossed his shirt to the floor. Crap. Harry ducked his head further, counting in his head as he waited for Sirius to stop brushing out the knots in his long hair. It was no use and he glanced over again, the man clad in black boxers and nothing else while he fought with a knot the size of his fist.
“For fuck—I need a haircut,” Sirius muttered, the elastic band holding his hair in place having caught and just making things worse.
“Here, let me.” Harry stood, reaching up, nimble fingers easily finding the band and snapping it so he could slip it free. He tried to ignore just how tall Sirius was, or the way his shoulders were so broad, the muscles on the man’s back flexing lightly as he stood still. “Brush,” Harry demanded, smoothing the hair around the knot first and then working on the tangle, eventually getting everything in order without the need of cutting anything loose. He liked that Sirius was rough around the edges. He wasn’t perfectly prim, instead smelling of sweat, hair washed only in water and not frilly soaps. He was very much a rough sort of man… The kind he really liked to kiss.
Harry pulled away silently, placing the brush on the sink, having caught Sirius glancing back at him in the mirror. He was being stupid again, getting caught up in his head instead of the reality of the situation. Maybe Draco was right and he played too many video games and was stuck in a fantasy world. “Right, so the flea shampoo needs to sit for fifteen minutes once on. Do you think Padfoot will be able to…?”
“Believe me, kid, this is not the first flea bath the mutt has gotten,” Sirius said with a smirk. He slipped into the tub, staring at the water around his legs. “Just try not to let him jump on you too much. He gets excited.” Glancing at Harry a final time, eyes sparkling mischief, Sirius suddenly shifted, condensing smoothly into a large, black dog.
Harry blinked, staring at the dog that had quickly become soaked, its long whipping tail suddenly sending water flicking as it wagged in greeting. “Wow—Wow, you are really a genuine dog. Holy crap.” He knelt down, petting the dog’s head and scratching behind its ears. Padfoot had bright blue eyes just like Sirius and a tongue probably longer as it began to wash Harry’s face with eager licks. “Ew, and that would be dog breath too; very genuine, that.”
Glancing down into the water, Harry gave a surprised yelp. “My god, it’s already grey. You poor, poor pup, you’re a mess. Alright, I’m gonna clean you up and get all this dirt off of you. And fleas, apparently…” He began splashing water up on the dog, Padfoot immediately thinking it was a game and jumping with. Harry yelped back, absolutely soaked by one large bound of dog. “Arg! No, no, no—Don’t come over to jump on me!”
Harry should have let Remus do this. Sighing, he stripped his soaking wet t-shirt off, glaring at the dog when it made to jump as he got close. “Stay. Down. No more jumping.” His hand licked in apology, Harry sighed again, petting the sopping wet thing. “Okay boy, I’m just going to put some of this really terrible smelling soap on you… Yup, flea shampoo smells terrible, nice to see you agree. Don’t whine at me; I had no say in the matter. It was all they had.”
Harry began sudsing the whimpering dog, Padfoot suddenly using his proximity as an excuse to lick every spot on the boy he could reach while Harry was too busy to defend himself. “Paddy… stop that… Ugh, that’s not as pleasant as you seem to think it is… Close your eyes. Can you close your eyes so I don’t get soap in them?” Harry asked the dog, the beast just licking his tongue out to get his nose. Chuckling, Harry watched as the blue eyes suddenly disappeared, Padfoot actually obeying. He lathered the dog’s face carefully, wondering just how much of Sirius was in there watching what was happening. Enough to make a dog close its eyes…
The creature’s fur was an absolute mess, Harry ending up having to use the entire bottle of shampoo just to wash all the dirt out. He drained and filled the tub two more times until he was satisfied Padfoot was free of prison dirt and fleas. He then gave the dog a final rinse, looking around for a dry towel. He glanced down, realizing all the ones on the floor were soaked with tub water, as were his thin pajama pants.
“Geez, I think we got more water out of the tub than in it.” Harry did not have enough time to dodge the tongue licking agreement to his statement. He glared at the dog, then got up, pants clinging in annoying ways as he grabbed one of the multipack of toothbrushes he had bought for Sirius. “I’m brushing your teeth, Padfoot. No dog should have breath like that. Nope, don’t bother whining, you’re going to sit and be behaved… And not eat the toothpaste, either,” he added when Padfoot went to do just that.
Harry was pretty sure he hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. The dog seemed to agree, nails clicking on the tub floor each time he tried to leap into Harry’s arms. Harry dried the dripping thing off with his wand, using the brush he had gotten for Sirius to smooth Padfoot’s soft, black fur into a nice order, no more tangles to make him look grimy and unloved. “There you go, boy. Now you’re perfect.” He pet the dog on the head, Padfoot panting at him happily.
“Oh, but I don’t know how to get you out of the tub,” he added, biting his lip as he looked at the high side of the wall and Padfoot’s legs. “Umm… How about I lift you? Or help you jump?” He reached forward, wrapping his arms around the licking dog, only to gasp, the furry things shifting suddenly, soft fluff replaced with firm skin and lots of it.
“Sorry, sorry,” Harry mumbled, backing away and nearly falling. Sirius quickly grabbed him before he slipped on the wet floor.
“Careful, Potter. You nearly knocked your teeth out…” Sirius trailed off, looking around the bathroom, the towels soaked on the floor, Harry now shirtless and pants clinging to his legs with water. “That bad, huh?”
“It was fun,” Harry admitted, blushing as the man looked at him disbelieving. “I like your dog… um… form? Are you the dog? Or is it your ‘inner dog’ or something? I’ve never met an animagus before.”
Eyes caught on Harry’s bare chest, Sirius took a moment to answer. “Think of Padfoot as a very sweet tempered, brain damaged part of me that I’m aware of but can’t always control. And I’m sorry he scratched you. A lot.”
Harry looked down, noticing all the pink lines on his skin for the first time. “Eh, I barely felt it. Just looks bad… although we might have to clip his nails.” Realizing Sirius was still holding his shoulder and the man was nearly nude, Harry blushed brighter, pulling away. “I’ll just clean this mess up and you can, er, shave or something… Oh, don’t use that toothbrush. That one is the dog’s.”
Sirius, having been staring at the way Harry’s pants were clinging to the boy’s ass while hanging low from the water pulling them down, suddenly blinked. “You brushed his teeth?”
“Yup. If he was going to insist on licking me, he needed to do it with nice breath. It seemed like a fair compromise.” Harry began spelling towels to the laundry room, Sirius licking his teeth and carefully stepping out of the tub to immediately brush his teeth. Harry lingered, tidying thing restlessly, unwilling to leave the man just yet when he could steal peeks at him in only boxers. Sirius in boxers was about the most interesting thing he had seen in his house in, well, ever.
***
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