Disclaimer: All Characters recognizable do not belong to me. No money is being made off this fic.

Author's Note: This is a very dark story I was inspired to write after something I read on another sight. Couldn't get it out of my head. I have 8 long chapters finished, but I cannot post all of them on due to content. I have many other accounts and will make those chapters available there.

"Is that him?"

Evan scowled. "Who else would it be?"

"But he is…"

"Mine."

AB

"So…you're Harry Potter?"

Harry didn't see his father anywhere; he knew he should wait before speaking to anyone, but the blonde boy intrigued him. "I am. My father prefers I go by Harry Rosier, but even he calls me Potter sometimes."

The blonde stared at him a moment, a mixture of awe and fascination, fear and apprehension all in one. Then he spoke. "You—you could sit up here on the sofa, it must be cold on the floor."

That he would not do. Terror shined in his malachite eyes when he shook his head, his black hair swinging wildly.

"Right. I suppose I could come down there with you."

"Don't. My father won't like you too close to me."

"He wouldn't? Why not?" The boy looked offended.

"Because I'm his."

The boy nodded his understanding.

"What's your name?" Harry asked.

"Draco—Draco, Malfoy."

"Pleased to meet you Draco—Draco Malfoy," Harry giggled at his own joke.

"What's going on in here?" His father's voice was cool and dangerous as it floated into the room. Harry looked up to meet his father's black-violet depths. "I was talking to, Draco," he admitted. It would be worse if he lied.

"I see." His hands slipped into his pockets and his body relaxed, eyes focused on his son.

Draco sat on edge, terrified, feeling the building electricity in the room even if everything looked calm—nothing extraordinary. He immediately liked Harry Potter, or Harry Rosier—he didn't care which he was called quite frankly—and didn't want anything bad to happen to him; but he knew it was a likely realization that it could and perhaps it might happen before his very eyes. Draco's own Father was strict with him and at times cruel—it was the way of wealthy, Pureblood families, but Evan Rosier was rumored to be some other kind of force; unpredictable, pernicious—crazy.

Evan reached out to take the chin of his son between his thumb and pointer finger. He looked down at him with eyes filled with love, like Harry was the most precious thing to him in the world. For a moment, Draco thought that maybe his reputation had preceded him. Harry didn't seem to mind the physical intrusion, actually, Draco would say the boy relished in the man's touch—craved it. Not in a sexual way. There was no sexual chemistry between the two and for that Draco was relieved on many levels. No, Harry was not seeking sexual comfort from his touch; he sought his father's love.

The sudden sharp movement surprised everyone in the room (except perhaps Harry—who knew it could go either way), including Lucius Malfoy who had entered the room just behind Evan and watched the scene with utter enchantment, licking his lips at the smell of the violence he detected.

With savage velocity, Evan's hand made contact with his son's cheek. Harry whimpered and both Lucius and Draco could see the water in his eyes as his lips trembled.

"You know what that was for."

"Y—yes. I—I'm sorry, Father."

Draco looked over at his own father, whose eyes were gleaming with a jealousy that seemed to make his mouth water, like he could taste something in the air he wanted.

Harry eyes remained on his father looking for all the world like he wanted nothing more than to return to his father's good graces. Not only because of the promise of more brutality (which Draco had no doubt his father would provide him with) but Harry looked to be distraught with being out of favor with his father. His beloved father. How strange…

It got stranger still.

Evan cupped his son's face, now sporting a glowing red hand print that looked like it would bruise, and looked at him with worship in his eyes. "You are forgiven a chroì. Up." Evan gathered his son into his arms with more care than his own Father had ever given him –not that his father didn't give him care—and it was Draco's turn to be jealous.

The entire scene was a treat in so many ways, even with the violence. What would happen next?

Evan stroked Harry's hair and looked to Lucius. "We will retire early, Lucius. Have a light meal sent up to our rooms. Send a message to our Lord that we have arrived safe."

Lucius thought it odd that Evan wouldn't send the message himself. He was under the impression that he and the Dark Lord were… close. No matter, he wasn't about to question Evan's motives. "Certainly. It shall be as you have requested."

ER

Evan is a man best described by what he is not. For instance, he possesses infinite patience, but it is his lack of tolerance that defines him. He can tender many things, waiting till he hits upon something he finds reprehensible. This makes him like a tight cord, wound and ready to be released on whatever poor, unsuspecting victim that should happen to cross his path in that moment and displease his own sense of morals. To say he is cruel (and he is) would leave the imagination to fill in a sneer on his face and kink in his brown and perhaps darken his hair in the minds of the reader until it is the blackest of blacks. But this is not so. Evan Rosier does not have a sneer on his lips, or a kink in his brow; his face is bright and beautiful with cool, calm features that might be mistaken for indifference, but Evan Rosier was never indifferent. The man had an opinion on everything even if he only cared about one thing (or maybe, possibly two), but even in the not-caring that could tell us how much he cared about not caring and thus did care—if that should make any sense.

In summation, he was defined by what he was not: The man lacked tolerance, he lacked cruel features on his face, he lacked the ability to be indifferent and the man did not care about anyone, or anything for that matter, so it should come as formidable significance that he did care for, with utter certainty and voracious tenacity the boy before him.

This fact drove him mad. Couldn't stand it. Wouldn't want it any other way.

He didn't want to love anyone and he did not except for Harry. But when you had something you treasured above all, there is only one thing you can do with that item: Covet it. Evan Rosier very much considered Harry his possession and Harry understood this to be true. The thought of anyone, or anything taking Harry from him made him crazy beyond reason. It grew to proportions that were beyond control of anyone, especially himself. He surrounded Harry with rules that would preserve him forever and ensure that no one could take Harry from him—not even Harry. He worried about that one thing (someone taking Harry) every minute of everyday. If one were to tell him such nonsense as 'if you really love someone, you let them go', he would scoff at you before he killed you. He really would, not because he was afraid that it was true, for he firmly believed if you love someone, you never let go; but because he would think you were saying that as a ploy to take his treasure from him.

Of course Harry didn't know any of this—not in the way we now know it. And I don't quite know that I want to explain it all in one bite, so I will just say this: Harry knew Evan as his savior, and now as his father, and that was enough to forever devote him to the man for better or for worse.

Evan guided Harry to the bed. He was far to big to be picked up now and Evan wished there had been a way to preserve Harry as his little boy forever, but it was not the case and Harry had reached his majority this past summer: That didn't matter to Evan, the rules must still apply.

He began removing Harry's socks and shoes. "Do you like Draco a chroì?" A chroì for 'my heart' because Harry was his heart. He didn't have one inside of him; it lived and breathed on the outside of him; as Harry.

Harry was afraid to answer. He did not want to hurt his father, but he knew he was always supposed to be honest with his father and like all truths this one would hurt him. "I like him father. May we be friends?" Harry did not have any friends; Evan had never allowed it.

It always tore Evan up when Harry asked for something he could not give. He wanted to give his child everything and it was hard when the outside world interfered with the carefully constructed bubble he'd created around their lives.

Evan's eyes narrowed in a way that made his child cringe. The handprint on his cheek looked nasty, Evan didn't even want to look at it anymore, hadn't Harry learned anything? He didn't answer right away and continued until Harry's socks and shoes were removed, he stood the seventeen year old up like one would a child, removed the rest of his clothing and dressed him in a set of cotton pajamas.

He lead him to the en suite bathroom, pulled the pajama bottoms down and sat Harry on the toilet as he busied himself getting Harry's toothbrush ready. The boy came to him when he was finished and Evan brushed his teeth all the while Harry staring at him with scared eyes. Evan hated that look. Well no, he didn't. He loved that look, and only hated seeing it in Harry's eyes. "Father isn't angry at you child. Climb into bed and we'll talk about it."

The fast smile came easy to Harry's lips and he clambered to their bed.

I think it imperative to mention; their sharing of a bed lacked every bit of sexuality, as did their relationship. It had everything to do with Evan's inability to allow Harry out of his sight, even for the night. It made it difficult to spend the night with lovers, but Evan didn't care. If one could not accept Harry in their bed cuddling between them after the night of fucking was over, then Evan could not accept that lover. And Evan did not love, so it made little difference to him. The man could leave; Harry would always stay.

There were also Harry's frequent nightmares to think about and Evan would not allow his son to suffer them alone for anyone. He wanted to make certain he was immediately accessible for his son should he wake up screaming as he so often did.

The light meal was there when they came back: Mugs of bone broth and fresh bread with butter. He handed Harry a mug and changed into his pajamas as he spoke to Harry with Harry captivated by whatever his father would say to him.

"New people are interesting, I know, and you are a curious boy, but we must be careful of new people my child. I think it best we reserve friendship for those we know we can trust. For now though, I think it would be alright you speak with him, you now have my permission," he told Harry pointedly, revisiting his earlier indiscretion.

Harry smiled as he nodded agreement and Evan was satisfied that only he could bring that kind of smile to the child's face. When Evan was changed into his pajamas, he crawled into bed beside Harry. They finished their light meal and Evan put out the lights with a wave of his hand.

Harry snuggled into him. "Father will you sing me to sleep?"

"Of course a chroì." And he did, stroking Harry's hair and letting the satisfaction of the moment wash over him. Harry would always be his first and no one could take that from him.