Harry woke at the sound of shouts coming from the street. The beginnings of a wine-induced headache pounded in front of his eyes, and the dry feeling at the back of his throat reminded him of the compelling need to find water. Reluctant to move from the warmth of the sofa...? bed...? floor...? where he lay, Harry pulled a pillow down over his face in the hopes of blocking out the noise. His movement drew a quiet moan of protest from the warm body lying next to him. Harry froze, finally recalled to consciousness. The warm body of who, exactly? One eye slowly cracked open, stealing a glance at the sleeping figure of a young man next to him on the bed. Memories of the previous night came back to Harry, reminding him of the pretty boy who had begged Harry to play his violin for him – the same boy who now lay curled at his side.
Harry remembered being only too happy to oblige the young man, and drunk though he was, he had still been a damned sight better than the other musicians plying their trade in the filthy public houses by the river. He had gathered quite a crowd, and winced as he remembered them throwing coins on his table to stand him a few drinks. He had not earned as much as he'd lost to the thieves on the wharf, but he had obviously had his share of drinks, and paid the rent for the cheap room he now found himself in. The boy at his side stirred as the noise outside grew louder. And with a sudden note of panic, Harry remembered that he had paid the rent of the sleeping figure as well. With that thought prominent in his mind, Harry frantically looked back on the previous night for any incriminating memory. With some relief, he remembered pulling the youth into the room with him, kissing him sloppily, and falling into the bed. The removal of his boots, which he was doubly relieved to see resting with his violin case on a rough wooden table, suggested that it was the boy who had removed them. Harry found it oddly touching that he had placed them carefully on the table with the violin – to the boy, the expensive leather boots were clearly of equal value to the instrument; Harry was once again grateful that his attackers had been similarly blind to the worth of the violin. So he had passed out, fully-clothed, and the boy had opted to steal a few hours sleep rather than rob what was left of Harry's money, and clothing, and abandon him. Sheer dumb luck had once more protected Harry from a worse fate – he must have chosen one of the few honest whores in the city as his partner in this particular escapade.
The shouts from the street appeared to have moved inside the building, and Harry groaned in pain as the noise pulsated through his throbbing head. The young man next to him pulled closer to him, and Harry felt the return of his interest stirring faintly below. Harry was torn between claiming what had already been paid for, and the need to escape the seedy, dank interior of the inn. The sound of several booted feet climbing the stairs in the hall had almost made his decision for him – he needed to find somewhere quieter to sleep off the worst of his hang-over – when the door was forcefully kicked open. Harry sat up in alarm, wincing at the pain the sudden movement caused, and resisted the urge to vomit. In the doorway stood the principle cause of the noise and agitation he had heard outside. The uniformed figures of two of the Duke's men stepped into the dimply lit room, followed by the Duke himself. Lucius's handsome face darkened as he took in the sight of Harry and the boy in the bed. Harry felt the first flush of shame overtaking his confusion, and struggled to find something suitable to say. The Duke looked about the room, his eyes dwelling on the naked figure of the young man. His lips curled into a sneer that made Harry's stomach turn in fear and shame, as he drew a sizable quantity of money from inside his coat, and threw it contemptuously onto the table. The boy next to Harry sprang to his feet, took the money, and fled the room in terror, pulling his clothes on as he went. The combination of the shame of being found out, and horror at the contempt in which Lucius clearly held him was too much for Harry, who leaned over the side of the bed retching.
"Get dressed. We're leaving the city within the hour." The Duke turned on his heels and left the room, not sparing Harry another glance.
XXXXXX
The journey from the city was among the more excruciating experiences of Harry's life. Harry cursed the current restrictions placed on Apparition due to the plague. Sweating profusely in his heavy clothing, he was painfully aware of the stench of stale alcohol seeping from his body, and prayed only that the Duke was less conscious of it. The jolting motion of the carriage as it passed over the rough country lanes outside of the city sickened him once more, and it was all he could do to prevent another vomiting incident. Keeping his eyes closed in concentration, Harry could still feel Lucius's eyes boring into him. The Duke's foul mood had not improved as they traveled away from the city, and to Harry, his anger was palpable. Stealing a surreptitious glance at him, Harry could see his fists clenching and unclenching as he attempted to contain his displeasure.
"So you are awake, then? If you are...unwell, you will order the carriage to stop." The distaste in Lucius's voice caused Harry to bristle slightly. He knew he had embarrassed himself with the tawdry incident at the inn, but given what little he knew of the Duke himself, he felt that the judgement was harsh. Regulus, and others among the staff, had more than once given hints of the state of drunkenness the Duke had favoured before Harry had met him. Harry had not expected sympathy, or understanding for his current condition, but the disgust on Lucius's handsome face was unnecessarily unforgiving. The look on the Duke's face echoed the expression on Harry's father's face as he banished Harry from his house, and Harry was unhappily reminded of the much deeper wound that had caused. Still, even if Lucius's abhorrence could not match the pain caused by his father's rejection of him, it cut him deeply enough. With a pang of serious regret, Harry considered the several reasons that the Duke might have for developing this new aversion to him. Counting in his head the long list of faults he had perpetrated the previous night, he realised that if nothing else, Lucius was still treating him better than his father had done. He might have abandoned him at the inn, and left him to fend for himself, but he had not. At the very least, Lucius appeared not to have given up entirely on their arrangement.
"I will be fine, thank you." Harry replied curtly, not inviting any conversation. Lucius's lips curled into a sneer, as he finally spoke the words that had been weighing on his mind.
"If there are rumours – if your...liaison...with the whore are discovered, I'm not sure that I will be able to help you." Harry finally met his eyes, wondering. Could not help him, or would not help him? The close relationship of the Duke to the king could surely be exploited to protect him, if it came to that. Harry decided that Lucius would chose not to help him. The degree to which that realisation hurt him was absurd, as he had already known how little he ranked in the man's estimation. There had been a few moments, in the previous weeks, where Harry had almost felt that Lucius was pleased with him, but now he saw that he had damaged their relationship irreparably. Despite how little he claimed to care for Lucius's good opinion, it stung him to think that he would now never have it. He had been careless – Lucius's good relationship with Rodolphus had lulled him into thinking that his own deviance would be ignored. But perhaps the deviance of a relative, and a pureblood, was a different matter – the sexual perversions of an untitled, penniless ward were clearly unacceptable and contemptible. And really, he thought bitterly to himself, if catching him kissing another boy had turned his father against him, finding him in bed with a Muggle rent-boy was sure to have thoroughly sickened Lucius. Harry cursed inwardly, regretting now that he hadn't had sex with the boy while he had the chance; if he was to hang for the intention, he wished he had actually committed the crime.
"There was no liaison. I was unconscious well before it got to that stage." Harry said carelessly, pretending he did not notice Lucius's disgust.
"I'm sure the details don't concern me." Lucius barked back at him, as both men fell silent, awkwardly remaining so for the duration of the journey.
XXXXX
Lucius strode through his house, barely taking in the concerned faces of those around him. With a careless gesture in Harry's direction, he called out for a nearby footman to escort the young man to his rooms. Regulus appeared at the top of the broad sweeping staircase in the main hall, drawn by the sudden commotion downstairs. A look of surprise, and then dread passed over him as he saw the dark expression on Lucius's face, and the sickly, lost look on Harry's face.
"Your Grace! We did not expect you until the end of the week." Regulus looked to the Duke in askance. Lucius did not deign to answer him, but pulled him after him toward his own rooms, not sparing Harry another glance. Slamming the heavy door closed after them, Lucius throw himself into a chair, a grimace of pain passing over his fine features, causing him to gingerly massage his injured leg. With no one to see the pain but Regulus, Lucius was much freer to admit to the ache that never left his wound – a wound that was aggravated by the energetic expressions of temper he was prone to. The thunderous display of temper downstairs, and the rush to his rooms had no doubt magnified the dull pain that lingered in the wound, even years later. Regulus looked at him in exasperation, waiting for his cousin to speak. He felt a moment's guilt at having abandoned a shaken looking Harry without a word, but the Duke as ever had claimed his full attention.
"You said he would behave with some decency – you said I wouldn't be ashamed to make him my heir." Lucius looked at Regulus accusingly, his eyes promising punishment if he was crossed. Regulus swallowed, his throat suddenly too dry. He unconsciously took a step back from his cousin. He did not fear the man, as such, but he knew better than to provoke him. Lucius was not above punishing even his cousin, if given reason enough. He waited for Lucius to explain himself, unsure of how to answer his accusation. He searched his brain for some clue as to how Harry might have disappointed Lucius to such a degree.
Seeing he would get no response from Regulus, Lucius elaborated.
"He has humiliated me. He was drunk and playing his violin for pennies in a Muggle inn." Regulus looked surprised, but waited. Such things were completely inappropriate for the heir of a duke, but certainly fell into the realm of eccentric, rather than unforgivable. He felt sorry for the young man, and regretted now his decision to leave him unattended in the capital. He had seen the growing need for freedom, and fun even, in the boy's face before he had left, and had simply promised himself to attend to the boy's needs when the season had come to an end. He had not anticipated Harry's rebellious streak, and blamed himself somewhat for Lucius's anger. Still, he thought, there had to have been more to have upset him so much...
"We found him in bed with a whore. The man who is one day to own my home, and wear my title, in bed with some boy he picked up in the streets." Lucius spat the last, disgust clear in his voice. Alarm bells rang out loudly in Regulus's head, as he saw the pain that was masked by the fury in Lucius's eyes. He nervously licked his lips, unsure whether to defend Harry or not.
"I was close to accepting your estimation of him – I was so sure that you were right about him. But to find him debasing himself in such a way! No amount of training or education can make up for his blood – you can't make a noble out of a half-blood after all." Regulus winced, trying not to react to the insult. In a calmer state of mind, Lucius would have chosen his words better, to avoid the slight on his cousin's lineage. As it was, Regulus chose not to react to his own hurt pride, and instead attempted to reason with the Duke.
"He is young. He was bound to make some mistake – he has only been under our influence for a few short months! He has conducted himself so well in public – you cannot consider disowning him over one offence..." Regulus spoke in measured tones, pleading with his eyes rather than his voice. He knew from experience that the Duke was not susceptible to wheedling. He resisted the urge to remind Lucius of some of his own indiscretions, in the days before his marriage to the Duchess, deciding that Lucius would no doubt consider any reminder impertinent.
"Young or not, I will not have my heir cavorting with men, in full view of anyone who cares to see. Not even the slums are shielded from the eyes of the king." Lucius's voice had levelled out, and Regulus could no longer detect any real emotion under the icy tones.
"You will discipline him. However you see fit. And you will ensure that it never happens again. You may both pray that the king has not received any word of this, for I will not help him if rumours begin."
Regulus sighed inwardly at the coldness of the Duke's voice. He was disappointed, although not surprised, at how completely Lucius appeared to have quelled any liking he had shown for the boy to date. He was only glad that the Duke still referred to Harry as his heir – it would be more trouble than Regulus could bear to find a replacement for the boy, not to mention his own desire to protect Harry from the uncertain situation he had found him in months before. Without the patronage of the Duke, Harry would once more find himself penniless, orphaned and homeless, and Regulus was unsure of his own ability to care for him adequately without any aid from his lord. Seeing Lucius pinch the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off a headache, Regulus decided not to discuss the situation any further. He remembered the pain he had seen in his cousin's eyes as he recounted the scene at the inn, and decided to approach him about it at some other point. In his present condition, Lucius was in no fit state to hold a conversation, and Regulus doubted he would achieve anything except angering him further.
Excusing himself softly, he instead turned to the other immediate problem – that of speaking with Harry. Bracing himself for what would no doubt be an unpleasant, and uncomfortable conversation, he retreated from the Duke's apartments and made his way toward those appointed to the heir. Knocking sharply on the door, he steeled himself before entering, determined not to show any compassion for Harry's misery. For once, he decided, the boy would have to face the consequences of his actions.
