A/N: Dedicated to Midnight Ember, author of "Cloudier Sky" and "Inheritance". C'mon, Lady, let's see more of both fics (but especially "Cloudier Sky", cuz that's my favorite). Pleeeeeease? I'll give you lemons!
WARNINGS & RANTS: Slash, bash and other trash. No offense to Disney, which I enjoy, but this ain't it, folks!
And this warning is especially written to and for the wannabe-outed flamer who reads my stuff, pretends he's horrified that he unintentionally read about gay love, and leaves repugnant reviews using the words 'fag' & 'faggot' over and over as if they are actually hurtful. (Dude, it's French for "bundle of sticks". Um… ouch?) Anyone who wants to see who the moron is, check out the April reviews on "Demon Team" – you can't miss it; it's all caps and clearly from a very stupid person who can't read, think or face himself in a mirror.
To that reviewer, and those like him/her/it, who pretend to be surprised they have stumbled onto a gay romance and berate me for not warning them adequately beforehand, see if this is clear enough: I write about gay men who like to kiss, lick, fuck, suck and rim each other. Whether I am explicit or not, I am writing about men who put their cocks and tongues into each other's bodies – every available orifice and then some - and we dedicated readers are CHEERING THEM ON! These exquisite, homosexual characters are beautiful, sexy, intelligent, funny and beloved – everything you, bigoted little queen of denial that you are, will never, ever be. Go ahead and wallow in your jealousy, pretend you don't have a hard-on or a buttery feeling down below as you read the sex scenes (several times!), and leave your "I hate gays – really!" reviews that only show the world how much you wish you were one of my leading suckable, lickable, fuckable, homosexual men. I suspect you do this just because you like it when people say you are 'flaming'. When Shakespeare said "methinks thou doth protest too much", he was talking about YOU. (Actually, so was Freud, and probably numerous restraining orders.) And if you really can't face the fact that many of us like to write and read AU and OOC, and if you prefer to shriek (like the gayest of gay males) about how none of these characters are gay in canon, I will remind you that even Harry Potter came out of his closet by age eleven.
Okie-dokie, my fellow fangirls, fag hags, wanna-be-rimmed-by-Lucius-Malfoy, free-spirited and unafraid of stupid words and stupider people readers – here is my next installment about THREE GAY MEN WHO WANT TO GET NAKED AND HORNY TOGETHER FOREVER. (Was that clear enough, my friends, or do I need to provide stick figure illustrations? Could be fun; I draw really long sticks. I guess that means, in French, I'm drawing faggot pictures, eh?) Happy Reading!
WyrdSmith
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End of Chapter 1
Tucking the blankets a little more closely around Sherlock, Thomas settled more comfortably against the toned back and felt the heaviness of sleep begin to take him over. He moved a hand soothingly over Sherlock's stomach as he felt the younger man's arm stretch out, reaching for the third body that should be in bed with them, but wasn't. Thomas nuzzled Sherlock's neck and pulled a pillow over to settle against his lover's abdomen, sighing in regret as the man whined discontentedly even as he drew the pillow close. Soon enough, there would be no more need for such a dissatisfying substitute.
They had done all the necessary research. They had done everything they could to prepare. And they were ready for him. These two strong, beautiful men wanted and needed their Third. His absence was becoming painful the longer they went without him. But the end was drawing near. Moon Dark was in three nights. They would conduct the Ritual and tap into the natural world that loved their Third as much as they would.
And then, they would have him.
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CHAPTER 2: FINDING THE THIRD
Thomas and Sherlock watched, silent and invisible, as daylight slowly revealed the charming little cottage and its remarkable gardens. They had successfully completed the scrying ritual at moon dark, and the results that showed in the silvery waters of Morgana le Fey's liquid looking-glass had led the mates here, to this private stone cottage with its pink roses and trailing vines, its gothic windows, its unparalleled gardens, and its precious, priceless resident – Harris Jamison Potter.
Settling himself more comfortably against the strong frame of his bonded, Sherlock carefully observed every available detail of the property before him, filing details and making deductions even as he reflected back on the moment that Thomas realized the exact identity of their elusive third mate.
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The Epiphany of Moon Dark
Thomas had moved mechanically, automatically, as he helped Sherlock de-tune the scrying circle and clean up the candles and other supplies. His expression had become remote and troubled as soon as the vision of the exquisite young man with vivid green eyes had come into focus on the surface of the silver waters. Sherlock had been momentarily captivated at the image, uncharacteristically silent as his tanzanite gaze swept reverently over the delicately masculine features of their longed-for third mate. Only when the image had begun to ripple and fade back into the waters had Sherlock realized that Thomas had not uttered a single word.
When they returned to their beloved Library, Thomas had immediately moved to pour himself a cognac, automatically fixing a tall, iced glass of Irish tea for Sherlock. The minty cocktail had quickly become Sherlock's preferred drink when Lucius Malfoy had prepared one for him during Thomas and Sherlock's betrothal party. Sherlock smirked reminiscently, thinking of how the dignified Malfoy Lord had struggled to keep a straight face when Sherlock had adamantly refused to allow Thomas to issue invitations to the event using the preferred wizarding title. Sherlock had stated emphatically, "If I received an invitation to a 'bonding ball', I would be expecting leather, chains and some form of cock rings, or possibly straps for my testicles. How can you possibly expect me to maintain any form of decorum with that in my mind?" Thomas's crimson eyes had danced with laughter as he charmingly conceded the point to his acerbic mate and instructed an amused Lucius to re-word the invitation in a manner suitable to his 'sensitive mate's perverted sensibilities'. He had then bid Lucius goodnight, and spent the next several hours personally instructing his pouting mate in the delicate art of cock rings and silk ropes.
At least Sherlock had finally learned the reason why Thomas had darkly smirked at his mate's sarcastic description of their huge bed's new headboard as 'ideal, if one wishes to interrogate a prisoner'. Really, Sherlock could be embarrassingly naïve at times.
This, however, was not one of those times. Thomas had handed Sherlock his drink and then settled into his comfortable reading chair, staring into the fire, silent and intense. Knowing that his powerful, brilliant lover was working through all of the ramifications of what he had just learned, Sherlock forcibly restrained his innate impatience and settled on the couch, kicking off his shoes and pulling his long legs up to his chest as he studied Thomas, replayed his memory of the beautiful face in the scrying waters, and waited.
It was several long moments later when Thomas blinked a few times and looked over at Sherlock, smiling fondly at the way his beloved was sitting. "You are ridiculously limber, my love," he commented, taking a long drink of cognac before setting the glass onto the side table.
Sherlock retorted smartly, "Good luck with enjoying any of it, if you don't tell me what's troubling you sometime in the immediate future." He extended his legs out for a moment, stretching luxuriously to remove the last traces of soreness from the long effort of the night's scrying (which had involved far too much kneeling on a stone floor, in Sherlock's opinion) before tucking them to the side on the couch and leaning forward a little to place a slightly chilled hand on Thomas's arm. They had been together just over ten years now, and were very much attuned to each other's moods and body language. Thomas was definitely worried.
Thomas studied his 'remarkable muggle', as he sometimes called Sherlock, with affectionate eyes. He truly cherished his brilliant mate, and savored every minute of the time he spent with the man. Even as they both acknowledged and worked to fill the aching, empty spot in their union, committed to locating and retrieving the missing third member of the Pact of New Blood by any means necessary, they had developed a remarkable bond together. They could conceivably live their entire lives, bonded only to each other, and be happy; but it had never occurred to either of them that they might have to do just that. They had never considered the possibility that their elusive third mate might want to have nothing to do with them.
Until now.
Sighing deeply, Thomas moved his arm and quietly took Sherlock's cool hand in his own. He tightened his grip subconsciously, his body telling Sherlock of Thomas's need to hold tight to his mate. Sherlock flowed forward, unselfconsciously dropping to the floor in front of Thomas's chair and gracefully wrapping long arms around the wizard's legs. Resting his chin on Thomas's knee, Sherlock gazed up into the strong face and crimson gaze and waited.
Thomas settled a long-fingered hand in the soft, chestnut curls, absently carding through the silken hair and gently massaging Sherlock's scalp as he began to explain.
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HARRIS JAMISON POTTER
Studying the pretty little cottage as the morning sun rose fully, Sherlock reflected on the history Thomas had given him about their unsuspecting little mate.
It seemed that Harris Jamison Potter had been named as the subject of a vague and oddly-worded prophecy by a mostly-drunken Divination Professor at Thomas's alma mater, a wizarding school known (ridiculously) as 'Hogwarts'. Based on that prophecy, the so-called 'Leader of the Light', a reasonably powerful wizard (magically and politically) named Albus Dumbledore, had tried to lure Thomas into making some form of assassination attempt on the baby Harris in a thinly-disguised effort to entrap and probably execute Thomas. It seemed that Dumbledore was passionately opposed to everything Thomas believed in and worked for, and had taken great exception to Thomas's use of every means available, including violence and a certain amount of terrorism, to protect the Dark. Sherlock had been cynically unsurprised to learn that those who supported the 'Light Side' of the conflict were largely unaware or uncaring of the fact that they essentially were fighting against the preservation of the natural world, of Old Magic, and of Magic herself. Propoganda painted Dark Magic as evil, and that was all Dumbledore and certain members of the Ministry needed to gain and retain power and profit.
Dumbledore had been delighted with the prophecy and had immediately declared it to be valid and vital in the battle of 'good versus evil'. He announced to "certain people" that Harris was to be the vanquisher of the Dark Lord, setting Thomas and Sherlock's poor little mate up for a life of ridiculous pressure and expectations. He had even gone so far as to set a trap, in the form of a 'secret location' for the family in hiding, revealed to Thomas by the unusual (suspiciously so) brilliance and loyalty of the inept toady Peter Pettigrew. Dumbledore had even baited the trap with the infant Harris, a fact that disgusted everyone who knew and understood that Harris's parents, James and Lily Potter, had allowed Dumbledore to use their own baby as a lure for the most powerful, most dangerous, most deadly wizard alive.
Thomas had made certain that 'everyone' literally meant everyone.
He had turned the tables on the Potters and Dumbledore when he allowed himself to be interviewed by Rita Skeeter, a virulent reporter for the Daily Prophet, and Xenophilius Lovegood, owner of The Quibbler. In the joint interview, Thomas had sworn a wizard's oath to tell the truth regarding the subject of the article, and then explained to the shocked wizarding public everything there was to know about the questionable prophecy, the circumstances in which it was given, how he learned about it, what Dumbledore and the Potters had done, etc. The public backlash against the Order of the Phoenix, particularly the Potters, had been profound, and caused many people to question the motivations, knowledge and intelligence of Albus Dumbledore.
Just the fact that he and the Potters had set up a Fidelius charm around the Potter Family cottage in Godric's Hollow was enough to make most people question Dumbledore's actions. James and Lily had been given that house by Charlus Potter as their wedding present. Heavily featured in numerous books and magazines for its charming décor, and talked about at one time or another by at least a third of the citizens of wizarding Britain, Potter Family cottage was far too well-known a location for the Potters. The fact that its location was common knowledge in the wizarding world was impossible to conceal; it would have impacted far too many publications and minds to be effectively hidden. It was ridiculous that Dumbledore and the Potters would attempt a Fidelius on that home, and the choice to do so was in itself a testament to the Light's failure to understand magic and nature. Magic works with the laws of nature, not against them. A Fidelius charm exists to preserve a confidence, a secret – for that to occur, it must be employed on something that was, in fact, secret.
Thomas had laughed in the interview, commenting that the illustrious Leader of the Light seemed to have confused the function of the Fidelius charm with the Mass-Obliviation hex. One cannot use the Fidelius to erase the memory and printed matter of the entire wizarding world on a particular, very well-known fact. If that were possible, then why would Dumbledore not have Fidelius'd Harris himself, rather than a house in which the child could be trapped? Or, if the man wished to argue about applying the charm to people versus objects, why not relocate the Potter family to one of their more obscure manors, with a great deal of land for the child to explore rather than be confined to a single house, and Fidelius that? Or was it their intent to confine the poor boy in a rigid, unnaturally constrained environment until such time that the supposed prophecy was somehow no longer valid?
Thomas had then gone on to speak about his ideals, the goals of the Death Eaters, the truths about what damage and risk were incurred every month from the uncontrolled advances of muggle technology, etc. With that one interview, Lord Thomas Voldemort gained the support and interest of roughly half of the wizarding world, and Dumbledore and the Potters became the focus of close scrutiny by the awakened public.
Dumbledore had continued to agitate and pontificate about the infamous prophecy, going so far as to declare young Harris Potter 'the prophesied savior' of the wizarding world. They ignored proper wizarding culture in favor of what Thomas coined 'smuggle' manners, and did their best to get the public to disregard all etiquette and refer to the Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter as 'Harry'. The poor child had been the victim of both public adulation and scorn. His parents – arrogant, impulsive James Potter and his smug, overbearing wife Lily - raised Harris in an environment designed to create a self-sacrificing hero, the perfect Gryffindor as determined by James Potter and Albus Dumbledore.
They willfully ignored the fact that Harris was, in fact, a Ravenclaw.
Sherlock sneered as he ruminated on that particular fallacy. It was insulting of the vaunted Marauders and their officious sponsor Dumbledore to decide that the perfect Gryffindor would somehow be rude, impulsive, somewhat stupid, reckless and bigoted. Thomas had introduced Sherlock to a fair number of people who had inhabited all four of the Hogwarts houses, and so he knew quite a few Gryffindors who were intelligent, thoughtful, generally honorable people who were still quite capable of healthy self-interest and the ability to see a person's clay feet – even if they are hidden beneath blinding robes and a slightly-psychotic twinkle.
Eventually, Harris Potter had removed himself from his family. On his seventeenth birthday, during the over-publicized and overblown coming-of-age party that the Potters and Dumbledore used to advertise their 'Chosen One's' new status as an adult hero, Harris Potter had demonstrated his true cunning. First, he accepted, carefully reviewed (much to the irritation of his father) and signed the legal documents presented by the Potter Family Solicitors. Those documents turned over to the young man full ownership of his share of the Potter fortune. As soon as the documents were signed and given to the Gringott's goblin Harris had personally selected to manage his own accounts (which turned out to be something of an unpleasant shock to the senior Potters and a disgruntled Dumbledore), Harris Potter had publically declared himself to be permanently, formally and legally estranged from James and Lily Potter and all of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. He had specifically identified Albus Dumbledore as a person with whom he would have no further interaction of any sort. He had then nodded respectfully to Professor Filius Flitwick and his goblin brethren, severed the magical tethers and tracking charms that Dumbledore and James were certain he knew nothing about, and vanished from the public eye.
Over the next few weeks, James Potter and Albus Dumbledore had both attempted to smooth the situation over with the public, offering quotes to reporters in which they laughingly commented on Harris's 'little rebellious phase' and 'prankish nature'. Lily Potter had made impassioned pleas to her son to return home to his 'loving family' and declared to any who would listen that she was certain Harris had somehow been placed under compulsion charms by 'the enemies of the Light'.
They had quickly changed their tune when each was served with lawsuits by Harris's private solicitor for using the young man's name and image without permission, and for speaking on his behalf and in his name despite his status as an independent adult wizard.
Sherlock smirked as he recalled that Harris had won those lawsuits, and all other legal and financial challenges, without ever appearing in public again. He had issued a single statement to the wizarding world, declaring his intention to 'sink into obscurity and enjoy the privacy that he had been denied'. And he had done exactly that. He had removed himself from the public eye at age seventeen. He was now twenty-nine years old, having hidden from everyone for over twelve years.
Until moon dark, two nights ago, and the scrying ritual Thomas and Sherlock had finally been able to conduct after spending nearly a decade preparing. Anyone who believed that locating a soul mate was just a matter of a simple potion or spell probably worked for Dumbledore. In truth, this night was the culmination of years upon years of exacting research, excruciatingly detailed calculations of arithmancy and runic translation, and painful, careful planning.
But now, here they were, he and Thomas. Leaning against a beautiful, stone wall that stretched for miles and miles across green fields, staring at the cottage in which their mysterious third mate had isolated himself after retreating from public life. They knew, now, that Harris had used his affinity for nature to create remarkable gardens and greenhouses in which he grew rare plants and flowers that served a primary purpose decorating manors and grounds such as those owned by Lucius Malfoy, and sometimes filling private orders from renowned potions masters, based entirely on the whims of Harris Potter. As Potions Masters Snape had cause to attest, if Harris Potter had any reason to hold a grudge against someone, he refused all orders by that person. Somehow, he also knew if someone else was used as a 'beard' for the blacklisted person, and refused those orders, too. Lucius himself had recently lost favor with Harris Potter and was no longer allowed to order any of his extraordinary plants or potent herbs, having attempted to place an order in his own name for longtime friend Severus Snape.
It seemed that Harris had a particular dislike for the sarcastic potioneer. The embarrassed Lucius had mumbled something about Snape and Lily Potter, a leftover grudge against Potter senior, and a virulent seven years as Harris's potions professor. In light of what they now knew about Harris as their third mate, both Sherlock and Thomas had a sudden urge to torture the man who had apparently felt entirely justified in using his own failure to grow up as adequate reason for terrorizing a young boy. The man had reputedly been irate that Harris Potter had dared to hold a grudge against him.
Despite their vehement approval of their mate's actions, Thomas and Sherlock were admittedly worried about the information, as well. If Harris held an ongoing dislike for people like Snape, what would the young man feel about Thomas Voldemort, who was – in a sense – the reason Harris's childhood had been so miserable? Even though Thomas had ever acted on the prophecy, and had indeed done his best to dismiss the whole, damn thing and to rebuke the Potters for their treatment of their son, it was nevertheless true that Thomas's very existence had fuelled the vendetta by Dumbledore and the Potters. Without Thomas, Harris may well have had a normal life.
Possibly.
Thomas and Sherlock straightened abruptly, their close surveillance narrowing into keen attention as the main door of the charming little cottage suddenly opened and a small, lithe figure emerged and moved with familiar ease down the stone pathway toward the heart of the garden. Thomas's arm, which was wrapped around Sherlock's waist, tightened as the two drew deep, calming breaths and stared hungrily at the swift, graceful young man.
Finally, the devoted mate-pair were able to look upon their third with their own astonished, appreciative eyes.
Morgana, he was exquisite!
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A/N2: Hang in there, folks. I'm posting the next chapter within 24 hours (bet on it – well, barring power outages and FFN rebellion), and it includes ogling, touching, kissing, licking and all of the stuff that fuels our rude little flamer's supposed nightmares (known to the rest of the world as a wet dream).
Blessed Be!
WyrdSmith
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A/N2:
Thank you. Blessed Be.
WyrdSmith