Anybody's Hero

Rating: M

Summary: At the Wizengamot, Harry finds himself having a battle of wits with a very different opponent instead: Marcus Flint. Warnings for slash. Marcus/Harry.

For my 300th reviewer from ToBedlamandPartwayBack , Lone-Angel-1992. I'm so sorry it took a whole bleeding year. But thanks ever so much for believing I'd come out with it in the end (o:

NOTE: WARNINGS FOR BOY KISSES

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, nor the lyrics of the Morrissey song the title comes from.

Chapter Four

He'd never kissed anyone before this, and he would've never believed it was someone male in front of him this first time, let alone Marcus Flint. Surprisingly, Flint didn't go for the all-out mouth-rape. He seemed content enough to kiss him deeply and slowly, thoroughly, really. It almost felt like he was having a lesson in 101 French Kissing. Just with Marcus Flint.

Yeah, he was still trying to wrap his head around that last one there.

After a bit, Flint pulled back, and there was a warm, liquid look in his eye. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?" he murmured, and his voice was thick and gruff and the sound of it was doing all sorts of odd things to his lower belly.

"Umm..." Harry didn't trust his voice enough to speak.

Flint bent down and kissed him again, just lip on lip this time, with only the slightest hint of tongue at the end, swiping at his mouth with the tip as he pulled away and pulled up, taking Harry along with him. They were sitting upright on the couch again, and he was suddenly, achingly aware of how not alone they were in the room.

"I'm surprised you didn't take more than that," he rasped, and was a little impressed at how his voice didn't once waver.

"That's not what I want, Harry," Flint said, lowly, darkly. His hands were still on his body, burning their touch into his skin even through his new robes. "You think the Light's been the only ones watching you? Think again. And before you say it-" Flint nearly growled those words, "-I haven't found you wanting. Not of anything. In fact I've only ever found you more than deserving."

What a marvel today was, he wondered. Harry wasn't quite sure what he should be feeling, that the first one to truly know what he wanted and needed to hear most was a Death Eater. Or Death Eater-in-training, since Flint was sure to quibble about the title. He didn't protest when Flint reeled him in for another kiss. If he was honest with himself, it took far more effort to remain stiff and unyielding in Flint's arms than it would to just swoon in them.

"I'm not asking you to be anything," Flint continued to murmur in his ear, "save yourself. Remember that, Harry."

With that, Flint released him. He couldn't hide the shiver at the chill that overtook him once Flint let him go. The older boy was watching him intently, with what looked like concern in those pistachio eyes, but he seemed to sense that whatever comfort he offered now wouldn't be welcome. Harry was glad for the other's discretion. He didn't really feel up to having to steel himself against Flint. It was far easier just to melt, but melting was anything but the smart thing to do at the moment. He didn't bother wondering if it was the wise thing, and ignored his gut's call this time. He needed his head in this game, desperately, and with Flint's arms around him it was the hardest thing to do.

The older boy drew back, and with his receding presence came a clearer sense of self.

"You're doing something, aren't you?" he asked, not quite accusingly, not yet. "Things feel...different, when you're near me."

Going by the stunned look on Flint's face, he hadn't expected that at all.

"You...weren't doing something?" he asked with dread. Given the two, this was certainly the worst option. He didn't like to think what had come over him for him to respond to Flint in this way.

"Not consciously," Flint admitted. In that one moment he looked more vulnerable than he had the entire day. "I didn't think you'd be affected," he continued. "I have very good control." He made a face. "Or I had very good control. I hadn't thought I'd dropped my shields…" Flint's pistachio eyes went into a daze, before rearing back in shock. "I haven't dropped them, not at all," he said faintly, looking shocked.

"What shields are you talking about?" Harry asked. They were so close that his breath stirred the deep auburn locks that fell into Flint's eyes. Flint just closed his eyes instead of replying. His arms were still about his waist, and they tightened minutely.

"I'll have to speak with my father about this," Flint murmured, his eyes still firmly shut. "I suspected this might happen, but I didn't- didn't think-"

"What're you on about?" he snapped, shaking Flint just a bit.

It caused the older boy to open his eyes, and smile fondly down at him before kissing him soundly, again.

"Nothing to worry your pretty little head about it," Flint murmured against his lips. Harry scowled, but couldn't help himself from kissing back, just a little bit. "To be honest, I don't quite know myself," the older boy confessed. "That's why I'm going to have to speak to my father about it. Ask me again, when I next see you. Maybe I'll have an answer then." Oddly enough, Flint seemed a little sad about it.

"All-all right," he muttered. Flint tried to give him a heartening smile, brushed his bangs from his face and pressed a kiss to his brow in a delicate, sweet gesture.

"It's time we got you home, I think," Flint said, his lips still lingering against his skin. "Those Lightsiders must be driving themselves off the wall by now."

He'd never admit to it, but Harry felt an actual zap of disappointment hit his gut at Flit's words. As strange and confusing as this afternoon had been, he felt like he'd learnt more during this time with Flint than his past four years at Hogwarts. But heading back to Grimmauld- he didn't know how he'd react to everyone back there now that he knew what he did. He wasn't lying when he'd said back then that he was awful at fibbing.

A sudden commotion behind them made him frown.

"What-" he began, twisting in his seat to see what they were on about. He didn't see Flint's eyes widen behind him.

The doors to the lounge were open, and there was a newcomer in their room. He gave a start at the sight. The man was certainly new to their room, but he certainly wasn't new to his life. Harry knew that face, had once studied its contours, heard its owner's words, and wondered. But after the moment had passed- he'd never expected to see it again, or face this very same dilemma again, especially after what had happened last year.

"Y-you," he stammered, but Flint had risen to his feet with a warm smile, and, along with the rest of the children in the room, sunk to his knees in a practiced, grace-filled action. His legs felt too weak to even think about standing at this new revelation.

"Tom Riddle," he said weakly, and it was. There, the mirror image of Voldemort's diary memory staring right back at him, cruel amusement lining his deep blue eyes. Gone was the hideous snake face and sibilant tones, the stick thin figure and sneering mouth. What was left was an extremely suave and put-together young man who didn't look a day past his Hogwarts graduation.

"You're a bit young to be Dark Lord, aren't you?" he rasped, a bit amazed at his own daring, given how their last meeting had gone.

Tittering laughter rippled through the gathered children, tinged with a touch of outrage, but more tickled than anything. Voldemort himself appeared little affected by the jibe apart from a smirk curling about his thin curved lips.

"Are you sure about this, Marcus?" he asked casually instead, his eyes never once leaving Harry's. He didn't dare look away like how he wanted to.

Beside him Flint bowed his head even lower. "Positive, my Lord," he replied.

"Very well," Voldemort said archly, "but you're also looking a little young yourself to be a Light Lord, Potter," he mocked.

"I'm not one," he retorted, frowning.

"It's what the old bastard's set you up to be, the perfect little tool. He'll keep stringing you along with his plans while you play his muscle," Voldemort continued. "And given enough time, he'll even cure you of thinking on your own. All those bloody thoughtless sods."

His frown deepened. "Hermione thinks plenty on her-"

"She's a Mudblood, Potter," Draco drawled from across the room, still hoisting Ackerly against his hip. It was the first time he'd heard the blond speak ever since entering Middleton, and somehow, Harry wasn't very surprised to hear those words leave his lips. But he was surprised at what followed.

"Of course she's spouting off of her own soapbox now. She hasn't been subjected to the same rigorous training as the Blood Traitors have. But give her a couple more years- she's the perfect example for them, even, with her eidetic memory and her unshakeable faith in establishment. The old fool won't even need to keep reminding her of what he's told her; she could regurgitate it for him, verbatim. You've already noticed it beginning, haven't you?"

Just last year he would have answered no. And the year before that, when she had slapped the blond and held him at wandpoint, he would have answered hell no. But lately…the Hermione he'd known in First-Year, who'd been so damned grateful for just a friend…she wouldn't have left him hanging like that just this year past. She would've used her smarts to get around the system Dumbledore had put in place, because she would have put their friendship first. Harry didn't even need to ask himself where Ron's priorities lay. The redhead had made it blindingly obvious over the years.

"You're confusing the child, Draco," Voldemort drawled, "leave him be." His blue eyes fell on him again, although he continued to speak to Flint alone. "Are you taking him back now, Marcus?"

"Yes, my Lord," Flint replied, rising to his feet to stand beside him. Harry barely noticed Flint helping him to his feet. Without the older boy's grip on his hand his knees would probably have buckled. This meeting with Voldemort was the furthest thing from anything he could've imagined, and the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. He was rendered utterly speechless.

"Remind him about Diagon, Marcus. We've scheduled it for the last week of summer," were the Dark Lord's closing words, before he swept off in a swirl of aubergine robes that set off his pale skin and deep eyes perfectly.

"My Lord," Flint acknowledged with a last bow. He stayed in position till the doors clicked shut behind Voldemort, and the illusion of a boy left to whence he'd come.

"What even was that?" he rasped.

Flint smiled, cupping his face with a large hand to tilt it upwards. "That was our Lord," he answered, voice quiet and strong. "He is the embodiment of everything we believe in. Do you believe it now, when I say he has full control over the reins?"

Harry shuddered at even the memory of the pure power that had blanketed the room at Voldemort's arrival. Voldemort's teenaged form had worn that power around him effortlessly like a cloak, and it roiled and billowed before him wherever he commanded. What he had seen of Voldemort these past few years had been the illusion, he realised. Suddenly he was abruptly glad the Dark Lord appeared to have outgrown the need for murder in his presence. He doubted whatever luck he'd had in all their past clashes would hold out any longer. He was furious at Dumbledore for having orchestrated things like that. He'd been misled, he realised. Harry had always thought himself a little more on the prepared side of things when it really came down to it, thanks to his sheerdumbluckand Hermione's smarts. He wasn't, not one bit. Dumbledore was setting up a lamb for the slaughter. How could he have been so blind?

Harry steeled his jaw against it. He may have neighed for Neville on a lark, but he sure as hell wasn't going to start baaing for Dumbledore.

"Hey, hey," Flint murmured, thumb rubbing at the base of his clenched jaw. The soft touch drew him out of his self-flagellation. "Relax a little, would you? Trust that the Dark Lord knows what he's doing. He's shared his vision with us and he knows what we think of it, all of it, and everything's been taken into account."

"I never wanted to be involved in any of this." He exhaled loudly, feeling his shoulders weigh down. Just as soon as the anger had come, it was gone. He couldn't even quite bring himself to hate Dumbledore that much. He was just so very tired. He'd never considered it before, never allowed himself to, but abstinence was what he longed for most right now.

Flint slid his hand down his arm till their fingers were interlaced, and gently led him out of the room. He saw Neville start from his seat, making as if to rise with concern plainly writ on his face, but he shook his head lightly. He'd be okay. It'd just take a while to get used to things was all.

Flint took him out back onto Rue Morgue, where he saw the sky had significantly darkened.

"They must be bouncing off the walls back at Grimmauld," he carelessly said.

"Is that where you're staying?" Flint asked, curious.

"Yes," Harry reluctantly admitted, suddenly aware of the fact that he wasn't the only one living at the old Black townhouse. As much as he resented the Lightsiders now, he still didn't fully trust the Dark not to go batshit insane on him, no matter how lucid Voldemort had appeared to him just now.

But he needn't have worried. All Flint did was nod in acquiescence before tugging him down the street, all apparent interest in the subject lost.

The entrance to Rue Morgue was, unsurprisingly, through Knockturn Alley, right at the very end of it, which explained how he'd never found it when he was gallivanting through its streets back in Second-Year. Once they re-entered familiar streets, Flint had him pull his hood up, throwing shadows across his face and distorting it. They paused for a moment at the Leaky Cauldron.

"How will you get back from here?" Flint asked quietly, pulling him close so they could speak without the interference of the still-strong crowd. "Can I Apparate you somewhere, or will you be taking the Knight Bus?"

Harry gave a horrified shudder at its mention. "Not that bloody contraption again," he swore. "Took it my first and last time in my Third-Year. I think it gave me more of a fright than Professor Lupin did then."

Flint chuckled in his ear. "That sounds like a story and a half. You owe it to me some time, Harry."

He just squirmed noncommittally in Flint's arms. If Flint's emotions really were leaking through his shields, however in hell that was happening, he desperately needed some time away from the older boy to really think things through, and focus.

"It's pretty nearby in London," he said, shrugging. "I can get there on foot. I'll find my way there easy enough."

"All right." Flint seemed to accept his answer at face value and he was grateful for that, all the way up to the point where Flint pulled him up for another kiss. Harry let a little more of himself go this time. It was frightfully, frightfully easy. He let a little sigh escape as the older boy eventually pulled away.

"Here." Harry found a scrap of parchment being pushed into his hands. "It's been charmed to work two-ways. Remember to cast the Vanishing charm after you've written anything on it. It will wipe all the old writings from the sheet. Tap your wand against it and say, 'Evanesco'."

"Evanesco," he dutifully repeated. For that he got a pleased nod and another kiss, one that had their tongues curling around each other. Harry felt himself sinking deeper each time.

"Alright," Flint murmured, "I really should let you go now." Despite his words, the older boy made no move to remove his hands from his person, instead moving them down to the small of his back. Harry shuddered as their hips touched, but he certainly wasn't pushing him away either. "As for the clothes..." Flint trailed his fingers down the front of his robes, burning a line down his chest that made his lungs clench from within their bony cage.

"Tell them you fancied a bit of a jaunt. It's about time you got yourself cleaned up, anyways. If I can get my hands on the rest of your old clothes I think I just might incinerate the lot of it. I've already commissioned a whole wardrobe from Hobbes for you. The owls will probably start delivering them today or tomorrow, depending on how overworked the poor sod makes himself. He gets himself up in frenzies like that so easily."

"You're ridiculous," he muttered into Flint's chest. "I was fine with my old clothes-"

The other boy tapped him teasingly on the lips, stoppering his words. "New clothes make a new person," he quoted. "This wouldn't at all be a bad change to celebrate."

"Fine," he said to Flint's second button, fighting off the urge to simultaneously glower and blush at the same time. He was a little embarrassed over the condition of his clothes, but he couldn't deny that with his new wardrobe he was a little pleased, too.

"Write me," Flint ordered again, the fingers on his mouth stroking across the skin of his face. "Try to avoid Diagon if you can, especially on the last week of summer. We've got something planned- no, we're not going to massacre the lot of them," he said, rolling his eyes at the accusing look Harry shot him, "so don't worry your pretty little head about it. It's a diversion at the most, and it's meant to be as bloodless as we can make it. So don't come back here, all right? I suppose if you must, make sure Longbottom goes with you, but I'll owl order all your books and supplies for you and have them sent same as the clothes so at least that way you won't have an excuse to leave your hideout."

"Yeah," he mumbled, "fine. I'd better go." But he didn't move, either.

Flint chuckled in his ear, cupped his face in his bloody overlarge hands and kissed him one last time, quite thoroughly. A strange feeling curdled in his belly. And then Flint finally released him. Harry's arms immediately came up to wrap about himself, but they weren't half the comfort Flint's had been- good god, had he really been looking to MarcusFlintfor comfort?

"Go on," Flint urged, faintly smiling. There wasn't anything teasing about it this time, just a fondness softened by the deepening twilight. Harry glanced back at his face one last time, before he turned and fair fled.

Thanks for reading, and do review! Cheers.