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 To Bedlam and Partway Back , 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:

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

Chapter Seven

Meet at Barnard Park at 11p.m. was all the message written on the parchment. Harry pouted at its abruptness. Especially after he'd gone and spent the rest of the afternoon writing out a whole long slew of reasons of why he'd decided to do the ritual with Sirius instead.

Then he sighed. He'd have to find some way of sneaking out to meet Flint. He really needed to find out what this ritual was all about though. He was honestly hoping Voldemort was serious about not needing any powdered bone or hacked-off limbs; he didn't quite have any spares lying around. If he waited too long it would mean having to sneak out of Hogwarts, which would be more difficult now than ever.

Harry cast 'Evanesco' on the parchment and folded it, stowing it back inside his trouser pocket, and strode off to find Sirius. His dogfather'd probably be up in the attic, grooming Buckbeak. The hippogriff had never looked more handsome, but he'd taken this opportunity to get more temperamental, too. He didn't stand for anyone other than himself and Sirius now, which made it woe for those who tried to join in on their conversations. It made things all the better for dogfather and pup, though, so Harry certainly wasn't complaining, and if anyone knew how to get past the damned wards it would be Sirius.

He dodged Ginny on the second landing, ducking into Regulus's old room when she emerged from the one she shared with Hermione. While he was inside, he took a quick glance around. Harry'd never really been into any of the other Black bedrooms apart from his own, Sirius's, and the twins', and he'd heard Regulus's room had been untouched since his death. It certainly looked like it. There were signs all over that a child had once lived there, with no signs at all of that child having ever grown up. There was something stuffy and stale about the air in Regulus's room, and Harry chalked it up to it having never been aired. Merlin knew Kreacher could never be convinced into 'disturbing the sanctity' of Regulus's room. Once Ginny's footsteps sounded past, he slipped back out and shut the door behind him.

Sirius was right where he thought he'd be, lounging across Buckbeak's back drowsily. The two of them glanced up when the door opened, and then as one their heads slumped down again, as if they were saying, oh, you again. Buckbeak didn't even bother with bowing anymore when he saw either of them.

"Hey, Sirius," he called out softly. His godfather's head lifted slightly, which was the only outward sign he had that Sirius was listening. "Do you…do you think you could help me sneak out tonight? I need to be at Barnard Park at eleven."

The man hauled himself upright slowly and painstakingly, and the grey eyes he nailed him with were pensive.

"That boy this morning was a Flint, wasn't he?" Sirius asked, not answering his first question.

Harry nodded cautiously.

"I thought so," Sirius muttered. "Blood breeds true here. He looks exactly like his father."

"I heard they were a lot alike," Harry volunteered.

Sirius eyed him. "I didn't know Marcellus Flint well back at Hogwarts. He was in his Fifth-Year when I was in my First, and he was in Slytherin. But then again, Bellatrix didn't like him, although Narcissa seemed to get along with him fine."

"I don't think Bellatrix likes anyone, even her husband," he muttered.

Sirius barked out a laugh. "That's certainly true." Then his eyes sharpened. "Although I hope you don't know that from firsthand experience," he said, a bit of a point to his voice. "But Flint's son- you sure you know what you're doing, pup? And- you said he just- just came up to you?"

"He was the one that got me out of the Wizengamot, and had them drop my case," he confessed lowly. "He probably worked in tandem with Lucius Malfoy somehow."

"There was always something else about them," Sirius conceded. "Flint was never as flashy as, say, the Blacks or the Malfoys, but everyone was warned to steer clear of them all the same."

"There is something about them," Harry agreed. Sirius waited to see if he would add anything, but he didn't. Flint's empathy wasn't his story to tell, he decided, and he'd wait to hear it from the older boy's mouth if he'd ever think of blabbing it around. "So?" he continued. "Do you think I could get a hand sneaking out of here? Is there a way to get out of here?" He made a show of peering at the walls.

Sirius sighed. "I know every nook and cranny of this damn house," he admitted, "every gap in the wards. I had to, when I needed to leave. It got too much for me to handle a lot of the time and I needed a safe way out, without Mother ever knowing I'd left. I'd get my hide tanned otherwise. She used to do that without magic, and she enjoyed it even."

Harry didn't have to fake a shudder. Walburga Black sounded far too much like Vernon Dursley for his liking.

"In some ways Regulus got it worse, though," his godfather continued softly, as if in a daze. "Mother would never beat her dearest Regulus," he sneered, "but he was always somewhat...softer. If he'd been left to his own devices, and not forced to hide so much of himself from our mother, I suspect he would have ended up in Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff. He was far kinder than the hand Fate dealt him."

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't want to interrupt the memories Sirius appeared to be lost in. Being trapped in this house had brought out a whole other side to the man, not one that was wholly pleasant, but one that, while fallible, was real.

"I can help sneak you out," Sirius finally said, shaking his head to clear the remnants of his fugue, "but you've got to be back before dawn. And," he continued, before Harry could get too excited, "you'll be carrying a two-way mirror with you, just in case of anything. You'll call me once when you reach Barnard and again when Flint meets you, and one more time when you're on the way back. The git better walk you back since he's properly courting you."

Harry frowned at that last bit. "I don't think he is," he said. "I mean, I did say we sort of fell into things, but I think I've just tickled his fancy, honestly. I mean, he did ask Voldemort about it before going ahead with things, but I-I heard from- from someone, that Flints liked strong-willed types. And since I can resist the Imperius-" He shrugged, slotting his hands back into his pockets.

Sirius studied him keenly. "Tickled his fancy," he snorted, "I don't think that's true," he said at last. "We were all brought up the same way, in the old custom- too sensible to be chasing skirts- or lifting shirts, in this case. If we were at the marriageable age, at least," he added, looking slightly uncomfortable. "As it is, he's risked a lot just to get this close to you, pup. If what you've said is true, and he's petitioned even Voldemort to get involved with you- I'd say it's very, very serious." He rocked back on his heels. "So, how do you feel about that?"

He was rather stumped, actually, and said as much.

Sirius laughed. Harry looked affronted. Sirius laughed even harder. "I'm trying!" he said through the chortles, "I'm really trying to be Sirius here!"

"I think I'd rather hear it from Flint himself, if you don't mind," he replied stiltedly. He looked a little harder at his dogfather, still smiling back at him. It had been close to two years now that he'd left Azkaban, and yet very little about him had changed. While Sirius had gotten a tan last year as a dog traipsing about Hogsmeade during the Triwizard Tournament, this year it looked like his skin hadn't seen the sun once. While he'd cut his hair last year, in the time since it'd grown out again, curling into faint waves to his shoulders. The jet of his hair cast the bleached ivory of his skin into start contrast and it made him look gaunt. He hadn't put on any weight at all, despite the tales he'd heard about Mrs. Weasley making an effort to come over every morning and make breakfast for all the Order members. Even Lupin looked better than he did, which was really saying a lot.

"It's that bad then, for you, being back here," he remarked.

Sirius gave him a sickly smile. "Once I would've thought anywhere would've been better than Azkaban. Now…now I'm not so sure anymore. At least in Azkaban I could've retreated into Padfoot, and that would've made things bearable, at least for a little while. Here, no matter where I go, no matter what form I take, there's always a ghost waiting round the corner."

The man looked absolutely haunted by the end of that little speech, and Harry didn't feel like he had the right to press him.

"I'll ask Flint about Pettigrew," he said. "I can't see how that miserable cretin fits in with anyone's plans, let alone Voldemort's right now. Actually, it should've been the first thing I asked after," he admitted shamefacedly. "I'm sorry, Sirius."

Sirius shook his head, his sickly smile melding into something a little softer, and a little more natural. "It's fine," he said. "Besides, I'd rather you get yourself out first. I can look after myself, Harry. It's us adults that should've been taking care of you; you shouldn't be wearing yourself out the other way around."

Harry bit his lip to keep from saying anything more, because it was obvious Sirius had made him his priority. It only served to bevy up the guilt he felt about forgetting about Pettigrew entirely, and he firmly reminded himself to ask after the bloody rat this time around.

His godfather wasn't kidding when he said he knew every nook and cranny about Grimmauld Place. They snuck across the manor to his childhood room, ducking into cubbyholes and corners he never knew even existed whenever an Order member their way came. Sirius's old bedroom had been left to Charlie now that his godfather had taken the master bedroom with great reluctance at the beginning of this year. The second oldest Weasley scion obviously hadn't had much time to unpack, given by the way the bed lay untouched and his twin leather satchels were sprawled on the ground, buckles still latched on tight.

If Charlie had come by International Portkey, or Apparition, he might not have been as burnt out as he would be if he'd flown, but travel was still travel, no matter what form it took. Harry felt a touch of guilt at having caused the older boy to scramble all over the place without any chance for rest.

Sirius went straight to the window, and cracked it open. "Had to make sure Charlie got my old room, not Billy-boy," he explained grinning. "Our resident curse-breaker would have noticed the wards weren't quite right here immediately. There, look." Harry bent over at where the man pointed, and saw a long line of runes carved into the wooden sill, small and neat and utterly unlike everything Sirius was. As though he knew hat he was thinking, Sirius bared his teeth in a wide-mouthed grin. "I know, right? Don't ever show McGonagall this, either. She was always complaining about how bad my handwriting was in her class. She never knew I made it especially bad, just for her." He winked, and Harry laughed.

"So, you see these runes? That old witch was pretty stringent with the wards, which meant they set off if any kind of Light Magic was ever done in these walls." Sirius rolled his eyes, showing what he thought of Walburga Black's ideas. "That meant I had two ways to circumvent them: by using either Neutral runes, or runes that were even Darker than the wards."

"Of course you had to use the Darker runes, though, since Neutral runes have only a passive effect. They're good for hearth and house-warming and little else," came Charlie Weasley's thoughtful hum from above him. Harry whirled about, startled. He hadn't even noticed when the redhead had come in. Beside him, Sirius's crazed eyes told him his godfather hadn't noticed either.

Charlie smiled with a wry little twist of his mouth, thick arms folded firmly over his broad shoulders. "I might not be a curse-breaker like my brother, but he's taught me a few things over the years. And runes are a pretty handy thing to know when it comes to warding dragon pens."

Harry straightened, making sure to keep himself between Sirius and Charlie. He'd be the most useless if a fight broke out among the three of them. This way, at least, if Charlie was from the Order he wouldn't dare cast anything lethal in his direction.

The redhead seemed to recognise what he was doing, and grinned ruefully. "Relax a little, would you? When I was in school, although we kept it under wraps, I was seeing Stephen Nott (1)- I think he's got a younger brother in Ron's year? He was fit as hell, and we were going together for nearly two years, although we didn't make it in the end. We honestly tried, we really did, but-" Charlie bit his words off and looked away, a faint grimace tainting his open features. He shrugged it off and tried to smile. "Could you see me bringing a Nott home for Christmas brunch, let alone the firstborn and heir apparent? Mum would've gone completely spare, and not just because I would've taken his name. Right brilliant shag, though," he remembered fondly, although the sadness hadn't completely gone. "I hope he still says the same thing about me."

Harry goggled at him. He remembered seeing Theodore Nott- Stephen Nott's little brother, he guessed, flirting with Parvati at the safehouse in Rue Morgue. He couldn't imagine an older version of him doing the same with Charlie Weasley.

"Now," the redhead continued, and he jerked to attention again, "I told you that for two reasons. One was to show you I'm not telling on you mates for the use of Dark runes, because frankly, Sirius, I get it since you were actually living in this bloody house, so for the love of Merlin, stop whispering hexes at me under your breath now, would you?"

Behind him, his godfather straightened, his face a little flush. Charlie's grin widened. "And the second was that I think I know why you're sneaking out. Harry, you've got a bird, haven't you? It's why you've been running havoc over the past few weeks or so and driving everyone in the house mental. A bird, and she's Dark, isn't she?"

Harry squinted perceptively at him. "You're really okay with this, aren't you?" he asked, hesitantly.

Charlie shrugged. "Hey, you're a teenager; you've got hormones, and it's about time, honestly. I'd be a little more worried if you didn't go crazy sooner or later. And yeah, maybe you're a little more at risk than others are, 'cause of that title of yours, but you've got a good head about your shoulders." He quirked a small smile. "Those instincts of yours saved my baby sister back in her First-Year. A lot of people forget that, but I haven't, not when you haven't stopped saving people since. I think if you trust your bird…then I can, too."

Harry bit his lip. He hadn't had very many people trust him first thing based on his instincts alone. It was usually such an uphill battle, against Ron's jealousy and Hermione's faith in absolute authority. "Thank you," he said, softly.

"No," Charlie said, "thank you." He directed his grin at Sirius this time. "Go on then. I'm pretty interested too."

"If word gets out about this," Sirius said, quite seriously, "I'm going to kill you."

"Sirius!" he hissed.

"I'm serious," the man said.

"I know," Charlie said, smiling sadly.

Sirius nodded once, almost in reassurance, before taking a deep breath and delving back to his explanation. "The sill," he said, "those runes. Charlie was right about them being Darker than the wards. For all her crazy ideas, Mother was never very goodwith magic and only managed to get the basic castings down right. Everything else was a bastardisation, and runes have to be pure for their fullest effect. That's why it was so easy for old Billy-boy to get the wards against Light Magic down, I think. I might've been able to manage that by Sixth-Year, but I didn't give a rat's arse by then. I'd left the house before that year even ended.

"The only other that knew about them was my brother, Regulus. I needed an Anchor in him to have these writ; I'd be madder than me old mam without him." He cleared his throat, looking away as he was wont to do at any mention of his brother, before continuing. "These runes have sheared a one-way hole through them. Getting out's no big deal, but to get back in you've got to make your way up to this window and press the seam on this sill to release them. Make bloody damn sure you don't use any magic getting up here, else that'll set the wards off too."

Charlie nodded his understanding, and then looked to Sirius. "I guess you're staying here to play guard dog?" The older man didn't look to be kidding in the least. "Right, then. I'll stay with you. I'm sure we can find a way to keep ourselves occupied."

He glanced between them. "So…that's it? I can go now?"

Sirius pulled out a silver-gilded hand mirror. "Not so fast, pup," he countered. "This stays with you, at all times. And remember- call."

Harry grinned. "Sure thing. I've got my cloak and wand, too, just in case- thanks, Siri. You too, Charlie."

The redhead shrugged his heavy shoulders, an easy smile on his face. "Sure thing. Just get back safe, yeah?"

He nodded. Sirius lifted the window from the sill, and he stuck his head out, peering down. It was a bit of a long drop, but there was a sturdy looking trellis that should make it an easy enough climb down. "Oh," he realised, "wait a minute!" He found his godfather's worried face immediately in front of his, and couldn't help smiling.

"No, it's all right. It's just something I suddenly remembered, about Anchors and rituals and stuff. Could I come back and talk to you about it later?" he asked.

Sirius's face warmed with pleasure, and from behind his shoulder, Charlie watched the man carefully. "'Course you can, pup."

He grinned back. That was that taken care of, then. If Flint protested he had his godfather's willing participation already, so the older boy could take his protests and very royally shove them up his- "All right then," he said, "I'm going. I'll see you two." He lifted himself up on the sill, and slid his legs out. With that, he was gone.

(1) from the Greek name Stephanos meaning 'crown'; Saint Stephen is widely regarded as the first Christian martyr

There is action, and then there is action. This is a bit of the former; the latter will show up next chapter (o: Thought it'd be good to touch base a bit before we really start delving into things. Thanks for reading, and do review. Cheers.