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.
NOTE: WARNINGS FOR UNDERAGE SLASH
Chapter Eight
Barnard Park was sort of freaky and bleak, really. He hoped they weren't going to stay here to talk it over. Right in the middle of the dead field was a cold, metallic jungle gym that resembled conjoined headstones. He was having far too many flashbacks to the cemetery at Little Hangleton as it was to be comfortable here.
He was seated on a bench under a pine tree, out of sight with his invisibility cloak thrown over him for good measure when Flint showed up. The older boy was dressed most innocuously as a Muggle in a knitted grey henley, slim dark jeans and scuffed black sneakers. In fact, between the two of them he was dressed a little more formally for once, in his trousers, rolled-up shirtsleeves and sweater-vest. It was late summer, and the night was brisk out, and he didn't trust his luck enough. Knowing it he'd probably sneeze at the most inopportune moment, regardless.
"Harry!" Flint hissed out. "Come out, would you? I know you're here."
He pulled his cloak off and slipped it in his pocket, before getting to his feet. He was still behind Flint though, and called out, "Hey."
Flint started at the sound. When he turned and saw him, he just stared down at him for a long moment without saying anything.
"What is it?" He frowned, ruffling his hair aside self-consciously. "Flint?"
Flint shook his head furiously like a wet dog. "Nothing," he said gruffly, "it's fine. But we're not staying here. Come on." He took his hand as if it were natural for him, tracing their fingers together as he led them out of the park, following Copenhagen Street till it branched into Cloudesley, and they stood in front of the Hilton London Islington Hotel on Upper Street. Harry was surprised at the sight of the plainly Muggle building. Flint didn't notice his astonishment; he just seemed all intent on getting them there. It took a firm tug on their linked hands for the older boy to stop.
"We're going in there?" he hissed.
Flint seemed confused by his aversion. "Yeah," he said, "yeah, we are. This way the odds of us running into anyone we know are slim to none."
"O-okay," he stumbled. "I just- I guess I didn't think you were serious when you mentioned about keeping an eye on Muggles." Flint cast him a bit of a doubtful look, but didn't chase it. They made their way to the reception where he hung back and let Flint do the talking.
"I called earlier this evening," the older boy told the woman at the Hilton Honours desk, "reservation for the night. The name is Flint."
The young woman's eye widened briefly, but she controlled any other response she might have made. "Yes, of course, sir, for the King Hilton Deluxe." She nodded at the nearest bellhop. "Kindly escort Mr. Flint and his guest to the room on the far end. If there's anything we can do for you, please let us know."
Flint nodded, giving her a polite, if dismissive smile. "Thank you." He pulled him along, following the bellboy into the elevator to the top floor. He tipped the boy before they entered the room so they could do so in private, and the first thing Flint did was pull out his wand and cast a privacy ward on the room.
Then he turned to him and gripped his shoulders, giving him a little shake and demanded, "What's this about Black?"
Harry jerked himself out of Flint's hold. "Hey!" he snapped. "Step off; would you; what's with that? Sirius is my godfather, of course I'd trust him. I already told- no," he shook his head. "It wasn't you, it was the Malfoys. They didn't think Sirius could handle it either, after his bitch of his mother, but you're all underestimating him, I tell you. He's not quite the only one I trust back at Grimmauld, but he's definitely the one I trust the most."
"You're a bloody naïve prat," Flint snarled.
"And you're an overreacting overbearing git!" he snapped. "I didn't have to tell you about Sirius. In fact I only decided to mention it because the Malfoys suggested it!"
"Where the hell did you get off about Black in the first place!" Flint shot back, slamming one large heavy hand into the wall beside his head. Harry was so furious he barely even noticed it.
"Piss the fuck off," he growled, "he knew you were involved before you knew he was, and he's my godfather. So if anyone gets off claiming seniority it sure as hell is him! Besides, I want Petttigrew for him from your Lord- the rat can't have a single honest use anywhere. Sirius deserves to be able to get out of his own damn house- shit, I was meant to have called him the moment I got here-" He turned about and scrambled for the mirror Sirius had given him, not seeing the seething look Flint shot him.
He finally managed to pull it out and grinned, tapping at its surface to activate it. "Sirius-"
He never saw it coming. Flint just ripped the mirror from his hand and flung it across the room, causing it to shatter.
"What the fuck-"
The broken pieces of the mirror were still glowing, and Harry would have gotten to them if Flint hadn't grabbed him about the waist. "Get off me, you bloody son of a cock-sucking-"
"-rry James Potter, you better be in bloody boiling hot soup, 'cause you just interrupted a ruddy good snogging session-"
The two of them froze. The voice was familiar to Harry, but not the one he'd expected to hear.
"Charlie?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Are you- who are you- bloody hell, were you snogging Sirius?"
There came the sounds of some uncomfortable throat clearing, and then Sirius's voice came through. "Um- yeah, sorry bout that, pup." It sounded like Charlie was sniggering in the background. "Yeah, anyway, so- you've reached the park, then? Wait- the mirror- what the hell-"
He tore out of Flint's lax grip and scrambled to get to the broken pieces of the mirror. "Siri! Here! I'm here! I'm okay!" He could make out his godfather's fractured face in the shards, a frowning brow here, a downturned mouth there, and stormy eyes the colour of diamond. "He might have…overreacted a little," he said slyly, glancing up at the older boy where he wouldn't meet his eyes, his cheeks tinged pink.
"Wait-what?" Sirius exclaimed. "He didn't- if he laid a hand on you, pup, I'll-"
'Pup?' he saw Flint mouth to himself, and he could practically see the cogs turning in his head, and hid a grin.
"It's fine, Sirius," he reassured his godfather. "Whatever it was, he took it out on your mirror. I think he's worked out all of the kinks, too. Don't worry; I'll get him to repair it," he added, and laughed when Flint scowled.
"Pup?" came Sirius's voice again, still slightly concerned, and he smiled. "I'll be fine, Siri. I'll see the two of you later, all right? And you owe me the full story when I get back."
"I could say the same, loverboy!" he heard Charlie call out pointedly from behind his godfather, and the bits of skin he could see from Sirius were flushed pink. He laughed, again, feeling his cheeks heat up. "I'll see you later," he said again, "Love you, Siri," he added pointedly, just to rib Flint. The older boy growled as Sirius's mouth curled into a smile.
"Love you too, pup."
He looked at Flint from where he was kneeling beside the broken pieces of the mirror, no longer glowing. "Well?" he said. "Aren't you going to fix it?" He got to his feet, dusting his hands off against his trousers.
Flint bared his teeth at him, but set about doing so.
"I don't know what you were thinking," Harry remarked, sitting on the chaise couch not too far away. "Were you- were you jealous? Of Sirius? But you couldn't have been. He's my godfather- what possible reason do you have for being jealous, let alone of him?"
Flint didn't answer, so he continued his little monologue. "Well, I expect you're going to have to apologise to him later. And Charlie, too, since you interrupted…the both of them." He made a face at the thought. "Charlie and Siri. Really. I was wondering at the way Charlie kept looking at Sirius but I didn't think it was because of that!"
"Your godfather…" Flint said stiltedly, "he was that dog back at Diagon Alley? Not Transfiguration- an Animagus?"
He cocked his head sideways and smiled, a little, at Flint. "Got it in one. He's unregistered, so you've got to keep mum about that. That's how he's managed to escape detection so far, but it won't last forever. That's why I want Pettigrew. You can't tell me the rat's useful to anyone. Come on then, Flint, I coughed up my bit. Now you owe me some answers at least. Just what's going on inside that head of yours?"
To his surprise, Flint looked upset. "Can't you tell, Harry?" he asked. His voice was hoarse. "Can't you tell?"
Harry tried to think it through before answering this time. He'd never thought there was a day his words could hurt Marcus Flint, of all people, but apparently there was, and it was today.
"You- you're interested in me, a little bit," he tried, "but I don't get why, or how. I don't understand it."
"I thought I was making myself quite clear," Flint said.
"But I don't understand why," he shot back.
Flint sighed, and stood with the repaired glass in his hand. He set it aside on one of the tables, safe and out of the way. "Does that have to be a why?" he asked patently. "Can't I just be interested in you?"
"But there's no reason for you to be," he said back, just as patently. He pursed his lips. "Mrs. Malfoy mentioned that your family- well, your father and you, at least-"
"My father's a telepath," Flint said flatly, "and I'm an empath. Is that what this is all about?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know. You should be the one telling me that- they said that I'm only interesting because I can feel you leaking through your shields, and that if I can resist the Imperius Curse I should be able to resist you. Is that it, then?"
Flint narrowed his eyes at him. "So you'd listen to them now, would you?" he asked, a bit sneering.
Harry stared unrelentingly back. "I'm listening to you now, aren't I?"
Flint grabbed him by the throat and the hip off the couch and slammed him into the nearest wall, knocking all breath from his lungs. Any sound he might've made was swallowed by the older boy instead. Flint drank the air from his lips, lapping at them openly and eagerly. Harry could only whine at the back of his throat while the older boy continued his assault. Harry supposed he was meant to feel a little threatened when Flint's body covered his so easily, when Flint barely had to expend any energy at all to lift him and fling him all over the bloody place, but all he could do was scrabble for purchase against the older boy's shoulders. His feet weren't even touching the ground; perhaps if they were pointed, his toes might brush the carpet, but Flint had his thigh lodged firmly between his legs, supporting him, with his bum resting on top.
Harry managed to wrest his head away from Flint, gasping for breath, but Flint didn't let up, going instead for the line of his jaw, his neck, his throat. Flint was almost savage in his pursuit, using lips and teeth and tongue and not letting up for a moment.
"Is this reason enough?" he breathed into Harry's ear, and then licked up the side of it. He remembered how Flint's tongue had wend its way over that spoon at Ancelot, and fancied it must have felt a little like this. Harry shuddered as Flint proceeded to nip his way down his neck, till he reached the collar of his shirt.
"Ruddy stupid clothes," Flint growled as he divested him rapidly of both vest and shirt. "I didn't buy them for you to hide behind."
Harry gave a silly giggle at the cold air biting his body. Flint ran his hands up and down his bare skin, leaving behind scalding trails of warm-blooded heat. He didn't tarry for long, though, cruising easily down the line of his breastbone, past his navel, to the button on his trousers.
"You're-" he began breathlessly.
"I want you to know how much I want this, want you," Flint said, and they were nose-to-nose, emerald against pistachio. Flint kissed him again, and Harry stared at his face, at the pale lids that revealed delicate, square-cut freckles on them now that they hid his pistachio-coloured irises from view. A generous person might call Marcus Flint handsome. There were certain elements about him, certainly, that made him striking, he supposed, as long as no one asked him about them. He was feeling a little too overcome to give any answer at all.
Flint flicked open the button with his thumb, and then wasted no time pulling down his zipper. He palmed him straight through the thick cotton trousers and the boxer-briefs underneath, and Harry exhaled with a groan.
Flint hoisted him up for a moment, settling him firmly astride his thigh as he divested him of both remaining garments. Harry couldn't remember when he'd spared the time to kick off his sneakers, and now he was completely naked to Flint's completely clothed.
Flint's hand was rough, calloused from both Quidditch and quills. It was familiar in an odd sort of way, seeing as how Harry's own hand had near-identical callouses. He squeaked when Flint's fist tightened at the top of the stroke, and clung to the other boy's larger frame. He couldn't do much else. Flint had him gasping for breath, chest caved in from where his arms clutched onto the his shoulders in a death-grip, all the way up till his climax. Then Harry was left still wantonly astride Flint's thigh, legs sprawled open on either side as Flint released him enough for him to sag back against the cool wall. The plaster felt nice against his sticky, overheated skin.
Flint smeared his soiled hand against the wall to clean it, enough so that he could pick him up, supporting him with thick, solid hands against his thighs. Harry just let him, too sated by his orgasm to do anything but watch him with hooded eyes. When Flint put him down this time, it was on the bed, and gently. He just lay there, legs and arms spread akimbo and bare, and listened to the sounds of the older boy kicking his own shoes off. When the other boy joined him on the bed, though, he was still in his henley and jeans, although he'd removed his socks. Harry shuddered at that, because Flint's toes were cold.
"What is it," Flint whispered. He'd tugged him close enough that their chests were pressed against each other, and they both had a leg threaded between them. It didn't seem to matter to him that one of them was clothed and the other naked. Although now that they were this close, Harry could feel Flint's own response to his nakedness quite prominently against his thigh, and swallowed hard.
"You have cold toes," he told the other, reaching up hesitantly to rest one hand on Flint's broad chest. The smile that greeted him seemed encouraging more than anything else.
Flint pressed a kiss to his cheek, just shy of his lips. "I guess I'll have to depend on you to keep me warm," he replied, and Harry could feel his mouth curving into a smile against his skin. Slowly, Harry relaxed into Flint's embrace. This was all a little new and strange for him, but it hadn't been bad, any of it. Even when Flint had been a little rough- Harry was shocked to feel a frission of lust jolt his body.
"What is it?" Flint asked again.
"Nothing," he said, too quickly.
Flint smirked, and tapped his temple. "You're forgetting: empathy, remember. You were feeling aroused. Now- what was it?"
Harry flushed and tried to turn his face away, but Flint was faster, and wouldn't let him. "It wasn't- wasn't bad, when you were a little rough," he admitted, and Flint kissed him for it. He kissed back this time, curling his tongue right around Flint's. It got easier and easier every time.
"Do you want to try again?" Flint asked when he pulled away. Harry was a little smug to see the older boy slightly breathless. "Properly, this time."
"Properly, as in…you're going to take your clothes off this time?" Harry asked, almost coy.
There was a hunger in Flint's eyes that he hadn't let himself see before. "Yes," the other replied, voice gruff, "if you'd like."
"Okay," he agreed, before he could lose his nerve. Flint's eyes widened briefly before he dove in to kiss him within an inch of his life. He only pulled away to start pulling off his clothes, and Harry hauled himself upright to get a better picture.
He'd always known Flint had been hiding some serious muscles. It'd been obvious even back in the day, at Hogwarts, and his first re-impression of Flint at the Ministry had done nothing to change that. When Harry had seen him tonight, the form-fitting henley and jeans had given him some idea of just what type of change Flint was packing underneath all his robes. And while he might have been an innocent, that certainly didn't mean he was blind. He'd noticed the women around them noticing, and some of the men, too, and couldn't help noticing himself, too, even if he hadn't said anything. But nothing quite prepared him for the sight that greeted him once those clothes finally came flying off.
Flint was fit. He hadn't noticed how fit until the clothes started coming off, but after that it was like he couldn't do anything else but notice. Flint's muscles weren't obnoxiously large, but he certainly had some well-developed biceps and triceps, and the skin of his torso moulded tightly over his packs of muscle. His legs were surprisingly rangy, if athletic, covered in sparse, wiry hair.
Then Harry's gaze cut half-mast, and he flushed. Flint was certainly…well hung. From his dormitory, Dean was the only one who measured anywhere close, but even then his mate was still shorter and a little on the skinny side compared to this. Harry was comfortably average, but Flint was…Flint was large. And he only got larger in his aroused state. He wet his lips and went, "Wow."
The older boy smirked upon seeing where his gaze had fallen. "Here," he said, and swung a leg over him, straddling and pushing him back down into the mattress. Harry was extremely conscious of wherever their bodies touched. He was so hard his foreskin was completely pushed back, exposing the pulsing red head; he'd never been this aroused before, and the speed of things was making him a little dizzy.
"Here," Flint murmured, "let me," and he whispered the words of a spell lost between their bodies, before reaching under himself. It was driving Harry crazy. He knew Flint was doing something back there, because his hand kept moving and the light hair dusting the back of it would brush against his cock at every other stroke, but he couldn't see anything from this angle. He tried to sit up, but Flint pushed him back down, biting back a groan as he shifted position. He frowned. Just what was Flint-
"Here," Flint murmured again, but he sounded breathless and ravaged. His frown deepened, but that was before the older boy slid down a little nearer on top of him, and his cock pressed against Flint's bare arse. Flint reached under to grip his cock, holding it steady, but he did little more than that. Harry whined at the sparse contact.
"What're you-" he began, but Flint pressed himself lower with a broken groan. "Ah-" Harry couldn't quite cry out. It felt like all his concentration was centred around his cock, and his vocal chords couldn't even work right. His cock was inside Flint, and the heat and clenching fit were- but how- his eyes widened in realisation. No. That couldn't be possible- Flint sunk even lower with a groan till his arse was flush against his thighs. Harry felt his cheeks heat up, and, in response, felt his cock swell. Flint gave a low satisfied hum, smirk on his face, and rolled his hips. Harry cast his head back and moaned, helpless, caught between Flint's arse and the bed as his elbows fought to support him.
"That's it," Flint purred as he bent over him, hips still working.
"How're you even-" he gasped out, fingers clenching in the sheets beside them. Flint bent down and kissed him, working his hands free of the sheets and placing them on his waist instead. Harry gripped him instinctively, gasping when that brought them even closer. His own hips snapped up, and Flint made an uncomfortable noise.
"I'm sorry-!"
Flint pressed a hand to his mouth to quiet him. "No," he said, and his voice was ragged. Harry stared up at the older boy with wide eyes. He was almost beautiful on the verge of orgasm. A jolt shot through his stomach at the sight, and he was shocked at how much closer he was to coming with the knowledge of how close Flint was, too.
Tentatively, he pressed his hips up again as Flint rolled his down, and he moaned at how much tighter that made Flint feel around him. It only took a few more thrusts before he was coming inside the older boy's body. Above him, Flint was panting heavily, his auburn hair matted dark with sweat as it hung in his face. He glanced down, and saw that the older boy was in nearly as bad a condition as he'd been before Flint had seen fit to take things into his own…body. Chewing his lip nervously, he reached for the organ, biting down at how similar it felt to his own. Flint arched his back at the first gentle touch, and Harry struck up a rhythm between hand and hips, watching the older boy keenly for his reactions. Between them, Harry had Flint coming within a few moments, and couldn't help his own surge of pleasure tied to the other boy's, even as he bit back a wince at how Flint's muscles clamped down on his oversensitised cock. He smiled shakily up at Flint, and the other leant down. Harry didn't even bother tempering his response; he just craned his neck and met him halfway.
"Thank you," he whispered shyly as their lips parted. Flint didn't reply verbally, just kissed him again in response.
The older boy slowly pulled off, causing them both to moan as they separated. He pinked at the way Flint was stretching out his back, his sated cock hanging heavily against his thigh.
"Could I ask- just where- where-"
Flint grinned, rather toothily. "An arsehole isn't just a figure of speech, Harry."
He bypassed pink all the way and went straight to red. Flint chuckled at his reaction as he settled down on the mattress beside him, watching him with something that looked like budding fondness in his pale green eyes.
"There was something I wanted to give you first," he revealed, "before I overreacted…and we kind of fell into the rest." He twisted about for his jeans, which he'd shucked somewhere off the bed earlier, looting the pockets and turning them all inside out. Harry enjoyed the view of Flint bent tight in two over the edge of the bed, and privately mourned the loss when the older boy found whatever he was looking for.
"Here," Flint said, indicating for him to hold out his hand. Harry obeyed, and Flint dropped a ring into his hand. He nearly dropped it in turn, he was so startled by its weight. It was considerably heavier than he expected such a tiny thing to weigh. When he studied it a little closer, he saw that it was a simple ring carved in matte black to imitate the trace grooves of a tree. He hefted it a couple of times, and was startled by how the air seemed to hum around it.
"What is it?" he asked.
"It's a graft from a metal tree," Flint explained, propping his head up on his elbow. "As long as the parent tree is still living, any graft will remain as alive."
"It's actually wood?" he exclaimed.
"Of a sort," Flint answered. "It grows like any other tree, except that it's entirely made out of metal. It can only be harvested by magic and it works just like metal, only that it conducts magic instead of heat, or electricity." He glanced up at his face, unusually solemn. "I told you, I meant every word. The ring is yours, if you'll wear it."
"What do you mean, the ring is mine?" he exclaimed in shock. "Do you- you mean- are you serious?" he breathed.
"That question is going to get old," Flint muttered, but he did nod. "I've meant every word I've said to you, Harry. As an empath I know it when people are lying to me. Words are one thing people can manipulate, but not true emotion. I don't like being lied to, and therefore I would hardly subject someone I- I care for, to such."
Harry looked between the ring, and Flint's face, and back again. "How is this going to change things?" he had to ask.
Flint looked pleased that he'd bother to ask after this. "You've heard from my side of things," he said. "That's not going to change. But on your side, however- I'm expecting plenty of changes, beginning with the way they treat you. I will make them happen."
He bit his lip. "Mrs. Malfoy did say that the lot of you Flints were quite…dedicated, when you found someone."
Flint gave him a half-smile. "That's a bit of an understatement. My father nearly killed his brother-in-law because of something he said against my mother. He'd had a particular habit of disparaging her, you see. Nothing serious, and he never really meant it, but it was all quite barbed. Mother'd grown used to it after a time, brushed it over, but Father took quite serious offence to it. My uncle has never been welcomed at the Flint Manor, either. The wards are under orders to strike him down dead should he ever cross them."
Harry opened his mouth in a soundless, 'O.'
The older boy took his hand, the one still holding the ring, and lightly caressed it. "Will you need more time?" he asked. "I'll wait."
"It's a little bit late for that, isn't it?" he asked tartly, his smile wry as he gestured between the two of them.
To his surprised Flint looked away this time, cheeks flushing pink. "I overreacted," he conceded. "I never meant for things to get this far- by rote it shouldn't have, not before you agreed. But you didn't seem to mind." Flint bit his lip, looking back. "Did you?"
Harry stared intently into Flint's eyes, willing those pistachio eyes to tell him everything he'd ever wanted to hear.
"All right," he rasped, "I'll wear it."
Flint's mouth went slack in shock. "You do know what this means, don't you?" he asked. "With this- we're effectively bonded. You can't renege this, Harry-"
"I know," he said, "I'm sure." He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and gripped Flint's hand back, the weight of the living metal between them. He looked Flint in the eye, willing him to see for himself, and feel the certainty he had for this decision.
"Okay," Flint whispered, withdrawing both hand and ring. It was only for a moment, before they were both back, and Flint was slipping it onto his fourth finger. The metal seemed almost warm against his skin, the beat of the living wood thrumming in time with his pulse.
"It can serve as a focus," he explained, "if you ever find yourself without your wand. They may be even more effective than a wand, especially since a metal tree's main purpose is to conduct magic. It thrives off it, and the more magic you store in it, the healthier it'll be. They're incredibly rare, though," Flint added, forestalling his next question. "Our family has fostered this one for generations, and it will always recognise a Flint." He gave a sly smile, and Harry could feel Flint reaching out with a tendril of his own magic towards the ring. His hand jerked as the wood seemed to beat faster in excitement. And then Flint withdrew his magic, and the wood calmed down. "Now that it's yours, though- it'll only recognise your magical signature, too."
"Do you have one?" he asked next.
Flint wore a bit of a dopey grin. "Yeah," he said, rooting about his jeans for the matching ring, also in metallic wood. Flint leaned across and kissed him. Harry sighed into the contact. This was the closest he'd ever come to being content, ever.
"We really should clean up, though," the older boy said after a moment.
Harry scowled. Did he have no understanding of the meaning 'afterglow'? Harry asked him as much, causing Flint to laugh. "Isn't there some sort of cleaning charm we can use?" he wheedled. "I'm kind of lazy right now."
Flint continued to chuckle. "It's called 'Scourgify' and no, we can use it later. Let's go take a bath instead."
And no, I'm not quite done with them yet (o: Thanks for reading, and do review. Cheers.
