I was looking through the favourites of an author, and was at no 400 when I came across my own fic. At first, I was completely ecstatic! Actual physical proof that I'm on a fave. List (not counting the stats page, or the emails I get). And then I was aghast, because it was no. 400! This fic must have not been updated in a while. So I got off my metaphorical tush and started writing.

Of course, the fact that I was viewing them by category only just crossed my mind. Sigh.

Finally got it to upload. Score!

Harry smiled at Hermione as he slid into the seat next to her. She had saved it for him, snarling viciously at William when he'd tried to move her stuff and seat himself. Harry rather thought that she was practically an embodiment of the lion emblem she proudly displayed on her breast. They were in Defence Against the Dark Arts, their first class for the year. Harry had decided that the stupid hat must know something, as his housemates had left him clear alone.

It had been marvellous.

He'd been shown his house common room, where he'd be sleeping, and then no one had tried to approach him. It might have had something to do with the sneer or imperiously arched eyebrow he gave to anyone who had tried to make friends with him during dinner, or it could be that he was a Black. The Griffindors would have surely tried to breach his icy exterior, or at least wouldn't have left him alone.

The Slytherins, Harry thought, would have respected his privacy – at least in public. Harry had learnt, through Regulus, that they were a surprisingly social bunch inside their own common room. They also had house politics, which dominated most of their interactions. Harry did not even want to venture into that minefield of school.

The Hufflepuffs were perfect for him. He ignored them, they stayed away from him, he glared, they ran away from him. Perfect. The only downside was that, having looked at his time table this morning, Harry had discovered that he spent all his lessons with Ravenclaw – bar his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes.

Harry looked to the front of the class, ignoring the furious glare of William, somewhere behind him, and waited for the teacher to begin the class. He did not have to wait long, as a broad figure stepped out from underneath the staircase that had once been used as a magnificent entrance for a self absorbed fool. Unbelievably dark red hair, jade eyes and a slight quirk to the mans lips drew sighs from many of the female students. Harry smiled at Godric, who returned it with a huge grin – causing more sighs.

Harry wondered if Godric even noticed. It was hard to tell, sometimes, with the once portrait. Sometimes he seemed all too aware of the things he did, and other times he was clueless. A girl had exclaimed too loudly about him being 'completely shag worthy,' and Godric had overheard. The girl had blushed bright, but Godric had only been confused, asking Harry why he was worthy of carpets.

Even Harry wasn't that bad. Sure, he'd been almost completely isolated for years but, before that, he'd still been exposed to current culture. His F- Sirius had delighted in teaching both he and William all sorts of dirty things.

Harry was trying not to think of Sirius as his father while around Godric. Harry could tell that, with his last name change, the ancient man was worried about him. He probably thought that Regulus had come from him, which is preposterous because Harry would most certainly not be at Hogwarts, wouldn't be in Defence Against the Dark Arts with Godric and Hermione, if Regulus had come for him.

Harry quietly ignored the tightening in his chest at the thought of never seeing Godric of Hermione again.

Expertly ignoring the slowly growing part of him that was wondering if Regulus really would come for him.

"Good morning class!" Godrics deep baritone reverberated around the room, and Harry smile grew a bit wider. He would not dwell on 'what if's' – they would not help his self-confidence, his sense of personal happiness or how much he enjoyed what time he did have with his friends. Or, well, friend and Teacher.

Was Godric allowed to be his friend, and his teacher?

Harry supposed so – if he could shag his Uncle, he could befriend his DADA teacher.

Walking across the class room to the blackboard, Harry was only slightly surprised to see that Godric was still wearing tights. The tights looked as if they were painted on. Harry gave a silent snigger. The tights had, indeed, once been painted on. It was lucky the man was wearing a long tunic, because otherwise some of the students might try and get him reprimanded for indecent exposure. Or take photos.

That would be funny.

Harry grabbed his parchment and quill, quickly writing down what was being written on the board by an enchanted piece of chalk – he would have to remember to not snicker at the clothes Godric was wearing until they were alone, and he could make Godric wonder what he was laughing about. The jade eyed man was staring to cotton on, Harry thought, but hadn't really picked it up yet. He probably wouldn't be wearing tights if he had.

Harry started off into space once more, space which was conveniently occupied by his teachers chest, and wondering if Godric would actually wear something other than tights. Loose trousers would probably be awkward for him, but Harry imagined that he would manage to pull it off. After all, the man could make bloody tights work!

Hmm, maybe Godric was actually Merlin in disguise – because that was a miracle.

Jolting himself back to reality, and wondering when he'd become so fascinated by Godric and his tights, he quickly continued to write down about this coming semesters course outline. He didn't notice Godrics light and happy gaze locked onto him or Hermiones curious brown eyes flicking between Harry and Godric.

"Ha-Mr. P- Black. Mr. Black." Godric finally got out the name he was supposed to call Harry by, and the raven haired teen paused, bag hanging out of his hand, paused on its way to his shoulder. Hermione had already gone on, eager to get to her next class and not having to wait for him, and Harry was one of the last students left in the class. The Gryffindors had transfiguration and did not want to anger their head of house, while the Hufflepuffs were eager to get outside and enjoy their first free.

"I would like to talk to you about you lack ... of ... attention ..." Godrics piercing gaze followed the last student, a Gryffindor, out the door, before he completely trailed off. He turned to Harry, his gaze happy but serious.

"Harry." He was silent, not wanting to broach the subject of Regulus and ruin the happy mood they were both obviously in, but still needing to check. Harry gave him a thin smile, shaking his head.

"He has not come for me, yet." Harry said. Godric smiled happily, walking over to his desk and then sitting on it. He thought for a second, before he frowned. He was about to ask about his name change and, quite frankly, Harry did not want to tell him yet. Maybe later.

"You're not a very professional teacher." Harry commented, and Godric raised an eyebrow.

"You don't like my teaching?" He asked, and Harry shook his head.

"I didn't say that, Godric. I merely meant you're obviously not a professional. Sitting on your desk, jumping around the room, wearing tights…" Harry trailed off, and Godric rolled his eyes.

"Is that what this is about? My tights?" He scoffed, waving the issue away. Godric had decided that, coming from Harry, anything to do with his tights should be taken with a grain of salt. He had been worried, for a bit, that his clothing was not appropriate in this time. Everyone seemed to be wearing robes. Ghastly things, Godric had never liked them. He had only worn them for formal occasions, thankfully he hadn't been painted in robes.

He would have had to kill the artist, if the man had tried to paint robes on him.

Septima, Aurora and Charity (all wonderfully nice) had assured him that his tights were perfectly acceptable when he'd asked them. Even Minerva had given him a smile. Obviously Harry was merely toying with him.

"Then how did your last name change come about?" Godric was not one to be deterred from a subject. Not often, at least. And, right now, the only thing that would make him stop pursuing the subject was if Harry professed his undying love (or something similar in a physical way) or –

"Can we come in, Professor?" A small voice asked. Godrics first year class was milling around outside and Godric nodded, waving them in. Harry smiled at Godric, chuckling at the look on his face.

"I'll see you later, Professor." Harry chuckled, and sped out the door.

XXXX

Regulus Black snarled as he continued to pace. He had been in this small room for hours, pacing. Wall to wall, his enraged gaze flicking around the room, looking for something to spark his inspiration. He could find nothing – had not been able to find anything for the months that his Harry had been away from him.

His dear, precious Harry.

Alone with those fucking Potters. They ruined everything.

His mind was still young, he was open to manipulation. Regulus had used that to his advantage many, many times – but the thought of someone else doing that?

The sound of a chair breaking broke up the silence. That was the last bit of unbroken furniture in the room. Regulus sighed, looking around the room he had trashed. It had been some kind of sitting room before Regulus had stormed in. Now it was in tatters. The muggle paintings that had been on the walls were destroyed, the curtains in tatters, furniture smashed and broken, wooden splinters scattering the floor.

Regulus kicked a large piece of chair of out his way as he exited through the door. He stopped, just outside of the room, and felt the complete rage boil up again. He had no way of contacting Harry that he was absolutely sure wouldn't be intercepted. Harry could be forgetting about him – or replacing him. But his beautiful Harry would never do that.

Would he?

Regulus took a deep breath. No, of course Harry wouldn't do that. But ... he had probably been hanging around Sirius Black – the Lord fucking Black. Sirius wasn't as perverted as the rest of his family, but Harry was simply beautiful to look at. Maybe Sirius would be tempted? Hogwarts was back in session now, probably, so maybe some unworthy fucking kid would take a liking to Harry?

But Harry would never betray Regulus like that.

But then, why shouldn't he? Regulus had kidnapped him, brutalised him in ways that child probably hadn't even known were possibly, and had then warped his brilliant little mind. Maybe someone had been trying to fix – to break! – his Harry. And Harry would let them, wouldn't he? Oh, of course he would. And, as payment for 'helping' Harry, the raven haired teen would let them fuck him.

The little slut probably begs for it as well. How dare he! That stupid fucking whore. How could he just forget Regulus, abandon him like that! Regulus had started to love Harry, and this is what the child does in return? Just spreads his legs for some other man.

Well, Regulus would never let his Harry just slip through his grasp. Regulus would continue to try and find a way to get his little slut back, and when he did...oh, when he did Regulus would make the boy scream. Harry would regret cheating on Regulus, he would regret throwing everything Regulus had ever done back in his face.

Harry did always bleed so beautifully.

Godric.

The thought just popped into Regulus' head, and things just seemed to shift into place inside the Death Eaters head. Of course. Godric had alerted the Aurors. Godric was probably with Harry at Hogwarts, right now. Worming his way inside Harrys head, ruining everything Regulus had ever worked for.

In fact, he was probably the one fucking Harry. Not physically, of course, but Harry probably bent over in front of his portrait, his delicate fingers working himself open. And that Merlin damned fucking portrait would encourage him. Whisper his sick fucking fantasies to his Harry.

Maybe Harry brought along... toys...so he could pretend that it was Godric inside of him. Maybe Godric convinced the little whore to bring other people into the mix. And who would, who could, resist Harry? If Harry were to walk up to another student, his eyes half lidded, and beg to be fucked who would care if they were having sex in a hallway, in front of a portrait?

Regulus had never minded fucking Harry in front of Godric, in as many ways and positions as possible. Because Godric was a fucking portrait, and would never be able to physically touch Harry. It had even been one of Regulus' favourite past times – to take Harry over the piano, at exactly the right angle so Godric could see everything.

Regulus had always been torn between complete anger that the portrait hardly ever left, or amusement. Regulus would watch Godric sometimes, while the portrait was too engrossed in watching Harry to realise he was being observed. The way the painted eyes would darken as Regulus spread Harry, the look on his face when Harry cried out.

And Regulus loved to taunt the portrait with it when Harry wasn't around.

Because Godric would never have Harry.

Except now the little slut was at Hogwarts with Godric, doing unmentionable thing with the portrait – for the portrait. It was too much for Regulus to take. Thinking about Harry lusting after the portrait as much as he wanted Regulus pushed him so much further than anger. Regulus turned around and ripped the old door off its fucking hinges, stalking through the house. He walked to a nearby balcony and looked over Little Hangleton.

His master didn't care if he destroyed the house, preferred it, actually. Regulus had resigned from the school in the best manner physically possible. He'd massacred the entire population, all the children screaming as he cut them down like the animals they were. The aurors already knew where he lived, so Regulus had had some fun. He was in Riddle manor, now, taking care of his master.

His master had told him to be patient, to wait. His Lord had promised that Harry Potter would be delivered to him on a silver fucking platter. Regulus eagerly awaited that day but, until then, he felt his anger rise and rise and keep rising. Every time he thought about Harry, he thought about all the ways the little whore was being unfaithful.

Hadn't Regulus been good to him?

And this is the way Harry repays him?

Oh, Regulus felt his blood boil every time he thought of that little fucking bitch. Harry would enjoy it, having his legs wrapped around someone elses body. Having them spill their seed deep within him, in a place that no one but Regulus should ever have the pleasure of being in. But Regulus would wait, oh yes he would wait, and when he finally had Harry within his grasp again, things were going to change.

He'd been too lenient on the boy, yes, much too lenient.

He would make Harry bleed and scream and cry and beg. Oh, how Harry would beg him – beg him for more, beg him to stop, beg him for mercy. Regulus would not give his little one mercy, though, mercy was too good for that whore – taking other people inside his body. Regulus vaugly entertained the idea of letting some of the other Death Eaters play with Harry for a little while, since the boy obviously liked to fuck around, but decided against it.

No, he would be the only one that Harry would be with ever again. And the reunion would not be sweet and happy and filled with declarations of love, like Regulus had first foolishly thought it would be. There would be a constant melody of Harrys screams in the background, and the boys precious blood was stain the sheets irreparably. Regulus would remould Harry, even if he had to break the boy severely to do it. It wasn't like it had been a chore last time.

And, after all, it wouldn't be breaking him. Regulus would be fixing him.

Repairing his Harry to what he was supposed to be.

In the most painful way Regulus could think of, obviously. Harry could not go without punishment. What Regulus had planned for his dear Harry, his love, would make the initial time Regulus had spent brutalising the child look like a walk through a rose coloured, cotton candy filled fucking park.

But oh, Regulus could not wait for that fun to start.