Mutant Son

A.N. Thanks to my very few reviewers. Hearing feedback is great. It keeps me true to the characters. I see a lot of people reading this aren't overly familiar with Pyro and/or X-Men. In that case, I really hope my characterization of Pyro isn't misleading. Also, I hope people aren't actually losing interest in the story. Please let me know you're still into it! Also, I CANNOT create coded messages. So I've alluded to a message without actually writing one. Yes, I cheated, but better than the alternative.

Chapter 21: The Lull

Harry was staring at the ceiling again, thinking. They were at a dead end as far as the Horcruxes went. A month in the Hogwart's library hadn't provided Hermione and Ron with much information. And without Voldemort making his next move, all they could do was wait.

Harry had tried to be productive. He studied combat spells from all the books he could, but he wouldn't know whether he had grasped them without actually casting them. And Harry didn't want to use anybody as a dummy. So Harry was taking a break from the war and staring at the ceiling. He wished he could go flying or something. That's what he used to do at Hogwarts. He missed that place so much.

When Harry was sure he memorized every mark on the ceiling, he turned his head towards John who was reading next to him. He hadn't even bothered to put on a shirt. Harry grinned. If he couldn't fly…

He leaned over to John and trailed his lips along John's shoulder. But John kept reading, or pretended to keep reading. John's eyes had stopped moving across the page. So it was a game then. Harry worked his way towards John's neck and trailed one hand down John's chest. He paused when he hit a raised scar near John's stomach. Harry pulled away to look at it.

John tensed as Harry's hand stayed on the scar. "What's this from?" Harry asked. For a second he thought it was new. He took a second to look more closely at John's body. Harry had done this before but only in form which was plenty distracting itself. He saw a few faint scars here and there on John's chest and arms. Not too many but enough to raise an alarm in Harry's mind.

John pulled away and grabbed for his shirt without looking at Harry. He pulled his shirt over his head, back towards Harry. "Why?" John finally asked, turning to face him suspiciously.

"I don't know. It's a pretty bad scar," Harry shrugged. What Harry really wanted to say is 'because I want to know about your past'. But Harry didn't. While they talked sometimes (often instead sitting in silence or messing around), it was rarely about the past.

John kept looking at him, head cocked to the side ever so slightly. Harry refused to squirm. "Information doesn't come free," John said slowly.

Harry's mind ran through possible ways of paying for information, none of which were good.

"I tell you about this scar," John said, gesturing towards the relative spot the scar was located. "And you tell me something big about your life." Sure Harry could do that. "Pre-Hogwarts," John continued. Harry suddenly wasn't sure whether this was a good idea, but it was only fair he guessed.

"Okay," Harry decided. Harry watched as John pulled that detached expression and pose he so often sported.

"I was fifteen," John started. "A few months before Xavier found me. I did a lot of things to make money. One of them was knocking off cars. I chose the wrong car." John shrugged. "Got stabbed for my mistake."

At Harry's shocked look John continued. "It didn't hit anything important. Stitched it up myself. Couldn't risk the hospital."

Harry had expected that John went through things like this, but hearing it was something else. Stabbed while stealing a car? Harry wasn't sure which 's' he was caught on: the stealing, stabbing, or stitching.

Clearly John was waiting for Harry to say something but Harry didn't know what to say. He had learned early on that sometimes it was best to keep your mouth shut, not that he often followed that lesson nowadays.

So for lack of something to say, he skipped his response, instead deciding to keep his end of the deal. "Whenever I did something wrong my uncle locked me in my room without food for however long he felt I deserved." Somehow that didn't feel up to par with John's so Harry kept going. He softly offered, "My room was the cupboard under the stairs."

Harry was expecting that cool acceptance John offered when Harry had told him about his failed attempt at the Cruciatus. He didn't expect a noise like a hiss and John pushing himself away from the desk and at Harry. And he certainly didn't expect John to be checking out his arms and attempting to pull off Harry's shirt. Harry roughly pushed John away.

"What are you doing?" he asked in complete confusion. Harry's eyes met John's darkly intense look.

"Checking for scars," John gritted out. "I swear, if they laid one fucking hand on you…"

John made a move towards him but Harry backed up, sending his own glare. "I told you that they locked me in my room—"

"A cupboard," John growled.

"But I didn't say they beat me," Harry continued, keeping a decent space between them. John sighed in frustration, moving away from him.

"Yeah, how am I supposed to know that you're not keeping that to yourself, too," John pulled out his lighter. He paced, rubbing his hand along it.

"Too?" Harry asked. "You're saying I'm keeping things from you? Which one of us was beaten badly enough to run half-way across the world? Something you haven't exactly shared, you know."

"I gave you enough information for you to read between the lines," John glared. "This is different."

"Different how?"

"Because it's you, not me."

Harry paused. He wished he caught on to things like Hermione did. John had just said something important there and he wasn't sure what it meant.

"How often?"

Harry sighed. "I told you they didn't beat me."

"No," John said. "How often did they lock you in the cupboard?" John had stopped pacing. He was looking somewhere to Harry's left, one hand paused over the lighter.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. When I did accidental magic. Did well in school, did poor in school. Maybe a couple of times a year?"

John nodded, finally calm. But this didn't feel like a good calm. "But they didn't lay a hand on you?" he confirmed.

"They didn't beat me. Sure they shoved me in the cupboard a couple of times or grabbed my arm too roughly, but never beat me," Harry tried to explain. He had gotten over his annoyance with John for his reaction. Now he was just trying to calm John down and apparently succeeding. Though hot-headed, Harry hadn't expected such a strong response from him.

"So, you stole cars?" Harry felt this was the right time to broach the subject. John was calm and less defensive.

John nodded distractedly. "My dad was a mechanic," he said.

Harry guessed that explained how John knew how to steal cars. "Was that…" Harry swallowed, "….the worst that you did?"

John looked at Harry, meeting his gaze. "Depends on how you look at it," he said quietly. "Now the share and care session is over."

Harry nodded but John wasn't looking at him, instead turning to face the window. Something still needed to be said. Harry didn't know what he was doing but the hell with it. Hadn't they messed up enough in the last month? What was one more mistake if he wasn't getting it right?

Harry slowly approached John. He reached around John so that his arm was partially around John's torso and rested his hand on where he thought the scar to be. Harry was glad that no more than an inch separated them in height as he placed a soft kiss on the crook of John's neck. John tensed again for a moment before relaxing ever so slightly, putting his hand on Harry's arm.

They didn't stay in that position for long. John turned and sat on the very edge of his desk, pulling Harry along with him. But Harry didn't need to be pulled to stay close. They didn't look at each other. John just rested his forehead on Harry chest. Harry hesitated before running his hand through John's hair.

"You survived," Harry said quietly. "No matter what you did, you survived and maybe it's selfish but I don't care about anything else."

John pulled away and looked up at Harry as if he was going to say something but decided against it. A knock on the door interrupted them.

"It's open," John shouted at the door and Harry moved away from him. John watched him with an odd expression. Harry ran his hand through his hair, trying to push the moment from his mind.

The door opened and Shackelbolt poked his head in. "Potter, good," he said as he entered into the room completely. He looked at the two speculatively. Harry knew they were far enough from each other that nothing should have been suspicious. Then again, perhaps it was suspicious enough for two guys to be constantly found in a bedroom together.

"You're late," he directed this at both of them. "The Order meeting started ten minutes ago." Harry checked his watch. Shit.

McGonagall did not wait. Potter and Pyro were late but they had much to discuss. She sent the last person to arrive (late she may add) to fetch them. No matter what the two were doing, she knew that Kingsley at least had enough courtesy to knock.

McGonagall looked around the room. This was their first meeting since the Ministry fell. She, Remus, and a few others had immediately attended to Hogwarts business after, ensuring that the Ministry's fall did not mean the same for Hogwarts. Others attended to their personal lives, making sure their families were safe. Still others quickly fell out of contact. They had already given up hope.

It was with a heavy heart that she took in their reduced numbers. The Weasleys, Fleur, Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, herself, and the two tardy boys just entering into the room, ten minutes late.

She cleared her throat. "I trust that I do not have to transfigure one of you into a pocket watch to make sure you are not late again." She couldn't remember whether she had already used that line on Potter. Her issues with him did not usually involve tardiness. From Harry's smile she knew that she had indeed already used that line.

"Thank you for coming," McGonagall announced, looking pointedly at Potter and Pyro. "I'm afraid to say that this is all who are."

Her audience looked around at each other, exchanging looks of solemn camaraderie. All except Potter who was sitting next to Remus and Pyro who chose to remain in the back, close to the door.

McGonagall sighed, letting her face show her weariness for a moment. Among these people she could; they did not expect her to be perfect.

"Our numbers have reached an all time low," she said tiredly. "The Death Eaters and their supporters greatly outnumber us. Our only success so far has been to hold on to Hogwarts. So I open the floor. We need suggestions and we need them now."

"How about recruitment," Arthur suggested.

"But who?" Kingsley responded. "The Ministry is lost. It is all the people can do just to survive as individuals, let alone fight a war for our whole world."

McGonagall looked around. Her eyes landed on Remus who was looking grim. They both had run out of ideas since the strengthening of the Hogwart's wards (which she had to admit was a fantastic idea. Thank Merlin for small victories).

Harry cleared his throat. "How about younger people? Recent graduates maybe? Last time the Order had plenty of people even Fred and George's age. I know my parents were. What's stopping us now?"

And that was a good question. She had thought about recruiting the younger generations but somehow she couldn't actively do so. The Weasley children, Granger, and even Pyro had fallen into it because of Potter. But as the years went on, her students seemed younger and younger. She could not watch kids like Lily and James die again or another innocent like Sirius waste away in Azkaban, for they were merely children that Halloween night. A lost generation she often felt. But now, with their numbers dwindling, what choice did they have?

Molly must have seen the look on her face. "No, Minerva," she shook her head forcefully. "We cannot have children fight for us."

"We're not children, Mum," the twins said in unison. Despite their naturally boisterous nature, they were usually quiet during meetings. They glanced at Potter who nodded.

"Mrs. Weasley," he started. "This is as much our generation's war as it was our parent's. By protecting us, you only put us in more danger." Potter swallowed and everyone's eyes were glued, Molly's in horror. "Voldemort called Cedric a spare before he killed him. He said 'Kill the spare'. If you don't let us fight, you just make more spares. Cedric wasn't a spare."

McGonagall's chest felt tight at the thought of Diggory. They had failed. If they had just suspected the fake Moody, Diggory would still be alive.

"How do you suggest we go about this?" Remus asked, breaking the silence. No one objected. It was clear that the room knew that this was their only hope.

Potter shrugged. "I don't know," he ducked his head. "I don't exactly pay attention to people. I doubt I could name everyone in my year."

McGonagall held back a small smile. Yes, Potter was still a child. But her inner smile could not last long. This child was whom the whole wizarding world was resting their hopes on.

"How about them?" Pyro asked from the back, nodding at the group of Weasleys. She suspected that he meant the Weasley children but he didn't clarify. "You seem like a sociable bunch." He said it like an insult, but he had a point.

"Yes" Tonks agreed. "If Bill, Charlie, Fred and George, and I think I'm sure we can come up with a list of names. We can contact them."

"You must be careful," Kingsley reminded them. "Just as in the first war, we cannot trust anyone."

Tonks nodded to show that she heard him but instead of responding, spoke to the younger Weasleys. "We'll meet directly after this."

"And those of legal age already still at Hogwarts?" Arthur asked timidly, keeping his gaze from landing on his wife who had already stiffened.

"They are of age," McGonagall admitted. "If the time comes, we cannot prevent them from fighting."

"When the time comes, you mean," Remus cut in. They could hold no delusions.

"I already have Hermione and Ron running the D.A.," Potter added. "If they're going to fight, they're going to know how to."

"And how about you, Potter?" Kingsley asked. "Though the spells in your arsenal have served you thus far, you need more to fight this war."

Potter nodded. "I've been studying but I can't actually practice most of the spells."

"We can have dueling practice," Remus suggested. "Though Minerva is needed at Hogwarts, Tonks, myself, and Kingsley can take turns." Kingsley nodded.

Potter eyed them. "Alright."

"How about hand-to-hand?" Pyro asked from the back again. "I know you wizards are big on your wands but what the fuck do you guys do if you lose them?"

McGonagall glared at the boy for his language, though he had a point. "I'm assuming you could help him with that? If you have the knowledge of course."

John stared at her. "I live at a school run by the X-Men, of course I can do hand-to-hand," he said as if she was stupid. Maybe she was. She had to admit she did not know much about the X-Men or mutants in general.

"This is good," Kingsley agreed. "He would have to go through such training in the Auror corp."

"I am here you know," Potter stated though he didn't sound petulant, but instead as if he thought they had actually forgotten.

Kingsley ignored him. "How good are you?" he shot at Pyro.

"Not the best," Pyro admitted though he didn't sound embarrassed. "I rather use fire. But I fight dirty."

"Good," Kingsley nodded. "There is no room for rules in combat." He turned to Potter sharply. "Do you hear that Potter? Your stunning and disarming spells are all well and good, powerful at that, but you aren't at school anymore. You must be willing to do more."

Potter glared at him. "I won't kill anyone until I have to," he said just as sharply.

"I don't care if you're willing to kill," Kingsley said and, at Potter's surprised look, he continued, "You just have to be willing to maim."

McGonagall, Remus, and Pyro watched Potter carefully. She knew that Remus felt the same as she did, that they wished it wasn't so but what was, was. But as her eyes landed on Pyro, she knew he was thinking something else. What, she wasn't sure. That boy remained a mystery to her. If Potter didn't trust him so much she would never take her eyes off him.

"Maim," Potter said slowly. "I can do maim." But Potter didn't look completely sure, his emotions as ever on his sleeve.

"How about your wandless magic, Harry?" Bill Weasley asked.

"We all saw him summon his wand to him at the Ministry," Charlie said.

"Which was wicked by the way," Fred added.

"And the look on You-Know-Who's face…" George continued. He made a look as if he was imagining it in that moment, though McGonagall doubted it. No one would ever want to see that man's deformed face voluntarily.

Molly shushed them and, no longer distracted by the Weasley boys' antics, they all looked at Potter who appeared a bit uncomfortable under their gazes. For some reason, he looked at Pyro who met his gaze. And then Potter became more confident. Remus and McGonagall eyed each other over the exchange. Interesting.

"Ummm…well I can do that," Potter responded needlessly. "And that's about it, really."

"Actually," Pyro cut in. "He moves things in his sleep. Not much but noticeably. Probably during nightmares." No one missed the statement. At the looks on everyone's faces, they must have all come to the same realization: the two boys had to have shared a room for Pyro to see that. And they both had their own rooms.

Potter looked surprised. He clearly hadn't known that. Then he looked doubtful. But McGonagall for one believed Pyro, remembering the incident recalled by Dumbledore in his office after the Department of Mysteries.

Then Potter realized what else Pyro had said. "Stayed up too late playing Exploding Snap," Potter explained, offering an innocent shrug. McGonagall's eyes narrowed. Apparently Potter wasn't as bad at lying as she had thought.

Next to her, she saw Remus actually wince. Had he preferred them to admit to what they were actually doing? And though she was somewhat curious, she didn't know whether her heart could handle the truth. It wouldn't do to have a heart attack in the middle of a war.

Pyro smirked in the corner, bringing his lighter up to his lips as if it were the only thing keeping him quiet. When people turned away from him, Potter took the chance to glare at him. Pyro's smirk remained as he shrugged not so innocently.

"Well," Bill cleared his throat. "It shouldn't be that much of a problem then. I can teach you a few simple methods I learned while I was at Gringotts. I was never very good at it. But then perhaps I can show you more about wards?"

Potter nodded, but he glanced around the room. "So when did this meeting become about me?"

"There's a lull in the fighting, Harry. You must take advantage of the time and train," Remus stated. "You did wonderfully at the Ministry, Harry, but quick thinking alone may not help you the next time you face Voldemort."

And the room quickly turned solemn. McGonagall wondered if everyone, like her, kept seeing the image of Potter's torture in their minds.

John didn't bother knocking as he entered Harry's room. It was empty but he heard the shower running in the bathroom. Harry had trained every day that week. He seemed exhausted by all the magic he was exerting. And John hadn't even started teaching him how to fight yet. He figured it best for Harry to adjust to the magic use before adding anything else strenuous. Besides sex of course.

Now that they had finally started, it was like Harry couldn't get enough, not that John minded in the least, whatever they did. Anything that got them both off would do. John had never had sex with the same person more than once. While John had obviously enjoyed the first time very much (somehow Harry's inexperience didn't hinder this, though he couldn't figure why), each time after got better. Perhaps this was why so many people insisted on being in a relationship in order to have sex.

The water shut off and John heard the shower curtain moving. John leaned back on the bed, hands behind his head. Harry paused in the doorway, towel around his waist. John enjoyed the moment. Harry tended to stay fully clothed around him for as long as he could. Body image issues? He couldn't imagine why. Harry was thin but he was also toned, more lean than anything else. A little pale perhaps but his skin was mostly unmarred. Well except for the marks John himself put there.

Harry not so surreptitiously made sure his towel stayed firmly in place. "Why are you staring at me?" he asked suspiciously.

John's eyebrows rose. "Why else?" Harry looked at him blankly. "Admiring the view, so to speak. And imagining all the things I want to do to you."

Harry didn't blush. Apparently he had gotten used to such things coming out of John's mouth, which was good since John tended to say stuff like that a lot.

Harry slipped boxers on under his towel before discarding it to pull on a pair of well worn sweats and a t-shirt. He couldn't tell whether either item was his or Harry's. They really should start keeping track.

"You do realize I've already seen everything, not to mention touched," John said lightly. Harry shrugged as he lay down on his bed. He got close enough that were inches apart, facing each other.

"Yeah," Harry finally said. "But I'm too distracted myself in those moments to feel awkward." John looked at Harry as he said this. Sometimes it struck John how young Harry actually was. Both he and John had it hard growing up and were old beyond their years. But Harry still had some sort of innocence left in him. John felt guilty for a moment for his part in tarnishing that, but only for a moment. Of all the types of innocence you could lose, this was by far the most enjoyable. Besides, John knew he would only let Harry experience the best parts of sex. Harry was too good for anything else.

"Not going to make fun of me?" Harry asked. "Because then I could get on you for your love of hair gel. You put it on before you even put on your pants." Harry sent a smirk at him. Then it was moments like these that reminded John that Harry gave as good as he got both verbally and physically (nowadays at least), if not less boldly.

As if reinforcing his point, Harry put his hand in John's hair near the nape of his neck. John smiled at him, encouraging him. It had taken sex to get Harry to regularly initiate contact of all kinds. It had taken losing Harry for those few weeks for John to initiate any affectionate contact beyond sex or anything related. Now both John and Harry found themselves doing so as often as possible. Behind closed doors of course. He truly hadn't thought about his wording at the Order meeting. It was a close call. But a part of him didn't regret it at all.

John saw when Harry began to think of something serious. Any hint of a smile was gone, his lips were in a slight frown. This wouldn't do. John put his hand on Harry's hip, pulling him close enough to comfortably kiss him.

Harry slowly pulled away. "You're trying to distract me," he said very seriously but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

John smirked in return. "Is it working?"

"Only partially," Harry admitted before getting that look on his face. That look that said that the slightly mischievous part of Harry was making an appearance. Despite the war, this Harry was coming out more and more. "We should stop. Unless you want me to be thinking about another guy while kissing you. I don't think your ego could take it."

John knew he was kidding and that Harry wasn't thinking about the guy in the same way that he thought about John. Nevertheless, he did pull away. It wasn't his ego, it was his possessiveness. Another unhealthy character trait.

Harry looked speculatively at him for a moment. "I need to contact Malfoy," he finally said. Great, this Draco kid again. "Or Snape though I think that would be more difficult."

John stared at him blankly. Harry rolled his eyes. "I was asking for your advice," he told him.

John shrugged. He didn't exactly plan things, just did them with no consideration of the consequences. John had truly meant what he said to Harry the first night they met: 'Live fast and die young'. "Do what that kid on the train said," he offered finally.

"Owling seems a little obvious," Harry said doubtfully.

"I'm sure their guarding for things less obvious. Besides, that's what the code's for."

Harry thought about it. "I don't actually know Malfoy enough for a code. I haven't had much interaction with him beyond fighting, dueling, insulting each other's parents. The usual."

"You guys took rivalry to the highest level, didn't you?" John asked, slightly surprised. After all, parents were a sore subject for Harry. He doubted that Harry would pull out the your-mamma jokes on just anyone.

"I hate him and it's mutual."

"Then why help him?" John truly didn't get it. He would enjoy watching people he hated fall and he would be certain to grab a front row seat. If he could've only watched his real father kill his step-dad.

Harry looked at him like it was obvious. It seemed that Harry still didn't get it himself. John was a selfish asshole with sociopathic tendencies. Everyone knew it; he knew it; Bobby even knew it. But Harry had yet to truly understand that.

"Because no one deserves that. To be at the mercy of Voldemort? No, thank you," Harry said firmly. "I hate Malfoy, but he's not the enemy."

"Plus he could give you information on the other side," John pointed out.

Harry scoffed. "Malfoy? He's only out for himself." And John was any different? Harry seemed to have guessed what crossed John's mind. "He's a coward more than anything else."

And that was that. Harry thought through a few ideas, getting John's feedback here and there. "What do you have in common?" John finally asked. "There has to be something."

"Quidditch," Harry said. "But that won't be very helpful. It's a fairly common interest. Now if I wanted to mention idiotic pranks to pull during a game, or playing dirty, or sending animated cartoons of your rival getting hit by lightening—"

"What was that last one?" John was suddenly interested.

"The cartoon thing?" John nodded. "Malfoy's a slimy git. He made sure that his team didn't have to play in this terrible storm we had third year. He thought it was incredibly funny that I had to play on it. He took to sending me pictures of me getting struck by lightning while on the Pitch. Real funny."

John grinned. He might've just figured it out. "Who else saw those?"

"I don't know," Harry said looking at him questioningly. "It was a long time ago. Malfoy might not even remember it." John doubted it. If Harry remembered it, Malfoy would remember it.

"He will," he assured. "Draw a picture like that. That should show that it's you. Then we have to figure out how to communicate that you're on his side and where you want to meet."

Harry sent him a brilliant smile. John swallowed. Not the time, he reminded himself. He watched Harry draw. He really was a terrible drawer. Finally John got fed up, grabbed the quill, and drew a coherent enough image of a guy on a broom getting struck by lightning. As he did this, Harry ran to his trunk and threw it open, scrounging around for something. He pulled out a book and flipped through the pages. He paused, mumbled something a few times under his breath and bee-lined back to the bed.

Harry only studied the drawing for a moment before casting a spell. And John's drawing started to move. He would never get used to that. Harry took the quill back. He bit his lip as he thought before he seemed to get it. John watched Harry write, still biting his lip. As soon as this was done, John was going to jump him.

Finally, Harry pulled away from the parchment and pushed it to John.

John stared at it a moment, taking in the words. He paused. "Is this supposed to mean something?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "It's vague, yeah. Also not so connected with the picture. But I hope if he stares at it long enough, he'll get it. If it doesn't work we can try again?"

"What if he gets it but ignores the offer?" John served as the voice of reason.

Harry looked at him blankly. "Can't we just figure that out if it happens? I hate plans. They always go wrong."

He had John there. This was dangerous but John knew he couldn't talk Harry out of it. Personally, John would ignore the message, not set a trap but he didn't know how Malfoy's mind worked. "What does this mean, then?"

Harry went through each of the clues with him. John made a few suggestions to either clarify or make something less obvious. After a lot of back and forth, they were finally satisfied.

"So Hog's Head on Friday at sunset?" John looked over the final draft.

"That's the plan," Harry said, a worried look appearing on his face. He was thinking about all the ways the plan could fail. But Harry had worked hard enough today. Training and planning. He needed to relax and John knew exactly how to get him to relax. Well later rather than sooner.

Harry needed a good night's sleep. John would make sure of that. It was the least he could do.