This is the longest chapter so far, I apologize for the length. I got too carried away. If you have read this, there are some minor changes, and better flow, better grammar, etc, so I welcome you to enjoy it again.
WARNING: TRIGGERS, Non-con/almost rape, defiling, violence and the usual dose of angst.
Now, please let me explain.
Firstly I want to thank all of you readers who had send me reviews/PMs and supported me/telling what was the problem with the chapter. I really thank you for that, and as I said, the reviews list for this chapter had became some sort of support group forum. I am very honored and also very embarrassed for all of you had seen another meltdown.
I am not some writer with the strongest mentality. I had gotten quite a number of reviews such as those throughout the year (the worst was when they managed to make me cry for at least 6 hours) and while writing this story, I counted (and deleted) at least 10 of such reviews. It was shown in a psychology experiment that one negative opinion outweighs ten positive ones, and I guess it is true. We focus on the negative stuff and ignored the positive ones. What made me take down the chapter was the sense of failure. I feel like the standard is dropping, and I felt this a few chapters ago (I think around chapter 20 and 22).
Grammar wise, I was not really putting too much effort because (1st) I am not a native speaker, (2nd) I guess as long as I can be understood then it's fine, (3rd) balancing many language's rules is really hard. I don't mean that I ignore the beauty of English language's rule—in fact, I am still learning and happily learning. Compared to me a year ago, this is a vast improvement. So for people who keep saying my (and other author's) grammar are bad—do you, truly, think that you have the perfect grammar? Do you think that by saying other people have worse grammar than you, gives you the right to look down at them? What give you the right to criticise other's grammar? Have you actually stop and think, maybe, for once, that the grammar you think is right was the wrong ones? Because to be honest I am already in university level—professional, even, since I have already published 2 scientific papers on neural injury—and frankly, being told my grammar 'sucks like I am not even writing English' made me raise my eyebrows. Really?
And about Harry's unclear mentality, well... how clear is one's mental state? Can you tell me 100% what you feel about yourself in one given moment? I have so many trails of thought I couldn't stop thinking (and hence, insomnia). So it is accumulation of several reviews and factors, and so not only because of one review.
So I apologize for making you worry.
All the love and thanks to my beta for she had saved me (and went beserk for me), as well as putting my mind at ease. Ah, I am loved :) by all of you (you, anon, are included, whoever wrote the review last time. At least you managed to read till chapter 25, bravo!).
Last word: Enjoy!
Although he was thrilled that he'd gotten to watch the most important Quidditch match of the year (and live, to boot), Ron Weasley was not very satisfied with how his day had gone. His father had been able to afford only the very cheapest of the Quidditch tickets. Furthermore, Arthur Weasley could only take the smallest two of his four children, so in the end only he, Fred, and Ron went. Ginny was so mad after losing the draw that she threw her worst tantrum yet, and alongside this spectacle, George (who'd also lost) sulked. But Fred and Ron were too excited to care—they had won the tickets fair and square! And thus, there they were, watching the match from the cheapest (and the worst) places in the stadium.
They were on the bottom row of seats—the area was so cramped, smelly and dark. Everybody was standing, and so they stood too, for they couldn't see anything if they sat down. Ron could only see so much of the match from this vantage point—using his cheap telescope, he could only see mere speckles of flying brooms. Moreover, he had to share the telescope with Fred, so the two of them constantly fought over who got to monopolize it. And Ron lost his chance to watch a nail-biting Snitch chase, led by the Bulgarians, when Fred elbowed his ribs and took the telescope away.
He felt it then.
Ron was sure that he wasn't imagining things when somebody groped his arse from behind. The boy cursed; he was sure he had done nothing to warrant such sexual harassment. But when he turned around, despite seeing nothing of interest, he heard the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting. That marked the end of his sexual harassment experience. After waiting a moment longer, Ron scowled, realizing that the groper had actually lost his or her interest in him after seeing his face. How insulting.
Ron had always been vaguely aware that he wasn't the most handsome of the Weasley bunch, but at least he was not bad looking. Yet when Ron realized that he was getting angry because the groper had apparently found him unattractive, the boy scowled again, this time in anger at himself. He should be happy that the groper stopped. Being groped was not something to be proud of.
Honestly, though, when he thought about it, he would have preferred to be in the reverse role, especially for one raven haired Slytherin with the most beautiful eyes and the lithest body. Now that arse was to die for. Pity, though, that the arse was also being watched over by a most ferocious Slytherin Guard-snake. And to think that Zabini had done what he had done to Potter… Ron felt himself blushing.
Focus, focus!
Ron scolded himself for thinking such thoughts. The problem was that he couldn't keep his mind off the kiss he'd witnessed last year between Zabini and Potter. They looked so good together, and Ron was sure that if he weren't there, Potter would have been absolutely devoured by the Italian boy.
It was Potter's fault, being so defenceless and naïve at his age. It was his fault for being so easily hoodwinked and used by the cunning Zabini snake. Yet whenever Ron imagined Potter's reactions to Zabini's advances, he felt the blood rushing towards his lower regions… and since he was a very healthy teenager boy, he had relieved himself many, many times on that particular memory (and that small stretch of his imagination) alone.
In fact, it was his favourite fantasy, his version of 'happy time'. Potter would be moaning in pleasure while underneath Zabini, and suddenly Zabini's form would melt away to reveal Ron in his stead…
The boy idiotically wiped away the thin string of drool hanging from one corner of his mouth. Thinking about Harry Potter always made Ron jealous—he was sure the boy was at the match as well, in the best stadium box, somewhere above where he was at that moment. He was sure Potter had managed to purchase the best seats, if not using the money from his own vault, then having his 'boyfriend' Zabini gladly covering him. And maybe they were shagging together shamelessly in some dank corner of the stadium instead of watching the game, as a way for Harry to thank his "boyfriend," and thereby wasting their expensive tickets.
They should have given their tickets to me and gone to fuck somewhere else!
It was then that Ron came to terms with his innermost, most secretive desires. After having that frank discussion with his father many months ago, Ron had slowly begun to realize that he was not so much angry, or hateful, towards the Slytherin boy, as he was disappointed. Ron had actually long dreamt of being the famous Harry Potter's "best friend" at Hogwarts. He had planned on becoming Potter's best mate, and in his head, they would be known as the Dashing Duo from Gryffindor. Potter would share everything with him, all his secrets, and Ron would eventually become popular and well-loved in his own right.
But in reality, Potter had ended up in Slytherin, befriended the Slytherin boys, and had gotten chummy with Zabini. Additionally, Ron had been shocked to find Potter to be so lithe and fragile. In his imagination, Harry was a tall, manly, heroic and friendly guy who was loved by all, but who returned only Ron's affections. In reality, Harry was a beautiful boy, adored by all, and who absolutely loathed Ron.
Where had everything gone wrong?
Half an hour later Ron Weasley was grabbing hold of his pants, cursing, and hurriedly running through the surrounding thickets. When he was sure he was alone, Ron unbuttoned his trousers and relieved himself on the grass. He was extremely peeved: he'd been hit by the sudden urge to pee in the middle of the most important Quidditch match of all time, only to discover there was a severe lack of public restrooms. Apparently only the higher class booths were equipped with their own restrooms, provided by the Ministry. Ron cursed his clear preferential treatment. Did having more money really make you better than others, somehow?
It was then that he was struck from behind. The last thing Ron saw (as he lost consciousness) was his wand being handled by a shadowy wizard. The man was laughing in delight.
"Thank you for your wand, boy."
Harry felt himself stumbling forward, and he ended up falling face first onto the cold floor of the dungeon. The boy quickly stood up, while rubbing his nose to ease the stinging.
"Harry, are you alright?" Professor Snape loomed over him, deep concern written clearly all over his face.
"Yes da… sir. I am fine." Harry tried to hide the massive anxiety he felt ever since talking with Marvolo, for now the charade was over and they could return to their normal statuses as guardian and charge.
It had been fun, really, to call Professor Snape 'daddy'. It had made Harry feel a bit like one of the "normals," if only for a moment. Especially since Professor Snape had played the role of 'daddy' uncannily well, generously pampering Harry with so many gifts and indulgent purchases…
Harry's eyes widened. "The telescope! The shirts!" He turned around and realized they were missing—and the familiar feeling of despair hit Harry like a ton of bricks. He had lost the presents he'd received from Professor Snape during his first year, as Duddley had lit them up and burned them. Now, he'd lost his newest gifts due to his own carelessness. Always, always, Harry was so dumb and idiotic and useless, how else could he be so careless as to lose what he had been given…
"Don't mind that, Harry. Things can always be replaced," Professor Snape solemnly told the boy. Harry looked up, still feeling guilty. Could those gifts really be replaced? Was it truly that easy? Was this a "normal" concept, or was what Snape said only true because they were given to Harry, the worthless freak?
"I am sorry, Professor." No matter what the Professor said, Harry knew he'd made a terrible, clumsy mistake. It felt as though everything he did was always wrong—what was wrong with him? His life was getting better, and it might have already reached its zenith—his life at this point might be as good as it would ever get. Harry had even forgotten about his previously strong wish to die—he had honestly started finally enjoying himself. Sleeping on Marvolo's lap, pretending to be Professor Snape's son, jesting with the other Slytherin boys, assisting Blaise like a role-playing Healer; he was experiencing a life he'd never even dreamed of. It felt like only yesterday he'd first entered Hogwarts with a single-minded wish to find death, and now here he was, standing and moping about a lost telescope.
Harry knew he had changed a lot since his first year. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to actually argue with Marvolo like he had. Oh, he was still a useless freak, but at least now people didn't seem to point out his uselessness or freakishness as often as before. But whether he was happy with the changes, he wasn't sure. It seemed that everything was much simpler when he kept wishing for death. However, the continuous wishing for death had led to Harry realize how pathetic he was being, and so the sudden, fierce desire to be stronger, to be more Slytherin-like, was henceforth sprung. His resolve had plunged Harry, the boy who used to be completely single-minded about searching death, into a stir-crazy, endlessly cycling, mental cyclone of abstract and pointless thinking—each and every obsessive detail of his days constantly filled his mind and the boy was spared no time to even blink. And all the emotions that existed outside of despair, sadness and desperation—those were new and foreign to him. It was honestly, quite tiring to… live.
The fight with Marvolo had been so sudden, so out of the blue—Harry really didn't know what had set the man off. Marvolo seemed too absolute in Harry's life for Harry to risk his wrath. On the one hand, thanks to Marvolo, Harry had been able to experience a type of happiness he'd never felt before. He was starting to take for granted the fact that he wasn't expected to wash dishes or clean the washrooms anymore. He knew he would be allowed to eat even if he behaved badly.
But on the other hand, was this happiness worth it, if this life brought some degree of uncertainty, and not to mention, fear of losing that happiness? After all, everything was harder to give up once one has experienced the sweet taste of happiness.
Harry stared at his Professor. The older man used to hate him, Harry was sure of it, but now he was one of the very few individuals Harry could honestly believe in. Oh, Harry could still count the number of these individuals on one hand; namely Blaise, Professor Snape, Marvolo, Annana, and the Hogwarts house elves. Whether they reciprocated his feelings, Harry wasn't sure. But the feelings he held for them clearly harmed the boy in some way or another. Harry still remembered how devastated he was when Professor Snape got hurt, how upset he was when Blaise was attacked, and how he was currently feeling sick because… because Marvolo was clearly angry at him.
"Harry, please sit down. I'll make us some tea and then we can chat for a bit." Harry meekly followed the Professor's orders and sat on the sofa. His stomach felt sick and cold; he was brimming over with anxiety. Harry had almost forgotten what pain felt like. Pain used to be his baseline emotion, yet Harry had forgotten how it was to be in constant pain. Life had turned out good for him. Too good—he had turned soft. And that was how Harry, being the freak he was, always managed to sabotage himself. Harry only thrived in misery.
His stomach ache was getting worse. All this pain, all from his previous conversation with Marvolo; the man's display of evident anger was still fresh in Harry's mind.
"Why, child?" The question was simple, but Harry knew perfectly well what Marvolo was insinuating. Harry hadn't visited the Manor for the past two weeks.
"…Dad…I mean, Professor Snape managed to wake up, and he kept me close to him these past two weeks. I couldn't come up with a good excuse to…" Harry bit his lip, simultaneously enjoying the man's touch on his cheek.
"If that's the case, then it's easy, child. Let me dispose of him, and you'll be able to easily return to me." The older man smiled and the pressure increased on Harry's cheek, forcing the boy to lift his face, the hand now forcing his jaw up. Alarmed, Harry paled as Marvolo's light brown eyes stared at him, concentrating at him.
"No! Please, Marvolo. Don't hurt Da—Professor Snape! I promise I'll find a way to come this weekend!"
"I don't like sharing you with anyone else, Harry." The older man's normally cool, collected voice was coming out as a hiss. "If he prevents you from seeing me, then he needs to be eliminated."
"Why?" Harry raised his voice. "Why is it always violence with you? Blaise never wronged you in any way, and neither did Professor Snape!"
"They touched what is mine. Of course they need to be punished for such transgressions."
Harry shook his head. "Why must you think of it that way?" he demanded, his voice threatening to break. "You don't even need my company! And don't you have Blaise's mother as your companion now? Isn't she enough to satisfy you? She is pretty, and classy, and you look good together, and… And I can't compare to her."
"What are you saying, child?" Marvolo scowled. "What is this? You are talking back to me again. Are you … jealous of her?"
"…" Harry wanted to retort, but he kept silent. What was this feeling inside his chest? It was akin to anger, mixed with pain. He tried not to remind himself of that holiday trip in France. Swallowing, Harry answered honestly, "…I don't know."
"Don't make me laugh, child. You are my pet. You are not allowed to think. You are mine, and you'll do what I say. Do you understand?"
"No, I' m not."
"Pet?"
"I am not…" Harry shook his head sharply. "I am not your pet!"
"What …" Marvolo paused. "Then what exactly do you think you are?"
"… I am a human." Harry didn't dare look up.
"Is this a joke?" Marvolo chuckled dryly, clearly getting more and more irritated. "Where did all this come from, child?"
Harry didn't answer. He wasn't sure why he had refuted Marvolo's claim. Before, he'd never minded being called "pet." He had always been content whenever Marvolo treated him like one. Why now? Why the anger?
"You are too spoiled now. Don't forget your place, my child," Marvolo hissed. "You. Are. Mine."
Harry shook his head violently, refusing to listen.
"Come with me now," Marvolo insisted impatiently. "And I'll forgive you."
"I can't." Harry grabbed Marvolo's robe, unconsciously begging. "I promised the Professor that I would return to Hogwarts with him."
"So… he is more important than me?"
Harry refused to answer; his silence seemed to be answer enough for the other man. Marvolo let out a noise like a deep growl and roughly tore Harry's grip away from his robe. The bubble of silence burst, and then Marvolo was gone.
When the teacup was thrust in front of him, Harry automatically put the rim around his mouth, and the scalding burn that ensued made him flinch. Somehow, as though from far away, he could hear Snape fussing about his burnt tongue, but Harry wasn't aware of anything in particular right now. He was in a state of shock. Being burned by the hot tea had just now hurt him. Harry's wrist used to be broken every other day, and he would take that type of pain completely in stride—at the age of seven.
He was getting… weaker. He couldn't override pain anymore. He was getting too spoiled in his current living arrangements. Maybe Marvolo was right.
He was being too spoiled now.
"Harry, look at me."
Professor Snape was calling for him, and Harry turned his head upwards, peering at the concerned face of his professor. His professor looked a bit older than he was, maybe due in part to the long-term effects of having recently been in a coma, but also, perhaps because Harry was being too much of a burden for him?
"I noticed that you…" Here Snape seemed to shift uncomfortably. "That you know the Dark Lord."
"The Dark Lord?" Harry asked. "Who?"
"…You don't know?" Professor Snape asked softly.
"Who is the Dark Lord? Isn't he the wizard who killed my parents, sir? Professor Lupin has been telling me about what happened with my parents, sir. And he said the Dark Lord is dead. Is it true?"
The Potions Master rubbed the bridge of his hooked nose to calm himself down. "I hope so, Harry. That aside, I want to know how you have become so intimate with …Mr. Gaunt."
"Marvolo?" Harry asked to make sure. "Well, he… he was…"
"I remember," Professor Snape suddenly grimaced, "that the day you fainted in Diagon Alley, you told me that you didn't want to meet him. You had met him before that incident, then?"
Harry contemplated how to answer accurately. He'd never wanted to speak about how he had met Marvolo, for that would require explaining about how Marvolo had gotten inside his head, and how he'd stolen the Philosopher's Stone for him.
But still, it was Professor Snape who was asking, and to be honest, Harry was currently feeling very insecure, and dazed at the discovery of his currently lowered tolerance to pain and rejection. He was so unlike his self of three years ago, when rejection and pain seemed to be his only loyal companions. Now that he had angered Marvolo, Harry subconsciously feared angering his legal guardian as well. The boy was sure if he were sent to the Wizarding orphanage now, he wouldn't make it (especially after having experienced what it was like to have a 'daddy' who 'bought him presents').
"Yes, I did. I have known him ever since my first year here, Professor." The boy's voice was soft. "But please, promise me that you won't tell anyone else about this? Marvolo is not going to be happy at all if he knew that I told you this. He promised me never to tell."
"I cannot promise much, but I'll do my best, Harry. Please tell me everything, so that I can find the best way to help you. How exactly did the two of you meet?"
Harry nodded, still refusing to look his professor in the eye. "He became my first real companion at Hogwarts, sir. I was so unhappy during my first year here, but he kept me from giving up. He mentored me and taught me many things, but he was gone by the end of my first year, sir. Marvolo was kind to me… I think."
"Child… how did you first meet him?"
"Does that matter, sir?" Harry retorted a bit strongly, trying his best to maintain a cool façade. He still could not bring himself to betray Marvolo by telling Professor Snape about him. After all, Marvolo was already very mad at him, and Harry didn't want to make Marvolo even angrier. "He was very kind, sir. He comforted me when I was feeling low, and he… he really taught me a lot of stuff, sir."
"What kind of 'stuff,' child?" Professor Snape asked in a worried tone. "Can you tell me?"
"Some advanced charms and Transfiguration spells, sir." Harry tried his best to be vague. He knew that hearing something like "Marvolo taught me Necromancy" would probably set off a dozen alarm bells inside his Professor's head.
His professor waited for a moment longer, but it seemed the boy didn't want to explain himself any further. So he sighed. "So… what happened? I remember that you fainted when we met him in Diagon Alley last summer."
"…It was because when I saw him in Diagon Alley, I was very upset. I felt he was playing with my feelings. He had come and gone, back and forth, to and from Hogwarts; each time wearing a different face, sir. At the time we saw him in the Alley, I wasn't aware that Sir Gaunt was Marvolo. But when we saw each other, our magical cores violently collided and I fainted, sir. I was weak and scared of being abandoned again, so I couldn't… I didn't want to meet him." Harry's lids fluttered at the memory. "And so I begged you not to let me see him, sir. Thank you for helping me."
"Harry, calm down. Drink your tea, please," the professor suddenly cut him off, and Harry looked up. He was floored. The older man was looking very concerned, and his face was deathly pale, as though he were frightened. The boy gulped the potion in one go, and he realized that there must have been some Calming Draught inside the cup, because he instantly felt relaxed.
"And this year… when you were still in a coma, sir, I went to Marvolo's Manor every weekend. He taught me more charms and helped me relax while I got to play with Annana, his pet snake. But he is now angry because I haven't been to his place for the past two weeks. I didn't know that he would show up at Draco's booth during the Quidditch World Cup— I forgot that Marvolo and Draco's father are quite close."
"You could say that, I suppose. Why didn't you visit him these past two weeks?"
"Because… because you had finally awakened, and I needed to help you recover. Also because… Marvolo is going out with Blaise's mother, so I thought I shouldn't bother them."
This reminded Snape of that one crucial conversation between Narcissa and Esme. "So you don't know about Gilderoy Lockhart either, I presume?" Snape asked, and he was relieved when Harry shook his head.
"I don't know, sir. Why? Was Professor Lockhart included in this debacle as well?"
"No, it doesn't matter now. But he never did anything unsavory to you, did he?" Snape asked gently. He still remembered how Harry had vomited blood the last time he'd asked a question like this. "Has he ever touched you, Harry?"
The boy blushed and nodded. Snape suddenly felt like strangling the Dark Lord. How dare the man touch an innocent, defenseless boy like Harry!
"He usually lets me sleep on his lap, sir." Harry blushed as he said these words. But he frowned again. "But now that he is angry at me… I don't think he will let me do that anymore, sir. He said that I am his pet…" The boy trailed off. Somehow, the weighty feeling within Harry's chest became heavier. Wasn't that the whole point of his fight with Marvolo? That he didn't like being called "Pet"? But now that he thought harder about it, he might acted too petty and childish, getting riled up like that. Now he wasn't sure whether he could come to Marvolo Manor at all. Maybe Marvolo didn't want him around anymore. "…and study, sir. He gave me some tomes and books to study."
"Please show me the books he gave you, child. I need to make sure they are safe," Snape sighed. "One last question, Harry. Has he ever hurt you in any way?"
Harry held his breath. He had been hurt, emotionally, so many times, but only once physically when he had been blasted into the Riddle Manor during his very first visit. So he shook his head. "Marvolo was very nice, sir. He showed me spells, taught me some advanced charms, gave me advice, and protected me. He also introduced me to Annana, and he was always kind towards her, too. He… he healed me when I was hurt, and he supported me whenever I was feeling sad. He was there when I was lonely as well… but now that I angered him, I don't think he wants to see me anymore…"
And to his utter astonishment, a tear fell in his lap. Harry rubbed his eyes, trying to hide his sniffling; yet he failed.
"Child, what troubles you so?" Professor Snape asked him, and Harry tried to answer coherently.
"I don't… don't like it that he is angry at me, sir. I don't … I need to… I want to apologize to him, sir. I don't like this. I don't like fighting with him. I don't want him to dislike me, sir. I don't want to be…" –abandoned again.
At once he felt Professor's Snape calming presence right beside him, and the sofa upon where he sat deflated from the additional weight. His body was being pressed onto the Professor's chest. It was all that was needed to break Harry down.
"I am sorry," Harry sobbed. "I am sorry, sir. I am sorry that you were hurt because of my birthday party— if it weren't for me, people wouldn't have been able to come into Hogwarts and hurt you. I am sorry that I didn't follow your orders. I am sorry that I knew who Marvolo was and didn't tell you. I am sorry, sir. I don't understand what is happening, why everything is so complicated right now. I don't know how to make everything right again. Marvolo is angry at me."
"Harry, child…" The Professor tried to be as gentle as possible and patted the child.
"He told me that I am too spoiled, sir. I am sorry. I should never forget the things that people have done for me. I am such an ungrateful brat. I don't deserve the presents you bought me, and in my stupidity I even lost them. I am sorry. Please don't hate me. Please don't leave me. I promise I won't act spoiled anymore."
"I could never hate you or leave you, Child. You were never spoiled." The Professor's soothing voice trickled into Harry's ears. "Never spoiled. I have noticed something about you… you always try to mend everything on your own, and it is too hard of a burden to bear for a small child like you. You need to start trusting me and other people, Harry. Not everything that went wrong was your fault entirely. You need to share your burdens. Otherwise you will burst and there will be nothing left. And, please, forget about the game souvenirs! I can buy you a lot more, and so easily. Nothing compares to having you safely in my arms. I just want to make sure you are safe and happy, child."
"Why would you want to do that?" Harry asked, as tears rolled down his face. "Why would anyone ever want to make me happy? Why are you so kind to me? You have done so much for me and I have yet to repay you with anything."
"Because you deserve it, child." Snape gently wiped the tears from Harry's cheek. "This is not a matter of owing favors, or repayment— I'm doing this because I care about you. I don't need any type of repayment from you. All I need is for you to feel safe and happy—that alone would give me more happiness than any tangible payment you could ever promise me. You have a fundamental right as a child to feel safe and happy, and I am so sorry that nobody has ever provided this for you, or even told you any of this before."
The Professor, of all people, should not have been the one apologizing to him, but Harry was touched all the same. Somehow it made the self-pitying part of Harry swell up in recognition, to realize that this wasn't all Harry's fault and somehow, it wasn't entirely Harry's responsibility to set things right again either. Harry received Snape's words eagerly, and he sobbed his heart out inside his Professor's arms.
"What…What should I do now, Professor?"
Snape looked pained for a second. "If you are truly troubled by this matter, Harry, I think it would be in your best interests to make up with him. With your 'Marvolo'. You can write him a letter of apology. But please, promise me one thing. Do not go to his place anymore. It is not safe there, Harry."
Harry nodded and buried himself inside his professor's comfortable robes. As his tears slowly dried up, Harry finally managed to stop hiccupping and sobbing. He looked up.
"Thank you, Professor."
Snape smiled, although it was a very thin smile. A comfortable silence fell between them, and Harry remembered how, the last time he had cried like this, he'd been beside the bed of his unconscious professor. Suddenly, he was reminded of Dumbledore's words.
"Do… Do you also want me to stay away from the Malfoys, Professor?"
"What made you ask this, Harry?"
"Professor Dumbledore said I should," the boy answered solemnly. "I couldn't wake you up from your coma, and even though you are always there to support and protect me, I will never be able to fully repay you for your kindness, sir. I—I—" He couldn't seem to stop himself. He was going on a circle, on and on again. The circle of endless self-depreciation. The endless cycle of apology. "I still lost the presents you bought me. I am really sorry sir. I know you said it doesn't matter, but I still want to repay you. I will do everything you want me to do."
"Harry…" Snape closed his eyes, trying to hide his impatience. He didn't know where to even begin. While he figured he had a basic grasp of Harry's lack of self-awareness and self-esteem, Snape realized that, on a fundamental level, he simply didn't understand what went on inside the boy's head. What should he say to this boy, who was practically offering his own body up as payment for a cheaply-made telescope? Harry clearly placed his own self-value somewhere around the level of "non-existent." And the burden of making this child change his perceptions seemed to fall on Snape's shoulders. It was a rather heavy, frustrating burden to bear.
"You do not need to start obeying every whim of mine," Snape began slowly. "You are your own man, and you need to decide who you are. I can only guide you, but it is vital that you also need to question my guidance at certain times. There is no right or wrong in this case; where you go in life depends on your decisions."
Harry sighed, turning away at his words.
"Look, Harry, I cannot tell you who you can and can't be friends with. You know yourself best, and you probably know, deep down, who'd make bad company. But whenever you need advice, I will always give it as best as I am able, because I am your guardian. I am sure you are aware of how judgmental people can be sometimes. The Malfoy family, in the eyes of the general Wizarding public, embodies the epitome of Slytherin—and you know how Slytherins typically fare in the eyes of the Wizarding World. They think of us as evil, cunning, conniving snakes. But are we, really? The Malfoys may have done some despicable things, but does that truly make up their entire legacy? Are they really all that bad? Advice is advice, my child, but in the end, you alone must choose whether to follow what I advise or not."
With these last words, Snape sighed and stood on his feet. "It is late. You need to rest after such an eventful day. I need to report to Dumbledore now, but I promise I won't tell him about your Marvolo. …Good night, Harry."
Harry felt the crown of his head being tapped gently before the Professor reached the fireplace. He disappeared into the Floo network, heading straight towards the Headmaster's office.
Harry couldn't sleep that night. He couldn't shake Marvolo's angry face from his memory. Especially the way Marvolo had pushed him away before leaving the booth—Harry's chest hurt so much just from thinking about it. His professor had kindly given him advice— to write Marvolo a note of apology. But the professor had told him not to physically meet up with Marvolo…. Yet Harry knew he should go, because he had promised. And making up with Marvolo, face to face, seemed more sensible and easier to do.
So Harry gulped hard before packing up his Invisibility Cloak and his broom. He left his "Old" wand in his trunk (Harry had nicknamed the wand that the Headmaster had given him the 'Old wand' due to the ancient-looking wood the wand was constructed with), and took only his phoenix-core wand. Then he slipped into the Chambers of Secret, scanning the corridor beforehand to ensure that nobody was watching.
Once the Portkey ring was activated, Harry turned around. The Manor was silent and dark. It seemed as though nobody was home. After checking the working room, the corridor, the living room, and finding all three rooms completely empty, Harry finally called upon one of the House Elves and asked the creature where Marvolo was. The House elf—whom Harry recognized as Dobby—welcomed him gladly, but he also told Harry that the Master wasn't home.
Harry didn't know what to do now. Should he wait a moment longer, or should he simply return to Hogwarts? It was at that moment Annana came down from her nest and slid on the floor. Harry smiled at the sight of the blindfolded snake (nowadays she was always blindfolded, as she'd managed to accidentally kill more than three house elves before Marvolo had the sense to do something about it).
Harry? she hissed. Harry recognized the hisses. It was how Annana always called him, and Harry sure she was trying to pronounce his name.
"Annana! I've missed you!"
The Basilisk hissed something in response, but Harry couldn't understand her. He just slowly climbed onto the majestic snake's body and started to slowly pat her cold scales. Slowly, as the hour grew ever later, his previously heightened adrenaline levels began to taper off. He ended up falling asleep within the snake's coils.
When he slowly opened his eyes, he realized that he was lying on a bed.
"Child."
The voice woke Harry up with a start. The owner of the Manor was standing at the right side of the bed. The bed was so huge, it was clear that it had to be Marvolo's bed. The sheets were filled with his scent, and the green silk and silver embroidery directly corresponded to typical Slytherin colors.
"Marvolo… I…"
"You came."
Harry nodded. He tried to stand, but Marvolo didn't budge even as the boy did so. Harry ended up standing awkwardly beside the bed, right in front of the older man. Harry felt his calf touching the high edge of the bed, and he held his breath, eyes looking everywhere but at the man in front of him. "I want to… apolo…"
He didn't finish his sentence, as Marvolo's hand shot out and suddenly pulled his jaw upwards. Harry saw Marvolo's reddish eyes shining brightly with an emotion he couldn't pinpoint but which nonetheless scared Harry. It was definitely not the usual display of gentleness or acceptance that he'd been hoping Marvolo would lavish on him. Harry suddenly began to regret his rash decision to leave Hogwarts and visit the Manor.
"Whe…where is Annana?" He tried to move away, but Marvolo's other hand tightly gripped his right bicep. Harry managed to emit a gasp before Marvolo's lips were suddenly on his, demanding access to the boy's mouth. Harry gulped before parting his lips, and within the next second, he was lost in a sensuous mixture of bitter aftertaste, the smell of alcohol, and a hint of Marvolo's scent.
Harry allowed the older man dominate him and invade his small mouth with a hot and wet tongue. The sensations were familiar—Blaise had attacked him in a similar fashion— but the resemblances stopped there. Blaise had been considerably gentler, slower, more patient. Marvolo was aggressively eating the inside of his mouth. When Harry struggled to speak out, it came out as a moan.
The moan seemed to excite the older man, as Marvolo slid his arm around Harry's smaller waist and his other hand grabbed Harry's hair roughly. Harry was forced to tilt his face even higher, more sharply, and he moaned even more loudly as the man aggressively sucked at his lower lip. In a subconscious effort to break free, Harry put his two palms on Marvolo's chest, ready to shove.
"No," Marvolo suddenly growled, in a very rough voice which made Harry shiver all over. "Don't fight this. You should let me do this as your apology."
The words completely stopped Harry. He felt himself being pushed back onto the bed, and soon the soft cool comfort of the silk pushed against his back, helping his body slither into position. Harry gulped and tried to scoot away; however, he was not fast enough. Marvolo's claws were around his neck, and in the next instant, Harry was effortlessly moved back into the middle of the bed.
Harry choked. The grip on his neck was so harsh and as strong as iron; he couldn't breathe properly. When Marvolo loosened his grip, Harry started to cough in order to force more oxygen in his lungs; his arms flailed around him. Immediately Harry felt Marvolo looming over him, and suddenly Harry was boxed in between two strong, muscled arms on either side of his body. Marvolo's scent was all around him, everywhere around him.
Everywhere.
He couldn't run away. He was trapped.
Harry's throat throbbed in pain from all the coughing and he saw that the pair of red eyes was staring at him intensely. Harry was sure he would be eaten whole, right then and there.
"You are mine." Marvolo hissed. "Mine."
The boy felt his legs being forced open wide, so wide that a wince escaped his lips, and then Marvolo was positioning himself in between them, lowering himself.
The boy choked again when he felt Marvolo's nose on his neck, and then a sharp pain as Marvolo bit the junction between his neck and shoulder. Harry moaned from pain as a ticklish feeling overcame him. "Oh!" The green eyed boy felt the fine strands of his hair standing on end, and goosebumps appearing all over his skin. His heart started to pump out of control, and a voice in his head was warning him that something was going to happen, something bad, something similar to what his uncle had done…
Harry's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. At the same time, his little manhood twitched in anticipation.
Marvolo's harsh lick on the bite mark he'd left on the boy's neck drowned out that voice in his head, and Harry closed his eyes, involuntarily savoring the strange sensation of being devoured like this. The slow movement of the wet and hot tongue toward the back of his ears made Harry flush. "Aahn!"
Marvolo's body was completely on top of his. Harry was glad that they were still clothed, and yet—? Harry was sure that his entire body was flushing from embarrassment. Marvolo's hips were directly on top of his, and Harry felt a very unfamiliar tingling in his lower regions.
"Marvolo, this… what are you—?"
"Sssh," the man shushed him. "My little pet, just let me do this."
It was the only warning Harry received before Marvolo started moving his hips, rubbing onto the crotch area of Harry's trousers. Harry gasped, tossing his head backwards; he couldn't stand the new sensation. The strange tingling was overwhelming his senses. Harry squirmed, but as his open legs were being pinned by Marvolo's thighs as well as by his superior weight, Harry had no choice but to receive the rubbing in resignation.
Marvolo kissed his cheek. Harry blinked and his eyes began to well up. The sensations he was experiencing from the rubbing was too much! Marvolo kissing his earlobes and sucking his neck didn't help either. Harry put both of his hands on top of the man's shoulders, trying to push him away. Marvolo responded by dipping his tongue into Harry's ear.
"Sssh, everything is fine, child. I am merely claiming you."
"N…Nnnnn!" Harry moaned loudly as Marvolo's hand slowly rubbed the front of his chest. When Marvolo rolled his knuckles against the little, hardened nipples, Harry moaned hard. "Nnno…!"
Harry's gasping breathes devolved into moans as the older man started licking and rubbing every visible part of his body. The man's hip thrusts didn't slow down at all, and suddenly Harry felt Marvolo's giant hand cupping the front of Harry's pants. It made his lower regions throb violently, and Harry was overcome with a strange urge to urinate. Something was coming out— he was going to wet himself. In a near panic, he tried to warn Marvolo.
"Sir, please stop! I—I'm going to—"
Marvolo kissed him in response, as Harry's body resumed pitching and shaking in pleasure.
"Sssh… don't cry."
Harry didn't open his eyes, but the steady stream of tears leaking from his eyes refused to slow its course. This was pleasurable, but also painful at the same time. He was honestly torn between loving and loathing what was happening.
"Mmmph!" Harry's voice, muffled, cried out. "No, sir, please! Stop! STOP!"
Marvolo stopped his ministrations then. Cracking open one reddish eye, he took in the boy's flushed face, his panting face, and the wide tear streaks. Harry was quaking all over, and his lower lip had turned to jelly.
He sighed. "All right. I won't push you too far today, my pet. We can take this slowly."
The boy's eyes widened in fear. There is more of this?
Marvolo took Harry's hand and kissed the palm. Harry twitched from the sensation, as Marvolo gently left a row of kisses down the inside of Harry's wrist. At the end of the trail, his teeth sunk into the boy's skin, leaving a wet, reddish mark.
"Rest, pet. I'll wake you up when morning comes."
Harry squirmed and quickly snatched back his arm, but then Marvolo loomed over him again. Harry prepared himself for another attack, but he could only feel a nice, slow kiss on his forehead.
"Good night."
Shaking, closing his eyes, Harry slowly returned to his dream world. He half-consciously felt Marvolo climbing into bed beside him, capturing his waist and holding Harry in a protective embrace as the boy slipped into peaceful obliviousness.
Harry returned to Hogwarts sometime during the early dawn, quickly slipping back into his bedroom. He left Marvolo without saying anything, and although he knew he would be punished for it, Harry couldn't suppress the urge to run away. When he arrived in the dungeon, the boy saw that Professor Snape hadn't returned yet to his quarters, which made Harry breathe a sigh of relief.
He ended up sleeping until late noon. He was eventually awakened by one of the House elves calling him for lunch. It seemed that Professor Snape didn't want to wake him up, due to their 'eventful' day yesterday.
Frowning, Harry studied himself in the bathroom mirror. The bruises on his neck were greenish-bluish, and roughly in the shape of hand prints. It was a first—usually any simple harm he had on his body was cleared out in the morning. It showed how strong Marvolo's grip last night on him was. It was proof that something really had occurred the night before—as though waking up on top of Marvolo's chest hadn't been proof enough. Harry turned and spewed a wad of bitter mucus into the toilet bowl. He waited, but nothing else came up. He was terribly relieved that there was no blood this time.
Walking shakily into the Great Hall, Harry tried to act as though nothing was amiss. He tried to not think any more about last night.
It did help that the news of what had happened during the Quidditch World Cup distracted him from any more negative thoughts. The newspaper was having a field day, and every professor was gossiping about it. The fervor poured into the following week, as the British Wizarding World was still immersed in the after-effects of the attack during the World Cup. The newspaper posted repeat articles on the Quidditch competition, and soon Harry gave up paying attention to whatever the newspaper was saying.
Hogwarts was also in a state of preparation. It seemed that most of the Professors were very busy, and Harry caught the four Heads of Houses (Professor Snape had been re-elected as the Head of Slytherin House, leaving Professor Slughorn to retire and depart from Hogwarts mere days after Professor Snape's recovery) tirelessly preparing new wings to accommodate more people. Harry was sure this wasn't a typical semester preparation, as Harry had stayed at Hogwarts the year before as well. Maybe there was going to be an atypically huge new batch of incoming first years this year, Harry mused.
He spent most of his days at the library, trying to make more use of his free time. He began tackling some studies he had been postponing since last year, namely Necromancy. Professor Snape had only been able to review a couple of the books Marvolo had lent Harry to read. It seemed as though many of Marvolo's books refused to let any other person except Harry even open them, so Harry was forced to simply relay to his Professor what was written inside.
Professor Snape couldn't find much to be wary of since they were not exactly Dark tomes, and in the end, he decided it would be alright for Harry to continue his studies. This made Harry happy, as some of the unopened books were actually about Necromancy, and he'd really missed reading up on the subject. Especially now that whenever he studied, somehow his new wand would always start shaking with delight. Moreover, the ring from Marvolo also shone whenever it touched Necromancy-related books. It was intriguing for Harry, and it fuelled his desire to understand Necromancy more. Maybe after he finished devouring all of the tomes, he could start doing some of the more rituals himself. The Room of Requirement and Chamber of Secret should be able to accommodate his experimenting.
Throwing himself into his studies nearly took his mind off the bite mark Marvolo had left on the inside of his wrist. Thinking about the bite mark only made him wonder. Marvolo had promised that he would "mark" him, but mark him for what? And why?
One of the tomes was about Parseltongues. It contained much information about them, and how the ability was passed down from one person to another. The trait could only be passed either through a blood ritual or genetic succession. Of course, there existed the "normal" way of learning the language, but it was a very difficult language to learn and involved physically manipulating one's tongue to perfect the sounds and pronunciations. This explained why the only Parselmouths Harry knew of in existence were Marvolo and Professor Lockhart.
His afternoons were filled with one-on-one lessons with Professor Snape. Most of the time they prepared potions for the infirmary and for any other side orders that the Professor had, but sometimes they would sit together in front of Snape's unlit fireplace and each enjoy a book. More often than not, during these quiet sessions, Professor Snape's hand would stray onto Harry's head and tousle his hair softly, causing Harry to almost purr in delight. Snape's gentle treatment of him diverted Harry from brooding over what to do about Marvolo. Professor Snape had told him firmly that it was best that Harry didn't go to the Manor any more, and thus Harry kept his 'night' with Marvolo a secret because he had blatantly went against the Potion Master's advice. He then vowed not to return to the Manor anymore for the rest of the holiday. Harry hoped it wouldn't make matters more complicated.
Three days later, during the breakfast hour, Harry received a letter from an unfamiliar-looking owl.
Dear Harry,
How are you? I hope this letter finds you well. I know that we have not talked much since my graduation. My apologies. I was so deep inside my new Ministry job that I'm afraid I found no time till now to send you letters.
How is Hogwarts? Is everything fine?
I also want to tell you that I proposed to Penelope last month, and she said yes! So we will be holding our engagement party soon, and we do hope you can come and give us your blessings.
Please take care of yourself,
Sincerely,
Percy Weasley.
The contents of the letter stayed inside Harry's head throughout the day. The Headmaster gave him permission to attend the party, as he himself was also invited and could tag along as Harry's bodyguard. Instead of relief, Harry felt strangely annoyed. The boy was starting to feel a bit bothered by the constant, smothering affection coming from the professors around him. It felt as though everybody around him was always making sure that he was protected. But at the same time, nobody cared to explain who or what it was exactly that Harry needed protection from, and why.
But from the tidbits he picked up here and there, Harry formulated a hypothesis that maybe, maybe, Marvolo was, in fact, the Dark Lord that was supposedly intent on killing him.
At first, it sounded perfectly ridiculous to Harry—so far Marvolo had not once even come close to murdering him, despite promising to do so in their first meeting. The hypothesis only explained why Professor Snape was dead set on refusing to let him go back to the Manor, and why Professor Snape had been gravely injured on Harry's birthday—Harry remembered clearly that Professor Snape had been found unconscious and hurt directly after receiving his first kiss from Marvolo.
As reasonable as the analysis sounded, he refused to accept it. Surely Marvolo wouldn't want to keep the boy he wanted to kill as a pet, right? There would be no benefit in it for him at all, from doing so. And Harry still needed Marvolo as his Parseltongue and Necromancy teacher. He still hadn't been able to properly finish the argument he'd had with Tom during his second year, about whether a Necromancer really had the power to connect the realms of death and life, or whether a Necromancer merely had the power to control an empty shell in the living realm, as the soul was long gone. So, Harry rejected the whole thing and buried his head inside proverbial sand.
What he couldn't see wouldn't hurt him.
The engagement party was to be held that weekend, so a few days after receiving Percy's letter, Harry put on his best robes and walked over to the school gates to meet the Headmaster. They Portkey'ed into the Burrow, and by the time they arrived, there were already quite a crowd.
Harry looked around and was captured by the twins before he could even blink. Each occupied Harry's left and right side, and together, they started pranking the other guests. Lunch was delicious, and Harry noticed that there were quite a large number of guests at the garden party. The Weasley family alone already totaled nine people, and with the addition of the neighbourhood families, Penelope's families and friends, Harry could count a total of twenty five people.
By the time Harry had gotten around to giving his present to the blessed couple, it was at the end of the party. Harry had asked Professor Snape for ideas, and his guardian had helped him purchase a pair of matching Stasis-ed mugs. Harry noticed that the couple looked tired but happy. Glowing. They were holding hands, and occasionally giving one another kisses. It all looked too good to be true. Percy was grinning like a fool and Penelope was blushing to the roots of her hair.
It made Harry wonder whether something was wrong with him. Blaise occasionally kissed him, but never once had Harry felt the need to blush and smile the way Penelope was smiling. Marvolo had kissed him, but Harry had never felt the need to kiss the man back, or even smile about it.
Marvolo had claimed him—it seemed very different from how Percy and Penelope were treating each other. Why were these experiences so different? Harry was sure each kiss between each couple in the world was physically the same. Here, Percy and Penelope were locking lips, just as Harry and Percy— just as Harry and Marvolo—
But Percy and Penelope looked so happy. And Harry had never once felt an iota of happiness.
"Harry! Thank you for coming! We are very sorry for not getting to talk to you till now!" Percy grabbed Penelope's hand, scooting over towards Harry. Harry stretched his face into a smile and the three of them sat together, Harry sandwiched in the middle between the couple. It made Harry feel a bit awkward, but also very pleased.
"Congratulations on your engagement. Here is a present from me and Professor Snape…"
"Thank you, Harry! Thank you for coming! We are very happy that you came! And you look so handsome today! You are just so adorable." Penelope smiled even wider as she hugged the boy, kissing his forehead. Harry blushed. He decided he liked those kisses. He liked being treated nicely by the couple. They were like the living embodiment of the perfect engaged couple.
"You are looking a bit paler than the last time I saw you." Percy frowned. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"
"I am," Harry answered defiantly. "I take care of myself, always."
"Silly boy. You never have, and you know it." Percy sighed. "But fear not! I can look after you this year, as there is no NEWT anymore and I can focus completely on my job and— on you."
"Eh? You are returning to Hogwarts?" Harry was surprised. "I thought you had that big-shot job at the Ministry!"
"Oh yes, I still do." Percy smiled proudly. "I am Mr. Crouch's private secretary. It turns out this year I will be needed at Hogwarts, I think. I will be there, Harry. And Penelope is coming with me to the Yule Ball this December!"
"The Yule Ball?" Harry tilted his head. "What is that?"
"Oh, Harry, my naive little kid." Penelope sighed in amusement and kissed Harry's head again. Harry pouted but he couldn't hide his smile. "The Yule Ball is the annual Christmas party that is held at Hogwarts every December. Last year you were still a third year, so you couldn't come. This year you need to attend the ball and dance with us!"
Harry nodded. "Of course I will."
Percy smiled indulgently and tousled the boy's hair. "I am really glad that you will come, Harry. I thought you wouldn't want to come after… after what happened last semester."
Harry shook his head. "We are good now, right?"
Percy nodded. "Yes."
Harry smirked. "And you two are definitely good as well. Kissing in front of everyone, right here in public… how embarrassing."
It was meant as a jest, but the couple suddenly looked at each other seriously and turned to Harry. Harry felt like he was in trouble now.
"Harry, do you still think that kissing is embarrassing?"
"…No, not really."
"Have you yourself ever been kissed?" Penelope asked.
"…Yes."
"By who…? Don't tell me it was by that Zabini boy," Percy snarled. "Ronald told me. So it's true."
Harry blushed. "He had no right to tell!"
"That aside, are you happy about what happened?" Penelope butt in, cutting Percy's remark short.
The boy bit his lip. "What do you mean by 'happy?'"
"Penelope means— did you give him your consent before he kissed you? Did you let him know beforehand whether it was alright to do that to you?" Percy clarified.
Harry fell silent. His head started to pound. Did he enjoy it whenever Blaise kissed him? He did like the sweet kiss on the cheek, but to be kissed on the lips, exchanging saliva; why, it felt … gross? Uncomfortable?
"Why all the questions?" Harry asked blankly. "Why is my consent that important? When the two of you kissed, you looked happy. Why? Do I need to be happy as well?"
"Harry, look…" Penelope gently patted Harry's head. "Yes, you need to be happy and yes, your consent is necessary. You should only kiss someone that you love. If you do it with any old person, the kiss would simply be meaningless."
"And the person also needs to love you back," Percy added. "Otherwise, it would ultimately culminate into an endless cycle, wherein one person enjoys the act while the other only feels obligated and pressured into it. You are uncomfortable with that Zabini boy kissing you, aren't you? I can see it in your eyes. I will protect you from him this year, I promise."
Harry tried to smile, but he felt miserable, not to mention deeply uncomfortable with the way the conversation had headed. How could he explain that it was impossible for others to 'love' him enough so that Harry could feel happiness whenever he was kissed? The kisses from Blaise and Marvolo clearly didn't mean they loved him… did it?
"How can you tell if the other person loves you?" Harry asked slowly.
Percy looked at his fiancée for a moment before answering, "The other person must be willing to make you happy, even if it means doing this at their own expense. It is hard to explain, but you'll know when you experience it. And you are very loveable, Harry. Who wouldn't want to love you?"
"Also," Penelope added, "Do not ever let any person have sex with you without your consent."
"Wha…What!" Harry blushed. "What! Don't say that! How gross!"
"It may be gross for you, Harry, but it may not be for your peers." Penelope shook her head. "I'm warning you, your innocence will be easily picked up on and played with. Promise me that you will only do sexual things with someone you love. Don't ever let anyone you don't love touch you intimately—like on your 'pee-pee,' alright?"
Harry froze when Penelope mentioned touching his "pee pee." Did That Night with Marvolo count as having sex, then? But they were both still clothed, so Marvolo had not touched his manhood directly. But still… would this mean that Marvolo actually … liked him? Loved him?
Somehow, Harry felt so happy in this moment.
He suddenly wanted to see Marvolo so very much at that particular moment. Maybe he should go to the Manor next week.
But if he go back, would Marvolo be… pursuing more 'sex' stuff with him?
Harry blushed even harder, hiding his face in his hands, and scowled. "Why are we talking about me and kissing, anyway? We were talking about you two!"
The couple looked at each other and blushed. Then they laughed loudly.
"Percy, I want a baby like him," Penelope whined cutely. She hugged Harry tightly, as if he were a doll. Harry blushed as he felt Penelope's bosom pressing against his face. Percy smirked then, and he crushed Harry into a three-person hug, with Harry sandwiched between the two of them. Penelope smiled and kissed Harry. "Well, if only you could be our child. It would be so grand."
Harry couldn't forget that night, even after he returned to Hogwarts. He realized that he wanted to be their son, too, so very much.
The Dark Mark that had been blasted into the sky during the Quidditch World cup had become something of an overnight sensation. Marvolo's blood pressure had also skyrocketed. He hadn't yet caught the moron who had the gall to pull that off, even after Crucio-ing most of his lower- to middle-ranked followers. He'd figured the idiot or idiots responsible for this mess likely came from his lowest circle of followers, those verifiable buckets of stupidity, aggression, and empty boasting. As usual, Lucius had no idea who the culprit might be.
Eventually, several Aurors discovered that the owner of the wand that had been used to cast the Mark was a teenage boy called Ronald Weasley. Marvolo had been forced to join the task force sent to find who'd shot the Dark Mark, and so there he was, standing side by side with Crouch in the center of the Quidditch field. Curiously, the proud man had stayed silent during the entire spectacle; Marvolo had expected the Head of Magical Sports to harp on him about the lack of 'security' at the game (which had been Marvolo's Department's responsibility). The Weasley boy was already in Azkaban for his deed, and Marvolo needed to deal with the bothersome tears and appeals from Weasley clan. If only he was in his Dark Lord persona, he would easily banish all of them to death or Azkaban with their convicted son.
Come to think of it, Crouch hadn't shown up at the office for the past three days. This heightened Marvolo's suspicions even more. These odd events must somehow all be connected. Crouch should be gloating over the relative success of his most recent project, the Quidditch World Cup. Marvolo was actually a bit thankful that Crouch was laying low, since Fudge had become even more irritating, reminding everyone in sight about his 'secret Triwizard' project. It took every ounce of self-control for Marvolo to keep himself from boiling the man inside out whenever he saw him. Marvolo pinned all hopes of re-equilibrating his sanity on the promise that Harry would visit him that upcoming weekend.
But when the weekend came and went and Harry never showed up at the manor, Marvolo couldn't hide his anger anymore. The living room became a war zone, with Annana and some of the poor house elves trying their best to calm their master down. Marvolo vented his anger on every surface of every object in the room—every piece of furniture was broken into at least two pieces, the walls were completely scratched up and dented, the ceiling gaped holes, and the chandelier was lying on the floor in a million pieces.
He had thought he'd made his intentions clear to the boy—hadn't he staked his claim over Harry that night? True, Harry had cried, had half-rejected him, but he hadn't run away either. The boy had clearly enjoyed being touched—why, he'd come all over himself that night. Harry's reactions had been a bit different from what Marvolo had imagined, but although the real Harry was a bit more passive than what he would've liked, he was still delightful and real, warm. Marvolo still remembered the nice, sweet scent coming from Harry's hair and neck, the moans and gasps emitting from the innocent lips, the slim legs that opened wide for him. Harry had come too fast, yet it made Marvolo giddy with desire because it showed how inexperienced the child was.
It was clear that Harry never even touched himself.
Furthermore, Marvolo had felt a strange urge to be selfless—so instead of forcing Harry to go further, he had let the spent child sleep while he slowly achieved satisfaction by rubbing himself between Harry's thighs. Harry had seemed too tired to notice and Marvolo had vaporized the essence from the bedsheets immediately thereafter. Nonetheless, it was the first time Marvolo had ever felt the need to be gentle and let his bed partner come without pleasing him in return. So, when he found out Harry had snuck out in the morning, he was rather upset about it. But he was sure that his pet would return for another weekend.
The Dark Lord had been looking very forward towards the weekend, when Harry would come. He could already anticipate Harry's remorse—surely the boy would feel the need to apologize, as always—yet he couldn't bring himself to admit that he really had been too harsh towards the boy. That particularly difficult conversation from many days ago had made him so angry that he'd been unable to think straight. When he'd seen Harry sleeping on Annana's bulky hide that night, all hell had broken loose. The need to claim the child overrode any shred of common sense he still possessed. He forgot that Harry was a mere boy, barely fourteen, barely able to accept intimate hugs without being reminded of the trauma he'd received at the hands of his filthy Muggle uncle.
The conversation had replayed over and over in his mind, conjuring nothing but madness and anger in his heart. How dare Harry talk back to him— the brat was his plaything, his pet, and pets do not bark at their own master. Ever. Pets should never refuse their master's whims either, and it was clear that he wasn't being shown proper respect. He was not important enough to the boy.
At least, not as important as Severus Snape, or that Blaise Zabini…
The brandy glass in Marvolo's hand burst into pieces as he was reminded of that scene in the restroom, where he'd caught Harry and Blaise together in a rather compromising position. The nerve of that Zabini boy, to actually touch his Harry! And to take care of Harry's food, and coax Harry as though this were an everyday activity… it was unbelievably irritating. It took everything in him not to march right into Hogwarts and kidnap Harry. Thinking of someone else touching his Harry drove him crazy, especially now that he had experienced the carnal sweetness of defiling Harry's innocence.
He remembered the curious lack of reaction on Severus Snape's part, when Marvolo had activated the Dark Mark at the World Cup. Even now, whenever he tried to call Severus, he couldn't reach the man as he'd once been able. It was as though the Dark Mark had vanished from Severus's body, leaving Marvolo with no power over the Potions Master.
What was happening? Marvolo shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. This wouldn't do. What he needed to do was vent… The image of the Zabini woman materialized in his mind. Perhaps tonight, he would kill two birds with one stone.
Blaise couldn't say with confidence that he had much faith in any his mother's life choices. Over the years, he'd admirably managed to keep his temper and attitude in check, as he believed that every single new guy on his mother's bed would be gone by the two-year mark at the latest. His mother was notorious for her beauty and seductive ways, and thus she was never single for longer than a month at a time. And Blaise didn't want to judge his mother, but the rumors that circulated around the Wizarding community—that every single 'new father' of Blaise's who died never failed to leave his mother a vast enough fortune to support Esme's extravagant lifestyle— actually held a grain of truth.
But now, his mother was clearly playing with fire.
Marvolo Riddle Gaunt was not a man to be underestimated. Even while standing a foot away from the man, Blaise felt the unmistakable, suffocating, heavy pressure of a great magical aura surrounding the man. And the man was clearly different from all the other love-struck fools that normally hung around his mother—for once, it seemed that his mother was the one who was more deeply in love.
But most importantly, the man had to be dangerous. Blaise was wracked by horrible headaches whenever the Head of Magical Enforcement was nearby, and the boy's suspicions of the man had increased twofold ever since he'd noticed how Marvolo had been looking at Harry. It was not a normal stare. When they had gone shopping for Yule presents in France, Blaise couldn't help but notice that Marvolo couldn't take his eyes off Harry, following the lithe form of the teenager everywhere and becoming very irritated whenever Blaise started his usual routine of smothering Harry (giving him food, encouraging Harry to eat and not bite himself, etc.). Plus, Blaise took note of the fact that Lord Malfoy appeared to be very fearful and respectful of the man, which amounted to solid proof that the man was nothing but bad news.
Honestly, Blaise did not like the man at all. The man had taken over two of the most important people in his life: his mother, Esme, and Harry. Esme was currently too smitten with the man to pay attention to Blaise anymore, and Harry was another matter altogether. Watching Lord Gaunt touch Harry's cheek during the Quidditch Match, watching him hold a private conversation with the child as though Harry was his little toy (with Harry looking absolutely miserable all the while) made Blaise blaze with a streak of jealousy he hadn't felt in a long time, if ever in his life. At Hogwarts, Blaise knew that Harry was safe, as Harry was officially 'Blaise's'. No other boy (including the pathetic Ronald Weasley) or girl ever dared to court Harry. But Lord Gaunt was one formidable opponent Blaise wasn't sure he could win against.
When the voices coming from his mother's room finally quieted, Blaise slowly turned around. He spotted Lord Gaunt standing outside the door, not even bothering to close it, and watched as the older man walked towards the fireplace. The man shot Blaise a quick look of hatred before stepping into the fireplace and Floo'ing away.
Blaise slowly entered the room to check on his mother, and he was shocked out of his wits.
She was seemingly unconscious and lying between the bloodied sheets of the bed. Her hands were knotted together by a silk tie, and blood was clearly visible underneath the perfectly manicured fingernails. Numerous red bruises dotted every visible inch of skin, and perhaps most sickening of all; a steady stream of blood was flowing from between her splayed legs. Yet, a wide, serene smile was plastered on his mother's unconscious face.
Blaise immediately contacted St. Mungo's, putting in an urgent request for his family's private healers.
Uh... well, I think people have different minds and opinions. I called myself indecisive and insecure, and I really envy those people who can stand against anything for themselves. So... yeah. Harry is a bit (well, maybe more than a half) like me, indecisive and with the mind of: if I cant see them, they wont hurt me. Ha ha. And, if you find Harry annoying, then let me tell you: It takes years to actually admit that a person worth something, especially when that person was groomed from childhood to think of himself as useless freak.
Anyway, thank you very much for the support, see you next chapter.
H.