It felt so abandoned. The estate he'd designed for Fenrir… The estate that had been his home… The estate he couldn't get rid of. Harry stood in the living room; hands useless at his sides as he stared at the pictures that decorated the walls. So many memories…So many moments that he'd taken for granted. He'd never really appreciated how beautiful Fenrir looked when he was happy and he'd been happy…In all of the pictures, Fenrir had been happy but Fenrir had wanted more and being the cold hearted bastard that he was, he'd held it out of his reach… He'd used Fenrir's love against him…He'd used it for his own advantage.

He hated himself…. Absolutely loathed himself…

He moved to the couch and dropped down on it. Head bowed, fingers tracing the soft fabric as all those memories played on the forefront of his mind. As he allowed the guilt to eat him up from the inside out and swallow him whole.

He was distantly aware of Andrew walking into the room and standing by the couch, but he chose not to acknowledge his presence. This was the first time he'd come back here after kidnapping Voldemort. He'd sworn he'd only return here when he'd avenged Fenrir.

He'd failed so miserably at that.

Andrew settled down beside him on the couch and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Silently consoling him and offering him comfort. He knew it was selfish of him…the way he took advantage of the feelings Andrew harboured for him. But he was a selfish bastard and nothing in the world could change that.

He leaned against Andrew and buried his face in the crook of his neck. Breathing in his familiar sharp cologne and feeling the warmth of his skin. Andrew hesitated and Harry was too far gone to care about how terribly he was playing with Andrew's feelings as he pulled Andrew closer to himself and pressed his lips to Andrew's throat…feeling the frenzied beat of his pulse against them.

In that moment, he didn't care about anyone or anything. He just needed more of Andrew's warmth…he needed to feel more of him. He pulled his lips away from Andrew's throat and leaned in, pressing their noses together before whispering huskily,

"Do you want me, Andrew?"

Andrew had his gaze lowered as he shook his head silently. Harry hissed,

"Liar."

He wrapped an arm around Andrew's waist and pushed him back on the couch before straddling him,

"You are such a liar, Andrew."

All the resistance vanished from Andrew's body as Harry gripped his chin gently,

"I know you want me, Andrew…I just want to hear you say it again…"

Andrew kept his lips pressed shut and Harry knew he was struggling to control himself. He wanted that control gone. He wanted nothing more than to break Andrew in that moment. Slowly he pressed his lips to Andrew's. The rasp that escaped Andrew's lips was loud and echoing in his ear,

"Say it, Andrew and maybe I'll give you what you want."

Andrew kept his eyes firmly shut and made a sound that was half pain, half pleasure. Harry loved it. He absolutely adored it. He swiped his tongue against Andrew's lips. Andrew shook his head but there was no resolve there anymore. It was almost as if he'd given up refuting,

"Yes, you want me."

He skated his lips across Andrew's jaw to the corner of his mouth,

"Say it, Andrew."

Andrew sucked in air and his lips parted on a gasp and Harry swamped him, he dove in to kiss him hard and deep, tongue swiping over Andrew's gums and teeth. That seemed to be the thing that undid Andrew because suddenly he was grabbing onto him. He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and offered it to him and Harry took it so readily. Andrew groaned and his hips bucked underneath him as Harry felt his erection.

Andrew was trembling and it was getting more pronounced, like an all-body earthquake. Harry clutched him tight, finally, fully tasting him. Andrew's tongue curled around him, rough, drawing shivers. He wanted it, wanted more, wanted it all.

Finally, he stopped and lifted his mouth a few inches off Andrew's…just long enough to grab his jaw, hold him fast and tight. Andrew had nothing, no strength. In that moment there was no want like this fire, no need like the one consuming him, eating him alive right then.

"All this denial, Andrew… When I know how bad you want it…"

He murmured softly. Andrew simply bucked up, hips and hard cocks aligned,

"It doesn't matter what you say, Andrew. When you touch me… when you look at me, I know."

"Sir… That's why I stay around."

Andrew's breath hitched, burning Harry's chin,

"Even though it hurts. Even though you kill me every time."

His fingers dug into Harry's forearms, sharp, painful. Harry didn't mind it,

"It's the worst kind of pain and I can't leave."

Andrew pushed Harry's head back, meeting his gaze and there was so much pain there,

"I know I can't have you… How can I when even Mr. Greyback couldn't have you?"

There was so much pain in Andrew's eyes. Harry touched him, anything to ease the ache, to wipe the agony away from Andrew's face. Andrew begged,

"Let me go, Sir,"

Harry didn't think he meant physically. He shook his head,

"No."

He couldn't afford to lose Andrew too.

Andrew spoke again. The words were mournful, filled with regret and everything that lined his face and brimmed in his eyes,

"I can't walk away from you so please tell me to leave. Just release me."

Harry looked deep into Andrew's eyes and spoke again,

"No… I'm not letting you go anywhere, Andrew. You are not allowed to leave me anymore."

His mouth was back, on Andrew's and he felt his lips trembling against him. Begging. Pleading. It was the worst kind of pain, Andrew was right. Harry had no idea how to heal them both, not really, but letting Andrew go wasn't an option.

The next kiss was an attack. He was the predator and Andrew was his prey. The kiss was hard and fast. Andrew hung on, eyes closed tight as Harry shut it down, shut him down, with his tongue in Andrew's mouth, their breath intermingling. Taste, they all blended into one drunken mix, yanking away his equilibrium.

A pained sound burst from Andrew's lips. Harry swallowed it then went still before slowly, agonizingly, pulling away. Their lips made a sound, a loud, wet smacking sound as they parted. Andrew stared at him, lips so wet, eyes so heavy.

Harry rose to his feet and watched as Andrew sat up straight before speaking,

"I'm not sorry, Andrew so don't expect an apology from me for taking what we both know you've been aching to give."

He watched the way Andrew's face crumpled bit by bit. He heard him as he sniffed and swallowed. It did something to him…something he couldn't quite explain…It made him feel things he didn't want to feel. Andrew rose to his feet and began straightening out his clothes. Harry closed the distance between them and gripped his chin gently before raising his head so that he could meet his gaze,

"You're mine, Andrew. No one else is allowed to touch you anymore. Do you understand that?"

Andrew nodded his head silently and Harry released his chin before turning away,

"I know I'm a monster…Sometimes I wish I weren't but the way I am is the only thing that's been keeping me going. It's the only thing that's keeping me alive and it's the only reason I come up on top every single time."

He felt Andrew come up behind him and heard him speak in a voice that sounded so broken,

"I'm yours, Sir."

Harry turned around and pressed a kiss to Andrew's cheek,

"I don't want to see you upset anymore, Andrew."

And with that he walked out of the living room and up the stairs to where Fenrir's bedroom had been. The one in which he'd died. The bed was still there, the mattress and box spring. Beside that bed… farthest away from the door… he fell to his knees. All breath was ripped from his lungs that night. His skin torn off his bones. His heart shredded in his chest. He'd lost every single thing in one second.

"Fen…"

He called his name, both hands grabbing on to the bare mattress,

"Fen..."

Somehow, he still expected him to enter the room and smile at him before pulling him into a hug and speaking into his ear,

"I missed you, Harry… Please don't go back to Baltimore."

"Fen…"

He buried his face in the mattress,

"I'm so sorry."

He'd made promises to him and broken every last one. Promises to protect him. To keep him safe forever,

"I'm so sorry, Fen."

How could he make Fenrir understand when he didn't understand it himself? How could he explain the unexplainable?

"Fen…"

He lifted his head, stared up at the ceiling,

"Please forgive me."

He got onto the bed, a move so familiar, he had to slam his eyes shut. In his spot, he stretched out on his back, hands clasped over his belly.

With his eyes closed, he journeyed through the year he'd spent in this house, in this room, in this bed. So much laughter, so much joy. He hadn't thought himself worthy of it for the longest time. The things he did outside these walls, horrifically inexcusable. But Fenrir had made this house his sanctuary. This was someplace he could be himself…This was someplace he could always return to when he got tired of killing and torturing.

And even though Fenrir hadn't been perfect. Hadn't been flawless. He'd been just his, and though he'd known that Fenrir had deserved more than him, he would never give him up.

His death changed nothing.

He'd died with him that night.

Except Tom touched him and breathed new life into Harry's numb body. Denying that would be to lie to himself, and Harry couldn't do that.

Not in this house.

It took strength he'd thought he no longer possessed to watch Tom walk away from him. Even more strength to not immediately go charging off in search of him, and bringing him back to that dark bunker.

His body was interested in another man. Aroused by another man. Just admitting that sent his head spinning. He'd experienced nothing like that before. No man had ever turned his head or stirred his body. He'd thought he knew who he was, but that was no longer true.

Being attracted to Tom called into question his very sanity when he'd been sure he was long gone off the deep end. He tried to imagine how Fenrir would've reacted to that. His betrayal for wanting the man who'd stolen his life.

He lived in Harry's dreams, all tangled up with images of Fenrir and blood.

Fenrir screaming, bleeding, and Tom trying to hurt him.

Harry having to make a choice.

Fenrir or Tom.

Sometimes he chose Fenrir and he died in his arms. Sometimes he chose Tom and he killed Fenrir in front of Harry's eyes. And sometimes Harry forced himself awake before he could make a terrible decision.

Nothing he did was right anymore. Nothing he did could bring Fenrir back or erase what now coursed through his veins for Tom. But he could focus on what he could change, what he could control.

The time had come.