A/N - Thank you to everybody who reviewed recently! And especially thank you for the comments about the negative reviews - it really helped to hear so much positive feedback, not only about the story itself, but just in regards to the negative comments I had received in the past. Chapters are coming short, but often right now, so I hope that makes up for the long absence!

Collisions & Compromises

Chapter 7

by ~chicadoodle

Harry was firmly ensconced in his room when Mycroft saw him next, sitting cross legged on his bed with his computer set out before him.

It hadn't taken long for Harry to get the hang of his new computer, but he hadn't gone searching through the database like his uncle had hoped he would; Instead, it hadn't taken long for Harry to discover a myriad of games and silly, mindless quizzes that he could pass the boring hours of the day with.

Truth be told, Harry was still reeling from the recent changes in his life. From being a virtual House Elf in the home of his aunt and uncle, to living in the lap of luxury with a new uncle who mostly ignored him - and a father who had yet to even visit him - was quite the leap.

It rather reminded him of the whirlwing of going from the odd boy on Privet Drive to being introduced to the Wizarding World. From nobody to celebrity in the span of a single day - it wasn't that much different. His entire world view, his very sense of self, had been turned on it's head, and he was still trying to wrap his head around it.

He was not the son of a wizard and a witch, but rather a witch and a world famous muggle detective. He was a half blood, in the truest sense of the word.

Or perhaps he wasn't. His uncle, after all, was a wizard. The son of a witch and a squib, then? Was that how it worked? Were his grandparents magical?

He had so many questions, but every answer he received seemed to lead to more questions.

Harry glanced up as his door opened, eyes narrowing as he took in Mycroft's thin form. There was a surprising amount of hostility behind his vibrant green gaze, and Mycroft raised an eyebrow in surprise - the closest he ever got to showing any real emotion, in Harry's estimation.

Coming to stand at the end of his nephew's bed, Mycroft placed on hand upon a bedpost and met his eyes head on. Harry was the first to glance away, but Mycroft felt no sense of satisfaction that might have afflicted a lesser man - a contest of wills against a child was no contest at all.

"Your father will be joining us for the evening meal." Mycroft revealed, causing Harry's eyes to widen slightly as they rose to meet Mycroft's once again.

"Why?" The question slipped out unbidden, and Harry flushed hotly as he realized how he must sound. Like he didn't want his father there. Like a spoiled child.

Not that he cared how Mycroft Holmes viewed him, he reminded himself angrily. The man had forced him into the company of Draco Malfoy, of all people - and during the summer, when he should have been free of the Slytherin's sneering glances and sharp remarks.

Feeling his earlier anger returning, Harry diverted his gaze away from the older man. It wouldn't do to have his guardian know he was upset with him - Harry had learned that lesson from his Uncle Vernon at a very young age.

Continuing to watch the teen before him, Mycroft smirked slightly - just the barest twitch of his lips. He was leaning in what appeared to be a comfortable position against the door frame of his nephew's bedroom, but was in actuality quite an uncomfortable position for the older man. Mycroft had never been one to 'relax' - proper posture had always been of tantamount importance to him as a young man, but he could see the benefits of apeparing to be at ease before the younger man. After all, this was his home. No reason to give the younger man reason to believe that he was uncomfortable.

Heaven knew what sort of assumptions he might make.

"I invited him." When it came to manipulating people, Mycroft had long ago learned that there was a delicate line dividing what information he should reveal, and what he should keep to himself. Hiding this fact from his nephew would give him nothing - it actually might blow up in his face, particularly if Sherlock were to speak to his son.

If anything, this tidbit of information only served to confuse Harry more - as the look on his face clearly showed. Good - confusion was an appropriate emotion for the teenager, as far as Mycroft was concerned. It would allow him to be manipulated far more easily.

"Why?" Harry asked yet again, gritting his teeth as he realized just how childish he sounded. Like a five year old asking "why" over and over again.

Mycroft merely smiled a small, secret smile, before turning to leaving the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

Harry glared at the closed door of his bedroom, resisting the urge to throw one of his pillows at the closed door in a show of rage. Instead, he turned to his computer with a deliberate calmness, opening one of the many games that he had downloaded from the internet. Better to take his anger out on the hapless creature he could shoot, maim and kill on his computer, than on his bedroom or his uncle - no matter how much more satisfying that might have been.

I can be calm, he reminded himself. This is no different from the Dursleys. If I can put up with them bad mouthing my mum and D- and James, I can put up with this. It was still strange, to think of James Potter as his step-father. It hurt, really, so Harry had firmly decided to simply think of him as 'James'. It was too confusing, otherwise.

Still, taking his aggression out by killing monsters in a fantasy game wouldn't hurt, would it?