Chapter 4

Harry had been in the woods for a time; for how long he was not sure. He had eaten, he had talked, he had barely moved. Harry watched as life buzzed around him. Men and woman wondered through the clearing; in and out of the caves that they inhabited. Fenrir flitted about, moving from person to person, before returning to check on Harry. Children played, chasing each other, climbing trees and occasionally producing a toy of some sort.

One such toy rolled beside him. A ball, misshaped and worn from use, but still functional. It hit Harry's leg with dull thud. Harry could only stare. Seconds ticked by before a voice reached Harry's ears.

"Can you pass the ball?" a voice questioned. Harry looked at the small group of children standing close by. The one that had spoken was a step closer than the others. The kid had long blonde hair that fell over their hazel eyes and down to their shoulders. They were dressed, as the others were, in well worn clothes. The clothes, however, were still well taken care of. They were patched well and appeared to be clean, even if there was clear evidence of their frequent use. Harry's eyes lingered on their bare feet and found himself wondering if there was any way that he could help these kids. He wondered if they even needed help. However before he could slip further a voice, once again, interrupted him.

"I said, can you pass me the ball" the kid growled out, this time sounding far more annoyed. The kid stepped forward another step, eyes glinting with an amber gleam. The kid took another step.

"Sky" a voice cut through the clearing. Fenrir was back by Harry's side the man standing by him, looking at the group of children. "I told you to keep your temper under control" the man gave a small smile. He stepped toward the kid, picking up the ball as he went. Placing the ball in the blonde's hands, he ruffled the already disheveled hair.

"Will you play Fen?" Sky queried, head tilting to the side. Fenrir grinned.

"Only if Harry will" Fenrir threw a cheeky glance at Harry, his smirk wide. Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he looked to the boy still sitting on the grass.

"Please" a child standing behind Sky called out. Dark brown hair matched the eyes that were looking pleadingly toward Harry. "Fen never gets to play with us" the child whined. A small smile crept its way onto Harry's face without his consent. A nod soon followed.

Harry pushed his way up, his legs slightly shaky from misuse. Fenrir made the few short steps toward him, assisting Harry in standing, his hand grasping Harry's. Harry gave a kind smile, a thankful smile.

"I don't know how to play" Harry whispered to the man that still held his hand in his own. Fenrir gave another wolfish grin, his white teeth glinting.

"Neither do I" he laughed in hushed tones. Harry's smile grew, soon matching the one on the other's face. He gave a shy nod as he was pulled toward the waiting children.

Half an hour later found Harry clutching the ball to his chest tightly, in a ball himself on the floor. He was curled tightly around the ball, still not sure what was going on. However he was not about to let the battered ball escape from his grasp now that he finally had it. The kids surrounded him attempting to pull the ball from him and failing miserably.

With a playful roar Fenrir ran forward pulling Harry up into his arms. Harry's back met that of the much taller man's. No matter how Harry continued how to curl up the small hands of the children succeeded in forcing the ball from his own.

Harry lunged after the ball, a smile on his face, bright and full of happiness. Fenrir held him back, laughing at the young man in his grasp. Harry took the advantage of the man's distraction to try and escape again. However, even distracted, Fenrir's grasp was still firm. The silver haired man toppled forward, his body falling atop Harry's.

Harry burst out laughing. Loud and joyous laughter that echoed through the clearing. He laughed with more sincerity than he could ever remember. His grin was splitting his face and his eyes sparkled with life. He could not remember the last time that he felt this happy, that he had felt this free.

Fenrir rolled off him, wolfish grin still in place. He pushed his way to his feet and extended a callused toward the young man still lying on the soft grass. However as Harry reached for the hand a red light flashed forward, hitting the silver haired man square in the back. He fell with a thud. His blue eyes clouded with pain and a small scream managed to force its way from his mouth before his teeth clenched.

The children scattered, running from the danger that had engulfed their leader. Some were intent on finding their parents, seeking out help for Fenrir. Others had, however, recognised the source of the spell and realised that their only option was to hide and hope that Fenrir was not injured too gravely. Harry could only watch.

The spell was released as soon as it had come and Harry was spurred into action. He leapt toward the still form of his friend, lying on the floor. His hand rested on the man's chest as Harry assessed the laboured breathing and clouded eyes.

Intentional footsteps thudded their way through the clearing. Harry looked up. Lord Voldemort stood before them. His handsome face was twisted into an angry scowl. Harry rocketed to his feet. His hands shot from the man below him, as though he were being burned. All the joy had left him, fear now sparking in every atom of his being. His body was tense and his breathing ragged. His eyes were wide, terror beginning to spread through the once joyful green.

Lord Voldemort stepped forward. He raised his wand, malice twinkling in his eyes. A smirk crawled its way into his lips as he stepped forward. He was ready to punish the man that had touched what was his. Voldemort had been watching the scene play out for several minutes. He had seen the smile on the boy's face, had heard the laughter ring through the forest. He had seen Hercules act as he had never acted before and for some reason he felt angry. A hot and burning anger that was stronger than what he had felt that morning. It rippled through him like a stone being thrown onto a lake. Wave after wave, continuing to spread wider and wider.

"Stop" a small voice whispered through the clearing. Voldemort cast a glance toward Hercules. The boy was on his feet now, his eyes filled with fear and sadness, refusing to look at the man he stood before.

Voldemort ignored his husband. He brought his wand higher a glint in his eyes. He wanted to see the mutt suffer. He had touched what belonged to the Dark Lord. No-one did that and was allowed to get away with it. His irrational anger increased as he saw the werewolf push himself into a sitting position and reach for his Hercules. The Dark Lord bared his teeth in a vicious sneer.

"Crucio" he spat, red shooting from his wand. However, it did not hit its intended target. Instead Harry threw himself in front of the light, preventing its connection with the werewolf on the grass. Harry collapsed to the floor, his body twitching. A small scream forced its way from his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut, the green vanishing from view.

The Dark Lord lifted the spell almost instantly. His eyes were sparkling with red, anger as harsh as the cruciatus curse that he had just used, as he stepped forward.

"You idiotic boy" he scowled, stepping closer to the still figure on the floor. "How dare you defy me. You are mine Hercules!" his voice was violent, the anger clear in each syllable. However as he reached the boy he faltered. A brief flicker of anguish filled his eyes, before it was brutally squashed. It appeared that something was wrong with Hercules.

Hercules was not moving. The only sign that he was still alive was the shallow breathing, his chest moving up and down minutely. The boy's eyes were shut and his skin extremely pale, more pale than the usual snow like complexion. It was deathly white. This was not the reaction that the Dark Lord had been expecting. It was not a normal reaction. The boy had only been under the torture curse for a few seconds. It may be painful, yes, but it should not have forced him into unconsciousness.

"What did you do mutt!" Voldemort shouted as he flashed a death glare at the werewolf. Fenrir had been creeping toward the prone form of his friend on the grass however as the voice cut through the silence he froze. His eyes wide as he looked to the Dark Lord. It seemed that the werewolf's attention had been utterly focused on Hercules. So much so that he had forgotten the presence of his Lord.

"Nothing my Lord" the werewolf croaked out. His voice was rough from his screams and his body still stiff and sore from the effects of the curse. However his eyes still flickered to the too still boy on the floor, even as he attempted to remain respectful to the man before him.

"He may be…" Fenrir's head turned away. The werewolf did not wish to be seen criticising his Lord. However he needed to help the boy. He had become rather attached to him in the past few days.

"Well, he may be suffering from…overexposure" Fenrir's voice was quiet as he finished the last word, his hand subconsciously reaching for the boy as he whispered the final syllables.

Voldemort stood for several seconds, his eyes on the man who was still curled on the ground, reaching for his husband. His mind did not seem to comprehend the words that were spoken. What did the werewolf mean? What in Merlin's name was he talking about?

"What!" he growled out the word. A single syllable that spoke of so much more. Anger and frustration radiated from the Dark Lord's form in waves. Fenrir found it a struggle not to flinch back from the raw power that he was felling from the man.

"T-to the cruciatus curse, My Lord" the werewolf managed to stammer out. He could feel Voldemort's power crawling through the air, the magic, unnamable and wild, dancing over his skin. It demanded answers. Answers that Fenrir needed provide, no matter the consequences. He was sure that the consequences of silence were far worse than those of explanation.

"Yesterday in the library I found" Fenrir paused. It was only a millisecond that it took for the thoughts to swirl around his head. Harry was the name he had been given by the boy, but it seemed that Hercules was the one that the Dark Lord used. Fenrir was sure that the name was of significance. "Hercules" the wolf continued.

"I attempted to cure him the best I could…but he is…unused to such pain…" the man felt for the young boy. He knew how painful the curse was and he had years of experience to develop resistance. Being subjected to such agony twice in as many days must have been extremely painful and draining for the boy.

"Greyback" the Dark Lord growled. "I do not appreciate you lying to me" the man's anger seemed to only increase. Fenrir could feel the rage in the man's magic. It was as though pins were pricking his skin digging deep into the delicate layers. It demanded answered.

"Hercules was not…" However the spoken boy chose that moment to begin to move again. His whole body began to spasm, every nerve seemingly alight as his whole body shook. Screams ripped through his lungs, spit flying from the bitten red lips. Emerald eyes snapped open, unseeing, terrified and filled with pain.

Harry's eyes fluttered open, the green fuzzy and disorientated as they looked around the room. Harry blinked and then blinked again. Light was streaming through the window of the room, the gentle rays caressing his skin. Harry enjoyed the feel of it. Harry felt as though he was waking for the first time in months. He let a small smile grace the cracked lips.

Harry recognised the room as the Dark Lord's, the bed the one that he shared with the man. He found himself realising that he had never been in the room during the day. It was not a place that he had ever taken the time to observe. He had either been too scared or too preoccupied with other thoughts. He looked around it now.

The bed was a gentle white, the sheets crisp and clean. They were soft, gentle on his skin. The rest of the room was similar. White seemed to be the predominant colour. It consumed Harry's senses. The walls reflected the gentle light streaming from the window, the floor was a light wood, ash maybe, that matched the rest of the furniture in the room. The bed side tables were the only decoration, situated with unlit candles. A rug lay on the floor, a light and calming brown that was there for nothing more than practicality. It gave the room a normality that Harry had missed before. It was a curious thing for such an extraordinary man to have a room that was just so normal. Harry found himself thinking, for the first time, that the room was a place that he wanted to be.

Harry pushed himself from the comfortable bed, with difficulty. As he was not frozen in fear with the fact that there was a Dark Lord, his husband, lying next to him, he found himself liking the comfort that the mattress provided. He needed persuaded himself not to lie there indefinitely. He really needed a wash. A bath would do just fine.

Harry walked on unsteady legs toward the bathroom. His legs were surprisingly weak and yet Harry was too amazed by the bathroom as he entered it to think too long about why he was feeling as he was. He was feeling far too light to allow any deeper thoughts to weigh him down. He felt like a ballon that wanted to float away. Anything remotely heavy and he would be trapped here forever.

The Dark Lord felt his wards buzz at him, the magic insistent, desperate even. It seemed that Hercules was out of his bed. The young man had not been awake in two and a half days. Voldemort had been forced to watch the boy, his new husband, lay on a bed, not moving and barely breathing. Not that Voldemort would admit it, but the past two days had been the closest that the Dark Lord had come to feeling something that may have resembled fear in his entire lifetime.

Once Fenrir had finally managed to explain that had happened to Harry Voldemort had been, displeased to say the least. The man, of course, had not know who it was that had cast the curse on his new husband. He needed to find out. They needed to be punished. In the next two days he had, however, been unsuccessful. He had found nothing. None of his followers had confessed to the crime.

The Dark Lord was not used to failure. Everything in his life had been successful. Any endeavour that he out his mind to, he accomplished. Therefore as the days wore on his frustration built up. It seemed that along with the anger that consumed the Dark Lord, no one wanted to be anywhere near the man. They were sure to be met with a torture curse. It seemed that his only option was to wait for Hercules to wake up. Every Death Eater was waiting with baited breath for that moment to arise.

Asking the boy for answers, was therefore the justification that the Dark Lord gave himself for running up the manor steps as the wards continued to buzz irritably in his ear. He must find out who had hurt his husband. They needed to be punished.

Voldemort pushed open the door to his rooms. It bashed loudly on the wall, displacing a large amount of air. The Dark Lord looked angrily around the room, his eyes seeking out the young man that he expected to find there. His eyes were dissatisfied. An unmade bed was all that the room revealed.

Voldemort strode across the room in four quick steps, entering the bathroom. He swung the door open, with violence equalling that of the first. A small squeak was brought from the boy that was standing semi-nude in the centre of the room. The bath was filling and Harry's top was off, his boxers the only thing covering him. Harry's green eyes were wide as they looked to the viciously angry man before him.

"Who did it Hercules?" the man growled out taking another step forward. The man's eyes were flashing with anger that left the boy utterly confused. He could only frown and let his mouth fall open slightly. The small gap revealed his white teeth. The Dark Lord stepped toward Harry again. Harry's back hit the cold tiled wall, sending a shiver running through him, goosebumps jumping to his skin. Harry couldn't help but feel utterly vulnerable.

The man before him was fully dressed and fully armed. He had a dark suit on, the clothing was completely black, reflecting the look on the man's face. Shoes were polished to within an inch of their life. They looked deadly. They gleamed with the promise of pain that hid below the calm and collected surface. Harry found himself wondering how much blood those shoes had walked through, how many bodies their Master had caused. The man's wand was grasped delicately in his hand. A weapon of mass destruction held as gently as one would a rose. Harry was utterly at the man's mercy. He supposed that there was no change there.

The Dark Lord stepped to meet Harry. A hand came up to grip his shoulder, his nails digging into the pale skin. Red crescents bloomed to the surface as the grip tightened. Even though the Dark Lord's wand remained pointed at the floor, Harry could not help but be fearful. The glint in the man's eyes was enough. Voldemort's leg was pushed between Harry's, causing the boy's stance to crumble. The only thing keeping him steady was the hand that pushed him harder against the wall.

"Who cast a cruciatus curse on you Hercules?" the man growled out, his face only several inches from his husband's. His eyes were hard and his tone left no room for argument. Harry could feel the breath on his face, hot and angry as the very man before him.

It took Harry's mind several seconds to catch up with the question that was being posed to him. He blinked as the Dark Lord's grip tightened. The question was not the one that he had been expecting. Harry's gaze flickered up to meet his husband's and he felt as all the air rushed from his lungs. The killing intent glittered there without regulation. Harry's throat became tight.

"Bellatrix" Harry finally managed to breath out. His eyes were rapidly turned to the floor, away from the murderous glint. His body was filled with tension. It seemed that any relaxation the boy had managed to develop had gone out of the window. He was terrified. The man before him seemed to have that effect.

The Dark Lord gave Harry nothing as he stormed from the room. No acknowledgement of the name that he had been given. He simply let his feet click on the tiled floor. The man did, however stop in the door way. Without looking around a few harsh words spilled from his lips.

"Dinner will be in three hours. I expect you to be there." The man then continued his journey from the room, leaving a shell shocked Harry who had more questions than answers as he sagged to the floor