Chapter 6

The next few days were, well, they were. Harry wasn't exactly sure how to describe them. The Dark Lord was acting strange, his eyes constantly skittering across Harry's form when he believed that the boy was not looking. But Harry was always looking. His senses were attuned to pay attention to everything. There was no other way to survive in the Black household. To stay unseen you needed to see everything.

The Dark Lord wasn't the only one that seemed to have changed their attitude toward the boy that was married to their Lord. The Death Eaters were different now. Harry saw their eyes on him, could hear their footsteps behind him, following him. But their eyes did not burn him in the way that they had been less than a week ago. They seemed to be watching him without disgust and suspicion. No, there was now concern in their gazes. But hidden in them was something else; a fear that twinkled behind layers of deception that each Death Eater had developed through years of practice. Hercules was not so well versed in Death Eater politics as to claim to know every emotion that crossed their faces, yet he did know fear when he saw it. That was an emotion that he had come to know well.

Harry felt that he was being smothered. Eyes were constantly on him and the Dark Lord seemed to know where he was at all times. If it was not the Dark Lord that was at his side, it was on of his numerous Death Eaters that dogged Harry's steps. He was never free from the scrutiny, constantly feeling eyes on him. Yet there was one person that Harry had not seen. Fenrir was a face that he had not seen since the man had been tortured in the woods. Even if Harry missed the silver headed man, he was scared as to what the man would think. He had hidden himself from him, avoiding the truth and letting him make assumptions about the nature of his relationship with the Dark Lord.

Harry was therefore dreading the event that was scheduled for tonight. The Malfoy summer ball was a tradition that stretched back for years, decades. Harry knew that both his brothers had attended the event, a privilege that had not been respected by Sirius. This therefore lead to Regulus having the honour the next year. Harry would be attending this year for the first time, on the arm of the Dark Lord. The event was one which all Death Eaters, no matter their standing and their heirs would indefinitely be attending. That meant Fenrir. This only added to Harry's apprehension. He was already dreading the event, having so much pressure on him, people watching his every step. It would be hideous.

Harry woke the morning of the ball with a trepidation that he could do little to hide. His eyes were dark, the sparkle dulled as a leaf does as winter fast approaches, falling from the tree only to be trampled to dust. The green adopted a less vivid hue, ready to turn brown as the colder days came. Harry trudged through the day like a zombie, his thoughts on the shattering of his life.

As lunch finished, Harry having eaten very little, the Dark Lord gave him a look.

"Hercules" the man extended his arm. Harry hastily took it, his eyes quickly darting to his feet. Harry was lead from the Hall and back to the rooms that he shared with the Dark Lord. The door opened with a push from his husband.

"I have had your outfit prepared for you. You have until three o'clock to bathe and ready yourself in any other ways that you deem necessary. Alice Yaxley and Jessica Gibbon will be here to assist you with getting ready. I will see you at five." Harry watched the man leave, a sigh forcing its way from him as the door shut behind his husband with a click.

Harry stripped himself, placing his clothes in the wash basket for the house-elves to deal with. He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to reach a suitable heat. The steam pouring from behind the glass was an indication of a suitable temperature. Harry got in. As Harry stood under the rush of boiling water he thought about the people that he was soon to be…reunited with.

The two women that were to prepare him for the ball were Slytherins that he had been to school with. Yaxley had graduated two years ago, Gibbon having graduated as of the summer. The two had been less than pleasant company, to say the least. Their views aligned with that of Regulus and the rest of the aspiring Death Eaters in the school. This had not lead Harry to having a functional relationship with the pair. They had not necessarily been actively aggressive, but neither had they been anywhere close to nice to him.

The thoughts about how to deal with the pair weighed heavily on Harry's mind. He was not sure of how to act around them now. The dynamic had changed. Harry was no longer the boy that he had been at the end of last year. Of course he was sure that neither were the pair that he was about to see again. It was a conundrum, one that Harry was blind of the answer to.

Harry got out of the shower, feeling more lethargic than when he had first entered it. His eyes were heavy as he collapsed onto the bed. A towel was wrapped around his waist, his arms outstretched, the white sheets sticking to his slightly damp skin. He let his eyes flicker shut, contemplating the evening. He had half an hour before the twins of terror were to arrive, however, in Harry's mind that was no way near long enough.

From watching his brothers go through these processes of preparation in the past, he knew what was expected of him. Harry need only dress in his underclothes as the two women arrived. A pair of underpants and a vest was all that he need. The rest would be sorted by the two women. Clothing, hair, makeup, accessories and whatever else the Dark Lord had required would be fulfilled in the allotted time.

Harry pulled himself from the comfort of the bed, heading toward the wardrobe. He pulled open the doors. Hanging there, in all their glory were the robes that Harry would be wearing tonight. They were fantastical. The material itself was probably worth more than money than Harry had ever seen before. Delicate stitching further accentuated the beauty of the material. A strips of dark green material lined the edge of the robes, small silver snakes embroidered delicately across it. The message of who Harry belonged to was emphasised with further clarity as the finishing touch of the robe was Slytherin crest emblazoned on the left lapel. Harry sighed. The expectation that would rest on his shoulders as he wore those clothes would be phenomenal. Harry pulled on the required clothing, tossing his towel into the wash basket, pushing the thoughts from his mind.

Soon enough, the two women arrived. Harry felt utterly vulnerable as he went to answer the door. He took a breath as he stretched out his hand. He squared his shoulders and raised his head high. He adopted the facade of power that he had seen his family and numerous Death Eaters maintain on a semi-permeant basis. He needed to look powerful before these two. Weakness was not an option. Harry knew from experience that Death Eaters would jump on any opportunity to take advantage of someone else. Harry was not about to give them that opportunity. He needed to be strong, stronger than he had ever been. These women were mean and he could not let them even the slightest opening.

Harry opened the door. His face was emotionless as he was met with the sight of the two women. They were just as he remembered them. Yaxley was short, just over five foot, but she made up for the fact she was short, with the sheer amount of hatred that was packed into the small form. Her brown hair, seemed to flair from her, making her look like an angry hedgehog. Her brown eyes, their brown as dark as her hair, were equally as angry. Harry didn't let himself become threatened. He kept his whole form hard, solid. He was a rock. He would not be moved by such trivial things as anger. Gibbon was taller and more refined than the younger Yaxley. Her blonde hair was neat, her blue eyes sparkling with judgement as she looked at Harry. He ignored it, he ignored them. He did not let the turmoil of emotions show on his face.

"Come in" Harry said blankly. He moved from the door way, watching as the pair entered the room at a sedate pace. Harry said nothing else. He set himself down in the chair that was situated before the large mirror that dominated one wall of the room.

The next two hours passed painfully, Harry was pulled and prodded and manoeuvred into positions that were irregular and uncomfortable. However he spoke not a word and neither did the two women in the room. Their only words were to indicate a new position for Harry to adopt. However as the clock reached five, Harry was amazed at their efforts. He could not recognise the man that looked back at him in the mirror. For thats what he was now, the eyes were those of a man. His robes were not feminine, the small amount of makeup that was painted on his face, not making him look like any less than who he was. His hair was styled and sculpted in such a way that it accentuated each line of his face. He looked like a work of art; a greek sculpture. Each and every line a work of art, a carefully crafted masterpiece.

Harry was so engrossed in looking at himself that he did not hear the door open, admitting his husband. However the flurry of movement that followed did draw Harry's attention. The two women were now bowing before the Dark Lord, their heads low, their eyes cast to the floor. Harry turned to see what the commotion was about.

The Dark Lord'e breath caught in his throat as he saw his husband turn to him. Hercules looked breathtaking. A piece of art stood before him. The Dark Lord's eyes flitted across the perfect form drinking in each detail, drinking him in. He felt as if he were finally finding water after being lost in the desert for days on end. He simply could not get enough.

"Leave us" the Dark Lord growled out at the two women.

"My Lord" Two murmurs responded. However as they went to leave they were blocked. Voldemort stood before them. His eyes were hard as his hand reached fro his wand.

"And…" His voice was sickly sweet. Harry tensed at the sound.

Two sets of eyes looked back to him with fear and trepidation. The two women forced words from their lips.

"Master Hercules" was the muttered word that left their lips before they turned and left the room. Harry blinked. Harry was confused, why would they address him in such a fashion? Obviously the confusion showed on his face as the Dark Lord made efforts to explain.

"It's necessary" The man said as he stepped forward toward his husband. "They will respect you, as they respect me." The Dark Lord was close now. A foot away, as he continued further. Hercules attempted to keep his eyes hard, as he looked to the man before him. He attempted to maintain his composure even as he felt the breath of the man on his cheek.

"I…I have not earned their respect" Harry mumbled, his courage failing him with every second that passed by. As the brown eyes were glued to his.

"You are mine" was the possessive growl that followed, eyes glinting. "That is enough"

Harry arrived at the party on the arm of the Dark Lord. They had traveled by a converted car, the inside done out in soft leather, drinks flowing, yet conversation stilled. The journey had been accompanied by the driver, a nameless Death Eater that Voldemort had tasked with the job of transportation. Silence was the only other thing that accompanied the journey.

As Harry stepped from the car, that was of course bigger on the inside, it seemed that eyes were on him in seconds. However as he walked, his arm resting on his husbands he did not feel judged by those eyes. He felt worshiped. The eyes that looked at him, were doing so with awe. Not the suspicion and hatred that had dogged his steps for the past seventeen years of his existence, no. Now they looked at him as though he were some sort of prize, something that was unattainable and beyond their reach. Yet, Harry was not sure that this look was any better than the hatred had been.

Harry met many, faces blurring into one as he remained on the Dark Lord's arm. An hour passed and Voldemort found himself in a conversation with the young Lucius Malfoy, host of the party and newly marked Death Eater. The two were so much engaged in the conversation that they failed to notice as Harry slipped away toward the drinks table. The pressure of the night was putting him on edge. Harry needed to calm his nerves and the best way he could think to do that was a couple of glasses of whatever the hell was on the table before him. He picked up several small glasses of…something. Surely the smaller it was, the less alcohol was in it?

Harry had very little experience in alcohol. His first gulps of the stuff being when Fenrir. Harry winced at the thought. He had not seen the Werewolf so far tonight and that was a blessing. He did not know if he could face the man after what had happened. Harry took a gulp of the liquid, swallowing the whole glass in one. It tasted horrible and it burnt his throat, but he knew from experience that the feeling after the drink would be worth the burning sensation. Harry took another, and then another. Five drinks later and Harry was already feeling the effects of the alcohol in his system, especially from his bladder.

Harry made his way to the bathroom, oblivious to anything other than the desperate need to urinate. Harry sighed with relief as he set himself on the seat, the liquid pouring onto the white porcelain. The room seemed to spin slightly, his head off tilter as Harry's bladder emptied itself. He blinked, then blinked again attempting to right himself. He felt a little better as he stood and washed his hands. His face still look perfect in the mirror, each line immaculate and brilliantly formed. He smiled at his face. Harry knew that he would be missed if he did not make his way to back to the party soon. He unlocked the door and started for the ballroom on less than steady feet.

However Harry's trip was soon halted by a group of people. Harry knew of all of them, but there was one that stood out. After all he was someone that he had know him since the day that he took his first breath. Regulus.

"Oh look who it is" A sneer marred the face of a young man by the name of Travis Goyle. He was twenty and had been a Slytherin with Regulus. Harry had seen the pair talk on several occasions. "It's the Dark Lord's whore" a smile stretched up the man's face, but it was not a kind one. It was filled with malice and sadistic glee.

"We know what you want whore" another man said, stepping forward and pinning Harry's neck to the wall. Harry's eyes scurried across the man's face. Igor Karkaroff was only seventeen, but he was tall, far taller than Harry. He was young, even for a Death Eater, but he seemed fully committed to the cause. Harry had seen him only in passing, but he had heard of his parents talk of him.

Karkaroff put more pressure on Harry's neck. As Harry felt his air supply being cut off, he snapped from the slight haze that the alcohol had induced in him. His eyes widened as adrenalin began pumping through him at a rapid rate. Harry's knee came up, connecting with the other man's genitals. Karkaroff grunted a curse in response his grip loosening, his hands reaching for the source of the pain. Harry pushed the taller man away before attempting to get away from the group as well. However he was halted in his movements.

"You little shit" another of the group yelled out. Barty Crouch Jr pushed Harry back against the wall harshly. Harry's breath was forced from his lungs at the sudden movement and he felt heat spread through his back as the harsh bricks met it. Harry clenched his teeth at the feeling. His wrists were pinned to the wall with equal force and Harry could already feel the skin bruising under the thick fingers. Harry's knee moved to do as it had done before, but he was halted his movements as Crouch brought his foot down harshly on Harry's own.

The pain shot up his leg, causing it to buckle under the weight. Crouch kept Harry's wrists in his hold as Harry fell to the floor. Harry's knees thudded painfully to the floor, while his wrists were kept pulled upward. Harry winced as his body was kept in the uncomfortable position. His arms were pulled up behind his back, Crouch making the position as painful as he could. Harry held back the whimper that attempted to escape his lips.

Feet pattered toward him and Harry looked up to see Regulus looking down on him in revulsion.

"You're disgusting" he spat out as his eyes met Harry's. He sneered, derision in every contour of his face. Regulus took his younger brothers chin in his hands, bruising touches to the delicate skin.

"You're not a Black. You've never been a Black. You're nothing but a piece of shit!" Regulus spat, a fleck landing on Harry's face. Regulus' hand dropped Harry's head, lifting up his knee as Harry's head dropped. He thrust it strongly into his brother's stomach. Harry's breath left him with a harsh thrust. Crouch let him go and he fell to the floor gasping like a fish out of water. The group left him there.

Any sort of confidence that Harry may have gained over the course of the night had left him as he lay there panting on the floor. Tears streamed down his face, ruining the carefully crafted image that had been created for him for the night. Several minutes passed before Harry pushed himself up from the floor. His eyes were glassy and filled with sadness. He did not want to go back to the party.

Harry made his way outside, a limp in his step from his now swelling foot. His body was tired and his brain still fuzzy as he walked out of the back doors and along the perfectly manicured garden path. He walked for longer than he thought he had, time seemed to be a concept that had left him altogether. With a sense of relief Harry saw that he was approaching a bench. He was in a secluded area of the garden, trees surrounding him and the path less clear than it had been.

Harry sat, he didn't know for how long. The alcohol had worn off and now he was only tired and filled with self hatred. Tears only continued to stream down his face as he realised just how awful his life was. How hopeless everything seemed to be. He was worthless, he was disgusting, he was nothing. He didn't want to live anymore.

Harry was snapped from his thoughts of self pity as a pair of arms were suddenly wrapped around his waist. Harry went to scream, a rough, pained noise that spoke of his time spent crying. A hand ran through his hair, a soothing voice whispered in his ear. He recognised the voice. He stopped his screaming.

"It's okay Harry. You're okay" the voice soothed.

"Fenrir" Harry breathed out, a mingle of relief and fear in his voice. Fenrir ignored the fear and pulled the scared young man to his chest, engulfing him in a large hug. He said nothing, simply sat on the bench as the boy cried. He stroked the now messy hair in gentle repetitive strokes. Harry, after several minutes calmed down, his tears stopping. He realised the position he was in, sitting in the man's lap, he flushed. However he made no move to sit anywhere else. He was comfortable where he was. He didn't, however, look at the man who's lap he sat on. He kept his head buried in Fenrir's chest.

"Fenrir" he mumbled, almost too quietly to be heard. Yet Fenrir's excellent hearing picked it up. He hummed, giving Harry leave to talk.

"You…You don't hate me?" Harry mumbled into the muscled chest.

"No Harry" Fenrir soothed, his hand running up and down Harry's back. "Or should I say Hercules" Fenrir chuckled. Harry tensed against his chest, a frown on his face. He pushed himself away from the man and looked up at his face.

"Heyyy" he whined with a pout on his lips that only made the man laugh harder. As Harry heard the laugh increase, a small smile crept its way onto his face. Through red rimed eyes he grinned at the man before him. As Fenrir saw the small smile on the boy's face he knew that he was getting somewhere.

"It doesn't quite suit you does it?" Fenrir grinned, his head tilted to the side. Harry smiled back as he shook his head fondly. It seemed that Fenrir really wasn't mad at him. It seemed that the man didn't mind who he really was. Apparently he was much more open to the idea that Harry had lied, or at least not told the truth, about his identity.

"So…" Harry questioned. He was attempting to ask without asking. He knew what he wanted to ask, Fenrir knew it too, he just couldn't get the words out.

"It's fine Harry. I kinda…suspected you from the beginning anyway" Fenrir said regretfully, but Harry simply gave him a small smile. "So, you're not scared that I'm a…well that I'm a werewolf?" Fenrir whispered. Harry shook his head.

"Nope" he popped his p. Harry pulled Fenrir back into a hug. That was enough. The two sat together happy that they had found an answer to the questions that both of them had had for the other.

"I think you need to get back to the party Harry" Fenrir grumbled, sounding as unhappy with the idea as Harry felt. Harry sighed and gave a nod, a small smile soon following. He was sure that the Dark Lord would not be impressed with Harry's leave of absence as it was. He should not extend it any longer. Harry stood up from the bench reluctantly.

"I think that we better smarten you up a little Harry" Fenrir said with a sad smile. He took out his wand. Harry had to suppress a flinch as the piece of wood was pointed at him. Fenrir simply smiled at him. The man cast several spells, all of which attempted to make Harry's appearance as it had been before the fight with his brother. Harry, of course, did not look as stunning as he once had, but he still looked beautiful. A force to be reckoned with.

"I'll walk back with you Harry" Fenrir said with a smile. Harry slipped his hand into Fenrir's and the man walked him back to the manor.

Harry entered the Ballroom as though nothing had happened. He had talked with Fenrir on the way back to the Manor, the man telling him how to go about his re-entry into the party. He needed to keep his head high, his shoulders squared and his face as hard as stone. He was not to show any weakness. He was to be nothing but calm, collected and indifferent to everyone but the Dark Lord.

Fenrir walked beside Harry, talking to the young man. The words were meaningless. Yet to see the leader of the largest wolf pack in Briton walking beside the husband of the Dark Lord; that was indeed significant. The man didn't touch Harry and didn't get too close. The Dark Lord would not have taken such close relations with any grace or dignity, at least not when the pair were in private.

With a small wave and an almost imperceptible smile Harry walked back toward his husband. The man cast him a suspicious glance, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the young man return. However he did not press the matter. Now was not the time. He merely watched as Hercules approached, a nod in greeting his acknowledgement of the boy. He was not happy that the boy had returned with the wolf by his side, but there was nothing he could do about that now; at least not in public.

"Ladies and Gentlemen" a voice called loud and clear; Abraxas Malfoy, the source of it. "Dinner is served." There was a flurry of movement as the words were spoken. There were allocated seats, but of course, the Dark Lord could sit wherever he so desired. Therefore he did. A power play, Harry was sure of it.

Voldemort waited till all had left the Ballroom, knowing that none could take a seat until he did. He then entered the room, Harry on his arm, with a flourish of his robes. His eyes scanned the seats. The designated seat for him was one that seated him next to the Malfoy family in its entirety along with a few other members of his inner circle. The Dark Lord, however, had other plans. Events like these were and far between and were the perfect for scaring a few of the new recruits into submission.

Voldemort gave a snap of his fingers creating an entirely new seating plan. Names that had magically floated above the seats began to move to new ones. Abraxas and Lucius remained at the table, along with Hercules of course, but he made several new additions. By the smirks that were visible on his Inner Circle's face Voldemort was sure that they knew exactly what he was doing. They had seen it each year since these balls had begun. The list of newly marked Death Eaters, other than Lucius consisted of; Igor Karkaroff, Severus Snape, Rabastan Lestrange, Lillian Rosier, Charles Jugson, Jemima and Jeremy Wilkes and finally Henry Travers. The group were all ranging from the ages of seventeen to twenty-four. Hercules was the youngest by around a year, or eleven months, at least in the case of Karkaroff. The Dark Lord may take young members into his ranks, but he refused to take anyone that had not graduated into his ranks. A NEWT level of education was necessary if one was to be fighting in a war.

As the names finished moving the Dark Lord led Hercules to his seat. A small nod to Abraxas was the only acknowledgment of the change that anyone needed before the quickly hurried to take their seats. Voldemort had to suppress the laugh that bubbled in his chest as he watched the new recruits approach the table. They were like mice attempting to hide from an eagle. It was an utterly pointless endeavour, they would always get caught.

The drinks appeared first, glasses filling with the drink appropriate to the course. The first course consisted of scallops and so white wine was the perfect accompaniment. Harry ate without any enthusiasm. He did however increase the amount of wine he consumed with each gulp. The glass automatically refilled as soon as he emptied the previous one.

Harry paid little attention to the politics at play around the table, the subtle shifts of power that engulfed the attention of the individuals sitting there. Harry did, however, notice the extremely quiet snorts of amusement and sneers of derision that met their comments. The boy next to him was one Severus Snape. Harry recognised him from school although the two had never said a word. He had not been welcomed as a Slytherin or as a wizard. It seemed he was not fully welcome here either.

Harry looked toward the older ex-Slytherin with a smile on his face. The utter contempt the young man seemed to feel for the members of the table, even with the Dark Lord present, was amusing. The wine Harry had consumed lowered his inhibitions. He caught the young man's eyes, mirth clear in his look. The young man's eyes turned from derision to shock as they met with Harry's sparkling green. Harry quietly stuck his hand out to the young man before him. The others seemed distracted by their politics, oblivious to Harry's interactions. However Harry was sure the Dark Lord would see the move. The man was always watching.

"Hercules Black" he said in little more than a whisper. The Black eyes stared at the hand for several seconds. They then flicked up to Harry's face. They searched it for any sign of treachery, any indication of falsehood. They obviously did not find any.

"Severs Snape" Severus responded, his hand reaching out for Harry's in a strong shake. Harry smiled.