Chapter 15

Harry left the office, around two hours later. He was feeling utterly drained, after sitting through the questioning of the Headmaster and the rather angry looks that his husband continually sent the bearded meddler.

Sparrow had left the room, around a half hour before hand, having had his head of house come and escort him. After McGonagall and Dumbledore had handed out the new Gryffindor a month's worth of detention as well as an earlier than usual curfew, for the next two, Sparrow had been dragged back to Gryffindor house. Harry was sure that the wolf was on the verge of kicking and screaming. It was only the situation that kept the Gryffindor from making a run for it.

Harry, however, had not been so lucky. Due to his utter lack of valid responses, he was detained for far longer than his partner in crime. Harry, however, was sure that the presence of the Dark Lord was closer to the truth of the matter. In fact, the last fifteen minutes of the conversation, had devolved into little more than an adult squabbling match.

Harry was sure that the pair were still at it now. Slughorn had left with McGonagall and Harry himself had decided to make a hasty retreat when Dumbledore had started mentioning Tom's childhood. That was not something that Harry wanted to hear. It was not something that Tom would want Harry to hear. Therefore Harry had snuck from the room, head down, as he heard the talking increasing in volume. Harry was sure that his punishment would come later. Probably from both men.

So, Harry made his way down the stone corridors of Hogwarts, his hand running along the rough rock. Even if he was in more trouble than he had been in a long time, he still found joy in the world around him.

Magic was sparking from every crevice; from the soil to the sky. It was such a beautiful place. Harry had felt safe here. He may have been alone, he may have been shunned even. But, by the magic around him, he had always been accepted.

Harry was so distracted by the magic that sparked across his fingers, that he didn't notice as a set of feet clicked behind him. He only felt the roughness on the pads of his fingers. The slight pain and numbness that crept up his arm.

"Enchanting, no?"

Harry's head quickly whipped around. For the first time in several hours, Harry looked up. There, standing behind him was none other than his husband. Harry sighed. Who else was he expecting? It seemed that at least one of his punishments was coming early.

Harry merely looked with a confused expression at the man before him. There was no point in avoiding the man's gaze now. Tom already knew all that there was to know about him. There was no point hiding.

"The castle"

Tom was now running his fingers along the wall himself. Harry's own hand had dropped from the ancient stone as Tom had approached.

"Always so filled with magic." Tom's voice sounded rather wistful.

Harry only gave a small nod, not sure how to respond to this Tom. The man seemed rather…off. This was not an expression that he had seen on the man's face before. He looked, younger, somehow.

However, too soon, Tom's hand dropped from the wall and his attention turned fully to his young husband.

"Now Harry. Please explain your" he paused "actions, this evening"

Harry was sick of this. He'd already had the bloody Spanish Inquisition that night. He'd managed to keep it together. Tom has been there, on the room with him; so close that at times he was sure that he could hear his breathing. He couldn't loose it in front of the man. He couldn't loose it in front of the headmaster. It was too important. It had just been all too much.

But now. Now he's had it. He was tired cold and fed up. Tom was here. Why the fuck was Tom here? Harry didn't want him here. Hogwarts was his. The man had no right.

"I think, that that is none of your concern" Harry sneered.

"Excuse me?" The words were polite. The words were not. They were enough near a growl that any animal would have a right to flee.

Harry, however, was just too angry to notice. The man had come where he had no right. He had intimidated his friends and fought with his headmaster. The man should not be here. He didn't deserve to be in the presence of such bright and beautiful magic. No right at all.

"You heard me" Harry growled, nearly as deeply as his husband. His eyes were an angry green.

Harry turned to leave. He had no patience to deal with this child of a man.

Words stopped him.

"You dare"

Eyes flickered red. Teeth were clenched. Nostrils flared. A hand shot out.

Harry soon found himself pinned to the wall. His eyes widened as he looked with fear at the man that he had been shouting at mere moments before. A hand gripped tightly onto his shoulder. Harry's breath picked up as he felt the bruising finger tips.

"You dare." The voice was that of a Dark Lord. It was deadly. It was threatening.

"You belong to me Hercules. You seem to have a hard time grasping the concept." The hand gripped even tighter.

"Maybe I need to teach you" A pause. The next word near a whisper "again"

Harry didn't know what possessed him to do it. Would not know for the rest of the week. Would question himself. Would worry, dread even, as the weekend approached. But in that very moment it felt so very good.

He brought a hand up and before either of them could even blink Harry swung. With as much force as he could muster, the hand stingingly connected with the pale skin. The Dark Lord stumbles back. Red drained into shock as his eyes widened.

"I am not yours" Harry yelled as loud as he could. His voice was louder than the slap, that had mere moments before ricocheted off the stone walls.

"I'm not" A whisper.

Harry then stormed from the corridor without even a look back. His breath was fast and his vision was blurry. It was amazing he found his way back to his common room. It was a near miracle that he managed to despiser the password. He collapsed in bed without another thought.

Tom, on the other hand, stood frozen in the very spot that Harry had left him. It took him more than minutes to get his thoughts in order. The boy had hit him. He had really hit him! Tom could still feel the tingling on his now very red cheek.

Tom didn't know why. Didn't understand the emotions that bubbles within his stunted psyche. But all of a sudden a large, bearing on uncomfortable smile ripped across his face.

He couldn't stop it. Couldn't force his cheeks under his control. Then, with even less reason a laugh forced its way from his throat. It was vicious and grating. It would not stop. It just wouldn't stop. It seemed endless.

It was a sure thing that that night, even the Bloody Baron was disturbed by the near insane laughter that seemed to echo through the castle. Yet no source could be found. It seemed to last until the sun came and chased the dark sound away.

It was a gloomy Wednesday and Harry felt as miserable as the weather. Today, was the day that he got the joy of a flying lesson. He got out of bed with a scowl already on his face. He would rather run into the forest with Sparrow than face the brother that was on the verge of being disowned. But Harry didn't think that he could face his husband again. Not when the last time he had seen him was with a bright red hand print across his face. He didn't want to see that face anytime soon.

Therefore Harry slumped down to the Great Hall to eat his breakfast, with his bag resting on his shoulder. He had double potions, followed by double flying. What joy. Harry picked at the eggs on his plate, pushing around the mushrooms. As seemed like the habit for this week, Harry was not feeling very hungry.

"What's got you down Buzz?" Sparrow smiled as the Gryffindor robes invaded the sea of blue.

Harry glanced over at the brown hair, that was a disheveled mess on the others head.

"Potions, then Flying" Harry sighed.

"Oh." Sparrow understood the problem. "You should just come to Defence with me. Much more interesting" the other grinned.

"I wish" Harry rubbed a hand across his face. "I don't think Tom would be too impressed"

"Ah" Sparrow grinned self deprecatingly. "Sorry about that."

"Not your fault" Harry patted the Gryffindor on the shoulder. "Tom's an arse"

Sparrow snorted. "Not sure the Dark Lord would appreciated being called an arse"

"Yeah" Harry smirked. "He doesn't appreciate a slap to the face either, but here we are."

"I'm a little worried about you going back this weekend. He might actually kill you for that."

"We can only hope" Harry pursed his lips. "Anyway. Gotta get to class. See you at Lunch"

"Good luck" Sparrow called after Harry's already retreating form.

Harry arrived at the potions classroom earlier than any of his classmates. That was good. He could sit at the back of the room and attempt to hide his presence from those around him. Getting out his textbook, he hid himself behind it and readied himself for a lesson with the Gryffindors.

Harry really did not what to have to deal with the red and gold striped, self important, arse holes. They all detested Harry's very existence. But it wasn't as though Harry had any choice in his situation.

The rest of the class filed in, some sending glares, but most merely disregarding his existence. It seemed that Harry was, as with every year so far, not going to have a partner in potions class. However if the meeting with Dumbledore was anything to go by, Slughorn would not be ignoring Harry this time.

It was mere seconds before Harry was proven right. A few sentences into his induction and Harry was already being singled out.

"Oh" Slughorn looked to the back of the classroom, in pseudo surprise. "It seems that Mr Black is without a partner."

Slughorn looked around the room as though debating as to who he would allow the donor of working with Harry. Every member of the class looked away.

"Prewett"

Harry's eyes squeezed shut, his body tensing. That was really not a good choice.

Gideon Prewett was the youngest member of the Prewett family, his brother being a year older than him and his sister being eleven years his senior. The rather large age gap had given the family a rather dubious reputation. Many believed that the two younger boys were the result of an affair between their mother and the much younger and rather attractive muggleborn by the name of Francis Gregory. Harry had to admit that both boys did in fact look rather similar to their suspected father.

However that hadn't seemed to have stopped the family from spreading. Harry had heard that the oldest of the brood had already started popping out children, after marrying the only Weasley heir. She already had five of them. Harry worried for Molly Weasley's health, with the rate that she was popping out the things.

However, no matter their family situation, Gideon had a rather valid reason to hate him. One that, for a change, centred around his own surname and not that of his husband's. The Black family and the Prewett family had a rather…tempestuous relationship.

The Blacks had, for centuries, seen the Prewetts as a lower breed. The motto that the Blacks lived by had been disregarded by the Prewetts, as the family were not ones to take part in pure blood traditions.

Recently with their oldest daughter's marriage to a Weasley had been the last straw. The Black family had publicly condemned the Prewetts. They had broken any lingering trade, political or familiar ties that they may have had, however small that they were. That had rather exacerbated the hatred that the Prewetts felt for them.

To make a story of long and bitter rivalry short, the two had declared themselves enemies. This was why Harry really, really, really did not want to work with the youngest Prewett. But now it seemed that he had no choice.

With a scowl that Harry could feel in his very soul, the ginger grabbed his things, moving them to the empty place next to Harry. Harry avoided the other's gaze. He really didn't want to have to deal with this, or him.

"Now that that's sorted, we will be learning how to make Polyjuice potion." Slughorn smiled. "It is a complex, but I promise, enjoyable potion. This potion will take us the first month of your school year to create and will have a rather exciting end result. The instructions are in your book. Off you go."

Harry looked to the Prewett that sat by his side. The boy looked up at him with unhidden disgust. He had flipped to the right page in the book.

"Set up the equipment" Prewett sneered. "I'll get the ingredients"

The rest of the lesson went in a similar vain. Harry did his half of the work, Prewett did his. It seemed that the potion was going pretty well.

However half way through the first step of the potion Harry froze. Harry had prepared one half of the ingredients, while Prewett the other. So Harry had had no opportunity to stop the impending disaster.

The fluxweed that was in Prewett's hand was a solid dark green. That was not right. This potion needed fluxweed picked on a full moon. Such fluxweed was detected by the white stripes that ran through the green as the moonlight had danced across it. Anything other than full moon fluxweed, would cause…

Prewett dropped the fluxweed into the potion.

"Move" Harry yelled.

Without thinking Harry lunged forward and knocked the ginger to the floor.

"What do think you're…"

Prewett was interrupted by a rather large explosion. Harry had his wand out and quickly cast a shield over the two of them, now collapsed behind the potion that started to spew its contents over the room.

Harry and Prewett watched as speckles of dark green, stew like potion, spattered onto the gold shield that Harry had created. However it didn't last long. Slughorn may be many things, but he was not incompetent when it came to potions. The man was quick to clear up the mess that the pair had created.

"Prewett, Black, you're okay now. Good thinking Black. Watch what you're doing Prewett. Now get back to it. The potion isn't going to make itself."

Harry dropped the barrier and quickly got to his feet. Ignoring the rest of the members of the room, Harry stuck his hand out, offering it to Prewett. The boy looked at the hand. A second ticked, then another.

Finally when Harry was about to give up, the young man grabbed at the outstretched hand, pulling himself up.

"Thanks" he mumbled.

The rest of the lesson seemed to go far more successfully. However that meant that flying was inching closer and closer.

The lesson ended far too quickly and with several large smiles from Slughorn and a begrudging respectful nod from Prewett, Harry sadly made his way toward flying. He really didn't want to see his brother. He knew this could only end badly.

As Harry approached the Quidditch field, he was relieved to see Slytherins robes littering the field. At least he would have some sort of protection here. Even if it was out of fear of his husband, rather than out of respect or loyalty. It was better than nothing.

Harry quickly stood by the row of brooms that lay on the floor. He would rather just get this lesson over with. He didn't want to stand out more than he already did.

"Good Morning everyone"

The voice was one of Professor Connors. The man was in his fifties and was an avid fan of Quidditch. That meant that anyone who did not excel at the sport was deemed as unworthy in his eyes. Most of the lesson was based in the sport, with almost all of the exercises being done during the lesson, being done as Quidditch ones.

Harry was good at flying, yes, but he hated these exercises. Harry hated Quidditch. He really hated it. It was a waste of time. The exercises were They were a waste of time. All Harry wanted to do was fly. He didn't want to play Quidditch, ever. Never wanted to play it again.

This class was one of the few where Harry got in trouble in. He tended to fly off from the exercises set, doing tricks by himself, or simply enjoying the air. This was not something that Professor Connors approved of. Last year Harry had ended up with months worths of detention, getting too caught up in the breeze in his hair and the sun on his skin. He had ended up flying out of the pitches and across the Black Lake without even noticing. Connors had been less than impressed.

Harry planned to be a little more law abiding this year. He wasn't sure who the punishments would be under if he were to misstep. He didn't want to be marshalled by his brother into an unjustified and painful experience that was justified as a punishment by the oldest Black.

"Before we begin" Mr Connors continued. Harry blinked at him. "I would like to introduce you to Professor Black, here. He will be assisting today. Treat him as you would treat me. Now, today we will be…"

Harry blocked the man out. Instead his focus was on his brother. The man had stepped forward at his name and was looking at the students with a smile. Harry had not seen his brother since the wedding and couldn't remember the last time he had seen him smile. Harry had not really talked to his brother in years. He had spent his summers at the Potter's house and his school years ignoring or mocking Harry.

Harry didn't think that he had really seen Sirius, or that Sirius had seen him, in years. He had only a few happy memories with his older brother. All of those were from his childhood.

Harry, having been sick for much of his early childhood, had not really been allowed outside or to play with his brothers when he was young. It wasn't till around seven that Harry had been deemed healthy enough to play with the others. Harry had been like a stranger, an enigma, to his brothers.

It had taken Harry three months to get anything resembling a relationship. He had played with his brothers, even if it was delicately. Sirius had taught him wizarding chess, and Regulus had taught him gobblestones. Those had been good times.

However on one long summer day, Sirius had decided that the three should go flying. It had been fun. They had played Quidditch, or at least the beginnings of it. They had played with a Quaffle, two against one. It had been great. However Harry was still not well. His immune system was weak and his body weaker still. Even in the warm weather it hadn't take Harry long to get ill. He had caught a rather severe cold and had been stuck in bed for two weeks straight.

From what Harry had heard, Sirius and Regulus had been punished so severely that neither of them could sit down for the duration of Harry's illness. They had never wanted to play Quidditch with him again. In fact, they had never wanted to play with him, full stop. That was when Harry had learned to start playing by himself.

The lesson seemed to progress around Harry without him really noticing. The broom was in his hand, but little to nothing of the activities registered with him. He therefore didn't hear Connors' calling his name. Nor did he hear the man to tell Sirius to 'get his brother to listen to some sense'.

It was therefore a rather unpleasant shock, when Sirius appeared, right before him, his name on his lips.

"Hercules"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard the name. The only time that anyone called him Hercules, it ended badly. Black or Harry were safe. Hercules meant pain or ridicule.

Harry took a step back from the man in front of him. His breath was fast, his pupils wide in trepidation, verging on fear. A hand went for his wand. His brain began to cloud in panic. It took him a second.

Harry blinked and then blinked again, before his breathing managed to resemble a somewhat normal rate. His hand dropped from his wand holster and his body sagged.

"Professor Black" Harry still sounded slightly breathless.

Sirius looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow. If he was anyone else, Harry would have thought that he saw concern in those eyes. But of course there was nothing even close to that in the grey orbs. It was more likely mockery that was twinkling there.

"I believe that it is your turn to fly, Her-" Sirius stopped himself "Mr Black"

Harry didn't even acknowledge the man. He walked past him, broom in hand. Harry looked toward the activity. How boring.

Harry was on his broom. He zipped around the course, dodging bludgers, shooting quaffles through hoops and eventually catching the rather elusive snitch. Harry finished the activity in mere seconds.

Sirius and the Slytherins looked, open mouthed, as Harry finished the course; his time flashing at the top of the leaderboard. The Ravenclaws rolled their eyes. Professor Connors sighed in resignation.

Just because Harry hated Quidditch, didn't mean that he wasn't good at it.

Harry stood, every muscle tense as he stepped into the defence classroom for the second time that week. Professor Lestrange stood at the door way, his arm against the frame. It was a casual reminder of Harry's entrapment. He had no where to go, no way to run. The weekend had arrived and he must return to his husband.

"Floo powder's on the mantle" the professor spoke with casual indifference.

"I believe you have been informed of the password" Lestrange's posture slumped even further as his feet scuffled along the floor. One foot was now crossed over the other, toes in a point on the floor.

Harry gave a small nod. As he picked up the green powder, the phantom pain of a well placed slap tingled across the skin. He shivered. He really did not want to go back. Yet, a few whispered words and a rather impressive stumble and Harry was soon collapsed on the floor of Riddle manor with a thump.

Harry picked himself up, dusting the dirt from the blue and bronze ornamented robes. He hadn't even been given the chance to change. Harry looked around the lobby. It was blessedly empty.

After the hectic week that Harry has had he wasn't sure that he could deal with the Dark Lord right now. What with the meddlesome headmaster, his piece of shit brother and the less than pleasant reception of he Hogwarts population, Harry just wanted to sleep.

Harry stopped. Sleep was too simple. Sleep wouldn't let him forget. Sleep would only let his subconscious throw him into more and more humiliating situations. Harry knew what he needed to do. He needed to get drunk. So drunk in fact, that he couldn't even remember his own name and he knew just the place to do it.

It only took Harry around twenty minutes to reach his destination. Without knocking he pushed open the door of Fenrir's house. Doing a quick surveillance, Harry determined that the wolf was not there. No matter. Harry knew where the wolf kept the good stuff.

Pulling open the bottom cupboard in the small kitchen, Harry grabbed a bottle of fire whiskey that sat there. Dusting off his knees, Harry didn't even bother with a glass, as he plopped down on the sofa. Harry pulled off the cap and then took several large gulps of the burning liquid. He then leaned back into the comfort of the sofa with a satisfied sigh. He was finally alone.

Fenrir found the young man, two hours later, with a nearly empty bottle of fire whiskey balanced precariously in his lap.

"Harry?" the wolf questioned as he walked through the door. He looked, with confusion and slight concern at the small figure.

The boy looked up at him with a bleary eyes. However as he saw who it was at the door, a big dopey grin spread itself across his face.

"Fenny-Fen-Fenrir" the boy grinned. His eyes were blinking quickly and his head swayed from side to side, as he looked at the wolf.

"Good evening to you too, Harry" Fenrir grinned at the evidently intoxicated boy.

"Come" Harry shouted excitedly. He then burst out into a rather large laugh. He remained Fenrir of an over excited toddler.

"Sit down with me Fen" the words were slurred, but the smile was happy.

Fenrir couldn't resist Harry's demands, even when the boy was throughly intoxicated. He smiled.

"Okay Harry"

Fenrir plopped down onto the sofa, next to the young man. He gave a small smile.

Harry immediately leant into Fenrir's chest. His head rested over the wolf's heart. His hand came up next to the black mop of hair and griped tightly against the material.

"I missed you Fen" Harry slurred into the fabric.

"It's only been a week Harry" the silver haired wolf laughed.

"Too long Fenrir. Thats too long." The voice was muffled.

"Okay Harry"

Fenrir lifted his hand. He gently ran it through the messy black hair.

"What's got you drinking like this Harry?"

Harry huffed into the grey material of Fenrir's shirt. He griped tighter.

"Don't wanna talk about it" the voice was barely audible.

"And your week?"

"Don't wanna talk about that either?"

Fenrir gave a rather defeated smile. It seemed he'd not be getting much out of Harry tonight. A safe topic, it seemed, was on the table.

"How's Sparrow? The kids were asking."

That was something that Harry could talk about. Harry sat up. Bottle still clutched in has hand. Between more sips of fire whisky, Harry gave Fenrir the low down on the week with the new Gryffindor.

A few sentences in, Fenrir decided that enough alcohol was enough. Harry should really stop.

"I think you've had enough Harry." Fenrir grabbed the bottle from the limp fingers. He quickly set it down on the table beside him; just out Harry's reach.

"Nooooo" Harry moaned, stopping midway through his ramble. "Give it back Fenrir"

Harry pouted in what was supposed to be anger. However on the young man, it looked nothing more than a cute pout.

"No Harry" Fenrir gave a small smile.

"I want it Fen"

Fenrir only shook his head

"I want to Fen"

This time Fenrir ignored the young man, draped over him.

"What do you want for it Fen?"

Fenrir raised an eyebrow at the young man, who was now looking him directly in the eye.

"I don't want anything, Harry. You've had enough."

However, Fenrir froze, as Harry suddenly and inexplicable climbed on top of him. His legs were either side of Fenrir's and his hands were tightly grasped in the material of his shirt.

Fenrir's brain seemed to short circuit as the young man stared directly into his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

It was only a second after the whispered words, that the lips were quickly on his. They were hot and soft. One of Harry's hand gripped the shirt tighter and the other grasped in the silver hair. Harry pulled Fenrir's head closer. His lips were demanding, verging on desperate.

Fenrir seemed to snap out of his daze. He tried to pull back. Harry wouldn't let him.

Fenrir couldn't do this. Not like this. Not with Harry.

Fenrir's hands quickly came to rest on Harry's shoulder. With a light push, the lips were removed from his.

Harry's eyes opened at the interruption. He moved to lean once more into the lips of the man before him.

"Harry" Fenrir barked, rather more harshly than he had meant to. The green eyes blinked in drunken confusion.

"Harry, you need to go to bed."

Harry didn't quite seem to comprehend the words. He merely blinked a few times in confusion. Fenrir sighed.

Fenrir scooped up the young man into his arms. He gently set the young man onto his own bed. He pulled of the shoes that were still on Harry's feet. The young man only looked in Fenrir's direction with a puzzled frown.

"Fenrir" Harry mumbled.

"Sleep, Harry"

Harry gave a small nod before his eyes quickly drooped into a drunken sleep. It seemed to take less than a second. Wow, the kid was really drunk. Fenrir did not want to be Harry in the morning.

Pulling off his own boots and jeans, Fenrir grabbed a blanket from the wardrobe. It seemed that he was seeing on the sofa tonight.