Disclaimer: Don't own.

A/n: Hey- Sorry it took so long to get this up. Here is last part of Fifty and Five, I hope you like it, please let me know what you think. Also I may or may not write a one shot follow up, do you guys think I should? Let me know!

Please enjoy ~

Part Three: The Impostor

The following Friday followed a strikingly similar pattern. Harry ended up in the park, sitting on the swing, with nothing better to do.

He sat dragging his feet in the dust, the swing moving ever so slightly back and forth, waiting for the boy, who did eventually wander out of the woods and hoist himself onto the high wall.

When Harry forced himself to approach the boy he was met with a slightly scary lopsided grin.

"Hey," The boy said, as he lay back on the still soggy ground above the wall.

"Hey," muttered Harry leaning on the wall near the boy's knees. For the first time that week it wasn't raining and was just starting to get hot. Harry had been sitting on his swing basking in the sun before the boy had appeared, he had ditched his school things and rolled over his sleeves in an attempt to not over heat.

Like the previous week Harry asked for a cigarette, thankfully this time his voice didn't shake nearly as much. The boy laughed, deep, and throaty, Harry looked up at him an eyebrow raised.

"Well," the boy said still smiling his slightly scary smile, "Give us a kiss then."

Harry rolled his eyes and did.

As kisses go, it was rather awkward. Standing on tip toes Harry still couldn't reach the boy. Who, in turn ducked his head. He had to bend so far forward that he nearly tumbled head first off the wall. This would have inevitably crushed Harry.

"So, am I to call you something or just keep referring to you as the boy who bums my cigarettes?" asked the boy as he pulled a different brand of mostly crushed cigarettes from his discarded jacket pocket.

Harry took the offered cigarette, "I'm Harry; and you are?"

"Marcus."

Harry nodded while trying, and failing, to light up his cigarette. He paused, and tried again, only to again fail.

"You're kind of crap at this." Marcus commented, eyeing Harry's struggle, "Here lemme," he added in exasperation. He took back the cigarette, and stuck it between his teeth, deftly lighting the end before handing it back to the abashed Harry.

"Careful of the end"

"Fucking-buggering-OW!"-Harry hadn't heard the warning in time, burning the ends of his fingers and nearly dropping the cigarette.

Marcus took the afflicted hand, while stubbing out the cigarette, "We'll try that again in a mo', damn you got that pretty good."

Marcus's hands were much larger then Harry's. He turned that smaller hand palm up, careful to not accidentally brush the afflicted section; he bent the injured fingers slightly to get a better look at the burned tips.

"You really did a number," muttered Marcus, "That's going to blister. It hurt real bad?"

Harry had been intently watching Marcus nodded.

"Well, that just sucks."

Marcus took the two badly burnt fingers, bringing them to his mouth, and began to gently suck on the ends. This action shocked the already rather confused Harry. "That should help a bit, normally does. Ice that later, or put something on it. So, ready to try that again?"

Harry nodded.

Marcus looked skeptically at Harry, and re-lit the cigarette, "Mind your fingers; don't want a repeat."

Harry gingerly took the burning cancer stick, and brought it to his lips, only sputtering slightly after inhaling.

"There you go, don't know how you managed before."

They sat in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by Harry's periodic coughing fits. Eventually Marcus dug his cell phone from his jacket, and sighed at the time. He jumped down from his perch on the wall; he muttered a good-bye and sloped off into the woods.

Somehow Harry made it into the shower before his mother walked in the front door. He sat on the shower floor, water running down his back, arms shaking with adrenaline. He was sure that his luck wouldn't continue and soon she would catch him. Yet the prospect of misbehaving seemed much more appealing than it should have.

Harry's meetings with Marcus become a constant, like clockwork the two of them could be found sitting on the wall every Friday. Eventually it became a near daily habit. Harry would sit near the wall, usually on his swing, and would wait for Marcus to wander out of the woods. Eventually he'd arrive, hoist himself on the wall and slowly teach Harry how to smoke properly.

It was a Wednesday, and Harry was late getting out of school. He'd had, on the whole, much better days, as days go. He sat dust covered and frustrated at the foot of the brick wall waiting for Marcus.

Today all he really wanted was a damn cigarette, he just needed to be able to relax, and forget his less than stellar day.

Marcus was late. Well, not exactly late, but if he was coming he normally would have shown up already. Harry figured he'd give him a few more minutes, he really wanted that cigarette. He was seriously considering walking home, when Marcus stumbled, head down out of the woods. Since they'd met it was the first, and one of the only times Harry saw Marcus anything less than steady on his feet.

As he stumbled towards Harry his eyes never left the ground. Harry was shocked. He could just make out a dark bruise on Marcus's left cheek. Marcus didn't bother to try and hoist himself onto the wall, instead he sank to the ground next to Harry, leaning heavily back against the brick wall.

"Hey," he breathed, he was quite, then sighed and muttered, "I fucked up, a bit..."

"Oh…?" asked Harry, for the first time in a while Marcus made him nervous.

"Yeah...God, did I fuck up. But," he sighed, "I think it should be okay." He let out a long shaky breath and rested his head on Harry's narrow shoulder, his dark hair falling all about his face and in his eyes.

"What happened?" asked Harry his voice low, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

Marcus tilted his head to the sky, and took a deep breath, "I failed this term." His voice was flat, "No hope, fucking flat out failed."

"Shit." Harry breathed, "Are you-can you make it up?"

"No. Not worth it, failed the damn thing last year." Marcus pulled his long legs to his chest, "Just too fucking stupid, or something. Never been book smart, I'm a total fuck up, but it's done, and now I can fuck up on my terms."

"What do you mean...Your terms?"

"I'm on my lonesome, the bastard told me not to bother coming home, one hell of a nasty argument. So now I get to do this my way." Marcus hadn't moved, his head still tilted back, dark hair in his eyes.

Harry look at him eyes wide, "Your face-I mean-I"

Marcus looked at the sputtering Harry curiously, "What? Is it that bad? I didn't think it was."

"No, I mean, well are you alright? What are you going to do?" asked Harry, tripping over his words.

"Me? I'm fine. My face hurts, but whatever. I'll just stay with my mates for a while, till I can get a proper job and a flat. I should be over there now, just figured I'd put off telling them a bit. They're going to murder me."

"I just-" started Harry,

Marcus cut him off, "Just forget it, I need a smoke."

Marcus handed Harry a smoke without being prompted, and Harry as always owed the other boy a kiss. He leaned in and gently kissed the bruise near to Marcus's eye before reaching his lips.

This one was real, not just a peck, it was lip on lip. Harry felt Marcus press back, his tongue on Harry's lips. Harry, lost in the feeling of his first real kiss, obediently parted his lips, allowing the other boy to completely ravish him.

When Marcus pulled back for a breather, Harry was totally out of breath. His dark hair was thoroughly mussed, and lips were a bright cherry red. Marcus dragged his thumb down Harry's smooth cheek, as the boy leaned into his touch. He bent his head, sucking on Harry's throat.

Harry tilted his head back, and gripped Marcus's strong shoulder, as he kissed all along his neck, nipping as he went. Marcus laid his head in the crook of Harry's neck; his hot breath brought goose bumps to the sensitive skin.

"So," said Marcus, smiling into Harry's neck, "I've gotten my kiss then"

The days grew steadily colder, until neither boy was content to meet in the park. They would freeze. That's when Marcus took Harry to The Impostor. The cafe was in the heart of all sorts of strange shops selling just about anything you could possibly want. Just off the high street near the center of Knockturn Alley.

Harry was in awe of everything around him, he'd never been down the alley, his parents had always vehemently told him to stay on the high street. But now, he was given a different perspective, and with that perspective came the strange bunch that Marcus called his mates.

The Impostor was the home base of the group. That's where they spent many winter days, all of them holed up in a booth near the bar, drinking their way through twice their weight in steaming coffee. It was where Marcus got a job, and ended up living for most of the winter.

The group that sat crammed into the one booth was an odd one. At the most there were six of them. The owner of the Cafe, Bella, had adopted the group. She gave Marcus a job, she made sure nothing happened to Luna, and that Lee didn't accidental piss off the wrong person.

Luna was a wispy looking girl, with the most beautiful imagination, she and Harry would sit and talk of imaginary places, and make up all sorts of farfetched tales of fantastic creatures.

She would sit cramped against the wall next to Harry, always drinking a hot cup of tea. More often than not she was accidentally kicked by the over enthusiastic Lee Jordan, who sat opposite her.

Lee was always quick to laugh, his eyes danced with mischief, and with Harry at his side they caused all sorts of havoc for Marcus and Adrian. Adrian was the only one who was as old as Marcus. He was the smart one, the one with the real job, i.e. the one who bought them all coffee and generally kept everyone in line.

Not long after Harry started to frequent The Impostor the adventures started. Someone would get a random idea and then drag the whole group along to do whatever they deemed interesting, and with these adventures came the 3:00 am phone calls.

Harry would be sound asleep, it would usually be a school night and his phone would buzz. The vibration noisily moved the phone across his desk exaggerating the sound. Almost immediately Harry would wake, and half asleep he'd fumble across his room desperate for the sound to not wake his parents.

He'd answer with a sleepy, "S'hllo?"

He'd wait, dreading and anticipating what the reply would be.

"Harry," Marcus would say, his deep voice reverberating through the cheap phone "Dust off your converse; we've a universe to save."

After that single silly sentence, he'd hang up, and every time no matter how tired Harry felt, or what day it was or if he just plain didn't want to go, every time Harry would shimmy down his drainpipe, dressed and ready to save the world.

He never regretted it, not once.

And as he lay still on his cold hard wood floor, like the one in Marcus's flat, listening to the rain fall on the roof over head, he wished (oh how he wished) he was somewhere else, that he was in the booth at The Impostor, Bella telling Marcus off for something and serving them coffee. Marcus' strong arms would be wrapped around his waist, and the others would be chatting about whatever the next possible conquest might entail.

Or that he was with Marcus lying on the floor in his flat listening to whatever very loud punk band Marcus had just discovered. The images he had so firmly fixed in front of his tightly closed eyes vanished when Harry heard his father on the other side of his locked door. He knew an argument would start as soon as James saw he hadn't bothered to unpack anything.

He ignored James. His hands shook itching for a cigarette. His world had changed and tomorrow he'd have to face it. He'd have to face a whole school of it, but tonight, tonight for the last time he just pretended nothing was wrong.

-fin-