Chapter 5: Catharsis

The demon stared at the robed silhouette of his master, standing on the edge of the hill; his arms wide open against the horizon as he celebrated his victory. As he laid eyes on the figure, he felt a rush of anger, sadness, humiliation, and awe. Then calm spreads through his body, leaving him limp and still. He was happy.

Stevens stood in his clean pressed butler's suit. His shoulder held back, and his pair of golden eyes looked pensive. In front of him was a large stone blocking to the entrance a magical amphitheater that used to house the most wonderful singer known to the ancient world. He thought that if he could unearth the room again, maybe her ghost might still be there and could entertain his recluse master. He did not count on the place to be enchanted. Another ancient door, another magical wire trap for him to disable. The Black really did have a penchant for protecting their home. That or they just like hurting people.

The way he see it, he could either start his morning by folding laundry and doing other miscellaneous domestic chores, or he could do his job as the Butler of Black Manor and began properly cleaning the hidden rooms in the building so it is available for Harry to explore. A hard choice has to be made.

An old grandfather clock chimed seven times. The corners of his lips turned downwards. It's not a tough choice really. Normal chores or bodily harm. It all boils down to his pride as the Black Family Butler. He sighed forcefully and ran his hand through his new silky black locks. The gesture clamed him, a long remnant of a habit and old master used to do to him.

After debating this issue for a good five minutes, Steven took off his coat and loosened the cuffs on his shirt. He stretched out his lean muscular body, reveling in the pleasure of being in a proper human form.

"Well, the master should be up in an hour. Better finish this quickly." He walked over to the large stone, mumbling an ancient language that men had forgotten. His golden eyes shined bright with power. As a great dark aura began to surround him, he gave the stone two knocks for good luck, and began to push.

"That looks rather heavy." A dry voice called out from behind him. Stevens broke his concentration and stopped chanting. A sharp bolt of pain strike down his spine, and for a few seconds, he was on the ground, curling into a small trembling ball. From the corner of his vision, he could see his bare footed master coming closer and approaching him.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked, squatting down next to his head and poking him on the cheek.

'The audacity of this boy…' Stevens fumed quietly. His silent resignation turned into soft purrs as the boy ran his hand through his hair.

"Yes, I am alright. Thank you master." He purred, closing his eyes and reveling in the feeling. The boy's lips twitched upward into a faint smile. But before Stevens could catch a glimpse of it, the boy got up and ran back into his bedroom again.

Some days Stevens wished that he was back as a house elf. At least as a house elf, he was incapable of higher human thought and empathy. He had forgotten about empathy. After centuries of servitude, he thought that he would spite his masters enough to not care about them. Regulus and Harry had proven him wrong. Here he is again, worrying if his master would finish the soup that he brought for him.

On good days, Harry would go out of his room and eat in the kitchen. On very good days, he might wander around the mansion and ask him about the little artifacts he found scattered around the place. Out of the seven days that they have been together, Harry have only done that once. Whatever was weighing the boy's mind crippled him everyday.

He didn't know what exactly drew the boy into this malaise. At first he thought that the boy was unwell, but a quick check by a discreet mediwizard showed that everything was fine. But Stevens knew the truth, the illness lies more deeply in the boy's soul.

So the genie tried his best to coax Harry back from his thoughts. He would read him books, the Prophet, or any type of publication that would piqued the boy's interest. He would talk about past masters, but the only time he ever saw Harry paid any attention was when he mentioned Regulus or Sirius. Even then he wasn't sure if Harry even paid any attention to it.

After a week, Stevens were desperate. For the first time in a while, he was faced with a master that knows his identity as a genie and refuses to make any wishes. Wishes are the Genie's life force, and each day could feel his power waning. He never had this problem with the Blacks before.

The boy has been through a lot in his life and the genie understood that completely. He's allowed for a few days to sulk and brood. Although it might sound crass, but the genie really do have no patience for sulking depressed teenagers.

At this point, he'll act the fool if it would make the boy chuckle, but apparently playing nice has yielded nothing from him. It seems like his kind demeanor is the wrong attitude to adopt when dealing with situation such as this. So on the eighth morning, Stevens rolled up his sleeve and put on a stiff upper lip before walking into the room.

Some days, he really hated being a butler.

In the master bedroom of the black manor, a rolling mess of black hair can be seen protruding from a cocoon of day old wrinkled sheets.

The Boy-Who-Lived woke up to a loud bang and a flurry of feathers and sheets. He sat up immediately, clutching his wand with trembling hands. This is it. His nightmares of death eaters and Voldemort will finally came into reality. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, readying himself for the green light that will finally take him away.

Alas he was met with no green light, but instead a pair of very irritated golden eyes stared back at him.

"Get up. We're going shopping." His butler said, pulling the sheets away from him.

"No I don't want to." Harry pulled back, wrapping himself back into mess.

Steven lips twitched in annoyance. He knew coming in that he would be met with some resistance, but he didn't realize how irritating it would be.

"You are acting like a child." Stevens began pulling pillows and throwing them away.

"Well you are acting like an ass! Go away and leave me alone!" Harry grabbed the last pillow from his butler and hit him squire on the chest.

Anger. Good, he thought. If anything, it's progress from complete apathy. Stevens smoothed down his vest and began the arduous task of taking the blanket away.

"Did you hear me? I said stop!" Harry said, his voice getting angrier by the seconds. Stevens ignored the pain that came from disobeying his master's order and continued pulling the sheets away. It wasn't until there is only measly corner that Harry is holding onto for his dear life.

Stevens looked at him in disbelief and let go of the sheets. Harry scrambled to pulled it back to himself, ignoring the pointed look of his butler gave him.

"Pathetic."

"What did you say?!" Harry stopped and looked up, his anger enflamed by humiliation. The handsome face that reminded him of his godfather so much stared back at him in repulsion. Those golden eyes that once held warmth held nothing but contempt. The lips that only replied with gentle submission are upturned into a disgusted sneer. For the first time he saw his Butler's true feelings and it hurts.

"I said you are pathetic. Your spirit is weak. Your mind is weak. You rely so much on the people around you that you shut down when they leave. Even your dog godfather wouldn't stand still when he was imprisoned in Grimmauld place. But you? You just lay there and let your soul whither away." Steven spat out hatefully. He stared deep into Harry's eyes, his word unyielding in the face of humiliation and regret.

"Stop it…" Harry closed his eyes, each of those words stabbing into his pride, but he couldn't find the words to defend himself. How could he when the words uttered are all truths.

Stevens stood there, waiting for more words, a fist maybe, or a slap on the face. Yet minutes ticked by and nothing was heard. The boy only sat there, his head lowered in humiliation and his body shaking in anger. The genie sighed, pulling a dagger out from his coat pocket.

"Is that it? Are you done? Is this all that Harry Potter could do? Have you come to my master's home simply to die? If you are, then make it quick so I can move on to the next useless heir." Steven laid the dagger on the bedside table. The clatter of metal and marble rang clear in the silent room. The genie gave his master one last thoughtful look before turning his back and walking away.

"No." Harry said, his voice quivering with anger. He wiped away his tears of humiliation and threw the dagger on the floor. Stevens looked back, his eyebrows raised curiously. The boy stood, all skin and haughty bones. Never had he saw a more pathetically menacing sight.

"You can't do that to me. You can't leave me like everyone else. You said you'll take care of me. You can-" Harry choked back the tears, trying to suppress the waves of memories crashing against him. He looked up, trying to put a brave face, but when all that he could see is the face of his dead godfather with golden hateful eyes, he couldn't contain the tears.

Stevens looked into those familiar green eyes and saw something that he have not see in centuries in the black family. Innocence. Courage. Sincerity. A longing for something more in life. Before he could stop himself he answered, "I wont Master." Steven dropped his cold tone and leaned down to wipe his master's tears.

Harry flinched back, grabbing his hand. "You're my butler," Harry latched onto the warm slender body, burying his face into his butler's chest. "You cant leave me until I say so! You're mine!"

Stevens stifled a laugh. All the hate and anger that he just felt melted away in the face of this endearing child. "You're right master. I am yours." He cooed in his outmost sincerity, bringing the boy's stiff livid body close.

When someone that had gone through so much had never been given the chance to lash out and grief, they would continue to pull everything inward until they shut down. A catharsis is needed, a moment of emotional release where the boy is allowed to say whatever he wanted to say, and feel whatever he wanted to feel. In this moment, he is not the Boy-Who-Lived. In this moment he is just Harry.

Knowing all of this, the genie stayed still, breaking his silence only to apologize to angry questions and whisper gentle promises. When the boy fell quiet and he began to pull away, but he found small shaking hands digging deeper into his body and refusing to let go. So the genie obliged and kept his vigil.

Harry held onto him for a very long time, half sobbing half screaming furious muffled curses to the man. He knew that everything Stevens said was justified and true, but he still couldn't help but being so angry and anguished at the same time. He hated the man.

At the end of the fifth hour, Stevens could feel the boy's arms going limp. He looked down to find those furious green eyes closed in peaceful slumber. He carefully put his master back into bed, tucking him into the very sheets that he was fighting to get him out of. 'I guess shopping have to wait until tomorrow.' He sighed. A part of him had hoped that they could finish that today. They needed can tuna rather badly.

Stevens stood up and gave his back a satisfying crack. A human body is so frail and inconvenient, he thought quietly. His thighs are cramping, his right shoulder is sore, and his back felt like its on fire. Although the boy was clawing ditches into his shoulders, and his dress shirt is ruined with angry tears, the Stevens couldn't stop the silly smile spreading wide onto his face.

His master is alive.