Title: Curiosity and Satisfaction

Author: SweetlyDesolated

Pairing: Harry/Walden Macnair

Rating: M

Warnings: Slash, slight smex, infidelity

Summary: Curiosity killed the cat. Satisfaction brought him back. HP/WM slash. Goes slightly with epilogue (6 years later, rather than 19)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Walden Macnair. Or Ginny Weasley-Potter for that matter. Or Harry and Ginny's horribly named son, James Sirius Potter. Nope, I own none of them.

Author's Note: I too question sanity. Sometimes it runs away with random plots. This is one of them.

The scythe was sharp and ached to be soaked in blood. Harry couldn't deny his curiosity for the dark man before him. All features were hidden behind a dark mask, shadowed by a billowing cape with a large, raised hood. Eyes glinted maliciously at the young Gryffindor as the man stalked down to Hagrid's cabin, one hand stroking down the metallic blade.


He thanked his master for the chance to kill things other than the wild beasts on death row from the Ministry. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures paid well, sure, but executing dangerous creatures lost its appeal once he had to exchange his main scythe for something just as dangerous, but more resistant to wear and tear.

From the corner of his eye, Walden caught the triumphant smirk of one Harry Potter. How did the child know that the beast had escaped? That fact was hidden; not even the minister or the part-giant was able to comment to the public that his executions weren't pulled through.

The man glared at the boy-child, dark eyes piercing.


He gasped in pain as a wand went through his mask and pierced his eye. He screamed violently as he wretched the wand from his eye socket. The man was lucky the wood hadn't been pushed in more, or he would be dead. As it was, Macnair had been blinded in one eye. The man hunched in a forgotten corner to pull off his mask and shakily spell the wound to stop bleeding. It healed over quickly, and he despairingly ran fingers over the place his eye should be.


Azkaban was cold and lonely, filled with the screams of the tortured from the dementors until his Master summoned them to his side.


The man screamed once more as he was thrown forcefully into a wall by the half-giant. He felt a few ribs snap, as well as a forearm. Macnair leaned against the wall, crumpled to avoid notice, though his singular eye was open and alert, his mind pushing through the haze of pain. When the attention on him was gone, he brought out a second wand, the wand that chose him, rather than the family heirloom, and cast the necessary spells to steady his bones.

He carefully got to his feet with the support of his one good arm. The man used a point-me spell to find the current hospital wing, since the one in the tower was destroyed. The room was in use, but no one paid him any attention. The man found the potions cabinet, foolishly left open, and gulped down a Skele-Gro. He didn't have time to make the potion, nor did he have time to let the bones heal naturally.

Enough was enough; he escaped the school, dropping his mask and robes as he went. He cast a glamour charm at his eye patch, fooling onlookers that he had two eyes. All pictures of the man had one eye. He changed some of his features, and the color of his hair, as he ran, Apparating away as soon as he left the school.


He escaped detection for years; once the Wanted posters disappeared, he let the glamours fade as well. His telltale mustache was gone, and his scythe was well hidden in a back closet of his apartment. He watched as the knowledgeable teen got married; he saw as Potter was harried with a blustering wife and the screeching newborn son.

Enough was enough, he decided. It had been six years; no harm could be done to the man.


Harry caught sight of a person he never thought he would see again, the Executioner. The man was in an alley when spotted, and had led Harry on a wild goose chase to a row of apartments. He scurried up the fire escape after the man, coming to a stop just outside a beckoning window.

Potter was curious as to why the man hadn't Apparated away at the first sight of Harry. The Auror gathered his courage and entered the apartment.


He was spread out, on his back, naked and unable to move. He wasn't tied down, but he couldn't escape if he tried. The one-eyed man watched him from the sidelines, a cherished wand in grasp as Harry's new wand was set out of reach and warded against Potter's touch.

Cold, bony fingers traced down Harry's chest and stomach, coming to rest at his hip. Macnair's wand was set just out of impossible reach as the man stripped once he removed his hand. The wand was taken up once again and Harry twitched. He felt hollow inside, and he was numb and chilled.

The man's wand, also spelled resistant to Harry's touch should the Auror escape, was set to rest. The man climbed onto the bed, hands tangling in Harry's hair and tilting his head to the side. A mouth worried at the taught skin as legs and hips situated themselves between Harry's.

A thrust later and Harry tensed, cried out. He was ripped open, though Harry could only feel the barest traces of pain from the numbing charm. The man moved above him, in him, still biting at his neck, almost affectionately. Moans from the man filled the air, and eventually Harry's joined him as the man was stimulated. He was married, he shouldn't be enjoying this, but the Executioner pushed right there and he fell over the edge, releasing his pleasure between their stomachs.

The man prolonged his orgasm as he continued to move above Harry, until he eventually filled Harry with his essence. Harry, clenched tight around him, panted harshly even though he moved not through the experience. Macnair grabbed his wand and banished Harry's pleasure from their skin. He was still inside the young savior, hot and wanting.

Regretfully he pulled out and fixed Harry's position. Legs were spread, though hips and torso were free to move. A minor spell protected the man from wandless magic and strangulation. One hand tipped Harry's head to the side as his sole eye examined the dark bruise.

He smirked and straddled the young man's waist slowly lowering his face as he stared into emerald orbs. Harry was curious, he could see, and the man kept his movements obvious as he dipped his face the last few inches and connected their lips, coaxing a response from Harry.

Harry responded, arching up and wrapping arms around his back. Fingers traced over muscles built up from years of hacking and killing with his scythe.


He was fit, Harry thought, for a man who had been a follower of the Dark Lord before Harry was born. Sixteen when marked, Harry recalled from training as tongues explored warm caverns. His hands ran over the strongly muscled back, feeling the slowly heating skin and the possibility of his own pain.

Harry rolled his hips; all thoughts of his marriage and his son disappeared from his mind as the man entered him again, more gentle than before. Their excitement and pleasure built together until they came with muffled shouts.

Harry felt warmth dribble from him as the man pulled out, stretching over Harry and lazily connecting their mouths once again. The final spell holding him hostage disappeared, and the brunette wrapped his legs around the firm waist.

They were cleaned, and Harry rolled over on Macnair's direction. Strong fingers kneaded his back and down, lower, until they played just outside of him. His arousal grew as Walden dipped one finger, then two, into his come-soaked entrance. A few more joined as nerves inside Harry were stimulated until he was just about tipped over the edge.


He braced himself, positioned and wanting, and thrust in once more, ignoring the effects of his earlier pleasure. His entrance brought Harry to the edge, and the man moved powerfully as the tight channel contracted around him. He pulled out when he was almost done, quickly rolling the man under him onto his back. He shifted up the bed and held up a panting Potter's head, sliding into the wet mouth and pushing deep into the constricting throat until Walden came.


All Harry could do was swallow what he could as he was effectively owned. His body was weak with three orgasms and his throat was sore from the force the man above him had used. Harry cautiously pushed the man from his face when Macnair was done; the man collapsed on the bed next to Harry, throwing an arm over the younger man's chest to prevent him from going anywhere.

A while later, once the men had cooled off, a spell cleaned the last of their pleasure from damp skin. A hand ran over Harry's face, encouraging the emerald eyes to close. His exhaustion quickly pulled him into sleep.


The man smiled. Harry was his; sleeping next to an ex-Death Eater, trusting the man enough to do so, was the sign. He kept his protection spells on his neck just in case as Macnair set his wand under the anti-Harry-touch charm and fell asleep next to the young Auror.


They went at it a few more times in the night, though often attempting to not wake the other as a twisted kind of game. Walden would enter Harry and shallowly thrust until the brunette woke, and then he would pound in and out until they came.


Harry would carefully, yet easily, bring the sleeping man to full hardness and then settle over the thick length, riding the man until he woke, when Macnair would help Harry rise and fall over his hips.


Eventually, they stayed awake; throbbing was evident in Harry's lower back and bum and he knew he would walk funny for a while. His soreness didn't absolve his curiosity as he happily spread his legs for Walden a few times more. Later, they gathered themselves and left the rumpled bed for the shower, where Harry experienced getting fucked against a wall.

Too soon for either of the men, they went at it once more, hard enough that Harry felt he wouldn't be able to move for weeks on end. Macnair held him close as he plunged into Harry's well-explored depths and eventually spilling into the warm, contracting channel. A last cleansing spell and Harry reluctantly rolled out of the bed and slowly dressed weary limbs.


Macnair warily tore the charms from their wands and returned Harry's wand. He pulled the man against his body and ravished the slightly swollen lips once more. Walden was confident Harry would return, but he wouldn't pass up the opportunity, not when he was unsure of when Potter would be back.


Harry tucked into the naked man's arms as he kissed him one more time. It was a parting kiss, he felt; he wouldn't be back, especially now that he remembered, quite clearly, his newborn son and his wife. Harry groaned into the man's mouth, a groan filled with both despair and longing.

He tiredly pulled from the warm embrace and Disapparated away, back to his house and his wife.


Ginny wanted another child, one to compliment a screaming James. Harry could barely stand to be around the woman; not only was she always complaining about wanting more belongings and attention, but she constantly wanted sex, as if Harry would run away if they didn't do it. Of course, what Ginny didn't know was Harry thought of leaving. Often.

Most nights, she wanted to work on baby-making. Harry, caught up in the throes of his own passion as he imagined bony hands and strong muscles, could barely contain enough sense to mutter the anti-conception before he came in his wife. He would do anything he could not to have another child with her. It was bad enough his son looked like the woman, but to make another? He would be driven crazy. Soon.

After weeks of this, Harry eventually stayed at work late and fell asleep quickly, some times in another room. His excuse was he didn't want to wake his wife, when he really didn't want to crawl into bed next to her and dream of another's hands – a man's hands – on his skin, something pleasurable. Quite.

He was slowly being driven crazy, he thought. Harry honestly thought about stealing away in the dead of night. But then, there was the thought of James. He decided the child was young enough to get a name change, as all he did was eat and poop and cry. Really, James? Harry loved his parents, the parents he had never known, but it was a little obsessive to name his child after the past generation – James Sirius. Ginny obviously thought the names meant something to him, when in reality they just brought the feelings of loss and guilt. Negative.

It was one night after he had reached his conclusion and was drifting to sleep on troubled thoughts that he felt the bed shift. The guest bed shifted; the guest bed he technically was supposed to leave to guests. Harry rolled over lazily, as if asleep, and blearily peeked from lowered eyelids, his eyelashes shielding his eyes from the slight glint of light. It was his wife, and she wanted something. Harry sighed to himself and evened out his breaths, keeping calm even when she started touching him. Everywhere.

When Harry didn't respond, choosing to fake sleep rather than begin something painstaking with his wife, Ginny moaned and rolled over, breathing deeply. The bed shook lightly and Harry ignored the fact she was crying softly. She did not matter much anymore, Harry realized, and a light smile covered his lips. Happy.

He waited until she fell asleep, her heaving breaths evening out as she calmed down. Harry slipped from the blankets and padded to the door, stealing out and closing it gently behind him. He didn't know how Walden would react, but Harry couldn't let his wife raise his child, not when his own childhood was horrible. He gathered his sleeping son into his arms and magicked toys, clothing, and care products into a large overnight bag, which was shrunk and placed in a pocket of his robe. Harry took the cradle and changing table as well, putting them alongside his son's belongings. Of his own items, Harry took a few changes of clothes and a few personal items from his childhood. He was finally leaving. Forever.


Macnair's bed was lonely with the loss of his curious man, he reflected. He was almost asleep, unsatisfied and aching with want. Even sharpening his scythe hadn't helped much, when it had worked wonders in the past. It goes to say he was surprised when the sharp crack of Apparition sounded in his room, just at the foot of his bed. A soothing voice set to work to quiet the whimpers of a child, who quickly fell into slumber once more.

He could barely bring himself to accept that it happened: Harry chose him over his wife. It seemed satisfaction had been reached. The Executioner smirked and settled back against the pillows as he watched his lover set up a bassinet with a silencing charm in the shadows, strip naked, and slide under the covers to join him. All was good.

Walden would remember to have Harry owl for divorce papers, as well as sign for full custody of his child. He pushed the thought from mind as he pulled his lover under him and set to renew the pleasure.

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