I am trying to clean out my archives so there are a few stories that I'm finishing up to my satisfaction and then publishing, I hope you enjoy them!
It's been six years.
Six long painful years.
He had expected to die, expected to go down in a blaze of glory, perhaps a martyr.
The dark lord was truly a terrifying man.
"Harry you're brooding again." Hermione's words are tired and as he glances up at her he notices the circles under her eyes. He purses his lips at the sight of the thin silver band surrounding her neck. Her hair has been cut close to her head, a sign of her bloods impurity which allows him to see the silver band clearly whenever he looks at her.
He has learned not to look at her.
It hurts too much, yet he looks now.
And another seven before that wasted on a war they were destined to lose.
Hermione Granger was a woman now, though by law she counted as less than human.
"Harry, don't do this, not today." She says reading him well- too well.
He looks away.
He has failed them, failed them all.
He nods shortly and begins to gather up the papers strewn about their office. Who would have thought that he would have a knack for magical theory? Or that Hermione was the missing puzzle piece to a brilliance he didn't know he had in him.
The dark lord apparently.
He nearly dropped the papers in his hands and she purses her lips.
They really have very little to complain about these days. They have lavish apartments, a well paying job that satisfies their intellectual needs, and privacy once the gloating subsided and the press were ordered to leave them be.
Of course there were changes.
Hermione had been sterilized, a fact she said she didn't mourn since mother hood was never on her long list of to do's. Harry knows it's because she would never have wanted to have children with anyone other than Ron.
When the war ended Voldemort told them quite simply what would happen. Silver bands were placed around Ron's and Hermione's necks, as long as they cooperated and lived peacefully in this new society they would be alright. But if they tried to rebel, tried to attack the dark lord-
His eyes slid closed at the memory and Hermione slammed a pile of papers onto the desk the weight of it echoing through the room.
They had been fools.
Young stupid fools for thinking that they could change what had already happened.
The first year had been the worst.
They'd been hounded constantly by death eaters and the press; they were cursed at, pelted with rotten goods, hexed and tormented at every turn. But that wasn't the worst of it. Hermione like every other muggle born was branded like cattle with a number and sterilized. Her hair was shorn close to her head and it was decreed that all muggle borns were required to have their branded arms show no matter the weather.
She was one of the lucky ones.
Many muggles didn't survive the first year; they were open targets, not allowed to raise their wands in defense against another wizard with higher status. Their world was drowned in strict curfews and the strangled sounds of the suffering.
It didn't take long for them to attempt a rebellion.
The plan was half-baked and desperate but luck had always been on their side before. They were foolish enough to believe it would work and now, four years after its failure Harry was plagued with the memory of Ron's pained screams. He could remember the way Ron had bled from his eyes ears and nose- the high pitched whistle that filled the air- the sickening squelch and crunch as his head exploded cleanly from his shoulders.
"Harry." Hermione's voice was soft, pleading and it took him a moment to recognize that he was shaking. He'd never been the same after that- neither of them had though Hermione bore it better than he did. Her warm hand settled on his arm. "Let's go Harry." She said quietly. He nodded and followed her from their office. No one bothered them any more as they made their way to the lifts. They were nobodies in the sea of death eaters and ministry lackeys. The trip through the floo was muted in the face of reality.
Ron was dead and it was his fault.
A sigh brought him from his thoughts and silver grey met his solidly. "He's been this way all day." Hermione said close to tears now. Harry realized that he had no idea how long he'd been standing here in the middle of their flat.
"Harry come here." The velveteen voice caresses his nerves and brings the world into a desperate clarity. Suddenly he was flying towards the man sinking into the strong arms.
His part in the war had not been glorious. In the end in an attempt to save his son's life he risked nearly everything, and would have lost it too if his wife hadn't taken the blame. Narcissa believed that Lucius would be able to protect their son better than she would in the new world. She was but a wife, the lady of a long dead family- Lucius was Lord to one of the most prominent families alive. Yet he couldn't protect his son from himself. Draco was driven mad by the loss of his mother, he became reckless foolish.
Eventually he pissed off the wrong person.
"Harry." A warm hand and thick heady pleasure surrounded him as he threw back his head and gasped. When had he lost his clothes? Where was Hermione? He gazed down dazedly and found himself sprawled across Lucius' lap in the arm chair the man's hand wrapped around him firmly while his arm kept him stable. Tears welled in his eyes as he stared down at the man he had once hated.
It all seemed so foolish now.
In the end they all bled the same color.
"Please!" He gasped wanting to forget. He believed that the need to forget was what had started all of this. That and the raw animalistic drive that pulled them towards each other like a magnet. Hot silken lips caressed his passionately a tongue stroking his until he could hardly breath and his hips were jerking wildly into the strong fingers.
"Forget." Lucius whispered against his lips. A broken sound escaped from him as the man stood holding him steady with ease until they were laid across the bed. A flurry of motions, pets, pants, desperate aching, they surged against eachother as the last article of clothing was gone and it was just them. Just skin against skin, heat against fire. A blur of passion that raced through him urging him until fingers slipped away and what he really wanted, really needed so very desperately replaced them.
He was full, splitting wide open.
The pressure of it was as exquisite as it was difficult to bear.
Lucius' lips made a branding path across his neck and torso his teeth marking just as desperately as his words were pleading.
For a moment Harry allowed himself to lose himself to it.
The blinding pleasure, the skin to skin contact, the heat, the burn
The scent of musk and sweat the taste of wine and the texture of flesh
He was lost to it
His eyes were wild and green as they gazed into Lucius' heated silver
His hands were as desperate as Lucius' were controlled.
His motions erratic, Lucius' practiced.
This is what they needed.
And when the rawness of it all became too much and the force of the pleasure barreled into them Harry could only cling to Lucius knowing that they would do it all over again tomorrow.
Lucius' body slipped away as he panted and returned a moment later to spell away the evidence and provide a physical barrier between himself and the world that lay beyond their meetings.
"The mudblood is worried about you." Lucius said after a few long moments. Harry sighs reluctantly. How could he explain it? Why should he try?
He's loosing his mind.
"I want to die." He says instead. Lucius stills beside him.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." He says after a moment. Harry chokes on air. Lucius would tell the dark lord who would in turn put him on suicide watch- again.
"Pretend all you want." He said his eyes slipping closed. "There isn't much time left." He muttered to himself.
"Potter?" The man says his voice demanding. Harry snorted.
"There are fates worse than death Lucius." He says before climbing out of bed and pulling on his clothing.
"Potter where are you going?" The man demands his eyes sharp.
"To visit Ron, it's his birthday today you know." He says feeling light all of the sudden. His hands pause what he is doing and for a moment he can't figure out where he is or what he was doing. Things slide back into focus when he looks up at Lucius though- the man seems to have that effect on him.
"Harry, that was a week ago." Lucius says with a frown. Harry gazes at him for a long moment in curiosity and confusion.
"What was?" He says tilting his head to the side. Lucius stares at him for some time his expression shifting.
"Harry?" He says watching as green eyes glaze over and apathy takes their place. He knows he must report this. It's been weeks since he noticed it and the mudblood admitted that it had begun years ago- "Harry come here." He says tiredly. The green eyed man climbs back in bed shirt half on and half off and settles himself into Lucius' arms. A warm head presses against his chest and small fragile hands wrap around him.
"Don't go?" he says in a child-like voice. Lucius knows he should report this to the dark lord, and he will, in time.
"I won't Harry." He assures. And he won't, not until he is certain that the boy is asleep
The mudblood meets him at the door eyes anxious.
"It's working." Is all he says. If she knows what is happening then the whole operation will be ruined. She pleads with him with her eyes.
"Three days." He says assuredly. Three days until the horcrux is loose enough that he can pry it from Potter's mind. The last of the seven horcruxes.
Soon his family would be avenged.
A similar look crosses her features and he nods knowingly.
They can only hope that it doesn't tear Harry's mind to shreds in the process.