Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Backfire	By : SpeedyTomato Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Sirius Views: 24217 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 12
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and make not a knut off this work of fanfiction

Chapter List
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Chapter 1

Apparating into the small park at the end of the street where his hated relatives lived, Hank wrinkled his nose. He hated little 'burbs like this for not only their box-like, identical houses, but the attitude which tended to come with the type of place. This was a 'burb of London, one of the higher end ones, something which people like his relatives always craved. While he didn't like these places, he hated the reason he was here even more; seeing the Dursleys, well Petunia and Vernon anyway, for the first time since he was sent away well over a decade ago.
Since then he hadn't talked to them much, though he did receive brief, very brief, letters on the hols. They went through a remail service, something he had to use to send replies, so no one could trace him. In the time since then he hadn't seen them, not even once. They never visited or had him come home. He lived at the Bronx Wizards Academy all year long. Well until he turned seventeen. Then he was on his own.
With a snort, he looked around, hoisting his backpack up higher on his shoulder and shook his head. He knew the reason they finally wanted to see him, though he was sure they didn't realize he did, and wouldn't play nice about it. Fuck them. They sent him off and didn't give a damn what happened to him after they did, so he wasn't going to help them one bit. After another glance around, he started walking, looking at the address on the small slip of paper he held. The sooner he finished this, the quicker he could return to his own place and finish what he had started. He hadn't been back in the UK for more than a week, so he had a ton to do.
As he walked, paying attention to the numbers on the houses, he was grinning a tad at the strange and wary looks he received. It was expected, of course, as he wasn't the sort who fit in around here. At twenty-three, he was the rough looking sort, longish black hair which still stuck up a bit, though not as much as it used to. His green eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. He was now tall, just a shade under six foot with a thin build, though it belied how muscular he was and wiry, not to mention the quick reflexes. Dressed in beat up Levis and a t-shirt under a leather motorcycle jacket with Doc Martins on his feet, he looked more like the toughs you would see in the bad part of town rather than visitors to this 'burb. With an internal snort and a roll of his eyes, since no one could see it behind the shades, he grinned a bit at the internal joke which amused him. Most would never know he could more than afford to live in a place like this. In fact, he was probably wealthier than almost all who resided here.
While he walked, hoping the house wasn't far off, his thoughts weren't on this meeting, but other areas. Since leaving school, he spent a lot of time in the Bronx, something he thought of as home, but had traveled a bit. He'd been in and out of the UK several times since then, so he knew what was going on. The war here encompassed everything and everyone, even those expats like himself. This meant he had a tricky dance to do.
He was the sort who wanted no part of wars, but tended to end up involved and make money off it. In this case, he had contacts on both sides, hearing plenty of information people wanted. While he felt no obligation to the 'good' side of the battle, he wouldn't help the opposition, even in the form of information. They didn't know that, though, something he liked. His contacts were the sort who wanted some of what he could get his hands on when it came to material matters, hence the reason he could get the information.
Though only back a short time, one of his contacts from the 'good' side was already putting out feelers for some help. It was fine with him. Let them. If the price was right, or the motivation, he would give it up. And he would keep his ear to the ground for more. Mostly it was to help himself and stay safe, but he knew the price some information could bring him and planned to gain what he could. This would go on until the heat was too high then he would move on again. No chance he was ending up in the middle of a war which didn't concern him. There was no attachment to this country in any way other than the fact it was his place of birth, so he felt no obligation to help.
After another check of the address and a glance at the number on a house, he was pleased the one he wanted wasn't far off. Good. He could make short work of this and move on from there. Picking up speed and focusing, his mind wandered to his true goal in coming back; learning who he really was.
All those years ago when his name was changed when he was whisked away, he thought he would never forget who he really was. He had, though. At this juncture in his life, he was sure spells were involved because of some odd areas. One was he couldn't ask those who knew him, either aloud or in writing. He had tried over the years, like in letters to his relatives, but it didn't work. Another was he just couldn't remember. Oh, he was young when he was moved, but he wasn't young enough he would forget his given name. This he wanted to know and planned to find out, he just wasn't sure how if it was a spell. Spells such as this, and he had looked them up so he knew what he was dealing with, had plenty of parameters he had to contend with. Anyone close couldn't give the hint and he wouldn't be able to utter shit to help himself. While he didn't know the exact spell, he knew it was a tough road ahead to figure out what he wanted to know. He would though. All he had to do was sort out the how and go about it in a way which wouldn't bother the spell. Either that or he would have to find a way to break the spell. Since he didn't know which one was used, he didn't fancy his chances there.
When he finally came to the house he knew belonged to the Dursleys', he crumpled the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. Evil smirk forming, he straightened up. Time to exact some revenge. As he started to walk up the nicely paved drive after passing through the open gate, he honed what he planned to do. Yes, the two wouldn't like his visit, but he would.

After lighting his ciggie, making sure to blow the smoke in Petunia and Vernon's direction, Hank snorted then leaned against the wall. “Let me see if I understand this; you want me to help pay for Dudley's Solicitor?” He asked, tone one of someone trying to understand, keeping the snideness he felt out of it for now.
“He's been wrongly accused,” Petunia told him, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of the smoke or say anything about him doing so in her immaculate house. “We've run through our savings already and need a bit more money. He's your cousin, after all, and needs help, Hank.” She didn't want her freak of a nephew here, but they needed money, desperately. Despite Vernon making very good money at the tool firm, fighting the charges against Dudders was taking all they had. They had even taken out loans to help, but were now short.
“Look, boy, he's your cousin,” Vernon blustered, mustache puffed out, face red. He didn't like this at all. As far as he was concerned, the freak could stay away forever. They needed help, though, and had nowhere else to turn. From papers they had signed over the years until the freak reached adulthood, they knew he had money willed to him from his parents. Since he was an adult and it was kept in one of those banks run by his kind, they couldn't touch it. The only way to get their hands on what they needed was to ask. Despite how it rankled, they were.
“And the charges are attempted murder, assault and kidnapping?” Hank asked. Oh, he knew what the charges Dudley racked up were. Most were related to the gang he was in, but there was one not mentioned; attempted sexual assault. From what he understood after checking into the matter when receiving the owl from his aunt and uncle, the girl was one he fancied. Dudley was the sort, from the way the police report read, who was so used to getting his way, he couldn't take no for an answer. What he also knew was these weren't circumstantial cases; there was plenty of hard evidence against his cousin which would result in conviction unless there was some sort of miracle.
“All lies of course,” Petunia told him, looking sour. “We just need help to prove it. Our Solicitor wants to hire someone to assist.”
“We just need the amount we asked for, boy, nothing more. Once we have it, we won't trouble you again,” Vernon huffed, glaring at his nephew. He wanted Hank out of his house as fast as he could manage and hoped no one in the neighborhood saw him because he didn't want to have to explain who he was.
“I see,” Hank said, tone distracted, pretending to ponder the situation.
After several long moments ticked by with the two standing there, looking plenty hopeful and disgusted at the same time, Hank then said, tone taking on an evil bent and eyes hardening more, “The only way I would help is to see how hard I could make Dudley's life in the nick.”
As Vernon started to bluster, Hank snapped, glaring at him, “Look, fat man, you've made it damned clear how both of you feel about me. We won't even get into how I was treated when I lived with you. Then you sent me off and didn't bother with anything other than two letters a year. No chance I'm helping you.”
“He's your cousin, one of your last living relatives!” Petunia told him, jaw clenched. She assumed what with how he was when younger, he would help. What she never expected was a refusal.
“I also remember how he treated me and acted,” Hank snapped, glaring at the horse-faced woman. “And how neither of you did anything to stop it. You thought it was funny or encouraged it.”
“Look, boy! We took you in and fed you when most wouldn't have bothered,” Vernon told him, voice rising. After stepping closer to the freak, he shook a fat finger at him and hissed, “You owe us!”
“I do, fat man,” Hank told him, a malevolent grin on his face. He then pulled his wand and said, “I owe you plenty of hexes for what went on over the years and how my life was. What I don't owe you is any sort of help. You're on your own, fat man.”
“Show some respect,” Petunia hissed at her nephew. “Vernon is your uncle. Calling him names isn't proper and respectful.”
“He's never used my name in his entire life,” Hank shot back, focusing on his aunt. “I'm either freak or boy. Neither of those are respectful. He's asking me for money to help his criminal son and can't be arsed to use my name, so I can't be arsed to use any sort of respectful moniker for him.”
“Do you two think I'm a fool?” He then asked, glaring between them. “That I wouldn't check what was really going on before I came over? I know what Dudley is facing. From all I heard and saw, he did the crimes. Since he did the crimes, he can do the time. You'll get no help from me, any of you.” He snarled. “You treated me like shit and sent me off to that horrid school, not caring after that. I've been on my own since I was seven with no family. As I'm well aware, I'm still not family to you both. You don't want a damned thing to do with me, even now.”
Then stepping closer to the two, he hissed, “You have no clue what I'm like now. The little boy you sent away is long gone. I learned to take care of myself years ago and figured out to never trust anyone. Experience taught me people only want to use you for what they need or want then they toss you aside. That's just what you're doing. Forget it. Dudley's going to prison. I won't help you. And if you keep pressing or call me one more name, I'll use some contacts I have to make sure his life is a living hell. Got me? I'm not playing. Trust me, I don't.”
After taking a step back, he snarled, “If you contact me again, I'll do everything in my power to make sure Duddikins has a life of living hell behind bars. Consider this payback.”
Though the two sputtered, they said nothing. After another glare at them, he hissed, “I mean it,” then turned and walked out after putting his ciggie out in the potted plant on the stand there, slamming the door behind him.
Once outside, he made sure his backpack was on then Apparated away. Oh, that sure as hell felt good!

After stepping through the door of his townhouse in Tottenham Court Road, not far from Charing Cross and the Leaky Cauldron, Hank waited for the wards to slide into place so it was locked down. Though he was in a Muggle area, he knew the proximity to the hub of the Wizarding World in London put anyone Magical in danger of some sort. Since he was the type who wanted his privacy anyway, he made sure he had the best wards he could manage and stayed unnoticed the best he could. Once he was certain, he let out a sigh of relief. It had gone according to plan.
He then tossed his keys on the table by the door and slid his backpack off his shoulder before making his way to the parlor he planned on using for 'business'. He didn't expect much today as he was still settling and most of his contacts weren’t aware he was in the country yet, but one of his seedier ones knew. Letters from the man about various 'business' ventures would be turning up and he wanted to stay on top of them.
Once in the parlor, he tossed his backpack on the settee then gave Yama, his half North American Buzzard, half Thunderbird a pet on the breast. The creature gave him the wary eye and a friendly hiss, a sign he was pleased to see him. Though it was a sound which would frighten most, Hank wasn't bothered. He knew the bird well enough to understand what it was.
As he flopped down on the settee, making sure not to land on his backpack, he let out a tired groan. His plans had gone well and worked how he wanted. Good. Then, before he could summon him, Deweazle, the ancient house elf he won in a craps game, popped in with a beer. Hank took the beer and thanked the elf then took a deep drink. Letting out a contented sigh, he shut his eyes. So far, so good here.
Without opening his eyes, he kicked his boots off and propped his feet up on the coffee table there. Not moving, he started to think over all he still had to do to settle in. From what he knew, he would be here as long as he could manage before all hell broke loose with the war and tried to draw him in. He didn't think anyone in the States was looking for him when it came to the mess in New York City and the massive investigation into the whole crime spree of some associates of his, but he didn't want to deal with the authorities. Even though he didn't have anything to do with the mess, his reputation was such that he would end up looked at, not something he wanted because of a few of his shadier dealings and questions which might arise from them. It was best to stay away until it settled down. Of course, he would stay on top of it and what the DMLE of the US was doing, but away was best. Since he had no part in it and just knew the prats who committed the crimes, they wouldn't try to do anything when it came to questioning him, at least he hoped. Even if they did, they would have to come here to do so.
A tired groan escaping, he tried to shove aside that mess, reminding himself he had dealt with worse over the years, even back in school. His arse was covered and he knew it. It meant he needed to press on. There was much to tend to as he started to set up 'shop' here and pressed on. Oh, he had plenty of money to live on the rest of his life, but he wanted more to make sure. The whole goal for this was to 'retire' by the time he was thirty. That particular magical number was only seven years off, so he had plenty to do.
Cold green eyes opening, he looked over at the wall where his desk was. He then focused on the picture there. It was a beautiful scene from one of the beaches on a Magical island in Greece. This was his goal. He wanted to retire there and just be a beach bum. It was his thought that with all he had gone through in his life that he earned it. Yes, Hank wanted the easy life, but to manage it he had to have the money. Of all the bits in his life, he could manage that one. The money was the big one there, but he also wanted answers.
As he stared at the picture, his mind circled what he wanted to learn. Most wouldn't matter, honestly, as it was so long ago, but for Hank this was learning something he desperately wanted to know; who he was. He wanted to have a history. And he would manage. It would just take time.
Head going back, he let out a tired sigh and sipped his beer. He would relax a tad then get up and tend to what he needed. The house needed fixed up how he wanted, protections he had in mind put in place, then start on business. Yeah, he would be busy for a while. After those bits were tended to, he had to start figuring out what he needed to stay safe in a war raging all over the UK. He couldn't manage without knowing what was going on. To do so, he needed to talk to contacts.
A soft groan escaping, he sipped more of his beer and straightened up with a sigh. Time to get to work. None of this would get done on its own. He needed to take care of it. If he finished even part, he could go out for dinner and scope out the area.
Though he didn't want to, he stood and stretched. Then, talking to Yama, he began pulling some papers out of his backpack, sending them where they belonged. Those he would tend to last because they were bank statements and about investments. All of them were mind numbing enough, he put off tending to them as long as he could. There were other areas more important anyway. Focusing on what he had to do, he made a list of what to tend to first and went at it.
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Backfire