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Love is patient, Love is fierce	By : CrimsonLilly Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 28525 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This humble author does not own Harry Potter, any of its characters or situations depicted in the books/movies. There is no monetary gain made from this work of fanfiction, either.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
Please don't kill me and enjoy!
***
Harry walked down the streets of Surrey in a daze; his mind a whirlwind of guilt, shame and agony. All his mind could focus on at that moment were the damning facts that simply didn’t want to go away, pointing their cruel finger at him; pointing at the one that had been at fault this whole time.
Telling him that, once again, he was the source of everything bad, wrong or otherwise unnatural happening around him.
He stumbled on air as his knees started shaking with the effort to continue forward, continue on their way to save the man who should never have ended up in such a situation that he’d need to be saved in the first place.
Thoughts of stopping right there, in the middle of the street and then slowly turning back and going wherever his guilt wouldn’t be eating away at him(if even such a place existed), were there, screaming at Harry, making him feel like there actually was a part of him that was more Slytherin than he’d like to admit. He realized he was, in fact, just standing there, his feet unmoving, rejecting his desire to move forward, to do the right thing once more.
“When does it stop?” Harry whispered under his breath, hoping no one noticed that the weird bloke standing in the middle of the walkway started talking to himself. “Does it ever end? Or could I, just this one time-,” Harry choked on those last words, keeping them inside, never spoken, just thoughts, simple thoughts that none would be aware of. But he’d know and he’d be forever taunted by the thought of giving up, of hiding away and saving himself without thinking of others first, for a change.
Those thoughts were, however, followed by the image of beautiful, kind Jack, the man Harry could have loved with all his heart if he hadn’t been cursed with the burden of being the damnable “Boy who lived”. The simple thought of Jack did what not a single Gryffindor bone in his body could have accomplished at that moment—it made him move forward, gritting his teeth, holding his head up high and straightening his back; accepting what he had done and what he had yet to do.
Even when he could feel bile rising in his throat at the thought of the deviousness of the curse, he moved forward, one step at a time.
Not even the realization that not one single person around him these past few weeks had been a willing participant in all of this could stop him from going to Jack. Not even the dawning horror of realizing he’d actually had sex with people without their consent; they’d been bewitched, minds altered into wanting him.
Loving him.
He’d—he had raped them. He had actually raped them, no matter how Harry looked at it; no matter what pretty words he used or the ways he justified himself recounting the ways those people enjoyed themselves by using his body. He…he should have known better. He should have. Someone like him, having so many people suddenly caring about him? Wanting him, his body? All of that should have been a huge sign, the size of a freaking house that something was wrong.
Flashes of memory assaulted him, making him re-live it all over again, making him see things he wasn’t aware of being there before; the jerky movements of the bewitched folk, the emptiness in their eyes, the vacant stares, words and actions. Made him see things he didn’t want to see, was running away from. He was to blame for everything that happened around him, every single thing. The fact that he was probably controlled or, in some way forced, to commit those atrocious deeds had no bearing on anything; he could have—should have—fought it. He should have known, should have reacted sooner—“Constant vigilance!” comes to mind immediately—and then maybe all of this would have been avoided. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like he was asphyxiating on air as his lungs constricted, his throat closed up and eyesight blurred from unshed tears.
Harry bit his bottom lip fiercely, making it bleed; forcing his mind to focus on the here and now. On helping Jack, not himself. His legs felt like lead, making each step more difficult than it should have been, making his trek to Jack’s flat seem infinitely longer, never-ending. It didn’t help that, even though Harry knew Jack was his victim just like everyone else, he couldn’t help the flames licking at his insides with arousal at the simplest thought of Jack. He couldn’t help the images flooding his mind, making him remember every single detail of the man’s eyes, lips, face; every single crevice of his taut abdomen, his strong thighs and broad back. Harry couldn’t help but remember every sigh, every moan falling from those perfect lips, the marks he left all over Jack’s body; some very visible, others hidden away from prying eyes.
He couldn’t help the simple fact that at the thought of Jack, the first man—his first victim—he’d dazzled with this curse, all he could feel was his pulse skyrocketing, palms getting sweaty, all of his senses suddenly on high alert as his cock slowly filled out.
And that right there, that state of being, was the worst feeling imaginable.
The feeling of guilt at knowing what he’d done, something that should have never happened, being cut off as if with a scalpel, the cut precise and clean; only to be exchanged with a feeling of complete and unstoppable arousal.
Harry was so deep in thought, agonizing over all the “had been” and “should have been” that he hadn’t even realized he’d reached Jack’s apartment building and that he’d been standing in front of it for what could have been a minute or ten, for all he knew. He wasn’t even completely sure how he’d managed to reach there without causing a major traffic accident or at least, maiming himself, since he was mostly unaware of his trek there; every step he took only a vague memory, foggy like a dream upon waking up.
Before all courage could leave him, Harry lifted his right hand and rang the only buzzer with the name “Jack” on it, trying not to read his last name, trying to distance himself from Jack as much as possible. His mind was of no help on that front, as it immediately committed to memory the last name Harry’s eyes only glanced over. The fact his last name rhymed with “darkness” was of no help whatsoever, either. As the jarring sound of the buzzer broke through the silence, Harry prayed to every single God and Deity he knew of, human and wizard alike, for Jack to be home, soon followed by a panicky wish for him to not be home after all.
Every single thought fled his mind as a tired-sounding voice rasped out a single “Yeah?”
Harry felt his mouth go dry at the same time his cock twitched at the gravely, hoarse-sounding voice belonging to none other but Jack. It seemed Harry was speechless for too long, as far as Jack was concerned, as he heard him impatiently demand,
“Who’s there?” Jack waited a beat, before his voice started rising higher with each new syllable, “If this is a prank, I swear to God, I’ll come down there and fucking —,”
“It’s me,” Harry interrupted, his tongue faster than his mind.
A moment of silence passed, followed by another and then it was broken with the use of three simple words uttered by Jack.
“Come on up.”
As soon as he was buzzed in, Harry rushed to the stairs, climbing them two at a time, almost colliding with a sweet, little old lady and running over a kid no older than four, just so he’d get faster to Jack, his heart hammering out a rhythm of anticipation, anxiety and lust. The moment he arrived in front of the wooden door separating him from Jack, Harry raised his fist to knock on it, to beg for entrance if need be. Before he could lay even a single knuckle on the door, it opened near soundlessly, the sight of Jack holding it open in an obviously worn black wife-beater devastating in more ways than one.
In front of him stood a man that by all accounts was the same man Harry had had his first sexual experience with and at the same time, it wasn’t.
It truly, honestly wasn’t.
The man Harry remembered had dark, luscious hair just made for pulling and tugging on in the moments of passion; not this filthy, matted mess. His eyes used to shine with mirth and seduction, whereas now they were gaunt and filled with fierce rage, making him look almost crazed. His skin had lost its healthy glow and had turned sickly and pallid, almost paper thin and only vague reminders were left of a body that had once been strong, but had lost its strength and vitality. Now it looked only as a warning that life was slowly seeping out of Jack’s body, leaving him alarmingly well before its time.
Taking all of it in—taking all of Jack in—made Harry stumble back a step as his knees suddenly buckled, his head swimming with a storm of thoughts as his heart almost stopped beating as he was confronted with the truth head on.
“Oh dear Merlin,” Harry whispered, shocked at the sight of Jack, his mind stuck in a loop of self-blame, not managing to process it all being thrown in his face like this, not finding a single way to forgive himself for doing this to Jack. Because nothing, absolutely nothing in the world could do so much damage in such a short time span as a well-placed curse could; not to a man Jack used to be, at least.
“You little fucker,” Jack growled, his face contorting in anger as his lips twisted into a snarl that, by all accounts, should have made him look dangerous and deranged, but had only made him look mind-numbingly attractive to Harry.
Harry gulped nervously, his throat suddenly too dry even though he could have sworn his mouth was salivating at the display of ferocity from Jack. The movement of his Adam’s apple seemed too loud in the deathly quiet hallway, its slow, rhythmic movement attracting Jack’s curious eyes. As if hypnotized by the sight of Harry’s throat laid out bare in front of him, Jack made an abortive step forward, wanting to touch, taste; most of all, mark the pale column of flesh.
Caught off guard by such an obvious, if unwilling, display of want and desire, Harry lost his train of thought, his mind going absolutely blank. Which also meant that every single option he had thought of, every single plan he had carefully constructed in his mind in his mission to explain everything to Jack, to a muggle, evaporated faster than a drop of water in Sahara. As the thought of groveling as a means of begging for forgiveness passed his mind, Jack’s thin, almost frail arm came out of nowhere and grabbed Harry by his shirt and roughly pulled him inside the flat, slamming him into the door; a move that managed to shut the door with such force that its frame shook.
“I don’t know what you gave me, you little prick,” Jack ground out through clenched teeth, his face inches from Harry’s, “but I’m gonna have a jolly good time beating the very last breath out of you for it!”
Jack pulled Harry back from the hard, wooden surface, only to slam him back against it, using as much force as was left over in his weak body; just enough to make Harry’s teeth rattle in his skull.
Finally registering what Jack had accused him of, Harry gasped out, his breath pushed out of him by the repeated slamming against the unyielding wood, “It’s not—not an STD.”
“Do you honestly think,” Jack wondered, incredulous, “I’d believe a single thing from your lying lips?”
Hearing the rising panic in Jack’s voice, Harry finally looked into Jack’s eyes; what was in them broke Harry all over again. For the first time, Harry realized they weren’t only filled with rage and hate, but also sadness and what Harry suspected might have been betrayal. He was shocked once more as he realized just how deep both his and Jack’s feelings went; how far down the rabbit hole they’ve fallen if this man could feel such intense betrayal from a boy that was supposed to be just a one-night stand. The accusation in Jack’s eyes hurt most of all. It made Harry feel as if, in Jack’s mind, by giving him this STD, Harry had proven to Jack what the man had suspected all along—that Jack was just one of his many conquests; no one special.
Fuck.
Fuck, that’s not—he can’t… he just has to—to explain…
He could feel panic rising in his chest as his mind raced against time, trying to unearth a way to make it all well again, to help Jack, to just make him see… He could feel his throat close up and no air was coming, no matter how hard he tried to gulp it in; he just couldn’t breathe. As the world around him started getting fuzzy around the edges, Harry could feel big, warm palms cradling his head, rough, calloused thumbs slowly caressing his cheeks, a muffled voice calling for him.
“Harry, get a grip! Harry!” Jack’s voice rose in pitch as Harry remained unresponsive; worry eating at his insides as the boy—dear God, he was just a boy—shut himself out in a world of his own, far away from Jack.
”Harry! Are you with me, you prat?” Jack demanded, his voice firm as his eyes roved over Harry’s pale face; searching for any sign of understanding from the boy who’d just had a freaking panic attack right in front of him. Finally, finally, those brilliant green eyes connected with his, fixating on him. Jack sighed in relief, his hands moving over Harry’s face, feeling that beautiful skin under his fingertips once more as he let his forehead connect with Harry’s, seeking comfort as well as receiving it.
“Why can’t I simply hate your guts, you bloody tosser?” Jack whispered, his thumbs moving of their own volition over Harry’s cheekbones, whisper soft; before a mirthless chuckle escaped his lips, breaking the heart-warming moment. That broken-sounding chuckle snapped Harry out of it; thrust him back into the reality of this man hurting because of him. He grabbed Jack by his thin, bony shoulders and slowly drew him into the circle of his arms; holding onto him gently, but firmly. Feeling Jack calm down and collapse into his embrace as if is his strings had been cut, Harry tightened his hold on him, gently rubbing his palms across the almost frail, but still broad back.
Harry felt Jack shake and shudder against his comparatively smaller frame, but no tears wet Harry’s shirt; what washed over him was the endless litany of “You’re here, you’re really here…” softly spoken into the skin of Harry’s neck.
The words awoke something in Harry he couldn’t really explain. There were the usual notions of protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves and a desire to fix what was broken, but there was a new emotion lurking in the deepest, darkest parts of Harry’s core—possessiveness so strong it could be branded as an overwhelming desire to conquer, own and never let go.
Mindlessly, Harry slowly started tracing the path from Jack’s left ear to his collarbone with the tip of his nose, then his lips, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the way, only for his tongue to slowly come out and trace the same path over and over again. Soft moans escaped Jack’s parted lips as his hands clutched onto Harry as if he were a lifeline, knuckles turning white. With what might have been the last dredges of his strength, Jack moved away from Harry only to drag him in by the lapels of his shirt, making him grunt in surprise, but readily latching onto the back of Jack’s head and threading his fingers through the mess that was Jack’s hair. Everything seemed to stop as they gazed into each other’s eyes, their gaze roaming each other’s face, seemingly mapping every single detail.
Occasionally, their gazes would fixate longingly at each other’s lips, waiting for the moment when this waiting game ended; when one of them decided that losing this unspoken challenge didn’t matter in the slightest. The moment Jack tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth in an effort to stave off the groan of want, Harry’s breath caught as he took that as the go ahead sign to completely, hungrily devour Jack’s mouth, taking his time in drinking in the essence of the gorgeous man.
That single thought snapped Harry out of the daze he hadn’t even realized he’d fallen into again and he slowed their kiss down, making it gentler and heartbreaking all at once as he finally admitted to himself that he had no control of either the curse or himself and that he’d have to keep away from Jack at all times of their talk. The thought of never again kissing this man physically hurt Harry, his chest constricting as he pecked Jack on his lips again and again, a single tear sliding down unnoticed as he separated for what may well be the last time from Jack.
“You have a lot of explaining to do, you twat,” Jack hoarsely said, his voice wrecked from unshed tears.
As Jack’s words breached Harry’s foggy mind, he started getting nervous.
He wanted to tell Jack everything, the full truth, but that was a level of danger he didn’t want Jack to face. Not only could Harry be put on trial for ignoring the Statute of Secrecy, but Jack could be seriously hurt; if the obliviating process didn’t manage to screw him up first. His mind whirring in overdrive, all Harry could clearly and without a doubt say he had figured out was the place where the talk should be happening; anywhere without a bed to fall into with Jack.
So, Jack’s flat was out of the question.
“We should probably head out, go to a park or a café or—,” Harry started saying before he was interrupted by Jack, his face contorted in anger, his body slightly trembling. As if struck, Jack recoiled from Harry’s warm hands, hissing out furiously,
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” his eyes were filled with anger, his lips pulled back in a snarl as his voice rose a pitch.
Jack agitatedly ran his hand through his matted hair, his fingers getting stuck, agitating him even more as he turned away from Harry and began to pace in a pattern, walking towards Harry, then away, then back again; mumbling things to himself, snippets of words reaching Harry’s ears, making him feel even more wretched as he heard “what the hell is going on” repeated every once in a while.
Seeing him like that, Harry was reminded of a prowling tiger, not unlike the one he’d seen all those years ago in the zoo the Dursley’s had taken him to.
Jack’s rage slowly rose back to the surface, his movements betraying how trapped he felt, how agitated he was. All Harry thought of doing at that moment was trying to calm him down as best as he could. Still, he was not aware of the words entering his mind until he’d heard them spoken aloud.
“Please, calm down Jack,” Harry softly pleaded.
The moment those words left Harry’s lips, Jack’s shoulders dropped down in relaxation, his back curling slowly as all tension that made it seem as if Jack would snap in half at the smallest provocation left his body.
Slowly, Jack turned to face Harry, his eyes still lowered, staring at the floor; his lips parted as harsh gusts of breath rapidly left his mouth, trying to prevent himself from having a panic attack of his own.
“What—,” Jack started, his eyes finally meeting Harry’s, fear reflected in them for the first time.
“What is going on, Harry?” Jack whispered, his voice cracking as the last syllables left his lips. Harry made an aborted move toward Jack, intending to take the man in his arms again, but thought better of it, not wanting a repeat performance of their kiss and absolutely not wanting to keep using Jack against his will.
Seeing the hesitance in Harry’s movements and his demeanor broke Jack, making him scream from the top of his lungs.
“What did you do? What in the hell did you do to me, Harry?!”
In the next moment, all strength seeped out of Jack’s body, his knees buckled under him, unable to keep him upright in the face of the emotional roller-coaster he had been subjected to. All Harry could see in front of him was Jack, on his knees, slumped to the point that it seemed as if he’d collapsed in on himself; the endless loop of ‘what did you do’ coming from his hunched form on the floor.
Feeling his heart clench and the last breath leave his body at the desperate sight in front of him, Harry walked the small distance separating him from the man he’d managed to hurt so bad, he’d nearly broken him.
Harry’s hands shook as he gently lowered them to Jack’s shoulders, squeezing them in what might have been an inane attempt to give him some level of comfort, but was the best he could do at that moment. The next thing Harry became aware of were long, thin arms around his waist and the head of the man he would have loved to love had he been anyone else but Harry bloody Potter pushing into his stomach, nuzzling gently, seeking comfort. Inadvertently, this man with his gentle nature, big heart and absolute devotion to Harry—no matter where it came from—managed to give him one thing he hadn’t dared he’d ever get—absolution for the madness Harry had inflicted upon him.
Tenderly, he caressed Jack’s hair, neck, his cheeks—anywhere he could reach—before gently lifting it up until he could clearly see each speck of colour in those gorgeous, luminous eyes. Smiling at Jack felt like the easiest and the hardest thing Harry had ever had to do, and even if his heart tore at the sight of the answering smile on those chapped lips, no one was any wiser; certainly not Jack. His thumbs traced imaginary patterns on Jack’s cheeks as Harry looked his fill, committed every single detail to memory, before he slowly bent over, his lips gentle on Jack’s forehead as he branded him with one last kiss.
Saying goodbye never seemed harder than in that single moment.
A strange sensation washed over Harry, starting from somewhere deep within; surging through his chest, his heart and mind. If asked to explain, he’d equate it with the feeling he had as he swam ever closer to the surface of the Black Lake at the end of the second task of The Triwizard Tournament, just as his gillyweed had ran out.
Pressure so intense it made him feel as if it was pushing at him from the inside out, pushing at his seams, trying to get out and get free. In a moment of clarity, Harry saw it for what it was—the curse inside him rebelling at his actions.
“Maybe I can—, ” Harry whispered aloud as his mind tried to recall the instances his curse had been under his control, and all he could think of were the five men who’d made him realise the extent of his blindness. Hoping against all hope that the fact he’d managed to order them to move away was not just a fluke but a sign the curse could be controlled, Harry looked deeply into Jack’s eyes even though everything in front of him was becoming blurry all of a sudden and gently declared,
“Be free, Jack. Be free from me, from all that I am and all I had done to you.” Harry tried his best to clearly enunciate each word, to relay his message without a single mistake that could maybe even ruin it all, but he couldn’t prevent the hitch in his breath when he choked down the tears that were threatening to fall.
For a moment that could possibly have been just a mirage, Harry could have sworn Jack’s eyes had flashed a soft crimson, before they cleared and filled with suspicion and confusion.
“Um, hello? What are you—No, wait. Who are you?” Jack asked, his brow scrunching in confusion, each muscle in his body taut and ready to spring into action if need be.
Seeing the slowly returning healthy glow of Jack’s skin, the new life that rushed through his body, slowly filling up the strong hands, thighs and chest; returning the mischievous gleam to his eyes, all Harry could do was give him one last smile as he slowly moved away from Jack and closer to the door. Closer to the barrier that would take away everything he shared with this man and thrust him back into his old life, void of Jack.
“I’m sorry, I seem to have the wrong place,” Harry told Jack as he gently closed the door behind him, the lone tear falling from his eye making Jack’s heart clench in a confusing desire to hold onto the strange young man leaving his flat as quietly as he’d apparently entered it. Jack had no recollection of him ringing the door bell or knocking on his door, at least.
The moment the door shut behind the man, Jack got off the floor—and how in the Heaven’s name had he gotten there, had he fainted?—the desire to lock the door overwhelmingly strong. The next step he took, he stumbled as his vision blurred.
“What…?” Jack hiccupped as tears streamed down his face, the last signs of his torture fading away and his body shining with an ethereal glow. Jack couldn’t stop staring at the bitter liquid on his fingertips, his breath leaving him as his heart broke in a thousand peaces only to mend itself in such a rapid succession all he could do was clutch at the fabric above his heart.
As the last sliver of pain left his body, two words slipped unbidden from his lips, pushing even through the cloud of confusion in Jack’s mind,
“Thank you…”
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Love is patient, Love is fierce