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Harry Potter, Virgin Extraordinaire	By : lordoberon Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 16229 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is entirely the property of J.K. Rowling. I claim no ownership over it. I make no money in the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
I really *really* wanted this to be the last chapter. But then it all got chattier and plottier. Next chapter WILL be the last! Hope you enjoy this one. It's LONG!

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HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE

An HP fanfic

by lordoberon

Chapter 8

They were on a small island, in the midst of a lake. To Harry’s left loomed a beautiful castle. It was much smaller than the Hogwarts castle, and more delicate looking, with parapets and stained glass, and one lone tower. Two large windows emitted light. Harry could see a long ballroom of sorts, and floating candles like at Hogwarts. On the island, they sat in a sort of villa, with warmly painted walls, magical tapestries, and a cozy cushioned seat for two by a round glass table. Blaise spoke to a waiter, who then disappeared to speak with the chef, assumedly.

Harry leaned into Blaise, whispering, “Thank you.”

Blaise accepted the kiss to his cheek with a smile. “I thought you were going to ask if I had any House Elves, because of your friend Granger. I do, but only a few. They remain at the castle and maintain it in my absence. For the most part, I like to take care of the food part myself – when I’m at my flat, my preferred lodgings - because it comes easy to me. It’s a little like potions, too, and I’ve always been good at that.”

“Heh, you, too? It’s like a Slytherin thing, to be good at Potions.”

The food was brought to their table, and Harry stared. Breads, pies, cheeses, soups, pastas, delicious looking things he knew not the names of, were all piled on the glass table. A plate and cup was set up with silverware for each of them.

“Potions isn’t a Slytherin specialty.” Blaise took a bite from one of the breads on the table. “Look at Crabbe and Goyle.”

Harry pulled several bowls and plates of things closer and began to pile interesting looking food on his plate. “Well, they were bad at everything, except perhaps as Beaters.”

“Ha! They weren’t even good at that.”

Harry sank into his meal then, relishing the bursts of flavors on his tongue, and filling his poor pleading stomach. It was all delicious, and so rich and heavy that after a time, even having been brought up with years of Hogwarts food, he was so full that he couldn’t finish his plate. He pushed it away, and leaned back into the cushions.

“Ah, that feels better…”

“I haven’t even brought the dessert out. Are you sure you’re done?” Blaise grinned down at Harry wickedly. He had one arm flung across the back of the seat, and the tips of his fingers combed through Harry’s hair.

“I can’t eat another bite right now,” Harry moaned. “Not even treacle.”

Blaise smirked. “That is serious. You wouldn’t eat it even if I slathered it all over myself at this point?”

Harry let his gaze drift down and up Blaise’s body, and when his gaze returned to Blaise’s, he saw desire there. “I can’t say no to that,” Harry admitted. “Even though it would be sortof torturous, given how full I am at the moment.”

“I do like to torture you. But I think I’ll be merciful.”

Harry grinned. “Thanks.”

They sat back comfily together, and Harry let his gaze just drift, taking in the villa. He liked the warm colors, the cool night breeze, the curtains and the elegant mirrors. Then Blaise’s voice came in his ear. “So, how are your friends doing? Are they happy? Have Granger and Weasley finally admitted they’re desperately in love?”

Harry laughed. “It was that obvious, wasn’t it? Yeah, they have. They did that back in…well, when we were out and about, when they were helping me defeat Voldemort. I think they’re going to get married some day. But for now they’re just sortof dating. They visit each other a lot. Hermione’s at the Burrow all the time.”

“And your other friends?”

“Well, Luna’s off in Switzerland looking for Crumple Horned Snorkacks with her father. She writes me letters. She always makes me laugh.”

“Hmm.” Blaise smiled. “They’re odd ones, the Lovegoods. But I always found her funny, too. And Lupin, the werewolf, you mentioned him. I thought he died in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Harry shook his head. “Nearly. It was very close. He’s…well…his wife, Tonks…she died. They had a son, and the two of them live with Tonks’ parents now. But he doesn’t always get to see Teddy, because he’s trying to help the Ministry with werewolves. Now that Hermione’s been getting more equal rights propaganda out there, they are starting to think of things a little differently.”

“Oh really? Your friend is finally successful with her activism, then. Good for her.”

“Yes.” Harry smiled. “And what about your friends? Besides happily married Malfoy. I suppose he’s on the honeymoon now, isn’t he?”

Blaise laughed. “Yes, thank Merlin. I won’t have him popping up at my flat or demanding I attend something with him for a week. My other friends are faring well, thank you. I have many foreign friends from around the globe. I never got on so well with people at Hogwarts. Pansy, of course as you know, is still around. I’ve put her in the care of Theo Nott, for now, because he’s more a friend to her than I am, and he knows Draco well, so he won’t say anything to her that will create more trouble for Draco.

“The foreign friends are all well. Studying, some married, some not. I know some scientists who are in Russia, and one Chinese wizard who does some fascinating work in Potions. He dabbles in magical creature work, too. I reckon he’d find loads more things in the park by my flat. He has a keen eye.”

Harry pushed himself closer in to Blaise. “I like that, foreign friends. I wish I had more. I would like to visit more places. There is so much to see in the wizarding world, and I know I haven’t seen the half of it. People think I’m quite something because I defeated Voldemort, but really, there’s plenty of things I haven’t done, and areas I’m ignorant in. I’d like to know more – but I want to experience it, not inhale it through books like Hermione does. I can be quite curious…I’ve even been known to eavesdrop.”

Blaise laughed. “The Invisibility Cloak, right? I remember Draco whingeing on it about so much back at Hogwarts. He got on my nerves. I would love to see that thing, sometime, if you still have it.”

“I do.”

Harry was struck by how content Blaise was, and how content he felt in his company. All Blaise’s friends seemed just as content as him. Were they all so laid back, with easy jobs? He was so used to trouble and mayhem day in and day out in his job as an Auror. It couldn’t all be daisies and sunshine in the countries Blaise’s friends lived in, but he supposed they weren’t the types to get into trouble, anyway, if Blaise himself was anything to go by.

That reminded him of something he’d wanted to say earlier. “Blaise. Please don’t look at my case files. I appreciate that you didn’t read any names, because that is confidential – it all is. And besides, I wouldn’t want you to see all of that.”

Blaise turned his head to look right at Harry. “You’re so protective. Always trying to save people. But, I understand. I like to keep my private things private, too. I won’t look again. And trust me, I can defend myself properly in a dangerous situation if needs be.”

Harry nodded shortly. “Good.”

He thought Blaise might ask him something about his job then, and he didn’t want to go there, not on off hours, not when he had nightmares about dead victims enough. Before Blaise could ask anything, Harry asked, “What’s the best Quidditch match you’ve commentated for?”

“Hmm. Tough…”Blaise slumped further in his seat, and lifted his feet to put them on the table now. “I’ve seen the Vultures play, and they’re amazing, of course. Champions of Europe seven times. The Falcons are known for being quite vicious. I have to say I’m a fan of them, even if they’re horrid, because they make me laugh with how far they are willing to go. In seriousness though, I’m a fan of the Magpies, and of the Harpies, because it’s interesting to see an all-female team. I also like Peru’s team, I saw them play once and they were brilliant. And Massachusetts has produced loads of interesting wizard and witches, including Quidditch players. Their team won the US league seven times.”

He turned to Harry, who had tons of questions and was smiling. “Blaise, I wish I’d seen all those games. It’s no fair! I want you to tell me more on why Peru is so good. But you haven’t answered my first question.”

Blaise laughed. “Sorry. If you get me going on Quidditch, sometimes I can’t stop.”

“You might get along with Ron, then.”

Blaise raised his brows. “Yes, but he likes the Cannons, doesn’t he? They’re absolute shite.”

The two of them laughed. Harry hadn’t seen half as many games as he wished, but he had read Quidditch Through the Ages and other Quidditch books so many times. And you didn’t have to know much about Quidditch to know how bad the Chudley Cannons were.

“I want to answer your question, though.” Blaise sat up a little straighter. “I think I’d have to say commentating for the Thunders versus Warriors was most intense and interesting, because they’re two of the teams that have a big rivalry going, so all the fans were very vocal and fully invested in it. You could feel the energy in the stadium. I can’t say I really like the job, but when it’s a furious match like that, I actually quite enjoy it.”

Harry smiled. He was happy that he could talk to Blaise about Quidditch, because he loved it. And Blaise knew so much about all these teams; he thought of Ron, and his love for the Chudley Cannons. He hadn’t ever really picked a favorite team, himself.

“Getting to see all these games sounds great. Why don’t you like the job?”

Blaise sighed. “Well. It’s very demanding. The Quidditch teams and stadiums and managers can be very competitive. Sometimes I’m forced to choose who to commentate for. The goal, of course, is to eventually commentate for some grand thing like the Quidditch World Cup we went to before our Fourth year.”

He paused. “That is, it would have been grand if the Death Eaters hadn’t spoiled it…The people who hire me – honestly, the entire Quidditch industry – are all very self-important. I hate that. And I don’t really get to dive into a game quite the same way when I commentate for it. I’m an outsider.”

Flashes of those Death Eaters marching and floating that Muggle family in the air shot through Harry’s mind. He shuddered, and then got a hold of himself. “I would hate to go to a game and not be able to enjoy it.”

Blaise nodded, and then stood up. “Let’s sit outside.”

Harry followed Blaise slowly outside, and sat down on the bench by the lake. It was beautiful, the stars, the castle, the lake, and it reminded him of Hogwarts. He felt a little nostalgic and sad for a moment, but then Blaise pulled him in close, and Harry pushed his nose against Blaise’s neck – whether because of the cold, or his tendency towards sad thoughts, he wasn’t sure.

He sat like that a while, just breathing in the scent of Blaise. His hand was on Blaise’s thigh, and Blaise’s hand was under his, stroking at the skin of Harry’s palm. It was a comforting gesture, and Harry almost wanted to fall asleep on Blaise right then and there. He did feel awfully tired now…

“Last night catching up to you?”

Harry groaned, and moved his head an inch so he could look at the lake but keep his head on Blaise’s shoulder. “Yes. Horribly so.”

“No flying tonight then, I guess. That reminds me. One bonus of my work is that I get to go to professional games without having to pay for a good box, or I can get a discount, sometimes. Would you like to go a Quidditch game with me?”

Harry lifted his head and looked at Blaise. “Like a real, live match? What, Hogwarts?”

“No, not Hogwarts, although we can sometime, if you’d like. It would leave us in different parts of the crowd,” Blaise smiled.

Harry chuckled. “I would sit with Gryffindor, and you with Slytherin.”

“Exactly. That’s why we won’t go to a Hogwarts game this week. We’ll go to a bigger match.”

This week. Meaning Blaise wanted another time where they did go to a Hogwarts game. Harry swallowed. His hopes were being buoyed by all of Blaise’s suggestions and apparent eagerness to spend more time with him.

He was a little curious who versus who, what country, when, but in the moment he was mostly giddy that he was going with Blaise, that Blaise had invited him, and that he would get to see a big Quidditch game.

“But…I don’t have the funds, necessarily.”

Blaise waved his hand in the air. “Don’t worry. You’re attending as my guest. Free of cost.”

“You get all that, just because you’re the voice for the game?” Whoops. Harry regretted that right away. It sounded like he thought nothing of Blaise’s job. Then again, Blaise had said he disliked this one the more out of his two jobs. And Harry’s question earlier had shown that he’d thought it could be enjoyable himself.

“Yes, I do.” Blaise didn’t look offended at Harry’s comment. He was smiling at Harry, as if perhaps Harry had voiced what others had. Oh, no. “They need my position the most, arguably; there are plenty of Quidditch teams, and places to host them, but not a lot of Quidditch announcers. It takes a lot of attention, you don’t really get to enjoy the game, and you have to be there whenever they say. It’s not a job a lot of people want to take on.”

“Why did you take it on, then?”

Blaise shrugged. “It sounded interesting. And even if it takes up more time than I like sometimes, it still leaves me plenty time to do what I wish at home or anywhere else.”

Again that freedom. Harry breathed a sigh of relief that he was in this freedom, for a moment, for a day, for a weekend, until his own job called him away from it, back into the intense aggressive search for killers, for criminal startups trying to revive the Voldemort following, and other troublemakers.

“What about your job?” Blaise had seemed to read the emotions on Harry’s face.

“I couldn’t imagine doing anything else,” Harry said firmly.

And it was true. He had wanted to be an Auror since the idea had been put into his head in Fourth Year, and although it was a hard job, he always felt passionate about it. He insisted that people be safe and killers be brought to justice, and even though it hurt a lot when he failed, and even though he had to go up against disgusting, powerful people, it was fulfilling, in a way many other things in Harry’s life weren’t.

Except Blaise. Blaise was fast giving Harry more fulfillment than anyone or anything had in a while. With fulfillment in mind – he wanted Blaise on his bed again – Harry grabbed Blaise’s hand, and said, “Let’s go back.”

“Back where?” Blaise’s eyes flashed with eagerness, and his smile was slow and easy. He had an idea of what Harry wanted.

“My room,” Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively like Blaise had last night, was it? “My bed.”

“Yes,” Blaise breathed, “Let’s make it messier…can we do something vertical as well?”

Harry flushed. “Yeah.”

They returned to Harry’s flat, and the crack of Apparition was still echoing in Harry’s mind when he found himself lying on top of his bed. Crouched over him, Blaise made the bed seem small, and his figure cast a shadow over Harry in the moonlight.

Harry leaned up to grab Blaise’s collar and pull him down into a kiss. With his hips, he eased upward and over, and Blaise got the point and switched their positions, so that Harry was above him. His eyes were bright and he smiled as he looked up at Harry.

“There’s that Gryffindor sense of power again,” he murmured, “I like it. I swear it’s what won you so many games of Quidditch at Hogwarts, besides your obvious talent as a Seeker.”

Harry kissed Blaise once, twice, on the mouth. “No need to envy us,” he breathed, “You have all the cunning, remember?”

He was at Blaise’s neck then, licking and biting. His fingers yanked Blaise’s shirt out of its tuck in Blaise’s trousers, and he pushed his hand down inside. The dark man groaned at his eagerness, arching up into his touch. He panted as Harry fondled him, rubbing, and when he was hard Harry removed his hand and sunk further down in Blaise’s lap, grinding them together.

“Mmm, Harry…” Blaise moaned low. “You really want it.”

Harry’s only answer was to whimper at the sensation of Blaise’s burgeoning trouser tent rubbing against him. He moved up a little then, settling his arse firmly over Blaise, and began to tease him in that way. He rid Blaise of the dark trousers so only his underclothes were left, and teasingly, achingly, pushed and wiggled so that Blaise’s hardness slid between the cheeks of his arse.

“Fuck,” Blaise panted, “My torturous ways are rubbing off on you…mmm!” He bucked up against Harry, making Harry shudder in pleasure. His cock was a sweet heat beneath Harry, driving him to sink lower against Blaise, driving him to jerk up and down as if Blaise’s heat was already thrusting into him.

Blaise wasn’t in the mood to wait or stand any more teasing, it seemed. He heaved himself up, taking Harry by the shoulders, and pushed Harry bodily back against the closet wall. Panting, his face flushed, he stripped Harry silently. Then he spelled off his own clothes. A tube of lubricant appeared in his hands a moment later, and Harry watched as Blaise rubbed it over himself in quick, easy motions.

Then he positioned himself, and pushed into Harry in one smooth slide. Harry moaned at the fullness of it. He knew he would ache tomorrow from the hard fucking, but it was so good right now to savor that amazing heat and firmness of Blaise within him. Besides, the Slytherin was flushed and trembling already, his hands hard and eager as they held Harry up and also fondled and groped him everywhere possible.

Slowly, with his lips parted in gasps and his eyes fluttering shut and open, Blaise began to move. Harry’s response was to push down once, hard. That drove Blaise deeply within him, and it was so good that he seemed to “see stars,” as the Muggle phrasing went, and his hands grasped at Blaise’s shoulders like talons. Encouraged and eager, Blaise picked up the pace. With every thrust of his hips, Harry’s fingers bit deeper into his shoulders, but Blaise didn’t seem to mind, even when Harry felt blood.

He wanted to let go, to not hurt Blaise, but he couldn’t. Blaise had pushed him tighter against the closet door, and his thrusts were quickening, shorter, faster, Merlin he was driving himself deep into Harry. Harry was making some animal sounds that could’ve sounded like real torture, except so much pleasure was spinning in him.

What Harry liked about “vertical one-oh-one” as Blaise had called it, was how close Blaise’s body was to his. They were pressed up so close that he could feel the slickness of Blaise’s sweat on his own skin. He could smell the scents of their sweat and maybe some cologne Blaise had put on, dizzying him. And Blaise’s hair was in his eyes again, but he kept moving, and his hands had a rough hold on Harry’s waist, and then he pulled Harry’s legs to wrap around him and moved even faster. The closet door was making a horrible scraping sound behind Harry with every thrust, and he thought for a second of the woman who lived below him.

Then he was too far gone into heaven, shouting as Blaise’s pace became furiously fast, and occasionally he would give one slow thrust so deep, so good. These thrusts made Harry positively on fire with pleasure, and he knew he was close to coming now. But he didn’t want it to end.

He gasped as Blaise pulled away, and taking hold of Harry’s wrist, he yanked him down onto the bed again. His naked body was plastered with sweat and his chest heaved against Harry. His eyes were electric; his glance alone sending sparks of goodness through Harry’s system. His smiling mouth kissed Harry, and his smooth hands groped Harry’s arse. He pulled Harry up, up, and he made up for the sudden empty feeling he’d left Harry with. His tongue struck in one long slide up Harry’s neglected, pleading cock, and his fingers pried Harry’s cheeks apart and thrust, wet and forceful, into Harry’s hole.

The combination of stimulation from both sides was almost too much for Harry. He whimpered against his partner, unable to decide which direction he wanted to push towards. Blaise’s mouth worked over Harry forcefully, hungrily, and he had his eyes shut in pleasure. At the same time his fingers were teasing Harry, pressing and rubbing, and the pressure was good.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d done everything else earlier, Blaise left Harry panting and lonely on the bed, and he said, “I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Let me just use one spell.”

Anticipation and dread lurched in Harry when Blaise took up his wand. He knew in the back of his head that if this had all been a ruse, now was the moment he would be toast. But he trusted Blaise. Only his paranoid Auror side thought there was a chance he couldn’t (constant vigilance!)…Mostly, he was breathless and aching and hard.

Blaise slid down over Harry again, and he licked over Harry’s ear. Then he cast a spell, and moved down to lick hard and hungry over Harry’s throbbing cock. What Harry noticed when Blaise pulled away from his ear was that the sensation of Blaise’s tongue on him continued, even though Blaise was now thoroughly engrossed in deepthroating Harry’s erection.

When Blaise left that second delicious treatment, he said the spell again, whispering it, and Harry cried out at the sensations rolling through him. Tongue was on his ear and on his cock, and Blaise’s beautiful figure was above him. Naked and hard, he panted, but a devilish grin was on his face. He enjoyed the show of Harry moaning and wriggling at the spell-induced pleasures.

Then he eased Harry onto his belly, and for a few short moments Harry was in bliss, as at the same time, like a warped threesome, he had Blaise’s hard cock in him, Blaise’s tongue on his cock, and Blaise’s tongue thrusting against an ear. It became so much that he was roaring in pleasure, muffled against the pillow, as Blaise rode him to completion. He came easily, the flood of pleasure undammed, and Blaise rode it out, before he came, too, deep inside Harry.

He slid in next to Harry, both of them barely fitting on the small cot, and watched as Harry lay on his back, panting. He cast Finite Incantatum then, and Harry moaned. “If…” he coughed, and regained his voice a little, “If I weren’t so tired, Blaise, I think you could keep me up with that all night, happily.”

Blaise smirked. His hands were on Harry, rubbing his sweaty chest, brushing hair away from his neck. “Yes, I could keep you ‘up,’ that’s for sure.”

Harry laughed, and allowed Blaise to cast scourgify on them for now. He fell asleep tight up against Blaise, with his lover’s hair on his pillow, breath in his ear, and strong arms wrapped around him.

The magical weekend was ended all too quickly. Its end came as a rapid tapping sound against Harry’s window. In a dream, he was walking through a busy village, and the tapping of an old man’s cane was loud in his ear, over and over.

Harry woke up with a jolt, and stared at the owl at his window. He had to get to work!

“Shit,” he hissed, “Shit shit shit.” He disentangled himself from Blaise, and opened the window so the owl could get in. His wards rippled to allow it. He breathed a sigh and took the letter from the owl’s talons.

The handwriting was familiar.

Harry,

It’s lunch time and you haven’t shown up. Auror Bennett said you haven’t shown up all day. If you don’t reply straightaway, I’m going to Apparate over, even though I’m in the midst of preparation and last-minute publicity madness for the upcoming Arrows versus Kestrels tournament. I invited Hermione and Ginny to come, but of course only Gin agreed. Want to come?

Worried about you,

Ron

“Arrgh. Ron!”

“What has he done now?”

Harry turned away from the letter, still frowning, and looked at Blaise.

The Slytherin was gorgeous, especially on Harry’s bed, lying half hidden amongst the sheets, his hair rumpled and his gaze amused. He wore a secretive smile on his face, one which seemed just for Harry. Plus, he knew how bothered Harry was by Ron and Hermione’s trying to get him back with Ginny right now. (Ron insisted it was “a fluke,” and Hermione that “If you work harder at it, Harry, it’ll work out. I know you two are in love.”)

Harry sighed. “Nothing. I’m late for work, and somehow Ron found out. Stupid, meddling…thank god he’s busy publicizing for a Quidditch match right now, or he’d have shown up already.”

Harry stalked over to his desk, scribbling a quick, short reply – Traveled, slept in too late, I’m fine, see you later in the week – and sending it off. He yanked his closet open to get ready for work. He would usually be angry that his supervisor had let him slack and be late, but he was also relieved he had been able to spend more time with Blaise. God, he was sore! He winced as he bent over and retrieved his red robes from their spot on the closet floor.

“Weasley works in Quidditch? Is he manager for a team? Or does he write for a magazine?”

Harry snorted. “Ron, write for a magazine? Right. No, he’s part of Q.U.A.B.B.L.E.”

“Quidditch Union for the Administration and Betterment of the British League and its Endeavors? Good for him. Represent, as the American teenagers like to say.”

“Which reminds me,” Harry said muffled as he slid a clean shirt over his head, having changed his trousers (Blaise was watching), and then grabbed his red robes, “Is the game we’re going to this week Arrows versus Kestrels? That’s what Ron’s working on right now.”

His head popped out of the top of his robes, and he noticed Blaise looking him over.

“Red is a good color on you,” Blaise said with a smirk.

Harry smirked back. “So is green. It makes my eyes stand out a lot.”

He grabbed his wand, shoved some case files into a worn briefcase, and stood by the foot of the bed. He didn’t know what to say to Blaise, but he felt giddy that he would see him again.

“Um…thank you for the night. Everything was delicious. And I look forward to the game. What day is it?”

Blaise sat up, and leaned up to give Harry a kiss on the mouth. “Wednesday. And it is Arrows versus Kestrels. Tell Weasley you’re otherwise occupied if he invites you, because I insist on getting you all to myself.”

Harry smiled. “Alright.”

“One more question, Harry, out of curiosity. How is it you’re an Auror already, so young?”

Harry reddened, and said, “I didn’t cheat. Between you and me, I’ll give a somewhat arrogant answer I wouldn’t give the press: I got in by being very good. And I studied my arse off for almost the entirety of the year I turned eighteen. I’m still a little lackluster in the stealth department, though. And then there’s potions.”

Blaise shook his head. “I can give you private potions lessons on the side, if you like. Without Draco sneering at you and Snape breathing down your neck, you might be decent at it.”

Harry laughed. “I doubt it. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Hours later, and he felt he could use Blaise’s vote of confidence again, as he tracked through a trail of blood left by a wizard on a murderous rampage. The scents of death had become familiar to Harry in his job, and so too was the heart-pounding rush of the chase. But this feeling of his stomach dropping as he realized he might fail, it was bitter in its familiarity. It wasn’t often he failed in catching criminals, especially ones who began sneakily and tried to end things in a bang, as this one had.

Out of breath, with pain singing up his side, Harry kept running, and stopped suddenly around the corner from a row of houses in a rich wizarding neighborhood.

The rain that had started a half an hour ago had washed away most of the blood trail – the killer had practically bathed in his victims’ insides – and lost Harry his Auror companions. He was alone. And some inner sense, the instinct that had saved him from Voldemort before, the breathless, simple knowing that had made him dive for the Snitch, told him he was close. The killer was hiding somewhere nearby.

If Harry presented himself, the killer would, too – the killer was tired of hiding, and he was tired of Auror nobodies chasing him, tracking him, but never finding him. He was tired of not having a name in the papers. He had killed Wizengamot members in his last two kills, and now, perhaps he hoped he would kill Harry Potter.

He was not the first to try and kill Harry. Harry wasn’t so arrogant as to think himself invincible, but he trusted his own skills enough to know he was not easy to kill. He wouldn’t be put on dangerous or puzzling cases did he not have skills, bravery, and a mind which suited the violent, active cases better than the desk-ridden ones.

Harry gulped in breaths of air as quietly as he could. He did not hold his painful side, but instead held out one arm for balance. He remained still until the dizziness and rush left. Slowly, tasting blood in his mouth from biting his lip, and inhaling the smells of jasmine and lilac and roses of nearby manors, he inched his wand around the corner, just the tip.

“Incarcerous.”

Immediately his spell was blocked, and Harry flung up a shield spell as the killer spat a curse in his direction. The red light of the spell bounced off of his shield and back. Harry slipped around the corner, and when he saw where the light had returned to, he whispered an attack of his own.

The killer had used an illusion though, it seemed, for no one was there where Harry sent his spell. Suddenly long, spindling thick ropes surged up from the ground and wrapped around Harry – around his neck, choking him, around his waist, pulling him to the ground, around his ankles, but he did not let himself fall. His wand hand still free, he gasped out a hasty spell that froze his attacker’s spell mid-way.

Bent over backwards, all Harry could see was a dark figure upside down leering at him from a window sill of one stately house. The man wore dark robes that were covered in blood, he had a wide smile, and even his hands had blood stains on them.

Harry’s wand brushed his hip as he lifted it. He was about to do Expelliarmus when the first slice came into his body. It was a deep gash at his waist, and left him gasping. He lifted his hand higher – why hadn’t he been disarmed yet? – when another gash was severed into him, this time on his wand arm.

Harry stared down at the white of bone that had been revealed. When next he tried to cast a spell, the cutting attack that had been cast on him ripped a gash diagonally down his face. Harry swore. Blood trickled down into his right eye, forcing him to blink madly. The pain was worse than a deep knife cut; it stung, and had begun to sizzle. The cut by his hip felt like it was burning now.

His eyebrow had been seared in half, his cheek throbbed in pain, his nose might be broken, and he had a split in each lip. Blood dripped down his neck and into his robes. Harry took a deep breath. Part of him wondered what would happen to him next. This spell obviously had some connection with his mind or his movement, because it had known when he lifted his wand hand and when he was about to speak.

But he couldn’t let that stop him. There were all those children this man had killed, Muggle, witch, and wizard. There were all their mourning families. And there were other families out there, still whole, that this man would rip apart if he were not apprehended.

With a bellow, Harry let loose a stream of spells that pummeled the man into the ground. He then petrified the man and rid him of his wand.

It didn’t matter that his face was covered in gashes, or that his wand arm was swelling up like a balloon, or that the gash at his hip was like burning fire that was starting to sweep into the rest of Harry’s body. He had caught another killer, and the man’s crimes were most likely to bring him to death after trial. Harry did not mind the thought of this man’s death, having had the bloody, sad faces of the killer’s victims in his head every night for the past month.

Before he collapsed, he sent a stream of red sparks high up into the sky as a signal of his location.

“Harry? Harry, what happened?”

“C’mon, mate.”

Harry woke up blearily to the sound of his friends’ voices. He was in the all too familiar Healing Wing of the Auror department in the Ministry. Dull candle light shone around him. That shelf of books on Defense Against the Dark Arts theories which he had never read was even more raggedy now. He hated this room, and he didn’t like the anxious sound of Hermione’s voice.

“The blood isn’t mine,” he said automatically. It was a well-versed phrase of his.

“Actually, Auror Potter, it was yours, but fortunately we’ve got you all healed up now. You might feel tired. You lost a lot of blood before the other Aurors came. I suggest you let your friends take you home. I recommend Flooing over Apparition, for at least a couple days. Expect some extra dizziness.”

The Healer was a short, squat man with a bristling mustache that reminded Harry of Uncle Vernon.

Harry sat up. His Auror robes, grimy and filthy, lay at the foot of the bed. He wore a pair of light blue patient robes. His friends shared a chair somehow beside the bed, Hermione’s gaze anxious, Ron looking tired. Harry pressed his hand to his waist, where the cut had been. No pain. He looked over his arm, and then winced at the sudden pain there.

“The bone will take some time to heal. Your supervisor has told me you can have time off work if you wish, though I’m sure the bone will be better by the morning. And your friend Weasley here has just told me he’s bringing you to a Quidditch game on Wednesday. That will help keep your spirits up.”

Harry sighed, and accepted the glass of water the Healer gave him. He gulped it down obediently. “Thank you, healer.”

The man nodded and proceeded to the next bed over. Harry was relieved he hadn’t stumbled over his words or asked Harry for an autograph. Perhaps he was one of the ones who had treated Harry in the Healing Wing before; Harry couldn’t remember.

“Not sure on that Quidditch game, Ron.” He smiled tiredly at his old friend. He hoped that was convincing enough to let him off the hook, so he could go to the game with Blaise.

Ron nodded. “It’s alright, mate. Let’s bring you home so you can have your arm better by tomorrow and get some extra rest.”

Harry nodded, and let his friends help him out of bed, for he was exhausted. But as he let them hug him and he didn’t say anything to wipe that worried look from Hermione’s face, he felt anger rising in him. Blaise was right. He had to take control of his life instead of letting his friends control it.

“Look, I do want to go to the Quidditch game on Wednesday,” he said, as he lead his friends to the nearest Floo fireplace, “but not with Ginny around. I’ll go by myself. I’ll have a blast. I do want to see the game, and all the hard work you’ve put into it, Ron.”

Ron frowned at Harry over Hermione’s head. “Alone? It won’t be the same that way. Who will you have to talk to about the techniques the flyers use? Who can tell you about the teams? Who can cheer and groan with you over moves? Come on. Don’t be ridiculous. At least Gin can enjoy a Quidditch game.”

Harry thought how, funnily, Blaise was the answer to all of Ron’s question. And Blaise could answer more questions about the teams than Ron could, probably.

Hermione huffed at this, but Ron ignored her. His gaze needled Harry in a desperate sort of fashion as Harry turned to the Floo.

“If she’s there, I won’t enjoy the game,” Harry grumbled. “Just drop it.”

“Will you at least come to dinner with me and Ron after?” Hermione smiled at Harry, and pulled a little on his good arm.

A pang of guilt slid into Harry, but he thought, wasn’t that just another way they controlled him? By guilt? He had to do things for himself, too.

“Maybe,” he said, and pulled his arm away. Then he jumped into the Floo. He thought to himself he’d much rather have another dinner with Blaise. Dinners with Ron and Hermione lately seemed to always come back to Ginny by the end. Argh! He waved to them from the Floo, smiling, to let them know he was okay, but inwardly anger was churning in him. But he was too tired to let it out properly. Perhaps it would explode on him later…

He plopped his Auror robes in the laundry room, and then sunk into a warm bath. His arm was propped up, and there, exhausted, he fell asleep.

He woke up in the midst of a nightmare that had something to do with faces being turned inside out. His arm was crackling and hurting as the bone re-grew, and Harry cursed at the pain that had become so severe it had woken him. He was usually better at handling pain now than he had been during Hogwarts, but he was extra tired. It had felt so good to sleep.

He shuffled out of his bathroom, and rolled onto his bed naked. On his belly, buried in his pillow that still smelled like Blaise, Harry slept deeply.

A series of tapping noises had not been able to force Harry out of bed. He knew he had Owls, or something important, but he was just too tired to deal with it. Even though the Healers had worked on him, he had lost a lot of blood, and had not slept well recently (until Blaise). Part of him was angry with his own body for being so tired – he had to WORK, he had to, because no one else could save the lonely, sad, dead faces in his case files from happening again and again.

But his body would not get up.

Not until a voice entered into his consciousness late the next morning.

“Harry? Did you know you’re all over the news?”

Harry turned over and pulled the sheets up. “What did I do now?” He was not in the mood!

Ron cleared his throat. “Well, apparently you’ve been hanging out with an ex-Death Eater. And working on some dark spells with him here in your flat. And you just might be shagging him, too. Of course, this is all according to the tabloids. The more sensible papers still wonder what you’re up to, though.”

Harry shot up. “What??”
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Harry Potter, Virgin Extraordinaire