bottom_draco

Title:Star Crossed
Author/Artist:

ran_mouri
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
*Summary: As a desperated attempt to get his family back, Harry decides to go to therapy with Scorpius Malfoy himself. There he will begin a journy to a better understanding of his psyche and the obsession that has marked his life and the ones before this one.
*Genre: .... I dunno,
Rating: R
Length: so far, about 5000+
Warnings/Switching?: No switching, guaranteed

*Author’s Note:Hullo all!! You must remember me from a few weeks back, when I asked you all to give me ten prompts to produce ten fics. Thing is, I realized most of your prompts I could fit into one long fic. So here it is. First chapter takes

mila2005 's prompts: spank, vulnerable, small.

Hope you don't mind

If Harry had to choose the moment his world came tumbling from its usual, comfortable, if not a little dull dynamics, into utter and complete chaos, he would have chose the moment he heard the six condemning words of doom:

“Dad, this is Scorpius, my boyfriend.”

If someone had told him he would have heard those words. Harry would have laughed it off, and maybe, just maybe, regarded it as an April’s Fool prank from his youngest daughter. Lilly, the only non Gryffindor from his family, had a naughty streak the size of the Forbidden Forest and liked, more than anything, to watch her family members squirm under her pranks.

He liked to think his daughter got her sense of humor from the late Fred Weasley. His wife, however, thought it suited her daughter’s unfortunate Slytherin surroundings.

However the case, the moment Harry heard the six condemning words of doom, it was not his daughter pranking him. It wasn’t April, either.

It was his youngest son, Albus, who had his arms possessively wrapped around the aforementioned blond boy.

It was during his son’s seventh year at Hogwarts.

Harry gapped at both boys for almost half an hour before he started laughing, wondering how on earth had Albus gotten some of the Malfoy brat’s hair to polyjuice his sister into posing as him. Then Lilly came into the room, stared at them and decided to sit down and enjoy the show.

Scorpius had looked up at Albus and kissed his cheek before announcing he was leaving, that his father was not feeling very well and that he should go see him.

As soon as he was gone Albus explained that the blond boy wanted to become a Psychomagus, sort of a Magical Psychologist, and as such, the first thing he had discovered, was that his animosity towards Albus was not the usual Gryffindor – Slytherin, Potter – Malfoy rivalry. He was morbidly attracted to Albus Severus Potter.

And of course, being Scorpius Malfoy, he had just walked up to Albus and told him so.

It had taken them two weeks for Albus to confess the same feelings and exactly twenty four seconds (Lilly had counted them) to fall into bed together.

Harry paled.

Albus kept his eyes fixed on his shoes.

Lilly snapped a holopicture.

The scream had roused James from his studies and Ginny from her nap and Harry felt he had made his point. Of course, knowing himself as he did, he should have stopped and listened to his children as they argued to him about how in love Scorpius and Albus were, and how they complimented each other.

While the only thing in his mind was that the brat was the exact replica of his father.

And could not be trusted.

Of course, all these led to him saying the incredibly damnable eleven words:

“While you live under MY roof you won’t see that boy!”

Albus had damned the whole family with only one word of his own.

“FINE!”

And had then taken everything from his room, shrinked it into his trunk, and left.

He would never come back to Grimauld Place.

And of course, the ‘I’m sorry I caused this’ basket Scorpius sent made it all worst. The little bastard must have known it would be mocking him for years.

The family had not been the same without Albus there.

Lilly graduated and left as well, claiming there was something out there she had to find in order to relax.

James came home every weekend, but without his brother and sister around he felt awkward.

Ginny said there was something wrong with Harry, something that had always been there, but only now she could see. She sent him for some therapy.

Which was the whole reason he was standing by the opulent white door in the middle of London with the engraved “Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy – Psychomagus” in elegant gold letters and the soft wind chime strapped to the door handle.

It had been Hermione’s idea, actually. Should Albus see him supporting his relationship and accepting Scorpius as a professional, he would be able to make peace with his family.

Harry sighed and knocked on the door. The wind chime announced his presence.

Albus opened the door.

“… Dad?” he asked. Harry grinned sheepishly. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, is Dr. Malfoy in?” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “I have an appointment.”

The smile that stretched onto Albus’ lips. Shy, hesitant but still wide enough for Harry to see his little boy on the grown man’s face, was enough to convince him it had been a good idea.

Scorpius Malfoy’s office was elegant and austere. Instead of couches and tables the young man had over-stuffed pillows and mats. Harry guessed it was normal for Psychomagus and that he wouldn’t be talking about his childhood in a recliner like in the movies.

Albus stood proudly by a small desk.

“I’m so glad you came, Dad. Scorpius is the best there is, I think you’ll benefit so much from this!” he spoke with such conviction that Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him Ginny had forced him to seek therapy and that Hermione suggested Scorpius.

He didn’t even know what was so supposedly wrong with him. Still he told Scorpius all he could think of, when the boy entered the room.

“If you ask me, Mr. Potter, I would say your wife is projecting onto you,” Scorpius said as he motioned Harry to sit on a cushion. Albus had disappeared into another office as soon as the wind chime called again, and Harry was relieved to see him go. He didn’t want to discuss anything that was affecting his marriage in front of his son.

Malfoy served him tea.

“What do you mean, projecting?” Harry asked, sipping his tea.

“Some people, specially the ones that had a special treatment during their childhood, tend to grow up with the idea that they are too special, too unique, therefore, any flaw in their logic must be eradicated. Their minds, of course, would try to erase any trace of flaw or fault they can, just to keep stability. Therefore, should there exist any flaw too great to be ignored, it has to go somewhere. In the end they project the same flaw they know to have towards their closest relation, so to be aware of it but not responsible.”

“You mean the problem’s hers, but she won’t accept she has a problem, so she basically makes herself believe I’m the one with the problem?” he asked, frowning.

Scorpius nodded.

“Mrs. Potter has always been treated differently, like something precious, therefore she developed this condition,” he said. “Of course, do keep in mind this is not actually her fault, she must not be even aware of what she is doing.”

It actually made sense. Since Ginny had been the only daughter in a house with six other boys, of course she had been special, she had been the little princess. It explained, of course, why she was so confident and extroverted. She was the Weasley Queen.

Then…

The thought came out of Harry’s mind before he could even think about it.

“Kind of like your father, huh?” he said absently. Then, realizing his mistake, he had covered his mouth with both hands. “I’m sorry, Scorpius,” he mumbled.

Scorpius looked unfazed.

“Don’t be,” he said softly. “Assuming my father projected as well would be a natural deduction, however incorrect.” He sighed. “Father is a complex mixture of nature, nurture and astral trauma. He was actually my thesis while I graduated.”

Harry blinked.

“I get the Nature and Nurture part, but… astral… trauma?” he asked. Scorpius smiled and nodded.

“Well, some people carry their own sort of trauma through their stay on this plane of existence, be it on this life of the next one or the one after that,” he explained. “Father had a passing so traumatic and repetitively so, that he had many issues regarding social interaction and trust.” The young man shrugged. “He even has the inverted star to prove of his passing.”

“Uh?” Harry wasn’t so sure why this conversation was more interesting that discussing why his wife was a spoiled little bitch, but it was. Even if it was about Malfoy. “Inverted Star?”

Scorpius took out his wand and drew an inverted black star on the air.

“Inverted Star,” he said. “Each spike represents a trauma suffered through past lives, when trauma cannot be ignored anymore and has lead to a last traumatic death, all spikes come together and form a star, see?”

Harry blushed a little, almost as if what he was about to say next could destroy his thin hold of a family.

“I think then, that I can make your job pretty easy,” he mumbled, unbuttoning his shirt. “I mean, instead of going through present traumas and me crying my eyes out.”

Scorpius’ eyes widened as he stared at the black inverted star on Mr. Potter’s collarbone. Anyone else might have mistaken it for a mole, maybe a scar of some sort, but he was a professional, and he could not be mistaken.

“Interesting,” he said, putting on his glasses. “5 spikes, quite an interesting journey you’ve had Mr. Potter. Almost as many as father.”

Harry frowned.

“How many spikes did Malfoy’s have?”

Scorpius grinned.

“Thirteen, and all proudly treated, he kept the star, though, as a reminder.”

“Ok, how do you treat this?”

The blond boy grinned and handed Harry some pieces of parchment.

“First of all you sign here and here, it’s only a formality stating that you won’t sue me should you find your past lives… unpleasant, many customers imagine themselves kings or heroes and are tend to get angry when they see themselves as prostitutes dying horrible deaths during a plague.”

Harry signed dutifully. He had already been told his past lives were horrible and had traumatized him, he didn’t have any high expectation.

“Now, Mr. Potter, I need to you call two anchors, people that will travel with you through your past experiences and will help you keep hold of your current life. Choose two companions, people you can trust implicitly and know you can fall back to.”

Harry nodded; already sure Ron and Hermione could come with him for this.

“I’ll leave you alone with the floo so you can call them. Meanwhile I’ll fix the pentagram and cancel all appointments for the afternoon.”

“Takes that long?” Harry asked. Scorpius nodded.

“Each time you review one of your traumas you will float in limbo and you will get an hour to review and come to terms with what happened, you need your anchors for that too,” he said, filing the parchment with Harry’s permission.

Albus came into the room as soon as Hermione and Ron came. All three of them looked worried.

“Are you sure you want to go through this, Dad? It’s rather traumatic in itself, you might see something you’d be better not knowing,” the boy asked his father. Harry grinned nervously at him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been through worst, and Malfoy could do it. Why shouldn’t I?”

Albus frowned at the obvious dip at his father in law, but kept quiet.

“I’ll monitor with Scorpius, just in case,” he mumbled. “While you might see yourself and your friends as you used to we will see the people you are now.”

“I’m glad you decided to do this, Harry, I’ve read several books about this treatment and-” Hermione said as she embraced her best friend. Ron snorted.

“Please stop her Harry, she’s been driving me crazy over your stupid star! As if you didn’t have enough weird markings already.”

Harry smiled and punched his best friend on the shoulder, then turned to Hermione.

“Herm, come on, lay off him for a while,” he laughed.

Scorpius peered into the room, his face flushed with excitement.

“If you are ready, Mr. Potter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,” he muttered, leading them into a wide bare room. There was not a single piece of furniture to sit or rest on it. And Harry wondered how were the boys going to endure seven whole hours?

“Please stand on the star,” Albus requested, signaling to three separate pentagrams on the white marble floor. “Remove your shoes and anything magical that might interfere with the process.”

Hermione and Ron dropped their wands and took off their shoes. Harry did the same and then took off his wedding ring. Unlike Hermione and Ron, who believed in their vows, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had insisted on wizarding rings that would alert the spouse of the wearer when said wearer removed the ring.

Most likely Ginny would be calling Hermione soon.

Albus grinned at his dad.

“Good luck, old man!” he beamed, waving. Harry grinned back.

“I’ll get you when this is over, you brat,” he mock growled. It felt good to have his little boy back.

Scorpius lit several candles and waved his wand.

All three pentagrams started glowing.

“Prepare yourselves, the first one is usually the most difficult,” he warned them before Harry felt the usual pull of his navel that in his mind meant portkey. However this time, his body did not disappear.

“Amazing!” gasped as she started floating in her place. Ron sighed.

“Get ready!” yelled Albus.

Harry, Hermione and Ron closed their eyes as their minds blanked on them.

Everything became dark.

---

Marcus Leontius was woken from his slumber by his best friend and companion, Quirinus Germanicus. He growled low on his throat and took his sword, ready to beat the bastard into oblivion.

“Don’t take it on me,” Quirinus laughed. “Commander wants you to see this, he said you’d be pleased.”

Marcus stared at his friend for a moment before standing up. All bones in his body protested. He glared coldly at the other man.

“This better be good or you’ll be kissing mighty Pluto’s arse by dinnertime.”

Quirinus only grinned.

As soon as they came out of the hut, Marcus could hear the screaming and banging that usually meant the raid had been successful. He scowled.

Commander had left him in town again. The old man thought he was too rough on the prisoners.

“Ah, Marcus Leontius, come over here!” said the commander, his big belly shaking as he laughed. Marcus Leontius obeyed, his eyes narrowed.

In front of the soldiers were a group of prisoners or spoils of war most likely. From their red hair and fierce blue eyes, Marcus Leontius could tell the little things were Pict. Just another group of barbarians.

“Want to take your pick first, Marcus Leontius?” the commander asked, his eyes glinting. “I know you hate it when we leave you behind. Take it as your reward for our last campaign.”

Marcus Leontius eyed the group without much interest, skinny women with muscled arms, most likely warrior women. He scoffed. Sending their women to fight, what a laughable tribe.

He was about to turn to his commander and tell him he’d rather use the spares as targets when he spotted fiery eyes glaring at him. Those eyes were silver in color and, unlike his comrades cowering before their conquerors, this barbarian held his head high, a sneer curling his lips.

Marcus smirked.

“That one,” he said. “The proud one.”

The commander looked at Marcus with a raised eyebrow.

“The Prince, you mean?” he asked. Marcus raised an eyebrow in return.

“Prince huh?”

“That’s what the old one was muttering when we entered their defenses,” the commander shrugged. Marcus stared at the supposed prince, his eyes trailing over every inch of naked skin.

He loved barbarians, really.

The women started growling at him the moment he seized the prince by the arm. Some even muttered what sounded like threats to him. Then the prince stared at him, and turned to his people, barking orders with a voice that, Marcus thought, was hard to believe was contained in such a small frame.

All warriors calmed at once.

“Impressive, little one,” he grinned, taking the barbarian’s chin by force and staring into those amazing silver eyes. So bright, so very pretty.

The Commander then, approached the tied warriors and women, a blond interpreter following faithfully.

“Tell these animals that they will be obedient if they want their prince to be safe,” the Commander snapped. The blond complied hurriedly, and Marcus knew the Pict were loyal to a fault when they all lowered their heads in deference to the Roman army instead of rising in protest, much to his new pet’s horror.

“Hey, you!” Marcus yelled to the interpreter. “What is this one saying?” With a bored hand he pointed towards his new red haired pet, who was currently yelling at his tribe.

The blond slave shivered, reluctant, before lowering his eyes.

“He is trying to order his people into attacking,” he answered softly. “He says his life is not important.”

Marcus stared at the frantic prince who, despite having his hands tied behind his back and a leather leash on his neck, kept his determination.

He laughed.

“Come here, pretty thing,” he said pulling onto the rope and dragging his new toy towards his hut. Now he decided that stationing the troops in this little hell hole of a town while small legions went around capturing the barbarians was a delightful idea. He wouldn’t have had as much fun as he would in an uncomfortable tent. “You and I will have lots of fun together.”

“Marcus Leontius!” called Quirinus. “Remember we depart from Rome tomorrow morning!”

“Not a problem!” he answered, waving a hand. The prince stumbled behind him.

“Wha…” Marcus turned to stare as those silver eyes glared at him. The same small but powerful voice tried to articulate words in their own language.

“What?” he asked as he secured the bindings around his pet’s neck.

“Wha… do yoo won frum my,” the young prince growled.

“My, aren’t you a smart little thing,” Marcus laughed out loud. “And don’t worry, you pretty thing, you’ll soon find out what I want from you.”

Slowly, the Roman walked back to a nearby table and grabbed a goblet, downing the wine on it. All the while, the boy kept staring at him with those amazing eyes.

He eyed him consciously, now that he could finally relax.

The prince was small, that much was obvious. Some of the women in his tribe were taller than him. Yet, they respected his ability. He was also a lot younger than Marcus Leontius himself. Maybe around fifteen.

How could he gain the trust and loyalty of his people being that vulnerable?

Every single Pict in the group cowered before the boy, and they all lowered their heads in penance at the thought of putting their prince in harm’s way.

“You sure are special, brat,” he mumbled, getting more wine for himself. The boy glared at him, silent, his head held high and his coppery locks caressing his skin as he sneered.

“Yoo vill dye,” he growled. “Yoo vill dye be my hund.”

Marcus Leontius grinned.

“Oh, really?” he mocked, taking some of the prince’s locks in his hand and bringing them to his nose. He smelled of sweat and forest and battle, something so completely intoxicating. “I’ll die by your hand, pretty one? I’d like to see you try. But first, I don’t think I can keep calling you ‘pretty thing’ as pretty as you are, so I want your name.”

“Dye,” the boy growled, tugging at his bindings.

“Last chance, boy, I’m not a patient man and I already got you understand what I’m saying,” he mocked, letting his fingers run over the boy’s naked shoulder. Sweet Venus, he was so soft. Not even the eight spiked black star contrasting on the alabaster skin of his arm was off-putting. “Tell me your name, my little pet.”

His only response was a snarl and the boy’s spit on his cheek.

Feisty little barbarian.

Just like Marcus Leontius liked them.

With a bruising grip, he took hold of the boy’s leg and dragged him towards his cot. His smirk widening at the pained yelp the boy let out as he landed on his hands and knees before the bed.

Colorful curses came out of the boy’s mouth, all in his strange and musical language, none Marcus could understand. Although, his tone was more than necessary to get he was been insulted.

He huffed and pulled the boy upwards by his waist, noticing how thin his bones were. He could easily snap them with his hands.

His eyes locked with the prince’s. The smile in his mouth twisted.

“You will tell me your name and then I’ll reward you,” he said slowly, making sure the barbarian understood before bringing his palm down flat onto the boy’s soft bottom.

Hard.

The boy cried out, then looked at him over his shoulder and shook his head, making sure to bite his lips and ready himself for the next blow. Marcus Leontius grinned.

“Though, huh? Too bad I’m not into tough kids,” he mocked, slapping the rapidly reddening skin a second time. This time, though, the prince didn’t utter a single sound.

He frowned.

The third slap was forceful, meant to hurt.

So were the fourth, fifth and sixth.

Little tears prickled the prince’s eyes as he received the seventh, eighth and ninth blows. And a small gasp betrayed him by the time the twelfth whack racked his small frame.

The red skin was so hot under Marcus Leontius’ hand, and still maintained the softness. This boy was no a warrior, at least not in the conventional sense. Then that mean that his tribe was not really Pict.

He grinned, imagining the real jewel he had on his lap. Gently submitting to his every desire, even without realizing it, as his soft and tender thigh rubbed constantly against the soldier’s generous erection.

Taking this boy would be paradise.

But he wouldn’t do it without making sure the prince knew his place.

And that would come with the first and most important submission of all.

“Tell me your name!” Marcus growled, his hand pinching the tender skin under his palm and kneading it roughly. The boy shivered but shook his head.

“Na!” he cried as the slaps moved down his thighs. He was almost ready to break, Marcus knew, the tears running down his cheeks and the sweat soaking his skin had washed out almost all the ceremonial paint the boy had on him. And the way his body trembled in fright at every single slap told the Roman his prey had not been made for humiliation or pain.

This vulnerable rabbit was not a warrior then.

How perfect.

“YOUR NAME!” he yelled, sneaking a finger between the clenched ass cheeks.

The boy’s eyes widened suddenly, his muscles tensing.

“CAEDYRN!” he yelled suddenly, terrified silver eyes turning to him. “Caedyrn!”

The slaps stopped.

“Caedyrn, huh?” he asked amused.

The boy, Caedyrn, slumped in defeat. His whole body shaking.

Marcus Leontius smiled benevolently. He would teach this boy to welcome his touch, soon. He would make this little prince, his vulnerable little Caedyrn, into his own perfect toy.

“Marcus Leontius!” Quirinus called suddenly, knocking on the door. “AN AMBUSH!! HURRY!”

The man growled, just when he needed it.

With tenderness he would have never admitted of having he took the spent prince into his arms and lowered him slowly to the cot, covering his shivering form with a cloak.

“Sleep now, Caedyrn,” he whispered, kissing the boy’s lips and savoring his unique scent. “You’ll need it.”

The boy sobbed into his mouth, his eyes tightly shut.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, don’t move,” he ordered, eyes narrowing as he left the hut. He would kill some more barbarians, maybe even get some pretty little friend for Caedyrn to play with.

Not that he thought another of those animals would compare to his precious toy.

Goddess, he couldn’t wait to touch him.

---

Caedyrn laid in bed for a few moments, still shuddering in pain and shame.

He had surrendered, if only a little to the foreign bastard. He had given him something as sacred as his name. He would never be able to go back to his people now.

If any of them were alive anyway.

With shaky hands he removed the cloak over him and stared at his surroundings. The hut was sparsely furnished, but some marks around the walls and the floor told the young prince this house used to belong to someone else. A family, most likely.

Still shaking, he tried to move, only to have the leather leash biting into the skin of his neck. He gasped out loud, covering his neck with both hands in a vain attempt to sooth the pain. Then he realized something.

His hands were stained in red.

But they also had found an arrow head stabbed into the hard leather. Most likely his captor hadn’t noticed it.

But he could tell immediately from staring at the hard stone edges to whom it had belonged to.

“Mother,” he whispered, kissing it. “Thank you.”

With skill unbelievable for someone as skinny or small as him, he took out the arrow head, careful not to cut himself further he cut the leather leash attached to his neck and then the ropes binding his hands together. His legs kept shaking and protesting in pain, but he realized that whatever tribe was ambushing the Romans, he had little time to run before they went back.

Suddenly a pale hand opened his door.

Caedyrn was at the intruder in a second, pushing his small weapon towards his neck.

Then his silver eyes widened as he recognized the blond slave the Romans had with them. The one that translated for them.

“You traitor!” he hissed. The blond slave lowered his eyes in shame for a second before locking gazes with him reverently.

“Prince, you need to get out of here!” he hissed back, enveloping the shivering body with a dark cloak. “The invaders are busy with the Iseny, but they won’t last long. All the other sons of the God Patter have been annihilated, your majesty! So all tribes have united to help your escape!”

Prince Caedyrn stared in shock.

All of his brothers, the one in Holy Communion with the gods… were dead?

“Once I leave all of you will be endangered,” he whispered, entangling his fingers with the tall blond slave’s. “Come with me.”

The blond man’s blue eyes widened.

“I couldn’t presume…” he muttered, his eyes downcast.

“That’s an order,” the prince growled, his eyes fierce. The blond slave nodded, still looking down, but a small smile filtered through his lips.

“As your highness wishes,” he answered before taking all the food and wine he could carry and stuffed them into a leather bag. “I swear upon my life and my passing on this world, your majesty, I shall protect your happiness.”

The prince nodded slowly before taking a jar of water and dropping it onto the floor and muttering some words into the ancient language of the gods. He would leave a curse upon the foreign monster who had been stupid enough to give him his own name.

The whole hut glowed a pale green before setting, almost as if nothing had happened.

The blond slave took hold of his new master’s shoulders and led him outside. They had very few minutes to make a run for it and reach the boat the others had stolen.

It was their only chance.

---

Almost three hours later, as Marcus Leontius crossed the doorway into his hut, the curse activated and he, unknowingly felt the difference. The hut was eerily quiet and most of his food was missing.

With haste, he pulled his cloak from the cot only to find it empty.

Prince Caedyrn had escaped.

His eyes widened even when a frown pulled his face in distaste.

The little bastard thought he could run away from him. It wasn’t going to happen.

“QUIRINUS!” he yelled, running out of his hut.

He found the other man cleaning his sword, a satisfied smile on his face turning into a confused frown as he saw his friend.

“What’s wrong with you Marcus Leontius?” he asked. The other soldier grabbed him by the arm.

“Caedyrn escaped!” he roared, his eyes wide and bloodshot. Quirinus blinked.

“Who?” he asked.

“My pet!”

The smaller soldier sighed, already understanding what his friend wanted.

“Let’s mount then and follow him, he can’t be that far,” he said, raising his sword with glee.

Marcus Leontius grinned, his blood pumping in his ears. He would show the little prince what he would do to him when he was re-captured. He would show him that his place from now on was by his side.

“Just wait and see, Caedyrn,” he muttered as he saddled his horse. “You are mine!”

Quirinus Germanicus stared over his shoulder at his best friend and companion as he mounted his horse and sped away. He had never seen the other man so angry, the way his face was flushed a purplish color, his nostrils flared and his eyes sparkled.

He couldn’t understand why the sudden fixation with a pet he had nearly known for some hours.

Silently he thought of his little Ainia, waiting for him back at Rome, and sent a prayer to all the gods so the young prince escaped safely. He didn’t want to know what would happen to the lad should Marcus Leontius find him.

Little did they know that both Caedyrn and his companion were safely sailing away as they spoke, away to never be seen by Roman again.

----------

Hermione and Ron woke up from their daydream with a start, floating among the nothingness that was the spell with worried eyes and hands that refused to let go of the other.

“That was horrible,” muttered Hermione, shaking her head. “That I stood and… allowed that to happen!”

Ron looked at her, his face full of confusion.

“Where’s Harry?” he asked. Both blinked, looking around for their missing friend. The nothingness that spread around them was suffocating and thick, most likely Harry had gotten lost in its oppressiveness.

“There he is!” said Hermione, floating towards the huddled figure among shadows. “Harry!”

Both, Ron and Hermione stood silently as their best friend threw up everything he might have eaten that day. His eyes were wide and fat tears rolled down his cheeks with each heaving convulsion.

“Hey, mate,” soother Ron, patting the other man on the back. “It’s ok. It’s over.”

“It’s… not ok,” whimpered Harry. “All the things I did. The people I hurt!”

Ron looked at Hermione for answers but her eyes were dull, as if she was reliving the horrors Harry described.

“What do you mean?” he asked finally. “Who were you? I remember seeing Hermione but most of the time I was back home cooking and taking care of the children while Quirinus…” he fell silent suddenly.

“Remember my friend Marcus, Ron?” Hermione asked, her eyes sad.

Ron nodded.

“Yeah, you told me about it, the one who went mad after he lost as slave and ended up pulling out the eyes out of his enemies…” he said.

“… because none of them had the correct eye color,” whimpered Harry, fisting his hands on his hair. “Because no one was as beautiful as my Caedyrn.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered, wrapping both arms around him. Trying to comfort his tortured psyche. “He was a wizard, one of the first, of course he would have looked special to you.”

“Yet, I hurt him,” he sobbed. “I hurt him and spent the rest of my life chasing after him, just so I could hurt him again. I was a monster, Hermione.”

“Yes, but now you feel repulsion at your acts, Harry,” she said softly. “You’ve learnt about pain and suffering, you are a better person now.”

Harry nodded miserably, he could see the logic behind her words. Had he not felt bad about what he had done, he would have been as bad as he was then.

He was a better man now.

Ron sighed, and wrapped his arms around his wife and his best friend.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter,” Scorpius’ voice cut through the haze. “But your journey must continue, four other stops await you.”

Harry shook his head for a while, afraid of what he might see, but then he looked at Hermione and Ron, his best friends.

Even if he’d been a horrible monster, they were still by his side.

He would not lose them.

He nodded.

“Take us there, Scorpius,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

The shadows swallowed them once more.

To be Continued.