Pendulum by HeartFailure

Chapter 7

Some special circumstances led to Harry using one Unforgivable Curse. He did when he was younger, searching for the Cup, desperate as he was to destroy the monster responsible for the death of his loved ones, months on the run and so much more really.

Then he had to use the Imperius Curse on people because of his work. When he decided that maybe Auror was his type of job, he was dreaming about the Light against the Dark, only good people fighting against the taint of dark magic, all this fairytale bullshit. He was naïve of course.

One day, his squad captured a guy from a hidden coven of witches and wizards trying to resuscitate Mordred out of all the fucking thing. Mordred ?! Like who the fuck still had time to try and resuscitate some wizard from Arthur and Merlin's tales ? What were the dark wizards even thinking ?

He was forty years oldish, blonde with huge blue eyes, his skin sitting tightly against his cheekbones and a roguish smile on his lips. He stared at them like he was the one holding them in a cell. Such a charismatic guy, in a kind of lunatic way.

The thing was, they needed someone from this coven to infiltrate it. So Harry bargained, laying promises of freedom, of amnesty... if he infiltrated one of them in their main base.

The guy wouldn't bulge.

He even gave them the address and dared them to try and go there themselves.

So what did he do, clever Harry, when he thought no solution was left?

He casted Impero, felt the power filled him and stared into the glazed blue eyes of this man. He saw the smile slip from his face as his mouth went slack. And he whispered in his mind what he needed to do.

The Light side. Right.

__

He opened a bleary eye and vainly attempted to move his torso when he woke up. He felt sore all over, which brought him back to a time where it was common for him to end up beaten up after a particularly nasty mission. Blinking against the white light of Hogwarts' infirmary, he searched for his glasses on the nightstand next to his bed. Putting them on, he looked down at himself. Wearing only his boxers, he had bandages on his hands and arms up to his shoulders but otherwise he seemed to be okay. No broken bones in sight, no concussion as far as he could tell.

He remembered falling, so he was very surprised to still be somewhat in one piece. Glancing around, he noticed he was again alone in the small private room, as if bringing him to a real hospital was not an option. These people, really...

Hopefully he could get away from this place and avoid the Aurors, who may have some questions about the raid. He groaned as he moved in his bed, his back hurting like hell. He really lost his edge and his physique after months behind a counter.

Harry spotted his clothes folded on a chair nearby, swung his legs on the side of the bed and stood up slowly. The pendulum was cold against his chest, a heavy weight taping beating against his sternum at every movement. He had hoped against everything that he wouldn't be involved in the war like this, even though he chose to contact Dumbledore. There was a difference between moving the pieces in the shadows and fighting Death Eaters in plain sight. What a stupid move. Maybe he needed a disguise like those comics superheroes he saw in the Muggle world so that people would leave him alone.

Super Wandman. Weird.

He scoffed and grabbed his t-shirt, passing his arms then his head through it when the door blasted open and a blurred figure crashed into him to hug him hard enough that his breath was taken away.

Sirius' scent filled the place and soft hair brushed his neck, tickling him slightly. Harry returned the embrace awkwardly at first, more than aware of his lack of clothes, his blood stained shirt stuck beneath his armpits and the closeness of the other man. He could feel his heart warm alongside his face, a blush creeping down his chest. Harry couldn't help but bury his head in the crook of Sirius' neck, drawing so much comfort from this, the longing inside him tugging at his very soul.