The Bitter Hug of Mortality | R | Chapter Three
A/N - Just a quick note because people asked, I did leave a few clues as to how old Harry was but apparently I suck at clue giving. He's twenty-two, so Charlus is twenty-three. Draco is also twenty-three as it's currently June in the story. Hope that clears things up! :)
Also, people have mentioned Harry being the one to defeat Voldemort. He didn't. Charlus did. He was just being a child, children like bright shiny objects and Harry likes death. Really, it was inevitable that he'd reach to touch the Death Curse.
I don't normally do this, but this chapter is dedicated to Katzztar, who shares so many of the same opinions of certain characters as I do! This chapter is early because of them, go thank them! Lol (the next update, by the way, will probably be next week some time, if nothing happens in RL)
Chapter Three
The week that followed after the unexpected visit from the Dark Lord - and Harry was still trying to convince Antioch that it wouldn't be a wise idea to poison the man with his beloved eclairs. For one it would ruin his reputation. Plus, he'd totally be found out and killed in a painfully slow way - was rather boring and had no other unexpected surprises of the wizarding kind, though Harry had woken every day wondering if he would have another hapless customer who tried to fob him off with goblin gold. Useless metal. If Harry were actually able to trade it in a jewellers for actual gold, then sure, he'd have accepted it and laughed all the way to Maude's jewellery shop. But goblins were wily little buggers who for one, didn't hallmark their gold and thus making it seem fake to the eye, and to top it off, it was charmed so it didn't react correctly to any chemicals a jeweller might have used to test if it was gold at the absence of a hallmark.
Really, Harry thought it was a little selfish of goblins actually. Did they realise they were swindling muggleborns and squibs of a fortune? Probably. That was probably the reason they did it. Actually, that was definitely the reason they did it.
Still, the point was, Harry had been fully expecting and therefore had readied himself for visiting wizards, fully preparing himself to act like the slightly off-balance muggle he was masquerading as and it was all for naught. The only slightly strange thing that had happened had been Mrs Lovage inviting him to join the WI - and Harry pointing out that him being male, it was kinda redundant for him to join something called the Women's Institute - but that was less magical and more… Mrs Lovage.
So Harry fully felt it was well within his right to whine at the injustice when, just as he'd finally calmed down and convinced himself that Volde-whatever had hated his eclairs and thus warned all his wizardly cohorts to avoid his bakery, and so was therefore finally acting more like his - still admittedly crazy - self, when low and behold a bloody wizard walked into his shop fifteen minutes before closing time.
He was totally within his rights to whine.
"Why didn't you bloody warn me?! What good are you? This is so unfair!" So Harry did whine. And then blush quite spectacularly when the attractive, behemoth of a man just raised an eyebrow in question and stared at him with fathomless dark brown eyes. And yes, Harry had possibly raided his aunt's old Mills and Boons books that night before for something to read.
Antioch had mocked him mercilessly.
"Oh yes, that's something a sane muggle man would say to absolutely no one when someone walked in their shop. Maybe you should just stay on tenterhooks until the end of your days."
"Not helping," Harry muttered, before coughing into his hand and them smiling sheepishly at the clearly bemused man - who was at least a good foot taller than Harry and so probably wouldn't even need to raise his wand to squish Harry like a bug. "Hi! Sorry, just er… you know? Voices. Um… How may I help you?"
"My boss said you made good cakes."
"Oh! Right! Mr Riddle, I'm assuming? Either that or Mr Hendricks, and well, he's kinda crazy and refuses to come in here in case I take his position as the town nutcase. Er…" Harry trailed off and mentally wondered why he was acting like a complete moron.
"Because you are one, honey. Now, I just got back from talking to Dowager Murray. Apparently-"
"NOT the time," Harry hissed, before mentally groaning and wondering just why he was making so many mistakes today when the man-mountain in front of him just raised his other eyebrow. He also absently wondered if a dead woman could still be called a dowager, as she wasn't exactly a widow anymore.
"Right. I like pies. Do you have pies?"
"Man of many words this one. Snatch him up, Harry. He's your opposite. Other than being clearly sane, I mean."
"I think not! My heir will not be with some inbred wizard pureblood!" Harry just shook his head quickly and took a step to the side as though to distance himself from the once again bickering Cadmus and Sylv.
"I have a couple of pies made. Umm, all fruit pies though. Sorry, I don't sell meat products."
"I like cherries."
"You're in luck! I have one cherry pie left! And as it's the last one left and nearing the end of the day, you can have it for half the price as well! Is there anything else you'd like?"
"Hm. Four jam donuts."
"Right! Okay! Oh, and I'll toss in the last two eclairs as well for er… well, um… Anyone! Free of charge! Otherwise they'll just be thrown away."
"Hmm."
"Right… so! One cherry pie, four jam donuts and two eclairs. That comes to… well, just two pounds!" Harry said cheerfully, boxing up the man's order as he rummaged in his pocket for the - hopefully - right money. He quickly placed the three boxes, all tied together with parcel ribbon, on the counter and took the offered money. "Thank you! Come again!"
"Hmm. I will," the man told him with a small smirk that for reasons unknown to Harry actually made him blush before he turned and left the shop, three boxes hanging effortlessly from the ribbon they were tied with.
"You lot are going to get me killed!" Harry exclaimed loudly once the door was shut and Harry had rushed over to lock it - only five or ten minutes early - behind the man. He threw his hands up in the air in annoyance and stomped back behind the counter to start cleaning up before he made what he could to prepare for another early morning the next day.
"Really, we were just pointing out the obvious! If anything, you're going to get yourself killed." Harry growled under his breath at Ignotus' words.
"Much as it pains me to say, he is right. You're normally quite good at just coming across a little unbalanced mentally without full out arguing with yourself. The arrival of this Dark Lord is not doing good things for your cover."
"Look, legally my name isn't even Potter any more! He'll never find out that I'm in any way related to the vaunted Boy Who Lived. Who, might I add, isn't exactly doing any saviour duties from what you've been telling me."
"The boy's right! That bloody Potter boy really isn't doing the Light side any good. I don't know much about about what's happening in that wizarding world of yours but even I know Harry's brother is useless."
"Oh, Frank, I don't know, I wouldn't say he was useless. Besides, if he was actually good at stopping the Dark Lord, then Dumbledore would be winning and I think we can safely say that none of us want that."
"You do have a point. As it is, Dumbledore is already making efforts to search for you. The lost Potter."
"Wait, what? Why? I'm nothing but a squib to him! What good would I be?" Harry asked, a little alarmed at Ignotus' words.
"Ah, but your mother has always had her doubts about you. She's hid it well but recently she confessed her thoughts about you. Sadly, Dumbledore took what she thought to heart so now he's hunting you down in the thoughts that you'll somehow make things easier for your beloved brother,"
"Right. He really is off his rocker, isn't he? How am I supposed to help, exactly? Man, why does the wizarding world have to think necromancers are those bloody dark wizards that make inferi," Harry whined, giving a small shudder at the thought of inferi, as he made his way into the kitchen with the remaining food he'd taken out of the display cabinets.
"I've been saying that for decades. Still, maybe we should work on your next focus. It should help ground you a bit more."
"So… it'll help me ignore you lot more?"
"Actually, it'll more likely widen your range to about twenty-five miles as opposed to the fifteen miles it is now," Cadmus admitted, and Harry just knew he was grinning when Harry groaned at the thought of even more busybody dead people trying to chat it up with him.
"Oh, it's not that bad. It's not like every person who has died within a twenty-five mile radius will want to talk to you. Everyone that had died within ten miles doesn't!"
"True, but now a bloody homicidal Dark Lord is living less than ten miles away, there'll be loads of dead people soon and they'll all want to talk to the crazy kid who can hear them whine on about how unfair it all was," Harry grumbled, pouting as he beat his frustrations into the dough he was making.
"Well, that is true, but they'll soon realise that you don't give a damn and won't be doing anything to avenge people you have no connection to. Just better hope he doesn't kill anyone you're actually related to. That could be awkward."
"You mean like half the wizarding world? My dad was a pureblood after all. How is it remotely a good thing to marry your cousin, by the way?"
"Oh, I don't know, we had a cousin who was quite the looker. Remember Elisabett?"
"Oh gods, please spare me from this decidedly creepy conversation."
"I'm with my adorable little nephew on this one. Though I suppose back in your day it wasn't quite so unusual to marry a second cousin or so," Aunty Sylv added musingly, making Harry wrinkle his nose in distaste. Not that he knew any of his cousins - in fact he was only aware that he had one - but he was pretty sure he wouldn't find them attractive and certainly wouldn't consider marrying one.
"Gross."
"For you, maybe. Then again, I've seen your cousin. Quite the… large lad. Now, enough about this, I think you should make plans to do the ritual on Sunday morning. You don't open on a Sunday anyway, so you'll be able to sleep in afterwards."
"Do you think I should go into Great Hangleton and use the graveyard there? Less chance that Volde-whojit will pick up on the magic used and investigate."
"That is true, but the graveyard in Little Hangleton has older graves that you are more familiar with. Then again, maybe it would be better if you went to a battlefield. You haven't made one there before. It would certainly be an experience."
"Yorkshire does have the most battlefields of any county in England."
"You know the most random facts, Aunty Sylv."
"You would too if you hadn't offended your history teacher so much that he refused to allow you into the GCSE class!"
"I didn't offend him! I just pointed out that his facts were wrong! It's not my fault we visited York Cathedral where there are actual dead bodies and those dead people contradicted what Mr Macartney was saying!" Harry defended himself, pouting as he thought back to how his teacher had reacted that day.
"Yes, there is a downside to talking to the dead, isn't there? Now, I've decided that my idea was a good one, so you just need to pick a battlefield."
"Bosworth!"
"There was a reason you weren't allowed in the Geography GCSE class either… Bosworth is in Leicestershire."
"Hastings!"
"Sussex."
"I thought you said there were loads in Yorkshire! So far all the ones we've mentioned are somewhere else! Where was the one with Robert the Bruce? I wouldn't mind talking to him."
"A battle did take place in Yorkshire but The Bruce didn't die here. In fact they won. But if you want to go there, it's Byland Moor."
"It's a moor? Necromancers can't become werewolves, right? I remember you telling me that, Cadmus. That's true, right?"
"Yes, it's true but the film that is making you think werewolves are actually hunting the Yorkshire moors wasn't real. In fact, as far as I'm aware there are no werewolves currently in Yorkshire. Well, except the ones that visit your resident Dark Lord. Of course, this is all completely obsolete because it isn't even a full moon on the night you'll be in the moors. In fact, it's a new moon. Which is the reason I said to do it this weekend."
"Fine, that's good then. So we're going to Old Byland to talk to some angry dead Scotsmen and Englishmen? Great. Now I just have to work on pretending to be muggle a bit better."
Marcus Flint walked through the halls of Riddle Manor, ignoring the odd looks he was getting from the Death Eaters he passed due to the boxes of baked goods he was carrying, and instead made his way to the main dining hall where he assumed the Dark Lord would be, but also knew Malfoy Snr and his father would be there waiting for the donuts. And even now, Flint was bemused by the mere thought of watching Lucius Malfoy eat a jam donut.
He entered the room and silently placed the boxes on the table, glancing over to see that the Dark Lord was indeed in there and was watching him with mild interest.
"What are in the boxes?"
"Cakes, My Lord. And a pie. My father and Lord Malfoy wished to try some jam donuts, so I went down to buy some. The… slightly strange man who worked there also gave me some free eclairs. Claiming that they would go to waste so I should just take them. Though he didn't offer me any of the other food that would go to waste. No idea why he just gave me eclairs," Marcus admitted with a shrug, wondering what he'd said when the Dark Lord's eyes narrowed at him.
"He didn't give any reason for giving you free eclairs?"
"No, My Lord. To be honest, I think he's a little insane."
"What makes you say that?" Lord Voldemort asked, moving nearer to the table and glancing at the now open boxes and casually picking up an eclair.
"Well, he was talking to himself and seemed to hear voices. Are all muggles that odd?" Marcus couldn't help but ask, the strange baker being the only muggle he'd really had the… pleasure of meeting.
"No. Most are rather dull. He is different and I think we should keep an eye on him. There is something about him that tells me he is not your average muggle."
"What makes you say that, My Lord?" Flint Senior asked, struggling with the donut he was eating, though Malfoy was somehow making eating the thing look elegant. Marcus had no idea how he was achieving that.
"He seemed to recognise me. Though maybe recognise is the wrong word. No, he seemed to know enough about me to be wary. He was very nervous the whole time I was in the shop."
"Yes, he was quite nervous when I was in there. Like he couldn't wait for me to get out of the shop."
"That's exactly how he was with me. And Draco mentioned that he knew of Gringotts. He is a very well informed muggle, if that is indeed what he is. I have doubts to that though."
"You think he's a wizard?"
"No. I sensed no magic in him. If anything, I think he is a squib. I am sure, though, that he knew we were wizards. Dark wizards at that. I also get the feeling that he knows more about what happened to the family that owned this manor than the rest of the muggles in this town."
"Do you want us to bring him in? Question him about what he knows, My Lord?" Lucius asked calmly, for some reason the suggestion making Marcus' hackles rise.
"No. Not yet anyway. For now, we'll just keep an eye on him. Perhaps place an eavesdropping charm the next time one of us goes there to see if he says anything that'll give him away, or perhaps if he's in contact with any wizards. It would be dangerous if he was and were to mention one of us to them. Who knows who that would get back to. For the time being however, we'll just watch him," Lord Voldemort told them whilst reaching for another eclair. Marcus watched him and began to have the sneaking suspicion that the insane baker squib had in fact given him the free eclairs for a reason.
"Of course, My Lord. We can charm one of the chairs he has in the shop front with an eavesdropping charm the next time someone goes in there. That should at least get us some information."
"In the mean time, maybe we can find out a little about the baker. I only know his first name is Harry, short for Horatio, other than that, we know nothing. Perhaps it would be in our best interest to find out a little of his history and see if he is indeed a squib. Lucius, see if your contacts know anything and Marcus, maybe you could go the muggle route. Get Barty to help you there, he has an unhealthy interest in muggle technology, he'll be able to help you find out what you need."
"Yes, My Lord," Marcus agreed, mentally groaning at the thought of having to work with Barty Crouch. That man was more crazy than the squib baker.
Harry stifled a yawn as he grabbed everything he would need for that night's ritual, ignoring the nagging of Ignotus as he carefully placed the extortionately priced set of crystal blades - and boy was Maude curious about why he needed those - wrapped in a specially made case of black silk, admittedly it should have been velvet, but touching velvet made Harry feel physically sick, into his bag, along with a couple of roughly cut stones and a few strands of his hair that had been soaking in his blood for twenty-four hours.
"I think I have everything. I checked Yahoo for where exactly Byland Abbey is and I think I have a good mental image of it, so we can shadow walk there. Which is totally a good thing because I don't think the trains run at two in the morning."
"Good, you should make your way to the nearest cemetery then so we can leave and get to the moor before three."
"Actually, maybe we should head to the other graveyard. The nearest one would be Riddle cemetery. I don't think it would be a good idea heading there just in case we bump into someone we really don't want to. Especially given what Frank told us they have been discussing."
"You do have a point. Fine, go to the graveyard next to St Peter and St Paul's. It has the added bonus of being consecrated ground, so it should help you a little. But hurry up! Your ritual has to happen at three."
"Yeah, yeah. Hold you horses," Harry grumbled before he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, then grabbed his house keys from the table and quickly made his way out of the house, thankful for his 'religions' insistence that he always wear black as it aided him in going unnoticed in the dark. The new moon also helped him with that.
Harry quickly jogged to the main, and only, catholic church in Little Hangleton that was about a mile across town from where his cottage was and, when he got there, quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching before shimmying up and over the wrought iron fence that surrounded the grounds and generally just gave the place an all round creepy and intimidating feel to it.
Well, to normal people. Harry was far from normal in any sense of the word and as soon as his feet touched the hallowed ground of the graveyard, he relaxed as a feeling of home washed over him. This was his second most commonly visited and used graveyard, second to the Riddle one which was now lost to him much to his distress, and he knew all the 'residents' there.
"Where to for the portal?"
"It's not a portal. Stop watching ridiculous sci fi tv shows that put these silly words and ideas into your head."
"What is it then and where do you suppose would be the best place to set it up? I've never left from this graveyard before. Always used that creepy grim reaper headstone over Tom Riddle Senior's resting place," Harry admitted with a shrug, glancing down when he felt something brush his ankle and smiling when he saw it was Madam Locke. He knelt down and brushed his hand over the hand reaching out of the ground, smiling when it shuddered. "Sorry, Mimi, not here to talk tonight. I've got to head over to a battlefield. If I have time when I get back, I'll drop by though, yeah?" Harry's answer was given in the form of the hand brushing over his pulse point in his wrist before retreating back into the ground. Harry then stood up once more and brushed the dirt from his knees. "So?"
"An old Earl was buried here a few centuries ago. His headstone is just behind the church and should be large enough for you to draw the gate on." Harry just nodded silently to Antioch's suggestion and made his way through the gravestones to the back of the churchyard and where the headstone Harry assumed Antioch was talking about was placed. It was a rather impressive size, coming up to Harry's chest in height and would be the perfect place for his gate.
Quickly walking over to the impressive headstone, Harry dropped his bag next to it before kneeling down in front of the back of it.
"Hey, can I borrow your headstone to create my gate, please?" Harry whispered to the ground, hoping the owner was around at the time and not busy gossiping in wherever it was the dead went to catch up.
"Of course you can, Master Necromancer. Indeed, it would be my pleasure."
"He's not a master yet. Soon though." Harry just rolled his eyes at Ignotus' reminder of his less than perfect necromancer status and instead reached for his back and brought out some chalk as opposed to bickering with his many times great grandfather.
"Thank you. I promise I'll wash the chalk off when I return," Harry whispered, then started to draw intricate runes and symbols on the headstone. In quick order, Harry swiftly wrote the last of the runes, then bit his thumb to draw blood and smeared his blood across the entire stone. Taking a step back, he felt his magic being drawn from him into the runes and symbols, then with a barely audible rushing sound, the headstone shimmered before seemingly becoming transparent, showing a vision of a field. "Here's hoping I was thinking of the right place, huh?" Harry muttered before he shoved his chalk back into his bag, picked it up and then, taking a deep breath, stepped through the gateway.
Just like stepping through an open window, there was no feeling of displacement or anything else to suggest he'd just travelled several miles in one step. As soon as his feet touched the ground on the other side of the gateway, he knew he had gotten the right place. He could sense the deaths that had happened there. None of them particularly pleasant, and he could feel the anger and rage that had caused those deaths.
"Pleasant place. Right, I'm Horatio Peverell and I would very much like to use your resting place as my grounding point to create my next focus bead thing."
"Why should we allow this, little necromancer?" Harry jumped at the deep voice that had answered him in Scottish-Gaelic, making Harry so very glad that he'd pretty much grown up speaking many now considered dead languages. Well, the ones common to the island now known as Great Britain.
"Well, it would be nice?" Harry answered in the same language before sighing and slumping a little, "Look, here's the thing, there's this Dark Lord who's just moved into my town and if he finds out what I am, I very much doubt he'll have any qualms forcing me to raise armies of the dead. Something I'm very much against, as I'm sure you all are as well. Creating another focus will help me to hide what I am. I don't want to be dragged into the war the wizards are having. It won't end well for me whatever side finds me first. So, please? Can I use your resting ground?"
"You give a good argument in your favour. We may not be of those chosen to use magic but we know what is happening in that world. We agree with you, it would not bring good tidings were you to be found out. Because of this, we will agree to allow you passage and grounding. And know, that should you need our battlefield in the future then you will be free to use it."
Harry gave a small sigh of relief at being given the go ahead and then wasted no time in setting up what he would need for the small ritual he was about to perform. He knelt on the floor and carefully laid out the three knives he would be using in front of him, then placed a sprig of willow and another sprig of hazel, both cut from trees in his garden, by his side and took a deep breath to centre himself.
"Lord Death, hear my call, I offer sacrifice in order to advance myself in my skills that you have graced upon me. I offer myself, blood of your blood, to show my respect," Harry whispered, cutting himself with the first blade, made of Garnet, the stone of his astrological sign, and letting the blood pool into the palm of his hand. He then grabbed the sprig of willow with his now bloody hand and the second knife made of Jasper and sliced along the length of the wood. "I offer willow to strengthen my connection to you and the dead." He carefully placed the now split willow on the floor in front of him before picking up the hazel, again with his bloody hand and swapped the jasper knife for his smallest and most expensive blade, the one made of sapphire and again sliced the wood lengthways. "And I offer hazel in hopes it will aid me in gaining wisdom from those that have left this life." Once more Harry placed the wood on the ground in front of him and then placed the knife down and wiped his hand on a strip of white silk that was already stained with old blood.
Placing that cloth next to the knives, Harry then whispered a small prayer over the bloodied pieces of wood in front of him and leant back, breath hitching as he felt his magic being drawn out of him into the offerings and feeling the rush of energy from the blood that had been split on the ground he was kneeling on twisting and flowing through him to join his own magic. After a couple of minutes at most - the fastest he had ever performed the ritual - the pieces of wood spontaneously combusted into dark green flames before turning the ash and Harry felt the magic build once more before he felt a small tug at his hair and the magic dissipated.
Waiting a moment or two to catch his breath and try to regain a bit of energy, he raised his hand shakily and patted where he had felt the tug, grinning widely when he felt another bead now a part of his hair.
"You did well and have clearly pleased our Lord, Horatio."
"Hmm? Why do you say that?" Harry asked with a frown, wondering how Antioch could tell he'd pleased Death just from a bead forming. A bead had formed almost every time he'd performed this ritual, the only time one hadn't was the first time he'd done it and had sneezed just as the branches had caught fire, abruptly ending the ritual and pissing Death off. Apparently.
"Your guide is right, bairn. Your bead is not made of obsidian like the others, it is made of emerald. We were raised to believe emerald gave the wearer peace."
"He's right. It gives the wearer peace, but it also helps bring mental and emotional equilibrium. Our Lord clearly knew the reason for this ritual and felt He would offer His own form of protection against the wizards searching for you."
"Well, that's kinda… scary actually. I like Death, He was a nice guy when I met Him, but I feel like He's singled me out and now the spotlight is on me. What if I let Him down!"
"You are the only necromancer in existence. It is a high possibility that you have always been in Death's favour from birth. When He indeed singled you out to carry His gift in your blood. Don't let Him down!"
"Gee, thanks for talking me off the ledge there, Uncle Cadmus. You really suck with the motivational speeches, you know?"
"I am not here to pander to your weak ego. Now pack everything away, thank the kind souls that allowed you to intrude on their peace and then let us leave this place. It will be dawn very soon and you have a headstone to clean before you can go to bed." Harry groaned a little at the thought of having to clean away any evidence of magic from the gravestone he had used as a gateway, feeling drained of all energy and really just wanting to fall into bed and not wake up until he absolutely had to.
Sighing loudly, Harry quickly wiped off all his knives on the bloodied silk rag and then wrapped them in the black silk, before placing them and the bloodied rag back into his bag and hitching it on his shoulder as he stood up, wincing as the blood rushed back into his legs.
"Thank you for allowing me to channel your energy in my ritual," Harry whispered, bowing his head in thanks and walking over to where his gateway was still open.
"You are quite welcome, favoured of Death." Harry winced at the new nickname he seemed to have been given and withheld a put upon sigh he wanted to release.
"Yeah, let's not call me that. Thank you again and I'll be back soon, if only to talk to you, I'm betting you have some interesting stories," Harry added with a grin before he ducked into the gateway and stepped through to the graveyard in Little Hangleton.
Once Harry had cleaned away any evidence he was there from the headstone, he quickly made his way back to his cottage and it was with relief that he closed the door behind him just as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon. He didn't even bother changing out of his clothes as he stumbled to his bedroom and fell onto his bed with a groan, silently promising himself that he would properly clean and wrap up his wound when he woke up before giving in to exhaustion and passing out.
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A/N - Just in case you were wondering, the meanings behind the stones Harry's knives are made of are as follows:
Garnet - as mentioned, it is the stone of his star sign, which is Scorpio (he was born on Halloween, don't forget)
Jasper - Protection against negativity and fear, it was used with willow, which is the wood of death.
Sapphire - Wisdom, which is used with hazel, the wood of wisdom. He really needs wisdom. Lol
Also, emerald, as was explained by Antioch, is used for protection, peace, spiritual, emotional and mental well-being and a whole load of other stuff, including helping eyesight and insomnia. Both of which are complete bollocks because I've worn emeralds in some form nearly all my life (it's my birthstone) and I'm blind as a bat and a chronic insomniac… I'm also possibly a little mentally unbalanced. *Snort*
Well, let me know what you think (and before anyone contradicts me, different cultures have different meanings behind gemstones. I'm using the ones I know of), cheers! Oh! And yes, if there does turn out to be a pairing in this, then Marcus Flint is currently winning the race in my mind.
If you wondering, Mills and Boons are the British equivalent of Harlequin novels, I believe. My grandma had loads of them, which now that I know what they are (basically bad smut) totally changes my view of her… *snickers*