Beautiful, the Dark Heir (bdh09)

Chapter Nine

Original Chapter by Bittersweet Alias

The influence of a particular feeling: sudden, involuntary inclination prompting to action.


Frightened, Harry’s hands hit the freezing cold grounds of the Riddle Gardens. He was a few feet from his cottage but he couldn’t get himself to get any further. He was in a delirium of panic. He moaned and turned over, the tears building up, falling, and freezing on his face.

It should not have come as any surprise that all Micah was thinking about was an Heir. Did he even care how Harry felt? No, obviously not, because now he could get away with not having to fuck some random female!

Harry felt sick at the mere thought. He knew that there was never anything serious between Micah and him. Micah was an irresponsible seventeen-year-old who was simply out for fun with him and now he was out for – what would you call it? Pureblood duty?

All Micah saw was a brood mare replacement. To carry on the Montague name. He didn’t see the fear in Harry’s eyes at the thought of a male pregnancy, the horror that he felt. The need for the attention rather than – it!

Growling, Harry cradled his stomach. For some reason, if he was pregnant, he felt a loathing that he was so unnatural. The Dursleys were right – he was a freak.  He knew it was the despair talking deep down but right now he cared not.

“Hadrian,” Severus said in alarm. “Are you alright?” He quickly got on his knees. “Did someone attack you?” He didn’t think that was possible. No one in this manor could harm a hair on Harry’s head. Not even the Dark Lord for obvious reasons.

Harry shook his head. “I’m just a fucking carrier for a fucking Heir. That’s all I am.” Severus opened his mouth to protest what Harry was saying, but the teen was already struggling to get up. He sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I have to go. I have a part to play tonight… oh joy!” He said sardonically.

Severus watched as he disappeared into the cottage. He would have to speak to Remus and Sirius, perhaps they could help him and then later, he’d deal with Micah personally.


It was a half hour before the marking and Micah was sitting ungracefully in his usual armchair, staring into the fire. Romeo and Juliet was held in one hand while the other was unconsciously picking the threads off the arm of the chair. Micah didn’t feel so together all of a sudden. He now wished he had more time to think about this marking.

He balled one hand into a fist and slammed it onto the armchair, startling Pansy and Daphne who were nearest him.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Micah?” Pansy asked, placing a hand on her slender hip. “You’ve acted weird since you returned.”

Micah didn’t answer her nor did he look over. What if it was impossible to turn Harry toward the dark side? Then Micah would have no idea what to do. He would be branded for life. He knew that Harry was darker than he used to be but he wasn’t sure how far that extended.

Could Harry accept it?

And if he couldn’t, would he just leave?

Micah didn’t know, and to distract himself he brought the book close and opened it. The words were age-old English and it took a bit to actually get used to the way it read. So far what he knew was that the two biggest names in this so-called fantasy world were Montague and Capulet and they were mortal enemies and somehow their children fall for one another. He hadn’t gotten to that part yet but the name on the cover and synopsis told him what he needed to know.

Great, if he were Romeo Montague and Harry was – Juliet Capulet? What kind of fucking name was that? – was Harry telling them they were ultimately doomed?  The back of the book said it was some guy’s great Romantic tragedy.  He hoped he wouldn’t read the entire damn thing only to see Juliet strangle Romeo after getting pregnant with his illegitimate child.

Now that would be irony.

He read the reviews on the inside page before Act I. Apparently, Romeo and Juliet was written by one of the most famous playwrights of all time. He supposed every Muggle knew the title Romeo and Juliet. Micah wrinkled his nose. Well, he wasn’t thrilled by a Muggle taking his name. However, he was intrigued enough to keep reading.

Shakespeare, though, sounded oddly familiar.  He felt he must have read it somewhere, in some tome perhaps in the Montague library.

What would a Muggle poet be doing in there, though?

Adrian got his attention at fifteen till. “We have to go.”

Micah’s stomach was now swimming. He sat up and marked his place in his book.

“What are you reading?” Adrian asked curiously.

“A book,” he answered dryly.

Adrian rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of that, you arse. What’s it called?”

Romeo and Juliet.”

“… What’s that?”

Micah shrugged, but didn’t answer. He placed said book into his robes and joined Theo and the others.

The Meeting Hall they entered was brilliantly lit up by a row of flaming torches running down each side of the chamber wall.

Lord Voldemort was already there as were some of the higher ranked officials. If Micah thought he was always in a foul mood that was nothing to how he looked at the second. The magic was rolling off him and it was threatening, lashing against each one of them sending the wolf inside Micah on the edge of defense.

Everyone was in the hall but Viridian. Micah marveled at this, wasn’t he supposed to be here? He was responsible for choosing the ones to be marked, after all.

As if someone had heard the question in his mind, the double doors burst open and Viridian was standing there with two men on each side of him. He was the only one in blood red, hood drawn up and all.

“Viridian,” Lord Voldemort hissed.

“I apologize, Father. I was detoured,” Viridian said coolly. He brushed past everyone and took his standing next to the Dark Lord. The others stood to the side watching him closely. They must be his protectors, like the brat needed it! Micah thought with disgust.

“Very well, we are all here. Let the marking ceremony begin… Viridian?”

“Adrian Pucey, Connor Warrington, Theodore Nott, and Micah Montague step forward and remove your masks,” Viridian ordered sharply.

Micah obeyed allowing it to fall to the floor by his feet and it was then, one by one that each of them were marked. Micah was the third person, and while he remained calm and unbothered on the outside, internally he was fighting quite a battle.

Fuck, he’d never been so out of sorts. Micah had always prized himself on being well together and level headed. But at the moment he was anything but. The mark seared into his arm. It was agonizingly painful, but Micah didn’t even clench his teeth while watching it form. As he was slightly arched over, his book toppled out of his robes. He winced inwardly as Viridian bent down to pick it up, his burning wand held tightly in his grasp.

“Interesting, I wasn’t aware you were into Muggle Classics?” Micah gritted his teeth and glared at Viridian. He couldn’t say much in front of the Dark Lord. Viridian held the book out to him and he reached up and took it. But Viridian’s hold was a bit stronger. “Who gave it to you?”

Micah didn’t answer for a moment, instead he turned away and peered down at the mark.

“Answer him, Micah,” the Dark Lord ordered dangerously.

He knew he couldn’t lie, you couldn’t get a book like that in Diagon Alley. “A friend,” he answered straightening up and sliding his sleeve down over the burning mark.

“Muggle filth… I bet they’re filth, too.” He threw it back at Micah, causing a vein to pop in his neck. How dare he insult Harry! He caught the book but didn’t answer to that retort and instead took his place in his line. He didn’t trust himself.

The room was watching, curious and silent.

The Dark Lord began a speech about his high expectations and the long vicious training with his Heir, Viridian. Micah did not want to remain in the presence of that fucking pampered prince any longer than he had to. To speak about Harry, however unconscious he was about who it was, made his blood boil. It got something started deep inside him.

“Also, I would like an update on what our little friend, Harry Potter, has been up to,” Voldemort addressed importantly. “It seems that most of you go to school with him. I would like you to keep tabs on him so he doesn’t get in my way.”

Micah braced himself. This would be his chance. Perhaps his only chance.

“Why, oh why, must we talk about that half-blood?” Viridian hissed.

“It is important, Viridian.”

“I don’t see how. He’s a waste of time. If he gets in the way, kill him instantly.”

A low feral growl escaped Micah before he could stop it, causing everyone’s eyes to turn to him.

“Micah? Have you anything to say?” Voldemort queried.

Micah felt hot under his robes. He could feel the sweat building. “I don’t think Potter-Black is exactly what you think.”

The robes of a few Death Eaters rustled at the sound of Harry’s adopted surname.  Micah couldn’t help but smirk, waiting for his father or Malfoy to make the connection.

“How so?”

“He’s a prefect this year and I’ve had to deal with him a couple times. It seems to me that he has a lot of discord for Dumbledore-” Voldemort’s interest rose which encouraged Micah to keep on. “In fact, I know he despises the Headmaster. I overheard him speaking with that Mudblood that ambushed him outside of his room. Apparently, they stole his money with Dumbledore’s permission. I ran the girl off and had a few brief conversations with him. He held a lot of contempt for them. I have reason to believe that he may be falling Dark.”

“Oh?” Several of the Death Eaters were not agreeing on this. But Micah didn’t care. They didn’t know him.

“Yes, I’ve been in his room. He has mountains of rare dark arts books, I believe from his godfather’s personal library. A couple times, he’s come back from the Headmaster’s office so angry that everything in the common room bursts.”

“I remember that,” Adrian said. “I had no idea he was with the Headmaster, but he caused that vase to shatter right next to me.”

Viridian sneered. “That means nothing.”

“I think it would be rather beneficial if we were to try and – recruit him.”

Voldemort eyed him. “Really?”

Micah was feeling nervous once again. The Death Eaters were having a field day, he could feel his father’s anger radiating from here. “Yes, what better to bring down the light than one of its icons on our side? More people would flock over or surrender.”

“If he was willing,” Voldemort said. “You pose an interesting proposition.”

Viridian growled. “The proposition is stupid. Potter is pointless in this. He would do nothing but harm.”

Micah clenched his hands into fists at his side and it took everything he had not to strike the Dark Heir.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Micah said with super restraint. “I believe he would do a lot of good on our side. Bring people over with skill and value.”

Viridian tilted his head to the side. “Well, we could use him and then dispose of him when we’re through. He would be useful for a while. Might even make an amusing play toy for some of you lot.”

This whole time, Voldemort hadn’t said a word. But Micah didn’t care anymore. The red seeped through him fiery and lethal. He was pissed off and so were the wolf instincts inside of him. He’d never been so angry in his life and it came out of nowhere. There was no stopping it, he couldn‘t. It was as if he were under Imperius by his own mind and soul. “How dare you talk about my mate like that!” Micah was on Viridian before anyone had a chance to breath, he slammed the Dark Heir up against the wall, getting cries and screams of shock rippling the entire chamber. 

Voldemort however did nothing to stop them and held out his hands to the two guards. “I want to see this.”

No one dared to defy him and the two men who had been standing near Viridian watched and waited.

“Your mate?” Viridian sneered coldly. “You’re seeing the enemy?”

“Get with the times, Viridian.  He’s been blood adopted by Sirius Black and the last of the Gaunts!”  Micah longed to slap the hood right off his cocky face. What would he know? “He’s not an enemy, you little bitch! He’s my mate and don’t you ever talk like that about him,” he snarled. “You have absolutely no idea who Hadrian is. He is not some fucking toy! He’s mine!”

“Where, oh where, is your Slytherin self preservation?” Viridian asked pleasantly. “You’re acting like a foolish Gryffindor, attacking me in this manner.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think. No one ever speaks about Hadrian that way. You don‘t know a god damn thing about him!” Micah spat viciously.

“Why is that, Graham Micah?” It was now Voldemort’s turn. He was standing and watching the scene with a lazy sort of interest in his fiery orbs but the magic that pooled from his body was anything but lazy. Micah tensed, all his senses reeling and going back on alert. He knew that his life was about to end right here and now. He could feel it pulsing through the Dark Lord’s very fingertips. Everyone’s breath was being held back, eyes watching through white masks. He could hear his father somewhere along the background.

“Who gives a fuck why! Kill him,” Viridian ordered.

“I want to know why, Viridian. I’m intrigued that such a brat could capture the attention, especially Micah Montague.”

Did Micah dare mention it? He was under the mercy of Voldemort and had no way out. He was probably going to die at any minute. He’d become a traitor. There would be no living. He remembered the traitors that Viridian dealt with and he was sure that would be his fate. So why hold back? It was the least he could do, to perhaps save Harry if he were to die. The child would be pureblood… they wouldn’t kill off a pureblood child, might even let him make him legitimate before killing him off, considering there were so few of the old families left and his was one of them.

He was suddenly struck with an irony of lines from Romeo and Juliet. The few passages he had read were about the strife between houses. The attention drawn by foolish Romeo.

Micah was foolish Romeo. Lovely! He thought in disgust. But he held on tightly to his emotions. Call it a fluffy, cliché thought but he was Harry’s Romeo. He cringed at the un-Slytherin thought. What could he do now?

Micah let go of Viridian and drew himself up to full height, his eyes hardened. “He may be carrying my child.”

“WHAT!?” Caelius Montague couldn’t hide the exclamation, still trying to wrap around the thought that the pureblood he had met on Platform Nine and Three Quarters was none other than Harry Potter. “What the hell are you talking about Micah?”

“Stand down, Caelius!” Voldemort ordered, causing Caelius to move onto his knees, though his eyes blazed as he peered up at Micah.

“His blood adoption had side effects. He has the gene.”

“You slept with Potter-Black?” Draco Malfoy yelped from the crowd. He hadn‘t been marked but he was privileged to be there considering he too was the Heir to one of the oldest families. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“None of your damn business! That’s why,” Micah sneered.

“There’s a simple solution that, yank the kid out and kill the carrier!” Viridian sneered and again, Micah’s actions were too fast. He sent the back of his hand flying through the air and it landed on Viridian’s face. The red cloaked figure crumpled. 

“That was a bad move, Micah,” Voldemort hissed icily.

Finally, Micah had enough. The last straw was pulled. One hand gripped the pocket where his book rested. He whirled around and to everyone‘s surprise, glared right up at Lord Voldemort and it was in that instant that everyone saw the lingering wolf shining in his eyes, through every line in his face. “Like I care, you’re killing me anyway. I don’t have a chance in hell of surviving, so why hold back now?” he ground out, barely containing his rage.

“Does Potter really make that big of difference? You will sacrifice yourself for a foolish little Gryffindor?”

Micah’s knuckles were going white as he continued to clench the paperback. Viridian was staring motionless on the floor at Micah as if he were too surprised to react or fight back. Micah‘s attention, however, was not centered on the red brat sitting on the floor it was on the one who held his life by a cord, getting ever so closer to shredding that cord until he was fully gone. So what now, if he sounded weak?

“Yes, I will, My Lord.” He bowed his head once to acknowledge he had respect for the Dark Lord, but his mate came first. He had already laid claim to Harry before even he knew he had. All those weeks of following him around… Micah wouldn’t normally do that for just anyone. He didn’t waste time.

Unconsciously, Micah knew all along that Harry was his to claim, even if the conscious part of his brain wouldn’t let him acknowledge this. Wouldn’t let him feel it, instead riding it off as mere lust for a precious toy. But Harry was no precious toy.

He was precious, period.

“For him or the child inside of him?”

Micah’s eyes flashed. “Whether he’s carrying my child or not makes no difference. He is mine, I claimed him before the potential conception. Hadrian Muliphein Gaunt is mine. He was my mate before, I simply did not know that,” he repeated. It was then that Micah thought that maybe he hadn’t been clear enough for Harry. His intentions may have been murky. Was it possible that Harry thought Micah only cared about the child that may be possible?

It was the first time that Micah had ever felt so stupid. Harry thought he only wanted an Heir. That was definitely not true. It was simply a perk to the fact that Micah did want Harry more than he expected himself to, more than he had a right to, more than should be possible for anyone to want another human being.

“Interesting indeed, Micah. You have a more dominant wolf gene than I expected. I thought it was only a lingering trace. But you‘re full without the full moon transformation.” He wasn’t all that surprised that the Dark Lord knew about the traces in their bloodline.

Micah growled lowly. “Get it over with,” he said with resignation. His only regret was that he wouldn’t be able to tell Harry the truth, make it clear that he didn’t want just that child. Hell, he didn’t care whether he had an Heir or not! But the fact that Harry could bear a child for him and never anyone else was too precious, too beautiful, to ever let go. That thought alone made the instincts he had swell up with enormous pride. He couldn’t help it that the mere thought of his child growing inside his Harry, claiming him so completely that their essences merged to create another life, actually caused a thread of lust to appear.

Perfect before he was about to die.

“Actually, I prefer to deal with you in private,” Voldemort said coldly and turned toward all the Death Eaters in the room. “You are dismissed. All of you.”

In no time at all everyone filed out except for Micah, Voldemort, and Viridian who was now sitting up.

As soon as the doors closed, Voldemort turned to Viridian. “Did you have to take your words so far?”

Viridian shifted, gripping onto Voldemort’s arm and allowing himself to practically climb up. He didn’t say a word this entire time but Micah suddenly felt like he may have made a mistake. Viridian was an arrogant little bitch, but he suddenly looked small.


“I told you I wasn’t ready to do this tonight,” Viridian said grimly.

Voldemort scowled. “Will you stop acting foolish now? You have the same Gryffindor tendencies you accuse Micah of having, and I think Micah actually deserves an apology.”

Micah’s eyes went unbelievably wide. Did he hear what he thought he heard? The Dark Lord insisting that he deserved an apology? What the hell was going on?

Viridian whimpered. “I know.”

The whimper. Why was he whimpering? Micah scowled. “Just who the hell are you?” he demanded before he could shut himself up.

Viridian reached up and pulled his hood down, revealing plaited black hair and astonishing emerald green eyes.

Micah choked, eyes wide, and his heart practically fell out of his chest as he realized the boy behind the mask…

“I’m sorry, Romeo,” Harry whispered bowing his head. He felt ashamed for misleading him this way.

Micah felt faint and sick. He didn’t think he could talk or even trust himself to do such. He simply stared in disbelief. All decorum was lost. Sure, he’d been about to die and take it like a man. But now, here he was in front of… he couldn’t comprehend it and the words would not form on his tongue. Not only that but his hand was suddenly burning as though he had put it into an open fire.

That same hand that struck Viridian… no, Hadrian.

Voldemort rolled his eyes and sat Harry down. “Before you start yelling at Hadrian for not telling you the truth, keep in mind I forbade him.”

Micah found the movements in his body and nodded. He wanted to know when and how but none of that mattered at the second. What did matter was the fact that there was a bright purple bruise on the side of Harry’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Micah said sincerely. He took a hesitant step closer. Voldemort stepped out of the way. “I didn’t- know – or I never would have-” The wolf inside of him was actually whimpering in shame and Micah could feel it coursing through him.

He too was ashamed.

“I did it on purpose. I was angry and hurt,” Harry murmured. “I suppose, I still have a lot of damage done to me by Dumbledore and them.”

“Yes, that you do,” Voldemort said darkly. “I told you that you were jumping to conclusions, brat!”

Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. He tried not to flinch or gasp when Micah’s hand came up and cupped his cheek.

Voldemort crossed his arms and rolled his eyes imperiously. “This was not exactly what I had planned tonight.”

Micah lowered his head. “I apologize, my Lord.”

Voldemort waved a dismissive hand and Micah was a little stunned at how – human it seemed. “What is done is done. Harry is my Heir; he has been for quite some time. He not only has Sirius Black’s blood inside of him but he has mine and I share his.”

Micah was positively perplexed that the Dark Lord was talking to him so blithely. Giving him information. He turned to Harry to see the young teen tilting the side of his cheek into his hand. He was fighting an inner battle now. He hit Harry. He actually laid a hand on his small mate who may be with his child.

“Do you know now?” Micah asked him sharply.

Harry nodded. “I do, I’m sorry… really… It was something I didn’t think I would hear and then I heard it and … I started thinking the worst.”

“Damage is done. Forget about it,” Micah hissed curving his hand underneath Harry’s chin and lifting it so that he could see his damage. “Did I hurt you by slamming you into the wall?”

“No, Sirius padded the wall in time.”

Micah blinked. “Sirius?”

“Remus was here, too.”

Now that was a shock.

“I believe this meeting is over with, Micah. Keep your mouth shut about my Heir, as no one yet knows that Viridian is Harry Potter.”

Micah breathed in. “I will, of course, my Lord. I thank you.”

“Hn,” he turned and sashayed toward the double doors. “No sex in my chambers!”

Micah went white while Harry burst into giggles, bounced up and stuck out his tongue at the fiery orbed man. “We will, right on the floor where you curse everyone!”

“So long as it’s not where I sit…” Voldemort muttered disappearing completely.

Published by excentrykemuse

Fanfiction artist and self critic.

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