Pure and Simple

Summary: The Dark Lord’s return is the beginning of the war. Harry meeting a certain auror is the beginning of something else entirely. Harry/Kingsley

Main Pairing: Harry Potter/Kingsley Shacklebolt

Genre: Romance/Adventure

Rating: M/NC-17

Warnings: Mature themes, slash, gay (male/male) relationships, violence, some angst, attempted noncon (just in one chapter), possible threesomes.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or it's characters…but can you imagine the possibilities if I did…

Author's note: Thanks once again to everyone reading and reviewing my story!

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The sun beat down on the back of his neck as Harry yanked at another stubborn weed that seemed determined to stay in the ground, carefully avoiding his aunt's begonias as he did so. A drop of sweat ran down his forehead as the weed finally came free and Harry absentmindedly wiped it away with the back of his hand. He viciously pulled on another weed and threw it behind him into the wheelbarrow he had fetched from his uncle's garden shed.

This had to be the hottest summer ever. He could feel his t-shirt sticking to his sweat soaked skin and could only be thankful he had changed into one of Dudley's old shirts before he had begun his work. Harry glanced at his sore hands and winced when he saw that they were red and raw from the constant weed pulling and the heat of the soil under his hands.

Standing up with the last of the weeds in his hands, Harry tossed them into the rusty wheelbarrow and arched his back in an attempt to loosen the tense muscles. The t-shirt rode up on his body as he did so, giving a momentary glimpse of creamy flesh before he dropped his arms. Harry grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow to deposit it's contents at the end of the garden beside the Dursley's compost bin and then set off to get the lawnmower so he could get started on his second job.

Over half an hour later, Harry stretched out once again to undo the kinks in his back as he looked in satisfaction at the perfectly mown lawn. Pulling the wrinkled piece of paper from his back pocket, Harry let his hand hover over his wand contently and then ran his eyes over the remaining chores. He sighed as he decided to stay outside and wash the windows. After filling a bucket with water and borrowing a few cloths from the kitchen, Harry set back to work quickly.

"Need any help?" a voice called, and Harry turned to see Dudley with a wet cloth in his hand and a nervous smile on his face.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Um-ok," he replied, returning the smile awkwardly.

"I'll get Vernon's ladder and start on the upstairs windows." Dudley walked away towards the back of the garden and Harry stared after him in a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Dudley was actually helping him with his chores. Harry sincerely doubted that Dudley had ever done a days work in his life.

They completed their work mostly in silence, with one of them making a comment every few minutes but with neither willing to mention Dudley's sudden bout of helpfulness the subject remained untouched.

"I really need to have a chat with Aunt Petunia," Harry mumbled to himself, rising up on to his toes to scrub at a particularly defiant speck of dirt.

The task was accomplished swiftly with the two working together, much faster than it would have been if Harry had been working on his own and for this Harry was grateful. He emptied the bucket full of filthy water into the drain outside and then proceeded inside to complete his last chores for the day.

"Upstairs and change right now," Petunia reprimanded both boys the moment they walked in. After glancing at themselves, they had to agree. While Dudley was wet, dirty and sweating from washing the windows, Harry was also covered in grass stains, clumps of soil and his previously neat ponytail was now in a dishevelled stat with wisps of hair falling around his face.

Harry followed a grumbling Dudley upstairs and after giving his arms and face a quick wash, he changed into a pair of Dudley's old jeans that enveloped his slim frame and a baggy shirt that fell past his hips. After hurriedly binding his hair, Harry headed back downstairs.

Cleaning the dining room and living room were easy tasks and swiftly completed because of the fact that they weren't very untidy to begin with. Starting with the living room, Harry began by straightening out the magazines and newspapers gathered on the glass coffee table, then plumped up the cushions stayed across the couch and armchair. He dusted every surface of the room meticulously and finally fetched the vacuum cleaner out from the cupboard under the stairs to clean the beige carpet of any accumulating dirt. Tidying the dining room took half that time, and Harry only had one thing left to do after he finished scrubbing the mahogany wooden floor.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry called, as he entered the kitchen where smells of dinner were beginning to waft through the air. "Will you be using the dining room for dinner tonight?"

"Yes, Harry," she replied, and then frowned as she took in his appearance.
Harry stared at her as she launched into a series of mutterings, and shook his head as he gathered the necessary tableware.

"Your missing some Harry," Petunia said when she glanced at the set table. Harry raised an eyebrow in confusion. He had set the table for three like always.

"You'll be eating with us tonight," she elaborated after seeing the expression on his face.

Harry's eyes widened considerably at her announcement. He never ate dinner with his relatives. He would usually make dinner, be sent to bed and sneak down after his aunt, uncle and cousin were finished to eat whatever was left over. If Dudley was to be believed and Uncle Vernon's rage was really that bad then Harry knew that he had to do everything he could to avoid him. Sitting at the dining room table with the furious man seemed to be the opposite of avoiding his uncle and the very good way to bring that rage upon himself. Some of his fear and hesitation must have shown on his face, perhaps the same emotions his aunt felt daily because she nodded at him.

"Fine, come down and have your dinner after we're finished."

Harry agreed gratefully and retired to his room after helping his aunt finish making the dinner. What was it about his uncle that still made him feel that little flash of fear every time he was in the older man's presence? Even after years of proving his worth and strength in the Wizarding World Harry had never been able to let go of the deep fear and dread he felt for his uncle. Perhaps it was Vernon Dursley's bulk and Harry's small stature in comparison, or maybe it was the knowledge that no matter how much muggle fighting Harry became skilled at Vernon would still beat him through sheer size alone if Harry was wandless.

Harry pondered over this as he pulled the soft exercise mat into the middle of his room and they settled himself on it with his legs crossed beneath his body. He now wore a pair of loose cotton pants and nothing else. Harry relaxed the every muscle in his body, something he had become very adept at and then worked on calming his mind which he found a touch more difficult. Meditation was become increasingly more easy every time he did it.

Harry closed his eyes to focus on breathing deep breaths. In through his nose and out through his mouth. Any thoughts or feelings, bad or good, that entered his mind he immediately recognized, accepted and then returned to his breathing while pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind.

Eventually Harry's mind relaxed to a sense of silence and serenity, and after a moment he uncurled his legs from their position and rose off the ground fluidly. Bringing his left leg up and resting the flat of his foot against the inside of his right thigh, Harry then slowly raised his arms above his head into a diamond-like shape with his elbows facing outwards and his palms together. He gracefully slid from one pose to the next, continuously stretching his muscles and each movement becoming more difficult than the last.

Vaguely, Harry heard swearing nearby, but the focused state his mind was now in was practically impenetrable state unless he decided otherwise. He moved into his next stance without a thought to who had spoken until he finally dropped elegantly back into his original pose and opened his eyes.

The first thing Harry noticed was that the light outside decreased significantly since he had closed his eyes. It was darker outside, not yet night, but the sun was rapidly setting. And it was colder. Much colder. Hedwig was perched in her open cage and opened one golden eye and hooted, watching him as he stood and crossed the room to close the open window.

The second thing Harry became aware of was Dudley's presence. His cousin was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, his broad shoulders nearly reaching both sides of the doorway. Harry felt his hand twitch unconsciously towards the wand in his back pocket and had to remind himself that Dudley had been nice, friendly even towards him today and that he wasn't a threat.

With difficulty he removed his hand from his wand. Harry forced himself to look at Dudley's shocked expression and felt amusement fill him as he took in the eyebrows that were nearly disappearing into his cousin's blond hairline.

"Holy shit! What the hell was that?" Dudley asked, finally finding his voice after gaping at him for over a minute.

"That was a combination of aerobics and yoga," Harry replied shortly as he flexed his tightening muscles so he wouldn't get a cramp and then flopped down onto his bed, which creaked ominously with the movement.

Dudley moved further into the room and continued to stare at him. "But that-that was unbelievable! The way you moved it-it made it look like you had no bones at all."

"Come in, why don't you," Harry said sarcastically. While Dudley looked embarrassed and slightly sheepish, his gaze never wavered from Harry's face.

Harry sighed. "It really was yoga. It helps you gain flexibility and mobility in your movements," Harry answered Dudley's previous statement. "It also allows you to discover muscles you never even knew existed," he added dryly, grimacing as he recalled the first few weeks they had spent training and the numerous aches they had acquired.

Dudley grinned at the look on Harry's face and opened his mouth to reply when they heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, followed by the sound of a car door slamming and the heavy thump of footsteps. Dudley nodded at Harry and hastily left, closing the bedroom door firmly behind him.

Harry heard the muffled sounds of Vernon greeting Dudley and Aunt Petunia through his closed door, and listened as they became quieter, indicating that they had moved further into the house. Harry carefully stood from his rickety bed and walked on silent footsteps towards his trunk, where he began to rummage through the various clothes, books and other magical equipment looking for something to amuse himself. Deftly ignoring his homework as he did so. He gave a quick intake of breath as he remembered the gift Hermione had given him on the platform yesterday and cursed for not recalling it sooner.

The small package was found within seconds and he eagerly pealed off the brown covering paper as he settled back on his bed. He smiled as the memory of Hermione's words returned, "to help you through your time at the Dursley's". His brow furrowed as the packaging fell away and revealed a small, beautiful book. It was smaller than most of his school books and Harry ran a hand over the smooth cover when he examined it. The cover was leather with an intricate silver design running along the edges, shaped like strange runes. A piece of parchment fell out as he opened it and Harry picked it up to read, smiling when he recognized Hermione's neat writing.

Harry,

I know how lonely you get when you spend your summer holidays with the Dursley's and I have a feeling that contact through letters may prove more difficult this summer considering certain recent events. So, I did some research -Harry snorted in amusement. What else would she have done? -and I came up with this. Now, before you go off in a temper or throw it in a bin and burn it, I want you to know that it was actually Ginny's idea and I am not to be held responsible in any way even if I created it.

This book is actually a diary, one of four. Ron, Ginny and I have the other three. They are also magically connected to each other. The diary's work almost exactly like Riddle's did, but instead of someone whose supposed to be dead writing back to you, it will be one of us instead. Anything that is written in one diary immediately appears in the other three. I have also magically enhanced the books so that they will only respond to our touch. No one else will be able to read what we have written unless we give them permission.

Please write soon Harry as I think it may be a while before we see each other again. I also want to plead once again for you not to blame yourself for Cedric's death. Voldemort's rebirth was something none of us could have predicted. It could not have been prevented and as selfish as it sounds, I am thankful everyday that you survived even if it meant the loss of another. Keep up the training, both magical and physical. I know you can't practice magic but at least you can read the theory. I hope we'll see you soon and write if you need anything. We'll get it to you somehow.

Love, Hermione.

Harry smiled sadly at the letter, he blinking back tears. He knew Hermione was right and that Pettigrew would have no doubt used Cedric's blood to resurrect Voldemort and then killed him afterwards even if Harry had not touched the cup, but that didn't stop the nightmares. Nor did it prevent the total and utter helplessness he felt watching Cedric Diggory die over and over again in his dreams, each time wishing that he had just taken the cup alone.

Hermione was also correct when she had guessed that the diary would freak him out slightly. Though frankly he would have been more concerned about Ginny's reaction and because it was her idea in the first place he couldn't really complain. The gift was so thoughtful and Harry found himself grateful once again that he had such brilliant friends. Grabbing a pen off his desk instead of writing with the usual ink and quill, Harry opened the first page of the book and began to write on the smooth, blank parchment.

Hey guys!

Thank you all for the diary. Hermione and Ginny your both geniuses. You have no idea how grateful I am for this. I'm fine for the moment and thankfully not in need of any emergency food supplies. It's a bit weird here though. Aunt Petunia and Dudley are being, wait for it: nice. Yeah, I know right? They've both changed. Kinda freaky really. Uncle Vernon is being his usual pleasant self. He got demoted from work though and his temper is worst than usual apparently. Haven't had a chance to find out for myself whether or not that's true and I'm hoping to keep it that way.

A gym opened near here in the past year Hermione, so there's no fear that I won't be keeping in good physical condition. Plus Dudley's after becoming an exercise maniac so I think you should focus more on lecturing Ron. Ginny make sure he doesn't eat too much of you mother's cooking because I don't think I can take Hermione's yelling when she finds out. Ron, you're my best mate and all but will you please do as your told so that I don't go deaf this year?

And thanks for the advice Hermione. Don't worry about me too much okay? Wouldn't want that pretty head of your getting grey hairs. Hope I see you all soon.

Love, Harry.

Skimming his eyes across the page, Harry closed the book satisfied and shoved it under his pillow for safe keeping. Downstairs he could hear the sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floor of the dining room, indicating that the Dursley's were finished dinner and that Aunt Petunia would want help cleaning up. After waiting a few more minutes Harry heard the sound of someone walking upstairs and a few seconds later the sound of Dudley's bedroom door opening and then closing reached his ears. Sighing wearily and deciding there was no time like the present Harry left his room to help his aunt and hopefully get his dinner afterwards.

Aunt Petunia was on her own in the kitchen and Harry presumed that her husband had moved the living room and the couch to watch the news. A plate of pork chops and steamed vegetables sat on the small kitchen table and looking to his silent aunt for confirmation that it was his. He received a nod and only then did he realize how hungry he actually was after not having eaten since breakfast that morning. Suddenly ravished, Harry began to scoff down the warm food, gulping it down with a glass of water.

"Slowdown or you'll choke," Petunia scolded him in a gentle, but firm tone. She was sitting opposite him at the table with a cup of coffee clasped in her hands and Harry watched as her eyes darted from the door leading to the living room, to the dishes in the sink. Harry felt pity and compassion stir inside him for the obvious fear she held for a man who was supposed to love and protect her.

Harry slowed his eating considerably, savouring every bite and then took a deep breath. "Aunt Petunia, why don't you go to bed and I'll cleanup down here."

The old Petunia would have glared at him and informed him she didn't want him alone in her kitchen. The new Petunia started in surprise, but then turned her weary eyes to him and nodded, her grey eyes full of thanks. She stood, placed her empty cup in the sink ant turned to leave but paused at the door as Harry opened his mouth to say something and glanced back at him.

"Harry, we'll talk tomorrow alright?"

Harry nodded his thanks and she left him feeling curious as to how she knew what he was going to ask. He filled the sink with warm water, and silently and methodically began to wash the dishes and place them on the draining board. Harry glanced out of the window above the sink as he dried the dishes and admired the brightness of the full moon before he remembered his old Defence Against the Dark Arts professor Remus Lupin.

Lupin was a werewolf and would no doubt be suffering the pain of the transformation right now. Remembering his old professor brought his thoughts to Sirius Black, his godfather. He recalled Dumbledore's words in the Infirmary following the Third Task. Sirius was to seek out Remus and others and bring them to Dumbledore. Harry felt a stab of jealousy at the thought, but dismissed quickly. He had no right to fell jealous of Sirius and Lupin's friendship just because he missed his godfather. Although Harry couldn't help wondering if friends were all Sirius and Remus had been before the animagus' incarceration. Their embrace that night in third year had been intense to say the least.

After a few more minutes Harry began to fell uneasy in the silence of the house. He could still hear the television blaring in the living room but the house still seemed so still. As he bent down to put away the last of the plates into the cabinet, Harry sensed rather than heard something move behind him. He had a second to curse himself for letting his guard down before he felt a sharp pull on his hair as it was wrapped around a large fist. Pulled harshly to his feet, Harry was then thrown across the kitchen, missing the table by inches, where he hit the wall on his left side and crumpled to his feet as the wind was knocked out of him.

That's going to bruise, he thought, attempting to gasp air into his battered lungs. A sharp pain ran up his side as he struggled to stand and Harry begin to reach a shaking hand behind him for the wand in his back-pocket. A fat hand seized his trembling one in a fierce hold and Harry was yanked viciously to his feet and looked into the red-faced, shaking form of Vernon Dursley.

"Your corrupting my wife! Turning her against me," Vernon spat.

Harry stared in shock and not a small bit of fear at the raging man.

"Its all you! Its all your fault!"

Harry, who stood cautiously in the grasp of his uncle, staggered when he was suddenly released only to go flying back after his uncle delivered him a vicious back-hand. He gasped as pain exploded on the right side of his face and scrambled backwards in fear as his Vernon advanced towards him again.
Expelled be damned was his only thought when he removed his wand from his pocket. There wasn't a chance in hell he was going to be beaten to death by his own uncle. An unexpected noise sounded from upstairs, Harry was startled from his fear-filled haze and Vernon from his enraged one.

"Get to bed," he spat at his nephew. "And put that bloody stick away." He turned on his heel and returned to the living room.

Torn between relief and shock, Harry stumbled to his feet and made his way unsteadily to the foot of the stairs. Wincing at the jarring pain in his ribs Harry climbed the stairs, leaning heavily against the banister and made his way to the bathroom. In the bright light cast in across the room Harry winced at the red handprint on his face and the slight swelling. He knew that by the time morning came he would have a dark bruise adorning his face . After wiping blood off his split lip and pressing a cold, wet cloth to his rapidly swelling face, Harry lifted his baggy t-shirt and felt his ribs and back. Nothing was broken but he winced from how tender his skin felt and knew that he would be sporting a motley of bruises there as well.

Grateful that his magic usually healed injuries twice as fast as normal, Harry left the bathroom with the cold cloth still lying on his aching cheek. Harry didn't bother undressing as he sat on his bed and merely kicked off his shoes. He groaned lowly then winced at the pain the sound caused as he set his alarm for seven the next morning, imagining how painful it was going to be jog for four miles with bruised ribs. He had never seen his uncle so mad before and Harry couldn't remember a time when Vernon had actually beat him before. Dudley had been telling the truth Harry mused as he sighed painfully while settling down on his back. Uncle Vernon's anger was beyond anything Harry had ever seen and he feared being on the receiving end of it again.

Attempting to clear his mind proved to be futile that night because of the bursts of pain that wracked his body every time he moved. Harry sighed in resignation and he closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness but dreading the nightmares that were sure to follow.