Title: Dust to Dust
disclaimers: not mine
warnings: boy x boy love, death, violence, language, sex
summary: Harry's spiraled down the dark path. The wizarding world has lots its only hope. H/D, H/SS
notes: THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY! People will die, there will be references to rape, references to blood-letting, and other baddies. If you wish for a non angsty/horror story then go read a humour. This is a very morbid tale of Harry becoming evil.
This chapter is short but will get longer if I get enough reviews to continue. I'd like at least 10.
Chapter 1- Dust to Dust
Nimble and slender fingers gripped the hilt of a snake-etched dagger, the gleaming eyes glowing and the tongue magically flickering against the slightly bronzed skin. The emerald oculates flashed dangerously at the hissing, inanimate creature. The blade knicked at the supple wrist where faint scars were barely visible. Tepid, crimson droplets of blood oozed from the slit. Shadowed underneath the wayward strands of raven locks, the pair of jade orbs twinkled in delight. The blood always made him tremble with arousal. The pain mingling with the orgasmic pleasure drew him to mark himself as such on various places of his body.
The dagger had been a gift from Sirius during the summer of his fifth year, just as he was turning fifteen; a year ago precisely. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, the blade sinking deeper into the vein. He could feel himself close to the edge. He had not been dabbling into the art of blood- playing for very long; only a since he had arrived at the Dursley's. They were even more wretched to him. The beatings could not be felt any longer; Harry was numb to it. He listlessly did as bidden by his relatives as the forced slave.
Harry hardened, his erection begging for release from the confines of the jeans. He ignored the appendage, focusing solely on the cuts he was making. He had completely zoned off any sort of pleasure the summer of Cedric Diggory's death. He didn't deserve it. He had let an innocent boy die. The memory caused Harry to slice further into the wound. He moaned wantonly, not giving a damn if he woke his kin from their slumber. Cedric had given him the pleasures of the flesh; he wanted noone else to be diseased by his murdering seed.
Flashes of their time together came unbiddingly. The rapid pulse as a pair of perfect lips suckled on his throat until it turned a wine-colored bruise. Those same lips, the tantalizing and soft lips, wrapped teasingly around his erection. The mind-blowing bliss of their sexual escapades in the showers, in the library, that daring time in the Quidditch shed. Harry was never a child. He had found love and lust when he was thirteen; too young for boy to experience the sheer raptourous desire he had. Cedric had given him his body and his love-Harry got him killed in return.
Harry's senses craved more of the knife. The craved snaked hissing in appreciation at what it was witnessing. He threw the dagger aside, bringing the wound to his mouth. He tongue greedily lapped the blood, sending pleasurable tingles through his entire frame. He didn't even notice when he orgasmed. Harry licked the cut until the scarlet liquid had diminished.
He blinked to awareness, feeling the still buzzing after-affects of his orgasm. He swiped his tongue against the steel, cleansing the blade of the blood. Harry tossed it into the small pit caused by the loose board on the floor. His eyes narrowed with sudden realisation. He was Harry Potter. The strongest wizard ever. He defeated Voldemort so why was he hiding his wand and other belongings? Why was he letting his weak relatives boss him around?
Harry grabbed his wand. He could destroy life with two words and yet he was slaving for his bastard kin? Harry's eyes slitted. He could leave any second and nobody would stop him. He didn't have to fear Voldemort; Voldemort was weak when compared to the amounts of damage Harry could emit. Harry darted to the miniscule closet, rummaging into the mess until he found a suitable bag. It was fraying and patched in several places but it would do.
Harry threw his dagger and invisibility cloak inside. He withdrew his robes, black ones, from the same hole and eagerly dressed. He shoved his wand into the huge sleeve so it nestled securely against his palm; he could draw it on a whim if he felt threatened. Harry opened his door carefully, the hinges creaking and protesting at his act. The young man descended the staircase. He could hear faint snoring from the living room; no doubt Dudley.
Sneaking past the blubbering, obese boy, Harry stepped into the foyer and opened the door to a bleek night. There were no stars in the heavens nor moon shining bright. The clouds were overcast, adding such a dourness to the entire situation that Harry's heart skipped. The bespecaled boy, the glasses his trademark along with his unique scar, stared at the quiet stillness of the outside.
Harry didnt know where to go. Sirius was still an outlaw, Remus was no doubt trying to hide the other man. The Burrow wouldn't do; he'd be stuck with answering numerous questions that he didn't quite known the answers too. Harry walked down the street of Privet Drive in Surrey, England. He could go to Hogwart's. It was his only choice but how long could he keep sane? He admitted, the goodness of the whole entire place made his teeth rot. Earlier in his life, he rejoiced the good but the evil was just as comforting and desireable.
It was Cedric's death that made Harry rethink his loyalties. He would never join Voldemort; he was an annoying pest. Dumbledore was nearly as bad. He could always fight Voldemort, win, and become the next Dark Lord but what purprose would that serve? None. Fear could control the people but so could fame and glory. If, when, he killed Voldemort, Harry could become the Lord of the Wizarding World. He could shape the people's wills at any sort of given whim. How delicious it would be to have people like Draco Malfoy grovel at his feet.
Harry smirked, heart floating on the fringes of dreams. He could become what people wanted. Everyone loved him, save the Death Eaters. He could bring the world asunder. Win their trust and their loyalty, and he could win the world. He could do what Voldemort never could. Act like one of those good, Gryffindor fools and turn.
Being evil was so much easier then being good. One didn't have to watch what one did. You could do anything you wanted. That was appealing to Harry who had never gotten to do what he wanted his entire life. Besides, wasn't he evil? Cedric died. It was his fault. Harry grinned. It wouldn't be so hard. Voldemort would be dead by the end of the week. He would be crowned champion and all would fall into place.
****
"Dust to Dust" by Misfits
Hate you father
for you have sinned
Why did you, Lord
let this life begin?
I'm not your savior
I'm not your son
A forgotten boy
Abandoned creation
With these final words, I pull the switch
We turn to dust
Dust to Dust
My name is like the kiss of death, then we embrace
We turn to dust
Mother, Father
Answer me
Your soul-less son
Your thing that should not be
A brilliant demon
A Monster God
You gave me life
But took the soul away
With these final words, I pull the switch
We turn to dust
Dust to Dust
My name is like the kiss of death, then we embrace
We turn to dust
Ashes to ashes, Dust to Dust
We belong dead, we belong...
disclaimers: not mine
warnings: boy x boy love, death, violence, language, sex
summary: Harry's spiraled down the dark path. The wizarding world has lots its only hope. H/D, H/SS
notes: THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY! People will die, there will be references to rape, references to blood-letting, and other baddies. If you wish for a non angsty/horror story then go read a humour. This is a very morbid tale of Harry becoming evil.
This chapter is short but will get longer if I get enough reviews to continue. I'd like at least 10.
Chapter 1- Dust to Dust
Nimble and slender fingers gripped the hilt of a snake-etched dagger, the gleaming eyes glowing and the tongue magically flickering against the slightly bronzed skin. The emerald oculates flashed dangerously at the hissing, inanimate creature. The blade knicked at the supple wrist where faint scars were barely visible. Tepid, crimson droplets of blood oozed from the slit. Shadowed underneath the wayward strands of raven locks, the pair of jade orbs twinkled in delight. The blood always made him tremble with arousal. The pain mingling with the orgasmic pleasure drew him to mark himself as such on various places of his body.
The dagger had been a gift from Sirius during the summer of his fifth year, just as he was turning fifteen; a year ago precisely. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, the blade sinking deeper into the vein. He could feel himself close to the edge. He had not been dabbling into the art of blood- playing for very long; only a since he had arrived at the Dursley's. They were even more wretched to him. The beatings could not be felt any longer; Harry was numb to it. He listlessly did as bidden by his relatives as the forced slave.
Harry hardened, his erection begging for release from the confines of the jeans. He ignored the appendage, focusing solely on the cuts he was making. He had completely zoned off any sort of pleasure the summer of Cedric Diggory's death. He didn't deserve it. He had let an innocent boy die. The memory caused Harry to slice further into the wound. He moaned wantonly, not giving a damn if he woke his kin from their slumber. Cedric had given him the pleasures of the flesh; he wanted noone else to be diseased by his murdering seed.
Flashes of their time together came unbiddingly. The rapid pulse as a pair of perfect lips suckled on his throat until it turned a wine-colored bruise. Those same lips, the tantalizing and soft lips, wrapped teasingly around his erection. The mind-blowing bliss of their sexual escapades in the showers, in the library, that daring time in the Quidditch shed. Harry was never a child. He had found love and lust when he was thirteen; too young for boy to experience the sheer raptourous desire he had. Cedric had given him his body and his love-Harry got him killed in return.
Harry's senses craved more of the knife. The craved snaked hissing in appreciation at what it was witnessing. He threw the dagger aside, bringing the wound to his mouth. He tongue greedily lapped the blood, sending pleasurable tingles through his entire frame. He didn't even notice when he orgasmed. Harry licked the cut until the scarlet liquid had diminished.
He blinked to awareness, feeling the still buzzing after-affects of his orgasm. He swiped his tongue against the steel, cleansing the blade of the blood. Harry tossed it into the small pit caused by the loose board on the floor. His eyes narrowed with sudden realisation. He was Harry Potter. The strongest wizard ever. He defeated Voldemort so why was he hiding his wand and other belongings? Why was he letting his weak relatives boss him around?
Harry grabbed his wand. He could destroy life with two words and yet he was slaving for his bastard kin? Harry's eyes slitted. He could leave any second and nobody would stop him. He didn't have to fear Voldemort; Voldemort was weak when compared to the amounts of damage Harry could emit. Harry darted to the miniscule closet, rummaging into the mess until he found a suitable bag. It was fraying and patched in several places but it would do.
Harry threw his dagger and invisibility cloak inside. He withdrew his robes, black ones, from the same hole and eagerly dressed. He shoved his wand into the huge sleeve so it nestled securely against his palm; he could draw it on a whim if he felt threatened. Harry opened his door carefully, the hinges creaking and protesting at his act. The young man descended the staircase. He could hear faint snoring from the living room; no doubt Dudley.
Sneaking past the blubbering, obese boy, Harry stepped into the foyer and opened the door to a bleek night. There were no stars in the heavens nor moon shining bright. The clouds were overcast, adding such a dourness to the entire situation that Harry's heart skipped. The bespecaled boy, the glasses his trademark along with his unique scar, stared at the quiet stillness of the outside.
Harry didnt know where to go. Sirius was still an outlaw, Remus was no doubt trying to hide the other man. The Burrow wouldn't do; he'd be stuck with answering numerous questions that he didn't quite known the answers too. Harry walked down the street of Privet Drive in Surrey, England. He could go to Hogwart's. It was his only choice but how long could he keep sane? He admitted, the goodness of the whole entire place made his teeth rot. Earlier in his life, he rejoiced the good but the evil was just as comforting and desireable.
It was Cedric's death that made Harry rethink his loyalties. He would never join Voldemort; he was an annoying pest. Dumbledore was nearly as bad. He could always fight Voldemort, win, and become the next Dark Lord but what purprose would that serve? None. Fear could control the people but so could fame and glory. If, when, he killed Voldemort, Harry could become the Lord of the Wizarding World. He could shape the people's wills at any sort of given whim. How delicious it would be to have people like Draco Malfoy grovel at his feet.
Harry smirked, heart floating on the fringes of dreams. He could become what people wanted. Everyone loved him, save the Death Eaters. He could bring the world asunder. Win their trust and their loyalty, and he could win the world. He could do what Voldemort never could. Act like one of those good, Gryffindor fools and turn.
Being evil was so much easier then being good. One didn't have to watch what one did. You could do anything you wanted. That was appealing to Harry who had never gotten to do what he wanted his entire life. Besides, wasn't he evil? Cedric died. It was his fault. Harry grinned. It wouldn't be so hard. Voldemort would be dead by the end of the week. He would be crowned champion and all would fall into place.
****
"Dust to Dust" by Misfits
Hate you father
for you have sinned
Why did you, Lord
let this life begin?
I'm not your savior
I'm not your son
A forgotten boy
Abandoned creation
With these final words, I pull the switch
We turn to dust
Dust to Dust
My name is like the kiss of death, then we embrace
We turn to dust
Mother, Father
Answer me
Your soul-less son
Your thing that should not be
A brilliant demon
A Monster God
You gave me life
But took the soul away
With these final words, I pull the switch
We turn to dust
Dust to Dust
My name is like the kiss of death, then we embrace
We turn to dust
Ashes to ashes, Dust to Dust
We belong dead, we belong...