Prolog:
In the Shadows:
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Sadly J.K. Rowling is the only one who does. The Poem is my own and you can probably find it in the Original Poetry section, under Angst. That is all.
Rating: R (my interpretation of this is- if you are 14 or older and have a strong tolerance level, you may read it.)
Warnings: This fic is Slash. (Yaoi, m/m, whatever you want to call it that means guys together, in relationships) It is also very, very angst ridden. There is abuse, Non-con, cursing, blood, violence. If you don't wish to read these kinds of things leave now. No one is holding a gun up to your head and making you look at this. (And if they are, yell at them not me) You have been warned. All flames are useless, as they will be used to roast marshmallows. Now read on!
Thanx: To everyone who reviewed my previous fics, I never in a million years expected that reaction!! And a special thanx to Just Silver, my idol, who encouraged me to keep writing this. To the anonymous flammer who gave a huge laugh and plenty of fuel for my weird fic machine. And to Amo Draconem, who made a half hearted attempt to flame me, so I'd have more (I loved that one
I hope you guys enjoy this just as much!
It was haunted, they had been told, by several of the villagers. But they were your typical young things and thought it would be interesting and didn't listen. The house or mansion as it were, was convenient, being close to campus and cheap with all of them paying for it. And they didn't really believe in that sort of thing. 'The story behind that ol' thang' the lady behind the real-estate desk had told them, was that one hundred years ago a man had moved here with his beautiful young wife and two adorable children. He'd had gads of money, and built that house for his family to relax in. Everyone thought they were nice and they hadn't a scandal about them. Until one day a few years after they moved in, the wife disappeared. Next it was the children. Then came the horrible moment when the man had stumbled into church, 'during the Sunday service no less,' screaming about the Devil and 'all that blood.' Then he had slit his own throat. The authorities had searched the house the next day and found three horribly mangle bodies. 'Obviously they were his wife and children.'
It was not a pleasant story but none the less, they bought the house anyway. And prepared to move in starting next term. A few weeks later they were all settled in and going about their daily routines. Never once suspecting that in the shadows, a presence existed, something ancient and evil. It watched and waited, patiently for it's chance. After all it had waited a hundred years, what was a few more weeks…