I hated it. I changed it. I still hate it.
Warnings: moderately graphic torture, sexual situations, language, self injury, abuse, dark subjects, Ocs, slash
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I'm worthless
The savior, the golden child, the figurehead of the wizarding world, was dead.
Kinda.
His mind was folded, twisted, hidden. To protect himself, he built up the shields. Nothing was let in.
Nothing was let out.
He breathed.
It's my fault
His relatives seemed to have forgotten the concept of "food." He didn't know how he was surviving. Once upon a time in a land far away, he had read that, if the body was pushed, it could survive extremes by consuming the storage of fat. His body had been pushed. And he was thin. Much too thin. There were no stores left. And yet he breathed.
My fault
The golden sheen faded from his skin. Back when he was capable of wit, of feeling, he thought it ironic. Now he thought nothing. The skin was pale and dull, stretched over the bones that jutted sharply from his body. The blue veins began popping up after two weeks. The red appeared after three. In.
I killed Serious
His lips were chapped and bloody, worn down to a constantly bleeding mess from the bites and the efforts to hold in screams. Out.
Killed them all
His hair was limp and dull, dead. It hung like cobwebs, feathering over the recesses of his face. His windoshades. But no longer needed it. His eyes, once so full of life, once boiling and fizzing with every emotion that passed his mind, were blank. Lifeless. One had acquired a grey tint, the iris mottled from a slice of a blade. In.
It's all my fault
Although his heart was in turmoil, he was blank.. As long as he showed nothing, he didn't exist. Out.
I'm such a fuck up
He watched the moon. Watched it rise, watched it until it was gone from the sky. Then he waited, until it fell again. The moon lived for him, he rationalized. It was his freedom. It was his wings. In.
an idiot
It wasn't always this bad. He wasn't always this broken. He wasn't always gone. Out.
they don't care
Just a few months ago, he would have been smiling. Laughing. Grinning. In.
no one cares
But now he had a routine. Watch the moon. Get tortured.
No one will ever care
And, when neither was possible,
no one should
abuse himself.
all my fault
and breathe.
Oh, did I forget to elaborate upon the torture, dear reader? You see, Harry's scars weren't solely from him. His lifeless eyes were not merely the result of a month of self depreciation and starvation. That he could have lived with. His Life was Tom's. His Soul was Dumbledore's. But his body was his. It was.
TWOMONTHSAGO
There was not a word spoken as Harry was driven home from the station. Something was...different. He'd not had a single threat, a single insult, a single glare from the Dursley's. He had, however, gained a small smile.
It scared him more that he would let on.
Then they pulled into the driveway. Vernon walked into the house, leaving Harry to deal with his trunk. The house was quiet.
Not for long.
As soon as he stepped inside, Harry was grabbed from behind and slammed into the wall. He felt something latch onto his neck.
And then his soul shattered.
There was pain, too much pain, too much to know. It was everywhere, it was nowhere. It was violating him from every direction. And then it left, as suddenly as it came, leaving Harry shuttering with a strange sense of hollowness coursing through his veins. He was shoved roughly down the stairs, tumbling until he came to a halt on his stomach. He felt his clothes ripping. That snapped him out of it soon enough.
"What the bloody fuck are you doing?! There's no way-"
"Mind your manners, Freak! We know! E know everything! Your freak leader gave us all the details in THAT." Vernon roared, still hacking off harry's clothes. Harry fumbled for his wand, tucked into his back pocket. He aimed it at Vernon. "STUPEFY!"
Nothing happened.
Harry's eyes widened in shock, loss, fear.
Nothing.
Happened.
He cried out in terror, looking up at Dursley. "W-what..."
Dursley smiled. Harry started. He thought that only Voldemort was capable of looking at someone with so much malice, so much hatred. "Your minister took care of that, too. He kindly sent us that collar" the words were spat out "in the hope that we could contain you. Even your own kind think's you're a menace!" Harry was paling.
"Dumbledore-" His protest was cut short at the look on Dursley's face. "Gave his consent. Get that, Freak? You can do NOTHING! We CONTROL YOU. Understand?!" Harry was shaking his head, slowly, back and forth.
Back
And
Forth
"Take off your clothes."
Harry tried to resist. He tried. But he couldn't, he couldn't and he slowly tore his clothes form his body. His eyes misted with tears, his cheeks flushed scarlet.
Naked and shivering, he was ordered to sit in a chair, where Vernon bound him with a thick steel chain. He couldn't move an inch. Something was put over his eyes, and all went dark. A gag was shoved down him throat, forcing harry to place all his concentration on simply not throwing up.
He felt something grab his penis, slowly pumping him. Nothing happened. "Get aroused." Something happened. Harry heard an excited gasp as Dursley realized it. The hand continued, shortening and increasing it's movement, stroking him, until he was about to orgasm, and then, it stopped. A thin wire was placed around his regions, tightening until it bit into his flesh. Similar wires were place around his balls. The hand increased again, finally getting Harry to reach his point of release...only he couldn't. The wires prevented it. The pain was immense, and he found himself trying to scream around the gag.
The blindfold was ripped off, and Harry found himself staring into the eyes of his uncle, who was sporting a very noticeable hard on. Harry looked down, and, somehow in his delirious stare, could make out the wires attached from his swollen member to the box Petunia had brought in earlier. Harry realized what it was right as his uncle slammed his fist into it.
Pain.
It hurt so much, so much pain....
And it should. Electricity was being pumped from through him, it's point of entry being an already sensitized area.
For just a second, just a sweat second, the pain stopped. He was flipped over onto his back, and the pain started again.
But not for long. The electricity stopped again, and Harry was allowed to regain his breath. He looked around him, and noticed that, sometime in his convulsions, he had been moved to his almost bare room.
A head entered his proximity, and harry felt warm, humid breathe against his ear. "Did you enjoy that, Harry? I sure did..." his uncle whispered in an excited voice. Harry's eyed as he felt something poke his back. The heat scorched it, and harry was allowed to see a glowing hot fire poker before it stuck his back. The metal lingered for a moment, and the sound of sizzling flesh filled the room.
Harry tried to scream again, and was rewarded with bile. He stopped screaming.
With a slight giggle, Vernon placed the hot poker near his rectum.
Harry's eyes widened. "He wouldn't..."
The metal was pushed in, long and fast, it's points tearing down his sensitive flesh. The burning was so painful....
Harry did scream this time, and his gag reflex kicked into action. Vomit rose in his throat, causing him to choke. He began to breathe through his nose, hoping that he could last that long. The poker thrust into his a few times, before it was pulled out, dripping blood.
Vernon stared at him for a moment, before lowering his pants, releasing his erection. Harry watched in a mixture of horror, disgust, and fascination as he masturbated, finally showering him with streams of cum. Vernon pulled out his gag, allowing vomit to drip down his chin, and untied his hands before turning walking out the door. Calmly. So calm. It was slammed shut, leaving Harry lying on the ground, lying in blood, tears, semen, and vomit, with only the light of the dying ay to see by. And he breathed.
*End flashback*
That was nothing compared with what Whore was going through now.
The Dursley's never permanently harmed Its face, with the exception of a few bruises and scars. And Its eye. They had an obsession with Its face. The sadists had forced It to brush Its teeth five times a day, lest anything happen to them.
The god's seemed to hate It, for instead of making It more unattractive to them, they made It beautiful.
Within the short time that It had been there, Whore had noticed Its already small form becoming more defined and aristocratic. Its cheekbones were higher on Its face than ever before, drawing attention to Its beautiful eyes. If Whore was a normal boy, with time to frolic and smile and let loose streams of bubbling laughter, they would have been a sparkling emerald. But Whore wasn't. They were corpse's eyes, dull and lifeless, the pupils varying between pinpricks to almost overcoming its irises.
Those beautifully pitiful orbs were fringed in a curtain of inky black eyelashes, something you might see out of a fairytale book, but never on an actual human. Thin, arched brows only added to the elegance of his appearance. Its lips were full and set in a pout, setting of Its heart shaped face. Whore's bangs were long, reaching Its cheeks, and hung in Its face, adding even more mystery to Its ethereal look. Even though It was sixteen, not a hair could be found on Its body. Its legs were long and slender, as were Its fingers. Its neck was long, and Its slender frame appeared even more feminine at the height of 5'1.
A month ago, when it had already been in the hell hole for three weeks, Whore had noticed strange shadows behind him. For the first week, they simply flitted about, occasionally become denser, occasionally nothing more than a suggestion. Too tired to care, and too broken to become excited, Whore ignored them.
It wasn't until a week ago that the wings manifested themselves. It had been lying in his room, shivering after a particularly brutal rape, when they broke free of its skin in a spray of blood. Whore hadn't noticed, despite the pain. It only felt relieved when the wings settled around It, cocooning It, shielding It.
After that night, the wings appeared whenever It wished them to. They didn't cause as much pain as they had that first night, and after the first two times caused none at all.
As Whore stared at the moon, It was unaware of the drastic things that were happening below. Things that were, while seemingly innocent, going to change Its life.
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A section of the Pondus Sodalicii, an organization that had been around since the dawn of wizarding government, was gathered outside of number five, private drive. The, by today's terms, gang consisted of an odd variety of creatures. Vampires, muggles, wizards, and even a few demons were present in this odd group. The leader gave a suspicious look at the college boys lounging a short ways to the left of him, chugging beer and chortling, occasionally pointing at them, saying a crude, unimaginative joke, and laughing harder..
His name was Gabriel, and he had been the head of the London branch for twenty two years. In his human appearance he was nineteen, maybe twenty. Gabriel was a demon, and a strong one at that. He had both flame and ice coursing through his veins, an ideal, albeit rare, combination. Gabriel was six hundred, ninety six years old. Not very old for a demon, but his odd heritage made up for the power differential. His skin was slightly pale, but healthy looking. His human form, like most demons, possessed black eyes devoid of shine, and, leaning towards his cooler heritage, snowy white hair. Currently it was a vibrant pink, a shock against the rest of his clothes. With the exception of the heavy black trench coat he wore to disguise his own personal arsenal, he was dressed for combat. Scuffed black boots, fatigues, and pouches consisting of various unsavory things were all that adorned his body. Until, of course, one noticed the glinting metal and inked designs.
Gabriel leaned against a particularly large oak, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His earbuds were placed in his ears, though no music was playing. He observed his warriors. In this particular regiment, there were thirteen members. Seven were female. Only five, including him, were present.
Gabriel cleared his throat, and all eyes snapped to him.
"We," He began, addressing his forces, "are assigned to by the PS to be on vacation."
He smiled wildly at the gaping expressions on their faces.
"Right, Bri. And what, exactly, did I tell you about sniffing glue? Remember what happened the last time?" Rose attempted to stare down her nose at him. This was a fairly impossible feet, given the fact that he was over a foot taller than she.
This short tempered witch, while appearing to be around nineteen, was really eighty nine. The Pondus Sodalicii had given her an experimental drought to preserve her youth. The fact that she also retained her mental age was a rather unfortunate side effect. Her form was small and willowy, suiting her small statue. Ever the one for practicality, Rose had long ago chopped off her hair. Those that knew her before she was changed knew that she used to wear it swinging freely about her hips. It was the color of a prairie fire. The night she was changed, she cut it and dyed it black. She had since gone through almost every color on the rainbow, except red. Never red. It was currently a platinum blonde and spiked. Rose wore thick, smudged eyeliner outlining her dark blue eyes. She was dressed very..differently than Gabriel, choosing to brave the cold in fishnets and leather hot shorts. She wore a tight, sleeveless turtleneck. The boots were there, though, and just as worn as her leaders. She was not stupid enough to wear heels in a potential mission.
"You do remember, don't you? That was when you woke up on the roof with twelve naked house elves surrounding you." Rose continued.
"One time. ONE TIME I sleep with a house elf-"he studiously ignored Rose's assertation that, technically, it was 12 times "- and I never hear it down. Now, back to the point: Yes. We get a month."
Rose looked amazed for a moment, before grinning.
"SEX! Yes, SEX!" She chanted, unaware of the stares she was getting from the people not in their little group.
"Sounds good with us." The twins on either side of her laughed as she glomped them. Both looked about twenty, but had recently celebrated their 700th birthday. They were towering, and had the bodies of predators. All muscle and no joints. The twins were pale, but both had flushed cheeks and a healthy glow. Their golden eyes constantly sparkled, and fanged smiles were omnipresent. They were vampires, both of them, and liked to feed on healthy young men and women...preferably just after sex. Mercy, the elder of the twins, wore his rich chestnut hair long, tied with a black satin bow. He wore a velvet frock coat and ruffled collar. When asked if it was suitable for combat, he merely smiled. No one else needed to know quite how many poisons one was capable of hiding in said ruffles. His twin, Julius, was dressed much more simply. He wore tight, dark grey fatigue pants and an oversized sweater, obviously much too large for him. His hair was the same color as his twins, but jaggedly cut. Indeed, when he felt it had gotten too long, he took one of his knives to it and presto, hair cut.
"Mer, Jul, you've already had too much of me" Rose giggled as the vampires' faces fell.
"But I'm like sin; a little bit more won't hurt you." She laughed as they lunged to capture her.
"Rose! Mer! Juls! Stop that, this instant!" Gabriel snapped at them. Mercy smiled. "Yes mother!" They stood, giggling, and mock saluted. Julius cocked his head and looked at the last member of their group, who was staring transfixed at a point in the distance.
Lorelei sat, curled into a ball, her eyes sharp and focused. She was human, yes, but nothing that feared its existence dared to fight her. She had taken the same potion Lapillus had in her late thirties, and it resulted in her appearing to be in her early twenties. She was fairly tall, at 5'9, and wiry. Her face was generally withdrawn, as was she. In her early life she had suffered at the hands of her father. Lorelei's hair was a deep blonde, and reached her, chin, where it abruptly cut off. She wore not a spec of makeup, allowing the bags from her many sleepless night to do the job for her. She wore a poofy skirt knee high skirt, and black and white striped thigh high socks. She wore a long sleeved black shirt, despite the heat. Lorelei was too self conscious of her scars to bear them freely. She was currently staring at certain someone, who was ignoring her.
"Eh? Rory, Watcha lookin' at?" Mercy asked, blinking at her.
The other three stopped their argument and looked at each other before attempting to follow her gaze. She averted it quickly to give them scathing looks.
"Don't call me Rory, Shit head! And I was staring at that boy." Julius laughed.
"But I thought you were a lesbian? And he looks as intelligent as a rock on acid. No offese, of course, if that's your thing." Lorelei shook her head in disgust.
"I am, and I wasn't talking about that disgusting pig of a human." She rolled head eyes and nodded towards the odd boy in the window.
What ever Mercy was going to say next died in his throat. The boy was beautiful, albeit slightly dirty, and with their enhanced sight he was clearly visible. He was curled up in a ball, eyes open and empty, staring outside. The contrast his skin made to his hair presented a striking image. His head was propped up on his hand, and fresh blood could clearly be seen streaming out of various gashes.
He seemed to feel them watching him, because he jerked his head around, his eyes searching for them. That seemed to break the small group out of their trance, and they melted back into the shadows.
Gabriel was the first to break the silence.
"Why do they insist on wasting their lives? What I wouldn't give..."
The others couldn't agree more.
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Whore stared at the place where they had left. The people It had been watching the last couple of nights, the ones It thought were beautiful. The ones It imagined, in Its rare states of sanity, to be Its friends. The ones It just heard dismiss it.
For some reason, tears welled in Its eyes.
Why? Why did life have to be so hard? Whore shook Itself, and was lost to insanity, to the many worlds inside Its head, to the only place It felt safe.
~NEXT DAY~
"BOY!" Whore's master appeared at the stairs.
"BOY! Petunia needs everything on this list. Get them. Now.." Whore looked at the paper. It's eyes raised, staring at It's uncle. Usually It was just told to go to the grocery store, never anywhere else...It could buy clothing... Whore's eyes gleamed with happiness before It's uncle punched It in the neck.
The cloudiness in It's eyes returned. Vernon shoved Whore into a clean pair of black sweat pants, and one of Dudley's old sweatshirts. The Dursleys couldn't afford anyone seeing Whore so thin.
Making sure the collar around Whore's neck was secure, Vernon shoved It out the door and into the rain. Literally. Whore fell, getting a long, painful scrape along Its arm. Getting up slowly, careful to not damage Its already broken and bruised ribs, Whore began to walk three miles to the mall.
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The PS were at Lifterland mall. Shopping, hanging out, making the most of their vacation. The five close friends were currently sprawled in the food court.
"Blah, I'm so bored." Rose announced as she stared outside and into the rain.
"You are not alone. Shall he prepare the sacrifice?" Gabriel gave his half-hearted response while shooting her a lazy smile, but she didn't had straightened in her seat and looking outside with a smirk and a little disbelief on her beautiful face.
"God, look at that! What kind of idiot would walk in the rain? It's freaking pouring!" She laughed, and the others rolled their eyes. "Gee, Rosie, maybe because-" and It walked in.
"It's that dude form last night..." Mercy took it upon himself to channel the Lords of the Obvious. The boy, because he was a boy in their eyes, was soaking wet and violently shivering. His clothing, if the thin pieces of material could be called that, were clinging to his skin, showing his skeleton structure. His eyes were dulled and clouded over, and a fresh bruise was still swelling on his cheek.
"HEY! HEY, YOU! SHORT KID WHO'S DRIPPING WET AND HAS BLACK HAIR!"
Julius screeched. Gabriel promptly slammed his head into the french fries. And held it there.
"What. Are. You. Doing?!" He hissed, giving Julius a look that would give Superman's heat vision a run for its money.
"Hey, Bribri, don't look at me like that! He looked lonely, and I wanted to find out who he is, and if he's anorexic, and-"
"You called for me." The kid stated, making them jump. He was standing next to them, staring with a blank look. Mercy shuddered. The kid wasn't right in his head. He kept shaking and muttering.
"Um...yes...who are you?"
The kid stared at them.
"Whore."
Lorelei immediately lunged forward. Whore didn't blink.
"...who named you that?" Harry's eyes flashed for a heartbeat. "The fucking prick that-" and It was silent again, Its eyes dull. Lorelei continued her questioning. "Sweetie, what's your birth name?"
Whore looked at her calmly. "Harry."
Rose started at that.
"You got a last name to go with that?" She demanded. Whore shifted Its dead gaze on her.
"Potter."
AN:
I hate reiterating. And I've had far to little sleep and far too much head trauma for this to make any sense. But it's here. And none of the previous succeeding chapters are now relevant. Now, I'm going to go submerge myself in paint for the next few hours. Hopefully the paint fumes will help to knock me out.