*{Sin}*
-for jori-
He is my enemy, yet even as I strengthen and began to form into the body I was before, I feel the eternal desire to mar his beauty; to stain his soul. He is my opposite, the light contrasting against the darkness that consumes me, the darkness which lies within my very soul. If God had forgiven me for my innumerable sins, I am damned again because of him. Because he was pure innocence, and I sought to destroy him.
*
He was
sleeping, if you could even call it that, writhing around in the wooden slab
the Dursley's called a bed, plagued by hellish nightmares that caused fat tears
to leak out of the corners of his closed eyes and the damned scar on his
forehead to burn with fierce intensity.
The dreams weren't even vivid; all he was getting from them was the
sound-- the frightening sounds of his parents' screams as Voldemort took away
their lives. And then, silence, and
suddenly he could see what was happening in his dream. His nightmare.
Off to his side lay his parents, bodies lifeless. In front of him and creeping ever closer was
Voldemort, wand raised, eyes glittering maliciously. Harry tried to run, to cry out-- anything, to
no avail. A deep, sinister laugh was let
out by Voldemort, and it echoed around him, drawing closer and seeping into his
skin like demonic venom. Harry's assailant opened his mouth, and out poured the dreaded
words, Avada Kedavra, and the flash
of green. Then the pain that shot
through his toes and up to his head, and finally hissed out of his forehead,
leaving its mark in the shape of a lightning bolt that would turn into a scar
and be the mark of an extraordinary boy.
The Boy Who Lived.
Then, as quickly as the dream had become so clear, there was nothing; it was
the feeling of ethereality where you are unable to determine whether or not you
are still alive. And, then, later, as he
slowly began to drift into consciousness again, a feeling of comfort that he
had never been able to have before-- the comfort a child receives from their
parents, or even an adult receives from a loved one. It was as if someone was tenderly stroking
his soul, someone who knew the pain that lay inside of it and who wanted to do
everything possible to take it away.
Eyelids fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the brilliant light that was
leaking out of the side of his curtain and shining directly into his
irises. His body went rigid as he felt a
person beside him on the bed. Rolling
over quickly, his breath caught in his throat as he saw himself.
But, no…this boy was obviously taller, although they had the same jet-black
hair and piercing green eyes. Suddenly,
realization hit him sharply, and he stared again in the eyes of the man who had
killed so many.
"Tom?" Harry questioned, voice incredulous, obviously disbelieving that he had
awaken to find Voldemort lying next to him on his bed, looking as he had more
than fifty years before.
"Yes, Harry?"
"Why- why are you here?"
"I am here because you need someone to dry your tears at night."
"And let me guess-- you suddenly care, right?" Harry said, voice sardonic and
bitter.
Tom was silent for a moment, almost as if he had gotten lost in thought. "I've always cared about you, angel."
Harry snorted. "Which is why you wanted
to kill me."
"That was a mistake, and I regret it completely. But you can't deny our connection."
"What connection?!" Harry exclaimed, disgust apparent in his voice, a crimson
flush highlighting his cheeks at even the mention of such a thing.
He moved closer to Harry, sliding an arm around his waist and pressing Harry's
lips against his own forcefully. He
kissed with fervor, and Harry found himself inadvertently responding, intrigued
by the hunger he found deep within him.
As suddenly as Tom has started the kiss, he broke it, pulling away with a smile
of satisfaction apparent on his face, chuckling throatily. "Now try to tell me you didn't feel something
in that."
Tom had an almost cherubic grace that was satisfyingly spoiled by the evil
within. As he chuckled, Harry couldn't
help but enjoy the sound that was emitted from between his turgid lips. It was like ice cracking when liquor was
poured over it, and Harry couldn't help but feel a part of him crack, too. Without a moment of hesitation, he leaned
forward, his own sensual lips meeting Tom's in a surprisingly chaste kiss.
It was an explosion of the anger; the raw passion; the tension that had been
growing within the both of them since that fateful night when the devil himself
was damned again, and was violent to the point where Harry felt as if he, also,
would explode, as had their fury. It was
violent and perfect in all of the ways that were perfectly wrong, perfectly
wicked, perfectly… *wanton*. He could
taste the boy's silvery arrogance; taste his smile as their tongues dueled and
his teeth gnashed against Harry's lips.
It tasted like…sin.
Salaciously bittersweet, the kiss seemed to last on, filling Harry's mind with
an unnatural feeling and making his thoughts spin and bubble over sweetly like
champagne. It was a wicked agony, and
when they pulled away, faces still mere millimeters apart, he came crashing
back into reality, and his eyes locked on Tom's own, demonic emerald versus his
intelligent emerald. Neither moved;
neither seemed to breathe, and a fragile pause hung palpable in the air.
"You're the only person I can't control; the only one I don't own," Tom
muttered against Harry's lips, shattering the delicate silence with his voice
that snaked around Harry like delectable poison.
"Am I yours now?" Harry replied, voice questioning.
"Only if you want to be."
He leaned forward, too spoiled for words, brushing his lips against Tom's
tenderly. It was his answer, and as they
wrapped their arms around each other, drawing closer so that only the fabric of
their clothes separated them, Harry felt for the first time what it was like to
love and be loved in return, to need and be needed. And, for once in his life, something felt
right.
*
He is my lover, my heart, my soul, and even as we lie together, watching the tranquil night melt into day, entangled in one another, I feel the need to be closer to him, to melt into him and have the two of us become one. If I am a curse, then he is magic, for he brought me back from the dead.
Fin
c r u s h e d . v e l v e t . l a c e
a u g u s t . 2 0 0 2