A/N: SmileForTheWeirdos here! So I'm not exactly sure if this will contain M rated yaoi, but I rated this story that anyway. Also, each chapter includes only two large paragraphs, which are cut into different sections-just to not be confusing. I haven't edited much, sorry I had another deadline ;-; But next chapter will probably be much better :3 Anyway, enjoy my wonderful readers, for this story seriously took some brainstorming! See ya :p
Chapter One
A pair of opec hands swept through his naturally zinc colored hair, which impersonated that of someone with just a tad to much oil in their hair. The candle on the ivory sink wavered when a gust of wind managed to find its way out of his windpipes after so many years of being the holder of this ancient sigh… What seemed and could possibly of been-an eternity to the stressed male. So many painfully long years, even after meeting his definite sweetheart, the heavy curse did none other than worsen on his already taunt mind.
Not for the first time, he wished just once he could escape reality, spite the years spent with his spouse. From a cracked mirror, two amethyst eyes blinked back, though even he couldn't see behind their masterful mask. Behind those eyes lurked a wary past, one he decided upon ignoring for now if he could. Again scanning the dim bathroom, from the moss carpeted tile and bug infested bath which its bronze claws no longer held a handsome gleam, he took to staring at his folded hands on the counter, almost blending in with the top if not the fact it was not as pale.
It was strange, being in the decaying house he had spent his most faithful years in. No regret surfaced above his other afflictions though when he remembered leaving. With another raspy wheeze, the flame blew out, in an instant defeated by his bone chilling breath. Was he not like this flame, and the past a malicious beast, waiting to snuff him out the second the time be right?
His thoughts continued in this manner, racing furiously to be the front of his brain, in a line of seemingly endless overflowing quantity of questions that unfortunately he couldn't answer. "Edward," He didn't need to turn around to know it was his very own Bella, just as ghostly pale as he. Broke from the train of thoughts he no longer mulled over, he looked up and as he did, a sly smile crept across his elegantly sculpted features. "Yes?" He sighed back, glad that he would not be alone to lament over the past for now.
—
"Oculus Reparo," Hermione said in a somewhat scornful tone as she mended Harry's glasses-the same glasses for more than seven years now mind you-for what had to be at least over the fiftieth time. He had just come back from a somewhat rough homemade quidditch tournament and nearly broke his nose streaking in a blur downward toward the grassy earth, fortunately pulling out of the nose dive just in a matter of seconds, but missing the deluding snitch in favor for his safety instead.
"Thanks Hermione," Despite saying this very gratefully, Harry knew that as he stared at the floor, avoiding her strict eye, Hermione was most likely mentally preparing for a fairly long lecture he had learned to tune out and just nod at certain points over the years. But looking up after a few seconds of listening to the Weasly Clock's blunt toll, Harry discovered his only response would merely be the same, dulling rhythm of time passing by and the blank stare of the Burrow's pinewood wall.
His sea colored eyes glazed over, still lingering on the wood interior, as he thought back to a time not to long ago, where a nearly invincible and baffling strong man-or as he now said "thing"-was his grandest competent. He failed to realize in that present though, that time itself was his most fatal enemy, and now it finally had him pinned under its merciless thumb, its cruel smile that was secreted in plain sight, waiting to remind him of its coming end for him, on the face of a magical clock. True, at certain points then, time was a fearless warrior, and it seemed like endless evidence proved he had managed to outrun its consequences. He certainly knew now though that there would be no more helpful and lending hand of luck for him, not for time itself.
It was now he knew he would have to face what he did not want to face, dance with the inevitable, and become acquaintances with the fact that Harry's time was finally nearing the end of its ancient spool, or just now having its fragrant petals curve inward from a molasses-like wilt. He knew his life span was not running out, and instead, replacing this, a newly blossoming love that took a turn for the worst with his sweetheart, Ginny, was now decaying, loves petals a mutated and twisted result of fame. Harry always knew defeating Tom Riddle would boost the offshoot of becoming popular in the wizarding world-perhaps to popular for a concerned Ginny.
Mobs of people would camp in their yard or cluster their front porch, waking the child of both others or worse. They were constantly watched, on some channel or another, and absolutely no chance for public outings was instantly implied for the poor souls. Blinking back tears, frustration, worries, or whatever else may simmer on the planes of his pale lids, Harry broke from his thoughts as he was called to the table, not much of an appetite but grateful for the Weasly's kind hospitality.