Title: Snapped Fingers
Rating: T
Pairing(s): HarryxDraco
Summary: Harry discovered a new way to defeat Voldemort while snapping his own fingers…
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Co.
-Prologue-
Surrey, drowned in absolute silence of midnight, shone like a haunted, demonic town under the ephemeralness of silver moonlight. The feeble light penetrated the thick air that reeked of pollution and dog piss, revealed the other side of a revered region of Muggle England – where the Light retreated, the Dark took reign. Every dirty little secret would disappear in the morning, leaving nothing but elegant garden fences and respectable neighborhood, but then, there was nobody to notice the vast difference that this reverence of a harmless Muggle town portrayed in years. And that was before the delinquent of a freak named Harry James Potter made his God-forsaken appearance into the land of utopia.
The only magical being of Surrey was in the moment stretching comfortably in the cupboard of Four Privet Drive. With space that was merely enough for a ten year old to fit in with little difficulty, the cupboard did a wonderful job in completely cramping and imprisoning a sixteen year old, even if that person was only a midget compared to his friends. So there he lied, legs wrapped up awkwardly, glass askew, dreamy emerald eyes half lid, staring into nothingness. He didn't care about what he saw – no matter how much his irises dilated his mind only acknowledged a veil of sheer darkness. And the cat flap wasn't giving much help.
Moving his hips to a better position, he twisted his fingers nonchalantly, trying to eventually break one as his thoughts strayed to the Wizarding World. He sensed his nostrils flared up; his finger snapped leanly, hanging limp from his skeletal hand. He embraced the pain, he was tempted to break a second finger, yet he stopped, knowing that he wouldn't be able to hold his wand if all ten fingers were broken to his adrenaline. Surely he would find another way… pain was so addicting that he couldn't afford to lose its taste. He caressed the wounded finger; slowly, caressing became crushing; he didn't flinched, he watched with fascination as the fracture reddened from the oozing blood under ungrazed skin. He sucked the snapped finger, enjoying what little pain was left before it went completely numb. And when it happened, he let out a sigh; he ran the other hand on the wound, mumbling a chant that sounded almost like a song: the numb finger slowly set back as straight and untouched as the unbroken ones, the red spot disappeared along with the bone fracture.
He snapped eventually all ten fingers several times until a disk on the cupboard door was heard. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he quickly resumed his standing stance, ignored the cramp that has been devouring his knees and stormed out, straight to the toilet. He took a piss, washed his hair and body, even shaved off his face; the last action made his pale skin now glow faintly and his crimson eyes from lack of sleep stand out. He contented with himself; he looked like a vampire after sexual intercourses. Changing into a baggy jean and an oversized T-shirt – courtesy Dudley Dursley, he leapt out of the toilet and into the kitchen, where he flashed a toothy smile to the whales that were waiting for breakfast and picked up the knife. The horse was hospitalized the other day, having been crushed by the bigger whale in a staircase accident, so he had to cook full time. That didn't bother him one bit.
He twisted the knife between his newly-healed fingers before ruthlessly slicing the bacon and the sausages. He flipped the knife skillfully and sent the meat flying neatly into the frying pain, along with eggs and leftover of roasted chicken last night. The fat was sizzling, and he couldn't resist the temptation of frying his skin as he pompously hovered his index above the fire; his eyes dazed as the finger moved downward slowly, until it reached the blue fire underneath. When the skin and the outer layer of the flesh were completely burnt, he took off the fire. Again, he healed his finger and served the breakfast to the waiting whales, then stomped back to his cupboard and began his favorite past-time game, namely Fingers Snapping.
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My apologies to people who find this prologue graphically disturbing.
Press that lovely button down there… and I'll love you for an eternity… - Prelude To A New Reign