Monstrosity
Never Glance into Your Own Black Hole
Last night I had a dream
Nothing special
It was just another dream
Nothing special.
I woke up
All messed up
The nightmare of this world
Is all messed up.
Harry was more than a little depressed. He felt like a stone, calm and strong, but ultimately inanimate. One dreary morning, the day after all the drama, Harry slept late as he was cocooned by his dreams that owned him completely, and was confronted by the disturbing nightmare that plagued his life. It was Voldemort.
"Harry, pet, I am surprised with your recent behavior." Voldemort smiled, his intense and powerful red eyes completely focused on Harry. Harry did not like the smile, the way he said his name, and what Voldemort had called him. Still, though, Voldemort had so much power that it was nearly overwhelming.
"Don't call me that. I am not a pet!"
"You aren't? You really had me confused there; since that's how everyone you care about treats you. They lock you up, clip your wings, and force you to stay healthy, leave you alone when something more amusing catches their eyes, and yet still expect you to sing for them, and them only. Such a tragic little pet you've become; they don't want you anymore."
"Don't say that! Of course they do some of those things, but it is only because they care! Then again, you wouldn't know much about caring, would you? No one ever cared about filth like you when you were young!" Harry closed his mouth quickly, feeling hot rage slip away. Those crimson eyes, so much like liquid blood, watching him, daring him to move, to breathe, to say another word, promised pain.
"Harry. Come sit closer." Harry didn't move; his breath caught.
"Harry; do as I say now!" Voldemort suddenly grabbed Harry and pulled him closer, causing Harry to fall on his knees, head bowed. Harry tried to move but couldn't, the pain was too great, it was the icy and the burning all at once, it was…
"I do love seeing you like this, head bowed to your master, but, we have more pressing matters to attend to." Voldemort pulled the furious boy's head up, pulling it close to his, long pale fingers curling around the boy's chin, so he could stare into the other's eyes. He traced a finger down the scar, causing the boy to scream and writhe away.
"I was not cared about when I was younger, but neither were you, Harry. They only cared for their savior, but they cared so much as they began to rebuild their lives that no one even thought to see how you were doing, to notice the signs of neglect, and the shortness when neither of your parents were particularly short. And, filth am I, young Harry? What does that make you, the one who is so connected to me that the connection will not even be broken in death? Filth? But you are not, and you should not let them stunt your growth again. I can teach you so many things…"
Harry shivered. "That's not true, Voldemort! Stop twisting around everything I say. They do care about me. I know they do."
"Then why won't they accept you? Why do they treat you like a fool? Why do they use you as a figurehead for their cause? Why did they never get to really know you? Why don't they see? They notice, but they ignore. Why is it that you gave access to your mind to the most powerful and evil dark wizard alive if you feel that they care about you so much? Why did your parents leave you? Doesn't it hurt to know that your mother's love doesn't protect, and never did? Doesn't it hurt to watch their children have everything you ever wanted when they left you?"
Harry covered his ears. "Stop lying! Stop it! Please!"
"Will you beg me to?"
"I…please, Voldemort! I can't…"
"You can't what?" He looked directly into Harry's eyes, and Harry could not avoid his gaze.
"What do you want, Voldemort?"
"You. I want you to join me." Harry gasped.
"You gotta be kidding me! That's insane!"
"You deserve better. We can correct this world if we join forces."
"Never." Harry promised himself as he said it aloud.
"Then listen to what I have to say today. You have questions, I have answers, but first, my pet—" Voldemort looked away, as if interrupted. "I can get rid of that ring for you, but only for something in return." Harry was torn. Traitor. You can't be considering asking Voldemort to get rid of that ring. Harry hated that ring. It, beautiful as it was, was the embodiment of his life: bound to a fate so tightly that he could not rid himself of it. He wanted it off, no he needed it off.
"What do you want in return?" Harry was hesitant, mouth dry and hot with anxiety.
"You must talk to me at least once every two weeks from now to the end of the whole school year. You will give Severus that blood of yours to find me a younger body."
"My blood? What do you need with my," suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks, "Dementor's blood?"
'"Yes. Do you agree to my terms?"
"I do." Harry spoke softly, ignoring the burn in his eyes and the twisting of his stomach.
"Then we have a deal, by Wizarding Code of Conduct 23, we both must follow the terms or become legally owned by the other."
"Harry, for your own parents to leave you, for you to have to listen to the other muggle children at your school whisper about you, the 'bastard' child. You must be wondering what saved you from the killing curse that night so many years ago, if your mother's love wasn't the thing that saved you. They left you to die in hopes of saving the growing twins in your mother's womb. They left to save some beings that had yet to have all their fingers or respond to light. You were concrete, and they left you to die by my hand."
"That's not true! Those memories that I see when the Dementors are close are real, and Dumbledore said that they had nearly died, not that they abandoned me!"
"You may trust Dumbledore's word. What about your parents' words? What makes you believe them? The fact remains the same. You were left alone that night while they fled. You were the one who was to bear the burden as the world's new scapegoat. So, they survived my killing curse. Impossible."
"Impossible? Look at the scar on my forehead, Voldemort, the very one bonding me to you!"
"Exactly. You have a curse scar, they don't. You protected them somehow, Harry, and you are more powerful than anybody could have hoped. Your mother's love and sacrifice didn't save you; you saved them unconsciously by manipulating my magic. Even then you could recognize the bond that we share. Your magic recognized my magic, and manipulated it. I still haven't figured this out, but I could, and I can if you tell me the prophecy."
Harry shivered. Voldemort was too close. His eyes burned in Harry's mind, as he nearly suffocated from their scalding intensity. It was too much; all of it was too much. He did not want to hear anymore of this blasphemy. But…he wanted to know what Voldemort knew that made Voldemort smile in that peculiar way, as if nothing mattered except for the truth that he was twisting and manipulating. This wasn't happening. He wasn't bargaining with Voldemort, actually listening to that monster! But then again, who else did he have? You have yourself. You have Snape. You have Sirius, Hermione, Remus, and Ron. You have Dumbledore. They love you. Harry frowned. He did have them. Yet, he was inexplicably driven to this maniac and his words. He was drawn to this danger in front of him that he knew would mean his end. There was too much to know, too much to learn, from Voldemort. This was wrong. Still, it wasn't like he was learning the Dark Arts. Voldemort was corrupting his mind, however. At this thought, Harry pulled away from Voldemort and met that monster's eyes.
Jade kaleidoscopic eyes widened. There was something in that monster's eyes that he hadn't expected to see. There was something human in those eyes, something that Harry had seen in his own eyes when looking at the mirror. At this realization, plus the awful burning in his scar, Harry's mind fell to tatters. He screamed. His mind was a fog. Then a clear voice cut through the fog like a knife through melting butter.
"Harry. You made a decision that night long ago when we first met, and you will be paying for a decision you made unconsciously when you were very young for the rest of your life. You got that scar from surviving death, but at what price? It has not only marked your forehead, but your very soul. You will pay the price of cheating death not only for your life and your mother and father's lives, but also for those unborn twins. I can lessen this price because of the second choice you made by accidentally manipulating my magic. However, you have much to learn, and I have much to teach."
Suddenly the fog came back full-force as the pain became unbearable. His body was shaking, cold and sweaty skin pressed against itself in a pain which could not be lessened or relieved. This could be Hell, but Harry knew better. He opened his eyes and gritted his teeth. He would not lose! He would fight! He pushed through the fog. He would fight because he was not yet ready to face himself. Harry could finally see the world, and to his astonishment, the ring was gone. That did not surprise Harry; the emptiness that came with its absence did. A great sadness overcame Harry, and he wept not as a baby but as the way only the ones who have dealt with life the way God wanted them to but still failed, were betrayed, or broken did. He wanted the ring back.
It was Voldemort's fault. It had to have been! There was no reason to believe that Voldemort hadn't manipulated Harry to have felt that burning when Harry had said that he was in a relationship. Harry closed his eyes. His mouth resolutely straightened. He did not need a ring to guide him. He still had Salazar on his side, and even if Harry had grown attached to the beautiful ring, their was no reason that he couldn't ask Salazar's room for one to wear on a different finger as to honor Salazar as the great one he was and to pay respect to the one whose insignia he bore. Harry frowned as he remembered his family. He could no longer avoid them. The confrontation was inevitable.
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Harry wanted out. His thought processes were as such: I need to get out, I need to run away, I need to be free. Free of what? Free of responsibility. Free of emotion. Free of darkness. Free from Light. Free from sin. Free from death. He then did something he would never forgive himself for doing. He flew on a broomstick until he was away from Hogwarts, until he was back to Diagon Alley. He was such a fool.
"Harry, so you came to see me?" No, it couldn't be… Red eyes flashed in his mind. His head pounded with an intense pain. "Voldemort…"
Voldemort proceeded to kidnap Harry and take him back to a headquarters. Harry remained limp, wondering what type of fool he was. What have I done? I left the ones I love and who love me to be captured by the monster that I have tried to humanize in my mind so I can convince myself that I'll never have to kill. And here I am… I'm no longer a hero. I am a fool. In a way, I guess, I did know what I was doing. I wish I could rewind these events.
Voldemort then explained to Harry that he would be tortured. There was no explanation for such an odd statement; there was no need for one. Harry sat in a corner. He had no wand. He didn't have Hedwig. He was armed only with his foolish pride and stubborn mind.
Bellatrix was a bitch. There was no other way to say it, for she was filth and sinning, and got hot and wet over other people's pain, a true sadist. She smiled at the boy whose eyes were empty in a type of self-pity that came right before self-hatred. He smiled to hide his fear as he saw her filthy smile and her long, black, wasted hair. There were deep crevices in her forehead and as a smile eased its way on her face; the darkness in it seemed to shine. She walked towards him and cruelly said, "Restrostico!" The effects of the spell were quick to assume themselves on Harry. He felt as if someone was slowing pulling out all the hair on his body, one strand at a time. Harry didn't move, but frowned, feeling the saltiness of blood line his teeth as he bit down too hard on his tongue. He had to fight back! Still, something was forcing him to give up. The ache in his heart swelled as he tried to ignore the pain, but his lungs were squeezing in efforts of relieving the pain through respiration, but to no avail.
Then it was almost as if someone had slapped him. His eyes refocused and he swung at her. She giggled, licking her wrinkled lips. "Nonsemper Eritaestas!" He felt his movements lull. His mouth felt thick in his mouth and the other spell was still active. He felt as if his skin were baking and crumbling. She approached him, licking the blood leaking from his aching scar. The Boy-who-Lived finally snapped. He could not take the pain. He could not take in this perversion, and that detestable woman would feel the vengeance of an angry soul wrecked and impressed upon hers.
He transformed, all the while hating the abstract feeling of gloom and dark slime covering his body. The eyes were the worst part. It felt as if his eyes were becoming ashes and set on fire. The pain from his scar was blocked out with an intense yearning for the happiness that the female monster in front of him had. He had a completely new view of her from this dementor body. She looked like a trashy and used little girl whose hatred had aged her all too soon. He felt no pity. Reaching out his hand as his rattling breath seemed to raise the hairs on her skin, he loomed ever closer. Yes, she had spent a great deal time in Azkaban; of course she held some degree of fear and horror for dementors.
Her body quivered, her mouth moving and her wand out, but the nearly imperceptible sounds were not of any human language, but could be recognized by any human as the sounds a frightened, broken person made when he or she realized that the nightmare was indeed real. He loomed closer, relishing in the brightness her soul held. All souls shined in a dementor's eyes, but this one had beautiful memories to draw from. He fed on the misery that became a part of her as she fell to the floor like a broken doll with the lost eyes of a child.
She could no longer avoid the cold feeling she sometimes felt when she wasn't happy, since she could no longer distract herself. She needed to be happy, and she need it now, but as the dark memories of her childhood and early marriage came back, being happy was too great a feat for her to achieve. During her childhood she had always been forced to be the submissive little girl to her relatives, but by joining the Dark Lord she had found some pleasure in being submissive. If she was submissive to him, she could be in control of the ones she tortured; she didn't care who she tortured, but it made her feel happy, it made her feel strong. She had been in control when she was submissive to her Lord.
Harry smiled. She was a fool. He would heal her wounds anyway; he'd kiss her and make the hurt go away. He drew in close to her and started the kiss, but it was all too soon interrupted by the angry Lord that had rescued her from her submissive prison and gave her something to live for, when he could have saved her soul from falling towards the precipitous path she had slowly trod; instead, that monster had shown her how to dive down there, how to fall past rock-bottom, how to burn and enjoy it by finding pleasure in inflicting a different type of burn on them.
Voldemort cast Avada Kedavra on the dementor before him, causing it to turn back to the teenaged boy. At that time, Harry wept. He had let Voldemort destroy the very ring that was the only thing that could lead to the true salvation of the Wizarding world. Right now, he needed help.
A man awoke from a self-induced hallucinogenic sleep and smiled. Someone who belonged to him had just called for him.
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"MY SON IS NOT HERE!" James had finally cracked, relatively a second before Sirius had. Remus ran his fingers through his hair; it was now more gray than brown, and he was beginning to understand what Madam Pomfrey had meant when she said the graying of his hair was not because of his werewolf transformations, but because of a "stressful environment."
Remus sighed. He should have known that Harry would do something idiotic like this after his excursion to Diagon Alley and had gotten much reprieve. As Remus stood up, gripping his wand tightly, and going through the motions of the type of bravery that had allowed him a seat in the House of Gryffindor, he remembered that this type of bravery was to do what needed to be done without lax of emotions fogging the mind. This bravery, like all forms of bravery, was dangerous; it caused harm upon the one using it. The emotions that were furiously bubbling were shoved in tightly where they slowly combusted with no relief, causing an implosion sort of effect.
"Harry has left us again." Remus announced, saying what everyone thought, but did not say in order for someone else to hopefully contradict those thoughts. His heart fluttered. Harry meant so much to him, even if it was always obvious that Harry loved Sirius more and if there was a traitor, being either Remus or Sirius, Remus would've always been chosen up until recently. Then again, Remus was used to that since James had always liked Sirius better as well. A gray strand of hair clung desperately to his calm face. He was not calm, but he had to have such a façade so that he could save Harry.
As everyone followed Remus, first to Dumbledore's office, and then by leaving the grounds, a wave of despair overcame him. He wasn't strong. He couldn't control his emotions, and he wasn't strong enough to be the one who was always overshadowed, the one who was never thanked, and the one who was a werewolf. The Grangers faces of fear and wide-eyed terror blocked his mind's eye-view. He became cold as dusk in the desert. No matter what anyone did or said, he was a monster. He was a freak, a dark creature, and was no longer human. That was the reason why he lived this half-life, always held back by something when he wished to speak out. He did not want anyone to see him. He did not want to be around anyone. He wanted to be alone, so that he could… So that he could do what? So you can learn to hate yourself even more, a voice said. That made since. Even when the Marauders were with him, he always felt cold because he knew he could never be a true part of them.
They said that they accepted him, that they would protect his secret as if was their own. Then why did they take advantage of him in his cursed form to do their bidding? Why did they use him when he had no control over his mind, so he almost killed someone? What would happen if he had killed Snape? He'd be locked up as they lived their lives and he'd be sent to Azkaban. How could they? Even now, his heart gives way to tremors with that question; he knows the answer as he always does. It was because even though they "accepted" him, at that time he still was not human to them. It was obvious. No one could ever love him for what he was; he was disgusting. That's what his dad had always told him, and his mom was even worse. She told him (after he came home in fits of tears and rage) that it was okay because she loved him and that would make up for it. She always told him that she loved him, and it was said in such a manic manner that he did not believe it. She was terrified of him, and that fear was always in her eyes as she went through her catechism of lies of praise and love towards him.
No! He had to stop the memories. Right now, he had to save Harry, just like he had at the Department of Mysteries. He had saved Harry, yet he'd never forget the way Harry looked at him. His green eyes had been alive with a type of anger, hatred, and betrayal that he had never before seen. His eyes looked like the Killing Curse. Harry was still young, and grief had overwhelmed him. Those eyes, however, burned in his mind along with the damning mantras of "I love you" and his father's hate, rejection, and worst of all, disgust towards him. Little did Remus know that these very thoughts would be the ones that would lead him to have tea with Snape one day soon.
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"Ron? Where is Harry?"
"I dunno."
"The adults went looking for him a few minutes ago," Davis replied.
"Then he's gone," Hermione said weakly, "I wanted to apologize. I feel really bad about all of that, and since it turns out that Snape's not abusing him, it makes us seem…"
"Evil. Vindictive. Sadistic?" Davis nonchalantly supplied. He should have listened to his own instincts instead of blindly following his girlfriend because he….cared…. about her. He felt so bad for Harry. After seeing Harry in such a position he seemed to want to know him even more. It was an unhealthy obsession; he could not stop thinking about the enigma that was his brother. He wanted to know him, to break him, to piece him back together, to know everything about him: his secrets, his wishes, his dreams, his body, his eyes, and his mannerisms. Davis tried as best as he could to quell this dark type of obsession by thinking of Hermione, his love. He did love her, but even images of her could not stop the insanity in his mind because he knew that she was the instrument of his Hell. She had betrayed Harry, and she was one of the few Harry seemed to care about.
He couldn't tell her about this obsession. She would not understand how seeing his brother's nude body pressed to another had fascinated him. She'd think he was some psycho, but that wasn't the case at all. That awful act that had been forced upon his brother wasn't what fascinated him, but Harry's actions in it, the ways he did things, the way he was so different. How anyone could understand how he was drawn to someone who was so odd, so enigmatic, and who was so bitingly cruel, was completely imperceptible.
Hermione was staring at him now. She seemed to have realized that something else was greatly upsetting Davis; she seemed to see the barrier forming between them, starting with the very first bricks. Her eyes were as he loved; brown and soft, but gray with the solutions and complex thoughts that seemed to come as naturally to her as flying was to Harry. He loved her, but his obsession was just that: the persistent haunting or domination of the mind by a particular desire, idea, or image. (The part of the sentence before this one that is in italics is from PJC which I got from using the dictionary on so I do not own that definition.)"I can't believe what Harry let himself be subjected to. He's so… disgusting. Did you see how he stabbed that man? He's a monster! I bet he enjoyed every second of that," Nathan said, disdainfully, "I bet," but before he continued Ron had nearly punched him, but Davis was there first. Davis growled. "Just shut your damn mouth for once, Nathan, or I'll shut it for you." Lena and Alexander watched in shock. Davis was much like Remus; both were quiet, gentle-spirited, and rarely were seen with negative raw emotions on their faces. They had never seen Davis so angry or heard him curse before. Davis had always been calm, but something had broken in two inside of him.
"Let's get this straight," Ron said loudly, "We screwed up. Now is not the time to blame our actions on others, but if any of you ever use what you saw in Harry's pensieve against him I will personally rip out your fingernails. Even better, when the adults come back, we'll make a Wizarding Contract to ensure that none of us do." Hermione's eyes lit up."That's a great idea Ron! Sometimes I think you're a complete idiot, and then you come up with things like that and I am proved wrong." Hermione smiled as Ron struggled to figure out if he should take that remark as an insult or a compliment. Alexander spoke up."To tell you the truth, I am growing to dislike Harry more and more. He's the boy-who-lived and yet he's not a good person at all, he doesn't have the best past, and he always leaves to rescue people by himself without telling anyone, and he usually fails. Because of him, we are locked in this room until Mom and Dad and the others return with him." Alexander turned to look at Davis, and shivered violently. Davis's eyes danced with madness and there was rage in his stance, but he didn't say anything. Everyone turned to watch Davis.
"What is it?" Davis finally asked, albeit in a restrainedly calm tone."Davis, are you okay?" Hermione asked, brushing away some of his beautiful reddish gold hair from his face and peering into his amazing hazel eyes. They were so light, she noticed. He turned towards her, knowing that he'd die for her if need be, even live for her! She was amazing, but he felt that she didn't love him as much as he loved her."I'm fine," he muttered, turning away from her. She was confused. Where was her polite knight in shining armor, and who was this brooding boy who reminded her much of the way Harry was ever since the Department of Mysteries incident?
"No, you aren't. Why?" He looked at her with an expression that made her want to do anything to alleviate his pain. "I need to talk with Harry. I need to know and learn so much from him. I know that he can help me, and I need him to help me." Hermione frowned. She could not help him and that made her feel colder and dumber than anything else. She wanted to be there for him, even if things didn't work out, she wanted him to know that she…cared… about him as well. Of course, Davis would be somewhat like Harry, they were siblings. Hermione knew that they had completely different upbringings and childhoods, so why is it that when she looked at Davis's eyes right now, they looked a lot like Harry's eyes? Why did they share something that she could never understand, never even begin to understand, something she'd never experience? So there must have been something in their genes, as if Davis wasn't meant to be Nathan's twin, but instead Harry's. He was sitting down now, head bowed, staring at something that she would never, no matter how hard she tried, be able to see. She felt like crying. She did love him! Then why was it so hard to even be there for him when he needed it the most? The dark crevices in her soul were awoken as she felt the beginnings of self-hatred and withdrawal. Was she losing him? That was of no consequence to this problem, and she knew it. What she was losing right now was her very own self. She looked back at him and felt as lonely as she had all those years in which she had not known Ron and Harry. They did not know how she had no friends before them; she had been excluded because of her intelligence while she was in muggle school. Harry and Ron were her light. The truth was that she could have had many friends, and she knew it. Yet, she refused to give up what made her different than them, so the pain was almost self-constructed. She would rather be alone with her intelligence, curiosity, and determination than with friends but with less of all of those things. Those talents were the very things that made her the person that she was. Yet the Sorting Hat had sorted her into Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw, and all those talents were meaningless now because no matter how hard she tried, she was just unable to reach Davis. She closed her eyes, not noticing Ron's concerned glances and Nathan's solemn countenance as he watched her, wishing for something that she had. She promised herself that no matter the Hell she would endure, she would reach him, she would save Davis, and she would show the world that intelligence was not monstrous as it seemed to be. Her talents would be her armor as she promised she would change the world, to save herself and to save Davis.
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Harry absently wondered, "Where is Hedwig?" He shouldn't have worried. Hedwig was in the hands of a true monster, not the ones so many people had made themselves out to be. He was not a monster made of insecurities, doubts, appearances, memories, unhealed wounds, emotional scars, cruelty, or recognition. He was a monster made of something unadulterated. He was a monster made unto himself and was about to enter a world that was in no way ready for him. Hedwig was fine, just as everything would be even after the monster entered the world, but she was changed, just as he would change the world. If the change was for better or worse was really up to your view, nothing else. The monster's laugh echoed, and the centaurs felt the change.
Last night I had a dream
Nothing special
It was just another dream
Nothing special.
I woke up
All messed up
The nightmare of this world
Is all messed up.
Yes, last night I had a dreamI liked it there
It was just any old dream
But I was killed as the spare.
Hope you enjoyed.-Verdesilath