Pairing(s): Harry/Tom and Draco/Ron (i think that will be all....)
Warnings: insanity? not the humor kind, but real insanity. angst, slash and sex. blood and morbid themes. i am not for children
Rating: R
Part: 05/??
Disclaimer: Not mine, need I have to say? The character have their rightful owners (who I am too lazy to name off), I'm just borrowing them for some one my little ideas.
Noted: I don't have a beta, so forgive my errors. Sorry for the space between updates, stumbled across the fact I really like Spike/Xander slash and its been eating my brain whole. On the up side, I have a ton of sadistic ideas now. :3
There are quite a few people who have gotten spooked by the current goings on in the news about Harry Potter slash writers. Snaples, an author I admire and adore work wise, got spooked. I came from the anime community though. My first yaoi (slash) fandom was Gundam Wing, and a couple years back a mother sued a site, Ai No Kuusou. It was frightening then. The guy had proper warning pages up, like we all did, and he got sued. His host wouldn't keep him anymore. I miss Ai No Kuusou, it was a good site. This being my background, I'm not afraid that the conflict is a little bit louder and more open. Before, only people who were really regular visitors of Ai No Kuusou really missed it. Now, there are newspaper articles. Buck up, what can they really do to a bunch of broke writers who adore someone else's creation? Nothing really. There are more of us then there is of them. So fuck 'em.
Now onto the fanfiction.
He didn't really know how long he was standing there with his mouth open. He jaw was like melted putty and hung heavy from his skull. His whole body was really the same way, all limp and waving in the wind.
He sat on his knees, still staring forward. What he was seeing couldn't be true. It just couldn't. It was impossible. Unbelievable. It must be one of his terrible dreams, one of his nightmares that his roommates always complained about. He would wake up any moment now, sweating and breathing like he had run a marathon. Ron would be just across him, sitting up in his bed to check if he was okay.
He would wake up now.
Any moment now.
He decided to take things into his own hands and do something. His one hand shot to the other to yank the skin between his thumb and index finger. He dug his fingers in hard when he realized that he wasn't waking up. He yanked and pulled and dug his nails in. This just couldn't be real.
It couldn't it couldn't it couldn't
He started to sob when he realized that he wasn't going to wake up. A little piece of him hoped that the pinching rule was untrue, that it was just something that They (whoever They was) made you believe so that you couldn't escape bad dreams. That little piece still hoped that he would wake up soon. Dreams only last for twenty minutes, right?
The large bit of him cried.
The larger part of him realized the horror of the reality. That it was reality. That there was no turning back to make everything all right again. Things might just never be all right again. That he just might have lost everything he had really known and loved.
They had lost.
That had to be what the burning Hogsmeade meant. Hogsmeade was an all wizard type of town, a place where students joyfully waste money and adults grin at store windows. It was a haven for wizards it seemed.
Now it was burning.
He couldn't take his eyes off it. Zonko's was gone. They would never be able to pull the really good pranks again. Honeyduke's gone too. No more sweets to rotten their teeth and my Madam Poppy annoyed with. Everything. Gone.
Gone.
It was a symbol. Why else would they do it? Taking Hogwarts and Hogsmeade would surely make people afraid of what could happen next. No one would try to fight the Dark Lord after that. No one would ant to risk his or her families like that.
No one would want to become like James and Lily.
He stared blankly forward. Was there anything to fight for anymore? Was there any reason that he was around anymore? What would people think when they hear about this about Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived?
Would they lose hope like he was?
He heard crunching of twigs from behind him and realized that he should have kept moving. He had left Hogwarts because he didn't want to die, it would be senseless to stay just outside Hogsmeade as if waiting for someone to come and get him. If he had kept moving, he could have gotten further away. Could have gotten somewhere safe. Cold have given people hope.
His breath caught in his throat as he clung onto his cloak, still wrapped around him. He got up off his knees and backed away slowly. Almost like a frightened rabbit, ready to run at the first sight of a predators teeth (which was probably too late considering the kinds of predators he knew). He'd rather run into the flames consuming Hogsmeade then to face any one of his enemies at the moment.
It sounded like a group coming towards him.
Maybe he had left some traces in the forest to betray his escape. It was possible that his pant leg had caught on something, or his school robe, and had left a little bit of thread or cloth behind. Maybe he had left footprints as well, the forest floor was muddy in some places. Whatever it was, people had figured him out.
He took another step backwards and turned slightly. Ready to run.
He should have been running now.
Run run you fool!
He stood almost frozen in place, one eye focused on the darkness just beyond the line of trees and the other on the burning Hogsmeade. Even his breath seemed suck in his throat. Like a deer in the headlights of a muggle car, he stood there.
He dreaded what--WHO--would walk out of the forest. What--WHO--had come so far to get him. Something--someONE--terrible, probably. Something--someONE--that would rip him to shreds and carry the tasty bits back to the Dark Lord for trophies.
He gulped and wished his body would obey him enough to take another step back.
They came.
From the forest emerged three men dressed in black. Death eaters, ones still wearing their smooth, slightly blood stained masks. They surrounded another man who wore robes that looked like it was something a Malfoy would wear; clean, and expensive looking, showing off who was truly the best. The man didn't looked to much taller then he was, or too much older then Snape (though, in comparison, Snape probably would look the older of the two). There was something about the black hair and red-flecked eyes that stuck out in his mind. There was something about the long boned hands and the air of superiority that should have made him run for the hills.
But what was it?
He stared for a moment or two before it hit him hard in the head. Almost literally, since his scar burned more now then before he had left. His jaw went slack again with the realization.
Tom.
Tom Riddle.
VOLDEMORT.
His heart seized up in his throat and he desperately wished his body would flee. Just as fast and hard as he could. He couldn't stay. He couldn't. He would die if he stayed. He didn't want to die, so why wasn't he moving?
"Times up, Harry Potter."