Title: Phantasm
Author: SweetlyDarkJenn (sweetlydarkme@aol.com)
Pairing: Mention of Het but ultimately slash
Summary: Harry Potter is living in pretence.
Rating: Nothing offensive I'd think – but then I am a bit strange...
Disclaimer: Not mine, big ovation to J. K. Rowling.
Feedback: Please?
A/N: God knows where this came from...
"One, two, three..."
A lick of lemon, the sting of the alcohol and the bitter sourness that follows, Harry Potter tried desperately hard to focus his eyes on something... and alighted upon the vision of Ginny Weasley – his current girlfriend – slumped across the couch they had stretched upon.
Poor stupid Ginny Weasley. Wasting all that time and effort trying to get the Great and mighty Harry Potter to be hers, to love her in the way that she loves him, when Harry knew that it was hopeless; his heart was already possessed by another.
Snorting, Harry slid lower on the seat, an unsteady hand raised and dragged through unruly midnight black hair – hair which, his lover told him, shone like the deepest ocean on a moonlight night – long legs stretched out in front of him, eyelids lowered and eyebrows drawn.
Harry Potter was drunk, astonishingly drunk, yet the worst thing was, he was still aware of how his life was dealt. He was still aware that red hair hadn't been replaced by astounding blonde, blue eyes hadn't been replaced with grey, soft hands – hands that smoothed and trembled when Harry smiled – hadn't been replaced with calloused hands, hands which gripped and bit and scratched and hardly ever trembled.
Hands, which knew every intimate part of Harry Potter's body, which had made him moan and shake, made him pray and beg, whimper and scream, hands which made him want to feel alive, instead of this Harry Potter shell he was parading around the school as fact – and the utterly devious nature that was hidden inside.
Startling green eyes – his mother eyes, his mothers beautiful eyes – rimmed slightly with a burning red turned, almost accusingly, on the near empty tequila bottle, near empty apart from a few more gulps of the stinging drink and the worm.
A tingling arm brought the bottle to Harry Potter's damp lips, the salt and lemon chunks discarded on the table – discarded for the feel of fire trailing a path down his gullet, spreading into his body – discarded for the feel of the worm pushing and twisting down his body to rest in his stomach.
Harry Potter smiled.
--
Ginny Weasley, aware of her boyfriend Harry Potter lying next to her smiled and rolled over to gaze into his eyes...
...And as Harry Potter gazed into aloof grey eyes he relaxed.
--Fin.
"One, two, three..."
A lick of lemon, the sting of the alcohol and the bitter sourness that follows, Harry Potter tried desperately hard to focus his eyes on something... and alighted upon the vision of Ginny Weasley – his current girlfriend – slumped across the couch they had stretched upon.
Poor stupid Ginny Weasley. Wasting all that time and effort trying to get the Great and mighty Harry Potter to be hers, to love her in the way that she loves him, when Harry knew that it was hopeless; his heart was already possessed by another.
Snorting, Harry slid lower on the seat, an unsteady hand raised and dragged through unruly midnight black hair – hair which, his lover told him, shone like the deepest ocean on a moonlight night – long legs stretched out in front of him, eyelids lowered and eyebrows drawn.
Harry Potter was drunk, astonishingly drunk, yet the worst thing was, he was still aware of how his life was dealt. He was still aware that red hair hadn't been replaced by astounding blonde, blue eyes hadn't been replaced with grey, soft hands – hands that smoothed and trembled when Harry smiled – hadn't been replaced with calloused hands, hands which gripped and bit and scratched and hardly ever trembled.
Hands, which knew every intimate part of Harry Potter's body, which had made him moan and shake, made him pray and beg, whimper and scream, hands which made him want to feel alive, instead of this Harry Potter shell he was parading around the school as fact – and the utterly devious nature that was hidden inside.
Startling green eyes – his mother eyes, his mothers beautiful eyes – rimmed slightly with a burning red turned, almost accusingly, on the near empty tequila bottle, near empty apart from a few more gulps of the stinging drink and the worm.
A tingling arm brought the bottle to Harry Potter's damp lips, the salt and lemon chunks discarded on the table – discarded for the feel of fire trailing a path down his gullet, spreading into his body – discarded for the feel of the worm pushing and twisting down his body to rest in his stomach.
Harry Potter smiled.
--
Ginny Weasley, aware of her boyfriend Harry Potter lying next to her smiled and rolled over to gaze into his eyes...
...And as Harry Potter gazed into aloof grey eyes he relaxed.
--Fin.