Title: Shadow of the Black Moon
Author: lunablue
Warning: Post Order of the Pheonix
Overall Rating: NC17
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. belongs to J.K. Rowling and Associated Co. All rights reserved.
Summary: As desperation and loneliness give way to a deep sense of belonging, Harry fights his biggest enemy yet,
himself. Can a child of the light discover contentment in the pits of darkness? And when all is lost, can you follow your
heart or will it betray you as well?
Author's Notes: Well, after many agonizing weeks of bipolar behavior the little Harry in my head has finally settled
on a mood for this story. The battle between us two was grand and glorious, the stuff of legends. I won. ^_^ Hopefully
now that my notebook is full and the battle field in my mind has started to heal over the chapters will be able to flow
more quickly. Of course, considering the fact that I attend two different schools and am currently failing one of them
in my senior year…………please allow my the leniency of a student who wishes to earn her High School Diploma.
Which, by the way, neither of my parents have. Three months to go, can I do it? Wish me luck. *crosses fingers*
//indicates parseltongue spoken aloud//
'indicates thought'
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Chapter Two: The Summoning
The party was in full swing, dark and sensual.
Masks thrown off and robes loosened or discarded, the tables overflowed with the
food and ale.
The floor was like an orgy with clothes, bodies withering against each other in beat to
the music that filled the chamber. Dark magic slithered along the room, invisible but there.
Coiling around glistening bodies as arousal perfumed the air, a few nameless muggles
could be found against the walls, drugged and obedient, ready and willing. The music
was so loud you could feel it reverberating in the floor, sending pulses of energy strait
up your body .
One of Harry's arms was draped around the neck of the person behind him as the
other dangled at his side. Head titled to the left exposing his pale neck to Draco's cherry
lips, their hips aligned as ass ground against hard cock. Random thoughts floating through
his mind, Harry felt giddy and high, relaxed and spinning out of control all at once. It
was a heady feeling and he couldn't remember having ever been more satisfied, more
blissful in his entire life.
'The muggles got one thing right, dancing is a vertical expression of a horizontal want.'
Then Draco's hips changed their movement, grew quicker and harder, beating all thought
out of his head and leaving only the rush of blood through his body, only feelings and sensations.
~ ~ ~
Harry woke up the next day feeling amazingly refreshed and relaxed, almost content.
A warm and very naked body was draped across his back and sinfully soft sheets were
tangled in his legs. Eyes opened lethargically slow, blinking lazily as they took in the
surroundings.
Walls made of dark gray stone, packed together tightly as if protecting it's contents
from the outside world. Like the chamber they'd meet the Dark Lord in, this room
also lacked windows. The bed was huge and made of dark cherry wood, four poster
and covered in creamy white sheets. The ceiling was slightly rounded, as if to support
a great pressure from above. On one side of the room sat a grand armoire and on the
other a desk similar to the one in Professor Snape's office. The floor was made of stone
but was mostly covered by a vaguely Asian looking rug while hundreds upon hundreds of
candles were spread about the room, covering every surface available.
'Beeswax.' noted Harry after delicately sniffing the air. Yawning he twisted onto his
other side so that the hand on his abdomen ended up laying against his ass. Draco slept
silently, slowly exhaling and inhaling through ruby parted lips as candlelight flickered across his
skin, enhancing his inhuman beauty to the point of pain. His skin was as translucent and pale
as the moon, sooty eyelashes resting softly on high cheekbones, hiding gray eyes that burned
you with their intensity.
Draco was one of the few things left that could drag any form of strong emotion from Harry
anymore, one of the few things left that could break the ice shield he'd self imposed over
his heart. Draco was the only person left who could bring him to life, strip his soul naked and
make him feel beautiful for his flaws and his strengths. Cause his eyes to burn with passion
and emotion to flicker across his face, undiluted and pure, unchecked and unguarded.
But those times together were for private, when no one else was around and their guard could
drop, never completely of course, never to the point of naively dangerous, but dropped down
nonetheless.
Closing his eyes Harry leaned forward and softly brushed a kiss against the lips of the God
of his heart before snuggling deeper into the warm embrace, welcoming the oblivion of sleep
into his mind.
~ ~ ~ ~
Perhaps not so much of an oblivion as he'd wished for.
Dream Harry walked through the halls of Hogwarts like a lost shade, unseen and unheard.
The sound of his footsteps enchoing only to his ears, not even Mrs. Norris registered his
presence. Then he was standing in front of a gargoyle statue, drifting through it like a ghost,
shivering as the cold stone brushed against every atom of his being. The spiraling staircase
seemed to lead upwards forever, as if the Headmaster's office was the office of the Christian
God and existed in the Heavens themselves.
The plain wooden door was already open and inside sat the King of the white set, his Knights
and Bishops in council, the two Castles standing at his side like good little Aurors. Panic was
evident, the game was practically lost, their Queen had defected. Whatever would they do?
Then he was gone from the little room of god, silent feet not quite brushing the Gryffindor
Common's floor as he stared at the scene before him. Ron's red hair glowing copper in the light
of the dying embers, his head buried in Hermione's lap as he sobbed out the pieces of his
broken heart, shoulders shuddering as he gasped for breath. He lay on the couch in a messy
heap, rumbled hand me down robes smoldering his petite frame. Glazed caramel eyes stared
listlessly at nothing as Hermione mindlessly stroked her beloved in an futile attempt to comfort.
Her frizzy hair was pulled haphazardly into a bun and her cheeks were tinged red. 'They always
turn red when she's worried, they stayed that strawberry color all June during the OWLS'
Harry recalled in a distantly fond sort of way before the memory of her role in his failed suicide
attempt washed it away in a glorious numb haze.
'Avada Kedavra'
He mouths the words slowly, reverently like a pray as his fingers tingle from want of a wand.
But he's not even really there and the little lion pawns sit safely in their tower, oblivious.
~ ~ ~ ~
He's awake instantly, like someone threw a switch in his head.
The lust is a poison in his blood, slowly burning itself into a demanding inferno, the source of
his pleasure is gently throbbing on the bend of his arm, promising release if he just gives in now.
Somehow Harry instinctively knows that the whole surrender of his self would grant him such
pleasure as only hours spent under Draco's mouth could bring. Just give himself into the hands
of his master, drop responsibility for once and let another make the choice, just give in and be,
just feel. And he does, with a quickness and ease that surprises himself.
A quick wiggle later he is out from his beloved's arms and standing, startled to see a house elf
already present and to dress him in a plain black linen robe and bamboo flip flops. Dressing quickly
he tries to control his breathing, to ignore the pleasure that is slowly building in his abdomen,
twisting and curling in on him like python.
Without a glance back he's slipping out the door, moving instinctively towards where he is required
to be, knowing in way that is not knowing where to go, feet moving without conscious guidance
from his mind. Outside the room is a well lit hallway similar to the deepest part of the Slytherin dungeons
back at Hogwarts. Silencing charms absorb the echo of his steps as he walks the long corridors, past
doors similar to his own, past alcoves and flicker torches, past everything and always downwards,
away from it all.
After a while the dust starts to grow thicker and the torches fewer and fewer in between, the ceiling
starts to fall lower and the stone below his feet become more rough, less worn from less travel.
The deeper he travels into the underground web, the closer to his master he got, the stronger the
pleasure built until at last he took a final left and came face to face with a plain door, obviously
well taken care of compared to the rest of rotten wood ones he'd seen nearly falling off their hinges.
Standing there was torture at best as the heat burned so badly he thought he'd spontaneously combust,
like a phoenix.
//Come in.//
A silibant hiss caressed his skin as the door creaked open on it's own accord.
He walked as if in a dream, lost in the mist of the pleasure that overwhelmed him. It felt like he was
floating across the floor, his head was light and everything had taken on a blurr. The Harry saw him,
folded comfortably into a ornate plum chair, the walls a background of ancient tombs. Clothed in
a simple robin blue lounging robe, red eyes piercingly sharp and clear, a startling contrast to the rest
of the room.
He'd done it, he'd obeyed his master.
Kneeling on the rug covered floor, eyes closed and arms behind his back, head bowed, Harry whispered "Master."
Then the pleasure exploded in his mind in a silent, drawn out orgasm of mental bliss as Lord Voldemort
threw back his head and laughed.
tbc . . .
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