Disclaimer: Third time's a charm, eh? I won't be writing this again, so… I do not own Harry Potter or the universe to which he belongs. This is merely my interpretation and particular wishes for the setting. It might not adhere to canon, but it is mine, and I enjoy it and writing it.
Warning: Mentions of neglect, abuse, overwork, Mpreg, self-mutilation, and many, many slash themes.
Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept ticking, second by second, as time drew closer and closer still to the birthday of a boy lying awake on his bed in a house on Privet Drive. His eyes were unfocused and full of pain, and his heart seemed to falter as his thoughts grew steadily darker. His hair, once most unruly, was now much tamer, and the eyes that were once a vivid Avada Kedavra green had rings of black around the iris.
Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept ticking, second by second, as time drew closer to the birthday of the son of the man whose heart was mending as he stood, looking at a house on Privet Drive. His eyes were dark, but sharp, and his hands continued to clench to ward off the pain of Summoning. His hair was clumpy and greasy, but straight and full when clean. His heart faltered as he thought of things that could have, no, should have been.
Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept ticking, second by second, as time grew closer to the birthday of an enemy and a pawn. Two sides of a war, and yet so similar and outcome for either of them taking control of the world. One hoped to break the boy, the other to turn or kill him, but they both agreed with the thought that the boy was but a thing, and thus not worth mention or time beyond initial efforts. Two leaders, two factions, both blind to the imminent but hidden third.
Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept ticking, second by second, as three angels gazed down upon the world, and their friends. Two clung to one another, but the third was alone as he gazed upon his child and his mate. The dark twisting and turning of fate had darkened his countenance and soul, but this twist in the snake of time had lightened it almost immeasurably. Finally, they could be a family again.
Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept ticking, second by second, as the one and only true friend of 'Phoenix' anxiously waited for his only friend's mind to be put at ease. Such desperate times had fallen upon him and his mother that he needed that friend to hold and to cherish, to be the one and only thing in times of despair to keep him sane. The boy called 'Dragon' craved the love the one can only find through family, but had only experienced it with two people, one of which he thought was imaginary, and the other of which he thought wasn't trustworthy. The pain in the hearts of Dragon and Phoenix echoed as one, together, and forever.
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Footsteps echoed through the silent houses, their intent the same. Cracking their knuckles and readying their 'toy's, they approached the rooms of their current victims. When they spoke, their words rang as one, though the two of them had never met, and probably never would.
"Get up, boy."
The boys scrambled to their feet, one fair and dark inside, one dark and fair inside. These two had met, in more ways than one, and thus it was no surprise that their movements were almost completely coordinated.
"I… I'm sorry…"
Harsh laughter. The gagging sound of a person being choked filled both rooms, though only one of the men was touching anyone at the moment. The other was playing with a piece of wood that had been handcrafted to a thing of beauty.
With a look of disgust, the two men stopped that method of torture, and the boys gasped and choked for the breath they were so sorely denied. They cried out mentally for the other, and held the fragile and distant bond between them for comfort.
A belt was next, then a boot. Then bare fists- the aristocratic man had his bloodlust so raised he didn't mind the plebian and beneath him methods of giving pain.
The tears mingled with the blood, and dripped to the floor. The boys, tired and weary, collapsed to the floor as they waited for dawn and morning to come.
3 3 3 3
A cloud of owls tried to approach the house, but the wards prevented all but five of them from entering. Of those five, two were owls from Hogwarts, two were regular Post Office Owls, and one was a tennis ball of feathers. None of them carried packages.
The boy, still embraced in shame, struggled with the latch, his weakened arms fighting against their pain. With a click, the window was opened, and the owls given entrance. Each dropped a letter.
He read them. Once, twice. Shock was ever-present on his features- this was not what he was expecting for his sixteenth birthday.
Dear Potter,
I am sorry to break it to you now, but I can't keep up this dreadful façade any longer. Your friendship wasn't worth anything except to raise my own standing- you have a relatively good pureblood standing, and you are the Boy-Who-Lived, but, frankly, I expected more. And, anyways, Dumbledore ordered me to be friends with you- an intelligent mind is always necessary in any group. He wanted you not to rely on yours.
I truly and sorry, Potter, about this and your Godfather.
Hermione Granger
Potter,
This was never a true friendship. Dumbledore told me to- wanted you to rely on me as the temper and brute strength. Sorry, but I can't wear a mask any longer.
And I never did have a crush on you. I was the 'routine love interest', or whatever he called it.
Sorry.
Ron and Ginny
Harry,
We're not as close, you and I, and I think that what we had was never a friendship, what with Dumbledore telling me to, and all. You ain't worth it. Sorry, Harry, but you haven't killed off old You-Know-Who, and I doubt you ever will.
Hagrid.
Harry,
I am sorry, but I can't be a godfather figure to you. I've lost Sirius, too, and… He was the only link to my past. I need time to myself. You have so many friends that I don't think that you shall mind. Besides, Dumbledore only thought me necessary as a balance to your rambunctious and Weasley Twin-like godfather.
Remus.
You may have received news that I have coerced your friends into being that way. I would never do such a thing- disregard it. There isn't any room or time or attention for you at Hogwarts, Grimmauld, the Burrow, or any of our other few safe places.
I am sorry.
Have as happy a birthday as you can.
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin First Class
Why were they all cutting ties? From the sounds of it, Dumbledore had coerced them, but the man himself didn't want to deal with his wrath and was trying to appease him. Heh.
He felt a familiar tickle at the back of his mind, and opened up to his friend.
'Dragon!'
'Phoenix!'
'It's horrible, horrible…'
'What?'
'My friends… My teacher… My.. Whatever-he-is. They've said that they're not my friends. The letters were nearly all the same… And they all blame it on my mentor, who basically said he knew about the letters but that he hadn't done what they had suggested.'
'All of them?'
'My closest. I think…'
'Well?'
'I think that I've become a pawn, a mere piece in the games that deranged power-mad wi- I mean, people play.'
'Ouch. Wait- isn't it your birthday right now?'
'Yeah…'
'Oh.. Say, um… IT happened again tonight…'
'Oh no, I'm sorry! I should have been able to help!'
'Bloody Gryf- I mean, goody-goody.'
'It's painful, being beaten, it's happened often enough to me and oh my god I've said too much, I PROMISED myself I wouldn't burden you…'
'It happens to you, too?'
'…'
'Speak to me, dammit!'
'I… I don't deserve your help, gods blast it!'
'But you need it. And I am still your friend after all these years, aren't I?'
'Well.. Yeah.'
'Tell me about it.'
And together the boys began to heal.
3 3 3 3
It was time. The owls had arrived, what few of them had made it through the wards, and the boy… His son would probably be ecstatic already and unwilling to let anything bring him down. Or would let having a family bring him up to a new pedestal. Or…
He would not dwell.
The house was quiet. Snores erupted from upstairs, and it seemed like there were seven people snoring, though the house currently only held four… Five, including himself, but there wasn't a chance he'd be sleeping here.
As he made his way quietly up the steps, he heard another sound, something softer, more subtle. Crying. Not the bawls of a spoiled child as was to be expected from his son's 'cousin', but the cries of someone in pain. "Does Dursley beat his wife?" he inquired aloud, though he immediately regretted it. The cries stopped, only to be replaced with the almost unheard words "Oh god…"
He recognized that voice. James' voice, Harry's voice. Oh god. "Harry!" The intensity of that single word shook the house more than his frantic running steps up the staircase. The inhabitants awoke, but all they saw was a black blur running to Dudley's second bedroom. Foregoing the many locks on the edge of the door, he kicked it open and rushed to his son's aid. He slipped in something on the way to his son's side, and when he had regained his balance, he touched it gingerly. Sticky, not too wet, but wet enough. Red. Blood. He glanced at his son and saw tell-tale traces of a beating, traces nobody but someone who had undergone such would recognize.
Everything else was a blur to him, covered in red haze. He remembered Portkeying his son to the Infirmary at Hogwarts, but little else besides hurting Dursley with every ounce of his strength. Every ounce of pain and hate and.. Every dark emotion fled his soul as he fought the man who had hurt his child, had hurt the one thing left of his mate, had hurt the only thing in the world that was still important to him.
Aurors arrived, but his parent's need somehow protected him, as it had protected Harry by Lily. He didn't kill the man, but hurt him severely. As the last of his anger-induced rage left him, he collapsed. The amount of energy needed to maintain a wandless barrier and a Red Rage was far too high for many wizards or witches to ever achieve, but he had.
As he sank into the blissful quiet, he saw a glimpse in his mind's eye of the gratefulness in his own son's Avada Kedavra green eyes.
How he hated that pathetic excuse for a muggle.
3 3 3 3
HI! I won't keep you long- I just have some virtual rewards for my readers, and a minor Author's note. No, I will not pester people over reviews- either you do or you don't. Frankly, I'd prefer do, but it would be hypocritical of me if I demanded reviews- I try to keep my reading material over 40,000 words and only review the last chapter, so you can too, if you wish.
Lord Localfreak: I do confess, tis intriguing though at the end I had difficulty following the narrative. Although I enjoy my personal analysis I must ask what the relevance of a Windows 95 computer imported from the USA (1. why not just buy it here and 2. why 97? is it to show poverty, because I was always under the impression of a middle class suburban setting for the Dastardly Dursleys?)
Actually, in the appropriate time period, the Windows '95 computer is still rather new- only a year old. (Harry is turning 16, and was born in 1980) And yes, I agree with your interpretation. I am not sure if Windows and such had spread so much to England and Europe at that time, to I just decided to ignore all fact and say what I wanted to. I hope I haven't made and absolute fool of myself. Oh, here's a… hunts in bag for goodies Chocolate Frog! All yours!
Will it be a Hate!Dumbledore fic? Or is that as of yet, undecided?
And yes, it will be (as you should see from this chapter.
Hermione21: Is 'Dragon' really Draco?
SSSSSHHHHHHH!!! Don't let them know THAT! Oh, here's a Chocolate Frog.
I am sorry for writing really long Author notes (again, hypocritical of me to do so) but, well… I wanted to! So there!
Review Questions (worth 2 Chocolate Frogs or 3 boxes of BB's Every Flavor Beans)
1) Who is Severus' one and only soul mate?
2) Who have we decided to hate for his methods of absolute manipulation?
3) Which two authors have we decided to hate, one for killing a character and the other for mangling a beautiful universe in her fan fiction?
4) Which pairing is your favorite?
Ja ne, minna-san!