Sweet Ophelia
TanninTele
Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, voiding that of original content and characters.
II: Tamed Beast
The two had been lackadaisical the rest of the evening, lying side-by-side in the bed, heads pressed together. Tom read aloud from a fairytale book, holding it reverently in his hands. The well-loved pages were dog-eared, open to a page somewhere in the middle. Tom read softly, voice barely above a whisper, although the breeze carried it just fine.
Soft music played from Tom's gramophone, it's bronze amplifier glinting in the moonlight. They couldn't fit a piano in the small home, but Tom had brought his favorite records. Piano keys trinkled on, supplying a haunting soundtrack for Tom's tale.
"The young girl was a curious creature, and so - despite the Beast's warnings - wandered off to find the forbidden wing. His bed chambers were damaged and dark, the once-opulent decorations torn from the walls. The only light came from a crystal dome, holding within it a beautiful, glowing red rose." Harry shifted closer to Tom, leeching off his warmth, and stared at the book's illustration. No one had ever read fairy-tales to Harry as a child. At night, Harry would have to strain his ears to hear Petunia reading to Dudley at night, spinning stories of extravagant journeys and exotic, fantastic worlds Harry could only dream of.
"It's petals had begun to fall, one by one, fluttering gently through the air before landing. Just as the girl was about to touch it, the Beast arrived, furious. Torn between fear and bewilderment, the girl ran as fast as she could, into the cold winter night. She quickly became lost, enveloped by the barren trees and blinded by the billowing snowfall. A pack of starving wolves scented her out, yipping at her heels. She screamed for help, her voice muffled by the blizzard. Just as she believed all was lost, the Beast came tearing through the forest. He was magnificent in his ferocity. After a brief battle, the wolves submitted, relinquishing their prey to the superior beast. The Beast, however, was injured. And the young girl had to decide, between self-preservation, or empathy for the creature that saved her life."
Harry placed his chin on Tom's shoulder. "What would you chose?" he asked quietly. "To stay, or to flee?"
Tom paused, blue eyes contemplative. He placed a manicured finger on the page, saving his place. "There was nothing else left for her in the town. She and her father would be hailed as mad and thrown into an Asylum; with the Beast, she would similarly be trapped. In a gilded cage, suppose, but a cage nonetheless."
"That's not an answer," Harry pressed, insistent.
Blue eyes stared down in amusement. "It doesn't matter, does it? I'm more like the Beast, anyways."
"Furry, bitter and afraid of a flower?"
Tom pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead. "Just looking for someone to love him."
Softening, Harry pawed for Tom's hand, clutching it to his chest. He closed his eyes, settling to sleep. "Keep reading."
Chuckling, Tom obliged. As he always did for his boy.
"The beautiful girl brought the Beast back to the castle and bandaged his wounds. As he healed, the Beast slowly opened up to her, like the petals of a flower revealing it's inner beauty. She read to him from her favorite books, and told him about her father, the clumsy inventor. In turn, the Beast told her about his mother, a beautiful woman who fell ill when he was but a babe," Tom's lips played into a frown. Harry stared at him with faint pity and understanding. "When the Beast's mother died, he grew dark and bitter, a cruel heart masked by a beautiful face. After the witch's spell, the flesh finally matched the ugliness within. And only one thing could cure his bitter heart."
"True love," Harry said.
Tom agreed. "True love. The sort of love that every man aspires for, but few achieve. The princess's love changed him from a horrid beast into a charming prince, and together, they lived happily ever after." He closed the book, and the two merely lay beside each other, content in each other's breathing. Harry played with the buttons on Tom's shirts. His chest rose up and down rhythmically, calming Harry.
Harry glanced shyly at him, green eyes blown. "Tom? Will you bring me to the beach tomorrow?"
The man rose a brow.
Harry pressed close, begging. "I've been feeling much better lately, and it's only a short trip down to the shore."
Tom licked his lips, contemplating. He seemed more willing to indulge his husband, staring down into those earnest green eyes. He pressed a quick kiss to Harry's top lip. "We shall try."
Harry beamed beauticiously.
The gramophone clicked, stuttering, before another song began.
Tom sat up slowly, smiling at the sound of Claire de Lune. "Can you stand, my love?" he whispered, walking around the bed and extending a hand. Harry tentatively took it, green eyes wary. He yelped as he was pulled into a tight embrace, bare feet shuffling against the floor.
"I feel like the princess in your story," Harry laughed, placing his head on Tom's chest as they gently swayed. Harry was breathless, but enjoying their dance it all the same. Tom led him around in a gentle sway. He resisted spinning the smaller boy, instead dipping him lightly. Harry bared his throat, a pale column of unblemished skin.
Tom settled his teeth threateningly on Harry's Adam's apple, applying only the slightest bit of pressure. In the moonlight, Tom's cheekbones were sharp, harsh, and his blue eyes fathomless. Harry let out the tiniest of gasps, eyes fluttering shut. Tom laved the red marks quickly, soothing the wound.
"If that's so . . . then I am the Beast, tamed."
July 15th, 1979
With Marvolo's help, I made a wind chime today. He found me shells from the beach and I strung them together. He tells me my art is beautiful, almost as beautiful as me. Later, I biked into town and met a young man named Severus. He was shy, at first, a soldier recently returning home from a war. He told me I looked like his childhood friend, and wanted to pet my hair. I refused, and hurried towards the grocers. Mister and Missus Flume were far kinder, and their two baby girls are sweet as can be.
I asked Tom about having children someday, and he gave me the strangest look. Aren't boyfriends and girlfriends supposed to talk about these things? I shouted at him for a bit . . . though I might have been overreacting.
Marvolo loves me. I know he does. His presence is simply so strong, so stifling, that I wonder if he wouldn't be better off with someone less headstrong. He likes the quiet, and I readily admit that loudness runs in my family.
July 16th, 1979
I tried to cook something nice for Marvolo to make up for yesterday, but I must've blacked out from the heat.
My head ached when I woke, and there was blood across my dress. My hands are all sliced up from the kitchen knife. I can't hold the handles of my bike anymore.
While Marvolo fished, I spent the day on the veranda, watching him. He's terrible at it, so it at least provided some amusement.
I think the snakes are eating the sandpipers. There are feathers and strange marks in the sand. I asked him about it, and Marvolo told me that it was the law of nature. "Sometimes, beautiful things have to die for others to live," he told me.
He's so odd sometimes.